FEINBERG/WHITMAN Box 31 Folder 9 LITERARY FILE Prose "The Death of Wind-Foot" (June 1945) The American Review. Printed copies [*Editor Salem Register*] POSTAGE, after July 1st, will be only 7 1/2 Cents. [*Whitman*] THE AMERICAN REVIEW A WHIG JOURNAL of POLITICS, LITERATURE, ART AND SCIENCE. 'TO STAND BY THE CONSTITUTION." No. VI. JUNE, 1845. Subscriptions received at the Office, 118 Nassau-street. WILEY AND PUTNAM, 161 BROADWAY, NEW-YORK; AND 6 WATERLOO PLACE, REGENT-ST., LONDON. All Communications must be addressed to the Editor, G. H. COLTON, 118 Nassau-street, N. Y. This number contains three and a half sheets. [[left page]] PROSPECTUS OF THE AMERICAN REVIEW. It having been determined to establish a political and Literary Monthly Review, to be conducted in the city of New-York by GEORGE H. COLTON, Esq., and devoted to the permanent maintenance of WHIG principles and improvement of American Literature: The undersigned, Whig members of the Twenty-eighth Congress, from the several sections of the Union, in consideration of the great importance of such a work, do most cordially approve of the design, and urge it upon the Whigs of the Republic for their effective and unwavering support. We believe it to be most strongly demanded by the permanent interests of the country: and the appeal is made to those having these interests most at heart. And for the sake of perfect confidence in its political course, assurance is hereby given, that the continual assistance of leading men of the Whig Party has been secured, and that full trust is reposed in views and abilities of the Editor. Members of the Senate. Willie P. Mangum, N.C, President of Senate George Evans, Maine. J.J. Crittenden, Kentucky. J. Macpherson Berrien, Georgia. James F. Simmons, Rhode Island. James Alfred Pearce, Maryland. Richard H. Bayard, Delaware. J.W. Huntington, Connecticut Samuel S. Phelps, Vermont. Alexander Barrow, Louisiana. J.T. Morehead, Kentucky. W.C. Rives, Virginia. William Woodbridge, Michigan Ephraim H. Foster, Tennessee W.L. Dayton, New Jersey. John Henderson, Mississippi Members of the House. Garret Davis, Kentucky. Charles Hudson, Massachusetts. George W. Summers, Virginia. Samuel T. Vinton, Ohio. John White, Kentucky. Daniel P. King, Massachusetts. K. Rayner, North Carolina. George B. Rodney, Delaware. S. C. Sample, Indiana. F. H. Morse, Maine. Milton Brown, Tennessee. Washington Hunt, New-York. Henry Y. Cranston, Rhode Island. Charles M. Reed, Pennsylvania. John J. Hardin, Illinois. C. H. Carroll, New-York. William A. Moseley, New-York. James Dellet, Alabama. Robert C. Schenck, Ohio. J. Phillips Phoenix, New-York City. Alexander H. Stephens, Georgia. Earnestly approving of the plan of such a national organ, long needed and of manifest importance, the undersigned agree to contribute for its pages, from time to time, such communications as may be requisite to set forth and defend the doctrines held by the united Whig Party of the Union. George P. Marsh, of Vermont. J. R. Ingersoll, of Philadelphia. T. L. Clingman, of North Carolina. Daniel Webster, of Boston. Rufus Choate, of Boston. Robert C. Winthrop, of Boston. Hamilton Fish, of New-York City. J. Collamer, of Vermont. W. S. Archer, of Virginia. Alexander H. Stephens, Ga. D. D. Barnard, of Albany. E. Joy Morris, of Philadelphia. John Macpherson Berrien, of Ga. Thomas Butler King, of Georgia, J. P. Kennedy of Baltimore. John J. Hardin, of Illinois. The reasons leading to the design of this Review are many and obvious. There has long been, and, it is feared, will be, a faction in the Republic, assuming popular forms, but led on by demagogues, against the true interests of the country. Under such guidance they have already inflicted many injuries on the body of the Commonwealth- have crippled our commerce, reduced our manufactures, diminished our revenue, dissipated our treasure, deranged our currency, dishonored our schools, corrupted popular suffrage, yet strengthened Executive power, diminished the hard earnings of the laborer, and placed a disastrous check on the whole course of internal improvements. In addition to these injuries, they are promulgating or giving countenance to the most dangerous doctrines: That law should have no vitality or force apart from the popular will; that legislation is to be no more stable than party power; that contracts and covenants of to-day may be set aside by a change of majorities to-morrow; that the solemn seats of judicature and the tribunals of justice are to be directly controlled by the populace; that change, in a word, is progress, and the antiquity of an institution hardly compatible with its utility; that crime is rather to be pitied than punished; that companies, corporations, and institutions of learning, are monopolies to be warred against; and that in every transition of Government, to the victors belong the spoils; with many other Jabcobinical opinions, from which, if suffered to gain ground, we can look for nothing but the corruption of our morals, the degradation of our liberties, and the ultimate ruin of the Commonwealth. The party styling themselves the Democratic, and arrogating superiority of literary taste and accomplishment, have established, and for some time supported a Review, distinguished for ability, but devotedly maintaining many of these pernicious doctrines, while the con- [[/left page]] [[right page]] THE AMERICAN REVIEW. VOL. I. JUNE, 1845. No. VI. CONTENTS. THE MYSTERY OF INQUITY, .......... 551 AMERICAN LETTERS: THEIR CHARACTER AND ADVANCEMENT, . 575 PRUSSIAN EMPIRE, (By Tacitus.) ......... 581 TRANSLATION FROM HORACE, (By Hermeneutes.) ..... 596 THE VISION OF THE WINGS, (By J. H. Holland.) ..... 597 MARSHAL MURAT, (By J. T. Headley.) ........ 600 A WEEK BETWEEN FLORENCE AND ROME, ...... 613 MODERN CRITICISM: GEORGE SAND, ........ 617 THE DEATH OF WIND-FOOT, (By Walter Whitman.) .... 639 OPINIONS OF NICHOLAS MACHIAVEL CONCERNING POPULAR GOVERNMENT, ............. 643 THE CAW-CUS (By J. H. Collier.) ......... 648 GESTA ROMANORUM, ........... 651 CRITICAL NOTICES, ............. 654 NEW-YORK: WILEY & PUTNAM, 161, BROADWAY; AND 6, WATERLOO PLACE, REGENT-STREET, LONDON. PRINCIPAL AGENTS.- Vermon, V. Harrington, Burlington; Boston, Jordan, Swift & Co.; Rhode Island, B. Cranston, Providence; Zieber & Co., Philadelphia; Shurtz & Taylor, Baltimore. Edward O. Jenkins, Printer, 144 Nassau-street. [[/right page] TO THE SUBSCRIBERS OF THE AMERICAN REVIEW. After July 1st, the postage on the REVIEW will certainly not be over 7 1/2 cents, probably not over 6 1/2 cents - for any distance. The first volume of the AMERICAN REVIEW closes with the present number, and we take this occasion to say, that we think we can congratulate our friends upon the prospects of the work, as we certainly have to thank them for their effective interest in its success. The very great importance of the enterprise has been from the first universally acknowledged. The Press have spoken firmly- for which we tender a grateful acknowledgment; but a greater proof of the prevalence of feeling in its favor lies in the fact, that notwithstanding the darkness and despondency following an unlooked for defeat, its remunerative circulation has approached to 3,000- and that in great part by voluntary subscription. But our readers must be aware that this is not enough to make the work a truly effective national organ. We state the case simply as it is. We have done what we could; but what with agency discounts, inevitable losses, and the great expense of the work itself, a circulation of some 2,700 will not allow us to recompense contributors adequately; and without such compensation to them, no Magazine can be effectively sustained. If our friends will aid us in raising circulation to two or three times its present list- which can be done, if they but will it- we unhesitatingly pledge ourselves to produce a more powerful, a more generous, a more truly national periodical, than has yet arisen, and lived, in the country. We would add, that one great bar to a wider support of the work will be taken away by the new Post Office Law, which will reduce its postage, we believe, to 6 1/2 cents monthly. We intend to have given an index to Vol. I, with most of the names of its writers, but were unable for want of space. It will be given in the next number. Dissatisfaction, we were sorry to see, was expressed by some, in respect to the Engraving of John Quincy Adams. We have only to say, that it was executed from a fine head of the Ex-President, (in the Historical Society,) much admired by himself, Mr. Webster, and many other most reliable judges. Of this painting the engraving is a perfect similitude, and is considered by the personal friends and relatives of Mr. Adams to be the best ever executed of him. N.B. The Copy-right of the article entitled "MYSTERY OF INIQUITY," has been secured by the author, according to law. A full edition, with emendations, is already in press, and will be issued in two or three days. ERRATUM.-- Page 574, first column, twelfth line from the bottom, after "shall" insert "not," so as to read "shall NOT take." 1845.] The Death of Wind-Foot. 639 We cannot forbear expressing our pleasure to find with us this additional, and also influential, instance of enlightened appreciation and critical candor towards George Sand. If only for the contrast, it ought to however, to be mentioned, that the well known Paris Correspondent of the National Intelligencer has taken the British writer to task for his impartiality, in the premises- thinks his article a poor affair; his praise of George Sand but puffing; and undertakes to say that even the commendation of her style is sheer imposture, to decoy readers. All this he asserts, as usual in his frequent and, we had almost said, fanatical vituperation of this author, without a word of proof. It is, we believe, principally through this gentleman that Americans get their notions of the current literature and authors of France, and there is no doubt that he has been the cause of much of the misapprehension and prejudice respecting both the character and writings of George Sand, that prevail in this country. He is evidently a man of strong possessions; but his hostility to this writer in particular (occasioned, possibly, by some personal sight,) breaks into a morbid virulence, and resembles the reckless rancor of the bigot, rather than the clear and conscientious judgment of the intelligent and even liberal critic, that he ordinarily is, both in Letters and Politics. THE DEATH OF WIND-FOOT. THREE hundred years ago- so heard I the tale, not long since, from the mouth of one educated like a white man, but born of the race of whom Logan and Tecumseh sprang, - three hundred years ago, there lived on lands now forming an eastern county of the most powerful of the American states, a petty Indian tribe governed by a brave and wise chieftain. This chieftain was called by a name which in our language signifies Unrelenting. His deeds of courage and subtlety made him renowned through no small portion of the northern continent. There were only two dwellers in his lodge- himself and his youthful son; for twenty moons had filled and waned since his wife, following four of her offspring, was placed in the burial ground. As the Unrelenting sat alone one evening in his rude hut, one of his people came to inform him that a traveler from a distant tribe had entered the village, and desired food and repose. Such a petition was never slighted by the red man; and the messenger was sent back with an invitation for the stranger to abide in the lodge of the chief himself. Among that simple race, no duties were considered more honorable than arranging the household comforts of a guest: those duties were now performed by the host's own hand, his son having not yet returned from the hunt on which he had started with a few young companions at early dawn. In a little while, the wayfarer was led into the dwelling by him who had given the first notice of his arrival. "You are welcome, my brother," said the Unrelenting. The person to whom this kind salute was addressed was an athletic Indian, apparently of middle age, and habited in the scant attire of his species. He had the war-tuft on his forehead, under which flashed a pair of brilliant eyes. His rejoinder was friendly and brief. "The chief's tent is lonesome- his people are away?" continued the stranger, after a pause, casting a glance of inquiry around. "My brother says true that it is lonesome," the other answered. "Twelve seasons ago, the Unrelenting saw five children in the shadow of his wigwam, and their mother was dear to him. He was strong, like a cord of many fibres. Then the breath of Manito snapped the fibres one by one asunder. He looked with a pleasant eye on my sons and daughters, and wished them for himself. Behold all that is left to brighten my heart!" The Unrelenting turned as he spoke, and pointed to an object just inside the opening of the tent. A moment or two before, the figure of a boy had glided noiselessly in, and taken his station back of the chief. Hardly twelve years seemed the age of the new-comer. He was a noble child! His limbs, never distorted with the ligatures of civilized life, were graceful as 640 The Death of Wind-Foot. June, 1845] the ash, and symmetrical and springy as the bounding stags. It was the last and loveliest of the chieftain's sons - the soft-lipped, nimble Wind-Foot. With the youth's assistance, the preparations for their frugal meal were soon completed. After finishing it, as the stranger appeared to be weary, a heap of skins was arranged for him in one corner of the lodge, and he laid himself down to sleep. It was a lovely summer evening. The moon shone, the stars twinkled, and the thousand voices of a forest night sounded in every direction. The chief and his son reclined at the opening of the tent, enjoying the cool breeze which blew freshly upon them, and flapped the piece of deer-hide that served for their door, sometimes flinging it down so as to darken the apartment, then raising it suddenly up again, as if to let in the bright moonbeams. Wind-Foot spoke of his hunt that day. He had met with no success, and, in a boy's impatient spirit, wondered why it was that others' arrows should hit the mark, and failure be reserved for him alone. The chief heard him with a sad smile, as he remembered his own youthful traits; he soothed the child with gentle words, telling him that brave warriors sometimes went whole days with the same perverse fortune. "Many years since," said the chief, "when my cheek was soft, and my arms felt the numbness of but few winters, I myself vainly traversed our hunting grounds, as you have done to-day. The Dark Influence was around me, and not a single shaft would do my bidding." "And my father brought home nothing to his lodge?" asked the boy. "The Unrelenting came back without any game," the other answered; "but he brought what was dearer to him and his people than the fattest deer or the sweetest bird-meat — he brought the scalp of an accursed Kansi!" The voice of the chief was deep and sharp in its tone of hatred. "Will my father," said Wind-Foot, "tell -- " The child started, and paused. An Exclamation, a sudden guttural noise, came from that part of the tent where the stranger was sleeping. The dry skins which formed the bed rustled, as if he who lay there was changing his position, and then all continued silent. The Unrelenting proceeded in a lower tone, fearful that they had almost broken the slumber of their guest. "Listen!" said he: "you know a part, but not all the cause of hatred there is between our nation and the abhorred enemies whose name I mentioned. — Longer back than I can remember, they did mortal wrong to your fathers. The scalps of two of your kindred hang in Kansi lodges, and I have sworn, my son, to bear them a never-ending hatred. "On the morning of which I spoke, I started with fresh limbs and a light heart to search for game. Hour after hour, I roamed the forest with no success; and at the setting of the sun, I found myself weary, and many miles from my father's lodge. I laid down at the foot of a tree, and sleep came over me. In the depth of the night, a voice seemed whispering in my ears; it called me to rise quickly -- to look around. I started to my feet, and found no one there but myself: then I knew that the Dream-Spirit had been with me. As I cast my eyes about in the gloom, I saw a distant brightness. Treading softly, I approached. The light was that of a fire, and by the fire lay two sleeping figures. O, I laughed the quiet laugh of a deathly mind, as I saw who they were -- a Kansi warrior, and a child, like you, my son, in age. I felt the edge of my tomahawk -- it was keen as my hate. I crept toward them as the snake crawls through the grass. I bent over the slumbering boy; I raised my weapon to strike. But I thought that were they both slain no one would carry the tale to the Kansi tribe. My vengeance would be tasteless to me if they knew it not -- and I spared the child. Then I glided to the other; his face was of the same cast as the first, which gladdened me, for then I knew they were of close kindred. I raised my arm — I gathered my strength -—I struck, and cleft the warrior's brain in quivering halves!" The chief had gradually wrought himself up to a pitch of loudness and rage, and his hoarse tones at the last part of his narration, rang croakingly through the lodge. At that moment, the deer-hide curtain kept all within in darkness; the next, it was lifted up, and a flood of the moonlight filled the apartment. A startling sight was back there, then! The strange Indian was sitting up on his couch, his distorted features glaring toward the unconscious ones in front, with a look like that of Satan to his antagonist angel. 1845.) The Death of Wind-Foot 641 His lips were parted, his teeth clenched, his arm raised, and his hand doubled - every nerve and sinew in bold relief. This spectacle of fear lasted only for a moment; the Indian at once sank noiselessly back, and lay with the skins wrapped round him as before. It was now an advanced hour of the night. Wind-Foot felt exhausted by his day's travel; the father and son arose from their seat at the door, and retired to rest. In a little while, all was silence in the tent; but from the darkness which surrounded the bed of the stranger; flashed two fiery orbs, rolling about incessantly like the eyes of an angry wild beast. The lids of those orbs closed not in slumber during the night. Among the former inhabitants of this continent, it was considered rudeness, of the highest degree, to annoy a traveler or a guest with questions about himself, his last abode or his future destination. Until he saw fit to go, he was made welcome to stay, whether for a short time or a long one. Thus, on the morrow, when the strange Indian showed no signs of departing, the chief expressed not the least surprise, but felt indeed a compliment indirectly paid to his powers of entertainment. Early the succeeding day, the Unrelenting called his son to him, while the stranger was standing at the tent-door. He told Wind-Foot that he was going on a short journey, to perform which and return, would probably take him till nightfall. He enjoined the boy to remit no duties of hospitality toward his guest, and bade him be ready at evening with a welcome for his father. The sun marked the middle of the afternoon - when the chief, finishing what he had to do sooner than he expected, came back to his own dwelling, and threw himself on the floor to obtain rest, for the day though pleasant, had been a warm one. Wind-Foot was not there, and after a little interval the chief stepped to a lodge near by to make inquiry after him. "The young brave," said a woman, who appeared to answer his questions, "went away with the chief's strange guest many hours since." The Unrelenting turned to go back to his tent. "I cannot tell the meaning of it," added the woman, "but he of the fiery eye, bade me, should the father of Wind-Foot ask about him, say to the chief these words, 'Unless your foe sees you drink his blood, that blood loses more than half its sweetness!" The Unrelenting started as if a scorpion had stung him. His lip trembled, and his hand involuntarily moved to the handle of his tomahawk. Did his ears perform their office truly? Those sounds were not new to him. Like a floating mist, the gloom of past years rolled away in his memory, and he recollected that the words the woman spake were the very ones he himself had uttered to the Kansi child whose father he slew long, long ago, in the forest! And this stranger? Ah, now he saw it all. He remembered the dark looks of his guest - and carrying his mind back again, traced the features of the Kansi in their matured counterpart. And the chief felt too conscious for what terrible purpose Wind-Foot was in the hands of this man. He sallied forth, gathered together a few of his warriors, and started swiftly to seek his child. About the same hour that the Unrelenting returned from his journey, Wind-Foot, several miles from home, was just coming up to his companion, who had gone on a few rods ahead of him, and was at that moment seated on the body of a fallen tree, a mighty giant of the woods that some whirlwind had tumbled to the earth. The child had roamed about with his new acquaintance through one path and another with the heedlessness of his age; and now while the latter sat in perfect silence for several minutes, Wind-Foot idly sported near him. It was a solemn spot; in every direction around were towering patriarchs of the wilderness, growing and decaying in solitude. At length the stranger spoke" "Wind-Foot!" The child, who was but a few yards off, approached at the call. As he came near, he stopped in alarm; his companion's eyes had that dreadfully bright glitter again - and while they looked at each other, terrible forebodings arose in the boy's soul. "Young chieftain," said the stranger, "you must die!" "The brave is in play," was the response, "Wind-Foot is a little boy." "Serpents are small at first," replied the savage, "but in a few moons they have fangs and deadly poison. Hearken, branch from an evil root! — I am a Kansi! — The youth your parent spared in the forest has now become a man. Warriors of his tribe point to him and say, 'His father's scalp adorns the lodge of the Unrelenting, but the wgiwam of the Kansi is 642 The Death of Wind-Foot. June, bare!'--Wind-Foot! it must be bare no longer!? The boy's heart beat quickly--but beat true to the stern courage of his ancestors. "I am the son of a chief," he answered, "my cheeks cannot be wet with tears." The Kansi looked at him a few seconds with admiration, which soon gave way to malignant scowls. Then producing from an inner part of his dress a withe of some tough bark, he stepped to Wind-Foot, and began binding his hands. It was useless to attempt resistance, for besides the disparity of their strength, the boy was unarmed, while the savage had at his waist a hatchet, and a rude stone weapon resembling a poniard. He pointed to Wind-Foot the direction he must take, gave a significant touch at his girdle, and followed close on behind. When the Unrelenting and his people started to seek for the child and that fearful stranger, they were lucky enough to find the trail which the absent ones had made. None except an Indian's eye could have tracked them by so slight and devious a guide. But the chief's sight was sharp with paternal love: they followed on-—winding, and on again-—at length coming to the fallen tree. The train was now less irregular, and they traversed it with greater rapidity. Its direction seemed towards the shores of a long narrow lake. The grounds here were almost clear of trees; and as they came out, the Unrelenting and his warriors swept the range with their keen eyes. Was it so indeed?--There, on the grass not twenty rods from the shore, were the persons they sought--and fastened near by was a canoe. They saw from his posture that the captive was bound; they saw, too, that if the Kansi should once get him in the boat, and gain a start for the opposite side, where very likely some of his tribe were waiting for him, release would be almost impossible. For a moment only they paused. Then the Unrelenting sprang off, uttering the battle cry of his tribe, and the rest joined in the terrible chorus and followed him. As the sudden sound was swept along by the breeze to the Kansi's ear, he jumped to his feet, and with that wonderful self-possession which distinguishes his species, determined at once what was safest and surest for him to do. He seized Wind-Foot by the shoulder, and ran toward the boat, holding the boy's person as a shield from any weapons the pursuers might attempt to launch after him. He possessed still the advantage. It was a fearful race; and the Unrelenting felt his heart grow sick, as the Indian, dragging his child, approached nearer to the water's edge. "Turn, whelp of a Kansi!" the chief madly cried. "Turn, thou whose coward arm warrest against children! Turn, if thou darest, and meet the eye of a full- grown brave!" A loud taunting laugh was borne back from his flying enemy to the ears of the furious father. The savage did not look round, but twisted his left arm, and pointed with his finger to Wind-Foot's throat. At that moment, he was within twice his length of the canoe. The boy heard his father's voice, and gathered his energies, faint and bruised as he was, for a last struggle. Vain his efforts! for a moment only he loosened himself from the grip of his foe, and fell upon the ground. That moment, however, was a fatal one to the Kansi. With the speed of lightning, the chief's bow was up at his shoulder-—the cord twanged sharply-—and a poison-tipped arrow sped through the air. Faithful to its mission, it cleft the Indian's side, just as he was stooping to lift WInd-Foot in the boat. He gave a wild shriek; his blood spouted from the wound, and he staggered down upon the sand. His strength, however, was not yet gone. Hate and measureless revenge-—the stronger that they were baffled—-raged within him, and shot through his eyes, glassy as they were beginning to be with death-damps. Twisting his body like a bruised snake, he worked himself close up to the bandaged Wind-Foot. He felt to his waistband, and drew forth the weapon of stone. He laughed a laugh of horrid triumph-— he shouted aloud-—he raised the weapon in the air-—and just as the death-rattle sounded in his throat, the instrument (the shuddering eyes of the child saw it, and shut their lids in intense agony,) came down, driven too surely to the heart of the hapless boy. When the Unrelenting came up to his son, the last signs of life were fading in the boy's countenance. His eyes opened and turned to the chief; his beautiful lips parted in a smile, the last effort of expiring fondness. On his features flitted a lovely look, transient as the ripple athwart the wave, a slight tremor shook him, and the next minute Wind-Foot was dead. servative minds of the country, far more numerous, and more powerful, have had no organ of the kind through which to utter their sentiments, and spread a healthier influence through the community. Besides these considerations, it is evident to all that our literature demands place on a higher basis than hitherto it has occupied, and the character of the nation a more honorable defence against foreign malignity and arrogance. It is time we should free ourselves from literary dependence and the flood of trash inundating the country, and repel the hostility of Europe with the dignity that belongs to a great and prosperous people. It is thought expedient, therefore, to establish a Magazine or Review, which, discarding all sectional and sectarian influence, shall aim to defend the great and true interests of the Republic; to harmonize, in a kindlier acquaintanceship, the different sections of the country; to set forth more clearly the inexhaustible resources of our territory; to elevate the morals of the people; to withstand pusillanimity at home and indignities abroad; to promote American science and diffuse throughout the land a higher order of taste in letters and the arts. Above all, it is, under God, the design of this Review to put down and demolish, by whatever weapons of reason or ridicule, the specious theories and doctrines assiduously sown among the people by Jacobin demagogues, and unprincipled, or visionary, organs of the press--holding forth in their place the only safe principles--liberty under law, progress without destroying, protection to every thing established worthy of national honor. 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This month their Whig rivals are clearly masters of the field. Indeed, we have never seen an abler number of any American Magazine, than this second Number of Mr. Colton's Review." -—NEW WORLD. "The second Number of this excellent Magazine is received, and its Table of Contents is rich indeed. It is conducted with that measure of ability, we think, which must insure its success." --EXPRESS. A NEW GREEK READER. A NEW SELECTION OF EASY AND CLASSICAL GREEK, PRINCIPALLY FROM THE EARLIER WRITERS; WITH COPIOUS NOTES AND REFERENCES TO THE GRAMMARS MOST WIDELY IN USE, or E. A. SOPHOCLES AND PROF. BULLION: BY J. O. COLTON, FORMERLY TUTOR IN YALE COLLEGE: TO BE CAREFULLY REVISED UNDER THE SUPERVISION OF THE EDITOR OF THE "AMERICAN REVIEW," BROTHER TO THE DECEASED, AND ACCOMPANIED BY AN AMPLE LEXICON, PREPARED BY E. A. SOPHOCLES. This Reader has been extensively introduced into schools and colleges throughout the country, and its merits generally acknowledged. When thoroughly revised, it will be a work peculiarly adapted, beyond any other of the kind, to induct the student, easily and by degrees, into a knowledge of the Greek language. Its great merits will be, that the Greek selected will be mostly of the pure style of the earlier writers; that it will not be too difficult for the learner, but lead on from the simplest passages to those less easy; that the notes will be ample but concise, not distracting the attention from the text by a display of unnecessary information; that there will be, from page to page, the fullest references to those Grammars which are most generally used through the country; and that the Lexicon will be particularly adapted, by its full definitions and forms of inflection, to make the acquisition of the language easier to the student. To the excellence of the former edition, many valuable testimonials have been given, chiefly from authorities in our first Colleges. It had, however, several defects, such as are incident to the first publication of a Classical work; and it was intended by the Author to revise the work thoroughly for new editions. This having been some time since prevented by his unfortunate and early death, the revision will go on under other but careful hands; and it is believed that this Reader will be an aid to the rapid acquisition of the Greek language far superior to any other before the community. It is designed that the new edition shall be made ready for publication during the winter and spring. [[margin]] POSTAGE, after July 1st, will be only 7 1/2 Cents. [[/margin]] THE AMERICAN REVIEW: A WHIG JOURNAL OF POLITICS, LITERATURE, ART AND SCIENCE. "TO STAND BY THE CONSTITUTION." No. VI. JUNE, 1845. Subscriptions received at the Office, 118 Nassau-street. WILEY AND PUTNAM, 161 BROADWAY, NEW-YORK; AND 6 WATERLOO PLACE, REGENT-ST., LONDON. All Communications must be addressed to the Editor, G. H. COLTON, 118 Nassau-street, N. Y. This number contains three and a half sheets. PROSPECTUS OF THE AMERICAN REVIEW. IT having been determined to establish a Political and Literary Monthly Review, to be conducted in the city of New-York by GEORGE H. COLTON, ESQ., and devoted to the permanent maintenance of WHIG principles and improvement of AMERICAN literature: The undersigned, Whig members of the Twenty-eighth Congress, from the several sections of the Union, in consideration of the great importance of such a work, do most cordially approve of the design, and urge it upon the Whigs of the Republic for their effective and unwavering support. We believe it to be most strongly demanded by the permanent interests of the country: and the appeal is made to those having these interests most at heart. And for the sake of perfect confidence in its political course, assurance is herby given, that the continual assistance of leading men of the Whig Party has been secured, and that full trust is reposed in the views and abilities of the Editor. Members of the Senate. Willie P. Mangum, N. C., President of Senate. George Evans, Maine. J. J. Crittenden, Kentucky. J. Macpherson Berrien, Georgia. James F. Simmons, Rhode Island. James Alfred Pearce, Maryland. Richard H. Bayard, Delaware. J. W. Huntington, Connecticut. Samuel S. Phelps, Vermont. Alexander Barrow, Louisiana. J. T. Morehead, Kentucky. W. C. Rives, Virginia. William Woodbridge, Michigan. Ephraim H. Foster, Tennessee. W. L. Dayton, New-Jersey. John Henderson, Mississippi. Members of the House. Garret Davis, Kentucky. Charles Hudson, Massachusetts. George W. Summers, Virginia. Samuel T. Vinton, Ohio. John White, Kentucky. Daniel P. King, Massachusetts. K. Rayner, North Carolina. George B. Rodney, Delaware. S. C. Sample, Indiana. F. H. Morse, Maine. Milton Brown, Tennessee. Washington Hunt, New-York. Henry Y. Cranston, Rhode Island. Charles M. Reed, Pennsylvania. John J. Hardin, Illinois. C. H. Carroll, New-York. William A. Moseley, New-York. James Dellet, Alabama. Robert C. Schenck, Ohio. J. Phillips Phoenix, New-York City. Alexander H. Stephens, Georgia. Earnestly approving of the plan of such a national organ, long needed and of manifest importance, the undersigned agree to contribute for its pages, from time to time, such communications as may be requisite to set forth and defend the doctrines held by the united Whig Party of the Union. George P. Marsh, of Vermont. J. R. Ingersoll, of Philadelphia. T. L. Clingman, of North Carolina. Daniel Webster, of Boston. Rufus Choate, of Boston. Robert C. Winthrop, of Boston. Hamilton Fish, of New-York City. J. Collamer, of Vermont. W. S. Archer, of Virginia. Alexander H. Stephens, Ga. D. D. Barnard, of Albany. E. Joy Morris, of Philadelphia. John Macpherson Berrien, of Ga. Thomas Butler King, of Georgia, J. P. Kennedy of Baltimore. John J. Hardin, of Illinois. The reasons leading to the design of this Review are many and obvious. There has long been, and, it is feared, will be, a fraction in the Republic, assuming popular forms, but led on by demagogues, against the true interests of the country. Under such guidance they have already inflicted many injuries on the body of the Commonwealth- have crippled our commerce, reduced our manufactures, diminished our revenue, dissipated our treasure, deranged our currency, dishonored our schools, corrupted popular suffrage, yet strengthened Executive power, diminished the hard earnings of the laborer, and placed a disastrous check on the whole course of internal improvements. In addition to these injuries, they are promulgating or giving countenance to the most dangerous doctrines: That law should have no vitality or force apart from the popular will; that legislation is to be no more stable than party power; that contracts and covenants of to-day may be set aside by a change of majorities to-morrow; that the solemn seats of judicature, and the tribunals of justice are to be directly controlled by the populace; that change in a word, is progress, and the antiquity of an institution hardly compatible with its utility; that crime is rather to be pitied than punished; that companies, corporations, and institutions of learning are monopolies to be warred against; and that in every transition of Government, to the victors belong the spoils; with many other Jabcobinical opinions, from which, if suffered to gain ground, we can look for nothing but the corruption of our morals, the degradation of our liberties, and the ultimate ruin of the Commonwealth. The party styling themselves the Democratic, and arrogating superiority of literary taste and accomplishment, have established, and for some time supported a Review, distinguished for ability, but devotedly maintaining many of these pernicious doctrines, while the con- THE AMERICAN REVIEW. VOL. I. JUNE, 1845. No. VI. CONTENTS. THE MYSTERY OF INIQUITY,.......... 551 AMERICAN LETTERS: THEIR CHARACTER AND ADVANCEMENT, . 575 PRUSSIAN EMPIRE, (By Tacitus.) ......... 581 TRANSLATION FROM HORACE, (By Hermeneutes.) ..... 596 THE VISION OF THE WINGS, (By J. H. Holland.) ..... 597 MARSHAL MURAT, (By J. T. Headley.) ........ 600 A WEEK BETWEEN FLORENCE AND ROME, ...... 613 MODERN CRITICISM: GEORGE SAND, ........ 617 THE DEATH OF WIND-FOOT, (By Walter Whitman.) .... 639 OPINIONS OF NICHOLAS MACHIAVEL CONCERNING POPULAR GOVERNMENT.... 643 THE CAW-CUS. (By J. H. Collier.) ......... 648 GESTA ROMANORUM, ............ 651 CRITICAL NOTICES, ............. 654 NEW-YORK: WILEY & PUTNAM, 161 BROADWAY; AND 6, WATERLOO PLACE, REGENT-STREET, LONDON. PRINCIPAL AGENTS.- Vermont, V. Harrington, Burlington; Boston, Jordan, Swift & Co.; Rhode Island, B. Cranston, Providence; Zieber & Co., Philadelphia; Shurtz & Taylor, Baltimore. Edward O. Jenkins, Printer, 144 Nassau-street. [[Left Page]] TO THE SUBSCRIBERS OF THE AMERICAN REVIEW. [[margin]] After July 1st, the postage on the REVIEW will certainly not be over 7 1/2 cents, probably not over 6 1/2 cents— for any distance. [[/margin]] The first volume of the AMERICAN REVIEW closes with the present number, and we take this occasion to say, that we think we can congratulate our friends upon the prospects of the work, as we certainly have to thank them for their effective interest in its success. The very great importance of the enterprise has been from the first universally acknowledged. The Press have spoken firmly— for which we tender a grateful acknowledgement; but a greater proof of the prevalence of feeling in its favor lies in the fact, that notwithstanding the darkness and despondency following an unlooked for defeat, its remunerative circulation has approached to 3,000–and that in great part by voluntary subscription. But our readers must be aware that this is not enough to make the work a truly effective national organ. We state the case simply as it is. We have done what we could; but what with agency discounts, inevitable losses, and the great expense of the work itself, a circulation of some 2,700 will not allow us to recompense contributors adequately; and without such compensation to them, no Magazine can be effectively sustained. If our friends will aid us in raising its circulation to two or three times its present list— which can be done, if they but will it— we unhesitatingly pledge ourselves to produce a more powerful, a more generous, a more truly national periodical, that has yet arisen, and lived, in the country. We would add, that one great bar to a wider support of the work will be taken away by the new Post Office Law, which will reduce its postage, we believe, to 6 1/2 cents monthly. We intended to have given an index to Vol. I, with most of the names of its writers, but were unable for want of space. It will be given in the next number. Dissatisfaction, we were sorry to see, was expressed by some, in respect to the Engraving of John Quincy Adams. We have only to say, that it was executed from a fine head of the Ex-President, (in the Historical Society,) much admired by himself, Mr. Webster, and many other most reliable judges. Of this painting the engraving is a perfect similitude, and is considered by the personal friends and relatives of Mr. Adams to be the best ever executed of him. [[footnote]] N.B. The Copy-right article entitled “MYSTERY OF INIQUITY,” has been secured by the author, according to law. A full edition, with emendations, is already in press, and will be issued in two or three days. [[/footnote]] [[footnote]] ERRATUM.—Page 574, first column, twelfth line from the bottom, after “shall” insert “not,” so as to read “shall NOT take.” [[/Left Page]] [[Right Page]] THE AMERICAN REVIEW: A WHIG JOURNAL OF POLITICS, LITERATURE, ART, AND SCIENCE. VOL. I. JUNE, 1845. NO. VI. THE MYSTERY OF INIQUITY. A PASSAGE OF THE SECRET HISTORY OF AMERICAN POLITICS, ILLUSTRATED BY A VIEW OF METROPOLITAN SOCIETY. [[margin]] (Continued from page 453.) [[/margin]] THE GREAT POLITICAL CONTEST OF 1844 was precluded by a series of minor circumstances, local in their origin and character, which gave direction, form and effect to the criminal agencies called into action through that momentous strife. However novel the inventions of fraud, however unexpected the new national questions finally presented, however sudden the changes of candidates and of the relative positions of parties, the incidents which controlled the great event were all antecedent to 1844. The great battle was lost and one, beyond retrieval, in 1842 and 1843. These local preliminary facts, therefore, have an import essential to a correct deduction of the effects from their proper causes. The autumnal election of 1843, in New York, first developed one of these essential facts. The success which was secured by wholesale fraud and perjury in the spring, brought with it varied and conflicting obligations. In the dominant party, two mutually hostile elements had been for a long time struggling into separate existence. It was ever the policy, and often the successful agency of that party, to array against each other the various classes of the community,— to excite and wage a social war between portions of the people distinguished from each other by occupation, property, position and rank, interest, religious opinion or Place of birth. At one time, it was— the supposed natural and universal hostility of laborers against their employers and the professional and educated classes; at another time, it was— the imagined antipathy of mechanics and all other classes against the merchants and bankers; at another time, it was— of the debtors against the creditors, the borrowers agains the lenders; at another time, it was— of the stock-jobbers and capitalists against the speculative and enterprising; at another time, it was—of the successful and prosperous men of business against the unfortunate and the bankrupts; at another time, it was— the merchants, and especially the importers, against the mechanics and manufacturers; but, very uniformly, their great cry was—“the poor against the rich;” and it was always— the Romansh sectarian against the Protestant, and the foreign-born against the native of a republican country. Feeding thus the morbid and ravenous appetites of the basest and most malevolent, with mere clamors and with empty denunciations varying in note with every breeze, they had gradually, in sensibly aroused among themselves a spirit of intolerance and animosity between classes, with finally became as perilous to the harmony and success of the party, as it had been to the peace and good order of the community. The mass of naturaliz- 552 The Mystery of Iniquity. (June, naturalized voters were for a long time studiously trained to habits of disorder and insolence in their political action, and were continually taught to regard the peaceable portion of the community and the part associated with them, and the majority of native citizens, as their natural enemies, hostile to their continued enjoyment of equal political privileges and jealous of their intrusion. Assurances were multiplied to them that the party with which they generally acted contained their only friends; and that their only security for the maintenance of their rights, was the ascendency of that party. The strong religious sympathies and antipathies of those who were of the Romish sect were continually played upon; and the great portion of the Protestants, particularly of the more cultivated evangelical order, who predominated in the opposing party, were charged with desiring and designing to deprive Papists of their due share of the advantages of the public systems of education, and to convert the legislation of the State and the distribution of its bounties, to the dissemination of religious opinions hostile to the faith of Rome, among children in the public schools. The Papists, thus excited, became clamorous for new privileges and safeguards, which they finally extorted from their reluctant guardians, who never intended to put themselves to this trouble for them, or to do more than keep awake their hostility to the other party, and retain the great mass of naturalized citizens in support of their own schemes for obtaining and retaining political power. The services of their "adopted" friends, at the polls, in public meetings and in riots, were paid only with fine speeches, professions of peculiar affection and admiration for "foreigners," and innumerable declamations against "the moneyed aristocracy," as the natural and deadly foes of the democracy and the hard-fisted working-men. of the "spoils of victory" won by their labors, they seldom received even a pittance. From office they were almost uniformly excluded by those of American birth, who used them but as tools and stepping-stones for their personal advantage. Year after year, the accession of the peculiar friends of the "foreigners" to power brought but this result in spite of the dissatisfaction consequently accumulating. The time came at last, when this unequal management of patronage could be endured no longer. Emboldened by their success in obtaining special legislation for sectarian purposes, through their rebellious dictation in 1841, they took occasion, on the eve of the Charter Election of 1843, to threaten another schism and a separate organization, by which their previous political associates would be inevitably overthrown, and the party usually in apparent minority, placed in power almost without occasion for effort. Their ultimatum to the chief candidates and responsible organizations of the party was- the demand of an unequivocal promise of "a fair division of the spoils" with the largest number of offices given to the naturalized citizens, who for some years had given more than half and sometimes nearly two-thirds of the lawful votes of that party. They claimed, with very little exaggeration, a force of not less than 10,000 voters of foreign nativity, entitled by every republican usage and rule to more than half of the emoluments of the government; and as they were confessedly deficient in qualified candidates for their due proportion of the more honorable and higher-salaried offices, this was to be compensated by yielding to them a still larger number of appointments humbler in rank and pay. These claims, enforced by threats which they had less than two years before shown to be of serious significance, were, of necessity, recognized by the powers that were to be; and secret assurances were given to the claimants, that they should no longer be wronged of their share of the pecuniary benefits of success, and that they should have a full and fair apportionment of offices and employments. This contract was fulfilled in good faith by the dominant party, immediately after their accession to power. A violation or imperfect performance of it would have exposed them to certain overthrow, and political death from the vengeance of their naturalized friends. When the usual sweeping removal of all the incumbents took place, hundreds of appointments which were demanded and expected, as a matter of course, by faithful partisans of American birth, were conferred upon persons of foreign origin and accent, odious to the great mass of their political associates, and despised by them for their brutality, ignorance, and their enslavement to an obnoxious religion. Watchmen, lamp-lighters, street-sweepers, bell-ringers, dock-masters, &c., &c., &c., were found almost exclusively among a class who had before been accounted by 1845.) The Mystery of Iniquity. 553 regularly established "old line" of office-holders, as but "the dogs under the table, that eat of the children's crumbs." The good old rule of distribution, time-hallowed and precious, had been "Let the children be first filled: for it is not meet to take the children's bread, and cast it to the dogs." The disappointment, disgust and wrath caused by this new arrangement of the policy of patronage, broke forth instantaneously with a power not before appreciated— a vindictive passion not anticipated— by those who had known these agents of political corruption but as the servants of party, and who had seen their fidelity only when hired and paid, and had heedlessly mistaken them for slaves, working in bondage, like the mass, in the chains of prejudice and envious stupidity- without fee or reward other than the gratification of beholding the mortification, injury and abasement of those who ranked above them in society. They mis-counted the weight of these base influences. These, however mighty, could not outweigh the sense of new wrong inflicted by those under whose direction they had sacrificed all— honesty, conscience, self-respect, reputation, the good opinion of respectable and independent freemen. The outburst of the fury thus excited, overbore for a time all the barriers of party despotism, and rent the bonds of foreign thraldom to an extent not easily to be repaired. The new movement became a flood which rose to a hight "unknown within the memory of the oldest inhabitant" of the sinks of political crime and slavery. The "high-water mark" o factious rebellion was completely transcended and obliterated. The discontent and disaffection thus generated delayed not its manifestations to the ordinary period of partisan action. Within six weeks after the action of the newly installed municipal government of the city, the incipient action was taken. At midsummer, a new political body was complete in its existence and organization. For the first time in the history of American politics, a THIRD PARTY was actually formed, capable of sustaining itself in being, after innumerable similar efforts in previous years had only brought their parentage into deserved ridicule, from the despicable character of the insignificant, lifeless abortions which had been thus produced. Through the summer and autumn of 1843, the work of formation was carried on by vigorous hands. The character and source of the movement can be sufficiently distinguished by the date of its origin. The defeated party was, by nature and habit, incapable of an effort to rally immediately after such a stunning defeat, however caused. For any election of secondary importance, they could never organize until the last moment. Throughout that season, both the mass and the leaders of that party remained in complete inaction and indifference. Their ordinary movement began in the usual manner, at the usual time, within two months of the election. Of the new party, they knew nothing; and the great majority totally discredited the reports of its progress and strength. They generally regarded it as a mere trick of the old enemy to divide them, and when assured that it would poll from 7,000 to 10,000 votes in the fall, declared it impossible that it could give over 2,000, and hardly probable that it would amount to more than 1,000. The meetings of the new party were kept up with great animation, and displayed a force derived almost exclusively from the ranks of the party which had triumphed at the Charter Election. Their most prominent leaders were persons recently conspicuous as the worst and most malignant enemies of the party previously in possession of the city government— suddenly turned into hostility to their former associates by the manner in which the patronage of the corporation had been exercised to their exclusion. Disappointed office-seekers were the nucleus of the organization, and the directors of its policy. They availed themselves of the sectarian rancor of large portions of their old party, revived religious feuds, and successfully appealed to the envy with which the lowest order of native laborers and shop-keepers regarded the cheap competition of those who from their foreign birth and servile breeding, were capable of existing at much smaller expense than those of republican origin. The outcries of bigotry and intolerance, before unknown to republican America, were borrowed from the political vocabularies of the Old World, which has not yet learned to exclude from the affairs of the COMMONWEALTH, those questions which pertain only to the CHURCH,- which continually degrades religion by forcing its interests into contact with the selfish purposes of unprincipled office-seekers and office-holders, and ever seeks to make those things subjects of legislation that are truly only matters of opinion VOL. I. - NO. VI. 36 554 The Mystery of Iniquity. [June, opinion and moral suasion. "MISCERE HUMANA DIVINAQUE"—"to mingle human things with divine"— was an outrage upon the conscience and judgment of man unenlightened by revelation, revolting to the moral sense of even the Roman of that corrupt age which is blackened in the memory and records of the human race by the betrayal and death of classic democracy. To American republicanism, had hitherto been given the peculiar honor of marking and maintaining this vital distinction, by the obliteration of which for 2000 years, man's terrors of the retributions of the next world had been made the means of his degradation, ruin, and enslavement in this. The new party was a foreign party, in every lineament of its physiognomy, and in every circumstance of its origin. While it usurped and blasphemed the name of "American" and "republican," it derived its principles and policy from brutal British bigotry and the bloody lawlessness of Swiss and German revolutionary radicalism. Its incipient movements were aided by the presence of foreigners, who thronged its assemblies at all times, furnishing the watch-words of the new faction, and giving the key-note of its anthems, the responses of its blasphemous orgies, from the exploded formularies of disbanded Orange lodges and of outcast European fanaticism. Learning from such teachers the mode of associating religious jealousies with political advantage, the native grog-shop-keepers, rooted out of their richest wallowing-places by the competition of German Schlossen, Zum-what-not-Stadten, and Bier-Hausen, Gast-Hausen, &c., innumerable, of jaw-dislocating and throat-rasping roughness of designation, rushed into the movement for the exclusion of foreigners from all offices of trust and profit, including that most responsible privilege of dealing out liquors at three cents a glass under the authority and appointment of the State. Thus met in new war the before harmonious elements of bigotry and vice from both divisions of the world, while, over all, the cold-blooded, calculating spirit of democratic American office-seeking faud presided as the inciting and directing cause, and made the Bible the stepping-stone and footstool of political power. The most ignorant and poverbially fanatical Protestant sects, (a large majority of whom are always associated with the political party which panders to envious vulgarity,) joined, almost en masse, in the foreign war-cry of "No Popery" — a sound novel to American ears. They were soon joined by others, connected with them in but few points of religious association, and sympathetic only in hatred of a common enemy, not in Christian "love of one another." The result of this attempted "consort of Christ with Belial" was, that in the autumnal election of 1843, with 5000 votes drawn from the ranks of the party of corruption, were given 2800 from their old opponents. The ordinary agencies of "the old plan" of fraud were freely employed; and "the regular ticket" of the corruptionists received a little less than 15,000 votes, on an average, while the ballots of the faithful, law-abiding portion of the community amounted to a little more than 14,000. The loss of 5000 votes to one party was more easily repaired to it than that of 2800 to the other. The first had but to extend its system of fraud; the second, repelling the thought of such agencies, had no remedy or preventative of evil but vainly to present the unity of its cause— the necessity of the exclusion of all local, temporary, extraneous issues, on the eve of a great national contest. The Charter Election of the spring of 1844, the very year of national destiny, opened under these auspices. The two old parties organized and acted as usual. That which had the lawful majority could but present to its usual supporters the plain fact, that the retention of their full force at the previous autumnal election would have given them every office, besides the moral effect of a plurality in the city, with the evidence of a division in the ranks of their opponents. But such representations were made to those who were worse than deaf and blind — to many who were ready at any time to sell their votes to whatever party would raise the value of any property then in their hands— State stocks, real estate, or anything else-—men who were ever ready to betray their country's interests for their own temporary gain. Yet, surprising as it may seem, each one of these men would have considered himself insulted by an offer to betray any other moral obligation for money— as, for instance to sell the honor of his wife, the liberty of his child— but only because, in so doing, he would destroy his domestic peace, and mar his selfish gold-bought comforts. 1845.] The Mystery of Iniquity. 555 Thus was the preliminary contest of that eventful year heralded. Ten thousand true voters were pledged to abide by their principles, even to the rising of the sun on the election day. Fifteen thousand were equally resolved to give their ballots to the new party's candidates. The gamblers and speculators in elections had noted these movements, changes, and pledges, with a wary eye. Twenty thousand votes would be more than enough to secure victory to the ordinary agencies of fraud, in this position of matters. Trusting to the political honor of those whom no wise man will ever again entrust with his personal interests, hopes, or fame, they staked their money freely and boldly, and lost it as freely. Between the rising and the setting sun of that day, 5000 votes were changed, which reversed the destiny not merely of that day, but of the age. Not a gambler or a cheat that lost his money on that issue but rose the day after both "a sadder and a wiser man." Barclay Street and Park Row were half-beggared by the result. Yet, when in a politico-religious controversy, the Five Points and Corlaer's Hook were, for the first time, arrayed against each other, what speculator in politics could safely judge? Who could have known, except by examining both sections on Dens's Theology and the Assembly's Catechism, that one was Popish and the other vehemently Protestant?- when "democracy" was divided against itself- this part declaring that they would be damned if they would have the Bible in the schools, and that part swearing that they would be damned if they wouldn't. The history of that folly is already written, closed and sealed. Few will care to remember that the party which thus originated, expired at last in a sort of collapsed stage of a moral spasmodic cholera, having so exhausted itself with repeated vomitings forth of the undigested abominations which it had too hastily swallowed, that it was finally destroyed by strangling with an ineffectual convulsive effort to disgorge the nauseous remainder. The gamblers, and the leaders, and candidates of the ejected party were rendered desperate by the result; but when they are desperate they are dangerous; for "desperate men do desperate things." Few of them had ever seen darker hours for their political prospects or their pecuniary hopes. They saw around them a divided party, defeated by division. They saw its all—destructive energies, baffled without, (notwithstanding the aid of treachery which they had encouraged in gibbering folly,) grown SELF-destructive, scorpion-like turning its venomous and deadly sting upon its own vitals. They saw arrayed against them in brighter hope and more united force than ever before, even when on the eve of unparalleled victory, the millions of a host invincible by any honest and legal means— mighty not only by the power of democratic numbers, the prosperous harmony of all orders and occupations under beneficent protective legislation, and the nobly vindictive courage of patriotic spirit conscious of real strength to assert and completely execute a just popular judgment checked in its incipient performance only by mercenary knavery and corruption,— but above all, exulting in the long-deferred opportunity to render justice and honor to the man of their enthusiastic admiring choice, deriving new strength and confidence in their renewed labors, from his towering greatness and pure renown. The whole party throughout the nation was united in singleness and community of purpose, in principle and policy, as perfectly as in the selection of their great representative. These views and impressions of the prospects of parties were not confined to the defeated section in this city, but pervaded the minds of its leaders and guides in every portion of the country, but especially at the seat of the General Government. From the summer of the year 1843, the portents of their downfall and lasting exclusion from power had been multiplying; and every new movement continued to distract and weaken them while it increased popular confidence in the fortunes of their powerful foes. The certain existence of a rapidly increasing majority of the States and people against them, was known and considered in their secret councils from the highest to the lowest place. Contemplating the threatened defeat as the complete annihilation of their party and the ruin of all their schemes of personal ambition, the oldest and greatest of that formidable league of corrupt, unprincipled and desperate politicians did not for a moment hesitate to seek the invention and employment of unlawful, wicked means, by which the constitutional majority of the people could be overwhelmed and the 556 The Mystery of Iniquity. (June, public judgment be falsely declared from the polls. No man knowing the character of those men whose political fortunes and personal interests were thus depending on the result can believe them incapable of any enormity of fraud and corruption which they might deem necessary to save their party from destruction and themselves from powerless obscurity. They had all been trained and habituated for years to falsehood and the most wanton disregard of the principles of morality and honor in their relations to the public. The accomplishment of a political objet, the success of a party, is always considered by such men as a purpose so good in itself as to justify all means necessary to that end, or at any rate to make crime a matter of indifference or trifling moral importance. At an early period in the year 1844, the fact of a deficiency of votes in a majority of the States for the candidates of that party (whoever might be nominated) was communicated among the responsible leaders and managers all over the country; and the sense of the necessity of supplying that deficiency by fraud was simultaneously impressed on all, while the publications and organs of the party in every quarter studiously maintained a stout show of confidence in a certain victory by the lawful suffrages of the people. The directors and agents being duly possessed of this fact, took care to obtain first a just and veritable estimate of the actual numbers of the lawful voters of their own party, and of those opposed to them. After doing this was assigned to the same partisan agents, or still more trustworthy and respectable men selected as their representatives, the mighty task of creating in all the various practicable sections and counties a fictitious equivalent to the small lawful majority of voters positively known to exist against them in each. This measure, or system of measures was, through safe and determined men, put in operation in every part of the United States throughout the year 1844. Before the 4th of March in that year, the plan was completed, and was incipient operation from the extreme northeast to the remotest southwest. The direction was central. The apparent origin of the scheme was in the National Capital; but there were some in the great original seat of fraud, who knew from what source the primary suggestions of the scheme had proceeded, who could trace in the history of New York legislation and in the character of a peculiar portion of a New York population, the composition of details suited especially to precious political emergencies in this great school and scene of political crime. The associated gamblers and criminals of the city of New York had for many years maintained a peculiar connexion with the cognate fraternity of political adventures and speculators who formed the nucleus and directive agency of "the party" here. Distinct in organization, though often possessing some members in common, these two sub-communities of knavery had subsisted, each in the own sphere, but in a sympathetic contact, productive of reciprocal profit incalculably great, and consequently accumulating durability by duration. The gamblers had long been in the habit of paying to the responsible agents of the party with which they were thus associated, a large sum of money just before each election, as a consideration for secret political intelligence upon which they could make their betting calculations, and also as a means of bringing about the purposed effects which constituted the certain details of success. The authorized General Committee of the party made an exact, thorough canvass of the actual lawful vote of the city just before each election, and, upon that, decided how many spurious voted were wanted to secure practical results, and where they were wanted and could be desirably bestowed. They could announce to their secret allies, with great precision, the real majorities against them; and then they arranged with them, in like precision, the exact apparent majorities in every ward or district, which were to be produced by their joint means and agencies in the manufacture of false votes. The sum raised by the gamblers, and contributed to the party treasury as their equivalent for secret intelligence, was $3000 in the spring of 1844, and did not much vary from that amount for some time previous. This both paid the expenses of the laborious preliminary canvass, and furnished means for making good its deficiencies by illegal ballots. The gamblers could also furnish the instruments and agents of fraud from among their retainers and dependents. All the powerful influences of the lawless and criminal class of the community were withing their reach. The consciousness of a common character and purpose, 1845.) The Mystery of Iniquity. 557 connecting them securely with those who avowedly lived by statute-breaking villany, was a tie of irresistible, mutually attractive force, which enabled them to communicate always with perfect confidence and safety. They could therefore, at the briefest notice, call out an auxiliary legion as prompt to execute the measures of fraud as their patrons were ingenious to design, invent or direct. With the information thus distinctly furnished, the gamblers could always make the business of "betting on elections" a game of skill and certainty to themselves -- a game of chance only to fools. The number of lawful votes belonging to each party in each Ward, the number of absentees, of doubtful and undecided voters, the number of illegal votes required and secured to produce the desired majorities, the amount of those majorities in every instance, with an exactness varying only by tens in a Ward, and by hundreds in the whole city -- were all fixed data foreknown to the gamblers and "sporting characters" through revelations thus given. The secresy, vigilance and activity necessary to the safe and sure retention of these matters among the favored class, were easily maintained by a body of men with faculties so sharpened and disciplined by continued exercise in unlawful, dishonest pursuits. Honest men, or those habituated only to pursuit of gain by open, respectable business, would be, intellectually as well as morally, less capable of the tasks involved in such an undertaking. The secret might escape, by occasional relaxation of the needful self-restraint and caution: the needful measures would be often neglected; and the execution of deep plans would often fail by deficient arrangements, if they were left to any men but such as were occupied habitually on concealing their own gainful violations of the law of the land and of the decent usages of respectable society. The importance and value of the business of betting on elections made it worthy of the expenditure of time, money and labor which was so freely lavished on these preparations. It opened a much wider and higher field to the operations of the craft than was furnished in the dark dens and closely-curtained saloons of the professional gamblers and their victims. Long usage and the tolerated irregularities of high political excitement had made this form of gambling nominally respectable, - a little more so than the same operations on the race-course. It was the most dignified and respectable variety of the gamester-craft, sanctioned by the public example of many of the most honorable men in society. Editors, high office-holders, merchants and others of well-established character, in both parties, encouraged it by word and action. The vice was executed, or justified, on the ground that it was necessary to offer and take wagers publicly, in order to evince, to the doubtful and wavering portion of the community, a proper confidence in the success of the party, and thus to retain many votes which are always reserved to the last, and are then given to that which appears to be the strongest side. Under these pretenses and influences, were brought within the reach of professional gamblers, many who could in no other way be induced to put themselves in the power of such persons. Thousands who would gamble in nothing else, gambled largely in politics, without shame or scruple, and eagerly rushed into this disgraceful competition with the outcasts of society, till, for some months, the whole country seemed turned into one great race-course, fancy-stock exchange, or gaming-house, where the slang of jockeys, brokers, faro-bankers and thimble-riggers was converted to the expression of political changes, displacing the decent language were wont, in better days, to speak of the dangers of the commonwealth and the duties of the citizen. In all places of public resort, in the streets, the hotels, the oyster-shops, every political discussion was almost inevitably terminated by the tender of a wager from some of the gamblers or their agents, who were continually prowling around, and seeking to provoke or worry incautious men into "backing up their opinion with their money." The effect on the result, designed and soon produced by such operations, was THIS. At least half a million of dollars was offered, pledged and secured to the gambling fraternity and their political coadjutors, by the professed friends of morality, order, peace and protective legislation, upon which they might draw, a few months after sight, to pay all the expenses of the election. A much larger amount than this was staked; but this sum was early secured to the professional speculators in elections; and it was for them to decide how much of this amount it was necessary to anticipate in expenditures 558 The Mystery of Iniquity. [June, to insure their bets. Five hundred thousand dollars ? With half the money, they could beat the strongest candidate ever presented by any party ! The knowledge of the existence of a powerful majority of the people, equivalent to a similar majority in the electoral colleges, against the party of corruption and fraud, had caused deliberate preparations on their part to nullify the popular will, in the very opening of the year 1844. At that time, their prospects were darkest ; and it was amid the alarm of multiplied and accumulating defeats that their desperate resolution was taken never to be defeated for lack of votes, though they lacked voters. In the National Capital, while external dangers and internal strifes shook and rent that once formidable party almost to dissolution, was formed the most awful conspiracy against popular liberty ever known since that of Catiline. The more imminent the peril of that threatened overthrow with its consequent damnation, dreary, hopeless, irretrievable, eternal-the more energetic was the movement to avert such destruction, and more reckless were the actors as to the moral character of the means necessary for their preservation. This, the details, in due time and place forthcoming, will show. The spring of 1844 brought a material change of events and movements,-especially of those which centred in the commercial metropolis, by the organization of a "third party." Originally operating only to the division and injury of that corrupt party which had been in the ascendency in 1843, had been made, by treachery and folly, a means of disorganizing and weakening the other great party, which was then making preparations for the mighty contest for the recovery of the power in the nation and State, that had been meanly stolen from them after they had so nobly won it in 1840. The original nucleus of rejected office-seekers, in whose revengeful and envious covetousness the new party had its origin, might have been content to secure the overthrow of the faction from which they had seceded, by withholding their 5000 votes from their old associates, and thus allowing the just cause of the other party to succeed. But a want of unity and confidence prevented that unfortunate party from availing themselves of such an opportunity. Unable to appreciate the strength and advantage of their position, they were led to abandon it and assume all the responsibility of that malignant hostility to naturalized citizens that originated the new movement, and which was before confessedly imputable only to a revolted section of their opponents. They at once sacrificed that respectable portion of the naturalized voters whose confidence in the justice and wisdom of their policy was then strong and fast increasing, and drove them to hostile measures of self-preservation. The coalition with an unprincipled faction, on the assumption of a new and un-republican principle, was fatal to the rising energy of the great national cause. But while many were induced to commit this folly in thoughtlessness and ignorance, there were others who in part foreknew and purposed the evil. There was a small body of men nominally connected with the betrayed party, insignificant in numbers and influence, odious to the great mass of their old political associates from their opposition to the Presidential candidate who had for years been justly regarded by millions as the representative and embodiment of their principles, and as the man most capable of realizing their hopes and effecting their objects. This little faction, knowing that they had nothing to hope from the man whom they had so long opposed, and so often sought to betray, beheld with small satisfaction the prospect of his election without their aid, in a manner which would render him free from all obligation to them. Few though they were, they were formidable by their great wealth, being almost the only persons in the city who were both able and willing to employ their money freely in politics ; and it was the desire and policy that the party with which they were connected should be so placed as to triumph only by their assistance. As soon as the new movement attracted their attention in the autumn of 1843, they saw in it at once the means of creating a powerful independent force, and sought to make the third party a rallying point for their future operations. They joined the new faction, encouraged it by word and by pecuniary contributions, and labored vigorously to give it firmness, consistency and permanence. Their object was to wield a mass of votes which should be essential to the success of the National party with which they were formerly associated, and to elect to the State and National legislatures a separate 1845.] The Mystery of Iniquity. 559 body of representative who would hold the balance of power, and keep the President in check, unless he should yield to their dictation or recognize their claims. Looking still farther forward, they saw in the new party a basis for their operations on the next succeeding Presidential election, when their own favorite candidate, obnoxious to multitudes of his former associates, would be enabled to stand on his own peculiar ground, as the champion of a new cause, independent of that which he had once deserted. These purposes would have been accomplished, but for the success of the system of fraud which was put in operation for the defeat of their enterprise, as well as of the National party on whose triumph their own objects depended. Such a defeat they did not anticipate. They were so confident of the success of the great candidate, that they had imagined it safe to diminish his strength, in order to make him seem to owe his success to the votes which they claimed to control through the new party. This fatal movement was marked by the desperate foe-so vigilant and suspicious ; and they did not fail to use all means to profit by it. They immediately roused the whole mass of adopted citizens throughout the Union to a sense of their danger from the success of the new coalition. They everywhere denounced the proposed exclusion of naturalized citizens from office and from the elective franchise, and placed themselves boldly in view as the protectors of the threatened rights of that portion of the people. They thus secured to themselves, in solid mass, many tens and scores of thousands of voters totally indifferent to all other political questions in comparison with the vital interests of their own class. Thousands of educated foreigners, who were before content with a residence under the protection of equal laws, and had neglected the privilege of voting, now rushed with animated zeal into the great political struggle, in which they would otherwise have taken no part. Many others, whose strong personal admiration of the greatest man of the nation had always made them resolve to aid his election, were suddenly driven back from his support by seeing his friends associated with their avowed, malignant enemies. Management was also used, by the same direction, to prevent any loss to their Presidential and Gubernatorial tickets from the adhesion of their dissatisfied partisans merely to the third party's nominations for Congress and the State Legislature. Very little effort was necessary. The new party avowedly left its members free to act with their previous political associates severally, in the election of the executive officers of the State and General Government ; and they did so. Whatever encouragement was given by knaves to dupes in regard to any proposed "bargain," by which the third party should give its votes to the Presidential Electors of one of the two National Parties in return for votes given to their candidates for Congress and the Legislature, no man of sense needed any argument to expose a cheat so palpable. There could be no bargain where but one of the parties had anything to give. Every member of the new faction was at the same time a devoted adherent of that one of the two parties with which he had previously agreed, on all points save the boasted "one idea" of exclusion of all but natives from office. There was no power in the coalition, or in any set of men, to transfer a single vote from one of the two original parties to the other ; and, since the selection, they have declared that fact, and gloried in it. The action of the great National Conventions of the two parties, for the nomination of the candidates for the Presidency, which took place in Baltimore in May, 1844, had in both instances a great modifying effect on the aspect of the contest. In the first case, the nomination for the Presidency had fortunately been forestalled by the action of the people themselves, and was not entrusted to the hurried decision of an accidental assembly of ill-advised political aspirants, collected but for a day or two, and subjected to the management of a few artful manoeuvrers and prejudiced, envious, shortsighted intriguers. The nomination for the Vice-Presidency, notwithstanding the woful experience of the time, had been left by the party, without reserve or instruction, to be determined by an incompetent body, who, in conformity with a principle almost universal in its application, hesitating between the three prominent candidates, solved the doubt by hastily throwing their votes for another whose claims had been but for two weeks suggested, and had never been canvassed. They nominated a most eminent, patriotic, and able man, of a fame so nobly elevated, that envious malignity had despaired of reaching it with calumny, yet 560 The Mystery of Iniquity. (June, of a worth so modest and unobtrusive, that jealous ambition had never been aroused among his political associates by a competition for public honors with his exalted and immaculate excellence. The honor, unsought and unexpected by him, sought him, and was forced upon him with a power that left him no course but calmly and conscientiously to assume and sustain the responsibility. Through all the fiery trials of that merciless contest, he passed, with a purity unscathed, untouched. The only reproach uttered against him by the most malignant and daring political enmity, was- the imputation of virtues, good works, and religious merits, by which he was 'made meet to be partaker of the inheritance of the saints in light," rather than to share the earthly dominion of "the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience," A better or purer man, one more unimpeachable, or unapproachable by falsehood, could not be named -- "his enemies themselves being judges." But the introduction of the name of such a candidate, at that peculiar moment, so critical in the evolution of the destiny of the nation and the world, was fraught with consequences most unfortunate and mortal to the hopes and purposes of the age. Timing, as it did, with the recent organization of a new party, between the two great natural moral and political divisions of American society, which developed a professedly religious and sectarian element, before dormant in civil relations, it bore the seeming of an attempt to conciliate, and associate with a cause already strong enough in its moral position, a faction base in the mercenary and prejudiced motives of its origin, and soon defiled with blood of enslaved, alarmed victims of superstition, and blackened with the smoke of burning churches, in which God, the Son of God, was devoutly, though impurely and ignorantly worshiped. It aroused, moreover, in a hundred thousand hearts, the pulsations of a long slumbering animosity to certain peculiar forms of religious benevolence, with which that pure and honored name was associated. For, this enlightened country, like all Christendom, held within it many, who though gifted by God with the full knowledge of their duties to the commonwealth and to themselves, in all their noble relations to their race and kind, as affected by the action of republican electors, of sovereign yet mutually dependent freemen, had never raised or widened their spiritual vision to the view of a Christian philanthropy, vast as the moral necessities of the world, and boundless as the interest of eternity. There were many, faithful and true to their country and their political duty, not prepared in Providence for this assumption of novel and untried responsibilities, whose warm and loyal hearts shrunk from this announcement of a name already half-forgotten in its connexion with temporal interests, and cherished only from its association with the honor of HIM whose "Kingdom is not of this world." That name added no strength to the cause of wise and righteous government, while it took much from it. Multitudes devoted to the faith of Rome, and others holding tenets not technically orthodox and evangelical, were led to forget their sense of duty to their political principles, by a new dread of promoting the triumph of what they considered heresy, bigotry and fanaticism. Though thousands were faithful, notwithstanding any or all of these deadly influences, "faithful even unto death," tens of thousands were driven from their only associations with the cause of peace, purity, justice and truth. The melancholy moral of this movement was- that the first duty of all Christians in their political relations is to regard THE UNITY OF THE CAUSE,-- to be content with giving and seeking only such votes as belong to the civil objects which they profess, and never to attempt to conciliate unpatriotic religious pretension, by offering to make such atonement for sin falsely imputed by disguised infidelity. It taught all who beheld and experienced the consequences of that wanton and vainly guileful scheme, that the basest and most wicked hypocrisy is the "homage" thus paid by virtue to vice, in comparison with which, common hypocrisy, "the homage that vice pays to virtue," is holy and honorable. That nomination to the second office of the Federal Republic invited the repetition of every imaginable exploded calumnious device against the personal moral character of him who needed to ask no forgiveness of his country, which he had served so faithfully, however to the neglect of what every sinful man owes to his God. The professional gamblers, debauchees, cheats and murderers instantaneously broke out in accusation of a man who, had he been a thousand times worse than their lying slanders represented him, might have well denied their competency to judge him, 1845.) The Mystery of Iniquity. 561 by saying to his profligate accusers- "Let him that is without such sin among you, cast the first stone at me." Faithful and blameless in all his personal, domestic and social relations- unstained by even an imputation of falsehood, dishonesty, deception, double-dealing or hypocrisy- famed throughout his life for scrupulous compliance with every public and private engagement, and for the careful discharge of every pecuniary obligation, either legally expressed or remotely implied- frank, sincere, generous, unsuspicious, confiding, and boldly truthful- he presented in his character a model of many virtues especially rare among Americans, and nobly worthy of imitation by the rising generation of his enthusiastic compatriots, in whose hearts he reigned with an unequaled power, founded on love, reverence and respect for his moral traits, as well as on admiration for his great intellectual endowments. The gamblers, the speculators in fraud, the abettors of peculation and perjury, the shameless slaves of intemperance and licentiousness, the habitual cheats and liars, the extortioners, smugglers and dishonest bankrupts- all combined their means, and made pecuniary contributions to print and circulate papers and tracts on "the MORALS of Politics," in which the character of the Presidential candidate of the party opposed to them was exhibited to the religious and conscientious portion of the community, as stained with the most odious, degrading vices, blackened with revolting crimes, and flagrant outrages on decency and piety, with corruption, treachery, deceit, mercenary violation of public obligations, and with a multiplicity and variety of wickedness unparalleled in any instance on record. While under agencies thus originated and directed, the consciences of rigid moralists and Evangelical Protestants were disturbed and perplexed, the jealousy of Papists, Liberal sects, philosophical sceptics and infidels, was kindled to perfect fury by similarly studious inventions, circulated among them, as to the bigoted zeal and gloomy, exclusive Calvinism of the candidate for the Vice-Presidency. From the nomination to the Election, this double system of calumny was in operation on the prejudices of the various religious divisions of the people in every county and town in the Union. Herod and Pilate, the Pharisees and Sadducees, the hypocrite and the blasphemer, were united in the harmonious enforcement of this monstrous scheme of scurrilous abuse and sneaking detraction. The grand plan of operations concerted before the close of 1843, and communicated in every portion of the Union, where an effort was needful and practicable, required, first, a complete and exact secret registration of the whole actual force of their own party, and of the other- with an estimate of the effect of all new causes, then in continuous operation, tending to increase or diminish either, and with due provision for the repeated correction of this account of moral agencies down to the very eve of the great election. The primary political position of each individual in the mass, as determined by his opinions, judgment, self-interest, prejudice, passion, or personal feeling, was but one item in the account- the fundamental element of the calculation. The final solution of the great problem was attained by numberless additions and subtractions of "disturbing causes." The influence of new questions (not originally partisan) as to "protection," naturalization, "annexation," was duly measured and reckoned. The operation of one-sided imputations made by themselves was also carefully weighed- of the terrors of abolition at the South, and the hatred of slavery in the North- of the abhorrence of fanaticism and hypocrisy by infidels and rationalists, and the dread of imputed immorality and licentiousness by "the most straitest sect." The effect of the attempted formation of a new "third party," and of the abortive coalition, was also counted; - all these varied agencies working for the diminution of the natural force of the party of peace, and to the increase of the party of corruption- without a single exception. To establish and maintain, in their own party, a solid basis of action, by securing through all these influences, and others unworthy of mention, a substantial mass of genuine legal voters, was another essentially important measure of the grand plan. To fix with equal exactness the veritable vote of their opponents, was of the same necessity, and, in like manner, indispensable to the advantageous formation and successful management of the best-arranged scheme of fraud. If the cheating game were tried on both sides, there would be an end at once of all certainty in the operations of politics. Thence, the unaffected horror and alarm excited among them in 1840 by the discovery of suspicious and supposed criminal movements 562 The Mystery of Iniquity. (June, made in 1838 by some persons connected with the opposing party in New York, in the introduction of voters from another city. If that party should cheat, and should organize a permanent effective system of frauds on the elective franchise, what would become of the party which justly claimed a monopoly of the business, and a patent-right for the machinery, on the ground of having invented and first used it? Every effort was therefore made by them, especially by those most active in fraud and most interested in its results, to prevent all danger of any renewal of such attempts by their opponents at that time or subsequently; and they succeeded in that prevention to their own entire satisfaction. They have never pretended to suspect or accuse their adversaries of these crimes since. Those upon whom they then succeeded in fixing suspicion have since been excluded not only from the confidence and favor of their own party, but from all hope of power or reward in case of its success. The term "pipe-layer" now remains on the party to which it was first applied, whose more open frauds and least criminal tricks, it was first manufactured to designate. In October, 1840, the party then in possession of the city government and corporation patronage, boldly stepped forward, and took possession of the business of conducting the waters of the Croton into New York city, which was before that, in the exclusive possession of the party then commanding the patronage of the State. The construction of the aqueduct was originally under the direction of commissioners appointed by the State government, then in the hands of the party opposed to that which ruled in the city of New York. The Common Council, on the eve of the Presidential Election, assumed the power of constructing the channels through which the water should be conveyed within the bounds of the city. Large companies of foreigners were immediately employed in digging trenches for the large iron pipes which would be required, two years later, when the aqueduct and reservoirs were completed. The work was totally premature and unnecessary at the time; and the purpose of the managers of the City government, in thus introducing large bodies of foreigners from other places just before the election, was so apparent, that the workmen employed in "laying pipe" were instantly pointed out as the instruments of designed fraud; and the "pipe-layers" were continually spoken of as non-residents brought in to give illegal votes. The term was subsequently thrown back, transferred, and applied by the guilty party to their opponents, in connexion with frauds said to have been committed, two years before the term was invented, by the party which always directed every power within its means to the prevention, detection, and punishment of fraud. The word "pipe-layer," which had acquired its infamous signification from this flagrant abuse and cheat, was perverted by the fraudulent, to the purpose of fastening opprobrium and slander upon their opponents, as a part of their scheme for deterring them from ever attempting to resist fraud by fraud. The vote on one side must always be a fixed quantity, ascertainable by a fair canvass, in order to enable the other party to introduce illegal votes with any reasonable certainty of success. This basis of calculation being secured, the problem is extremely simple and practicable. Given--the exact number of voters of one party, (for instance, 20,000,) and the exact number of the other party (for instance, 17,000,) the solution is--3,000 illegal votes, to counterbalance the majority, and 5,000, &c., or any other number additional, requisite to overcome majorities in other sections of the State. Having surveyed the position of the two great parties and calculated the effect of agencies then in operation on public opinion, the managers and directors of fraud proceeded early to make a diligent canvass and enumeration of the legal voters of each party everywhere. In the city of New York, in the spring of 1844, this secret census stated the whole number of actual qualified electors, at 44,000. However surprising to many this result may seem, and though much smaller in proportion to the whole white population than is found in most other political divisions of the country, -- a careful examination of the various classes of people in the city will confirm this statement, which, those often disputed and condemned, was always repeated and firmly maintained by those acquainted with the facts of this private enumeration. Its probability appears stronger as the inquiry proceeds to the exhibition of the vast number of persons resident in the city who, from various causes, are excluded from the elective franchise. There are in New York many thousand resident 1845.) The Mystery of Iniquity. 563 adult white males included in every census, who are not qualified as voters under the State Constitution, as "citizens of the United States who have resided in the State one year, and in the county six months." A vast transient population, inhabitants of hotels and lodging-houses, and other places of temporary abode, come hither on a venture, seeking a fortune or seeking employment, who, after a few weeks' or months' experience, return to the place whence they came, or to new scenes of a trial, disappointed, and acquiring nothing but sad experience in the sober realization of the vanity of human wishes. Every great city abounds in temporary residents of this description, varying in rank from the literary and philosophical visionary, and the speculator in pecuniary enterprises, to the professional man, the journeyman mechanic and the day-laborer; but New York, from the metropolitan renown of its wealth and power, and its reputation for furnishing splendid opportunities of success to adventure and industry, is continually inundated by rash experimenters, confident of establishing a residence and securing wealth or subsistence -- in numbers beyond the calculation of those who have not carefully observed this peculiar transient population. Many thousand foreigners annually landing here, after a few months, and many more after various periods less than five years, grow wise by the vain expenditure of their little means, and pass on to other places and regions, where labor is better compensated and more in demand, and where the necessaries of life are less costly. Multitudes of these unfortunate strangers die here from want, or the effect of change of climate and habits. The burials in the ground devoted to interments of persons connected with the Popish sect, amount to more than 29,000 within the last twelve years, (averaging fifty-four a week in 1844) and those in the "Potters' field" to more than 10,000, (1400 in 1844, averaging twenty-four a week,) making of both these classes an average of not less than 4,000 per annum, a large proportion of whom are naturally male adults. There are also many thousand seamen registered as residing here, of whom not one-sixth are in port at any election. All the inhabitants of sailor boarding-houses, wherever registered, are also included in the nominal population of the city at every enumeration. More than a thousand of those whose home and property are here, may be found in Europe and other parts of the world, traveling on business or for pleasure, though properly returned, as veritable citizens, in the census. There are also more real residents of New York absent in the country and in other States, at any one time, than can be mentioned in any other place, on account of the wide-spread and important commercial and financial relations of the city. Many foreigners of the higher order, permanently located here, refuse to be naturalized, from prejudice or indifference. Many causes exclude others in large numbers from the exercise of the right of suffrage; but those here specified operate to much more effect in New York than elsewhere. The number of legally qualified voters being fixed at 44,000, by an actual canvass under secret direction, an enumeration or estimate of those who will not vote at any one election, was then made and subtracted. The number of those who, from peculiar habits, opinions, scruples, fears or religious singularities, (with those prevented by disease, sudden domestic calamity or accident,) though regularly entitled, fail to vote, is stated in the secret enumeration as not less than 2,000, leaving 42,000 as the gross number of lawful ballots deposited in one day, when every practicable voter is brought to the polls. Of these, in 1844, the secret canvassers claimed about 20,000 as the whole number of actual voters belonging to their party, supposed or professing to be connected with them. To their opponents, they allowed the remainder-- about 22,000 lawful voters. They declared, also, that the opposite party would, in one way and another, commit frauds to increase their vote, when such momentous interests were at stake; and they pretended to estimate this fraudulent vote at 2,500,-- making the total hostile vote 25,000. They pronounced it necessary to increase their own strength to about 28,000, or, as it was generally stated to the gamblers in secret, before the election, from 27,500 to 28,500. It was sup- posed among their subordinates, that 8,000 or 10,000 illegal votes, in the city, would be sufficient to give them a safe preponderance on the ballot for Presidential electors, and would be decisive of the general result in the State and the Nation. This supposition, or estimate of the vote in New York city, was made up some months before the election, and was 564 The Mystery of Iniquity. (June, communicated to the gamblers, as the basis of their operations; and before the election it came to the knowledge of some persons in the opposing party, engaged in researches into the frauds known to be purposed by those who could succeed only by such enormities. It is very incorrect, in many particulars, and was probably designed to be so by those who furnished it. The only particular in which this secret programme coincided with the actual result, was in the statement of the vote of the apparent majority. The final official returns gave that party 28,296 votes for their Presidential Electors. The other party had 26,385 for their candidates,--a material difference, not accounted for in the estimate. The estimate of the whole lawful vote of the city, (42,000 and 44,000) was--thought improbable, and so apparently untrue, as to be discredited by all hasty readers--quite correct. The statement of 20,000, as the lawful vote of their own party, was totally untrue--known to be false by those who made it. Their true lawful vote was some thousands less. From 42,000, the true (though incredibly small) number of legal voters, take 26,000, the actual number of votes given by the other party--the remainder (16,000) is the veritable statement of the whole number of constitutionally qualified electors, who, at the time when this enumeration was taken, belonged to the party or were induced to vote for their candidates. There was a small unintentional error, though the greatest was intentional. They (as might naturally be expected from bitter partisans, however careful) underestimated the vast latent power and influence of that mighty name that was the hope, the encouragement and strength of their opponents; and they also underestimated the degree of contempt with which their own pitiful nominations were regarded by many hundreds of the more intelligent and respectable of their own partisans. But the great difference between the statement and the truth, was made by a deliberate deception, practiced by them upon their allies and auxiliaries, t he gamblers,--the speculators in political chances and tricks, without whose interested cooperation and hopeful aid they would have failed of securing some of the essential conditions of success in their stupendous inventions of political crime. If they had presented to their kindred cold-blooded community of crime the exact truth--had they announced to them that out of the lawful votes of the city their adversaries would give to their great candidate 26,000 votes against the paltry 16,000 which would constitute the whole force displayed in support of the insignificant, nameless creature of accident whom they had been compelled in desperation to oppose to him, they would have been deserted by the whole mass of these formidable auxiliaries, the "sporting characters" and betting men. The gamblers were to be duped, if necessary;--deceived, they were, at all events. The gamblers knew nothing of the great plans of those who thus operated upon them. They were not trusted with the details, but were assured (and insured by pecuniary pledges) that the party of fraud should poll not less than 27,500, and probably as many as 28,500 ballots, perhaps some thousands more. They were told that their opponents would not give over 25,000 votes, genuine and spurious. Many were, therefore, on this information, induced to bet on 3,000 majority in the city; and some of the most sagacious and experienced lost largely by staking a great amount of money on 3,200, which was considered safe by the most intelligent, until eleven o'clock, A. M., on the day of the Presidential Election. The first great object in thus enlisting and interesting the gamblers, was to cause them to pledge their money to the success of the apparently weaker cause. When the unexpected and offensive result of their nominating Convention in Baltimore was made known here on the first of June, not a wager was offered in its favor, or could be obtained on any terms, for some time. Their politicians received the intelligence with unconcealed disgust and despair. No gambler even thought of speculating on the chances of a nomination thus viewed and received. But this hopeless inactivity did not long continue. There was a mysterious gigantic agency already in vigorous movement, which had been organized some months previous, for the purposes of another Presidential candidate, whose peculiar, devoted, and confidential friends were alone entrusted in this city with its direction and execution, or with the knowledge of its existence. Those who had toiled in its construction, and continued operation thus far, though linked in feeling and in their fortunes with the prospects of ONE MAN, under whose control they moved, were 1845.) The Mystery of Iniquity. 565 yet not devoting their time and energies merely to the success of a favorite chief, or a party, or a cause, or an abstraction. Personal devotion of his followers to himself was a quality never expected or sought by that leader. Political attachment, secured only by disinterested preference, respect or admiration, however well-founded, is a tie too frail and uncertain for the dependence of a life devoted wholly to official employment, profit and advancement. A more practical and lasting bond of union, in spirit and action, was found in "the cohesive attraction of public plunder," as it has been somewhat too bitterly styled by a man eminent for his disappointments in attempting to control it. The advancement of the principal was promoted and secured only by the guarantees of a business-like compact, by whose faithful execution his supporters and assistants were to be compensated in case of his success, in stations graded according to the amount and value of the service rendered to the general enterprise, and the number of years during which fidelity had been maintained. Political enthusiasm was discarded in these vital arrangements of the true origin of power, and displaced by a safe, unpretending, ever-wakeful, and unvarying motive. The arrangements thus carefully prepared under the direction of such powers, were not demolished, nor long suspended, even by the overwhelming change in the aspect of the public affairs produced by the action of the National Convention in rejecting the candidate for whom and under whom the scheme had been prepared and put in operation. Brief counsel and communication sufficed to secure the complete transfer of the entire obligations, pledges and secret agencies of the rejected candidate to the new substitute, conditioned upon which followed a like transfer of all the services, duties, and mysterious machinery of his supporters from the first to the second. No disturbance of the parts of the great and complicated system, or of the mutual arrangement, occurred. All arrangements, from the highest to the lowest, in an instant moved on unchanged. At this moment it was that the communication was opened with the gamblers, to secure their coöperation, intelligence, and sympathetic interest. They were told that by large bests at present odds, or "even," a sure result could be obtained, so contrary to actual public expectation at that time, that none but those initiated in the secret movement would dare take the risks, and that thus a magnificent monopoly of gains, unparalleded in all the operations of change, skill or fraud, would be secured in a moment. These assurances were made decisive and unquestionable by furnishing therewith to the speculators as much evicence of the power of accomplishment as could be given without a betrayal of the agencies and details. No perilous secret was entrusted to mere gamblers and fraudulent adventurers. The information was given with every desirable particularity; and the money was paid by them in return, on so much in the character of a fee or compensation for the intelligence, as by way of employing the means of making it effective and profitable. The money thus paid to the secret political agency was, in fact, but a form of insurance on the wagers taken with the knowledge of the movement. The gambler, knowing all, collect his available money, and goes about the city seeking the various bets which are offered on suitable terms. In all places of general resort and political wagers of incautious partisans, and at every boastful declaration of confidence in the success of the greater candidate, compels the speaker either to suffer an implication of false professions, or to deposit his money in testimony of his courage and hope. "What will you bet?" "How much?" "I'll take that bet!" "Put up your money -- here's mine?" "Will you double the stakes?" "Will any other gentleman make the same bet?" "Any amount you please, at such odds!" These were the expressions passing thousands of times each day and night all over the city, while the gamblers were in this was "subscribing to the stock" o the NEW PLAN, and thereby providing for its successful operation. Many who engaged in this speculation to the largest amounts did not appear personally in the negotiations, but employed agents and runners to at for them with various sums, until the aggregated tens, fifties, and hundreds, equaled thousands and tens of thousands. The larger the amount of money thus wagered, the more was expended to insure the winning of it. Thus, abundance of means flowed into the treasury of the secret council to supply all the requirements of the enterprise. It had been first organized and begun upon money derived from other sources. 566 The Mystery of Iniquity (June,1845] Its continuation, in the summer and autumn, was largely dependent on these liberal contributions, which, in fact, were paid, or were subsequently to be paid, by their political opponents--were actually only advances made by the gamblers on what may be considered the drafts or notes which were to fall due after the election. Every silly, mercenary member of the opposing party, who thus thought to put money into his pockets by betting upon what was then indeed the CERTAINTY of the success of his eminent candidate, did in this way serve to support and promote the operations tending to his defeat. If the foolish, bragging, betting friends of that great man could have been content with the certainty of the accomplishment of the one great object on which the public and individual good alike depended, it would have remained a certainty. The whole result was not effected but by their mean and pitiful folly, in thus becoming at once the agents and the dupes, the beasts of burden and the victims, of those whose money they themselves were expecting soon to receive and enjoy without rendering an equivalent. The tolerance of this despicable and dishonorable vice of betting, this vilest and most immoral and mischievous form of gambling, cost the nation all it has lost in that momentous struggle! Let every man in the land, who bore the least part in this great mass of stupid wickedness, take to his conscience his share of the responsibility, and remember, with self-abasement, this unsearched, unrepented, unforgiven sin. In whatever day the people's retribution may come--in ruin, misery, blood, or infamy--let him share the evil, and confess his agencies in its production--and "let this sit heavy on his soul" in that dark to-morrow! But the political action of the gamblers was not limited to this very simple series of operations. They did not content themselves with merely furnishing the means, and leaving the work to be done therewith by those from whom they received this information, trusting that the prediction would be accomplished by the prophets. It was understood, indeed, of course, by those who invoked their cooperation and animated their hopes of gain, that the gamblers, "sporting-men" and criminals, were to exercise in their own way, in natural fellowship, their usual arts in the business of elections. Wherever pecuniarily interested in the result of a political contest, they employed their own peculiar agencies to secure such a result as would accord with their arrangements for winning. They had been accustomed to rely on the General Committees of the party, not only for intelligence of the movements and majorities designed, but also for direction as to the mode and amount of frauds to be accomplished by their own action. under the operations of the "Old Plan" of fraud, had grown up a new branch of business, a regular profession, - the manufacture of spurious votes by associated of individual enterprise. A large portion of the gamblers had assumed and invented a trade, which may be styled - that of "Election-brokers." Suppose that a man, one familiar with their abominations, wishes to be nominated by the regular convention or committee of the party, and then to be elected against any dissatisfaction created among men professing decency and moral principle. They contract with him first, to secure his nomination by packing the Ward meetings with rioters ready to mob any man who opposes him, - and next, to elect him, by bringing to the polls the men who will put into the ballot-boxes as many votes as are necessary to give him a plurality. The extensive and multifarious character of such operations, implies a necessity of a classification of agencies, and naturally suggests, as in all great systematic inventions, "a division of labor." The "election-brokers" therefore have, what may be called "contractors" under them, who engage, for certain stipulated sums, (to be paid after the official returns of the election show the work to be properly done,) to furnish the required majorities, to carry particular Wards and districts, so as to secure the success of the candidates named, and guarantee the bets thereon pending. The election-brokers, after due arrangements with the political managers and candidates, having ascertained the exact legal canvass of the section in question, go to their agents, who, for reasonable considerations, contract to do the needful work. The subordinates call out and enrol their gangs of voters, led by their several directions, (termed "captains of squads,") and issue orders for their location and employment. the bargain is generally made in these terms: "I have bet _________ dollars that __________ ________ will have _______ majority in ________ Ward or district. If I win it, you shall have half." A small pecuniary advance, The Mystery of Iniquity. 567 by way of "retaining fee," designed also to furnish certain preliminary disbursements at the drinking-places where the rank and file are to be found and enlisted, is, generally, a matter of course. The "captain of the squad" picks up his men, the ragged vagabonds, the jail-birds, the criminals, the hopeless and friendless victims of vice and want, who rejoice in the elective franchise as their means of waging that revengeful war on society in which their misery finds bitter satisfaction, when they see the prosperous and respected classes humbled and defeated. these "enfans perfus" are provided with their temporary homes, each with several lodging-places in different election districts; and are encouraged with liquor and frequent little gratuities, which make them to know their friends. They are schooled in their duties, and are told from whom they must receive their ballots on election-day, and under whose direction they must deposit them. Many hundreds of them are wholly uneducated, and are consequently unable to read a single letter, or distinguish a name on the ticket which they carry. Such men must know whom to trust, when they offer a ballot; and they are content to know that they vote as pleases their true friends, the enemies of the aristocracy, the advocates of "the largest liberty." The man of business, the merchant, the employer, the professional man, feels that the has done a great work when he has deposited his one vote, and goes to his ordinary occupation afterwards with infinite self-satisfaction, as a patriot who has done his whole duty, and has deserved well of the commonwealth. The vagabond and cheat does more at the same moment, and, as he thinks, does better. Feeble and faint is the attachment to the elective franchise by him who votes but once in a day. The true lover of "the largest liberty" will offer his ballot as long as he can do so without question, and who will vote from sunrise to sunset, if unchallenged. Who doubts this? No man who is not willing to pass for fool or hypocrite, among knaves of his own breed, as well as among the whole community. How many men can be found in the city of New York within three hours who are ready, at five dollars a head, to swear an alibi, or that they are worth any amount of money necessary to make "straw-bail?" How many "Tombs-lawyers" are there, regular members of the honorable legal profession, who are ready to suborn that perjury? How many men are there in this city who consider professional perjury as part of their regular means of a livelihood? having decided these important questions in moral statistics, let those who volunteer the answer, say - how many of these professional perjurers and practiced impostors are idle on election-day? He who can answer these inquiries can give pregnant replies to some others in the same conexion. The sooner they speak, the better for the cause of justice and truth. These are some of the materials of political crime created by the conditions of American metropolitan society; and these were some of the modes of their employment in 1844. Details might be multiplied, but to no purpose. All these particulars belonged only to the "old plan" of fraud. As might be imagined, it was varied, modified and extended for the great vital emergency. All the agencies of crime were invoked in that final struggle, and were summoned to do their worst. Under the impulse of occasion, thus suggested, old fraud developed itself in new forms of crime, and "sought out many inventions;" yet it left much to be done - more than was dreamed of by many who thought themselves masters of the arts of villany. The whole resources of the old-fashioned plan were expended and exhausted. The business of fraudulent naturalization was prosecuted as long as any man of foreign birth could be brought up to swear (even though ignorant of the language) to five years' residence, with due notice of intentions, of which, forged certificates, or those of dead men, were always in readiness for the first claimant. The business of "colonizaton" was also conducted by them with accustomed vigor and enlarged scope. As the law regards a single night's residence in a ward or town or district sufficient, arrangements were made by which a large number of young men boarding in one district to the eve of the election were located in new lodgings in other districts on that night. Presenting themselves at the polls, if challenged, (as they would naturally be, from their new being in the preliminary canvass,) they took the oath and voted with full legal security against the pains and penalties of perjury. they then went at their leisure to the election- district of their ordinary residence, where, being personally well-known, or at any 568 The Mystery of Iniquity. (June, rate included in the regular lists of voters by both parties, they might expect to vote without being challenged. This class of voters were mostly such as would refuse to perjure themselves; and in every instance, where they were challenged they refused the oath, with pretended indignation at the implied suspicion and the apparently wanton insult of a challenge in a district where they were so familiarly known as legal habitual residents of long standing. In many instances, this character was so well played, that the challenge was withdrawn, even when given on well-founded suspicion. But wherever this form of fraud was foreknown, and the oath was insisted on by the challenging party, the apparently honest voters who were instructed to play this trick, walked away baffled without any subsequent attempt. It was a fraud not confined to the city, and was equally practicable in rural sections; for the State constitution which requires of the elector one year's residence in the State and six months residence in the county, leaves to every man the liberty of locating himself in any town, ward or election district, at the shortest imaginable period before he votes. All men who have no family, household or fixed domicile, all mere transient persons, lodgers in hotels and boarding-houses, can, therefore, legally change their homes from one place to another in a few minutes, and may safely swear that they are residents of every district in which they have lodged during the night previous, or intend to lodge on the night succeeding. This looseness of legal provisions has led to notoriously extensive adoption, by both parties, of the practice of transferring voters of this description from sections where there are large majorities to those where the preponderance is small or doubtful. The law allows the inspectors of election to ask each man, under oath, "whether he came into that district for the purpose of voting at that election;" but whatever his answer, if he afterwards take the general oath as to qualifications, his vote must be received. This description of imposture, however immoral and contrary to the rights of the true residents of any locality, has acquired such force by long usage, as to be deemed hardly requiring concealment or disguise, inasmuch as no conviction of a breach of the statute by such conduct could ever occur. As an evasion of law and a perversion of the elective franchise it had a continually demoralizing effect on the community, and led the way to increasing enormities. The penalty for illegal voting, or for the attempt, is merely a fine not exceeding two hundred dollars, or imprisonment for not more than six months. False swearing in these matters, like wilful perjury of any other description, is punishable by imprisonment in the State Prison for a term not exceeding ten years. The old measure of bringing in persons from other places and States, to give fraudulent votes, was also revived, as far as practicable, though on a smaller scale, proportionally, than in some merely local elections. The election in Connecticut occurred on the day previous—in New Jersey simultaneously and one day additional— leaving little time for the transfer of voters except from a few of the nearer portions of those States. From Pennsylvania, where the election closed more than three days previous, a considerable number were sent to New York for this purpose. Attempts were also made to introduce some from Bergen county, New Jersey. This form of fraud, though not made of essential importance, was yet employed as far as was convenient and secure —on the general principle of "leaving nothing undone which could be done." These varied operations were sustained mainly by the gamblers, on their private responsibility. The regularly constituted representative bodies of the party styled "General Committees" had nothing to do with these matters as associations, whatever many of their members might do in other connecxions. The business of naturalization was as usual, indeed, in the charge of a special committee throughout the season, and was made no secret ; but delegate associations were not allowed to have anything to do with the mysteries. No man of tact or experience could ever suppose that elective assemblies like these partisan delegations were capable of keeping secrets so vital to the cause. The General Committees in that party were outside show, successfully designed to deceive the public and many of their own members, who were silly enough to imagine them to the veritable depositories of the mysteries and the seat of directive power. The great essential work and control was in other hands, wholly unknown to most of them. In both the great political parties, membership of these bodies is sought as an honor by silly office-seekers, who imagine that it is a station which gives them dignity 570 The Mystery of Iniquity. [June, 1845.] down by the secret shaft! The bloodhound search that you smilingly think you have eluded, has tracked you to your inmost den. Up and look to yourselves! for the avengers of a nation's blood and tears are already upon you. All these that have been disclosed thus far are but the vestibule and courts of the temple. Open now the penetralia of the horrid sanctuary; and behold "THE MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES!" In the month of February, 1844, was fully begun in New York (and elsewhere) this plan. A hundred men (so stated in round number) were in secret organization, under the style of a "COUNCIL OF PEACE," and were in the laborious performance of several specified functions with one common purpose. They obtained a careful enumeration of all the legal voters in every election-district, with the proportions of political parties. They secured the collection or responsible pledge of about $20,000 as a commencing capital stock, drawing this large amount mostly from a few persons of great wealth and high standing in the community, absolutely devoted by prejudice or interest to their party, and resolved to retrieve its then failing fortunes and secure its success, by any and every means which might be necessary, without consideration of the legality or moral propriety of the same. Their assurance of the observance of secrecy between them and all persons concerned, and of the exact application of the money to the assigned purpose, was derived from the pledge of the approbation and supervision of the plan by a few distinguished persons ranking above themselves, and above all. The object proposed was--not the probability-- but THE ABSOLUTE CERTAINTY OF SUCCESS in the pending contest for the supreme power in the State and Nation. which was guaranteed to the contributors on the hand by the unquestionable authority of men beyond distrust, and on the other hand by the perfection and irresistible power of the scheme itself. The money came forth, in large donations, from the long-accumulated hoards of covetous bankers, brokers and traders, and even from the treasured spoils of political victories, where individual wealth had been the product of partisan triumph. There was among them one man who, with very high honors, had also attained riches to such an amount that he could have contributed one-half of the required sum without curtailing his abundance; and had other sources failed, his hopes and prospects, as connected with the final object, would have made the donation of the whole apparently a profitable investment of his capital. There were others who had derived large fortunes from party favor and government patronage, to whom singly the entire sum would not have been the tithe of their accumulated profits. There were others, totally unconnected with public employments and political honors, who saw their private interests for far involved in existing legislation and its desires changes, that they promptly and willingly gave one thousand dollars each, the the hope of depriving of the benefit of Protective duties all who produced at home what they wished to introduce from abroad, and of destroying all revenue legislation for the benefit of every class, except those who "go down to the sea in ships and do business on the great waters." Several importers and great ship-owners gave their thousands to effect the ultimate removal of all restriction upon foreign trade, except the imperative limitation of that portion of it in which they were interested, to vessels owned or employed by themselves. There were some such who, but for the enactment of the present revenue laws, would have remained in their original connexion with the party which they abandoned and denounced for having extended to others the discriminative regulations before enjoyed by themselves alone-- justifying their avarice, by impudently declaring themselves opposed to the Tariff in principle, meaning thereby-- INTEREST. As to the uses for which their money was designated, they sought not to be informed. They paid it as a fee for certain services to be rendered to them, --a compensation in advance, for promised benefits,-- and ordinary, "fair business transaction." COMMERCIAL morality, commercial honor, exacted no further investigation of the mode in which their donations were employed. Though fraud, brutality, perjury, were the means, and though national infamy, and ruin, and war be the result, __ each of the,. like the Roman procurator, will wash his hands, saying "I AM INNOCENT OF THE BLOOD." The professional gamblers were not yet called in; for their season of usefulness had not come. But there were several devoted wealthy partisans, large contributors, who as prompt and 571 The Mystery of Iniquity [June, 1845] acute to avail themselves of these opportunities for speculation by political wagers, as they would have been to secure the stock of a corporation whose speedy increase of value they had been privileged to foreknow. The donations were easily covered by bets corresponding in amount, based on the knowledge of operations in progress by which success was insured. The tremendous exigency forced that unscrupulous party to the invention of new machinery and the employment of novel agencies of fraud. The vicious, criminal and infamous classes, upon whose action they had been accustomed to rely, were not competent to the perilous difficulties of the crisis. The respectable, "honorable," unimpeachable men of the party, hitherto quietly profiting by crimes with those details they were not supposed to be acquainted, and which they might know only by inference, were now compelled to come forward and put their hands directly to the wicked work on which depended their rescue from annihilation and oblivion. Each who hoped anything from success, whether high station, official honor and great endowment, power or fame, whether legislative action or executive patronage, brought his own peculiar gift to the common storehouse of munition. As the wealthy contributed their money, the powerful chiefs of the party brought together the fruits of many years of sagacious observation and instructive experience; and the mightiest minds yielded their most subtle inventions, as the details will show. Over all was thrown the impenetrable cover and defense of a combination of respectability, supposed probity and external virtue, capable of defying suspicion and baffling scrutiny. That great school of political crime which has had its seat in the city of New York and the Capitol of the State for a quarter of a century, and from whose poisoned fountains have poured forth streams of corruption through the whole Union, gathered all its terrible resources, enlarged its theory and its lessons, and strengthened the obedient confidence of its disciples. Its two great masters were in its councils, the two survivors of the three founders. Never was any product of the human mind more rationally and logically deduced from experiment and observed fact, than that peculiar science of political roguery, for which New York is famous as the source. The origin was purely experimental, both in the Capitol as to the management of State affairs, and in New York city in the inventions of fraud. It was a perfect example of the Inductive Philosophy. The sum of money required for basis of operations and the canvas of the lawful vote of the city (obtained by the help pf the old organizations in the General Committee and the Ward and District Committees) were placed by the "Council of one hundred" in the hands of a select executive body, a central Directory called "the Five," though not implying by that title that only five persons were associated in this inner council, signiory or cabinet. Five however, were always on duty, and active daily. "The Five" were invested at once and throughout with absolute, discretionary power. They called on the larger council (the 100) from time to time, for money, for information and for labor, and received all without question from them. They made these demands and issued mandates, directed all action, appropriated and expended money, but made no reports, and were held to no accountability to any person or persons whatever. Perfect secrecy and irresponsibility as to their actions-- was the first law of their organization. Before the ends of winter, in the opening of 1844, the Secret Council of Five had matured and put in active operation a plan which will be pronounced by the world the greatest product of human villainy. It has not a parallel or equal in the history of inventions. Another hundred men (the exact number not being essential to the main fact) were carefully selected by the hundred before described under the title of the "Council of Peace,"--possessing certain peculiar qualifications, requisite to the exact performance of certain prescribed services, essential to the salvation and continued existence of "the party." The larger council (gathered from every class in society) furnished the names of these individuals, after due inquiry and deliberation. The hundred picked men were required to possess these traits and endowments. They must be all young men, unmarried, between the ages of twenty-one and thirty, of such a personal appearance, physiognomy, complexion, bearing, air and deportment as would 572 The Mystery of Iniquity. [June,1845] render them exceedingly difficult to distinguish among thousands of ordinary men. They were to be men totally devoid of all striking peculiarity of aspect; their eyes, hair, lineaments, stature, walk, and movements, were to be perfectly common-place. In dress and externals, they were to be alike free from anything that could excite attention, fix remembrance or cause identification by any ordinary observer. They were all required to be AMERICANS by birth, totally free from all foreign peculiarities of accent, manner or deportment. As to occupation, and position in life, they were to be generally journeymen-mechanics, employed in large establishments, where they are few workmen known to all their fellow-laborers, and where the persons engaged frequently change their masters from fancy or irregular habits, without exciting inquiry or attracting notice. Journey men in printing offices, in shoe-shops, tailor-shops, machine-shotps, stone-cutters' yards, masons' and other builders' employments, and so on, wherever large numbers of men are engaged for short periods, and change their location often, on slight causes or on none at all, without imputation of singularity. They were all to be quiet, unobtrusive, silent men, known to few, and disinclined by nature and habit to seek acquaintances or keep them. They were required to be strictly temperate and virtuous in their habits, wholly unknown to the vicious and dissolute, and never seen in grog-shops, or any places where irregular or troublesome intimacies are contracted. They were to be the most ordinary samples of the great multitude, as far as possible, wholly indistinguishable from the mass. One hundred men of this class and description were studiously selected from thousands in the city, in the winter of 1843-4. It need not be stated that they were bitter, devoted,unscrupulous partisans, capable of any crime in maintenance of their political principles, which they could commit without danger of detection or punishment. They were the very embodiment of those horrid abstractions of political crime so long breathed into the ears of the people by the masters of the arts of hypocrisy and imposition. They were mean imbued, from their very birth, and through their whole life, without envy and hatred of those more elevated and successful classes with whose interests the opposing party was believed to be associated. These men, with many others of similar character, named severally by individuals among the larger secret council, unknown as a whole to the whole body, were reported to the secret Executive Council of Five, who, after due examination and painful discrimination, selected the required number of those who gave evidence of possession in an eminent degree the very peculiar combination of requisites. These chosen hundred were then taken, singly, into instruction by their employers, (personally unknown to them, and likely to remain so,) and were carefully taught the tasks required of them, while their compensation was assigned to them. First, they were engaged on regular weekly pay, with wages abundant for all their personal wants and for the exigencies of their new business, so proportioned that they should derive from it a nett income fully equal to the receipts of their ordinary trades and pursuits. This engagement was to last until the Presidential election, and was subject to a renewal for an indefinite period, and like terms, with a prospect of actual PERMANENCE. Next, they were called up singly by the secret Council of Five, enrolled, instructed in their duties, and drilled to their exact performance. They were directed to seek cheap lodgings in certain Election- Districts, selecting as their places of abode in each, such houses as were commonly occupied by persons of their own rank and condition, transient boarders and unmarried laborers. Each of them was furnished with a "book," which was simply a piece of paste-board, stiff paper or leather, bent double in the form and size of an ordinary pocket "bank-book," upon the inside of which was pasted a corresponding piece of firm white paper inscribed with the complete plan of the whole city, containing the boundaries and numbers of every Ward and Election District. With this "book" always safely placed on their persons, they were directed to go about, locating themselves from day to day in as many obscure boarding-houses as possible, each in a different district - in each place giving a different name, and then marking, on the plan of the city, the number of the house, the street, and the name under which they had taken lodgings. they were ordered to pay for their lodgings (at the rate of 6 1/4 cents - 12 1/2 cents a night) regularly, and to assume the appearance of ordinary plan working-men, going in and out from time to time in such a way as to seem neither to seek nor to shun notice from the other occupants. They were to busy themselves The Mystery of Iniquity. 573 continually with visiting these several places of abode, and after having filled their entire list, were to be seen in each of them daily, or every other day, or as often as was physically possible - in the day-time, passing up to their sleeping-place as though for some small article left there - and in the night, apparently retiring to rest, and subsequently withdrawing in such a manner as to avoid suspicion of anything singular. They were to manage so that two days should rarely pass without their being seen in the house by the keepers of it, with whom occasionally they were to exchange a few words without contracting any intimacy - the object being to secure an impressoin on the mind of the person in charge of the house that his lodger was an ordinary, quiet person, of tolerably regular habits, but not to make him so familarwith him as to make future identification easy. On a fixed hour of a certain day in every week, each one of these men was instructed to present himself to his employers at a specified place, generally, if not always, in a private house inconspicuously situated, and occupied by some person associated with the secret plan. The disciple was commanded to appear in every instance at the precise moment appointed; as - if at a quarter past eight, P.M., he was to present himself exactly at that time - neither at ten minutes nor twenty minutes past eight. If detained unavoidably, he was to allow the appointment to pass and not come again until his next regularly recurring stated moment of reporting himself. At these appointed periods, he stood in his turn before two or more of his employers, to whom (during the time he was engaged in fixing his various locations) he first handed his book, and reported the additional places of apparent abode which he had secured since his last interview with them. If he seemed to have been slow in the work, he was asked the causes of delay, and was admonished to use all practicable and safe despatch, because it was vitally necessary that in every instance, without one variation or exception, the apparent residences should be secured, and the whole number of multiplied false locatoins occupied, BEFORE THE FIRST OF MAY, 1844. He reported his expenditures, on account for lodgings during the interval, and received his required portion of money for the ensuing period. He stated any noticeable circumstances occurring, or embarrassments or difficulties encountered, and asked for any new directions of which he had felt the need. He received such repetition of previous instructions and such new counsels as seemed necessary to his thorough mastery of the art j- was cautioned against any special perils of exposure incurred by any negligence or defect on his part, and sent forth to the continuation of his work. The whole object of this gigantic plan and intense labor was, of course, to secure to this body of men, what should appear to any ordinary observation veritable bona-fide residences in the numerious Election-Districts assigned to them severally, and to have them so maintained, that the keepers and true occupants of any house so used, should be able, in case of investigation, to attest and swear, as of their actual knowledge, that the man in question was a regular permanent resident there - not a transient person or occasional lodger, but for nearly the whole year, and (as it would prove on inquiry in very many instances,) a longer time an inmate of the house than any other boarder in it - having (as all would sincerely witness) constantly lodged there six, eight or nine months, and regularly paid his board. The necessary precautions against accidental identification by persons meeting them in two or more different places, were duly taken and continually multiplied. Ready answers to all casual inquiries from the occupants of the houses, from their own former acquaintances and fellow-workmen with whom they had once been employed in the same shop were also provided, rehearsed to them and laboriously impressed upon them. They were trained to constant vigilance, acute perception, quick observation, unobtrusive, unnoticeable demeanor, dress, air, language and tone. all their faculties were devoted unremittedly and exclusively to this one study and task. They were from the first moment of their engagement and enrolment withdrawn from all other employment, and freed from the necessity of their former labor, by a steady weekly compensation in their new business. Their whole time, duly allowing what was needful for repose and relaxation, was occupied in this labor - first, of going about and securing lodgings, and afterwards, of visiting their numerous places of nominal abode daily, to keep up the appearance and formal evidence of continuous occupancy. If their landlords should happen to remark - "You have been away for two or 574 The Mystery of Iniquity. [June, three days" --or "I havn't seen you about, lately"--they were to answer-- "O, I have a brother [or friend] who is a watchman in [some remote district,] and he has been unwell and I took his place for a night or two."--Or "I have been sitting up with a sick relative or friend."--Or "I have been to visit my father in the country," &c. &c. The details of these artifices are interminable. To repeat all, would require a volume. But at last comes the actual work of THE GREAT DAY, for which all this mighty scheme was prepared. On the day of election, the picked man presents himself at the polls in the district where he rises, and offers his vote. He appears to the inspectors and challenges a plain, simple, humble, quiet, decent laboring man, an American by birth, with nothing to distinguish him from the mass of voters. He gives his name and residence ; the challengers of both parties find it "all right ;" it is recorded in the canvas taken by each, weeks ago. In forty-nine cases out of fifty, his vote is received unquestioned ; and he passes unnoticed, forgotten in a moment, and for ever -- wholly undistinguishable by the most discerning memory, among the hundreds of forms with which the wearied eye grows dim on that day. But--suppose by accident, ignorance or excessive caution, his vote is challenged. Does he offer to "swear it in?" NO. He has been schooled for months to the prevention of the necessity of this crime. He has been strictly warned by his employers never, in any instance, to commit perjury. He merely assumes a look of surprise, mingled with a very slightly offended air, and respectfully asks--"Why is my vote challenged?" Or "Who challenged my vote?" "I am well known as a voter in this district. I have lived here for almost a year. I have not slept out of the Ward one night in six months. If any gentleman doubts it, just let him step with me to the house where I board and satisfy himself. I shall take the oath. I am a poor man, and work for a living, and should like to vote; but shan't swear it in." "It's the first time my vote was ever challenged." "I am a native of this country, and have always voted since I was of age ; and now I'm challenged where hundreds of Irishmen, who haven't been five years in America, vote without being questioned." These expostulations are uttered in a tone, regular grading from mild remonstrance in the outset, to apparently honest indignation at the close, with which he departs, if the challenge is not withdrawn; but it is almost a certainty that the challenger would be satisfied that he had erred, or would at any rate yield to the adroit allusion to foreign voters. If it were possible that in spite of all these precautions and artifices, he is suspected, accused, arrested--what then? For this, too, has he been prepared, and if he is identified as having voted in two or more places, he knows that all the inventions and tricks of the law will be exercised to shield him. The best counsel will defend him, jurors will secretly befriend him, and JUDGES in more courts than one, (who knowingly owe their places to the success of such crimes, and expect therefrom continuance or promotion,) will also exert every possible power to save him. If convicted, his sentence shall be the lightest, (six months being the utmost extent which the law allows,) and, if not pardoned by an executive officer equally conscious of the mighty crime, and counting on its repetition for future power and greatness, the prison shall be no injury to him; he shall be paid for the time occupied in prison more than he can earn at liberty. This is enough. Here is a masterpiece of fraudulent invention by which any required number of votes can be given at any future day, belong all possibility of prevention, even when foreknown. Add the perjury, (which was not found necessary before) and what can obstruct the execution of the plan? To follow and detect each man would make it necessary to send two or three men after more than two-thirds of the lawful voters of the city, to dog them from morning till night. It is absurd to think of prevention. As for the much-vaunted "registry law," it would only facilitate the fraud and furnish additional securities against detection; and it was, in fact, from the exigencies created by that law, that the first suggestions of this now perfect scheme were derived. The great problem of American government is solved. Those who have invented, elaborated, and perfected this mysterious and tremendous engine, retain control of it still; and by it, they and their regular constituted successors will rule this land while the elective franchise exists in it. The revelation of the mystery is a detection at which they can laugh, in contemptuous security, safely defying attack and deriding denunciation. 1845.] American Letters: their Character and Advancement. 575 AMERICAN LETTERS--THEIR CHARACTER AND ADVANCEMENT.* BY IL SECRETARIO (THERE are in the following very spirited article some minor strictures, and many of the particular comparisons, with which we do not fully agree. We have several writers, in prose, at least, who do not appear to us to have imitated any English authors any farther than to express their thoughts in a clear and forcible English style. It would be difficult to point out the model of the speeches of Daniel Webster, which belong as much as to the permanent body of the literature of our language as any work it has ever produced; nor would it be easier to make good against Prescott and Bancroft, with many of our best political writers since the Revolution, any effective charge of imitation. They are strong-minded men, acquainted with the great works in all literature, and thereby able to avoid defective expression, but putting down independent thought in language sufficiently peculiar. It is true, also, that numbers of our fugitive poems are striking in themselves and fashioned after no particular foreign forms. With thus much of dissent, however, we commend the article to our readers and the sensitive public in general. It contains a great many truths, which we may as well at once learn to appreciate. We have certainly achieved, as a nation, a remarkable history, Our physical triumphs are acknowledged; and in most of the great departments of intellectual power, we need not hesitate to compare ourselves with other nations. But surely we ought to be wiser than to plume ourselves yet upon our literary position. We need have no doubts of our destiny in this respect; but we are young and can afford to wait a little for a reputation. Our original prose-writers as yet bear no proportion at all to the crowd of weak imitators; and as to poetry and poets, notwithstanding many delicate effusions, who does not know, that a National Poetic Literature was never yet built on fugitive pieces. A rock or two is generally found necessary for a corner stone. We are not forbid to admire them, just as we admire similar productions elsewhere---for beauty in all forms is always admirable. But we would have our "divine bards" take to themselves a little wide-reaching invention, before they scramble quite up to the tops of Parnassus, oust the musical gods from their own mossy seats, and get the bat-eyed critics around to shriek out---in querulous tiny voices---their several great names to the keen-sighted literary archers across the waters. The only answer likely to be returned is a sharp shaft whistling through the abdomen of some one of them, while engaged in gesticulation to the stars, and thinking no one but himself ever "did up" the heavens into verse. The truth is, our versifiers have been too much judged by each other. To quote from Holy Writ, "We, measuring ourselves by ourselves, and comparing ourselves among ourselves, are not wise." We must come into the great field of all literature, and stand up beside the men of might that have arisen there at long intervals. If we fall short, we fall short. We are no advocates indeed of looking ever at certain great works as models,---for this is just the way to make ourselves imitators; but it is the design of this "Review" constantly to direct the attention of literary aspirants among us to those high standards of Nature on which those works themselves were fashioned. We have accomplished something in Letters; we have everything to hope for.---ED. AM. REV.) IT is Dryden, we think, who says, in one of his many proems in verse to other people's dramas, that in proportion as the accessories of an art grow perfect, the art itself is often seen to decline; for that, whereas, in an elder time, they wrote very bad prologues to very good plays, in his own day they wrote plays just as much worse as they wrote prologues better. He (if he it was) was no bad illustration of that strong law of thought which his verse was, perhaps, the first to announce. It strikes us as of far wider application than he meant to give it. As method advances, so, perhaps, the strictly creative power decays, in all those pursuits which depend upon the imagination and * "Sketches of the History of Literature, from the earliest period to the revival of Letters in the 15th century: by Wilkins Tannehill. Nashville, (Tenn.) 1827. 8vo. 344 pp. "Sketches of American Literature: By Samuel Knapp. New York, 1829." 8vo. "Selections from the American Poets: By -------- Kettel. Boston. 1828." 3 vols. 8vo. "The Poets and Poetry of America. With an Historical Introduction. By Rufus W. Griswold. Philadelphia. 1842." 8vo. "Discourses on the Progress of Science and Literature: By the Hon. Joseph Story, LL.D. Boston. 1836." 576 American Letters: [June, 1845.] the passions or affections. We greatly doubt whether, if examples be weighed, there can be found any great hope of good government after the moment when multitudes of men begin to write marvellous theories about it. It is clearly true that the perfection of popular eloquence has always, in free states, been the precursor, if not the token, or their speedy downfall; and certainly - as to our immediate subject - criticism, as a regular guide to art, has been almost always the harbinger of its declined. Yet, on the other hand, bad criticism is far from always implying good, vigorous, inventive art; else the present century might well be supposed as unrivaled in this, as it is in that. If the prevalence of refined criticism be usually hostile to the bolder forms of literary invention, that of a criticism utterly confused and wild must be still more fatal. To illustrate the matter once more, out of a kindred one: if the powers of neither Demosthenes nor Cicero could avert the overthrow of their commonwealths, it was little to be expected that the declaimers and rhetors who succeeded them should be able to rekindle the national fervors, which, perhaps, only by their growing difficulty to be awakened, had compelled the resort to a perfect art of eloquence. Men spoke as much worse in Quintillian's day that in Cicero's, as the former's treatise on oratory is completer than the latter's. Homer, probably, could not have written, for his life, as good an Art of Poetry as Horace's or Vida's, or Boileau's, nor Michael Angelo such discourses on Painting as Sir Joshua Reynolds's. The office of criticism, in a word, is rather conservative and repressive than anything else; to check the growth of ill taste in those who write or read without inspiration, rather than to teach those who have it; to guard a mature literature from direct corruption, rather than to infuse life and strength into one just forming itself. Genius teaches it, not it genius. Much more fit is it to unteach genius, as it will ever do, if genius quits its own instinctive impulses and perceptions to learn at second hand the firgid notions of art. We take it, then, that the business of criticism, amid a young literature like ours, is, first of all, to inspire it with a manly spirit had the love of noble models, so far as models are wanted: and, secondly, to correct any casual tendency to merely imitative efforts, the chief danger of lands in close communication with others more advanced in letters. These things being done, the farther career of the nation will depend upon the mass of those other causes which produce public greatness. If a wise and a high spirit, forming solid and pure institutions, beget freedom, nationality, the love of glory, and, as their consequence, eminence in arms, the softer arts that adorn civic superiority will follow, and shape a literature the proper and peculiar image of the people. Towards all this, hardly anything, in our own country seems to us yet to tend. Amidst uncertain institutions, and a heterogeneous population, we have mainly but a feeble and an imitative literature, that servilely copies everything from abroad, and then seriously pretends to call its secondary inanities "an American Literature." Admirers as we are of exceedingly little of the rapid book-fabrication of the present age, whether in our own or in other languages, we confess we never were able to conceive what they mean who talk of "an existing American Literature" - as if, perchance, it were to be desired that we should yet have among us a literature which was not English. Have they who speak of such a thing, and who apparently think they are erecting it, any idea of what "a literature" is? Do they mean a new body and mode of thought? or a new vehicle, a new dialect, or the old ideas? Is the change to arise out of a greater refinement and cultivation? or is it, on the contrary, to spring from a return to simplicity - a banishment of artificial forms of life? Obviously, none of these things are in their contemplation. They mean, of course, that there shall be a difference; but what is to create it, or wherein it is to consist, they have by no means given themselves the trouble to inquire. Apparently, they have no notion of any difference more absolute between what has heretofore been the literature of our tongue and that which they propose, than is to lie in the fact that they who write the latter are to live in this country, and, by dint of copying whatever happens for the moment to be the literary vogue in England, are to form "an American Literature." Is there an American school of writers? None, certainly, unless they who degrade and vulgarize the tongue and the taste of Their Character and Advancement. 577 the country by performances, the whole merit of which consists in their adoption of a particular local slang (such as was employed in Major Jack Downing's letters, or in the lucubrations of Sam Slick) are the models of a new and noble literature that is to be for us. When these things shall found for us a learning, the Ethiopian Minstrels will create for us a Music, and the disciples of Jim Crow a Theatre of our own. None but such as those just mentioned, can be said to have produced either verse or prose among us, except upon the most absolutely foreign models; and our writers have succeeded just in proportion as they have written in the genius of the mother tongue. to take our chief examples of those who have a literary merit: Dr. Franklin - on the whole, one of the very best and purest of of our writers - obviously formed himself upon what may be called the Addisonian style, its simple and concise elegance. Nobody among us, except Prescott of late, has equaled him in vigorous, unaffected English. Next in order of time, come the political prose writers of the Revolution; at the head of whom must be placed Madison, Hamilton and Jay, since The Federalist - though done with no thought of giving it a literary merit - is really the best performance of its day, in the general correctness and vigor of its style. the elder Adams, President Washington and Mr. Jefferson, have the same general characteristics; but the first two in much the greater degree; since, on the whole, they attempted less to be fine writers, without attaining it, then did the sage of Monticello. Their style and thoughts are always upon a level, and therefore good in the main; while in his, the one is too often trying to get the better of the other. All these we mention, not because a literary value is usually assigned them, but because, by really thinking little of that, and having in themselves a purpose, a business, and being unaffected with the coxcombry of eloquence and fine-writing, they contrived to be, as authors, far better than nearly all the subsequent people who had nothing else to do but to be writers, and to attend to their style. They all wrote good, sound, plain, old-fashioned English - by dint of sense, not scholarship. After these came those of the Salmgundi school - imitators entirely of the English Essayists; but, as imitators, by no means equal to many transatlantic ones. Of these, however, one, Mr. Washington Irving, has emerged to a higher and peculiar merit. Still, in his best performances, nothing can be more English than he is - nay, English upon special models the most visible: for he is the closest copyist of mackenzie and Goldsmith. Wherever he has written upon a different taste - as in his Life of Columbus and Conquest of Grenada - his style is a failure. After him came Mr. Fennimoe Cooper; of whom little more need be said than that he is confessedly the pupil of Walter Scott. His subjects only were American; and these were, as to conception, narrative, the graphic and the dramatic power, happily hit off, as to whatever could affect the mere story-devouring reader, but their simple literary merit is small. His style has no great elegance or originality. Except where rapidity of incidents hurries him on, it is all the while either flat or taudry: it creeps, or it goes on immeasurable stilts. as prose-writers, these must be the chief of those in favor of whom has been set up the idea of an American literature; for these were our leading authors when this notion began, as of a school already existing; and if, since then, others of merit have been added to the roll of our writers, it is clear that they too have struck out no new mode of taste, no new track of literary excellence. Channing has since figured, and Prescott has lately come forward: but in neither is there anything to distinguish them, except as less American, if by American, is meant in our authorship something that is not English. So much for prose, then. And now, as to verse, is there anything more original? Have we found a new set of Muses, or some new-foaled Pegasian colt, on whose back nobody ever sat before? Let us see. if we were not particularly strong in prose (the lesser difficulty) we were like not to be stronger in poetry, the greater. If we could not sketch, it is hardly to be supposed that we were great at history-painting. Shall we go back to our first poets, Mrs. Bradstreet, Cotton Mather, and their co-evals, whose verse was the saddest and most barbarous dissonance that ever insulted the Nine? Why, in comparison with them, Sternhold and Hopkins (these mighty translators) were "tunefull," and Isaac Watts festive and graceful. Of originality, they had not an atom, nor 578 American Letters: [June, 1845.] even taste enough to save them from being the mere imitators of the most deplorable poets that the world ever saw-- Quarles, Settle, and all that figured, or were worthy to figure, in McFlecknoe and the Dunciad. Of the bards of some other ages, it has been possible to say that they left not a good poem behind them; but of these alone could it be declared (as it justly may), that they left not a good line. To these may be said to have succeeded the poets of the revolution---the Dwights, Trumbulls, Barlows, Hopkinsons, &c.,whose productions were chiefly of a political cast.We need scarcely say that these have not the smallest pretension to originality.The most famous of their productions (the Columbiad) is certainly one of the most execrable performances that mankind ever stopped their ears at. It is even worse than what was evidently its model, the poems of Dr. Darwin; and was, for the time, (for ill taste is quite as perennial, and as native in England as in this country) as successful as "the Temple of Nature" then was, or as "the course of Time" has since been. "McFingal" had more merit, but was a direct copy of Hudibras, which is not hard to copy, except in its wit. Next in order came a great body of writers of fugitive pieces, chiefly patriotic--- odes, especially, of all sorts and sizes,interspersed, occasionally, with a terrible epic---all monuments (happily anything but eternal)of the absence, then, of anything like poetic taste among us. For the greater part, they were little else than attempts to put the "Declaration of Independence" and the Federal Constitution, or the Bill of Rights, or Tom Paine's works, or Curran's Speeches, or Emmett's Address, or Counsellor Phillip's Orations, into rhyme. Among them all, it would be difficult to point to one surviving piece, of merit enough to pass into the permanent body of English poetry. Then followed the Pierponts, the Spragues, the Percivals, and others of about twenty years since---feeble and loose imitators of Pope, Dryden, Spenser, Cowley, Gray. Of them, it is enough to say that they wrote mostly neither from nature nor art; they drew from secondary sources, and worked with secondary skill, like limners who had never draughted a human figure, but painted after other people's pictures. It is in this way that ninety-nine of the hundred compose; they have really no emotion, no thought of their own, but think or feel in the impressions transmitted to them from nature through the genius of others; and hence it is that we have, in the present age, such quantities of poets, not informed and animated with a passion of their own, an imagination kindled from the fiery chariot of the day itself, but one lit up, at second hand, from the torch brought down to earth from them by some poetic Prometheus. Shall we proceed to the "American Poets," as they were called, of our own day? Dare we? In Politics, all know how many truths there are which the public (enlightened and liberal as it claims to be) will not bear to have uttered---which, indeed, it will suffer infinitely less than falsehood, the most enormous. In literature, on the contrary, where there is (or should be) no passion, no prejudice, no party, one would think that the plain, necessary, useful truth might always be pronounced with impunity: but by no means: there are, on all sides and in everything, folks whom falsehood profits; while the multitude of those who, upon the whole, prefer to go easily on in old error, undisturbed by any intrusive face of a new truth, is endless. We ourselves have ventured, at times, to be exceedingly sincere in Letters, by way of compensating ourselves on that side at least for the durance of the thoughts in which we of the Press, that illuminate every thing, are kept on nearly all other matters. But when we have spoken out, we have usually found that exceedingly few were at all obliged to us; while we positively and directly offended the entire body of that vast and powerful literary interest, the blockheads. We will not, and we cannot, then, specify; but must consult our own safety, and deal in generalities, such as will permit no chafed contemporary to bristle up and say that we met him. Have we, then, among the living poets of this country, any one who has founded a school, a poetic sect of his own? Nobody can for one instant suppose it. Not one of them can be soberly imagined to rise equality with Moore, or Campbell, or Coleridge; and what are these in comparison with the great names of English verse? Poets, you call ours: but where is the poem they have produced? It is not a Their Character and Advancement. 579 strain of a hundred verses that, even when good, makes a poet. There must be continuity, scope for variety of powers. Fugitive pieces no more make the poet than portraits the painter. Certainly Petrarch, by dint of sonnets, has won the name of poet: but what sonnets! Besides, their number, the unity of theme, the singular and beautiful invention of so many upon one single subject, constitute them in some sort a single and almost matchless love-poem. But they have no action; and action, after all, is as much the essence of the highest poetry as Demosthenes said it was of the highest eloquence. How far, therefore, does not Petrarch fall below Dante and Ariosto, and Tasso! In like manner of Gray: with all his matchless perfection of short pieces, full of the most finished beauties and rising even to the sublime of lyric verse, he can scarcely be called a great poet; longer-sustained efforts, a greater variety, a plan and a scope calling forth a fuller invention and action can alone confer that the loftiest title of human thought. He has given us gems; but what is the gem-cutter to a Phidias? To come, however, to something more tangible, to particulars: which of our poets has produced a poem equal in any respect to the "Traveller" or to the "Deserted Village," of Goldsmith? None. Who of them will match Campbell's "Gertrude" or "O'Conner's Child?" None, again. Crabbe is certainly a very humble poet: but can anything be shown for the American poets better than the "Tales of the Hall" or the "Borough?" Scott, except in a few bright passages (the battle in Marmion, that other in the Lady of the Lake, and the opening of one of the Cantos in the Lay of the last Minstrel) is hardly more than a ballad-maker: yet who of the school in question can be set against him? Surely if you would pair with a Columbian rival either Southey or Coleridge or Keats or Moore, or even Proctor, you would be puzzled; and how far is it from such to Byron, Burns, Wordsworth, and Shelley? This is, of course, the only way to settle pretensions and pretenders--to come to particulars and parallel. Piece for piece, where are the poems to be matched with others even of this exhausted day of English poetry? Halleck, Longfellow, and Bryant are certainly the pride of all American verse; they write far above all the rest: yet who will venture to say that one of them comes to the height of Thompson, or Collins, or Gray, or Akenside? and what are these, measured with the great poets of our own or other tongues? Since, as we have said, poems must be tried not a little by their length, because there must be in them be scope for action and a very various invention, such pieces as Mr. Bryant's are to be placed in a class for which there is no designation so appropriate as "Effusions." They are rather poetic gleams than poetry: they show one who has poetic thoughts, but not the poet. He is the inspired amateur, not the inspired artist whose strenuous powers impel him to mighty performances. As artistic efforts even, he has not sought for his verse those more difficult forms of harmonious mechanism, which must be called in to lend to the Minor Poem the charm of consummate artifice. Though his rhythm is melodious, yet it is confined, where successful, to such measures as are perfectly common-place. One or two very happily executed pieces of blank verse, he has given us (as the "Thanatopsis") which have won high, but ill-judged praise: for what are they but specimens or exercises of versification? Nothing can be more ridiculous than a short poem in blank verse. Its stateliness, its solemn cadences, its majestic flow and force imply grandeur and continuity of subject, and make it fit for heroic use alone. Perhaps we should speak of Drake, whose "Culprit Fay" has won, in our domestic criticism, rapturous encomium. It was thought highly imaginative and elegant. Now, there are folks for whom sylphs,and nymphs, and gnomes, and fairies, mixed with a due quantity of flowers, and odors, and moonshine, and a star or meteor, or so, make, with no further help than that of a witch, a tempest, a sprinkle of monsters, a few hideous reptiles, and a little ornithology, conchology and entomology, a divine body of fancies. Such, it strikes us, is this new Nymphidia, destitute of everything like airy and elegant invention, a lifeless piece of ingenuity, in a vehicle of verse the tamest. They who thought it fine could surely never have read the "Mid-Summer's Night Dream, " nor "Comus," nor the "Rape of the Lock," nor even "Paradise and the Peri," or the "Paradise of Coquettes." What is the design of the thing? Has it any? It is not an Allegory, it is not an Action. It paints the passions of ethereal beings that we only conceive of as having none. Nay, 580 American Letters: [June, 1845.] worse: Dr. Drake, to make a poem, has taken what the Poetic Art calls Machinery only, and left out the Actors altogether. Ethereal existences have no place in poetry but as adjuncts to human passion, the basis; and the Loves of the Sylphs are no more capable of affecting us than those of the Plants or the Triangles. one final class remains to be spoken of---that of our poets distinguished from the rest by their sex---the successors of Mrs. Bradstreet---the gentle ones who write in America, for no visible reason but that Mrs. Hemans had, almost equally without asking leave of the Muses, written in England. Action, we have said, must be the subject of all Art, in its greater efforts, whether plastic or literary; and Passion, the expressive part of Action---that which animates and informs it---that which, in the lineaments and the speech, reveals the agitations that accompany it and awaken like ones in ourselves-- --must ever be the other great twin-object of all the higher creations of the Imagination. Next to the power which performs great deeds comes that which is capable fitly to celebrate them, and Genius, among things merely human, rises nearest to the mightiness of Heroism itself. Swift has, indeed, but little exaggerated, if at all, when he says, Not empire to the rising sun By valor, conduct, fortune won; Not highest wisdom in debates For framing laws to govern states; Not skill in sciences profound So large to grasp the circle round, such heav'nly influence require As how to strike the Muse's lyre. A strength of the imagination scarcely less than the vigor of Action itself; a soul filled with a kindred magnanimity; high passions that kindle up, over things noble or beautiful, into the bright thoughts that may give an image of them; a nature at once delicately susceptible and strong; a boundless fertility of the creative power; a mind imbued with the graceful and sweet; the dramatic, the picturesque and the didactic faculties all at command; a compass and a mastery of language and of sound that can match every necessity of the thought and aid it with each appropriate resort and charm of rhythm--- these must be the gifts of Nature to the great poet; and these gifts he must have besides perfected, as far as the age in which he lives permits, by a cultivation as rare. In a word, Poetry, in all its nobler forms, is of things the most strenuous and manly. The habits, the very organization of the softer sex forbid excellence in it. Women, accordingly, have never written poetry of the higher order. Indeed, they have scarcely ever written at all, except in that universal rage for Literature, which almost always attends its decline, when all turn authors, and so many write that none are left to read but those who cannot spell. At such times, women write---less because they can, than because men cannot. In a word, what Lord Byron (except in his partiality to Moore's meretricious verse, the best critic of poetry in his day,) has said of feminine tragedy is equally true of everything else that calls for strong passion, vigorous though and severe labor. He says, in one of his letters to Moore describing the theatric damnation of (we believe) one of Mrs. Norton's or Mrs. Hemans' pieces, "Women (saving Joanna Bailie) cannot write tragedy: they have not seen enough nor felt enough of life for it. I think Semiramis or Catherine II. might have written (could they have been unqueened) a rare play." This last remark is the whole critical truth; the woman who writes with vehemence must have unqueened, have unsexed herself, have known stormier and more various passions than her softer nature can bear without the forfeiture of things in her diviner than any glory of the intellect. Nature---happily careful of her fairest work---has fenced her within the crystal sphere of domestic life, from the stir, the thrill, the athletic contest of the outer world. Bright creature as she is of the affections only, the gracious inhabitant of a fairy land of the heart, which men visit but by permission and for repose, what has she to do with heroism? Is it not enough that she prompts it in men? She has beauty: must she have strength, too? She has grace: would she unite with it its opposite, the strenuous gift of labor? Will she be at once gentle and fierce, timid and brave? Or, shall she, without renouncing her peerless crown of Modesty - a charm of her sex, more powerful than sovereign Beauty itself - enter the naked arena of manly rivalry and aspire to Modesty's opposite, Fame? Should she, however, attempt it, the examples are not encouraging. Among the many glories of classic song and eloquence. Their Character and Advancement. 577 we have two odes and some fragments of Sappho, to weight against her shame; while of Aspasia nothing remains but the reputation of her debaucheries. In the modern world, Eloisa is surely no very enviable instance. the compositions that made the fair Mantuan, Julia Gonzaga, the wonder of her times, are utterly forgotten. Madame de Sevigné, the most charming name of all, wrote only letters, and without a thought of their being ever published. Lady Mary Wortley Montague died with no reputation left but that of an authoress. The learned Dacier is said to have been a slattern and a scold. Madame de Genlis is thought to have preached not amiss, but to have practiced a little less well. Mrs. Hannah More and Miss Edgeworth were worthy people, but drew out a much longer thread of ancient spinstership than most fair ones would like to twist. Miss Joanna Baillie's domestic fate was the same. Wise, however, were these three not to marry, if they must write; for Hymen turns not, with much household comfort, into a pen that useful torch of his - the symbol of soups and roasts and fricasees - that maketh the pot to boil. Now, of all these, and of others in our day their inferiors far, what have we, verse or prose, except the Letters of Sevigné and those of Lady Mary, that rises to any parallel with the best performances in that branch of literature to which it belongs? Nothing, evidently. It is strictly true that the entire mass of what female authorship has produced, might be struck out of existence without ever being missed in the permanent learning of the world. None of the works of genius have been produced by women. They have, evidently, as occasional Amazons, distinguished themselves quite as much in arms as in letters: she that strove with Theseus, or the Roman Clelia, or Joan of Arc and the maid of Saragossa, have left names in war more permanent than any of the milder heroines of pen and ink have left in literature; surely, then, it were quite as fit to encourage ladies to enlist in the Horse Guards, or line, and aspire to be sexual monsters of bravery, as to aim to be wonders in authorship. to obtain these most inconsiderable results, subordinate in even the inferior parts of letters (for they are confined almost entirely to fugitive poetry, prose, fiction, memoirs, epistles, travels, and a little half-grown drama) what must we not sacrifice? Two of the chief embellishments of life: for one sex, a manly and severe literature; for the other, that perfect delicacy which makes the woman all within, as the man should be all without; for their spheres are utterly different, and cannot mix: neither can be the rival of the other. of the one, all the faculties tend to action; of the other, to the affections. In their exercise, they cannot, and do not coalesce, except (as we have already intimated) in those periods of thought when both have degenerated, and women begin to aspire (if that is aspiring) to be the competitors of the masculine arts, only because those arts are sinking into effeminacy. Harsh words, hard truths, these may sound to the softer sex - that wish so much to be soft no longer - and rude to their abettors, the carpet-knights of literature, to whom - living among silks and essences, and flowers - it is, at most, a matter of the tilt-yard, and of its guerdons of gloves and garlands, not the rough game of war itself, that deals blows, not compliments, and wins not holiday chaplets and imitated renown - the easy interchange of dame and squire - but laurel and eternal palm, such as grow not in the flower-ports of a boudoir, or are forced in the conservatories of fashion, but must be plucked in the stoutly disputed field, amidst sweat and blood, the waving of torn banners, not perfumed pocket-handkerchiefs, and the glancing, not of bright eyes, but of blade and bayonet. Certainly, there prevaileth, just now, a grand and glorious idea, not only that human race at large is about to accomplish a multitude of great things heretofore unheard of, such as by their magnitude shall make all glories of the past obscure and trivial, but that, in this new and mightier order of matters intellectual, woman, rising into the condition of a sort of feminine man - the victim no longer of an education of dolls and samplers, flower and furbelow, strumming and rigadoon - shall seize at last what the pride or artifice of the bearded sex has too long withheld, and vindicate her equality in all things, preserving perfectly, meantime, her superiority in whatever conferred upon her, in rude days even, a natural empire. The eye shall judge of her no longer, nor make its idol of merely outward charms; but that iniquitous award of the Dardan shepherd shall be set aside forever, and the golden apple be assigned by every future Paris, not 578* American Letters: (June, to the gay queen of smiles and graces, and desire, but to sober Minerva, a little hard-featured, of rectangular limbs, bearing before her the worse than Gorgonian terrors of a diploma from some she-university, and enriching her natural gifts of ugliness with a disputations tongue, the attire of a slattern, and the propensities of a pedant. "The age of chivalry is over" (quoth Burke) for men ; so is that of cheesecakes for women ; and beauty, and softness, and reserve, those strange superstitions of ignorant times, are presently to fall, as to all ascendency, into the category of all things obsolete. Manliness, to be sure, is on the decline; but gallantry is nevertheless advancing --a new gallantry, of the head, not the heart, that is to render homage no longer to weakness, but to strength-- to learning, not loveliness-- to woman not as a feebler and purer sex, the refuge and the charm of life and its contests, but their incessant and well-matched rival. Now, if the New Education is to effect all this for woman, we can only say that a very small additional tincture of masculine arts--got for show, not practice-- is to accomplish for her wonders utterly beyond any results ever witnessed in the other sex. The utmost attainments of women, as a mass, under the new system of scientific or literary institutions for them, are, and we trust will ever be, a basis utterly inadequate for anything of learned or original performance. There may be a few exceptions, but they are of unhappy persons, imperfect in the instincts, and without the organization of either man or woman. In general, it my be strictly said that the boy of the upper form of a good school may well, for anything in solidarity of knowledge, smile a the utmost science or philology of the other sex. In truth, their minds are a unlike as their very bodies; and so all know that have ever taught both. The girl, with a livelier impressibility, and a greater power of seizing the obvious, and of communicating her ideas, seems always to have learnt more, and the boy less, that is the fact. She is rarely able to reach, by the efforts of study, far beyond what, by a sort of divination proper to her sex, she apprehended at the first glance. The one has delicacy of tissue and of perception; the other, strength and endurance; so that their powers of application, of reflection, of that continuous and all-subduing labor, on which everything that is to be consummate depends, are entirely unlike. Besides all this, an abundant difference is farther brought about by this -- that knowledge is to one a mere decoration, while it is to the other an instrument and a necessity. It is for these that men study science, for instance. Thus learnt, it is, to them, not a mere vanity, but a possession, a practical power; whither to wield the mechanic forces, and hold, by the strength of knowledge, the very elements at command; to pierce far into the bosom of the earth and win its mineral wealth; to span the vast distances of the skies, and trace with unerring precision their mighty mechanism; in airy vehicles to scale the very clouds, higher than the bird itself, unless of the very strongest wing, can venture; to conduct in safety along the perilous bosom of the deep, the merchantman, rich laden with the spoils of the shore, or those great fabrics of war, the hugest and most terrible efforts of human ingenuity: or they rear the tall column and well-proportions pile; cleave the hill for the winding canal and rapid iron way; and shape the animated marble, or breathe expression into the canvas. Such, however, are not the feminine tasks nor destiny. It is to soften to the more laborious sex these austerer pursuits -- to sweeten life with the affections -- to shed over it gaiety and grace and elegance -- to be the charm of its moments of ease, the soother of its pains, -- the ornament, the aid of its privacy, the domestic magnet to which the heart, no matter on what ocean of troubles tossed, forever turns; it is to be the silken bond which holds men together in society, that woman is born. For her, whatever can temper the ruder spirits of men out of the agitations and conflict of the great world into the quiet happiness of private life, is fittest and most natural. Her different being is meant, not to rival his, but, by its very diversity, to blend with it, and to complete by that union the circle of the faculties. Would you, enamored of some new distribution of human qualities, wiser, far, than that of Nature -- attempt to bestow, by education, upon either sex, some leading attribute of the other -- as energy and hardihood upon the woman, pliancy and delicacy upon the man! Go, mighty re-maker of Nature by journey-work, and see if you will not have turned "Heaven's last, best gift" into a whole sex of viragos, and her sterner mate and lord int a paltry thing of no gender at all! Both will, 1845.) Their Character and Advancement. 579* any such interchange, be unsexed as to what is excellent in each; and neither will have attained, except in the most imperfect degree, that which formed an appropriate praise for the other. Now, all this, certainly, is but the simplest common sense, and perfectly known to all men with manly heads, to all women with womanly breasts. But what then? The good old war of wit with folly is still to be waged, no matter how often won; for the one is as immortal as the other. We hear men continually say that Pope was a fool, and somewhat merciless into the bargain, to fall upon the blockheads of his day and commit that grand massacre of the innocents, his Dunciad. Of this, the English is, that after a battle, men are usually able to tell that they who were put to the sword were the weaker party. Yet, before the irritated bard took that sanguinary vengeance, Blackmore was in esteem; Dennis sat a sort of Rhadamanthus of criticism, acknowledged by more than half the world; and a court itself had conferred such honors to poetry as it could award on Cibber, in preference to him of Twickenham! Sporus and Spondanus, Bavius and Mavius, could seem in their times Homers and Virgils and Horaces, until the angry Muses, abandoning each her proper instrument of sound, fell upon them with the scourge of satire and left them forever sacred spectacles of insulted sense. Dante was driven into exile, not (we may well imagine) by the blockheads of politics alone; Ariosto and Tasso were far less than honored by courts, which, affecting the praise of encouraging letters, caressed many a dunce. Voltaire was compelled to stoop to a war with Fréron; Milton, surviving his contemporary popularity, could, with much ado a stationer; Dryden was, until he burst out in his Mac Flecnoe, worsted by the poppy-shedding Sadwell; and Della Crusca and fiddle-faddle, like that now prevailing, reigned, until Gifford once more called back the public sense from the sweet inanity that it had learnt to love. In a word, the fight, it won, has still to be renewed: "For, born a goddess, Dulness never dies." Even in the moment of its extermination, ill taste springs up, with often but a ranker growth for your having swept it down with the scythe. Seldom, indeed, has any age failed to prefer to whatever is purest the literary enormities or crudities to which its own prevailing vices of the mind impelled the commonplace author; and it is for this reason more than all others that the temporary success of writers is, for the greater part, in inverse proportion to that which makes them not of their age-genius. Eras of a corrupt and feeble literature, like that in the midst of which we now are, occur naturally, through influences arising out of Literature upon itself; or, more artificially and violently, out of causes lying beyond it, in changes of the society of which that literature must ever be, in the main, an image, an expression. We will proceed with these, inverting the order in which we have mentioned them. An original literature implies a race either not derivative from another since its refinement had reached the point of literary cultivation; or one which, if secondary, has, in new seats, under a new body of influences, formed for itself a fresh and complete identity of its own. Now, we are not the first of these; nor, though tending to it, have we yet become the second. Until our language -- which had, we suspect, passed through all the structural changes of which it is capable -- shall have taken a new genius and other forms, growing into quite a different dialect, our future Letters must be the same, at least in their vehicle, the instrument of speech they are to use. As yet, too, the mass of our individuality, so far as we have any, in English. Our ancestral memories, except those which (however bright) are, if not too few, yet too little remote greatly to affect the imagination, are but such as we nourish in common with England -- of Alfred, of Elizabeth, of Cromwell, of Cressy, of Poictiers, of Naseby and of Worcester -- of what Shakspeare tells, of what Milton defended. What but a long line of glories of our own can ever efface these impressions? Until we have that, you might as well wish that the Greek colonies of Sicily, or Magna Gracis, or Cyrene could have forgotten Homer's heroes and battles, Ilium and Scamander, and Silver Simois, for some local champion, some small fight, some neighboring stream of their own, Of these things, the very monuments, and what must probably always be the monuments of our tongue, are full: they must crumble, then, or loftier ones be built for us, before they can cease to be to us that great Thought of the Past, that Religion of the Memory, which affects men as a race. Our laws, too, and our very politics 580* American Letters. June, breathe scarcely less than our historic recollections and our literary associations of the mother-country. In a word, though we have altered much, it is as yet chiefly either such things (political forms) as have, unless in extreme cases, little to do with literature; or we have altered unfavorably for it; or, where more advantageous, the change has yet had too little time to create new modes of thought. As yet, then, there are not causes, external to literature, which, acting upon it, can, unless very slowly, displace that which we inherit ad give us a new one. And now of those agencies from within themselves, which continually modify Letters everywhere, and have given and may yet long continue to give to ours their particular character. Naturally, the bright and creative eras of strict Literature (not Learning or Science,) like those of the Imaginative Arts, bring after them each its period of tameness and imitation. The greatness too closely present dazzles men: it becomes the general model: all imitate, the greater part most servilely: they turn copyists, not of Nature, but of her copyist: in the admiration which has grown into an enthusiasm, even they of genius enough to have created for themselves--they who can fee the great poets' or other great artists' work-study him too much, learn to think with his thoughts; while they who cannot feel him, but perceive only that others so, copy him minutely, reproducing not is ideas, but their very expression. Then ensues another part of the process of deterioration in letters and art. A great and creative genius has given to the one or the other a sudden glory; all minds become warmed by it: a sensibility to his productions spreads even to those in who that sensibility is but an imitative, a fictitious one; a multitude of imitators start up; the literature or the art takes the form of a mere school; its founder takes the place of Nature, in the imagination of his day-his method becomes the rule-his style, his diction, his handling (as the painters call it) must be used, in order to please, for he has grown into men's fancies, associations, and, to give delight, everything must recall him. But as a man's individuality is found in defects as well as beauties the faults of the great writer often become beauties to his school; * and being more easily copied than calm, still excellencies, are reproduced without end. At first, he will have given a great impulse to the mind and the taste of his day; but presently comes, by the law of compensations, an injury fo both. If he be a poet (to confine ourselves to a single soft of example) he must have enriched his language in its expressive, its picturesque, and its harmonious forms and, in a word added greatly for it to that dialect of the fancy and the senses, the mere terms of which, come, by and by, to have the power of producing in us, apart from their meaning, the pleasure, the sensation of poetry. No sooner has this happened, than you begin to have a sort of conventional verse, that breathes no thought, no imagination of its own, but pleases only because it has that diction, those sounds, the forms and the vocabulary, which have acquired for us a charm, and by the mere association with former emotions, affect us as poetry though in reality but its jargon, when thus employed. At first, this answers well enough; but soon the poetic dialect, continually hacknied in sing-song, forfeits by abuse its power to please, and is degraded back into a common-place at which one stops his ears, just as at the most charming air, when all the street-organs have come to grind it. Thus is it that the bard builds up a tongue of his own, a language of the gods, such as Homer talks of; and thus, as soon as blockheads begin to jabber it, must it be abandoned, and a new one created by other great poets. The process which we have explained describes, as we think, a great part of what is now going on, and almost finished, in the literary world of the present. It seems to us to have degraded, almost to the point of extinction, the literary forms which it has heretofore employed. Still there is some comfort. Verse is getting into a disrepute which delights us> There is nothing of which a London or a New York bookseller is so shy. Shortly, we trust to see it abandoned to tailors and man-milliners, as congenial to their pursuits alone, and employed to popularize (as it is already adequately doing) patent blacking, hoarhound candy, and quack medicines. They who rhyme upon these themes give us hopes, for they are the only ones we see who are equal to their subjects. * Look, for instance, at those collections entitled "Beauties" of Shakespeare, and others; usually gathered, one might think, as examples of hyperbole, exaggeration and of ill taste in every form. 1845.) Prussian Empire 581 PRUSSIAN EMPIRE. THERE are men that rise from time to time, who, to ordinary vision, are so entirely above their species collectively, as in ages of ignorance to be regarded as special productions of supreme power. When, however, we have the means and patience, and also freedom from prejudice, to analyse the social condition of such men, we find them individually the children of their age. No man can be great without great coactors. They are, and cannot be else, than the salient characters of their time and nation— those men who have given their names to epochs; have coördinated the elements placed at their disposal. Human life has no doubt abounded with infinitely more of such spirits, than were ever developed by events. The great man is, therefore, only the exponent of a series of actions ; he is the attractive and directing centre of power, as necessary to order and success, as is the sun in the system of which the earth is a part. And following up the spirit of the comparison, the great man must follow, direct, and understand the tendance of the society of which, great as he may be, he is only an element. The real grandeur of mind, which has given such celebrity to a few individuals who have placed their names in letters of light in the pages of history, arose from their due appreciation of the mission they were called to fulfil. Such, in an eminent degree, were Peter I., of Russia, Frederic II., of Prussia, and Washington, of the United States. The reverse of the tablet of history exhibits examples of far more frequent occurrence—men, who, with unbounded means of benefitting their fellow men, yet utterly wasted those advantages as scourges of their own and neighboring nations. Splendid as were his talents, and compensating as were many of his acts, Napoleon must ever stand in this latter category—a list, indeed, so comparatively numerous as to induce mankind too often to confound their benefactors with their oppressors. If human nature produces any one character more than any other deserving of detestation, it is the mere conqueror. Such a man was Charles XII., of Sweden, and such, as regarded by too many who really have read history, was Frederic II. of Prussia. "The Tyrant Frederic" was heard on the floor of the Congress of the United States, from the mouth of a Member of that body, during the last session. It is time that a more discriminating and liberal knowledge of historical facts should prevail, and prevent our legislators from enforcing their logic by retailing stale epithets on the only monarch then in Europe who appreciated the causes which produced, and approved the occurrence of that great Revolution, which gave national existence to their country. Few are those persons, even in Europe, who are yet aware of the salutary effect on the world of the rise of the Prussian monarchy. In itself, from the long chain of causes and the effects of those causes, through more than six centuries, the history of no other nation of the earth is more attractive and instructive than is that of Prussia. Heeren, one among the most discriminating of modern historians, regards, and with justice, Prussia as the connecting link between Northern and Southern Europe. The very confined limits of an essay in a monthly periodical, would preclude any adequate detail of the facts in Prussian history, which could spread before the reader the whole canvas; but such general views can be given as to awaken a more careful attention to a progress so rich in results, not alone to Prussia, but to the whole civilized world. Before entering on the special history of Prussia, let us turn for a few moments to a general view of that great people who have had, and ever must have, a most commanding influence over the destiny of mankind. It is a very remarkable fact, that Germany, to which the name of Teutonia would be much more appropriate, has never been, for any considerable time, even partially, and never at any time completely subjugated, by foreign power.* We cannot regard the Franks as foreigners to the Germans, since the former had themselves a Teutonic origin. We may, without fear of wounding historical truth, say, that all that vast extent of country * Paganel's Frederic The Great 38 VOL. I. - NO. VI. 582 Prussian Empire. (June, situated between the Rhine, the Danube and the Elbe, had been inhabited by a people, who, in all past ages, have maintained themselves independent, homogeneous, and truly Germanic, or Teuton. Unconquerable by the Romans, it was inhabited, from the Christian Era to the foundation of the great Frank monarchy, only by Franks, Allemains, Saxons, Boyens, or Bavarians, Thuringians, Frisons, and other fragments of the great Germanic mass. All the sovereigns, by whatever title, were German. During the seventh and eight centuries, Germany formed part of the Frank monarchy, and during two hundred years was governed, conjointly with or separate from France, by Frank (German) kings of the Carlogingian family. Fut, as already stated, all the chiefs were Teutonic. Charlemagne and his son, Louis I., masters as they were of both France and Germany, considered the latter as their country, and in it spent the far greater portion of their reigns. France and Germany were separated by the Treaty of Veretim, A.D. 843, and Germany left subject to its own Teuton monarchs to the extinction of the Carlovingian house. From that epoch, A.D. 911, at the election of Conrad I. that country (Germany) through upwards of nine centuries, has been subject only to native monarchs; as for examples, the houses of Saxony, Franconia, Suabia, Luxemberg, Bavaria, and Austria. During this long series of ages, the Teuton nation re-conquered its ancient possessions, wherever or by whomsoever possessed, and from the Alps, beyond the Rhine and Elbe, and towards the Vistula, all was, and remains, German. With their domination, the nation sustained and purified their noble language. The triumphant ensigns were borne into Italy, and slowly rose that imposing confederation, which, down to 1806, bore the title of the German Empire. "From whence came this mighty people?" ----This question must forever remain unanswered to any certainty; but the character of the people is an established truth. History has recorded -- what existing facts prove -- that patriotism, rough and rude as their climate, that unconquerable bravery, which, through past ages, has preserved free and unstained, the Old Germany, and poured forth those swarms that trampled the Roman legions and ensigns in the dust, and gave new names to nations, and new divisions of power. By their agency was formed the kingdoms of France, Spain, England, Portugal, Holland, Belgium, Swiss Cantons, and most of the states of Italy, and now, in the nineteenth century, under the name of Anglo-Saxon, are spreading over North America. The early history of the Germans is lost in the morning mist of time. More ardent in the formation of material than placing o record facts, they issued to light from the lamp of their enemies, and their first appearance promised what has been fully sustained -- gradually emerging from chaos as they came in contact with the Romans. Julius Caesar, Pliny, Tacitus, and their own most early historian, Jornandes, have left on record details on their manners, religion, and government. Though at various times vanquished at different points of their territory, but never conquered, Germans, in all rational probability, have inhabited, from ages far behind the recorded history, the country to which the name Teutonia ought to applied. The Teuton language, with inevitable mutations preserves its identity. The names of person, rivers, mountains, and other objects to which names were given at the infancy of society, preserve in this remarkable country, with very little variation, the orthography found in Caesar, Pliny, Ptolemy, and Strabol. Such is the case with the Rhine, Danube, Weser, Elbe, Ems, Lippe, Main, Neckar, Sale, Oder and Vistula; and we might, were it necessary , adduce proofs equally conclusive, in the names of persons; but we proceed to a conclusion supported by all history, that the Teutons, or Germans may be regarded as aborigines, as far as human testimony can penetrate, and now, with all the changes produced by time and civilization, presenting family features, modified, but radically ineffaceable Such was and is Germany; and among the subdivision of a region so extensive, if any part, from the harshness of its climate and sterility of soil, seemed doomed to eternal obscurity, poverty, and barbarism, it was Brandenburg. Yet it was this stern region which became the cradle of the Prussian monarchy. Brandenburg, Prussia, and Pomerania, remained indeed barbarous, in some respects savage, much longer than did Southern Germany. When we see Prussia in its actual state, we can with difficulty give credit to facts, too well authenticated, nevertheless, to be doubted. Towards 1845.) Prussian Empire. 583 the commencement of the thirteenth century of our era, idolatry, and even human sacrifices had not ceased in those countries. Okin, Tusito, Man, and Irmensul, were the principal divinities of these ferocious men. Withe them, fearless bravery in war was the highest estimation of man. Paradise was his reward, and perdition the punishment of the timid. They eat flesh raw, and drank the blood of the horse. Language fails to depict the rage and devastation with which they carried on war. At once cruel and superstitious, their prisoners were sacrificed to their idols. It was to repress or destroy these hordes that the German knights were employed. Long previous, however, to the Crusades into Western Asia, where, as we shall see in the sequel, the Teutonic order originated, Christian missionaries had penetrated into Prussia. St. Adalbert, bishop of Prague, was the first of these pious pioneers of Christianity, adnabout A.D. 997, received as reward from those he endeavored to convert, the crown of martyrdom. In the Crusades carried on from western Europe, though the principal actors were French, many numerous armies of Germans went also to the east. These armies, transported from a cold climate to one of intense summer heat, were at the same time exposed to, and susceptible to contract, diseases of the nature of which they were ignorant. This new and distressful condition gave origin to rude hospitals. Some humane citizens of Bremen and Lubec, who had sailed to Palestine as merchants, struck with the misery and wretchedness of their sick and wounded countrymen, united themselves into a kind of society, to whom were joined many German officers, and thus gradually assumed the form of a complex association, the objects of which were, "Service to the sick and disabled of their countrymen; and defence of the Holy Land against infidels!" From these elements a body was formed which terminated in a military order, under the name of "THE TEUTONIC KNIGHTS OF ST. MARY OF JERUSALEM." The order was confirmed in A.D. 1192, by Pope Calixtus III. Henry Walpot, of Passenheim, was the first Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights. They were not long permitted to remain in Asia, being driven from thence by the Saracens. But they soon found employment consonant to their military habits and religious zeal. A long and most sanguinary religious war had been waged against the Prussians. Those fierce idolators had resisted all efforts made by force or persuasion to convert made by force or persuasion to convert them to the Christian faith. Pope Honorius III., in 1218 published a crusade against them. The Massovian Poles joined the German crusaders, but with their united forces found themselves too weak to contend with the Prussians. Massovia was over-run, and ravaged with all the fury of barbarian revenge, and in this eventful crisis, Conrad, Duke of Massovia, called in the Teutonic knights, granting to them in full sovereignty, the territory of Culm, in 1226. This compact wan sanctioned and confirmed by the Emperor of Germany, Frederic II., and laid the foundation of the kingdom of Prussia. The Teutonic knights took possession of Culm in 1230, and waging perpetual and unsparing war, gradually exterminated most of the ancient inhabitants. German colonies, also,poured into the country. Commerce and the arts of civilized life gradually rose. Equally warlike, but more united, and with military and political knowledge superior to the Prussians, the German knights secured their religion by founding bishoprics, convents, forts and cities. Königsburg, on the Pregal, was founded in 1255, and Marienburg, on the Nogart, long the capital of the order, it is supposed about 1280. Coeval with these conquests made over Pagan Prussia by the German knights, similar inroads, missionary attempts, and partial conquests, were made in Livonia by other German adventurers. As early as 1200, the city of Riga was founded, and became a Metropolitan See over all Livonia and Prussia. Albert, the third bishop, founded the military order of "KINGHTS OF CHRIST, OR SWORD BEARERS." This order, confirmed by Pope Innocent III., 1204, was found too weak to contend successfully against the Pagans of Livonia, and agreed to unite with the Teutonic Order, 1237. The union was a most important event in the history of northern Europe. The combination enabled the German power to extend over Prussia, Livonia, Courland, and Senrigallia. It demanded ages to change dense barbarism to enlightened civilization. The mere ceremonies and symbols of Christianity were used in a change of superstition; but the germ was planted; 584 Prussian Empire. [June, 1845.] and though the growth was slow, it was constant, and at length bore most salutary fruit. Thus the Prussian Monarchy arose from the union of provinces long and even nationally distinct. The two primary provinces were Brandenburg, in Germany, and Prussia, in northern Poland. Though Prussia has given name to the monarchy, the Marche of Brandenburg, with its dependencies, were superior in political consequence, and gave to the monarchy the reigning family. Sigfroi, brother of Henry the Fowler, Emperor of Germany, early in the ninth century, was the first Margrave of Brandenburg. Barbarous wars with the Vandals and other northern tribes, through five centuries after the rule of Sigfroi, rendered the history of Brandenburg confused and obscure. The name was, indeed, in those ages of violence, rather general than special. Under the title of "Marche of Brandenburg," nine dynasties governed the country—those were Saxons, Walbeck, Stade, Ploetzk, Anhalt, Bavaria, Luxemburg, Misnia, and finally Hohenzollern, the reigning house. Like other great sovereign families of Europe, that of Prussia, when traced backwards, is lost in impenetrable darkness. "A circumstance of no consequence," said Frederic II. "Are not all men from a race equally ancient?" Some historians derive this family from the Italian Colonna, others from the Saxon Wittikind: but a matter of real importance is the certain history of a family who have, in the exercise of power, through a long series of ages, done so much for the melioration of humanity. Among the many interchanges of rulers, Brandenburg was, about the middle of the 14th century, bestowed by the German Emperor Charles IV., of the house of Luxemburg, on his son, Ulenceslaus, King of Bohemia, who desired to incorporate it with that kingdom, but failed, as after his death the Electorate proper fell to Sigismund, his brother. The new Marche, formerly seized by the Teutonic Order by regained by purchase, was again sold to the order. Amid these revolutions and disorder, A. D. 1415, entered on the great scenes of human action the family of Hohenzollern. Taking the advice of the most illustrious branch it has ever produced, we leave the fabulous, and introduce the race on the threshold of real history, when in 1200, Conrad was elected Burgrave of Nuremburg; a most important dignity, as that city was then the great commercial depot of Central Germany.* Conrad transmitted his Burgraviat to his son, which thence, to 1332, remained in the family to the accession of Frederic IV. This Burgrave rendered such signal services to the emperors Albert, Henry VII, and Louis of Bavaria, against Frederic of Austria, as gave him great preponderance in the empire, and accession of territorial powers. In 1363, Frederic V., Burgrave, was declared Prince of the Empire. The Counts of Hohenzollern, already in the ascendant, were now on the eve of a still more important accession of fortune. The Electorate of Brandenburg, to resume in part what we have already stated, passed from the Prince of Anhalt to the Emperor, Louis of Bavaria, in 1322, and from him to the Emperors Wenceslas and Sigismond, sons of Charles IV. Abandoned to the rapacity and cruelty of provincial governors, the whole country became the theatre of misery and disorder. After many changes, the Electorat fell altogether into the hands of William Landgrave, of Thuringia, who, dying without heirs, the emperor Sigismond re-seized it as a reverted fief. Thus, at once, Emperor of Germany, King of Hungary, and Elector of Brandenburg, Sigismond mortgaged, and finally sold the latter to Frederick VI., Burgrave of Nuremburg. The Imperial declaration, dated 30th April, 1415, assured to the Burgrave and to his male heirs, the title of Elector of Brandenburg, and Arch-Chamberlain of the Holy Roman Empire. Neither party to this compact could have had the most faint foresight of its vast influence on the destinies of Germany. Frederic VI., as Burgrave, was Frederic I., as Elector of Brandenburg; and prolonged a prosperous life and reign to a very advanced age. Though involved in the sanguinary war occasioned by the wanton sacrifice of John Huss, he consolidated his possessions, governing his * Burgrave comes from two German words: Burg, castle, fort, or fortified city, and Graff, commandant, governor, or under any of our English titles, chief of such place. The Burgraves began under the Othos, and those of them who were placed in large cities or districts, became hereditary. In particular, the Burgraves of Magdeburg and Nuremburg sat in the College of Princes. Vide Paganel. Prussian Empire. 585 people with a wisdom but little understood or imitated in that age. He ended his days on the 21st of September, 1440, at Cadottzbourg. His son was Frederic II., surnamed the "Iron Toothed," from his prodigious personal strength. It may give some surprise to many who regard connections of Prussia and Poland as recent, and forced by the former power, when they are told that the crown of Poland was offered to, and refused by the Elector of Brandenburg, after the death, 1444, of Ladislas V., son of Jagellon, who was slain in the battle of Vama. The noble Elector refused the boon in favor of the brother of Ladislas, who succeeded as Cassimer IV. Frederic again refused the crown of Bohemia, offered to him, and was rewarded with ingratitude by Podiebrad, in whose favor the refusal was made, and who, in place of a generous acknowledgment of the favor, invaded the Electorate, and was repulsed, and obliged to cede by the Treaty of Guben, 1462, to the Elector, Cotbus, Peitz, Sommerfield, Bobersberg, Storkau and Bessekaw. In 1464, Frederic redeemed the New Marche from the Teutonic Order, and five years after united to it the country of Wernigerode, and assumed the titles of Duke of Pomerania, Mecklenburg, Vandalia, Schwerin and Rostock. Far advanced in life, this Prince abdicated in 1469, in favor of his brother Albert, and tranquilly closed his days on the 10th of February, 1471. Albert, third son of Frederic I. was fifty-seven years of age when his brother ceded to him the Electoral throne. This prince equally brilliant as a warrior and as a negociator, was surnamed the Achilles and Ulysses of Germany. His first campaigns were made against the Poles in 1438, when only Burgrave of Nuremburg. As Elector of Brandenburg, and master of all that his father held in Franconia and Upper Saxony, Albert exercised a very high influence on the Empire and Emperor Frederic III., who reposed in him the most unlimited confidence. In 1474, the Elector commanded the Imperial army against Charles the Bold (Rash) Duke of Burgundy, and by his able counsels secured a happy termination of the war by a solid peace. Equally formidable in the field and tournament, as able in the Cabinet—the Elector Albert was the hero of both history and romance. But feeling the advance of age, Albert in 1476, abdicated in favor of his son John, reserving the Electoral dignity and right of counsel, and retired into Franconia, and survived ten more years. His death partook, in some measure, of the romantic character of his life. Having gone to Frankfort on the Main, at a meeting of the Electors for the election of Maxmilian I. he died suddenly in the bath. The marriage of Barbara, the daughter of Albert, with Henry, Duke of Glogau, and Crossen, laid the foundation of the claim of Prussia on Silesia, successfully enforced two and a half centuries afterwards by Frederic II. John Cicero, the son of Albert, so called from his powers of eloquence, succeeded his father in 1486, and had soon to draw his sword in defence of his sister Barbara, who, after the death of her husband, had to contend for the Duchy of Crossen, with his brother the Duke of Sagan. Defeated by Albert, the Duke of Sagan was compelled to yield Crossen and three other cities, which passed to the Margraves of Brandenburg. The dawn of modern times had broken at the introduction of the art of printing, half a century before the reign of John Cicero; and that invention being German, it was in that country its influence was first felt. The human mind had been awakening from a sleep of ages for two centuries before the introduction of printing; but the impression now given by that art of arts, produced an ardent fermentation, which, as an inevitable consequence, inspired in society a spirit of inquiry, that gained invincible force from resistance. Reforms in every pursuit of man were now found necessary, and demanded in a voice which could not be altogether disobeyed. Religion, civil policy, jurisprudence, commerce, science in all its branches, seemed to have received new life, and in no other part of Germany appeared to produce more salutary effects than in Brandenburg. In 1499, the Elector, John Cicero, solicited and obtained from Pope Alexander VI. permission to found a university at Frankfort on the Oder. We may express regret that he did not live to see the completion of this design. It was confided to his son and successor Joachim I., a youth of fourteen at his father's death; and though thus early in life put in possession of power, and though superstitious rather than really religious, he pursued the pacific policy of his father, and in 1506 completed the University of 586 Prussian Empire. [June, 1845.] Frankfort. Allowing for his youth, and for the age and his rank, he was himself learned, and a protector of science and letters. Early in his reign, an event took place which, in its consequences, had enduring influence. In 1510, a younger branch of the house of Hohenzollern, the violent, turbulent, but able Margrave Albert, was chosen Grand Master of the Teutonic Order. Elevated to that dignity, he refused that homage to Sigismond I., King of Poland, established forty-four years before. War followed, and was terminated by the utter ruin of the Teutonic Order. Albert, in 1525, signed the treaty of Cracow, renouncing the dignity of Grand Master and every connection with the Teutonic Order, but was himself acknowledged hereditary Duke of Prussia, and thus changed totally the constitution of that country. That great revolution, called the Reformation, had commenced, and Albert, relieved from restraint, married Dorothy, daughter of the King of Denmark, adopted the Lutheran doctrines, and propagated in Prussia the Confession of Augsburg, founded the University of Königsberg, protected and encouraged agriculture and commerce, and, in fine, encouraged every pursuit favorable to the happiness of his new subjects. This same Duchy of Prussia, in 1618, was united with Brandenburg, and gave name to that monarchy whose progress has mocked the anticipations of human sagacity. We have already seen the accession to the new doctrines of the Margrave, or Duke Albert of Prussia, and, by a singular concurrence of events, the elder branch of the same family, in the person of Joachim II., Elector of Brandenburg, and successor of Joachim I., also, in 1538 aided the Reformation. "In fact," says Paganel, "this memorable insurrection of human thought against absolute power in the hands of the sacerdotal order, could not fail. It was the consequence of necessity; and a solemn manifestation of the new spirit infused into society." Though in itself partial as to the sections of Europe where it was openly adopted as part of the constitution of states, the Reformation extended its effects over the whole range of Christianity. Before the Reformation, Germany, as an empire, was a mass of confusion—a chaos of adverse material—and, exposed as it was to conflict from opposition to change, and from human selfishness—the cancer producing a counteractive to melioration —still, the Germany after any of these conflicts was far preferable to the Germany at their commencement. From their individual positions, the house of Hapsburg, at the advent of the Reformation, became the champion of papal claims, and, with all the force of Austrian and Spanish power, opposed the Reformation; whilst the minor houses of Hesse, Saxony, and Hohenzollern adopted, and, with more or less zeal, defended the new doctrines. When we read the best histories of the Reformation, and compare, as we must involuntarily do, the convulsions it produced with those of the last and current century, we can have but faint conceptions of the fury of the former. Hence the extreme difficulty of adopting and maintaining a neutral position. With all its inconveniences, however, the Elector, Joachim II., refused to join the league of Smalkalde with the Protestants, or accede to the interim on the Imperial side, set papal thunders at defiance, and while war and its consequences raged around, he maintained profound peace in his Electorate. Policy forced Charles V. to grant for his dominions full liberty of conscience; and Joachim II., though politically attached to the Emperor, sternly sustained the rights of his subjects. Towards the close of the life and reign of this usefully great man, he obtained from his brother-in-law, Sigismond Augustus, King of Poland, in 1569, the right to succeed Albert Frederic of Brandenburg, Duke of Prussia, in the case of the latter leaving no male heirs. The consequences of this treaty were of the most preponderating influence to both Prussia and Poland, as we shall see in the sequel. Joachim II. did not long survive this treaty, being poisoned by a Jew, and died on the 3d of February, 1571. Under Joachim II., the University of Frankfort on the Oder was enriched by much of the church property—that of the Chartreux in particular. The emoluments of the professors were augmented. We have evidence on the most important of all subjects—the progress of human reason—how greatly mankind stand indebted to northern Germany. At the epoch when the two branches of the house of Hohenzollern were erecting and endowing colleges, schools, and universities, Prussian Empire. 587 the great body of the people were in a state of ignorance the most gross; and when we turn to what the Prussians are at present, we must grant with his historians, that Joachim II. deserved what has been meted out to him—a respected memory. John George succeeded his father Joachim II., February, 1571, and reigned until the 8th January, 1598. His pacific administration was unproductive of any very remarkable event—a conclusive proof of its beneficence. Joachim Frederic, the son of John George, was, at his father's death, Archbishop of Magdeburg and Bishop of Haveburg and Lelurs. On his accession to the Electorate, he abdicated the archiepiscopal seat in favor of his youngest son, Christian William. The union of Brandenburg and Prussia was now approaching consummation. During the derangement of the Prussian Duke, Albert Frederic, the Elector of Brandenburg administered the government of the duchy. After having governed the bishopric of Magdeburg thirty-two years, and the Electorate ten, Joachim Frederic died in his carriage, at Koepenic near Berlin, on the 8th of July, 1608. John Sigismond, eldest son of Joachim Frederic, succeeded his father at the mature age of thirty-six, and among the early acts of his reign was the resumption of Prussian pretension to the territories of Juliers, La Marche, Cleves, Ravensburg, and Ravenstein, and the urging of his claims, in right of his wife Eleonora of Juliers, as heiress under letters patent granted by Charles V., 1546. The competitors of the Elector were the Albertine or Electoral house of Saxony, the Ernestine or Ducal house of Saxony, and Philip Louis, Count Palatine of Newberg. This contest was not decided finally until 1666, when, with his unvarying good fortune, the whole surface in litigation fell to the great Elector Frederic William. Joachim Frederic followed his father as administrator of Ducal Prussia, and received from Sigismond III., King of Poland, the investiture and provisional succession to that country, on the same principles on which his father had received a similar investiture, and closed his life and reign in 1619, after seeing Prussia and Brandenburg united under one sovereign in the previous year. It may be cited as among the most remarkable facts in history, that during two hundred and four years from the accession of Frederic, Burgrave of Nuremberg, under nine Electors, there was not one whose talents were not respectable. If we except Rome, there has arisen no other human power but Prussia, whose growth has been so slow and steady, or whose policy has been so calculated to preserve what was gained. This series of good fortune, or, more correctly, prudent and able administration, was now doomed to encounter a fearful reverse. George William, the son and successor of John Sigismond, seemed to be an utter contrast to all his predecessors and successors. Weak, obstinate, and of course unsteady, the meliorations planned by his predecessors, and yet only partially available, all fell into confusion under his mal-administration. During his whole reign of twenty-one years, friends and enemies ravaged his dominions with impunity. A slave himself to his minister Schwartzenburg, a tool of Austria, and dragged in turn without plan or policy into the alliances of Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, or that of Ferdinand II., Emperor of Germany, this wretched prince was alike incapable of directing the affairs of his Electorate in either peace or war; and the state, thus misruled, appeared as one scene of irremediable ruin. The thirty years' war commenced in the last year of the reign of John Sigismond, and raged through the whole reign of George William. No other part of Germany suffered such complicated evils from the parties in this war, as did Brandenburg. The Swedes entered Germany in 1630, and exposed the misgoverned Electorate to the ravages of friends and enemies. A picture too truly descriptive of all northern, central, and southern Germany, towards the end of the thirty years' war, had its deepest colors over Brandenburg. "Those suffering countries presented only monuments of ravage and desolation. Those of the people who escaped the sword, were perishing with famine and pestilential maladies. This war, waged to gratify the unbridled ambition of Ferdinand II.—and in which shone on the field of battle, for the misfortune of humanity, Tilly, Walstein, Mansfield, Bernard, Duke of Saxe Weimar, Gustavus Adolphus, Banier, Torstenoon, Wrangell, and others—left traces of ruin which were 588 Prussian Empire. [June, 1845] not entirely obliterated for more than a century afterwards."* Amid the utmost extent of desolation, on the 3d December, 1640, died in imbecile George William, soon after arriving at Königsberg, where he went to hold the States of Prussia, leaving to his son, Frederic William, a desolated country in the power of its enemies, few soldiers, an empty treasury, and doubtful allies. Who was he among the sons of men destined to appear on the scene of action and remedy evils of such magnitude? The son of the despicable George William—born on the 6th February, 1620, and Elector of Brandenburg and Duke of Prussia before attaining his twentieth year. No two monarchs of different times and nations could more evidently differ in all the qualities necessary to rule mankind, than did the father and son. Supreme power itself seemed to have created and endowed Frederic William, to raise the grandeur of his house and secure the prosperity of his people. Wise in the conception, and bold in the execution of his designs—at once an able general and consummate statesman —he soon recovered his lost territories, and made new acquisitions. A scrupulous observer of all his engagements, he secured the unlimited confidence of friends and enemies. No danger appalled him, nor could prosperity inflate him. He was grand in his conceptions, while no detail in their execution appeared unworthy of his attention. Under him commerce and the arts rose and flourished. In brief, new principles of life, warm and invigorating, were breathed into society over the whole extent of Brandenburg and Prussia, and their dependencies. The education of this remarkable man was in action. His uncle, Frederic Henry of Orange-Nassau, was his instructor in the arts of peace and war. At his accession, Frederic William was a sovereign without provinces—an Elector without power; with allies, but no friends, and himself merely emerging from boyhood; but relying on his own strength for remedying the evils which beset him and his people, he was not disappointed. One of his first acts of power, and one which evinced his fearless character, was, by summary execution, to rid himself of the worthless Schwartzenburg. In this case, the young Elector had personal as well as state causes of accusation against the minister, who had excited the suspicion of the weak George William against his son. and contributed to separate the son from the father. There is no maturity of age or extent of experience but what would have been requisite to devise means to remedy the deplorable condition of his states, when Frederic William, a youth of twenty years of age, became sovereign. Swedes were in possession of Pomerania; the Spaniards ravaged Cleves and other adjacent provinces. Marks of devastation met the eye, and nothing but expressions of pain and anguish were heard. But, as was well said by his great-grandson, Frederic II., when speaking of "The Great Elector," the danger which appals and crushes mediocrity is an aliment of life to genius. Eight years had hardly passed after the death of George William, when Prussia had again resumed its political weight. In 1647 the long dispute in regard to the Duchy of Cleves, and the counties of Marck and Ravensburg, was closed by an accommodation with the Count Palatine of Neuberg. In the Congress of Westphalia, Frederic William supported an important part. In this Congress the Elector sustained the rights of his co-religionists, the Calvinists, and nobly aided the cause of the Lutherans. That treaty, concluded 24th October, 1648, usually called the treaty of Westphalia, freed Prussia from enemies, and added to it Haberstadt, Minden, Hohenstein, and secured the survivorship to the Bishopric of Magdeburg, secularized under the name of Duchy. The affairs of northern Europe at the middle of the 17th century, depended in no slight degree on Sweden. In possession of Pomerania, Livonia, Ingria, and Carelia, Swedish powers skirted the southern side of the Baltic. Since the death of Gustavus Adolphus (1632), the crown and sceptre of Sweden were possessed by his daughter Christina. Various have been the representations made of this singular woman. A calm view, taken from the distance of two centuries, would, it may be safely said, justify the conclusion that Christina deserved a better character than she has received from the writers near her own age. The factions *Frederic II., as quoted by Paganel. Prussian Empire. 589 of Sweden, always fierce and bitter, afforded a barren and disgusting theatre to Christina, more inclined to her books than to political contention, and induced her to abdicate. Let the intentions or motives of Christina be what they might, she gave the crown of her kingdom to a man of ability. Charles Gustavus was crowned at Stockholm on the 16th of June, 1654. But he had a competitor in John Casimir, King of Poland, which rivalry eventuated in war, and which involved the Elector of Brandenburg. Charles Gustavus, under pretence of attacking Russia, demanded from Frederic William the ports of Pillau and Mesnel, as Gustavus Adolphus had, in the thirty years' war, demanded and received from the feeble George William, Kushim and Spandau. But men as well as times were changed; the demands of Charles Gustavus were sternly refused. The real view of the Swedes was to attack Poland, which they did, and drove John Casimir out of the country—a success which, however, they were unable to maintain. Frederic William foresaw his own danger as Duke of Prussia, and made every prudent disposition in his power to avert it. He endeavored to put Poland on its guard, but, true to their intrinsic character, the nobles of that country were not to be forewarned. For the moment master of Poland, the King of Sweden marched on Prussia, and forced Frederic William to sign the Convention of Königsberg (1656), acknowledging himself vassal of Sweden for the Duchy of Prussia, on condition of the secularization of the Bishopric of Warmia in favor of the Elector. The King also promised to cede the Palatinates of Posau, Kaliz, Lenczyça, and Siradia. This treaty foreshadowed the final fate of Poland, and the rapid course of events up to the treaty of Oliva, May, 1660, evinced the incurable vices of the government of Poland. The King of Sweden and the Elector, now acting in concert, the former regarding himself King of Poland, joined their armies, and fought, in the environs and streets of Warsaw, the famous battle of three days, terminating in the utter defeat of the Poles, but displaying the future hero, John Sobieski. Charles Gustavus acting as king, or rather as absolute conqueror, ceded to his ally the sovereignty of Prussia. The able appear mostly fortunate. Denmark and the Emperor of Germany, for obvious reasons, were opposed to the success of the Swedes, declared in favor of Poland, induced Frederic William to break his alliance with Charles Gustavus, and sign with Poland the Treaty of Wehlau, 19th September, 1657, by which the vassal state of Prussia was for ever abolished, and its sovereignty, complete and absolute, vested in the House of Brandenburg. The treaty of Wehlau was again confirmed by that of Bromberg, 6th November, 1657,—Frederic William evacuating the towns he held in Poland, except Buton and Lawenburg, which were ceded to him. These treaties withdrew the Elector from the war which continued between the Poles and Swedes, and between Sweden and Denmark. But, torn and wasted as were the theatres of the struggle, all parties sighed for peace, and agreed to open conferences for that purpose, at the Abbey of Oliva, near Dantzic, which led to a definitive treaty, 3d May, 1660. Those readers who may have imbibed the opinion that the final partition of Poland, was originally concerted plan devised and put into operation, 1772, would do well to read the second Article of the Treaty of Oliva, which "secured the right of interference in favor of Protestant Dissenters to the governments of England, Sweden, Denmark, and Brandenburg." The treaty of Oliva, was the confirmation of that of Westphalia, and giving peace to Northern Europe left Frederic William, now in the flower of his age, to devote himself to the prosperity of his States, and, to use the testimony of Frederic the Great:—"To solace the families ruined by enemies; to rebuild the ruined towns; to change wastes to fruitful fields. Forests were cut down and villages rose. Industrious families fed their flocks where, only a few years before, the ravages of war had made the desolate haunts of wild beasts. Rural economy, that industry so despised and so useful, was encouraged by the care and countenance of the sovereign. New creations appeared daily. An artificial river was formed, which, by uniting the Spree to the Oder, abridged the distance and facilitated the transport of merchandize by both the Baltic and ocean." The treaty of Oliva also gave Magdeburg and its dependencies and the Lordship of Regenstein forever in full sovereignty to Russia. 590 Prussian Empire. [June, 1845.] Twelve years from the treaty of Oliva passed away before any serious foreign war diverted Frederic William from the execution of his beneficent labors; but in 1672 the scene changed. France now the most powerful state in Europe, with numerous armies, and such generals as Turenne and Condé, with a monarch ambitious and unscrupulous—the neighboring states were in a state of uncertainty and dread. Of these Holland was most exposed. The Houses of Orange and Brandenburg were united in blood, and now by a common danger. Holland was rent by domestic factions. Not so Brandenburg. There, order prevailed; and, though from position, religion, and prudence, even the Elector must have been inclined to take part with Holland, yet true to his character, however, his measures were always cautious. He marched to the Rhine with twenty thousand men; but the number and discipline of the French armies, commanded by such a general as Turenne, were altogether an overmatch for any force Holland and Brandenburg could oppose to them. The high character of the Elector, joined with power the king of France was too wise to despise, produced an accommodation, favorable to the former. The Treaty of St. Germain, 10th April, 1673, ratified on the 6th of June, of the same year, in the camp of the Elector, at Wossen, near Louvain, restored to him all the strong places of the Duchy of Cleves, except Wesel and Rees, retained by France to the general peace. Policy and interest, as well as his own inclination, induced Frederic William to use every endeavor to preserve peace; and, for the year after the Treaty of Wossen, he succeeded; but in 1673, war again broke out between France and the German Empire. The French army passed the Rhine, and wasted the Palatinate with fire and sword. The Elector invaded Alsace and made the only diversion which gave any check to the French. Turenne commanded on the Rhine, and Condé in Flanders. The former carried all before him, passed the Rhine, and gained the battle of Sinzheim against the Duke of Lorraine. The great Elector found confusion and division in the imperial camp. The German generals, without capacity or plan, were, though with great superiority of force, utterly unable to contend with the most consummate general of the age, whose motions, Frederic the Great in his Memoirs, so graphically expressed,— "Turenne retreated as a Fabius, and returned as a Hannibal." Frederic William, the only German general who could even appreciate Turenne, weary of beholding an inaction he could not rouse, and a fatuity which no advice could remove, consulted his own safety, decamped in the night and repassed the Rhine at Strasburg. The object of France was gained, and Alsace for ever lost to Germany. Though separated from the German imperial armies, the French regarded the Elector of Brandenburg still as their most formidable enemy; and the counselors of Louis XIV. succeeded in inducing Sweden to invade the Electorate, 1675. In the whole career of this extraordinary man, there was no other occasion on which his activity, talents and foresight shone so conspicuous as on that of the Swedish invasion. Exasperated as he justly was, on being attacked without provocation, every faculty of his mind was called into activity, and carried his inspiration to the hearts of his people. After some necessary movements, and learning that the Swedes had united their forces at Havebbourg, his determination was taken to give instant battle, with a very inferior army as to number, but troops animated with a desire of vengeance for the devastation of their country. On the 18th June, 1675, at Fehrbellin, the Swedish army was utterly defeated, and the fragments who escaped pursued into Pomerania. The moral effects of the complete victory gained at Fehrbellin, were most salutary for Northern Germany. The sensation produced extended over the whole nation. A new power seemed to have risen, and the Elector did not permit the enthusiasm to subside. The Swedes in the three succeeding years lost Stralsund, Anclam, and Stettin, with the island of Rugen, and while thus improving the victory of Fehrbellin, the Elector was informed that another army of 16,000 men, commanded by Gen. Horn, had marched from Livonia, and overrun Prussia. To meet this new danger, General Goertz was dispatched with 3000 men, early in January, 1679, to join General Dorfling, with 9000. The two generals soon found Frederic William at their head. The Swedes already defeated morally, were quickly repulsed from Prussia, and Frederic William returned triumphantly to his eastern capital, Königsberg. Prussian Empire. 591 No talent, however, could enable a state then so weak, and so provincially scattered, to maintain a war against France and Swedenunited. The Westphalian territories of the Elector were inundated by the French, and Louis XIV., having involved the Swedes in the war, deemed himself bound to enable them to recover their lost towns and fortresses. Frederick William could not conceal from himself the fact that the German Emperor, the despotic Leopold I., could now see with most violent chagrin, the rise of, as one of his courtiers observed, "A new kingdom of the Vandals on the banks of the Baltic." Influenced by these considerations, and acting as every wise man in similar circumstances ever did and ever will do, he consented to treat for peace, which was, on the 29th of June, 1679, signed at St. Germain-en-Laye, between France, Sweden, Holland and Brandenburg. History perhaps, does not afford another so powerful example of the value to a state of one truly great man. When we revert to the then physical force respectively, of the contracting parties to the treaty of St. Germain-en-Laye, we may well accord to Frederick William the title of "Great Elector." It was only such a man who could have given such consequence to his states. Paganel well observes that "During this war, it is true, the Elector did not enlarge his material power, (wonderful indeed would it have been if it had) but his states and himself had prodigiously gained in moral force. From that epoch he occupied an exalted place in public opinion, and gave earnest of the wonders of the coming century." The same French author relates, in the next paragraph to the one quoted, a circumstance which depicts in colors of flame the contrast between a factitious and really great man. "A character of boldness and grandeur was imprinted on all the actions of this prince. As simple Elector he sustained the Emperor against the Turks; and on another occasion he menaced the great king. We may recall the statue set up on la place des Victoires à Paris. In this insulting monument elevated by servile adulation to flatter the madness of pride, the Elector learned that he was destined to figure with the King of Denmark as two suppliants presenting petitions to their conqueror. On this report reaching him, Frederick declared sternly to the French ministers, that he would return insult for insult in one of the public squares of Berlin, if the project was not relinquished. These menaces were not despised. This prince was the only Elector that Louis XIV. treated as his equal." But can the voice of history now confirm their equality? who are they now, who would place the inflated monarch on an elevation with that of Frederick William? A few years of exemption from war left the great Elector to pursue in the arts of peace, labors far more congenial to his inclination. At that time, however, with the Turks on the east, and France on the west, no enduring tranquillity could exist in Europe. It would be incompatible with the necessary brevity of our pages to enter into the details of the disputes between the German Empire, in regard to Alsace and Lorraine, or of the Turkish invasion of Austria, in which the great Elector was only incidentally involved. But the revocation of the edict of Nantes brought forth the true difference between the mere physical power of Louis XIV. and the moral power of the German Elector. That document so influential on not only French but European policy closes thus— "given at Fontainebleau, in the month of October, 1685, and in the forty-third year of our reign," signed Louis, and endorsed, Visa Le Tellier, and on the margin, "by the King, Colvert;"* and registered by Parliament of Paris on Monday the 24th same month. At the same time that the King of France and his besotted counsellors were thus employed on a work to retard the prosperity of their country, and to load their names with an obloquy which nothing but the wreck of matter can ob- *Before us lies a history of Louis XIV. king of France, in the French language printed at Amsterdam 1718, by P. H. de Simiers. This work is our principal authority for what relates to the mere revocation and particularly dates; but Paganel's Life of Frederic II., also French, and written far within the current century, printed, Paris, 1830, affords the most essential material in respect to the part taken in the consequences of the revocation, by the great Elector. We may probably, in a future essay give a translation of the instrument of revocation with the attendant circumstances. 592 Prussian Empire. [June, 1845.] literate, Frederic William was exerting every resource in his power in the melioration of his country. After the peace of St. Germain, the king of France carefully sought to preserve the friendship of the Elector, and had he sought advice from the same quarter, the revocation of the Edict of Nantes would never have soiled his character. A fatality seemed to press upon the great king. All saving counsel if heard was contemned. The fatal Edict no sooner produced its effects, than with the feelings of humanity and foresight of true policy, Frederic William opened his states to the refugees, and gained the best materials of national wealth, so wantonly thrown away by the French monarch. The unfortunate victims found from him more than a mere asylum. Every kind of assistance was given freely and bountifully, even to the supply of building materials, and to some pensions from the public purse. After having made suitable provisions for their pastors, in general, the Elector chose the most distinguished for his chaplains, and permitted all to preserve the forms of church discipline as practiced by the Reformed in France. Military men were employed, with advancement of the officers one grade above what they held in France. To this admirable union of wisdom and unity, the Elector added the polish of gracious amenity. Let a French person arrive, the Elector admitted him or her to an audience; heard their statements with patience and kindness, and, as far as propriety would admit, complied with their demands. After one of these receptions William represented to Count Rebenac, the French minister at his court, the excessive rigor exercised towards the ejected religionists. The ambassador warmly denied that any violence was committed: adding, that the refugees were worthless persons, or disturbers of public peace, who having nothing to lose, made religion a pretext to cover their knavery and better their fortune. To these observations the Elector made no immediate reply, but treasured them in his mind until a few days afterwards, Marshal Schomberg and several other officers arrived in Berlin. "Will you now dare again to deny to me," said William to Rebenac, "that the Protestants are not persecuted in France? and dare you say also that they are all obscure people and discontented malcontents who have left your country!" It was difficult for Rebenac to rebut these questions by a reply; and the heated Elector added: "If matters are thus conducted in your country, tell the king your master that I renounce the friendship of a monarch who immolates the faith of treaties to his politics." Rebenac, knowing the warm temper of the Elector and probably considering the consequences, replied calmly, "I'll wait twenty-four hours before complying with your request." William himself, calmed by a few hours of reflection, thanked the Envoy for his prudence. If ever the giver was blessed in giving, with a bounty beyond all former example, this was the occasion. Many of the more wealthy of the emigrants, retired to Holland, England, and other Protestant states. The poor, the laborer, the artisan, those whose education were their all, came to Bradenburg. Immediately the effects were apparent. Flourishing manufactures revealed to the subjects of the Elector the means to gratify wants they had felt, roused new desires and created enjoyments unknown to former times. Commerce received new life. Agriculture was annually meliorated. Berlin stood indebted to its new citizens for interior police, paving of the streets, and public markets. Intellectual went in advance of material improvement. Arts and letters flourished. All ranks, as mind expanded, became more liberal and more happy. Louis XIV., displeased with the reception given to his subjects, driven by blind and ferocious fanaticism into foreign countries, ceased to remit the subsidies covenanted to be paid to the Elector, by the treaty of Saint-Germain-en-Laye: but the great king most amply supplied the deficiency by his rejected subjects. Never was hospitality and humanity more bountifully rewarded. Posts, unknown previously in Germany, had been partially, early in the sixteenth century, introduced; but though near two centuries had passed since their introduction, they were still partial and imperfect. Frederick William established them in all his dominions from Emmeric to Mesnel. Beloved—almost adored by his people —and respected by all Europe, Frederick William saw his domestic happiness depart by a second marriage. His first wife was Louisa of Nassau, his second, Dorothy of Holstein Glucksburg. The sudden death of three children by his first wife, and the avowed hatred of the second Prussian Empire. 593 Electress to her step-children, supported the suspicion of poison. The aged Elector dared not scrutinize these reports; his existence was blasted, and death on the 29th of April, 1688, terminated his sufferings, in the 69th year of his age and the 49th of his reign. In a few words, it may be said unhesitatingly, that not even excepting his great grandson, Frederic II., no other monarch recorded in history ever performed a greater and more useful part with so limited means. He was the balancing power in Germany, and even in some instances sacrificed his own individual interest to that of the empire. Acting in one of the most important periods of human history, and knowing the marked difference of religion existing, as well as the jealousy of the Austrian family at the aggrandizement of that of Brandenburg, the Elector, whenever the occasion called, felt and acted as a German prince. At the commencement of his reign, as we have already shown, Frederick William had before him a ruined country, in possession of enemies, and neither troops nor finances to secure defence; while at his death he left a disciplined army of veterans, amounting to twenty-five thousand men, a prosperous country, and the respect of the whole civilized world. What might have been the effect on the interests of mankind, had destiny reversed the positions and resources of Louis XIV. and Frederick William! Paganel exclaims, at the close of his brief biography, "Louis XIV., Cromwell, and he, illustrated their age; but Frederick William, their equal in glory, without indulging the ambition of the monarch, or committing the crimes of the Protector." How different, indeed, was the aspect of Brandenburg and Prussia, when Frederic, afterwards the first king, succeeded his father, from what it was half a century before! Such was the order established in the finances by the great Elector, that during the invasion of the Swedes the bank did not for a moment suspend payment. The laws had been improved by the same genial influence, and when, with very inferior talents, the new Elector seized the reins, he found all in order, and had the good sense to retain all the old and experienced ministers of his father. Occasion soon presented itself to demand all the resources of the Elector and his subjects. In any war which should be waged against each other by France and the German empire, in the then condition of Europe, neither Holland nor Brandenburg could remain neutral. It was also a moment of revolution. The Stewart family had ceased to reign in England, and King James II. was a fugitive in France. The Stadt-Holder of Holland, in the name and right of his wife, the daughter of the exiled monarch, was on the throne, by the name of William III. War, with more than usual destruction and barbarity, raged between France and most of her neighboring states—a war of nine years' continuance in the Netherlands, on the Rhine, in Italy, the frontiers of Spain, in Ireland, on the Mediterranean and on the ocean—a war which threatened to utterly crush, or place above all resistance, the power of France. The devastation of Rhenish Germany, where all the horrors of accumulated war were perpetrated by order of Louvois, the French minister—while similar atrocities on a smaller scale, on every other theatre where it was waged, and the exhaustion of all parties, were the fruits—left the relations of power, relatively, in no serious manner changed, when the treaty of Ryswick was signed, 20th September, 1697.* In the operations of this war the Elector of Brandenburg was but partially involved, though as a near blood relation to William of Orange, and by the dying recommendations of his father, Frederick took part against France, and sent Marshal Schomberg to aid William in securing the crown of England. The battle of the Boyne where Schomberg fell, secured the prize. Long before the death of Frederick William the united territories of Brandenburg and Prussia formed a kingdom in fact, nor was more wanted than the declaration of that fact to place the ttile of the new power on the list of European monarchies. The project of being the first king of his dominions was no doubt premeditated by William before his father's death. The rise of his cousin of Orange to the throne of England was well calculated to sharpen his desires, which were supported by more ability than the writers of his time placed to his credit. To gain the German emperor, he, against his political interests, which were to remain neuter, and which the king of France would have willingly respected, sent troops to join the Imperial armies on the Rhine, in Flanders and Hungary. It would be irrelevant to pursue the chain *Heeren. 594 Prussian Empire. [June, 1845.] of events; it is sufficient to state that by untiring diligence through twelve years, success was obtained. Nearly all the Protestant states of Europe had given their consent, and on the 19th of January, 1701, Frederick placed the crown on his own head, and took rank accordingly as King of Prussia. Frederic I. had, before his assumption of the crown, married a second wife, Sophia Charlotte of Hanover, daughter of Ernest Augustus, afterwards George 1,, and sister of George II., kings of England. This truly great woman was rather depressed than elevated by her change of title from Electress to Queen. Instructed by travel, admired for her personal beauty and for genius which raised her to a higher sphere than a throne, she introduced polished manners into the Court of Berlin, far above what prevailed there before her marriage, and formed around her love of letters, science, and arts, In a word, the simple fact of her being not simply the friend, but the scientific friend, of Liebnitz, the rival of Newton, decides the exalted character of Sophia Charlotte. Among the other sex she had few, and among her own sex no equal then on earth. Four years after the coronation of her husband in 1705, Sophia paid a visit to Hanover, where she ended her days in the bosom of her family. Frederick honored her memory by splendid obsequies—her real loss he was incapable to appreciate. The contrast was, indeed, so striking as to sink below its proper level the character of William I. Thongh vain and ostentatious, there was a foundation of political sagacity in his mind. The vassal dependence on the empire or rather on Austria, if not entirely removed, was rendered nominal after Frederick assumed the crown. There was, however, more apparent enlargement of the new kingdom than what arose form the mere influence of its title. The county of Lingen, as part of the dependencies of Nassau Orange, fell to Prussia at the death of William III., 1702. Tecklenberg, in Wesphalia, was acquired in 1707. But in the same year Prussia obtained by purchase the most remarkable of its acquisitions. This was the united territories of Neufchatel and Valengin, between France and Switzerland, and one hundred and fifty miles from any other Prussian province. This most singular province of Prussia is also a canton of Switzerland, and thus an anomaly in European geography and policy, as connected polity with a monarchy and republic, having no mutual dependence on each other. The administrative ability of Frederick I. was shown in an honorable light in the war which distracted Northern Europe during nearly the whole of his reign. To preserve the peace of his scattered territories, exposed at so many points to attack, when threatened by such neighbors as Charles XII. of Sweden, and Peter the Great of Russia, demanded talents and prudence of a very high order. Frederic II., his grandson, for reasons history has not revealed, contributed in his Memoirs of the House of Brandenburg, to depreciate the character of Frederic I., by representations very much at variance with the facts. There was a disposition evinced by the first king of Prussia to place more attention on show than was to the taste of either his son or grandson, and more, perhaps, than show was ever worth; but there must have been a mass of solid gold below the dross. Be that as it may, with all his extravagance, Frederic I., on the 25th of February, 1713, at his death, left a kingdom with all the germs of power unimpaired, and about a year before his demise saw the infant face of that grandson which was destined to give such lustre to his family and kingdom. If there was ever a contrast more strong than any other between either his father or his son, such a contract was shown between Frederic William I., and Frederic I. and II. An observation may be here premised, that the immense superiority of Frederic the Great was prejudicial to the characters of both his predecessors. Frederic William, mature of years when the sceptre was placed in his hands—with a temperament in an extraordinary degree stern, rough, and unamiable. The amenities of life, and the improvement of the human mind by education, he not simply held in contempt, but seemed to regard with hate. Men of letters fled his presence, and the most eminent of them, Wolf, was actually banished. Yet this man, by a truly singular coincidence, had in another semi-barbarian, Peter I. of Russia, the only cotemporary monarch to whom he could be compared as an administrator of government, to secure and enhance national prosperity. To do real justice to Frederic William I., he ought to be contrasted with George I. and II. of England, and with Louis XV. of France. Under Frederic William the new kingdom Prussian Empire. 595 annually increased in strength. Economy in every branch public and domestic was pushed to parsimony, except in what regarded the military. An army of seventy thousand disciplined troops, and all the other attendant military arrangements and material were the fruits, and consolidated the throne. Stettin, a part of Guelderland, Kessel, and Limbourg, were annexed to Prussia. A treaty with Charles XII. of Sweden secured to his power that part of the Pomerania, between the Oder and Peene, and Frederic William saw himself and kingdom treated with marked respect at the Conferences of Utrecht and Rastadt. In the interior administration this king, so generally regarded as little above a savage, gave every encouragement in his power to agriculture and commerce. In 1733, in the twentieth year of his reign, the manufactures of the kingdom were so flourishing, that large quantities of woollen cloth were exported, as were lace, velvets, goldsmiths' work and carriages. While thus securing the means, the main bent of Frederic William was military. Berlin resembled an immense arsenal, where every necessary branch of military preparation was in activity, and arms and warlike supplies became so abundant as to become objects of export. An orphan asylum was created for the reception of three thousand children of the military, and in its organization reigned that rigid order which characterized every institution under the influence of this monarch. Avaricious in everything else, his determination to give efficiency to his army, induced him to disregard expense to secure that object. With a fixed plan to raise and complete in every respect, an army of seventy thousand men, Frederic William swerved not, and more than accomplished his object. Strange as it may seem, he was not endowed, except as to personal courage, with any attribute of a great general. By his tastes, narrow views in too many respects, and his obstinate prejudices, he stood an obstacle to intellectual improvement. But if his views were not grand they were useful. His excessive economy had, if not a full, at least a reasonable excuse, in the circumstances under which he was placed. His common sense was strong, and his sense of honesty and integrity unbending, and evinced in every act of his life. In his "Memoirs of Twenty Years' Residence at Berlin," Thiebault gives an instance of the inflexibility of Frederick William in money transactions, which affords a true picture of the man. "One of the Receivers of Public Money at Königsberg, having in his hands a considerable amount of money for which he did not expect an immediate demand, drew from the strong box a sum of two thousand crowns, and put in its place his own obligation for prompt reimbursement. The king unexpectedly arrived, discovered the deficit, and though the officer was rich, and ready to replace the money, and though a man of unimpeachable integrity, he was tried, condemned, and executed." This was certainly extending justice to the borders of cruelty, to speak as mildly as the case admits; but we read no more of inroads on the deposits during the residue of the reign of Frederic William. Time was advancing and an immensely superior genius was rising to use to effect, beyond all human foresight, the element for peace and war amassed by the second king of Prussia. Frederic William was only Prince Royal when, on the 24th of January, 1712, his princess, Maria Dorothy of Zell, presented to him that infant, Charles Frederic, whose name stands enrolled undoubtedly among the greatest of the children of men. We may close our notice of the father briefly, before entering on that of the son. In fact, from what has been already stated, it must be evident that the policy and labors of Frederic William were employed in preparation rather than present use, and that, in sketching that policy and describing those labors we have already given the most important acts of that king. During the twenty years which followed the death of Frederic I., the internal affairs of Prussia were but little influenced by the neighboring states, and the hero of the succeeding age was left to rise in silence to manhood, under circumstances we shall more particularly descant upon in another article. On the 1st February, 1733, the king of distracted Poland, Augustus II., died, and left the nation, as had been the case for centuries, in a state of confusion. The son of the defunct monarch, was only one of the competitors for the crown of thorns. A party in Poland attempted to restore Stanislaus, the creature of Charles XII. of Sweden, thirty years before—an accomplished man as a private noble, and father-in-law to the king of France, but now advanced far in life, and long de- 596 Translation of Horace. [June, 1845.] tached from the politics of the new times. Russia supported the elector of Saxony, and France Stanislaus. The emperor of Germany, Charles VI., though opposed to the preponderance of Russia in Poland, was still more averse to see the power of France prevalent, and therefore lent his weight to the Elector of Saxony. In the interim, Poland again presented what was seen there before on more than one occasion—by two separate and mutually inimical elections two kings were chosen. On the 12th of September, 1733, on the plains of Wola, Stanislaus was proclaimed king, but in little more than a month afterwards, the Elector of Saxony as Augustus III., aided by Russia, entered Warsaw sword in hand, seized the crown, and Stanislaus, with a price laid on his head, was driven out and with difficulty reached Dantzick. After a brave defence again a fugitive, and under different disguises, with great peril he at length obtained an asylum, and was received as a king in Marienwerder. Once in Prussia he was safe, and it does honor to the memory of Frederic William, that he permitted his son the Prince Royal to visit and console the unfortunate Stanislaus. These two men in many respects worthy of each other, remained several weeks together and cemented a friendship which death alone terminated. Towards the end of his life and reign Frederic William appeared at intervals to more correctly appreciate his son, but the radical difference between them rendered affection, confidence, or even ordinary friendship impossible. As we shall see in our next article, the father and son lived far apart and distant from each other. From the close of the Polish contest in which Prussia was but partially engaged, peace prevailed generally over Europe, and left the aged king to pursue his labors, and indulge his increasing ascerbity of temper, until both were closed 31st of May, 1740, and Charles Frederick commenced his truly remarkable reign. TRANSLATION OF HORACE. ODE III.—BOOK II. Remember in thine hour of dark distress To keep thy heart the same as in success;— Curb in thy spirit from intemperate joy, Oh! Delius, whom death will soon destroy, Whether thy life drags slowly on in tears, Or thou chase pleasure through the gliding years; While in the distant meadows you recline, Quaffing the richest of Falernian Wine; Where the tall pine and white-leaved poplar make A deep dark shadow o'er the breeze-stirred lake; Or through their winding bed the waters stray, And flee, with trembling eagerness, away— Here, bid them wines, and breathing odors bring, And brief-bright roses, from the earth that spring, Ere age has shed his snows upon thy head, Or the three sisters snapped the gloomy thread. Thou'lt leave thy purchased groves, thy ville, thy home, Near which the waves of yellow Tiber roam, Thine heir—some thoughtless, dissipated boy— Thy piled-up treasures shall profuse enjoy. Whether a wealthy son of high degree, Or poor and helpless—it is nought to thee; For all, who move, inspired by mortal breath, Alike are victims of unsparing death. We all are hurried to the self-same place, And, soon or late, the lots of all our race Leap forth, when shaken, from the fatal urn, And drive us forth—ah! never to return. The Vision of the Wings. 597 THE VISION OF THE WINGS. A feeble wail was heard at night, And a stifled cry of joy, And when the morn broke cool and light, They bore to the mother's tearful sight A fair and lovely boy. All day long in quiet rest, The child lay on its mother's breast, That rose and fell, Silently, slow—a sea of love— While the frail bark it bore above, Rocked gently with the swell. Months passed away, And day by day The mother hung about her child, As in his little cot he lay And softly wept or smiled, And threw his hands into the air, Or turned above his large bright eyes With an expression half of prayer And half of strange surprise. For hovering o'er the infant's head A bright strange vision hung; Fluttering softly , softly swaying, Unsteadily it swung,— As if suspended by a thread, His own soft breath obeying. Sometimes, with look of wild beseeching, He marked it, as it dropped Almost within his uncouth reaching; And, as the vision stopped Beyond his anxious grasp, His little hands would clasp With a wild chirrup of delight; But as he saw his effort vain, And the bright vision there again Dancing before his sight, Then would his eyes grow dim with tears, Till o'er their large dissolving spheres The soothing eyelids crept, And the tired infant slept. He saw—his mother could not see— A presence and a mystery, Two waving wings, Painted with rainbow colorings, And spangled o'er with starlike things; No form of light was borne between— Only the wings were seen. Years stole away with silent feet, And he, the little one, With brow more fair, and voice more sweet, Was playing in the sun. Flowers were around him, and the songs Of bounding streams, and happy birds, But happier than all airy tongues, Broke forth his own glad words. VOL. I.—NO. VI. 39 598 The Vision of the Wings. [June, 1845.] And as he sings— The wings, the wings! Before him still they fly! And with their graceful waverings Entice his longing eye. Hovering here, hovering there, Hovering slowly everywhere, They flash and shine among the flowers, While dripping sheen, in golden showers, Falls through the air, where'er they hover, Upon the radiant things they cover. Hunting here, hunting there, Hunting softly everywhere, He plucks the flowers they shine upon, But while he plucks their light is gone; And casting down the faded things, Onward he starts to follow still the wings. Years ran away with silent feet; The boy, to manhood grown, Within a shadowy retreat Stood anxious and alone. His bosom heaved with heavy sighs, His hair hung damp and long, But fiery purpose filled his eyes, And his limbs were large and strong: And there, above a gentle hill, The wings were hovering still, While their soft radiance, rich and warm, Fell on a maiden's form. There all alone she stood, And the bright blood Swept o'er her features with a rosy flood, While her long golden hair, Upon a bosom rare, Hung like bright cloud-wreaths on the sunset air. Her large, soft eye of blue Looked trembling through The startled lash, that fell before his view, Who with a soul on fire, With strong desire, Gazed on that face and form to worship and admire. And see! again he starts, And onward darts, Then pauses with a fierce and sudden pain, Then presses on again, Till with mixed thoughts of rapture and despair, He kneels before her there:— With hands together prest, He prays to her with low and passionate calls, And, like a snow-flake pure, she flutters, falls, And melts upon his breast. Long in that dearest trance he hung— Then raised his eyes; the wings that swung In glancing circles round his head, Afar had fled, And wheeled, with calm and graceful flight, Over a scene That glowed with glories beauteously bright Beneath their sheen. The Vision of the Wings. 599 High in the midst a monument arose, Of pale enduring marble; calm and still, It seemed a statue of sublime repose, The silent speaker of a sculptor's will. Its sides were hung around With boughs of evergreen; and its long shaft was crowned With a bright laurel-wreath, And glittering beneath Were piled large heaps of gold upon the ground. Children were playing near—fair boys and girls, Who shook their sunny curls, And laughed and sang in mirthfulness of spirit, And in their childish pleasures Danced around the treasures Of gold and honor they were to inherit. The sight has fired his brain; Onward he springs again, O'er ruined blocks Of wild and perilous rocks, Through long damp caves; o'er pitfalls dire, And maddening scenes of blood and fire, Fainting with heat, Benumbed with cold, With weary, aching feet, He sternly toils, and presses on to greet The monument, the laurels, and the gold. Years have passed by; a shattered form Leans faintly on a monument, His glazing eyes are bent In sadness down: a tear falls to the ground, That through the furrows of his cheek hath wound. The children beautiful have ceased to play, Tarnished the marble stands with dark decay, The laurels all are dead, and flown the gold away. Once more he raised his eyes; before him lay A dim and lonely vale, And feebly tottering in the downward way Walked spectres cold and pale. And darkling groves of shadowy cypress sprung Among the damp clouds that around them hung. One vision only cheers his aching sight; Those wings of light Have lost their varied hues, and changed to white, And, with a gentle motion, slowly wave, Over a new made grave. He casts one faltering, farewell look behind, Around, above, one mournful glance he throws, Then with a cheerful smile, and trusting mind, Moves feebly toward the valley of repose. He stands above the grave; dull shudders creep Along his limbs, cold drops are on his brow, One sigh he heaves, and sinking into sleep He drops, and disappears;—and dropping now, The wings have followed too, But, lo! new visions burst upon the view, They reappear in glory bright and new! And to their sweet embrace a soul is given, And on the wings of HOPE and angel files to HEAVEN. 600 Marshal Murat. [June, 1845.] MARSHAL MURAT.* ACHILLE, the eldest son of Murat formerly king of the two Sicilies, is now a planter in Florida. Fleeing from France he came to our country, and found an asylum on our shores, the place of refuge to so many of those stern and restless spirits that once unsettled Europe from her repose. Kings, and princes, and marshals, and nobles, have in turn been forced to take shelter under our eagle, to escape imprisonment and death at home. The life and fate of Murat were forcibly recalled to us, not long since, as we stood in his palace, near Naples—left just as he furnished it, and gazed on his portrait, still hanging where he placed it. It is singular that we have no good biographies of Bonaparte's distinguished generals. Many of them being men of striking intellectual qualities, great military ability, heroic courage, and with lives filled with great actions and thrilling adventures, they furnish materials for most lively and interesting sketches, which notwithstanding have never been written. The French revolution brought strange beings to the surface, of whose existence man never dreamed before. Demagogues and statesmen and orators rose in turn from the heretofore despised mass, and disputed with kings, as if accustomed their lifelong to such encounters. And as the revolution called out what intellectual force was in the French people, so did Bonaparte's wonderful career bring into the field whatever military talent and genius the nation possessed. The young Corsican, rising steadily by his great achievements from a subaltern in the artillery to the commander-in-chief of the French army, drew all eyes and hearts after him. Besides, the same causes which called out the energies of Napoleon, brought forth also those of other men. The formation of a republican army, led by republican generals, left the field of fame open to every aspirant, and thousands rushed on it, some to succeed and many to fall. This sudden removal of all privileges and prerogatives, and appealing simply to the entire native force and talent of a people, develop strength and power that are absolutely awful. The almost miraculous growth of our own country exhibits the extent and greatness of this power exerted in the peaceful channels of commerce and internal improvements; while the empire of France, overshadowing Europe and making playthings of thrones, illustrates the force of this hidden strength when concentrated into armies. The utter breaking up of old systems and old ranks, and the summoning to the battlefield, by a continent in arms, exhausted the entire military talent of France. Three classes of men especially rejoiced in the state of things that made great military deeds the sure road to fame and fortune. The first was composed of those stern and powerful men whose whole inherent force must out in action or slumber on forever. In peaceful times they make but common men, for there is nothing on which they can expend the prodigious active energy they possess; but in agitated times, when a throne can be won by a strong arm and a daring spirit, they arouse themselves, and move amid the tumult completely at home. At the head of this class stands Marshal Ney—the proud, stern, invincible soldier, who acquired the title of "the bravest of the brave." A second class of reckless, daring spirits, who love the excitement of danger, and the still greater excitement of gaining or losing every thing on a single throw, always flourish in great commotions. In times of peace they would be distinguished only as roving adventurers or reckless dissipated youth of some country village. In war they often perform desperate deeds, and by their headlong valor secure for themselves a place among those who go down to immortality. At the head of this class stands Marshal Junot, who acquired the sobriquet of "la tempête," "the tempest." A third class is composed of the few men left of a chivalric age. They have an innate love of glory from their youth, and live more by imagination in the days of knighthood, than amid the practical scenes that surround them. Longing for the field where great deeds are to be * Vie publique et privée de JOACHIM MURAT, composée d'apres des materiaux authentique la plupart inconnue et contenant des particularités ineditée sur ses premiers années. PARIS. Marshal Murat. 601 done, they cannot be forced into the severe and steady mental labor necessary to success in ordinary times. To them life is worthless, destitute of brilliant achievements, and there is nothing brilliant that is not outwardly so. In peace such men simply do nothing, and dream away half their life, while the other half is made up of blunders, and good and bad impulses. But in turbulent times they are your decided characters. The doubts and opposing reasons that distract others have no influence over them. Following their impulses, they move to a higher feeling than the mere calculator of good and evil. At the head of this class stands, as a patriot, the lazy Patrick Henry, and as a warrior, the chivalric Murat. The latter, however, was an active, rather than a passive dreamer—pursuing, rather than contemplating, a fancied good, and he acquired the name of the "prieux chevalier." Joachim Murat was born March 25th, 1767, in Bastide, a little village, twelve miles from Cahors. His father was the landlord of a little tavern in the place. He was honest and industrious, with a large family, differing in no way from the children of any other country landlord, with the exception of Joachim, who was regarded the most reckless, daring boy in the place. He rode a horse like a young Bedouin, and it was around his father's stable, he first acquired that firm and easy seat in the saddle, that afterwards made him the most remarkable horseman of his age. The high and fiery spirit of the boy marked him out at an early age, as a child of promise, and he became the Benjamin of his parents. The father had once been a steward in the Talleyrand family, and through its influence young Murat was received, at nine years of age, into the college of Cahors, and entered on a course of studies, preparatory to the church. Young Murat was destined by his parents to the priestly office, for which he was about as much fitted by nature as Talleyrand himself. But nothing could make a scholar of him. Neglecting his studies and engaged in every frolic, he was disliked by his instructors and beloved by his companions. The "Abbé Murat," as he was jocularly termed, did nothing that corresponded to his title, but on the contrary every thing opposed to it. His teachers prophesied evil of him, and declared him, at length, fit for nothing but a soldier, and they, for once, were right. Leaving Cahors he entered the college at Toulouse no wiser than when he commenced his ecclesiastical education. Many adventures are told of him while at the latter place, which, whether apocryphal or not, were all worthy of the reckless young libertine. At length, falling in love with a pretty girl of the city, he fought for her, and carrying off his prize, lived with her concealed till the last sous was gone, and then appeared among his companions again. This put an end to his clerical hopes, and throwing off his professional garb he enlisted in a fit of desperation into a regiment of chasseurs that happened at that time to be passing through the city. Becoming tired of the restraint of the camp, he wrote to his brother to obtain his dismission, which was promised, on condition he would resume his theological studies. The promise was given, and he returned to his books, but the ennui of such a life was greater than that of a camp, and he soon left school and went to his father's house, and again employed himself in the stables. Disgusted with the business of an ostler, he again entered the army. The third time he became sick of his employmant, and asked for his dismissal. It was about this time he cheated an old miser out of a hundred francs, by passing off a gilded snuff-box for a gold one. But money was not the motive that prompted him to this trick. A young friend had enlisted in the army, and had no way of escape except by raising a certain sum of money, which was out of his power to do. It was to obtain this for his friend, Murat cheated the old man. But the revolution beginning now to agitate Paris, Murat's spirit took fire, and having obtained a situation in the constitutional guard of Louis Sixteenth, he hastened with young Bessières, born in the same village, to the capital, and there laid the foundation of his after career, which made him the most distinguished of Napoleon's marshals. An ultra-republican; his sentiments, of which he made no secret, often brought him into difficulty, so that it is said he fought six duels in a single month. At this time he was twenty-two years of age, tall, handsome, and almost perfectly formed, and with a gait and bearing that made him the admiration of every beholder. During the reign of terror he was a violent republican, and advanced through the grades of lieutenant and captain to that of major. In 1795 having been of 602 Marshal Murat. [June, 1845.] some service to Napoleon in Paris, the latter when he was appointed to command the army in Italy, made him a member of his personal staff. Here, beside the rising Corsican, commenced his brilliant career. With the words, "Honor and the Ladies," engraved on the blade of his sword—works characteristic of the chivalric spirit of the man, he passed through the Italian campaign second only to Bonaparte in the valorous deeds that were wrought. At Montenotte, Milesimo, Dego, Mondovi, Rivoli, &c. he proved the clear sightedness of Napoleon in selecting him for a companion in the perilous path he had marked out for himself. He was made the bearer of the colors taken in this campaign, to the Directory, and was promoted to the rank of general of brigade. He soon after accompanied Bonaparte to Egypt, where he grew weary and discontented in the new warfare he had to encounter. In the first place, cavalry was less efficient than infantry against the wild Mamelukes. When twenty thousand of those fierce warriors mounted on the fleet steeds of the desert, came flying down on their mad gallop, nothing but the close and serried ranks of infantry, and the fixed bayonet could arrest their progress. Besides, what was a charge of cavalry against those fleet horsemen, whose onset and retreat were too rapid for the heavy armed French cuirasseurs to return or pursue. Murat grew desperate in such a position, and was seen with Lannes once to tear off his cockade and trample it in anger under his feet. Besides, the taking of pyramids and deserts was not the kind of victory that suited his nature. But at Aboukir, where he was appointed by Napoleon to force the centre of the Turkish lines, he showed what wild work he could make with his cavalry. He rode straight through the Turkish ranks, and drove column after column into the sea; and in one of his fierce charges dashed into the camp of Mustapha Pacha, and reining up his magnificent steed beside him, made him prisoner with his own hands. His brilliant achievements in this battle fixed him forever in the affections of Napoleon, who soon after, made him one of the few who were to return with him to France. During that long and anxious voyage Murat was by his side, and when the vessel in which they sailed, was forced by adverse winds into the port of Ajaccio, he visited with the bold Corsican the scenes of his childhood. In the revolution of the 18th Brumaire, which placed Bonaparte in supreme power, Joachim took a conspicuous part, and did perhaps more than any other single general for the usurper. In that crisis of Napoleon's life, when he stalked into the Council of the Five Hundred, already thrown into tumultuous excitement by the news of his usurpation, and the starling cry, "down with the tyrant" met his ear, Murat was by to save him. "Charge bayonets," said he to the battalion of soldiers under him, and with firm step and leveled pieces they marched into the hall and dissolved the Assembly. Soon after, being at the time thirty-three years of age, he married Caroline Bonaparte, the youngest sister of the Emperor, then in all the bloom and freshness of eighteen. The handsome person and dashing manners of Murat pleased her more than the higher-born Moreau. In a fortnight after his marriage he was on his way with his brother-in-law to cross the San Bernard into Italy. At Marengo he commanded the cavalry, and for his great exploits in this important battle, received from the consular government a magnificent sword. Bonaparte, as Emperor, never ceased lavishing honors on his favorite brother-in-law. He went up from General of Brigade to General of Division, then to Commander of the National Guard, Marshal, Grand Admiral, Prince of the Empire, Grand Eagle of the Legion of Honor, Grand Duke of Berg and Cleves, and was finally made King of Naples. "The Abbé Murat" had gone through some changes since he was studying theology at Toulouse. It is not our design to enter in detail into the history of Murat, but having given the steps by which he ascended to greatness, speak only of those acts which illustrate the great points of his character. In the campaign of 1805—at Wertingen, Vienna and Austerlitz, and other fields of fame—in 1806-7 at Jena, Lubeck, Eylau and Friedland—in 1808 overthrowing the Spanish Bourbons, and placing the crown in Napoleon's hands, he is the same victorious leader and intrepid man. His three distinguishing characteristics were, high chivalric courage, great skill as a general, and almost unparalleled coolness in the hour of extremest peril. Added to all this, Nature had Marshal Murat. 603 lavished her gifts on the mere physical man. His form was tall and finely proportioned—his tread like that of a king—his face striking and noble, while his piercing glance few men could bear. This was Murat on foot, but place him on horseback, and he was still more imposing. He never mounted a steed that was not worthy of the boldest knight of ancient days, and his incomparable seat made both horse and rider an object of universal admiration. The English invariably condemn the theatrical costume he always wore, as an evidence of folly, but we think it is all in keeping with his character. He was not a man of deep thought and compact mind, but he was an oriental in his tastes, and loved everything gorgeous and imposing. He usually wore a rich Polish dress, with the collar ornamented with gold brocade, ample pantaloons, scarlet or purple, and embroidered with gold; boots of yellow leather, while a straight diamond-hilted sword, like that worn by the ancient Romans, hanging from a girdle of gold brocade, completed his dashing exterior. He wore heavy black whiskers, long black locks which streamed over his shoulders and contrasted singularly with his fiery blue eye. On his head he wore a three-cornered chapeau, from which rose a magnificent white plume that bent under the profusion of ostrich feathers, while beside it and in the same gold band, towered away a splendid heron plume. Over all this brilliant costume, he wore in cold weather a pelisse of green velvet, lined and fringed with the costliest sables. Neither did he forget his horse in this gorgeous appareling, but had him adorned with the rich Turkish stirrup and bridle, and almost covered with azure-colored trappings. Had all this finery been piled on a diminutive man, or an indifferent rider like Bonaparte, it would have appeared ridiculous; but on the splendid charger and still more majestic figure and bearing of Murat, it seemed all in place and keeping. This dazzling exterior always made him a mark for the enemy's bullets in battle, and it is a wonder that so conspicuous an object was never shot down. Perhaps there never was a greater contrast between two men, than between Murat and Napoleon, when they rode together along the lines previous to battle. The square figure, plain three-cornered hat, leather breeches, brown surtout, and careless seat of Napoleon, were the direct counterpart of the magnificent display and imposing attitude of his chivalric brother-in-law. To see Murat decked out in this extravagant costume at a review, might create a smile, but whoever once saw that gaily-caparisoned steed with its commanding rider in the front rank of battle, plunging like a thunderbolt through the broken ranks, or watched the progress of that towering white plume, as floating high over the tens of thousands that struggled behind it—a constant mark to the cannon balls that whistled like hail-stones around it—never felt like smiling again at Murat. Especially would he forget those gilded trappings when he saw him return from a charge, with his diamond-hilted sword dripping with blood, his gay uniform riddled with balls and singed and blackened with powder, while his strong war-horse was streaked with foam and blood, and reeking with sweat. That white plume was the banner to the host he led, and while it continued fluttering over the field of the slain, hope was never relinquished. Many a time has Napoleon seen it glancing like a beam of light to the charge, and watched its progress like the star of his destiny, as it struggled for awhile in the hottest of the fight, and then smiled in joy as he beheld it burst through the thick ranks of infantry, scattering them from his path like chaff before the wind. We said the three great distinguishing traits of Murat were high chivalric courage, great skill as a general, and wonderful coolness in the hour of danger. Napoleon once said, that in battle he was probably the bravest man in the world. There was something more than mere success to him in a battle. He invested it with a sort of glory in itself—threw an air of romance about it all, and fought frequently, we believe, almost in an imaginary world. The device on his sword, so like the knights of old—his very costume copied from those warriors who lived in more chivalric days, and his heroic manner and bearing, as he led his troops into battle, prove him to be wholly unlike all other general of that time. In his person at least, he restored the days of knighthood. He himself unconsciously lets out this peculiarity, in speaking of his battle on Mount Tabor with the Turks. On the top of this hill, Kleber with 5,000 men, found himself hemmed in by 30,000 Turks. Fifteen thousand cavalry first came thundering down on this band of 5,000 arranged in the form 604 Marshal Murat. June, 1845.] of a square. For six hours they maintained that unequal combat, when Napoleon arrived with succor on a neighboring hill. As he looked down on Mount Tabor, he could see nothing but a countless multitude covering the summit of the hill, and swaying and tossing amid the smoke that curtained them in. It was only by the steady vollies and simultaneous flashes of musketry, that he could distinguish where his own brave soldiers maintained their ground. The shot of a solitary twelve pounder, which he fired toward the mountain, first announced to his exhausted countrymen that relief was at hand. The ranks then, for the first time, ceased acting on the defensive, and extending themselves charged bayonet. It was against such terrible odds Murat loved to fight, and in this engagement he outdid himself. He regarded it the greatest battle he ever fought. Once he was nearly alone in the centre of a large body of Turkish cavalry. All around, nothing was visible but a mass of turbaned heads and flashing scimetars, except in the centre, where was seen a single white plume tossing like a rent banner over the throng. For a while the battle thickened where it stooped and rose, as Murat's strong war-horse reared and plunged amid the sabre strokes that fell like lightning on every side,—and then the multitude surged back, as a single rider burst through covered with his own blood and those of his foes, and his arm red to the elbow that grasped his dripping sword. His steed staggered under him and seemed ready to fall, while the blood poured in streams from his sides. But Murat's eye seemed to burn with four-fold lustre, and with a shout, those who surrounded him never forgot to their latest day, he wheeled his exhausted steed on the foe, and at the head of a body of his own cavalry trampled everything down that opposed his progress. Speaking of this terrible fight, Murat said that in the hottest of it he thought of Christ, and his transfiguration on that same spot nearly two thousand years before, and it gave him ten-fold courage and strength. Covered with wounds, he was promoted in rank on the spot. This single fact throws a flood of light on Murat's character, and shows what visions of glory often rose before him in battle, giving to his whole movement and aspect, a greatness and dignity that could not be assumed. None could appreciate this chivalrous bearing of Murat more than the wild Cossacks. In the memorable Russian campaign, he was called from his throne at Naples to take command of the cavalry, and performed prodigies of valor in that disastrous war. When the steeples and towers of Moscow at length rose on the sight, Murat, looking at his soiled and battle-worn garments, declared them unbecoming so great an occasion as the triumphal entrance into the Russian capital, and retired and dressed himself in his most magnificent costume, and thus appareled, rode at the head of his squadrons into the deserted city. The Cossacks had never seen a man that would compare with Murat in the splendor of his garb, the beauty of his horsemanship and, more than all, in his incredible daring in battle. Those wild children of the desert would often stop, amazed, and gaze in silent admiration, as they saw him dash, single-handed, into the thickest of their ranks, and scatter a score of their most renowned warriors from his path, as if he were a bolt from heaven. His effect upon these children of nature, and the prodigies he wrought among them, seem to belong to the age of romance rather than to our practical times. They never saw him on his magnificent steed, sweeping to the charge, his tall white plume streaming behind him, without sending up a shout of admiration before they closed in conflict. In approaching Moscow, Murat, with a few troops, had left Gjatz somewhat in advance of the grand army, and finding himself constantly annoyed by the hordes of Cossacks that hovered around him, now wheeling away in the distance, and now dashing up to his columns, compelling them to deploy, lost all patience, and obeying one of those chivalric impulses that so often hurled him into the most desperate straits, put spurs to his horse, and galloping all alone up to the astonished squadrons, halted right in front of them, and cried out in a tone of command, "Clear the way, reptiles!" Awed by his manner and voice, they immediately dispersed. During the armistice, while the Russians were evacuating Moscow, these sons of the wilderness flocked by thousands around him. As they saw him reining his high-spirited steed towards them, they sent up a shout of applause, and rushed forward to gaze on one they had seen carrying such terrors through their ranks. They called him their "hetman,"—the highest honor they could confer on him—and kept up Marshal Murat. 605 an incessant jargon as they examined him and his richly caparisoned horse. They would now point to his steed— now to his costume, and then to his white plume, while they fairly recoiled before his piercing glance. Murat was so much pleased by the homage of these simple-hearted warriors, that he distributed among them all the money he had, and all he could borrow from the officers about him, and finally his watch, and then the watches of his friends. He had made many presents to them before; for often, in battle, he would select out the most distinguished Cossack warrior, and plunging directly into the midst of the enemy, engage him single-handed, and take him prisoner, and afterwards dismiss him with a gold chain about his neck or some other rich ornament attached to his person. We said, also, he was a good general, though we know this is often disputed. Nothing is more common than the belief that an impulsive, headlong man cannot be clear-headed, while history proves that few others ever accomplish anything. From Alexander down to Bonaparte, your impetuous beings have always had the grandest plans, and executed them. Yet, men will retain their prejudices, and you cannot convince them that the silent, grave owl is not wiser than the talkative parrot, though the reverse is indisputably true. There could hardly be a more impetuous man than Bonaparte, and he had a clearer head and a sounder judgment than all his generals put together. Murat's impulses were often stronger than his reason, and in that way detracted from his generalship. Besides, he was too brave, and never counted his enemy. He seemed to think he was not made to be killed in a battle, or to be defeated. Bonaparte had a great confidence in his judgment when he was cool, and consulted him perhaps more than any other of his generals upon the plan of an anticipated battle. On these occasions Murat never flattered, but expressed his opinions in the plainest, most direct language, and often differed materially from his brother-in-law. Perhaps no one ever had greater skill than Napoleon in judging of the position of the enemy; and in the midst of battle, and in the confusion of conflicting columns, his perceptions were like lightning. Yet, in these great qualities, Murat was nearly his equal. His plans were never reckless, but the manner he carried them out was desperation itself. Said Bonaparte of him, "He was my right arm—he was a paladin in the field—the best cavalry officer in the world." Murat loved Bonaparte with supreme devotion, and bore with his impatience and irascibility, and even dissipated them by his good humor. Once, however, Bonaparte irritated him beyond endurance. Murat foresaw the result of a march to Moscow, and expostulated with his brother-in-law on the perilous undertaking. The dispute ran high, and Murat pointed to the lateness of the season, and the inevitable ruin in which the winter, so close at hand, would involve the army. Bonaparte, more passionate than usual, because he felt that Murat had the right of it, as he had, a few days before, when he besought him not to attack Smolensko because the Russians would evacuate it of their own accord, made some reply which was heard only by the latter, but which stung him so to the quick that he simply replied, "A march to Moscow will be the destruction of the army," and spurred his horse straight into the fire of a Russian battery. Bonaparte had touched him in some sore spot, and he determined to wipe out the disgrace by his death. He ordered all his guard to leave him, and sat there on his magnificent steed, with his piercing eye turned full on the battery, calmly waiting the ball that should shatter him. A more striking subject for a picture was scarce ever furnished than he exhibited in that attitude. There stood his high-mettled and richly caparisoned charger, with arching neck and dilated eye, giving ever and anon a slight shiver at each explosion of the artillery that ploughed up the turf at his feet, while Murat, in his splendid attire, sat calmly on his back, with his ample breast turned full on the fire, and his proud lip curled in defiance, and his tall white plume waving to and fro in the air, as the bullets whistled by it—the impersonation of calm courage and heroic daring. At length, casting his eye round, he saw General Belliard still by his side. He asked him why he did not withdraw. "Every man," he replied, "is master of his own life, and as your Majesty seems determined to dispose of your own, I must be allowed to fall beside you." This fidelity and love struck the generous heart of Murat, and he turned his horse and galloped out of the fire. The affection of a single man could conquer him, at any time, whom 606 Marshal Murat. [June, 1845.] the enemy seemed unable to overcome. His own life was nothing, but the life of a friend was surpassingly dear to him. As proof that he was an able general as well as a brave man, we need only refer to the campaign of 1805. He commenced this campaign by the victory of Wertingen —took three thousand prisoners at Languenau, advanced upon Neresheim, charged the enemy and made three thousand prisoners, marched to Norlingen and compelled the whole division of Weernesk to surrender, beat Prince Ferdinand, and hurrying after the enemy, overtook the rear guard of the Austrians, charged them and took 500 prisoners— took Ems, and again beat the enemy on the heights of Amstetten, and made 1800 prisoners—pushed on to Saint Polten, entered Vienna, and without stopping, pressed on after the Russians, and overtaking their rear guard, made 2,000 prisoners, and crowned his rapid, brilliant career with prodigies of valor that filled all Europe with admiration, on the field of Austerlitz. In that battle, Murat, as usual, was stationed behind the lines with the cavalry. It was to him that Bonaparte always looked to complete his victories. It is hard to describe the conflicts of cavalry, for it is a succession of shocks, each lasting but a short time, while the infantry will struggle for hours, enabling one to view and describe every step and stage of the contest. Hence it is, that in descriptions of battles the separate deeds of cavalry officers are slightly passed over—the shock and the overthrow prevent the proper appreciation of individual acts. Nothing could exceed the grandeur of the scene on which the "sun of Austerlitz" arose. A hundred and fifty-five thousand men met in mortal combat. From sunrise till nightfall, the battle raged and victory wavered, while the rapidly falling columns and the ensanguined, cumbered field, told how awful was the carnage. But amid the roar of a thousand cannon and the incessant discharge of musketry, the muffled sound of Murat's terrible shocks of cavalry was heard, making the battle field tremble beneath their feet. Nothing, it is said, could be more awful than this dull, heavy sound of his charging squadrons, rising at regular intervals over the roar of combat. Bonaparte usually put fifteen or twenty thousand cavalry under Murat, and placed them in reserve behind the lines, and when he ordered the charge he was almost certain of victory. After a long and wasting fight, in which the infantry struggled with almost equal success, and separate bodies of cavalry had effected but little, Bonaparte would order him down with his enormous weight of cavalry. It is said that his eye always brightened as he saw that magnificent body begin to move, and he watched the progress of that single white plume, which was always visible above the ranks, with the intensest interest. Where it went he knew were broken ranks and trampled men, and while it went he knew that defeat was impossible. Like Ney, he carried immense moral force with him. Not only were his followers inspired by his personal appearance and incredible daring, but he had acquired the reputation of being invincible, and when he ordered the charge, every man, both friend and foe, knew it was to be the most desperate one human power could make. And then the appearance of 20,000 horsemen coming down on the dead gallop, led by such a man, was enough to send terror through any infantry. The battle of Valentina exhibited an instance of this moral force of Murat. He had ordered Junot to cross a marshy flat and charge the flank of the Russians while he poured his strong cuirasseurs on the centre. Charging like a storm with his own men, he was surprised to find that Junot had not obeyed his command. Without waiting for his guard, he wheeled his horse, and galloping alone through the wasting fire, rode up to him and demanded why he had not obeyed his order. Junot replied that he could not induce the Westphalian cavalry to stir, so dreadful was the fire where they were ordered to advance. Murat made no reply, but reining his steed up in front of the squadron, waved his sword over his head and dashed straight into the sharp shooters, followed by that hitherto wavering cavalry as if they had forgotten there was such a thing as danger. The Russians were scattered like pebbles from his path; then turning to Junot, he said, "There, thy marshal's staff is half earned for thee; do the rest thyself." At Jena, after the Prussians began their retreat in an orderly manner, and no efforts of the infantry could break their array, Bonaparte ordered Murat to charge. With 12,000 horsemen following hard after him, cheering as they came, he fell on the exhausted columns and trampled them like grass beneath is feet, and Marshal Murat. 607 although Ruchel with his reserve just then came up in battle array, nothing could resist the fury of Murat's successive onsets, and the defeat was changed into a general rout. We find him also at Friedland, bursting with his impetuous charges through the allied ranks. But it is at Eylau that he always appears to us in his most terrible aspect. This battle, fought in mid winter, in 1807, was the most important and dreadful one that had yet occurred. France and Russia had never before opposed such strength to each other, and a complete victory on either side would have settled the fate of Europe. Bonaparte remained in possession of the field, and that was all—no victory was ever so like a defeat, and Murat alone saved him. The field of Eylau was covered with snow, and the little ponds that lay scattered over it were frozen sufficiently hard to bear the artillery. Seventy-five thousand men on one side, and eighty-five thousand on the other, arose from the field of snow on which they had slept the night of the 7th of February, without tent or covering, to battle for a continent. Augereau, on the left, was utterly routed early in the morning. Advancing through a snow-storm so thick he could not see the enemy, the Russian cannon, fired half at random, mowed down his ranks with their destructive fire, while the Cossack cavalry, which were ordered to charge, came thundering on, almost hitting the French infantry with their long lances before they were visible through the driving snow. Hemmed about and overthrown, the whole division composed of 16,000 men, with the exception of 1,500, were captured or slain. Just then the snow storm clearing up, revealed to Napoleon the remnant of Augereau's division scattered and flying over the field, while four thousand Russians were close to the hill on which he stood with only a hundred men around him. Saving himself from being made prisoner by his cool self possession, he saw, at a glance, the peril to which he was brought by the destruction of Augereau and the defeat of Soult, and immediately ordered a grand charge by the Imperial guard and the whole cavalry. Nothing was farther from Bonaparte's wishes or expectations than the bringing of his reserve cavalry into the engagement at this early stage of the battle— but there was no other resource left him. Murat sustained his high reputation on this occasion, and proved himself for the hundredth time worthy of the great confidence Napoleon placed in him. Nothing could be more imposing than the battle field at this moment. Bonaparte and the Empire trembled in the balance, while Murat prepared to lead down his cavalry to save them. Seventy squadrons, making in all 14,000 well mounted men, began to move over the slope. Bonaparte, it is said, was more agitated at this crisis than when, a moment before, he was so near being captured by the Russians. But as he saw those seventy squadrons come down on a plunging trot, and then break into a full gallop, pressing hard after the white plume of Murat, that streamed through the snow storm far in front, a smile passed over his countenance. The shock of that immense host was like a falling mountain, and the front line of the Russian army went down like frost work before it. Then commenced one of those protracted fights of hand-to-hand and sword-to-sword, so seldom witnessed in cavalry. The clashing of steel was like the ringing of a thousand anvils, and horses and riders were blended in wild confusion together. The Russian reserve were ordered up, and on these Murat fell with his fierce cavalry, crushing and trampling them down by thousands. But the obstinate Russians disdained to fly, and rallied again and again, so that it was no longer cavalry charging on infantry, but squadrons of horse galloping through a broken host that, gathering into knots, still disputed with unparalleled bravery the ensanguined field. It was during this strange fight that Murat was seen to perform one of those desperate deeds for which he was so renowned. Excited to the highest pitch of passion by the obstacles that opposed him, he seemed endowed with ten-fold strength, and looked more like a superhuman being treading down helpless mortals, than an ordinary man. Amid the roar of artillery and rattle of musketry, and falling of sabre-strokes like lightning about him, that lofty white plume never once went down, while ever and anon it was seen glancing through the smoke of battle the star of hope to Napoleon, and showing that his "right arm" was still uplifted and striking for an empire. He raged like an unloosed lion amid the foe; and his eye, always terrible in battle, burned with increased lustre, while his clear and steady voice, heard above the tumult of the 608 Marshal Murat. [June, 1845.] strife, was worth more than a thousand trumpets to cheer on his followers. At length, seeing a knot of Russian soldiers that had kept up a devouring fire on his men, he wheeled his horse and drove in full gallop upon their leveled muskets. A few of his guard, that never allowed that white plume to leave their sight, charged after. Without waiting to count his foes, he seized the bridle in his teeth, and with a pistol in one hand and his drawn sword in the other, he burst in a headlong gallop upon them, and scattered them as if a hurricane had swept by. Though the cavalry were at length compelled to retire, the Russians had received a check that alone saved the day. Previously, without bringing up their reserve, they were steadily advancing over the field, but now they were glad to cease the combat and wait for further reinforcements under Lesboeg, before they renewed the battle. We need not speak of the progress of the contest during the day. Prodigies of valor were performed on all sides, and men slain by tens of thousands, till night at length closed the awful scene, and the Russians began to retire from the field. Such was the battle of Eylau, fought in the midst of a piercing snow storm. Murat was a thunderbolt on that day, and the deeds that were wrought by him will ever furnish themes for the poet and painter. But let the enthusiast go over the scene on the morning after the battle, if he would find a cure for his love of glory. Fifty-two thousand men lay piled across each other in the short space of six miles, while the snow, giving back the stain of blood, made the field look like one great slaughter-house. The frosts of a wintry morning were all unheeded in the burning fever of ghastly wounds, and the air was loaded with cries for help, and groans, and blasphemies, and cursings. Six thousand horses lay amid the slain, some stiff and cold in death, others rendering the scene still more awful by their shrill cries of pain. The cold heavens looked down on this fallen multitude, while the pale faces of the thousands that were already stiff in death, looked still more appalling in their vast winding-sheet of snow. Foemen had fallen across each other as they fought, and lay like brothers clasped in the last embrace; while dismembered limbs and disembowelled corpses were scattered thick as autumn leaves over the field. Every form of wound, and every modification of wo were here visible. No modern war had hitherto exhibited such carnage, and where Murat's cavalry had charged, there the slain lay thickest. That Bonaparte had confidence in Murat's generalship, is seen in the command he entrusted him with in Spain, and also in appointing him commander-in-chief of the Grand Army in its retreat from Russia. We have said little of his conquest of Spain, because it was done without effort. The sudden rising of the population of Madrid, in which were slaughtered seven hundred Frenchmen, was followed by the public execution of forty of the mob. Much effort has been made to fix a stain on Murat by this execution, and the destruction of some hundred previously, in the attempt to quell the insurrection; by calling it a premeditated massacre. But it was evidently not so. Murat was imprudent there is no doubt, and acted with duplicity, nay, treachery, in all his dealings with the royal family of Spain, but we also believe he acted under instructions. He doubtless hoped to receive the crown of Spain, but Bonaparte forced it on his brother Joseph, then king of Naples, and put Murat in his place. Of his civil administration we cannot say much in praise. He was too ignorant for a king, and was worthless in the cabinet. The diplomacy of a battle-field he understood, and the management of 20,000 cavalry was an easier thing than the superintendence of a province. Strength of resolution, courage and military skill he was not wanting in, while in the qualities necessary to the administration of a government, he was utterly deficient. He was conscious of his inferiority here, and knew that his imperial brother-in-law, who gazed on him in admiration, almost in awe, in the midst of battle, made sport of him as a king. These things, together with some unsuccessful efforts of his own, exasperated him to such a degree that he became sick and irresolute. Four years of his life passed away in comparative idleness, and it was only the extensive preparations of Napoleon in 1812 to invade Russia, that roused him to be his former self. Bonaparte's treatment of him while occupying his throne at Naples, together with some things that transpired in the Russian campaign, conspired to embitter Murat's feelings towards his imperious brother-in-law; for his affection, which till that time, was unwavering, began then to vacillate. Marshal Murat. 609 We think that it had been more than hinted to him by his brother-in-law that he intended to deprive him of his crown. At least, not long after Bonaparte left the wreck of the grand army in its retreat from Russia in his hands, he abandoned his post, and traveled night and day till he reached Naples. It is also said by an acquaintance of Murat, that Bonaparte at the birth of the young Duke of Parma, announced to the King of Naples, who had come to Paris to congratulate him, that he must lay down his crown. Murat asked to be allowed to give his reply the next morning, but no sooner was he out of the Emperor's presence than he mounted his horse and started for his kingdom. He rode night and day till he reached Naples, where he immediately set on foot preparations for the defence of his throne. Being summoned anew by a marshal of France, sent to him for that purpose, to give up his sceptre, he replied, "Go, tell your master to come and take it, and he shall find how well sixty thousand men can defend it." Rather than come to open conflict with one of his bravest generals he abandoned the project, and let Murat occupy his throne. If this be true it accounts for the estrangement and final desertion of Napoleon by his brother-in-law. In 1814 he concluded a treaty with Austria, by which he was to retain his crown on the condition he would furnish 30,000 troops for the common cause. Bonaparte could not at first credit this defection of the husband of his sister, and wrote to him twice on the subject. The truth is, we believe, Bonaparte tampered with the affection of Murat. The latter had so often yielded to him on points where they differed, and had followed him through his wondrous career with such constant devotion, that Napoleon believed he could twist him round his finger as he liked, and became utterly reckless of his feelings. But he found the intrepid soldier could be trifled with too far, and came to his senses barely in time to prevent an utter estrangement. Shortly after, Napoleon abdicated, and was sent to Elba. But before the different powers of Europe had decided whether they should allow Murat to retain his throne, Europe was thrown into consternation by the announcement that Bonaparte was again on the shores of France. Joachim immediately declared in favor of his brother-in-law, and attempted to rouse Italy. But his army deserted him, and hastening back to Naples he threw himself into the arms of his wife, exclaiming, "all is lost, Caroline, but my life, and that I have not been able to cast away." Finding himself betrayed on every side, he fled in disguise to Ischia. Sailing from thence to France, he landed at Cannes, and dispatched a courier to Fouché, requesting him to inform Napoleon of his arrival. Bonaparte irritated at his former defection, and still more vexed that he had precipitated things so in Italy, contrary to his express directions, sent back the simple reply, "to remain where he was until the Emperor's pleasure with regard to him was known." This cold answer threw Murat in a tempest of passion. He railed against his brother-in-law, loading him with accusations, for whom, he said, he had lost his throne and kingdom. Wishing, however, to be nearer Paris he started for Lyons, and while changing horses at Aubagne, near Marseilles, he was told of the disastrous battle of Waterloo. Hastening back to Toulon, he lay concealed in a house near the city, to await the result of this last overthrow of Napoleon. When he was informed of his abdication, he scarcely knew what to do. At first he wished to get to Paris, to treat personally with the allied sovereigns for his safety. Being unable to do this, he thought of flying to England, but hesitating to do this also, without a promise of protection from that government, he finally, through Fouché, obtained permission of the emperor of Austria to settle in his dominions. But while he was preparing to set out, he was told that a band of men were on the way to seize him, in order to get the 40,000 francs which the Bourbons had offered for his head; and fled with a single servant to a desolate place on the sea shore near Toulon. Thither his friends from the city secretly visited him, and informed him what were the designs respecting him. Resolving at last to proceed to Paris by sea, he engaged the captain of a vessel bound to Havre, to send a boat at night to take him off. But by some strange fatality, the seamen could not find Murat, nor he the seamen, though searching for each other half the night; and the sea beginning to rise, the boat was compelled to return to the ship without him. As the morning broke over the coast, the dejected wanderer saw the vessel, with all her sails set, standing boldly out to sea. He 610 Marchal Murat. (June, gazed for a while on the lessening masts, and then fled to the woods, where he wandered about for two days, without rest or food. At length, drenched with rain, exhausted and weary, he stumbled on a miserable cabin, where he found an old woman, who kindly gave him food and shelter. He gave himself out as belonging to garrison at Toulon, and he looked worn and haggard enough to be the commonest soldier. The white plume was gone, that had floated over so many battle fields, and the dazzling costume, that had glanced like a meteor through the cloud of war, was exchanged for the soiled garments of an outcast. Not even his good steed was left, that had borne him through so many dangers, and as that tall and majestic form stopped to enter the low door of the cabin, he felt how changed up was human fortune. The fields of his fame were far away— his throne was gone, and the wife of his bosom ignorant of the fate of her lord. While he sat at his humble fare, the owner of the cabin, a soldier belonging to the garrison of Toulon, entered, and base him welcome. But there was something about the wanderers face that struck him, and at length remembering to have seen those features on some French coin, he fell on his knees before him, and called him king Murat. His wife followed his example Murat, astonished at the discovery, and then overwhelmed at the evidence of affection these poor, unknown people offered him, raised them to his bosom, and gave them his blessing. Forty thousand francs were no temptation to this honest soldier and his wife. Here he lay concealed. Till one night the old woman saw lights approaching the cabin, and immediately suspecting the cause, aroused Murat, and hastening him into the garden, thrust him into a hole, and piled him over with vine branches. She then returned to the house, and arranged the couch from which Murat had escaped, and began herself to undress for bed, as if nothing has occurred to disturb her ordinary household arrangements. In a few moments sixty gens d’armes entered and ransacked the house and garden passing again and again by Thee spot where Murat was concealed. Foiled in their search, they at length went away. But such a spirit as Murat’s could not long endure this mode of existence, and he determined to pit to sea. Having, through his friends at Toulon, obtained a skiff, he on the night of the 22d of August, with only three attendants, boldly pushed his frail boat from the beach, and launched out into the broad Mediterranean, and steered for Corsica. When about thirty miles from the shore, they saw and hailed a vessel, but she passed without noticing them. The wind now began to rise, and amid the deepening gloom was heard the moaning of the sea, ad it gathers itself for the tempest. The foam crested waves leaped by, deluging the frail skiff, that struggled almost hopelessly with the perils that environed it. The haughty chieftain saw dangers gathering round him that no charge of cavalry could scatter, and he sat and looked out on the rising deep, with the same composure he so often had sat on his gallant steed, with the artillery was mowing down every thing at his side. At length the post-office-packet-vessel for Corsica was seen advancing towards them. Scarcely had Murat and his three faithful followers stepped aboard of it, before the frail skiff sunk to the bottom. It would have been better for him had it sunk sooner. He landed at Corsica in the disguise of a common soldier. The mayor of the Commune of Bastia, the port where the vessel anchored, seeing a man at his door, with a black silk bonnet over his brows, his beard neglected, and coarsely clad, was about to question him, when the man looked up, and "judge of my astonishment," says he, "when I discovered that this was Joachim, the splendid king of Naples! I uttered a cry, and fell on my knees." Yes, this was Murat -- the plume exchanged for the old silk bonnet, and the gold brocade for the coarse gaiters of the common soldier. The Corsicans received him with enthusiasm, and as he entered Ajaccio, the troops on the ramparts and the populace received him with deafening cheers. But this last shadow of his old glory consummated his ruin. It brought back to his memory the shouts that were wont to rend Naples when he returned from the army to his kingdom, loaded with honors and heralded by great deeds. In the enthusiasm of the moment, he resolved to return to Naples, and make another stand for his throne. At this critical period the passports of the emperor of Austria arrived. Murat was promised a safe passage into Austria, and an unmolested residence in any city of Bohemia, with the title of Count, if he, in return, would renounce the throne of Naples, and live in obedience to the laws. Disdaining 1845.) Marshal Murat. 611 the conditions he would a few weeks before have gladly accepted, he madly resolved to return to Naples. With two hundred and fifty recruits and a few small vessels, he sailed for his dominions. The little fleet, beat back by adverse winds, that seemed rebuking the rash attempt, did not arrive in sight of Calabria till the sixth of October, or eight days after his embarkation. On that very night a storm scattered the vessels, and when the morning broke, Murat's bark was the only one seen seen standing in for land. Two others at length joined him, but that night one of the captains deserted him, and returned with fifty of his best soldiers to Corsica. His remaining followers, seeing that this desertion rendered their cause hopeless, besought him to abandon his project and sail for Trieste, and accept the terms of Austria. He consented, and throwing the proclamations he had designed for the Neapolitans into the sea, ordered the captain to steer for the Adriatic. He refused, on the ground that he was not sufficiently provisioned for so long a voyage. He promised, however, to obtain stores at Pizzo, but refused to go on shore without the Austrian passports, which Murat still had in his possession, to use in case of need. This irritated Murat to such a degree, that he resolved to go on shore himself, and ordering his officers to dress in full uniform, the approached Pizzo. His officers wished to land first, to feel the pulse of the people, but Murat, with his accustomed chivalric feeling, stopped them, and with the exclamation, "I must be the first on shore!" sprang to land, followed by twenty-eight soldiers and three domestics. Some few mariners cried out, "Long live King Joachim!" and Murat advanced to the principal square of the town, where the soldiers were exercising, while his followers unfurled his standard, and shouted, "Joachim for ever!" but the soldiers made no response. Had Murat been less infatuated, this would have sufficed to convince him of the hopelessness of his cause. He pressed on, however to Monte Leone, the capital of the province, but had not gone far before he found himself pursued by a large company of gens d'armes. Hoping to subdue them by his presence, he turned toward them and addressed them. The only answer he received was a volley of musketry. Forbidding his followers to return the fire, with the declaration that his landing should not cost the blood of one of his people, he turned to flee to the shore. Leaping from rock to rock and crag to crag, while the bullets whistled about him, he at length reached the beach, when, lo! the vessel that landed him, had disappeared. The infamous captain had purposely left him to perish. A fishing-boat lay on the sand, and Murat sprang against it to shove it off, but it was fast. His few followers now came up, but before the boat could be launched they were surrounded by the blood-thirsty populace. Seeing it was all over, Murat advanced towards them, and holding out his sword, said, "People of Pizzo! take this sword, which had been so often drawn at the head of armies, but spare the lives of the brave men with me." But they heeded him not, and kept up a rapid discharge of musketry; and though every bullet was aimed at Murat, not one touched him, while almost every man by his side was shot down. Being at length seized, he was hurried away to prison. Soon after, an order came from Naples to have him tired on the spot. One adjutant-general, one colonel, two lieutenant-colonels, and the same number of captains and lieutenants, constituted the commission to try a King. Murat refused to appear before such a tribunal, and disdained to make any defence. During the trial he conversed in prison with his friends in a manner worthy of his great reputation. He exhibited a loftiness of thought and character that surprised even his friends that had known him longest. At length, after a pause, he said: "Both in the court and camp, the national welfare had been my sole object. I have used the public revenues for the public service alone. I did nothing for myself, and now at my death I have no wealth but my actions. They are all my glory and my consolation." After talking in this strain for some time, the door opened and one of the commissioners entered and rad the sentence. Murat showed no agitation, but immediately sat down and calmly wrote to his wife the following letter. "My Dear Caroline -- My last hour had arrived; in a few moments more I shall have ceased to live -- in a few moments more you will have no husband. Never forget me; my life has been stained by no injustice. Farewell my Achille, farewell my Letitia, farewell my Lucien, farewell my Louise. I leave you without kingdom or fortune, in the midst of the multitude of 612 Marshal Murat. [June, 1845] my enemies. Be always united: prove yourselves superior to misfortune; remember what you are and what you have been, and God will bless you. Do not reproach my memory. Believe that my greatest suffering in my last moments is dying far from my children. Receive your father's blessing; receive my embraces and my tears. Keep always present to you the memory of your unfortunate father, JOACHIM NAPOLEON. Pizzo, 13th October, 15815" Having then enclosed some locks of his hair to his wife, and given his watch to his faithful valet, Amand, he walked out to the place of execution. His tall form was drawn up to its loftiest height, and that piercing blue eye that had flashed so brightly over more than a hundred battle fields, was now calmly turned on the soldiers who were to fire on him. Not a breath of agitation disturbed the perfect composure of his face, and when all was ready he kissed a cornelian he held in his hand, on which was cut the head of his wife, and then fixing his eyes steadily upon it, said, "Save my face, aim at my heart!" A volley of musketry answered, and Murat was no more. He had fought two hundred battles, and exposed himself to death more frequently than any other officer in Napoleon's army. but his white plume and gorgeous costume a constant mark for the enemy's bullets, he notwithstanding always plunged into the thickest dangers, and it seems almost a miracle that he escaped death. His self-composure was wonderful, especially when we remember what a creature of impulse he was. In the most appalling dangers, under the fire of the most terrific battery, all alone amid his dead followers, while the bullets were piercing his uniform and whistling in an incessant shower around his head, he would sit on his steed and eye every discharge with the coolness of an iron statue. A lofty feeling in the hour of danger bore him above all fear, and through clouds of smoke and the roar of five hundred cannon, he would detect at a glance the weak point of the enemy, and charge like fire upon it. As a general he failed frequently, as has been remarked, from yielding his judgment to his impulses. As a man and king he did the same thing, and hence was generous to a fault, and liberal and indulgent to his people. But his want of education in early life rendered him unfit for a statesman. Yet his impulses, had they been less strong, would not have made him the officer he was. His cavalry was the terror of Europe. Besides, in obeying his generous feelings, he performed many of those deeds of heroism - exposing his life for others, and sacrificing everything he had, to render those happy around him, which make us love his character. He was romantic even till his death, and lived in an atmosphere of his own creation. but unlike Ney, he was ashamed of his low origin, and took every method to conceal it. He loved his wife and children and country with the most devoted affections. His life was the strangest romance every written, and his ignominious death, an everlasting blot on Ferdinand's character. The book to which we referred at the head of this article is utterly unworthy its title. Written by a believer in "the divine right of kings," and a scorner of plebeian blood, he can find no better name for Murat, than, "the butcher of the army." Not deigning to describe a single battle, half the book is taken up with incidents of Murat's early life, and the other half with an account of his amorous adventures after his marriage with Caroline Bonaparte. He puts a great many silly speeches into his mouth, and describes a great many amours, for the truth of which we have his assertions alone. That the moral character of Murat could not be very correct according to our standard, is evident from the fact that his life was spent in the camp. The only way to judge of such a man, is to balance his actions, and see whether the good or evil preponderates. but whatever his faults were, it will be a long time before the world will see such another man. A Week between Florence and Rome. 613 A WEEK BETWEEN FLORENCE AND ROME. BY THE AUTHOR OF "ROME: AS SEEN BY A NEW YORKER." A TRAVELER often finds it a very nice calculation to decide whether his regrets at leaving a place which was delighted him, do not counterbalance his pleasures on reaching it. the unfavorable scale of the balance is especially weighty on quitting Florence, but ROME beckons to him irresistibly, though Florence tugs at his skirts, till he hesitates like Hercules in the fable. His duty as a voyager at last conquers, and he "demands his passport." On your first arrival you surrender this in exchange for a "Card of sojourn," which announces that "the Signore during his sojourn in Tuscany is secure of the assistance of the laws (conforming himself to their disposal) and of that of the authorities." when you wish to leave the country you deliver up your card, and receive it for a paper stating that "the Signore wants his passport endorsed for Rome, and the Good Government has nothing to say against it." Very kind of it! Presenting this paper at another office, you receive your passport, endorsed with permission to leave Tuscany for Rome within three days. finally at the Papal Legation you receive a visé allowing you to enter the States of the Church. If any one of these formalities were omitted you would be stopped at the frontier, and perhaps have the honor of being escorted back by a guard of soldiers. All these points being duly attended to, and a duplicate contract with a vetturino "signed, sealed, and delivered," with some American friends I tore myself from Florence at daylight on a fine morning in November. Of the two routes to Rome, we had adopted the longer, but more interesting one, by Perugia and Terni. It wound up the lovely valley of the Arno, and if anything could so soon reconcile us to leaving Florence, it would be the delicious landscapes which presented themselves to our eyes, changing at every turn of the road, like the combinations of a kaleidoscope, all different and all beautiful. Jagged hills shot up on every side, with their rugged rocks overshadowed by the umbrella-like stone pines, and their tops crowned by the tall towers and ruined fortresses, while in the green hollows between them nestled the country seats of the wealthy Florentines. One of the finest views was on the approach to Incisa, which we reached just as the GRAND DUKE stopped to change horses, on his way to Florence. As he sat in his carriage, one of the crowd handed him a petition, which he put in his pocket very carefully for future consideration, and then drove off with a slight bow to the people. His equipage was but little more showy than our own, and he himself had no decoration, except a ribbon in his button hole. an expression of thoughtful amiability predominated in his countenance, and made it prepossessing in spite of his projecting Austrian lips. His hair was sprinkled with gray, but apparently less from age, than from the labors of his head for the good of his people, to whom his appearance otherwise promised a long continuance of his paternal reign. the whole day's ride was through a gallery of landscapes painted by Claude's own teacher, Nature herself. At nightfall we reached Rimaggio, our dining and sleeping goal. Many of our American new villages are composed of a tavern, a blacksmith's shop, a church and a court house, but Rimaggio contained only the first two of these elements, combined in once house. Its solitary seclusion at the foot of a hill, with no other habitation in sight, fitted it capitally for a scene of robbery and assassination. The vetturino had warned us that this was a suspicious road, and had chained down the luggage with screw and padlock. My room door was supplied with three fastenings, a lock, a bolt, and a bar - an alarming excess of precaution. After dinner, where we were waited upon by servants, whose hang-gallows looks would condemn them in any court of Judge Lynch, we retired early to our rooms. I had scarcely fallen asleep, as it then seemed to me, when I was awakened by a loud attack on my door accompanied with harsh shouts! I leaped up, and demanding who was there, found that my assailant was - a servant of the VOL. I. --NO. VI. 40 614 A Week between Florence and Rome. [June, 1845.] inn, come to announce that is was sunrise and that the carriage was ready.— That was all my adventure; I am sorry to disappoint you, if you anticipated that I was about to be robbed and murdered, but, like Canning's knife-grinder, 'Story? God bless you, I have none to tell, Sir.' We were soon under way, after our "stirrup cup" of "cafe nero," and my fellow passenger in the coupé, an Italian from Foligno, began to complain of the inn where we had passed the night, saying that in his room there was no comb. "No what?" asked I, in surprise, thinking my ears must have led my astray in the foreign tongue. "No comb," repeated he, passing his fingers through his hair in expressive illustration. "Was there any in your room?" he then inquired, and seemed greatly surprised on being told that I usually my own. If this had occurred in America to a British traveler, how eagerly he would have paraded it as a national peculiarity. At Arezzo we stopped to visit the Cathedral, which crowns a height in the centre of the town. A fine level lawn surrounds it, and it stands on a terrace of twenty steps. When you first enter it, the solemn darkness makes every thing invisible except the richly stained windows, one of which, representing the calling of Matthew, is so beautiful that Vasari says, "It cannot be considered glass, but rather something rained down from heaven for the consolation of man." Farther on is Cortona, with its citadel on the very top of a high and steep mountain, like all the old Etruscan cities, which always seek a commanding, instead of a convenient location. Its towers, churches and houses, run down the slope of the hill, lifting up their jagged outlines against the sky with wonderful picturesqueness of effect. We soon reached the Papal Frontier, where a small fee passed our luggage without trouble. Our passports were all en régle, and our detention was therefore very brief. In full view of the station is Lake Thrasymene, beside which the Roman army was entrapped and slaughtered by Hannibal. The road passes over the battle ground in the very track of the Roman Consul. You enter a narrow marshy pass with the lake on your right, and a range of hills on your left. Beyond this you see the hills leave the lake with a broad sweep, and then return to it again at its farther end, enclosing a horseshoe-shaped plain. Hannibal enticed the Consul into the plain through the pass, which he then guarded with his cavalry, and thus secured the Roman army in a complete trap. His troops were on three sides of them, and the lake on the fourth. The Carthaginians then rushed upon the ensnared Romans in front, in rear, and on flank. So desperate was the conflict that an earthquake shook the plain beneath the armies, without their consciousness, and "it rolled unheededly away." But the Romans were finally overpowered with such slaughter that a brook which then ran with blood, still retains, after two thousand years, a name commemorative of the day, 'And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead, Made the earth wet, and turned the unwilling waters red.' Passignano lies in the jaws of the pass at the other end of the plain and on the shores of the lake. We there passed the night without a visit from any of the ancient Roman ghosts. If they ever returned to these scenes, twenty centuries have effectually laid their perturbed spirits. The silver sheet of the lake was bathed in the brilliant moonlight, and its calm placidity seemed to ignore any sympathy of nature with man. Perugia is another Etruscan city crowning a hill, up which the carriage needs to be drawn by oxen. With only 18,000 inhabitants it has one hundred churches and fifty monasteries! It was the seat of the devotional school of which Pietro Perugino was at the head, and which was so perfected by his scholar Raphael. Many of Perugino's works are here shown, all simple, graceful, and sweet, like the first manner of Raphael. But the boast of the place is the "Staffa Madonna," still possessed by the family for whom it was painted by Raphael, as was the original agreement for it, until lately lost. The picture has a grand saloon devoted to it, though it is only twice as large as your hand. The Madonna, with the child Jesus in her arms, is reading with meek eyes in a book on which the child lays his finger with a grace beyond mortal nature. The exceeding beauty of the composition may seem less wonderful, when we remember that in Perugia a painter of such a subject ought to be especially inspired, since in its Cathedral is shown the Madonna's wedding ring! Foligno received us the third night. A Week between Florence and Rome. 615 All the rooms of the inn were in connected suites of half a dozen, and the waiter could not understand why the ladies of the party should object to pass through the gentlemen's bed-chambers to get to their own. "Are you not all in company?" he asked, with great wonder at such absurd scruples. This knotty point being at length arranged by separating husband and wife, &c., we started the next morning at two hours before sunrise, so as to reach Terni in time to see the falls. As day was breaking, we passed the "Temple of Clitumnus," of small and delicate proportion, but the brook at its foot looked more like a ditch than like Childe Harold's "Mirror and bath for Beauty's youngest daughter." Spoleto gave us an uneatable breakfast. Our only consolation was to admire the famous aqueduct which connects the isolated hill on which the city stands, with a neighboring range. It is supported by ten pointed arches, two hundred and sixty six feet high; double the elevation of the Croton bridge of which we feel so justly proud, though this was erected twelve hundred year ago. Oxen are next needed for the ascent of Monte Somma. The descent is equally steep but much wilder, and the ravine was once infested by banditti, who have now degenerated into beggars. At last we reached the broad and fertile plain of Terni, and immediately hastened to the famous cascades, about five miles distant. You approach by a road which follows a broad valley, through which runs the water which has just made the headlong leap. Before reaching the falls, the hills approach each other and form a narrow rocky pass; beyond it they spread out again with a circular sweep into a huge amphitheatre, into which, at its farther end, leaps the river Velino. It first rushes in rapids through a narrow channel in the rocks; then, as it approaches the verge of the precipice, it seems to hang back, and to shrink from the terrible depth: but the waters from behind urge it on, and at last it falls slowly and deliberately in a mass of foam into which it had been lashed by its course, narrow at its top, but spreading out as it descends, like the giant emerging from his casket in the Arabian tale. This leap is of five hundred feet, and when it strikes the rocky bottom of the gulf, it rushes on in rapids and cascades till it reaches the Nar, and imparts to that quiet current something of its own fury. The rocky glen, the luxuriant foliage, and every other accessory, combine to make the cascade of Terni perfectly beautiful, but its greatest enemy is the description in Childe Harold, which so infinitely exaggerates its sublimity that the predominant sensation of the visitor is that of disappointment. Byron's "Roar of waters, from the headlong height," "roars you as gently as any sucking dove;" his "Fall of water, rapid as the light," is a deliberate descent, requiring five seconds to fall five hundred feet, while "light" in that time would travel just a million of miles; and his "Hell of waters!" is only a very pretty cascade. Poets need not be so mathematically accurate, but they should at least avoid such extravagant exaggeration as makes the reality of the object which they wish to elevate, ridiculous by comparison with their own grand description. What more could Byron have said of Niagara? It is remarkable that two of the finest cascades in Europe should be artificial; this one at Terni, and that at Tivoli; a river, in both cases, being diverted from its course. The present one was formed, to drain the plains above it, by Curius Dentatus, B.C. 251, and Cicero conducted lawsuits about this very stream. Various changes have been made for the improvement of the channel, and it assumed its present place in 1785. The most accurate measurements of the height of the falls give fifty feet for the upper rapids; 550 for the perpendicular fall; and two hundred and forty feet for the lowest one; making in all eight hundred and forty feet. The next day, while walking in advance of the carriage, I overtook a party of vine dressers, trudging along towards Rome, with their bundles on their backs, and their shoes in their hands, like the Irish reapers in England. I entered into conversation with them, and was agreeably surprised to find that they were from the Republic of Sàn Marino. This miniature state, about four miles square, with a population of 7,000, and an army of forty men, has retained its independence while all the rest of Italy has been enslaved by a succession of masters. When these sturdy peasants told me their country, I exclaimed "Then you are freemen!" They raised their heads with proud complacency, and replied, "Yes, yes, we are all free!" They were on 616 A Week between Florence and Rome. [June, 1845.] their way to Rome to get work during the approaching winter, when their hilly vineyards would be covered with snow. They expected to walk their two hundred and fifty miles in a week, and after working in Rome four months, and earning a few dollars for their families, they would return home at Easter. I introduced myself to them as a fellow-republican, and they seemed highly delighted to see a stranger from the far-off America. Narni is a curious old town built on the brow of a precipice, so as to save the expense of a wall on that side. The walls of the grey houses continue upward against the face of the rock, so that it is hard to tell where one ends, and the other begins. Half way down the precipice a hermitage has been carved out of the rock, and in it lives a monk vowed never to return to the world. A narrow path, by which the faithful can bring him food, zig-zags down to his hole. From Narni the road passes up a narrow rugged valley, with wild and magnificent views at every turn. As it nears Otricoli it seems to be running out to the end of a promontory, while far, far below, is a sea of verdure, undulating over the low hills, but showing bare rocks in the ravines. Immediately in front is Otricoli on its rocky peak, looking itself like some more regular pavement of the same material, and beyond rises Mount Soracte, which you at once recognize from Byron's graphic picture of how its ridge 'From out the plain, Heaves like a long swept wave about to break, And on the curl hangs pausing.' No one who has ever seen the waves rolling in upon a sea-beach, can fail to appreciate the wonderful similarity of the brow of this mountain, notwithstanding it was never remarked before Childe Harold gave it such eloquent expression. Civita Castellana is next seen beside a deep ravine crossed by a fine modern bridge. Then comes Nepi, where we slept for the last time before entering Rome. Beyond it the road traverses a barren and desolate region, strewn with volcanic rocks, spotted with stagnant pools where once were craters, without a house or tree, and inhabited only by a few herdsmen in goatskin leggins and sheepskin coats, tending the half starved cattle, which pick up a scanty sustenance from the brown herbage and tufts of briars, which are now the only productions of the once fertile and populous Roman Campagna. At La Storta we found ourselves within ten miles of Rome, a seemingly incredible dream of delight.— It was the twenty-fifth of November, "Evacuation day" in the city of New York, which was then doubtless echoing with the firing of cannon, the ringing of bells, and the other popular expressions of joy. Here on the contrary the Campagna was overspread by a death-like silence, unbroken, except by the sound of our carriage wheels, till we were aroused from our sympathetic lethargy by the sudden shout from the postillion of "ROMA! ROMA!" INSCRIPTION ON A RUINED TEMPLE. Beautiful record of a world that was: Majestic type of what a world must be. George Sand. 617 MODERN CRITICISM.—GEORGE SAND. THERE are few things more remarkable, there is none more reprehensible, in the present advanced state of a philosophical criticism, than a certain quaint character of bigotry without faith, austerity without conscience, and science without system. The critic, who in his life may disregard, or in his heart despise the established forms of religion and morality, will yet not scruple, in judging a writer who speculates freely upon either, to constitute himself champion of every prejudice, however besotted, entertained upon them by the multitude. This, to be sure, is often done also with the best faith imaginable; for too often the critic is but one of the multitude. But these, though a mischief, do not rise to the dignity in evil, of the critics and cases we propose to consider. Even where the inconsequence noted is fairly chargeable, it, no doubt, sometimes proceeds from our human infirmity, that source of common incongruity between opinion and conduct; but oftener, we fear, from motives of personal bias or popular captivation. In all these cases, however, the difference is merely relative to the critic, and is only that between presumptuous ignorance, culpable inadvertency, and selfish hypocrisy. The critical principle proceeded upon being in all the same, the public effect in all must be equally pernicious. In subjects, indeed, which are susceptible of only moral evidence and certitude, and which, moreover, address themselves largely to the imagination, these personal delinquencies may be accounted for, and perhaps, charitably, extenuated. But what is to be thought of deliberately torturing or evading the legitimate deductions of science, and denouncing those who consistently adhere to them, whenever such deductions tend to cross the commonly crude or conventional limits of the popular sentiment? Thus, in this "enlightened age" of ours, (as our predecessors too have, immemorially, been wont to distinguish theirs,) do we still find every new, or as the invidious term is "bold" thought, upon certain subjects, condemned with a peremptoriness, perhaps pardonable in the earnest, uninformed illiberality of the past, but which is utterly incompatible with modern principles, and above all, with modern pretensions, and seem almost incredible in persons who make it a (just, indeed, but not here a due) pride to have rid themselves of the prejudices of the "dark ages." What they appear to have done is, to renounce the extenuations, while they retain the errors, of ignorance and bigotry. Freedom of Opinion and Expression, Universal Toleration, Eternal Truth—these noble and only saving principles are, indeed, now-a-days more loudly and lavishly professed; and this is something gained. But is not the religious or social innovator still denounced —if not as formerly to physical—to what is more cruel perhaps, a moral torture? And in this condemnation by the critic, is not the principle the same as that of the Inquisitor, with the aggravation of inconsistency? The one admits the right, of which he punishes the exercise. The other punished, but he fairly prohibited, all examination or contestation of the established creeds and conceptions. It is not contended that a certain degree of deference to the general opinion of mankind as a criterion of truth is to be refused, or is, in fact, dispensable. Such opinion is undoubtedly evidence. But it is only evidence; and evidence by no means to be taken for conclusive. It is farther to be allowed that, to perform any act of judgment, there must be a principle, a rule of some sort, a medium of comparison, admitted or established. So that if the critic be at all to express a judgment of the book he reviews, the abuse complained of would seem to be more or less unavoidable. Is it then, in strictness, the province of the critic to investigate, to decide? —for into this, mainly, the question seems to resolve itself. The writer for his own part, from the inconvenience suggested, among others, inclines, against the general usage, to believe it is not. The effectual exclusion of an abuse that renders criticism a nuisance would seem to confine the latter to the task of analysis and exposition. Or if the critic may pretend to decide, under any circumstances, it should be simply by reference to the most approved opinions on the particular subject—recognizing them as opinions, not dogmatically erecting these, any more than his own, into peremptory principles. The proper functions of the review- 618 Modern Criticism. June, then, seem to be expository, not judicial. He reports, but does not (that is, should not) decree. He should confine himself to the book, especially, not concerning himself about the author; he should declare his opinions upon any new views it may present (if he declare them at all) not only with the reference just alluded to, to existing evidence, but also with a reservation for future : as the lawyers express it, he should keep within the record, and only pronounce de bene esse. For this view and this practice, accordingly, there are illustrious authorities. We will mention, only Cicero, among the ancients, in the Tusculan Questions, and Bayle, among the moderns, in several articles of his incomparable Dictionary. The critic should, in his chair, be an academic or a sceptic. But erroneous as the prevailing system of criticism appears to be in principle, the practical abuse of it transcends all proportion with the theoretical error. Let us briefly consider the case and some of its consequences, in the twofold aspect of injustice to the author and detriment to the public. A book, be it ever so unexceptionable, so excellent in all the rest, is yet held to be contaminated by a few pages or a few passages which chance to be obnoxious -- not so often to some received axiom of general truth and morality -- as to the particular or peculiar "principles" (as he calls them) of the critic and his coterie or communion. The whole is denounced without discrimination and without reserve. Strange reasoning! As if good, any more than gold, were to be found in the productions of man or even of nature, unmixed with the dross of evil! As if it were not the constant task and the meritorious trial assigned for man upon earth, to accomplish, or at least to endeavor, this separation! The proceeding in itself is sufficiently unfair and unjust to the author. But it seems to us no small aggravation of the injury it inflicts to find oneself judged, in the abstract subjects of Religion, Morals or Politics, by the necessarily crude notions of the multitude, or by the more contemptible cant and common-place of its interested, or echoing oracles. The law is bad. But the tribunal is worse -- which, like most tribunals, is cruel in proportion as its rules are frivolous and its authority doubtful, and which, less equitable than some misinterpreters of Virgil would make the infernal one of Rhadamanthus, refuses the culprit a hearing even after he is punished. But mark its bearing -- much the more important consideration -- on the interests, on the advancement of general knowledge. This system would, or course, arrest all progress for the future. By the same reason it would have prevented all the improvement of the past. It would preclude from us, at this moment, much that the "ignorant" fanaticism of the "dark ages" (in this matter, however, more discriminating and liberal than the "philosophic" criticism of the present) has left, has preserved to us, though not unmutilated. Under its sweeping proscription, most of the precious remnants of ancient literature should have perished with the strains of Alcmaon, Sappho, Mymnermus and others, by the sacrilegious hand of some self-constituted protector of he public morals and religion. And in our own day, the voluminous treasures of Gibbon must have been sacrificed to their companionship with the fifteenth and sixteenth chapters. Again, suppose a book of the sort in question -- a book, we mean, of conscientious and ratiocinative inquiry -- could, in the present day especially, prove really "dangerous," (a proposition we engage to disprove, to demonstration) should its truths also -- and if it have none it is innocuous without a censor -- should its truths be proscribed with the errors, the offences? No, certainly. Such a principle must be unsound, for it involves the absurdity of proscribing every thing in nature. What is there, we repeat it, in nature physical or moral, that, practically, in the concrete, is entirely unmixed with evil? The evil we indeed affect to separate by giving it the denomination of abuse. But though the name be changed the thing remains, we presume, no less the same. What we choose to term the "abuse" is as necessary as effect, proceeds from as natural a property, of the thing as does the use. The notion that there are things which are absolutely and intrinsically good, and evil only by accident or perversion, belongs to a superstitious faith or a shallow philosophy. It is sometimes no more than a mere verbal illusion, proceeding upon a distinction always more or less arbitrary and, often, perhaps unreal. Metaphysically considered, Good and Evil, Virtue and Vice, are not natural entities, are not specific attributes; they have no individual existence save in the terms of language, or in 1845.) George Sand. 619 the abstractions of mind. And this is providentially ordained , that we may be obliged to earn the bread of wisdom only by constant assiduity, circumspection and labor. In availing ourselves at all, then, of the circumstances, whether moral or physical, in which we are placed here, we must take the evil with the good, the false with the true. That is to say, we must "try all things." This is the dictate of reason and the demand of necessity, as well as the precept of revelation. The wisdom, both speculative and practical, of mankind consists in a knowledge of events including that of the laws of their occurrence, and in the choice and application of them, so as best to educe the greatest amount of benefit -- of Good, alloyed with the least of inconvenience -- of Evil. This is what the ancients too understood by prudence, which they made the mother of all the virtues: Prudentia est enim locata in delectu bonorum et malorum. But this knowledge implies and requires an acquaintance with the false as well as the true. To quote the Christian Cicero (or rather the Cicero of the Christians) as we have introduced the Pagan; Primus, says Lactantius, sapientiae gradus FALSA intelligere. We might still accumulate the authority of Santan (or Milton) to prove this study, so very contaminating to mortal purity, to be a principal ingredient of even angelic and god-like knowledge. Facts, moreover, all bear out the position; and we venture the opinion, however paradoxical it may seem to the unreflecting, that science and civilization are at least as much indebted to the errors and exploded theories, as they are to the sagacity and successes, of the searchers after Truth. It may be additionally remarked, that the iniquity of this critical dogmatism does not confine itself to the past, and the actual, of its victim. It assumes to decide, also, upon the future of the fallen author. By a sort of literary attainder, more irrational and barbarous still than the feudal, it consigns his subsequent offspring, however free in fact from the parental offence, to the merciless hue-and-cry of the popular prejudice, for all time. It is, after all, no more than natural that hypocrites should be rigorous exactors of the observances which they themselves despise and live by. That dupes should be ostentatiously intolerant of disrespect to the sounds or symbols they blindly revere. But is it natural, is it excusable, that person who belong to neither of these indeed comprehensive categories, should yield the acquiescence even of silence to this pernicious despotism, whether of critics or populace: a despotism which goes to compromise truth by checking inquiry, to consecrate every existing error and abuse, to prevent the diffusion of much innocent amusement and useful instruction; which, in short, opposes the liberalization and disciplination of the public mind, and, of course, the civilization of humanity: for such evidently are the direct tendencies of all restraint upon the utmost freedom of speculation. A "dangerous book"! Dangerous to whom? to what? To the institutions or the tenets moral, political, religious, of society? But the established opinions and systems are sound, are salutary, or they are not. If the latter, inquiry and exposure is, we take it for granted, to be desired, not to be deprecated. If the former be the fact, where is the danger? There certainly can be none, if the new doctrines be true, and be rationally urges -- truth being necessarily not merely compatible with, but confirmative of itself. In neither alternative, then, can such a book be accounted dangerous to the true interests of society; on the contrary, its tendency must be, in the one case, to reform bad institutions; in the other, to reinforce good ones. But suppose the doctrines to be "dangerous," to be, in fact, opposed to those interest, and of course false, politically. Is it to be admitted that truth, in the present day, and in matters within popular competency, within general experience, is not, at least even-handed, a match for error? But in the case in contest, truth would derive incalculable odds, from the circumstances. Not to mention the physical protection of the public force, it has the sanction of establishment; it is consecrated by prejudice as well as conviction; it is aided by the propensity (salutary as a check, pernicious as a principle,) of mankind to adhere to things as they are, and the consequent difficulty of disturbing even the worst form of creed or government thus cemented by the interest of many, the ignorance of most, and the indolence of all. Public force, personal interest, popular prejudice, can truth, and truth thus triply guarded, be imperilled, be affected, by the false doctrines or the fanatical denunciations of every radical "visionary," or obscure pamphleteer? The apprehension is ludicrously absurd! 620. Modern Criticism. (June, But further, however exceptionable we might imagine a book to be, it should always be remembered that the motives of the author may yet be benevolent and patriotic. Indeed, writers of this obnoxious class, more generally and intensely than any others, are known to be in fact thus nobly actuated. What else than enthusiasm, and enthusiasm kindled and fed by virtuous intention, could induce and enable them to encounter the probability, if not certainty, of the abuse and calumny of the sort of criticism in question, and to expose themselves to what is more galling still, perhaps, to the generous mind, the ingratitude of those whom it has devoted, disinterestedly, its energies, its time, and its talents to serve? We should not, however, insist upon this credit to the author, in examining the book. It is a consideration for the public, to be decided upon a different principle, and to be offered only in mitigation of critical rigor. With motives, as with all else that is merely personal, we cannot allow the critic, as such, to have any proper concern. One or two precautionary remarks before quitting this general aspect of our subject. We may be deemed, in the preceding animadversions upon the delinquency of the critic and the intolerance of the crowd, to have employed an undue, or at least an unusual warmth or harshness of language. To this charge we should only have to say, that the writer protests he has no other feelings in the matter than such as he cares not and dares not to dissemble, namely — a cordial contempt for dogmatic ignorance; a detestation almost morbid of all hypocrisy and cant, especially the “cant of criticism;” an enthusiastic love of the sole independence which has much of reality for man upon earth — the independence of the mind; a not unintelligent conviction that the exercise and the encouragement of this independence (things almost entirely in the dispensation of a sound and liberal criticism,) are the means and the measure of human happiness and social progress; and, finally, a reverence too sincere for the sanctity of Truth to permit the slightest mitigation of the august severity of her image, by the profane foppery of your courtly phrases. The other remark is, that we would not be understood as including in this remonstrance what are really “indecent publications.” “Such,” it may be objected to us, “according to your argument, if true, cannot be detrimental — if false, not dangerous.” The answer is, that such are properly neither true nor false. Addressing themselves to the passions, they afford no hold to argument. They are, therefore, still less refutable than a “sneer” (a thing, by the by, quite refutable, with deference to Paley); they are thus insusceptible by the common antidote, irresistible by the common weapon, of reason, and are properly therefore a subject of police. Among the many who have fallen victims to, and the few who have triumphed over, the persecutions of popular bigotry and the denunciations of its jackalls of the critical press, we select for the exemplification of the preceding observations, one of the most signal sufferers from this injustice; time will, perhaps, enable the literary historian to add, one of the most victorious instances of the triumph. We do not here intend a review of the writings, various and voluminous, of this author — not even of the single work to which we shall confine ourselves. Our notice of it, which, for the rest, will be kept to the letter of our own critical canon — exposition, not judicative — is meant to be subsidiary to the main design, of vindication the great principle of FREEDOM OF SPECULATION. This is a principle of infinite and of universal importance in the present day. It is, we think, of peculiar consequence to this country. Politically and to a degree religiously, the American people have renounced the tutelage with the tyranny of Authority, have abandoned the beaten paths of the past, and recognize, or profess to recognize, Reason alone for their public and private guide. Other countries have their creeds “established by law,” — human or divine. There, custom, antiquity still maintain an undisputed dominion or a decisive influence. Even in those States where Liberty has conquered an organization more or less imperfect, in the form of a systematic or a settled constitution, the rules of private action and the restraints upon opinion remain, in most cases, amenable to particular and peremptory usages. It is deplorable no doubt that men should be lead by these “blind guides;” but blind though they be they are not unsafe ones, being, of course, familiar with routes which they have been passing over for ages. They leave less freedom, indeed but, also, less need, for inquiry; they prevent- 1845.) George Sand. 621 the advantages, but they preclude the dangers, of uninterdicted innovation. With us the state of things is nearly the reverse. We will not obey authority, while we have not the courage, or not the confidence, to follow out reason. Religion even is not held sacred from popular curiosity and arbitrament. And though we have written constitutions and a multitude of other principles recognized in practice they are allowed (at least theoretically) to oppose no bar to the utmost freedom of examination and discussion. Conclusive upon as only de facto, they permit — indeed it is their spirit to solicit — appeal to an ulterior tribunal, to a more perfect truth. We then, the American people — and it is now the rapid, however unconscious, tendency of almost entire Europe also — may be said to have cut ourselves adrift on the great ocean of inquiry, with Speculation for our bark and Reason our compass. And it is on the progress of this speculation, on the perfectionment of this reason alone that depose did, very evidently, our actual safety and our ultimate success. In a people thus circumstanced how particularly preposterous the disregard of this the cardinal principle of its action and existence! How pernicious, the daily violation of it in the persons of thinking writers, our sole navigators (to resume the metaphor) through those devious seas! How inconsistent, not to say unwise, after repudiating all authority, to substitute the blind impulses of the multitude for the time-tried axioms of Antiquity and Aristotle! Nor is it to be supposed that intolerance towards individual authors is no disavowal or violation of the general principle. A principle, it is hardly necessary to say, is violated equally in the most obscure, as in the most important instance; and it is in the former that it is vindicated the most effectually; for there we the most emphatically assert the sanctity of its character. Entertaining there views of the importance of free discussion and the mischievousness of the opposition which it encounters, we select, for the clearer illustration, the writer and the work of that writer which seem to us best to represent the principle which we contend for, and the infraction of that principle which we have deemed it a duty to denounce. The writer is George Sand — the book is “Lelia.” George Sand, our readers, or most of them, must be aware is a French woman of great celebrity as a philosophical novel-writer, and who, —perhaps from delicacy no less than diffidence, — had chosen this pseudonomous designation, to conceal her sex as well as identity, in the world of Letters. Her real name is, by marriage, Dudevant; by family, Dupin: she is, we believe, a kinswoman of the distinguished French lawyers of this name. The conjugal history of Madame Dudevant we beg to leave with her biographer and confessor — first, because, doubtless, there is no curiosity to hear it repeated, but chiefly, because we deem it irrelevant to the merits of her writings. Some critics, and after them the public, have, we know, determined otherwise, and insisted upon viewing the successful author through the medium of the rebellious wife. But this is part of our issue with the critics and the public. Without prejudicing her cause, it may, however, be admitted that the lady is in fact “guilty” of the inexpiable transgression of having separated, —separated, however, by mutual consent — from a man whom she found it, after several years of painful effort, impossible to live with. But, what is perhaps still more unpardonable, she has continued to maintain herself in this state of defiance, without the alimonial or the eleemosynary aid of husband or public. It is, of course, no extenuation of her offense that an utter incompatibility of temper and taste had in fact existed, though the stereotyped and competent plea, in a majority of such cases. Nothing, that a young woman, full of the exquisite sensibility, the yearning sympathy, the expansive independence which are the tax we pay for genius, should continue to brook the brutal despotism, or repulsive rusticity, of a country-bred soldier in the decline of life — a condition which to a woman so constituted, is the most oppressive, perhaps, of tyrannies, the most unendurable of existences. The character of this man is supposed to be drawn in that of Colonel Delmaire, in Indiana, one of the earliest publications of the author; and it is presented with those occasional effusions of kindly feeling and of self-criminating, and that constant consideration of both the infirmities of the species and the redeeming points of the individual, which, coming from the pen of an “injured wife,” it must be regarded as a proof of woman’s highest qualities to have retained, of more than woman’s magnanimity not to have dissembled 622 Modern Criticism (June, In this respect, how advantageously would Madame Dudevant compare with the cold-hearted, prudish Madame Byron, or that virulent and vulgar caricaturist, the authoress of Cheveley," in their treatment of men endowed with defections above the common, both of body and mind. Yet these are held up to the "rising generation" as patterns of pious prudery--victims of marital tyranny! while George Sand, for having done only what they did--"Left her lord"--but with the difference of having left, without calumniating, he decried as if she had outraged the entire decalogue. It is charged indeed, that the latter has erected her transgression into a principle, that she advocates (particularly in the publication we are about to consider) the substitution of libertinism for the marriage relation. The private conduct of the author, we repeat, we have nothing to do with, and do not, of course, presume to extenuate, denounced as it is on earth and condemned, no doubt in heaven. But with respect to the charge against her writings, of being designed to defend any irregularities of her life, we venture to reply: 1st. That it were at least a "hard case," that George Sand should be denied the natural and legal right of defending her own conduct, and in her own way. 2d That she has not availed herself, in fact, of this right, by any such means as those imputed, but on the contrary, has expressly renounced these means with something of the despairing resignation of Hecuba, Non tali auxilio, nec defensoribus istis. 3d. That the aim of her speculations on the subject of marriage, (an aim we think she has not unsuccessfully attained) was, simply, to shew, that there must be something somewhere wrong -- positively, not naturally or necessarily -- in the actual organization of this institution. The first proposition asserts a principle which, enunciated in the abstract, no one, we suppose, will be found to contest. The second and third involve points of fact, which we undertake to sustain severally from the very words of our author. To the former, the following direct disclaimer will be a sufficient answer. As it is short, and to obviate all suspicion of the translation, we quote it (contrary to our rule through this paper) in the explicit orginal. "quelques personnes qui lisent mes livres ont le tort de croire que ma conduite est une profession de foi, et le choix des sujets de mes historiettes une sorte de plaidoyer contre certaines lois; bien loin de là, je reconnais que ma vie est pleine de fautes, et je croirais commettre une lâcheté si je me battais les flancs pour trouver une philosophie qui en autorisât l'example."* The other charge, of seeking the subversion of marriage might be met by an equally peremptory denial from the author. "In truth, I have been astonished," say she, in the work just referred to, "when asked by some Saint-Simonians, -- conscientious philanthropists, estimable and sincere searcher after truth -- what I was going to substitute instead of husbands. I answered them naïvely, that it was marriage; in the same manner as for a priesthood that has so much compromised religion, I would have religion be made the substitute." This, the main matter of the accusation, may, however, demand a more full and particular discussion. In conducting the examination (to be more than fair, ex abundanti) we pledge ourselves to produce only the passages most susceptible of the obnoxious construction. And here, it will be in order, to premise a few remarks on the nature and general character of the book itself in question. "Lelia," in many respects, must be regarded as one of the most original productions of the age. It is stamped with the noble audacity of genius. It combines the speculative boldness of Faust, with the philosophical design of st. Leon -- more systematic than the former, more comprehensive than the latter, more eloquent writers. But, in conception, in arrangement, in the execution generally, the author, indeed of her own admission, has entirely failed. With all her imagination -- an imagination at once fine and fertile -- and a vigor of intellect still rarer in her sex, she seems to have sunk appalled beneath the titanic magnitude of her idea. She has, however, given us, in "Lelia," the skeleton of a grand poem, (for poem it is -- a poem of life) teeming with those thought which involve whole sciences, and views which open upon the intelligent reader like revelations. With the thinker, the tame handicraft of the artist could add nothing to the value of such a book, while it *Lettres d'un Voyageur. 1845.) George Sand. 623 would, probably, diminish its impressiveness. Lelia, in the grandeur of its imperfection, reminds you of the Hyperion of Keats, -- whom, by-the-by, (Keats' cockneyism aside) our author, we think, remarkably resembles. The genius of George Sand is essentially Grecian; at once subtle and sublime, clear and comprehensive; prone rather to the contemplative than the active; too attentive to, or instinct with, the spirit of form, to be prolific of creation; too devoted an admirer of the ideal to be a diligent observer of the real. To this character it is easy to trace the failure alluded to, in the execution of Lelia. And accordingly the same defects are, more or less, chargeable to all the productions of the author -- which while admirable for acute analysis and profound views into character, as for skill and force of description, and a style (if a foreigner may pronounce) without a living equal, are greatly wanting (at least as taste goes) in plot, action and incident. The story, it is obvious, from the preceding intimation, would be of little account to the reader, even were it within our purpose. The truth is, there is only so much of it as serves to string together the disquisitions, which mainly compose the book. These disquisitions are thrown into the discussive and familiar form of dialogue, or colloquies, which pass between the principal personage and the subordinates who, severally, gravitate around her, and on the subjects respectively which the latter are designed to typify. Before coming to quotation it is proper to introduce the speakers. The chief characters are Lelia, Stenio, Trenmor, and Pulcheris. These are symbolical, not merely fictitious, impersonations. They represent classes, orders, ages; but not as in other philosophical novels -- not socially, but psychologically, In the generalization of our author, all that which comes under the denomination of "manners," is allowed no place, or no part. They are incarnations of certain faculties or passions, conceived as essential, and of course universal, to the particular description to be personified. These personages do not profess to act every-day life; they only pretend to exhibit life, on a large scale -- to represent the forces and the tendencies that latently actuate society, disencumbered of the accidental circumstance and the distracting details which so complicate and mystify its operations, and the study of them, in the positive world. This system of transcendental impersonation (so to call it) has obvious and great advantages over that of ordinary fiction. While this, copying as it does, from the present, or some other particular point of time, must contain much that is transitory and trivial; the former, embracing also the future and the past, exhibits but what is, more or less proximately, universal and unchangeable. The characters taken from actual life, create, of course, more interest in the mass of readers; being addressed to the senses and to the sympathies of all, they are intelligible to ordinary, to every comprehension. But those of the other description are infinitely more instructive; instead of individuals, or any aggregations of individuals, they are theories personified, embodying grand social results as they have been evolved consecutively in the progress of civilization, and indicating, in the leading tendencies of the periods they symbolize, the direction, the destination, and the desires of humanity. That, on the other hand, distinctness of character and life-like realization of action and incident, are extremely difficult, if not impossible, in the latter system, is a disadvantage here to be remembered, only in justice to the author, by those who censure Lelia as vague and visionary. Thanking George Sand for having chosen the better part, let us excuse her for not having combined incompatibilities. Nothing, at least short of the highest creative energies, disciplined in the school of the world, and directed by a familiar knowledge of men as well as of man -- a knowledge and a discipline which genius is peculiarly unfitted to acquire and to undergo -- could hope to succeed in clothing the abstractions of imagination or of intellect, with that flesh-and-blood garb of habit, manner, and circumstance, which alone can ensure the recognition, and of course excite the interest, of the mass of readers. Shakspeare himself had not done this -- has not, indeed, attempted it. From the foregoing very imperfect account of the nature and distinctive character (as we interpret them) of this remarkable book, it must, we think, be evident that the author is to be criticized upon other -- upon higher -- than the common canons, moral as well as literary. This it is that we claim for her. Those who will not ascend to the sphere wherein 624 Modern Criticism. (June, she moves her figures, or who cannot respire at this intellectual elevation, should, from modesty no less than equity, be silent where they do not comprehend. It is no less prejudicial to the advancement of sound morality, than it is an outrage upon justice and reason, to submit (as is the general practice) the great laws that regulate not only particular communities, but the whole race, the moral universe, to the test of the petty conventionalities of village morals. Yet such is the criterion, such the comparison upon which the cry of "immorality" has been raised against G. Sand, and the few other writers, to whom we are indebted for having sought, under the attractive form of the novel, to introduce, to the general intelligence, the philosophical principles (i.e. true morality) of society and of man. The critic may reply that the practical rules must be the proper test of doctrinal truth in morals, as facts are the proper verifiers of principles in physics. In short, that he is only applying the inductive system. But this is fallacious, in several points of view. Not that morality is not as susceptible of science as natural philosophy; both, no doubt, equally rest upon laws which are universal and immutable. But these laws are not ascertainable with equal certainty or facility, in both. Hence a difference, almost a reversion, in the method of investigation. Moreover, facts are, even in physical subjects, far from being infallible tests of scientific truth, especially in the hands of your "practical men." In any science, a single fact will establish a principle; of the operation of which the fact is, of course, an instance. But to know what principle, the fact must be correctly observed. This is generally practicable in the natural sciences; never, perhaps, in the moral. In the latter all we can gain is approximation to the crucial appreciation of particulars; and this, not by interrogating or torturing (to borrow the quaintly forcible figure of Bacon)individual facts, but by contemplating facts in large aggregates, and taking the average results. The wider the basis, the closer, of course, to truth will probably be the approximation. IN the science of morality, then, principles are alone to be relied on as the test of truth; the synthetic, the proper or the predominant method of investigation. We have thus seen, from the nature of the case, the unreasonableness of denouncing speculative writers because their comprehensive views may seem to clash with some miserable local prejudice or superstitious usage. Experience, also, teaches the danger of erecting this arbitrary morality into the paramount and controlling standard. The mischief of dwelling upon particular facts and cases, to the disregard and occasionally the denial, of the great principles that alone characterize, and give them significance, my be witnessed in the mazy and many-sided systems of the Jesuits, and the other moral and theological casuists. This is what a great man (Mirabeau) meant, when he remarked, with equal truth and energy, la petite morale tue la grande. Lelia, then, (in whom the reader has doubtless already recognized our heroine) Lelia symbolizes the Soul, the Intellect -- those attributes of our spiritual nature which yearn for, and pursue, the ideal and the unknown; and this, through the several stages of our civilization, progressively. The character, though naturally the most elaborated of the book, does not seem, as before intimated, very distinctly demarcated, or consistently composed and conducted. To convey the author's conception of it, however, we cannot do better than transcribe the most complete description to be found in her own words, and which seems to embrace what are commonly classed as qualities of the heart, as well as the faculties of the intellect -- all, in short, that distinguishes and dignifies human nature. It may be well to observe, that the speaker, Stenio, is a poet, and in love with Lelia, and that the portrait, therefore, is probably meant to represent that psychological stage of humanity, which is sometimes called the "heroic" or "the golden" age. "Behold Lelia, that majestic Grecian figure, robed in the devout and passion-exciting attire of Italy -- that antique cast of beauty, of which the statuary has lost the mould, with its deep, dreamy expression of the philosophic ages -- those outlines and features so roundly formed, so richly tinted -- that voluptuousness of physical organization, of which a Homeric sun could alone have formed the now forgotten types. This mere physical beauty would by itself be irresistible; but the Creator has been studious to embellish it with all the intellectual accomplishments of the epoch. . . . Can imagination conceive anything more complete than Lelia, thus robed, reclined and musing? She is the spotless statue of 1845.) George Sand. 625 Galatea, with the celestial gaze of Tasso, and the pensive smile of Alighieri. Such was the graceful and chivalrous attitude of the youthful heroes of Shakspeare -- Romeo, the poetic lover; Hamlet, the pale and ascetic visionary; Juliet, Juliet half-expiring and hiding in her bosom the poison and the memory of her blighted love. The loftiest names of history, of the drama, of poetry, might be inscribed upon that face, whose expression is, indeed, an epitome of them all, because it is of all the concentration. This rapt competitiveness is that in which the youthful Raphael must have plunged, when Heaven unveiled to him his pure and ravishing visions. The despairing Corinne must have been buried in that pensive meditation, when listening to her last verses, chanted by a young maiden, on the capitol. In such an isolation, disdainful of the crowd, was wrapped the mute and mysterious page of Lara. Ye, Lelia unites in herself all these idealities, for she combines the genius of all poets, the grandeur of all characters. You might give to Lelia the names of all of these, the most honorable and the most acceptable to God, would still be Lelia -- Lelia, whose pure and radiant brow, whose ample and expansive breast is the abode of every great thought, of every generous sentiment; Religion, Enthusiasm, Stoicism, Compassion, Perseverance, Grief, Charity, Clemency, Candor, Courage, Contempt of life, Intelligence, Energy, Hope Patience; all, in fine, down to those innocent frivolities, those sublime levities of woman, that frolic thoughtlessness which constitute perhaps her most cherished privilege and most bewitching attraction." -- Vol. I. p. 90. Stenio is a young man in the bloom of adolescence. He is the type of the enthusiasm, the impetuosity, the hope, the poetry and the passions of that deliciously-tumultuous epoch. He becomes enamoured of Lelia, of whom we have just given his lover-like description. The interviews between this pair are the most frequent and close of any in the book, and their conversations no less remarkable for suggestive instruction than passionate eloquence. The mythus of the relation between them, we conceive to be the influence exercised by the intellect and the heart -- by the reason and the passions, mutually upon each other. In support of this view, we shall quote a remonstrance of Lelia against the urgency of her ardent and inexperienced lover. It is long; but, let the inexorable moralist say what he will, it is full of beautiful wisdom. It contains a description of "first love" -- of those vague desires, those unutterable thought, those ceaseless aspirations, those aimless inquiries through the universe within us as through that without, for something, we know not what, to fix the feverish restlessness of the imagination, to fill the insatiable avidity of the soul -- a description which we are sure there is none of our readers, with a memory or a heart, who will read without rapture. The passage, in its suggestions respecting the proper use and the abuse of this passion, will also serve to show us what sort of love it is of which George Sand is the expounder, or, if you will, the advocate -- "a love," in her own eloquent language, "which is grand, noble, beautiful, voluntary, eternal; a love which is the marriage-union such as Jesus has instituted it, such as St. Paul has explained it, such, if you will, as the Civil Code, chap. VI., Title V., has expressed its reciprocal duties:* -- and that it is not the promiscuous and brutal appetite, of which many, whose calumnies have not even the excuse of wilful ignorance, have dared to denounce her as the deliberate apostle! This is another motive to us for giving so long a passage in full. Lelia addresses Stenio: "Thou hast promised to love me tenderly, and that we would thus be happy. Seek not, Stenio, to anticipate time; be not in haste to sound the mysteries of life. Await its arrival to take and carry thee whither we are all going. Thou fearest me, thou sayest. It is thyself thou hast to fear, it is thou who hast need of restraint; for at thine age imagination spoils the most savory fruits, impairs, by its avidity, every enjoyment. At thy years, we are bad economists of happiness; we would know all, posess all, exhaust all; and then we are astonished that the goods of this life are so inconsiderable, whereas * Lettres d'un Voyageur. 626 Modern Criticism (June, the true subject of astonishment is the heart of man, and its insatiable wants. Come, take my advice, proceed softly, luxuriate, one by one, upon the ineffable blisses of a word, a look, a thought -- all those immense and important nothings of nascent love. Were we not happy yesterday, under those trees, when, seated side by side, we felt our garments touch, and our glances divine, each other, in the shade? The night was quite dark and yet, I could see you, Stenio; you appeared beautiful as life, and I fancied you the sylph of those woods, the spirit of that breeze, the angel of the mysterious and tender hour. Have you remarked, Stenio, that there are moments when we are forced to love, times when the soul is inundated with poetry, when the heart beats more quickly, when the spirit launches beyond us and bursts the bonds of the will, to flee in quest of a counterpart wherein to pour itself? How often, in the evening twilight, at the rising of the moon, at the earliest day-dawn, how often, in the stillness of midnight, and in that other repose of noon so oppressive, so disquieting, so devouring, have I felt my heart precipitate itself towards some unknown object; towards a happiness without shape, without name, without end, which is in heaven, in the atmosphere, everywhere, like an invisible magnet -- like love! And yet, Stenio, this is not love; you think so -- you who know nothing and hope everything. I, who know all, know that there are deeper than love, desires, wants, hopes inextinguishable; else what would the life of man be, so few are the days allowed him to love upon the earth! But in those hours, our feelings are so vivid, so uncontrollable, that they overflow upon every object around us. At these moments, when the Deity possesses and fills us, we shed upon all his works the splendor of the flame that consumes us. * * * * * * "Love, Stenio, is not what you deem it; it is not that violent aspiration of every faculty for a created being; it is the holy aspiration of the part of the most etherial of the soul, for the unknown. Limited beings, we are every endeavouring to illude those insatiable desires that consume us. We provide them an object within our reach, and poor prodigals that we are, we deck the perishable idol with all the ideal charms observed in our visions. The emotions of sense are insufficient for us. Nature has nothing delicate enough, in the treasury of her simple enjoyments, to assuage the thirst of happiness which burns within us -- we want heaven, and cannot have it! "This is the reason why we seek heaven in a creature like ourselves, and expend upon it all that lofty energy which had been given us for a nobler purpose. We refuse to God the sentiment of our adoration -- a sentiment implanted in us to be given to God alone. We transfer it to a weak and imperfect being, who becomes the god of our idolatrous worship. In the youth of the world, before man had sophisticated his nature and misapprehended his own heart, the love of the sexes, such as we now understand it, had not existence. Pleasure was the only bond; of the moral passion, with its obstacles, its anxieties, its painful intensity, those happy generations were blissfully ignorant. It is, that then there were gods to worship, and that now there are none! In the present day, with persons of poetic temperament, the feeling of adoration enters into physical love. Strange error, truly, of a generation at once avid and impotent! Accordingly, when the veil of divinity drops off, and the creature appears in its imperfect and contemptible reality, behind those clouds of incense, that halo of love, we stand aghast at our hallucination, we blush for it, we tear down the idol and trample it in the dust. "And then, again, we seek another! for we must have something to love, and we go on deceiving ourselves over and over, until at length disabused, enlightened, purified, we are taught to abandon all hope of a durable affection upon earth, and to elevate towards God that pure and enthusiastic homage which we never should have offered but to Him alone." Vol. 1. p. 107-9. We ask the candid reader, Are these the sentiments, the precepts of a teacher of licentiousness and irreligion? The idea suggested in the last paragraph is that which is developed in the character of Trenmor, who is made to pas fro and through profligacy to purity, form the most abandoned vice to the most stoical virtue. IN our author, as usual, this theory is decried as unnatural and grossly immoral. Indeed, she has herself elsewhere, conceded the inconsistency of Trenmor. Yet the history of Christianity has, we believe, presented several similar examples; -- a fact which, no doubt, will pass for proof that the phenomenon is, at least, not incompatible 1845.) George Sand. 627 with the constitution of human nature. The preceding paragraphs contain the outline of George Sand's theory, or rather the principle of her doubts, respecting the marriage institution. There is not, it will be observed, a word against marriage. She only seeks to show the true cause of the disappointments and distresses which are sometimes charged upon this relation -- but charged wrongly, since (as she has attested elsewhere) they are no less incident to unlegalized, and even to illicit, love. Yet, this is what some of her critics call her "attacks upon marriage," and her "advocacy of licentiousness!" The separation which she makes of love from appetite, and the identification of the former with the sentiment of worship is, on the contrary, we venture to affirm, in the very highest strain of moral and religious purity and philosophy. The last passage of the extract, which we have put in italics, might, however, carry a great way, had we the space or the disposition to unfold its contents. If not also more truth, we do not hesitate to say that it involves more thought, than any half dozen novels that have been published within the last year. For the rest, it is, in this respect, but a fair sample of this pregnant book. Pulcherie, the only other female character of any consequence, presents the contrast of Lelia, being the representative of the sensual passions. She is introduced then in quality of a courtezan, and with the licentious principles, combines the worldly sense and frolic cynicism, of her unhappy class. The dialogues, or colloquies, between her and Lelia (which constitute a large and perhaps the most important part of the book) may be regarded as exhibiting the systems, and certainly are not unworthy of the ability, of Aristippus and Plato. We must make room for a long extract or two respecting the marriage-union -- the subject, and probably the identical passages, whereby George Sand has, in this article, become obnoxious. Lelia relates to Pulcherie the happiness she had expected, and the disappointment she has experienced, from connubial love. Pulcherie replies: "That you have lost your labor, Lelia, does not surprise me. You would make love what God has not permitted it should be, here below. If I understand your case, you have loved with the whole energy of your being, and your love has not been requited. What a misapprehension! Knew you not that man is brutal and woman is mutable? These two beings, at once so like and so dissimilar, are constituted in such sort that there is ever between them, even in the transports of love, an ineradicable germ of hatred. The first sentiment that succeeds their embrace is one of aversion and dejection. It is a law of heaven against which it is idle to strive. In the design of Providence, the union of man and woman is evidently temporary. Every consideration opposes the perpetuity of their association, and change is a necessity of their nature." That this "law of nature" has been infringed, Pulcherie imputes to the arbitrary and vicious constitution of society in this particular. Lelia (who, be it observed, speaks the sentiments of Sand) inclines to attribute it rather to the Author or our being, who has permitted, or suffered, man to establish this unequal and oppressive dominion. Our author, therefore, admits the marriage relation, however unequal and oppressive, to be in the order of things. Lelia then proceeds to vindicate woman's right of equality, in a strain of indignant eloquence and of novel and forcible illustration. "Which of the wrongs we (women) suffer under are we fairly blamable for ourselves? How admit -- unless, indeed, on the supposition of our being cast upon this earth, there to lave in the waters of affliction, before admitting us to the banquet of eternal felicity -- how believe the intervention of a Providence in our destinies? What paternal eye, tell me, watched over the human race the day it conceived the design of severing itself in twain, and subjugating one sex to the arbitrary dominion of the other? Is it nor rather savage appetite which has made woman the slave and the property of man? What instincts of elevated love, what notions of sacred fidelity, could have survived that deadly blow? What tie other than force could thenceforth subsist between him who has the right to demand everything, and her who has not the right to refuse anything? What toils or thoughts could be theirs in common, or at least with an equal degree of sympathy? What interchange of sentiments, what communion of ideas possible between the master and the slave? In the mildest exercise of his legal right, man still stands towards his companion in the relation of the guardian 628 Modern Criticism. (June, to the ward. But the later case has the advantage, the relation being temporary and restricted. * * * * * There is then no veritable association in the love of the sexes, for woman plays the part of the infant and for her the hour of majority, of emancipation, never arrives. What then is the crime against nature for which one half of the human race is to be kept in perpetual pupilage? The original sin of the Jewish legend presses upon the head of the woman, and hence, no doubt, her enslavement. But is has promised her she should one day crush the head of the serpent. When, then, when is this promise to be fulfilled? From thus quoting, we will not, it is hoped, be understood as yielding preference, or approval, to the system of either of the speakers - especially not, of course, to the doctrines of the courtezan. No more can our author be justly held responsible for the ethics of Iago or Richard. Pulcherie would, no doubt, be a more edifying personage, if made to talk upon marriage like a matron or a parson; but they who would have her do so, do not, we suspect, entitle themselves to great deference as critics, whether or moral instruction or dramatical propriety. In this, any more than in the previous extract, the author, it will be observed, (i.e. Lelia) evinces no hostility to the institution of marriage. She only complains of grievances, states facts -- facts undeniable. She alleges that woman is actually and legally subjected to man; whereas (in her opinion) she is by right, and ought to be by law, his equal. So far, however, from imputing this grievance to the marriage relation, with Pulcherie, Lelia attributes it to a law -- she dares to think still an unjust law -- of nature. With the precision of her ideas of justice and natural law, we, of course, have here no direct concern. She believes the inequality to have its foundation in the constitution of the sexes -- in the superior physical strength of man. While, therefore protesting against the hardship, she does not denounce the institution that maintains it. The abolition of the institution (which, however, she is charged with preaching) she, in fact, is so far from considering a remedy, that, on the contrary, she intimates that it would lead to the destruction of society itself, and consequently, perhaps, the final extinction of the race. She does not, indeed, propose any specific remedy - that we remember.* The reason may be this. George and has 1845.) George Sand. 629 far too much sagacity and experience to think with the vulgar advocates of the "rights of woman," that equality of political privileges would mend her congugal conditions. It would only make it worse, or rather it would render the existence of the union itself impracticable, as we shall have, presently, an occasion to show. Love she conceives to be the great want of woman; and freedom, intellectual independence, legal exemption from the husband's dominion, she accounts, not without reason, to be the chief element, or an essential condition, of this love. It is then a moral, not a political or civil, equality that our author would assert for woman. But how obtain, or how maintain the one without the other? The dilemma is this: Give the wife equal political rights with the husband, you probably plant dissolution in the marriage relation, discord in the family. Deny them to her, and social inequality must follow the political, and may, at the caprice of the husband, sink into intolerable servitude. That such are our author's views, on the evils in question, and this the difficulty which has occasioned some inconsistencies in her opinions, as well as her reticence on the subject of a remedy, may be gathered from a careful perusal of, among several others, the following passage. It is long, but is is pregnant with practical instruction upon one of the most deeply and universally interesting of questions, and has, moreover, the authority, probably of being, substantially, the personal experience of the author. We shall return to the difficulty, and submit a few observations towards a solution. Lelia speaks of the man in whom she was disappointed. "That man was wise, just, generous. He possessed manly beauty, intelligence above the common order, integrity of soul (une âme loyale;) had the placidity of mental force, was patient and well-natured." "And what, then, were his faults?" asked Pulcherie. "He did not love!" replied Lelia. "What availed to me all his noble qualities? Every one enjoyed them except me; or at least I only shared them in common with others, and while he possessed my entire soul, I could claim but a portion of his. He would occasionally manifest towards me the most vivid scintillations of passion, which, soon, however, fell back into the womb of night. His transports were more ardent than mine; but he seemed to expend in an instant, all the power of loving which he had been amassing for several days. At all times he was, as a friend, full of gentleness and equity; but his thoughts wandered far from me, and his avocations were constantly taking him away from my soceity. Do not imagine I had the injustice of pretending to chain him at my side, or the indiscretion of wishing to attach myself to his. I was ignorant of jealousy, for I was incapable of deceit. I understood his duties and would not embarrass the exercise of them; but I had a terrible perspicacity, and unwillingly saw how much vanity and peurility there is, in those occupations which men call serious. It seemed to me that, in his place, I could have despatched them with more method, precision and dignity. And yet, among * This is the besetting defect -- and it is the part of Hamlet omitted - of most or all the Pleadings for the Rights of Women. A signal example is furnished in a publication recently issued in this city, entitled, Woman in the Nineteenth Century -- though, by the way, for aught that appears in the contents, at least to ordinary vision, it would as appropriately be called, Woman in the Nineteenth Olympiad, or Nineteenth Year Postquam Urban Condition. This book, written by a woman (we esteem her sincrity too well to say "lady") has much sharp and sound criticism, upon Woman, her Wrongs, and, what is rarer and better, her Weaknesses, from Eve downwards. But like George Sand, or after her, she not only specifies no remedy, but fails, we think, to state precisely and distinctly the nature of the complaint. The burthen of the whole, however, seems to be, to "raise woman to an equality with man," -- to set her on the same social platform. Why, it would be as rational to talk of raising the rose-bush to the height of the hickory or to the strength of the oak. And were such a result attainable, the usefulness too would be quite analogous. It would be to place the roses -- all the plant possessed of beauty or use - beyond human reach, to waste their sweetness on the upper air; it would be to expose them on the wide-spread branches of a stubborn trunk, to be rifled of their flowery treasures by the first rude breeze; whereas, on the pliant stem assigned to them by nature, they may brave even the gale by their air of yielding, and not only lose not a leaf or a tint of their charms, but sweeten their fragrance by the graceful submission. Something of this sort, indeed, Miss Fuller herself admits, however inconsistently, when she states pithily that, "What woman needs is not as a woman to act or rule, but as a nature to grow," &c. Well, then, we may presume she does not want "to act or rule" as anything else. But is it to "grow" as a woman's nature or as a man's nature? Or are they the same thing? That they are widely and radically different -- different in end as in organization -- all, we believe, agree. What else then can these writers be but vague and confused, who (however unconsciously, sometimes) adopt man as the model whereby to re-form their ideal woman, while, moreover, resentment for real or imagined injuries is ever drawing them aside into denunciation of this their "bright exemplar," as an incarnation of almost every vice! Begin, then, with a distinct conception of the difference alluded to. It is the sole basis of the due emancipation of the Wife, of the true elevation of the Woman. It will suggest the education proper to these ends, furnish the conductor whereby "to bring out the electrical, the magnetic element in Woman" -- to borrow another of Miss F.'s felicities of truth and expression. It will teach, in fine, to regard the other sex and its position, not as a term of comparison, but rather of contrast. Accordingly, the point is respectfully submitted for the early consideration of Miss Fuller's Female Senate. No, gentle philogynists, no Rousseau, in one of his startling paradoxes, has said, "The educated man is a depraved animal." We -- but under shelter of a pliant proverb (for the thing is perhaps much a matter of taste) -- affirm that a masculine woman would be a moral monster, a human mule. In noting this general exception to the work of Miss F. we are happy of the occasion to express our sincere admiration of her merits as a critic, in this book as elsewhere -- merits without a rival in our critical journalism, not only for vigorous thought combined with various and accurate learning, but especially for the scope and direction of her views, her philosophical comprehensiveness, and her classical sympathies. The latter is especially creditable in a a writer somewhat tainted with Carlyleism, that clownish cockneyism of the uncultivated or the common-place mind. Miss Fuller need not ape the contortions; she has the inspiration of the sybil. Vol. I. -- No. VI. 41 630 Modern Criticism. (June, men, he was distinguished for ability. But I could easily perceive that he experienced, in the discharge of his social duties, gratifications of self-love more lively or at least deeper, more constant, more necessary, than the holy raptures of a pure affection. It was not devotion to the interests of humanity simply that en- grossed his mind and fired his bosom -- it was love of glory. His glory was unsullied and respectable, he never purchased it by a single weakness; but he sacrificed my happiness to it, and was astonished that I was not in ecstasy at the splendor which encircled his name. For my part I appreciated the generous actions of which it was the meed; but a price of this nature appeared to me vulgar, and the embrace of popular favor to be the prostitution of the heart. I was unable to comprehend how he could have preferred the caresses of the crows to mine, and that his best reward was not found in his own conscience, but especially in my heart. I saw him barter away for worthless coin all the treasure of his ideal. to me, he seemed to be losing the eternal life of his soul, and, according to the profound saying of Christ, to be receiving his reward in this life. My love was infinite, and his was restricted within impassable limits. He had circumscribed my affection, he did not comprehend that he might have enlarged it, and that I was not satisfied with the range he assigned it. "True, at the slightest rebuff from the world, he would fly back to my arms. Frequently, he chanced to experience the injustice of opinion and the ingratitude of the popular voice. Friends, the most implicitly trusted, often betrayed him. Then would he come to weep on my bosom, and by a sudden reaction concentrate upon me all the truant rays of his affection. But this fugitive felicity served only to aggravate my sufferings. Soon again that soul, so indolent or so volatile, in presence of the idea of retirement, became restless, agitate, by the affairs of the world. His ecstasies, more energetically expressed than deeply felt, generated lassitude, a yearning for action , disgust of a life of tenderness and transport. The remembrance of political diversions (the most frivolous, I assure you, at the present day, ) would pursue him into my arms. My philosophical aversion to all such inanities, provoked and offended him. He would take vengeance by reminding me that i was a woman, and therefore incapable of soaring to the hight of his combinations, or comprehending the importance of his pursuits. And thence a growing sentiment of spite and silent dislike, interrupted by intervals of repentance and tenderness, but ever ready to revive at the slightest dissidence. In these returns of affection, I was pained to remark that his joy and his love seemed to savor of insanity. It was as if his soul, on the verge of dissolution, terrified at the vanity of human affairs, would take a final launch towards heaven, to learn, and drink of , its mysterious ecstasies, and descend again, cold and calm, to the earth. This morbid expression of a passion which had lost its sanctity in our quarrels and resentments, rent my heart as so many adieus which we were bidding to each other; and then he would complain of my sadness, which he took for coldness. He imagined the head may manifest the transports of joy, while the heart is breaking. My tears gave him offence, and he dared, may Heaven forgive him! to reproach me with not loving him. "Oh! it was he himself who severed the fastest tie that ever bound two souls together. It was he who, not appreciating my impassive reserve and immense control over my grief, construed into crimes the palid cheek, the forces smile, the tear that stole over the verge of the eyelash. He made it criminal in me to be less childish than he, who yet affected to treat me like a child. And then, one day, furious at being made to feel his inferiority, he turned his wrath against my race and cursed the whole sex, that he might have a pretext of execrating me. He reproached me with the defects we contract in a state of slavery -- the want of information which is refused us, of passions which we are forbidden to feel. He went so far as to reproach me with the boundlessness of my love as a frantic ambition, a mental alienation, a lust of sway. And as soon as he had uttered this blasphemy I felt that, at length, I had ceased to love him." Such is, we believe, a very common origin -- especially in those countries where politics and other material pursuits are permitted to corrupt the taste, and engross the time, for conjugal endearment -- such are often occasions of those matrimonial bickerings -- progressing from neglect to dissension, from dissension to dislike, from dislike to discord, -- which are heard, with growing frequency, to explode in divorce, or to mutter in disorder and disgrace; but which in far, far the 1845.) George Sand. 631 majority of cases, are left, a source of silent misery, to die away with the decay of the passions, under the consecrated, because sorely-sensitive, veil of social reserve and family privacy. That a state of things so destructive of the happiness of mankind, but especially, and in an aggravated degree, that of woman, should infer "something wrong" in the marriage institution -- this is the case which our author has sought to establish, and certainly, the inference does not seem to be violent. It is, indeed, effectually recognized by the prevalent agitation of what are called "The Rights of Woman;" a topic, which, from being the jest of the wit and a theme of the fanatic, is come to engage the attention of the social philosopher and the statesman. In this country, the movement naturally travels by steam,, but proceeds, it seems to us, with more zeal than discretion. A few remarks upon the remedy vulgarly proposed, with the view of finding a better, will, therefore, have the merit -- if no other -- of being opportune and well-intended. With our author, then, we are decidedly of opinion that, a participation in political privileges is not the true remedy; nay, in question and perhaps introduce new ones. And this, if true, we regard as proof conclusive, that no such privileges are among the natural right of woman; for no one has a natural right to anything which can produce but evil, pure or in preponderance, to himself and the community of which he forms a member. Are the "Right of Woman" of this descriptions? Bye the "equality of rights" thus claimed for women, is meant, we conceive, that the wife should enjoy the same rights civil and political -- same in extent and in subject -- as the husband. But an equality of this sort is clearly incompatible with the very existence of the social, or even the family, association. No association, domestic or political, possible, without a government. No government with out the right in some one to command. No right of command without the duty to obey, without subordination. But subordination and the equality contended for a contradiction even in the terms. We need not dwell upon the practical objections, which are sufficiently obvious -- the consequences of admitting woman upon the arena of politics; the diversion from domestic avocations, the depravation of those qualities that chiefly ennoble her nature and endear her to man; the capricious disregard of the husband's wishes or weaknesses, with which an independent right of property would not fail to inspire her. In short, give woman these rights, and you make the fireside a scene of anarchy, the state a system of intrigue. If the alleged inequality does not reside in the rights refused, it may then be in the duties imposed. No, still. The common, the conjugal duties of husband and wife are, we believe, by law reciprocal and equal. Both are bound by the same tie, on the same terms, under the same penalties. And it certain transgressions of these duties (i.e. adultery) be punished more severely by the moral (they are not commonly by the legal) sanction in the woman, this is not an instance nor an evidence of an inequality in her condition. On the contrary, it is a consequence, and of course a proof, of her natural equality, as we shall presently explain the term; even as the ascent of light bodies, at first deemed an exception to, was in fact a confirmation of, the theory of gravitation. The infidelity of the wife, whatever some technical or theological civilians may pretend, is far more detrimental to the objects of the compact than that of the husband; and it is but justice, that is, equality, that the rigor of the punishment should be proportional to the importance of the transgression. Now, all duties having their correlative rights, it may be asked, "Do we not, in thus admitting an equality of duty, accord to woman an equality of natural rights with man?" We do. "And this after having denied to her political privileges?" Certainly. And though the dilemma holds our author, amongst others, in perplexity and indecision as to a remedy, we venture, for our part, to expect an easy escape. The fifficulty lies in the phrase "Equality of rights." Equality of rights does not necessarily import (as the communists understand it) the same rights to equal things; nor yet, equal rights to the same things; as it is more moderately interpreted by other reformers. It does not imply parity, nor even similarity, whether in the subject-matter or the absolute extent of the relation which constitutes the right. The equality in question turns upon neither of these; it rests upon and has reference to the particular constitution and destination 632 Modern Criticism. (June, of the individuals, (or the sexes,) of whose respective rights it is relatively predicated. These are the terms of the jural equation. If both or either be (as they unquestionably are) different in the sexes, the social career, the course of action, physical and mental, prompted by the one and required by the other, and consequently the "right" of action, will likewise be different and in a like proportion. But, for being thus different, will not the less be equal; they will be equally efficient of equal ends––the happiness of the agents. To assert for woman an equality of rights in any other sense than this, would, therefore, be to affirm her position, her faculties, her feelings, her duties, to be identical with those of man. The common error lies in comparing merely the modes of operation of the rights; which being, indisputably, different in kind, are of course insusceptible of legitimate comparison. There will be no difficulty in adopting our interpretation of the equality, if the rights themselves be regarded, but regarded analogically; that is, if the mode and measure of their exercise be viewed as a specific means to a destined object,–– means equal in result, but different in form, according to the capacity and end of the sexes respectively, in the system of Nature or the order of Providence. There is still an objection to the legitimacy of the husband's exclusive possession of political rights, upon which our author seems to lay unmerited stress. The rebellion of woman against the marital supremacy that subjects, that enslaves her, is prompted by an instinct which is the voice of nature. Ergo, the supremacy is unnatural, unjust, unequal. But every malcontent, and malefactor has a similar instinct. Is society, therefore, to be held illegitimate? But the wife is often, in fact, oppressed under cover of this authority of the husband. So is the man under that of the government. Has government, then, no rightful authority? In either of these cases, it is not perhaps so often oppression or tyranny as it is fault, and fault imputable to both the parties. Had the citizen and the wife understood their true interests, and their proper parts in the social scheme, and been disciplined to practice as well as taught to comprehend them, what had been tyranny political or domestic, would, in most cases, turn to be but a necessary and salutary control, and the "slavery," "incompatibility of temper," with the thousand other ills which marriage seems, at present, heir to, would disappear, in a voluntary, intelligent, and even agreeable obedience. The reader has, no doubt, already guessed our nostrum for these ills. We almost blush to introduce its old-fashioned face, untricked up in any of the new-fangled devices of the day -- without the attraction of even a long and learned name. It is a remedy, however, which is the specific of all moral wrong, the leveller of every unjust inequality, the best, the preventive, part of all government, which is government itself -- we mean Education. It can hardly be necessary to declare, that by the education of woman, we do not understand the prevalent, the "fashionable education," in any possible degree of its perverse perfection; a system mainly, if not exclusively, directed to the cultivation of the meretricious attractions of exterior, without developing a single quality that can ever win the esteem, or even ensure the attachment, of a rational husband, beyond perhaps the honeymoon; a system, which, (to borrow the happy illustration of Swift) disregarding the cages, teaches our young misses but the construction of nest -- nets which, after all, are calculated to catch only flies. We mean an education founded, as all education should be, on the practicable, to the prospective condition, duties and circumstances of the learner. Let woman's understanding be cultivated, her affections developed, her sentiments directed with regard to the duties and ends of her condition in life, and her place in the social and natural scale -- these duties, moreover, not merely inculcated formally, but a love and an esteem for them habitually inspired; let this be effected, and we should venture to engage that much less would be heard both of the "rights" and the wrongs of woman, of divorces, separations, and the minor miseries which are at present the prolific brood of "incompatibility of temper." Until she bring to the marriage state, some better than a boarding-school discipline for its business, and a disposition to bear and alleviate its burthens; while, instead, she continues to come tricked out in the current "accomplishments," (as they are called,) viz: to prate parrot-wise about parallelograms and perspective, to put on certain grimaces of face and attitude, and thrum 1845.) George Sand. 633 solos on piano or guitar -- we must say, we see no available remedy against the "inequalities" she complains of, or none that would not, in its consequences, prove worse than the malady. The qualities which we have been recommending, of the heart and understanding, are the best, are the true guarantees of the rights of woman; the education that develops and disciplines them her only hope -- at least, until our friends, the Fourierites, bring about, with their "nova sæcula," "That happy state where souls each other draw, Where love is liberty, and nature law." For the rest, we would not speak lightly of the grievances in question. We are not insensible to the hardship, perhaps unmatched, that a sensitive, refined or intellectual woman should be subject for life, to the coldness, the cruelty or the caprice of a stupid, a harsh or a profligate husband. It reminds us of the beautiful peri of the Oriental tale, doomed to stand, forever, in trembling attendance, on the nod of her diabolical, hideous and hated old conjurer. It is indeed from deep sympathy with such sufferers that we have ventured to go thus thoroughly into this delicate subject, and to dissuade form the silly and dangerous agitation of pretended "right" of woman, which can only serve, with sensible men, to burlesque her wrongs. Nor is it only as such remedy that the education we speak of is desirable. Is it not astonishing -- if stupidity could astonish in a modern law-maker -- that the influence of women has been overlooked by the statesman? It is the most powerful agency of civilization vouchsafed to man. It realizes in the moral world what has been dreamt of in the mechanical -- an accumulative reciprocation of force. Men will be whatever the women esteem and desire -- so that to educate the latter is also to educate the former; and the women, in turn, will strain to elevate themselves to the approbation of the improved man. As if so contrived by Providence, this influence is known too to operate the most intensely at the critical periods when the character takes form -- we mean infancy and adolescence. The operation of this principle -- the predilection of our misses for dress, dollars and beard -- had, in spite of our systems of education, given up brainless fops, base-browed sharpers, whiskered noodles, et id genus omne. Teach women to require it, and it will yield a race, if not all philosophers and heroes, of what is much better, perhaps, of dutiful and affectionate husbands, of intelligent and virtuous citizens. Before quitting this all important subject of marriage we are tempted to give another extract from our author, in illustration of the necessity and propriety of the preparation suggested, for the assumption of that interesting state. It exhibits the course of the illusion -- which is to be prevented or dispelled; springing in an exuberance of youth, fed by romances, turned into disappointment at a touch of the spear of reality, and ending in discontent in ordinary natures, but in the firier intellects, in doubt and despair. This picture, being probably the author's personal experience, presents, no doubt, the effects in those violent extremes, of which only genius is unhappily capable. But with this difference of degree (which will range with sensibility and intellect) it is the history of nine-tenths of the youth of both sexed. For the rest, its fidelity of truth and felicity of eloquence, would of themselves (though we can ill afford the space,) entitle the passage to quotation . Lelia still narrates her internal biography to Pulcherie. "At this period (puberty) I breathed life through every pore; it overflowed as from and exhaustless fountain, upon the universe around me. The slightest object of esteem, the most trivial subject of amusement excited me to enthusiasm, to intoxication. A poet was to be a god, the earth my mother, the stars, sisters. I would bless heaven, on bent knees, for the opening of a flower upon my window -- for the matin song of the bird that saluted my waking ear. My admirations were extasies; my joy was delirium. "Thus, day after day, enlarging my capacity, inflaming my sensibility and pouring it with out reserve upon the heavens above and the earth beneath me, I went on, throwing my whole soul, all the energy of my being, into the void of that intangible universe which returned me every sensation blunted, jaded -- the faculty of vision, dazzled by the sun; curiosity fatigued by the monotony of the ocean and the vague of the horizon; belief shaken by the mysterious algebra of the stars and the mutism of every object which my soul pursued. So that i attained, while yet young, to that plenitude of the faculties which admits of no increase without bursting the mortal envelope. "Then came a man, and I loved him. 634 Modern Criticism. (June, My love for him was the same as I felt for the deity, the sun, the ocean. With this difference, however, that I ceased to love the latter objects, concentrating upon him the enthusiasm which I had been lavishing upon the other works of the Creator. "You are right in accounting poetry, deleterious to the mind and the peace of mankind. It has made desolate the world of reality, so cold, so sterile, so dreary, in contrast with the sunny visions which it has created around us. drunk with its empty promises, cradled in its sweet illusions, I have never been able to resign myself to the positive of life. Poetry gave me new senses, immense, magnificent, and which there was nothing on earth that could satisfy. My soul grew too vast to content itself with the paltry reality for an instant. Every day witnessed the sacrifice of my duty to my pride, the ruin of my pride made desolate by its own triumphs. A violent conflict it was, and a deplorable victory; for in disdaining the actual, I came to contemn myself, a vain and stupid creature who could enjoy nothing, from her avidity to enjoy luxuriously everything in the universe. "Yes, it was a great and a painful contest; for poetry, while intoxicating give no sign it is deceiving us. It disguises itself in the severe and simple beauty of truth. It takes a thousand various shapes -- a man, an angel, even God himself. We attach ourselves to the shadow, we pursue, we embrace it, we fall prostrate before it; we fancy we have found the god and gained the land of promise. But, alas! the fugitive decoration vanish before the eye of analysis or experience, and human misery is not left a rag of illusion to cover its nakedness. Oh! then, it is that man breads forth into tears and blasphemy. He defies heaven -- he demands the reason of deluding him -- he abandons himself to despair -- he throws him upon his couch, and desires to die." This leads us fitly to the other head of accusation against George Sand, which we shall notice -- her atheism or infidelity. G.Sand, indeed, is not an orthodox Catholic; not even a Christian, perhaps, according to the rubric. But her voluminous works are instinct with the religious, that is, the venerative spirit. There is not one, we venture to affirm, that does not indicate not only the decidedly religious temperament (which perhaps is inseparable from genius) but also, a deep development of the religious sentiment, and an enlightened faith in a Creator and a Providence, -- for example, Spiridion. We should not recommend her as a safe instructor in the dogma of Christianity; but we must say, we know no theological writer better calculated to instil the spirit of the Divine Founder of that system. As to her opinions of the system itself, we are not unwilling they should be collected from the subjoined extracts, though uttered in a fictitious character. We shall only say for them, that they would probably have passed, in the Christian sect of the Gnostics, or even in the orthodox Church of the Platonic Christianity. -- Lelia still relates to Pulcherie the incidents of her life in a convent, whither she had retreated, à la mode, after her disappointment in wedlock and the world. "I had also some days of tranquillity and reason. The religion of Christ, which I had adapted to my comprehension, and my wants, shed a genial suavity, a healing balm into the wounds of my soul. In truth, I have never much troubled myself to ascertain, if the degree of divinity allotted to the human soul, did or did not authorize men to be called prophets, gods, redeemers. Bacchus, Moses, Confucius, Mahomet, Luther have accomplished grand missions upon earth, and given powerful impulses to teh march of the human mind, in the career of ages. Were they of the same species with us, those men to whom we owe it that we think, that we live, to-day? Those colossal minds whose energies have organized and established societies, were they not of a nature higher, purer, more celestial than ours? Unless we deny God and the divine essence of the human intellect, what right or reason have we to deny, or to disregard the most exalted of his work? He who, born amongst men, lived without sin and without infirmity -- he who dictated the Gospel, and transformed the ancient systems of morality into that which has served mankind for a long succession of ages -- can he not be truly said to be the Son of God? "Providence is pleased to send us alternately, men, powerful for evil, and others powerful for good. The Supreme Will that governs the universe, when it desires that the human mind shall make a large stride in advance or retrocession, in a particular section of the glove, can, without awaiting the solemn march of ages and the slow operation of natural 1845.) George Sand. 635 causes, effect these sudden transitions by the arm or the eloquence of a man created for the purpose. "Jesus having, accordingly, come to trample the proud diadem of the Pharisees under his bare and dusty feet -- having abolished the ancient law, and announced to future ages that grand principle of spiritualism necessary to the regeneration of an enervated race -- erecting himself a giant in the history of heroes, and separating in twain the reign of the senses and the reign of ideas -- having annihilated with an inflexible hand all the animal power of man, and opened to his intellect a new career, boundless, incomprehensible, perhaps eternal; if then you are a believer in God, will you not, kneeling, say: This man is the Work which was with God at the beginning? He has proceeded from God, he returns to Him; he is for ever with him seated on his right hand, because he ransomed mankind. "God who sent Jesus from heaven, Jesus who was God upon earth, and the Spirit of God which inspired Jesus and which filled up the interval, formed a connecting link between Jesus and God -- is not this a trinity simple, indivisible, necessary to the empire and the existence of Christ? Every one who believes and prays, every one who is placed by faith in communion with God, does he not present in his person an image of this mysterious trinity more or less faint according to the vividness of the revelations of the celestial, to the human spirit? The Soul, the Yearning of the soul for some uncreated object, and the mysterious End of this sublime aspiration -- all this, is it not Divinity, revealed in three distinct forms, -- Force, Effort, Victory?" -- Vol. ii. p. 40-1. Again: strolling, one day, to ease her anguish, into a ruined chapel, Lelia encounters a statue of the Saviour in white marble, buried in a broken niche, and lighted by only a few rays that crawled through the rubbish and "threw a singular sadness over the beautifully pale forehead of the Christ." "I took pleasure in contemplating this poetical and melancholy symbol. What upon earth more touching than the image of physical torture, crowned with the expression of celestial joy! What grander thought, what profounder emblem, than this God-martyr, bathed in tears and blood, extending his outstretched arms to heaven! O! image of suffering, affixed upon a cross and ascending like the prayer of innocence, like the breath of incense, from earth to heaven. Expiatory offering of pain, who soarest, all bare and bloody, to the throne of the Lord! Radiant hope, symbolical cross, whereon are stretched and repose those limbs lacerated by torture! Thorny crown which encirclest that brow, the sanctuary of intellect - a fatal diadem set upon the power of man! I have often invoked you, often prostrated myself before you! Often has my soul been offered upon that cross, has bled beneath those thorns! Under the name Christ, it has often adored human tribulation, cheered by divine hope -- Resignation, that is, the acceptance of this life - Redemption, that is, patience in the throes of agony, and hope in the arms of death" -- Idem, p. 47. We must now bring this cursory notice of George Sand to a close. We are sensible that it furnishes but a very imperfect account of her book; but, besides that this was a subsidiary consideration, it presents, we are bold to say, the fairest and (as far as we are aware) the fullest that has hitherto appeared in our language. Our object, it will be remembered, was to awaken attention to the prevalent and systematic violation, by a dogmatical criticism, and after it, of course, by intolerant ignorance, of the great principle of freedom of Discussion and Speculation. As an exemplification of this abuse it was that the author and the book we have been considering, have been introduced -- the author, proclaimed by this tribunal as the deliberate propagator of licentiousness, infidelity, and we know not what other abominations; the book denounced as the manual of those diabolical doctrines. To show what ground there is for these charges, we have selected from the book the most obnoxious opinions respecting marriage and religion, the principal topics of the impeachment. They have been submitted in full, and, in accordance with our own theory of the critical functions, without pronouncing any judgment, and almost without a comment. It is for the careful and candid reader to say whether they sustain, whether they even countenance the atrocities imputed. Let it farther be borne in mind, that this is but the dark side of the book; that it was our point to make out the strongest of all the works of the author, "Lelia," is, in fact, the most open to misconstruction Whitman 634 Modern Criticism (June, My love for him was the same as I felt for the deity, the sun, the ocean. With this difference, however, that I ceased to love the latter objects, concentrating upon him the enthusiasm which I had been lavishing upon the other works of the Creator. "You are right in accounting poetry, deleterious to the mind and the peace of mankind. It has made desolate the world of reality, so cold, so sterile, so dreary, in contrast with the sunny visions which it has created around us. Drunk with its empty promises, cradled in its sweet illusions, I have never been able to resign myself to the positive of life. Poetry gave me new senses, immense, magnificent, and which there was nothing on earth that could satisfy. My soul grew too vast to content itself with the paltry reality for an instant. Every day witnessed the sacrifice of my duty to my pride, the ruin of my pride made desolate by its own triumphs. A violent conflict it was, and a deplorable victory; for in disdaining the actual, I came to contemn myself, a vain and stupid creature who could enjoy nothing, from her avidity to enjoy luxuriously everything in the universe. "Yes, it was a great and a painful contest; for poetry, while intoxicating gives no sign it is deceiving us. It disguises itself in the severe and simple beauty of truth. It takes a thousand various shapes -- a man, an angel, even God himself. We attach ourselves to the shadow, we pursue, we embrace it, we fall prostrate before it; we fancy we have found the god and gained the land of promise. But, alas! the fugitive decorations vanish before the eye of analysis or experience, and human misery is not left a rag of illusion to cover its nakedness. Oh! then, it is that man breaks forth into tears and blasphemy. He defies heaven -- he abandons himself to despair -- he throws him upon his couch, and desires to die." This leads up fitly to the other head of accusation against George Sand, which we shall notice -- her atheism or infidelity. G. Sand, indeed, is not an orthodox Catholic; not even a Christian, perhaps, according the rubric. But her voluminous works are instinct with the religious, that is, the venerative spirit. There is not one, we venture to affirm, that does indicate not only the decidedly religious temperament (which perhaps is inseparable from genius) but also, a deep development of the religious sentiments, and an enlightened faith in a Creator and a Providence, -- for example, Spiridion. We should not recommend her as a safe instructor in the dogma of Christianity; but we must say, we know no theological writer better calculated to instil the spirit of the Divine Founder of that system As to her opinions of the system itself, we are not unwilling they should be collected from the subjoined extracts, though uttered in a fictitious character. We shall only say for them, that they would probably have passed, in the Christian sect of the Gnostics, or even in the orthodox Church of the Platonic Christianity. -- Lelia still relates to Pulcherie the incidents of her life in a convent, whither she had retreated, a la mode, after her disappointment in wedlock and the world. "I had also some days of tranquillity and reason. The religion of Christ, which I had adapted to my comprehension, and my wants, shed a genial suavity, a healing balm into the wounds of my soul. In truth, I have never much troubled myself to ascertain, if the degree of divinity allotted to the human soul, did or did not authorize men to be called prophets, gods, redeemer. Bacchus, Moses, Confucius, Mahomet, Luther have accomplished grand missions upon earth, and given powerful impulses to the march of the human mind, in the career of ages. Were they of the same species with us, those men to whom we owe it that we think, that we live, today? Those colossal minds while energies have organized and established societies, were they not of a nature higher, purer, more celestial than ours? Unless we deny God and the divine essence of the human intellect, what right or reason have we to deny, or to disregard the most exalted of his works? He who, born amongst men, lived without sin and without infirmity - he who dictated that Gospel, and transformed the ancient systems of morality into that which has served mankind for a long succession of ages - can he not be truly said to be the Son of God? "Providence is pleased to send us alternately, men, powerful for evil, and others powerful for good. The Supreme Will that governs the universe, which it desires that the human mind shall make a large stride in advance or retrocession, in a particular section of the globe, can, without awaiting the solemn march of ages and the slow operation of natural 1845.) George Sand. 635 causes, effect these sudden transitions by the arm or the eloquence of a man created for the purpose. "Jesus having, accordingly, come to trample the proud diadem of the Pharisees under his bare and dusty feet -- having abolished the ancient law, and announced to future ages that grand principle of spiritualism necessary to the regeneration of an enervated race -- erecting himself a giant in the history of heroes, and separating in twain the reign of the senses and the reign of ideas -- having annihilated with an inflexible hand all the animal power of man, and opened to his intellect a new career, boundless, incomprehensible, perhaps eternal; if then you are a believer in God, will you not, kneeling, say: This man is the Work which was with God at the beginning? He has proceeded from God, he returns to Him; he is for ever with him seated on his right hand, because he ransomed mankind. "God who sent Jesus from heaven, Jesus who was God upon earth, and the Spirit of God which inspired Jesus and which filled up the interval, formed a connecting link between Jesus and God -- is not this a trinity simple, indivisible, necessary to the empire and the existence of Christ? Every one who believes and prays, every one who is placed by faith in communion with God, does he not present in his person an image of this mysterious trinity more or less faint according to the vividness of the revelations of the celestial, to the human spirit? The Soul, the Yearning of the soul for some uncreated object, and the mysterious End of this sublime aspiration -- all this, is it not Divinity, revealed in three distinct forms, -- Force, Effort, Victory?" -- Vol. ii. p. 40-1. Again: strolling, one day, to ease her anguish, into a ruined chapel, Lelia encounters a statue of the Saviour in white marble, buried in a broken niche, and lighted by only a few rays that crawled through the rubbish and "threw a singular sadness over the beautifully pale forehead of the Christ." "I took pleasure in contemplating this poetical and melancholy symbol. What upon earth more touching than the image of physical torture, crowned with the expression of celestial joy! What grander thought, what profounder emblem, than this God-martyr, bathed in tears and blood, extending his outstretched arms to heaven! O! image of suffering, affixed upon a cross and ascending like the prayer of innocence, like the breath of incense, from earth to heaven. Expiatory offering of pain, who soarest, all bare and bloody, to the throne of the Lord! Radiant hope, symbolical cross, whereon are stretched and repose those limbs lacerated by torture! Thorny crown which encirclest that brow, the sanctuary of intellect - a fatal diadem set upon the power of man! I have often invoked you, often prostrated myself before you! Often has my soul been offered upon that cross, has bled beneath those thorns! Under the name Christ, it has often adored human tribulation, cheered by divine hope -- Resignation, that is, the acceptance of this life - Redemption, that is, patience in the throes of agony, and hope in the arms of death" -- Idem, p. 47. We must now bring this cursory notice of George Sand to a close. We are sensible that it furnishes but a very imperfect account of her book; but, besides that this was a subsidiary consideration, it presents, we are bold to say, the fairest and (as far as we are aware) the fullest that has hitherto appeared in our language. Our object, it will be remembered, was to awaken attention to the prevalent and systematic violation, by a dogmatical criticism, and after it, of course, by intolerant ignorance, of the great principle of freedom of Discussion and Speculation. As an exemplification of this abuse it was that the author and the book we have been considering, have been introduced -- the author, proclaimed by this tribunal as the deliberate propagator of licentiousness, infidelity, and we know not what other abominations; the book denounced as the manual of those diabolical doctrines. To show what ground there is for these charges, we have selected from the book the most obnoxious opinions respecting marriage and religion, the principal topics of the impeachment. They have been submitted in full, and, in accordance with our own theory of the critical functions, without pronouncing any judgment, and almost without a comment. It is for the careful and candid reader to say whether they sustain, whether they even countenance the atrocities imputed. Let it farther be borne in mind, that this is but the dark side of the book; that it was our point to make out the strongest of all the works of the author, "Lelia," is, in fact, the most open to misconstruction 636 Modern Criticism (June, the most amendable to abuse. If, by what we have said and shown, the reader, soaring alike above popular prejudice and critical cant, should be induced to prosecute his acquaintance with G. Sand, through this and the rest of her voluminous writings, we can engage that he will find her, throughout, not only full of that profound knowledge of the human character, and especially of the heart, of those comprehensive and generally enlightened views of the organic infirmities and actual abuses of society, set forth, moreover in a diction of unequalled beauty and eloquence - all which, even enemies allow her ; but he will also find her indefatigable as uncompromising in her efforts for the melioration, breathing the most benevolent aspirations for the destinies, of mankind. He will wonder how the following passage from another of her works,* can have been no less true than it is pathetic. "Because in writing my little tales to earn the bread that was refused me, I have been often unable to forget having been unhappy, because I have dared to say that there are beings miserable in the marriage state - miserable by reason of the infirmity which is made a duty of the wife, by reason of the brutality which is permitted the husband, by reason of the turpitudes which society throws a veil over, and protects with the mantle of abuse-because of this, I have been declared immoral, I have been denounced as if I were the enemy of the human race." He will ask with astonishment, and, no doubt, indignation, how this noble woman, because her generous complaints or he philanthropic speculations may have alarmed some stupid prejudice, or some brutalizing belief, has come, in the face of an enlightened world, to be successfully decried as the apostle of profligacy and irreligion? But let him look to history; it is but the old treatment, from which Christ himself was not exempted, of the best benefactors of the people! We have spoken thus far of "Lelia" with especial reference to the main object had in view. Let us say a parting word of its philosophical character, in a general respect. The scheme and scope of the book seem to have been, to present a symbolical epitome of the history of human progress, a psychological itinerary of the career of humanity. Leila, the principal personage, represents, as before intimated, the several grand staged, successively, through which civilization has passed -- (the other characters expressing, perhaps, its more particular or partial manifestations.) Her "first love" with Stenio, may signify the earlier stages, corresponding with what are called the pastoral and heroic times, when mankind were certainly more content, if not more happy -- this was the period of the senses and the imagination, and may well include the whole of civilization of antiquity, which remained of this character, essentially, to the last. Then came with Christianity, (or Christianity with them?) repentance and reflection, which are symbolized in Leila's retirement to, and life in a convent - this is the religious period, the "ages of faith." Her flight from the colloquies with Trenmor, the reformed profligate and materialist, represent the emancipation of the mind from ecclesiastical despotism, the period of Doubt -- probably the actual stage of our civilization. This may be considered a fanciful or a forced interpretation of "Lelia," since the author, as already remarked, has but very imperfectly developed her design. Indeed, she has in the book so often referred to, (Lettres d'un Voyageur) avowed a different construction of it herself, describing it "A hideous crocodile skilfully dissected -- a heart bleeding all over, laid bare and presenting an object of horror and compassion." Appearing in a production inspired by her better genius (a book which combines all the excellencies with none of the blemishes of George Sand) -- the modest severity of this estimate of "Lelia" may, not unreasonably, be regarded as in some degree expiatory and apologetic. Be this as it will, that ours is the true conception of it, is, at least, a legitimate development of its idea, a logical deduction from its premises, a systematic disposition of its ill-ordered fragments, may be gathered, we think, from the subjoined passage, which is produced for the benefit of the reader who has yet had no better means of judging; and with which we close this paper, as the author has her book. It occurs in Lelia's last interview with Trenmor -- time, midnight; cleft with deep ravines, amidst torrents and tempests; a subject for the terrible pencil of Salvator Rosa. Trenmor 1845.) George Sand. 637 the representative of the "Materialism" of the present day, remonstrates with Lelia, on the folly of her sublime discontent and restless research after happiness and truth. To whom Lelia ("Spiritualism") replies in the following burst of an eloquence to be characterized only by the epithet awful; and then expires. "There are hours in the night when I fell overwhelmed with an intolerable indisposition. At first, it is a vague dejection, an indefinable uneasiness. Entire nature seems to press upon me, and I crawl along, crushed and bowed beneath the burthen of existence, like a dwarf obliged to carry a giant upon its shoulders. At those moments I yearn for expansion, for consolation,and would fain embrace the universe in one filial and fraternal caress; but the universe seems to repulse me harshly, and turns to me but to crush me beneath it -- as if I, a miserable atom, insulted the universe by inviting it to my embrace. Then my poetic and tender rapture is transmuted to horror and reproach. I turn to hating the everlasting beauty of the stars, and the splendor of those objects which feed my ordinary reveries appears now but the inexorable indifference of power for weakness. I am at discord with everything, and my soul emits a shriek from the bosom of creation like the snapping of a string amid the triumphal melodies of a celestial lyre. If the sky be serene, I fancy it an inflexible god, who is an utter stranger to my wishes and my wants. If the tempest rages, it is the image of my bosom -- bootless suffering, unheeded cries. "Oh! yes -- yes ! alas! despair reigns throughout, and woes and wailings proceed from every pore of creation. Yonder sighing billow writhes in agony upon the beach, the wind weeps mournfully through the forest. Those trees that droop, and rise to be again prostrated beneath the lash of the storm, are all undergoing a terrible torture. There is an unfortunate and accursed being -- a being immense, enormous, such as the world we inhabit cannot contain. This being is invisible and omnipresent, and his voice fills all space with one eternal sigh. A prisoner in immensity, he shakes himself, he struggles, he knocks his head and shoulders against the confines of earth and heaven. He cannot pass them; all things constrain him, all crush him, all curse him, all hate him. What is this being, and whence does he come? Is he the rebellious angel who was expelled from the Empyrean, and this world, is it the hell which serves for his prison? Is it thou, spirit of Force, whom we feel and perceive? Is it you, Wrath and Despair, who reveal yourselves to, and are received by our senses? Is it thous, eternal Fury, who thunderest above our heads and rollest thy terrors through the brazen skies? Is it thou, spirit unknown but not unfelt, who are the master or the minister, the slave or the tyrant, the gaoler or the martyr? How many a time ahve I felt thy scorching flight above my hear? How often has thy voice drawn tears of sympathy from the recesses of my heart and made them flow like mountain streams or the rains of heaven! When thou art within me, I hear a voice crying unto me: "Thou sufferest, thou sufferest." I, on my part, would fain embrace thee and weep upon thy puissant heart. it seems to me as if my agony was infinite, like thine, and that thou hadst need of my love to complete thine eloquent lamentation. And I, too, exclaim, "Thou sufferest, thou sufferest." But thous passest on, thou flyest away. . . . Thou alightest, thou fallest asleep. A single moon-gleam dispels the cloud that surrounds thee; the smallest star that twinkesl behind thy shroud seems to mock thy misery, aud to make thee silent. Thy spectre sometimes appears to me descending in a whirl-wind, like an enormous eagle, whose wings o'er-canopy the whole ocean, and whose expiring scream dies away into the depths of the billows, and I behold thee vanquished -- like me vanquished, like me weak, like me prostrate. The heavens are illuminated for joy, and I am petrified with a sort of stupid terror. Prometheus, Prometheus, can it be thou -- thou who wouldst rescue man from the bonds of destiny? Is it thou, who, crushed by a jealous God, and devoured by thine own incurable bile, didst sink prostrate upon thy rock without having effected the deliverance either of man or of thyself his sole friend, his father, perhaps his true God? Men have given thee a thousand symbolical names -- Audacity, Despair, Madness, Rebellion, Malediction. Some have called thee Satan; others, Crime. For me, I call thee Desire. I, a sybil, a desolate sybil, the spirit of ancient times, shut up in a brain rebellious to divine inspiration; a broken >>> NO TRANSCRIPTION OF PAGE 638 & ONLY PARTIAL TRANSCRIPTION OF PAGE 639 <<< 1845.) The Death of Wind-Foot. 639 We cannot forbear expressing our pleasure to find with us this additional, and also influential, instance of enlightened appreciation and critical candor towards George Sand. If only for the contrast, it ought however, to be mentioned, that the well known Paris Correspondent of the National Intelligencer has taken the British writer to task for his impartiality, in the premises -- thinks his article a poor affair; his praise of George Sand bu puffing; and undertakes to say that even the commendation of her style is sheer imposture, to decor readers. All this he asserts, as usual in his frequent and, we had almost said, fanatical vituperation of this author, without a word of proof. It is, we believe, principally through this gentleman that Americans get their notions of the current literature and authors of France, and there is no doubt that he has been the cause of much of the misapprehension and prejudice respecting both the character and writings of George Sand, that prevail in this country. He is evidently a man of strong prepossessions; but his hostility to this writer in particular (occasioned, possibly, by some personal slight,) breaks into a morbid virulence, and resembles the reckless rancor of the bigot, rather than the clear and conscientious judgement of the intelligent and even liberal critic, that he ordinarily is, both in Letters and Politics. The Death of Wind-Foot. Three hundred years ago -- so heard I the tale, not long since, from the month of one educated like a white man, but born of the race of whom Logan and Tecumseh sprang, -- three hundred years ago, there lived on lands now forming an eastern county of the most powerful of the American states, a petty Indian tribe governed by a brave and wise chieftain. This chieftain was called by a name which in our language signifies Unrelenting. His deeds of courage and subtlety made him renowned through no small portion of the northern continent. There were only two dwellers in his lodge -- himself and his youthful son; for twenty moons had filled and waned since his wife, following four of her offspring, was placed in the burial ground. As the Unrelenting sat alone one evening in his rude hut, one of his people came to inform him that a traveler from a distant tribe had entered the village, a distant tribe and had entered the village, and desired food and repose. Such a petition was never slighted by the red man; and the messenger was sent back with an invitation for the stranger to abide in the lodge of the chief himself. Among that simple race, no duties were considered more honorable than arranging the household comforts of a guest: those duties were not performed by the host's own hand, his son having not yet returned from the hunt on which he had started with a few young companions at early dawn. In a little while, the wayfarer was led into the dwelling by him who had given the first notice of his arrival. "You are welcome, my brother," said the Unrelenting. The person to whom this kind salute was addressed was an athletic Indian, apparently of middle age, and habited in the scant attire of his species. He had the war-tuft on his forehead, under which flashed a pair of brilliant eyes. His rejoinder was friendly and brief. "The chief's tent is lonesome -- his people are away?" continued the stranger, after a pause, casting a glance of inquiry around. "My brother says true that it is lonesome," the other answered. "Twelve seasons ago, the Unrelenting saw five children in the shadow of his wigwam, and their mother was dear to him. He was strong, like a cord of many fibres. Then the breath of Manito snapped the fibres one by one asunder. He looked with a pleasant eye on my sons and daughters, and wished them for himself. Behold all that is left to brighten my heart!" The Unrelenting turned as he spoke, and pointed to an object just inside the opening of the tent. A moment of two before, the figure of a boy had glided noiselessly in, and taken his station back of the chief. Harley twelve years seemed the age of the new-comer. He was a noble child! His limbs, never distorted with the ligatures of civilized life, were graceful as 640 The Death of Wind-Foot. June, 1845.] the ash, and symmetrical and springy as the bounding stag's. It was the last and loveliest of the chieftain's sons—the soft-lipped, nimble Wind-Foot. With the youth's assistance, the preparations for their frugal meal were soon completed. After finishing it, as the stranger appeared to be weary, a heap of skins was arranged for him in one corner of the lodge, and he laid himself down to sleep. It was a lovely summer evening. The moon shone, the stars twinkled, and the thousand voices of a forest night sounded in every direction. The chief and his son reclined at the opening of the tent, enjoying the cool breeze which blew freshly upon them, and flapped the piece of deer-hide that served for their door, sometimes flinging it down so as to darken the apartment, then raising it suddenly up again, as if to let in the bright moonbeams. Wind-Foot spoke of his hunt that day. He had met with no success, and, in a boy's impatient spirit, wondered why it was that others' arrows should hit the mark, and failure be reserved for him alone. The chief heard him with a sad smile, as he remembered his own youthful traits; he soothed the child with gentle words, telling him that brave warriors sometimes went whole days with the same perverse fortune. "Many years since," said the chief, "when my cheek was soft, and my arms felt the numbness of but few winters, I myself vainly traversed our hunting grounds, as you have done to-day. The Dark Influence was around me, and not a single shaft would do my bidding." "And my father brought home nothing to his lodge?" asked the boy. "The Unrelenting came back without any game," the other answered; "but he brought what was dearer to him and his people than the fattest deer or the sweetest bird-meat—he brought the scalp of an accursed Kansi!" The voice of the chief was deep and sharp in its tone of hatred. "Will my father," said Wind-Foot, "tell—" The child started, and paused. An exclamation, a sudden guttural noise, came from that part of the tent where the stranger was sleeping. The dry skins which formed the bed rustled, as if he who lay there was changing his position, and then all continued silent. The Unrelenting proceeded in a lower tone, fearful that they had almost broken the slumber of their guest. "Listen!" said he: "you know a part, but not all the cause of hatred there is between our nation and the abhorred enemies whose name I mentioned.— Longer back than I can remember, they did mortal wrong to your fathers. The scalps of two of your near kindred hang in Kansi lodges, and I have sworn, my son, to bear them a never-ending hatred. "On the morning of which I spoke, I started with fresh limbs and a light heart to search for game. Hour after hour, I roamed the forest with no success; and at the setting of the sun, I found myself weary, and many miles from my father's lodge. I laid down at the foot of a tree, and sleep came over me. In the depth of the night, voice seemed whispering in my ears; it called me to rise quickly —to look around. I started to my feet, and found no one there but myself: then I knew that the Dream-Spirit had been with me. As I cast my eyes about in the gloom, I saw a distant brightness. Treading softly, I approached. The light was that of a fire, and by the fire lay two sleeping figures. O, I laughed the quiet laugh of a deathly mind, as I saw who they were—a Kansi warrior, and a child, like you, my son, in age. I felt the edge of my tomahawk—it was keen as my hate. I crept toward them as the snake crawls through the grass. I bent over the slumbering boy; I raised my weapon to strike. But I thought that were they both slain no one would carry the tale to the Kansi tribe. My vengeance would be tasteless to me if they knew it not— and I spared the child. Then I glided to the other; his face was of the same cast as the first, which gladdened me, for then I knew they were of close kindred. I raised my arm—I gathered my strength —I struck, and cleft the warrior's brain in quivering halves!" The chief had gradually wrought himself up to a pitch of loudness and rage, and his hoarse tones at the last part of his narrations, rang croakingly through the lodge. At that moment, the deer-hide curtain kept all within in darkness; the next, it was lifted up, and a flood of the moonlight filled the apartment. A startling sight was back there, then! The strange Indian was sitting up on his couch, his distorted features glaring toward the unconscious ones in front, with a look like that of Satan to his antagonist angel. The Death of Wind-Foot. 641 His lips were parted, his teeth clenched, his arm raised, and his hand doubled— every nerve and sinew in bold relief. This spectacle of fear lasted only for a moment; the Indian at once sank noiselessly back, and lay with the skins wrapped round him as before. It was now an advanced hour of the night. Wind-Foot felt exhausted by his day's travel; the father and son arose from their seat at the door, and retired to rest. In a little while, all was silence in the tent; but from the darkness which surrounded the bed of the stranger, flashed two fiery orbs, rolling about incessantly like the eyes of an angry wild beast. The lids of those orbs closed not in slumber during the night. Among the former inhabitants of this continent, it was considered rudeness, of the highest degree, to annoy a traveler or a guest with questions about himself, his last abode or his future destination. Until he saw fit to go, he was made welcome to stay, whether for a short time or a long one. Thus, on the morrow, when the strange Indian showed no signs of departing, the chief expressed not the least surprise, but felt indeed a compliment indirectly paid to his powers of entertainment. Early the succeeding day, the Unrelenting called his son to him, while the stranger was standing at the tent-door. He told Wind-Foot that he was going on a short journey, to perform which and return, would probably take him till nightfall. He enjoined the boy to remit no duties of hospitality toward his guest, and bade him be ready at evening with a welcome for his father. The sun had marked the middle of the afternoon—when the chief, finishing what he had to do sooner than he expected, came back to his own dwelling, and threw himself on the floor to obtain rest,—for the day though pleasant, had been a warm one. Wind-Foot was not there, and after a little interval the chief stepped to a lodge near by to make inquiry after him. "The young brave," said a woman, who appeared to answer his questions, "went away with the chief's strange guest many hours since." The Unrelenting turned to go back to his tent. "I cannot tell the meaning of it," added the woman, "but he of the fiery eye, bade me, should the father of Wind-Foot ask about him, say to the chief these words, 'Unless your foe sees you drink his blood, that blood loses more than half its sweetness!" The Unrelenting started as if a scorpion had stung him. His lip trembled, and his hand involuntarily moved to the handle of his tomahawk. Did his ears perform their office truly? Those sounds were not new to him. Like a floating mist, the gloom of past years rolled away in his memory, and he recollected that the words the woman spake were the very ones he himself had uttered to the Kansi child whose father he slew long, long ago, in the forest! And this stranger? Ah, now he saw it all. He remembered the dark looks of his guest—and carrying his mind back again, traced the features of the Kansi in their matured counterpart. And the chief felt too conscious for what terrible purpose Wind-Foot was in the hands of this man. He sallied forth, gathered together a few of his warriors, and started swiftly to seek his child. About the same hour that the Unrelenting returned from his journey, Wind-Foot, several miles from home, was just coming up to his companion, who had gone on a few rods ahead of him, and was at that moment seated on the body of a fallen tree, a mighty giant of the woods that some whirlwind had tumbled to the earth. The child had roamed about with his new acquaintance through one path and another with the heedlessness of his age; and now while the latter sat in perfect silence for several minutes, Wind-Foot idly sported near him. It was a solemn spot; in every direction around were towering patriarchs of the wilderness, growing and decaying in solitude. At length the stranger spoke: "Wind-Foot!" The child, who was but a few yards off, approached at the call. As he came near, he stopped in alarm; his companion's eyes had that dreadfully bright glitter again—and while they looked at each other, terrible forebodings arose in the boy's soul. "Young chieftain," said the stranger, "you must die!" "The brave is in play," was the response, "Wind-Foot is a little boy." "Serpents are small at first," replied the savage, "but in a few moons they have fangs and deadly poison. Hearken, branch from an evil root!—I am a Kansi! —The youth your parent spared in the forest has now become a man. Warriors of his tribe point to him and say, 'His father's scalp adorns the lodge of the Unrelenting, but the wgiwam of the Kansi is 642 The Death of Wind-Foot. June, bar!" -- Wind-Foot! it must be bare no longer!" The boy's heart beat quickly -- but beat true to the stern courage of his ancestors. "I am the son of a chief," he answered, "my cheeks cannot be wet with tears." The Kansi looked at him a few seconds with admiration, which soon gave way to malignant scowls. Then producing from an inner part of his dress a withe of some tough bark, he stepped to Wind-Foot, and began binding his hands. It was useless to attempt resistance, for besides the disparity of their strength, the boy was unarmed, while the savage had at his waist a hatchet, and a rude stone weapon resembling a poniard. He pointed to Wind-Foot the direction he must take, gave a significant touch at his girdle, and followed close on behind. When the Unrelenting and his people started to seek for the child and that fearful stranger, they were lucky enough to find the trail which the absent ones had made. None except an Indian's eye could have tacked them by so slight and devious a guide. But the chief's sight was sharp with paternal love: they followed on -- winding, and on again -- at length coming to the fallen tree. The train was now less irregular, and they traversed it with greater rapidity. It direction seemed towards the shores of a long narrow lake which lay adjacent to their territory. Onward went they, and as the sun sank in the west, they saw his last flitting gleams reflected from the waters of the lake. The grounds here were almost clear of trees; and as they came out, the Unrelenting and his warriors swept the range with their keen eyes. Was it so indeed? -- There, on the grass not twenty rods from the shore, were the persons they sought -- and fastened near by was a canoe. They saw from his posture that the captive was bound; they saw, too, that if the Kansi should once get him in the boat, and gain a start for the opposite side, where very likely some of his tribe were waiting for him, release would be almost impossible. For a moment only they paused. Then the Unrelenting sprang off, uttering the battle cry of his tribe, and the rest joined in the terrible chorus and followed him. As the sudden sound was swept along by the breeze to the Kansi's ear, he jumped to his feet, and with that wonderful self-possession which distinguished his species, determined at once what was safest and surest for him to do. He seized Wind-Foot by the should, and ran toward the boat, holding the boy's person as a shield from any weapons the pursuers might attempt to launch after him He possessed still the advantage. It was a fearful race; and the Unrelenting felt his heart grow sick, as the Indian, dragging his child, approached nearer to the water's edge. "Turn, whelp of a Kansi!" the chief madly cried. "Turn, thou whose coward arm warrest against children! Turn, if thou darest, and meet the eye of a full-grown brave!" A loud taunting laugh was borne back from his flying enemy to the ears of the furious father. The savage did not look round, but twisted his left arm, and pointed with his finger to Wind-Foot's throat. At that moment, he was within twice his length of the canoe. The boy heard his father's voice, and gathered his energies, faint and bruised as he was, for a last struggle. Vain his efforts! for a moment only he loosened himself from the grip of his foe, and fell upon the ground. That moment, however, was a fatal one to the Kansi. With the speed of lightning, the chief's bow was up at his shoulder -- the cord twanged sharply -- and a poison-tipped arrow sped through the air. Faithful to its mission, it cleft the Indian's side, just as he was stooping to lift Wind-Foot in the boat. He gave a wild shriek; his blood spouted from thew wound, and he staggered down upon the sand. His strength, however, was not yet gone. Hate and measureless revenge -- the stronger that they were baffled -- raged within him, and shot through his eyes, glassy as they were beginning to be with death-damps. Twisting his body like a bruised snake, he worked himself close up to the bandaged Wind-Foot. He felt to his waistband, and drew forth the weapon of stone. He laughed a laugh of horrid triumph -- he shouted aloud -- he raised the weapon in the air -- and just as the death-rattle sounded in his throat, the instrument (the shuddering eyes of the child saw it, and shut their lids in intense agony,) came down, driven too surely to the heart of the hapless boy. When the Unrelenting came up to his son, the last signs of life were fading in the boy's countenance. His eyes opened and turned to the chief; his beautiful lips parted in a smile, the last effort of expiring fondness. On his features flitted a lovely look, transient as the ripple athwart the wave, a slight tremor shook him, and the next minute Wind-Foot was dead. 1845.) Opinions of Nicholas Machiavel. 643 Opinions of Nicholas Machiavel, Concerning Popular Government.* Nicholas Machiavel, Secretary of Florence under the Medici, and celebrated as the author of a treatise of despotism, entitled the "Prince," composed a series of discourses, or commentaries, on the Roman History of Titus Livius, in which he professes to give the sum of his experience concerning Republics. These commentaries seem to have been as carefully composed, ad are as excellent, in their kind, as the "Prince;" and being offered as the fruit of long experience and mature reflection, might be expected to unfold a perfect theory of popular government. Nor do they disappoint that expectation; nor is it probable that any language of Europe contains a richer treasure of political wisdom. Their perusal cannot fail to convince as well of the wisdom of the author, as of the darkness and confusion of his age. The Republic of which he was the servant, had sunk, under the poser of the Medici, from a democratical state to a principality, and a despotism. The causes of its decline are recounted in a history of Florence, written by Machiavel himself. By the pride and violence of a wealthy aristocracy, the peace of the city was disturbed for a course of centuries, at every turn in its affairs; the people, demoralized by superstition, and injured by too rapid an increase of wealth, were gradually corrupted in their manners, and became spiritless through vice and luxury; bloody conspiracies by the rich against families more popular than themselves, had gradually weakened and unseated the authority of decrees, and taught the powerful to rely on terror for the efficacy of the law. The Popes of Rome and the Princes of Italy, the natural enemies of freedom, continually pressed the city from without, maiming its territory by war, and weakening its influence by intrigue, until Forence became a principality in name, and a despotism by force. In the year 1466, Lorenzo and Julian de Medici, from the condition of wealthy citizens, became Princes of Florence, and the death of Julian, which happened by the unsuccessful conspiracy of the Pazzi family, in 1478, when Machiavel was nine year of age, left Lorenzo, sirnamed Magnificent, the sole master of the city. Under this aster Machiavel entered the service of his country, and was soon after chosen to be Secretary of the Republic. From that period until his death, which happened in the fifty-eighth year of his age, he continued to be the advocate and guardian of its liberties and the reformer of its civil and military constitutions, and was employed, on several important occasions, as thea mbassador of its princes. Though at once a courtier and a lover of liberty, the instructor of despots and the adviser of republics, he lived an example of consistency. Careless of reproach and poverty, often neglected, and at one time tortured and imprisoned by his prince, he persisted in open enmity to the church of Rome and the petty despots of Italy.** His writings force us to believe, that if opinions like his own had prevailed in Italy, the Reformation would not have been limited to Northern Europe; and that Italy would have become a united nation, composed of free cities and limited principalities, under one sovereignty. The union of their jarring provinces under one name and one power, had for centuries; but no one of their princes had shown the character, or possessed the power to effect it. Machiavel, looking to the pacification of Italy under a monarch, as an end of paramount necessity, composed the "Prince" -- a theory of conquest, and of arbitrary power -- a book of instruction for the use of any potentate who might attempt the gradual subjugation and consolidation of the Italian states. It is a treatise of expediency, and of civil and strategic warfare, to be conducted indifferently by fraud or violence, and in the bosom of society as well as abroad. It teaches to rule a *"Discourses of Nicholas Machiavel, citizen and Secretary of Florence, upon the First Decade of Titus Livius; in three Books," (faithfully Englished). London, 1680. (Works.) ** See his vindication of himself, "Letter to Zanobius Buondelmontius." (Works.) 644 Opinions of Nicholas Machiavel. [June, 1845.] new conquest by terror, and an old one by love; in a word, it declares in calm statement, what deeds the best and greatest of men may be compelled to do, if they aim at empire over a disorganized, corrupted people, to whom virtue had become a laughter, religion a terror or a trade, vice a business, and freedom a dream. The idea of this treatise seems to have occurred to Machiavel while he was composing his Discourses; for, in various passages of the latter, he alludes to the peculiar necessities of princes, and marks a broad distinction between their polity and that of free republics. In the first book of the Discourses, he devotes a condemnatory section to those who erect a tyranny where they might found a free state; and shows, by clear distinctions, what soil is fitted for the growth of liberty. Free institutions, he affirms, can exist only with a virtuous people, whose religion is not divided from their morality— with whom purity of manners sustains the sanctity of law—whose constitutions, founded at the first in right, may be reverted to as a source of perpetual renovation. "Those States are the most unhappy, whose principles were false at first;" for the evil grows with the good. They, too, are unfortunate, who begin with the simpler forms of authority; "pure monarchy tending to Despotism, Aristocracy to Oligarchy, and Democracy to Anarchy." "The wisest legislators have therefore framed a government that should consist of all these." For in a perfect government, every condition of society must be represented; else, the unrepresented portion, deprived of self-government becomes an enemy in the state; as it happened to the Greek cities, where the aristocracy prevailed alternately with the populace, each endeavoring to exclude and oppress the other; and in Florence, where the aristocracy triumphing, was continually divided against itself, and those who were excluded from office conspired against those in power. Whatever, then, be the social divisions of a people, those divisions must be represented in the composition of its legislature. Concerning the grounds of legislation, he says, that "the legislator should presuppose the corruption of human nature:" as if all just laws had more in them of prohibition than of command— leaving men free only within the limits of right. The characteristic of despotism is to command, rather than to forbid; but civil society is admitted, by our law, to be for protection* and restitution, and not for the diminution of any national right. Inquiring into whose hands the defence of liberty should be entrusted, he declares for the people—"since they are least likely to usurp and oppress;" but he holds that a people cannot retain their liberty without virtue, but become incapable and forgetful of freedom with the decline of morals. "The nobles are ambitious of rule;—the people seek only to defend their rights;" "and the people, though they be ignorant, are yet capable enough of truth, and easily submit to it from one whom they trust." And again: "Good examples proceed from good education, and good education from good laws, and good laws from those popular tumults which so many inconsiderately condemn." He is of opinion that the defence of a free commonwealth should be entrusted to the people; and that a people always armed, of a bold spirit, and who depend on no others for what they need, can never be subdued; and that the weight of a broad territory is dangerous only to weak commonwealths, like the Spartan and Venetian, whose laws, though calculated for long endurance, were yet inadequate to the government of an empire. Against civil enemies, and for the conservation of the republic, he esteems nothing more important than liberty of accusation; and that no member of the state should fear to impeach another. The want of this liberty in Florence left the people without a remedy against abuses of power, and made conspiracy and rebellion their only and justifiable cure. Machiavel advises his countrymen to avoid conspiracies, though in never so excellent a cause, showing that in a popular state they are always fatal to their contrivers. He judges that calumny should be severely punished, thinking it ruinous to the morals and mutual confidence of men; and that laws should be justly and severely administered, preferring even * Blackstone, 1, 7, 2. Concerning Popular Government. 645 an occasional injury to a private retribution, however just. Religion he believes to be the basis of society, and that without it no state can exist; but that priests should have no part in civil government, such interference tending to the ruin equally of church and people. With Dante, he looks upon the Church of Rome as the curse of Europe, and her temporal assumptions and superstitious practices as the greatest misfortune of the world.* He is of opinion that a government is shaped by the manners of the people. If they are habituated to a prince and an aristocracy, nothing but these will satisfy them. Nor will a people accustomed to monarchy ever sustain a free constitution. That "liberty is desired only by the few;" the mass being contented to obey, if they prosper in their fortunes— That states whose morals are corrupted will not retain their liberty for any considerable time; for the laws are founded upon the habits and manners of the people, and, apart from these, are of no force or duration;—That the happiness of a people must not be left to the wisdom and sagacity of one man; but proceed from the care of a succession of virtuous citizens, such as will be produced in a well educated commonwealth;— That the causes of corruption are found chiefly in "inequalities of rank;" "nothing being more pernicious than an idle gentry, living at ease upon their estates;" but that an unhappy choice of rulers will be equally ruinous; for a mean and selfish nature is made worse by advancement, and a bad man, exalted to office, corrupts all who are subject to his influence. Not to endanger the commonwealth, he thinks it prudent that legislators should temporize with inconveniences, and reform them gradually, avoiding all sudden revolutions; and that they should anticipate danger by closing every door to private aggrandizement. He advocates such a modesty in the conduct of influential persons, that, though at one time vested with the highest offices, "they shall not afterward decline the less:" a spirit which makes all stations reputable, and favors republican equality, while it multiplies the chances of an honest administration:— He affirms, in favor of the people, that, though in maxims of general policy they err, yet, when liberty and national honor is at stake, and in questions of necessity and interest, they are usually right in judgment; and that in the election of magistrates, "no wise man will despise the judgment of the people." Upon this persuasion, to secure a fortunate election, he advises that a mean candidate should be opposed by one of great virtue and respectability:—But when rulers are chosen from the mass, even without regard to their capacity, the danger of injury is diminished by that change of opinion which affects such persons when they look from their official height; what seemed easy when they saw it from below, looks impossible from the station of office. Finally, to preserve freedom, "no man should have power to oppose or control the public acts of the State."† Admitting that the people are easily deceived and misled, oftentimes, by the appearance of good, he adds, that they are as easily persuaded to what is best; and that a multitude are more placable, and more pliable to good counsel, than a prince or an aristocracy. The ingratitude and inconstancy of the multitude has been a favorite theme with moralists and biographers; but Machiavel denies that free states are more ungrateful than princes; nay, he shows by a number of examples, that gratitude is less possible in princes than in the populace; for that despots are of necessity suspicious of those who serve them: That if the Romans and Athenians were jealous of their great men, history shows that they had cause to be so; and when this jealousy gave place to favor and adulation, they lost their liberties. Finally, he concludes, that, "as the multitude is wiser and more constant than a prince," so they are more open to the persuasions of prudence. That they know better whom to choose for governors; and are more prosperous and powerful than principalities, "because their constitutions are intrinsically better." That, of the two, "the people are less extravagant, and more honorable," than princes; and that although "princes have the advantage of them in the enactment of salutary laws, popular governments are better able to observe and enforce such laws as they have. That free commonwealths agree better, and hold firmer friendship among themselves;—that their faith is * "Letter to Buondelmontius," and 1st B. of the "Discourses." † But the acts of a mere majority are not the acts of the State. VOL. I.—NO. VI. 42 646 Opinions of Nicholas Machiavel [June, 1845.] better and their truce surer;—for, while princes and aristocracies entertain a thousand ambitious schemes, the people seek only to enjoy security and liberty. Such were the opinions, and such the maxims of a statesman, whose name is even to this day, a by-word of reproach, significant of all that is false in principle and wicked in policy. The insult offered to his memory is but the continuance of what he suffered in his life; for, as the people whom he served, alternately employed and oppressed their advocate, leaving him to endure poverty and torture, under the jealousy of their princes; so, the authors and moralists of later days, while they appropriated his wisdom, took no care for his fame, but let it rot, as though Machiavel was indeed the common enemy of liberty and of man. Why his memory should have so suffered, may be worth a more particular inquiry than could be given within the limits of this article; suffice it, then, to say, that he suffers in common with those kings and legislators, whose fortune it has been to conquer, or to pacify, a corrupt and lawless nation; but with this difference, that he alone dared avow the terrible necessities of despotism; deceived by no chivalrous pretences, he saw no difference of wrong, between open violence and hidden guile; destruction, the end of both, if right in any sense, seemed right by any means; and if cruel ambition, under the mask of honor, may ruin and oppress, unblamed, strategy and conspiracy, under that of expediency, may do no less. Nor is the power of cruelty a discovery proper to Machiavel. It was doubtless the maxim of his age, and must have been common to every warlike and conquering people: Froissart, speaking in the persons of Van Ardteveldt and Du Bois, declares that the free commoners of his day despised a lenient governor, and would obey him only, who set no value on men's lives, and would show as much of cruelty to enemies as of kindness to friends. The right of self-defence, nature's last resort, may compel a prince who is unsupported by laws, and in danger from faction, to commit deeds which more than anticipate justice; but it is the happiness of free states, that, in them, these terrible responsibilities rest upon the laws. No man dares, no man is suffered, to assume it. The authority, neither of a single person, nor of any body of men avails against the lawful liberty even of a child. Nor is that liberty given by charter, that it may be resumed at pleasure; it is neither given, nor can it be forfeited; it is not a franchise, but a right. No man assumes it, to be the avenger, and no crime is punished for its own sake, as though one could judge the iniquities of another; and if the law takes away life and liberty, it is for protection and not for vengeance. Whatever is necessary for that protection, is just; not because a majority have willed it, but because they have ascertained it. Whoever, therefore, suggests, that the will of the many, or of the nation, can make anything right, or force the opinion even of a child, or do more than declare how far it seems expedient to limit the public actions of men, assumes the tone of despotism, and for free constitutions puts a rescript of democracy, or an edit of majorities. By these principles a free constitution makes a virtue of the nation's necessity, and removes from individuals and from the people, the responsibility of willing injustice and violence, making not will but just necessity to be the Law. It may be not unfitting in this connection, to inquire how perfectly Machiavel's idea of freedom has been realized by our constitutions; and whether in all particulars, we have escaped those causes of corruption to which he attributes the decline of freedom. It is confessed, by the impartial, that the mass of population, in these states, excepting portions that have been corrupted by the influx of foreigners, or sunk by remoteness from the means of education, compare well with other nations, in respect of private conduct, and in morals are at least equal with the best. That our nation will not soon lose this honorable security, is the more to be believed, in that they are not immediately liable to corruption, by that superstition to which Machiavel attributes the immorality of Italy—the superstition of the Romish Church, which enslaves men, under a pretence of sanctity, and precept of obedience. Indeed, the religion professed by that church, appears among us with a new face, and stripped of half its tinsel; so as to bear a tolerable semblance to the faith it professes. But to what can this be owing, if not to the superior morals of our nation, which by an irresistible force of opinion, must convert even Romanism to Concerning Popular Government. 647 what its best advocates desire it may become. But we have another hope for the duration of our liberties—in that Constitution, whose principles are the very testament of freedom. "That a sect or commonwealth be long lived it must be often reformed and brought back to its first principles."* If those principles are despotic or injurious, revolution is the only cure. It is the peculiar happiness of our nation, to have inherited the civil freedom of England, without that weight of social inequality, which impaired the liberties of our ancestors. Future centuries may recur to the maxims of our legislation, as to sacred precedents, without fear of reviving, with the wisdom, the inhumanity of feudal ages. Nor have our institutions that fatal simplicity, which suffers them to fall into extremes; they stand the perfect expression of the moral nature of man, signifying every law. The person of the body politic is represented by a powerful executive, absolute and unimpeded, within the limits of Honor and of Right. The abstract principles of law, and the common duties of the social state are explained and enforced by a Judiciary, unbribed, and rarely overawed—a legislature, representing the desires and interests of every part, ascertaining by the balance of majorities what is expedient for the whole. Each system moves with freedom in its own sphere; and, by reason of their common origin, harmonizes in a whole which is the State—a State, which deserves to be called a State, because it is a perfect image of the wisdom, the authority, and the desire of each individual in the nation. The preservation of this vast system, of which every power and member has but one aim and purpose, the defence of personal liberty, is entrusted to the people; and as every excellence it may have must depend upon their virtue and vigilance, so will its decay be a consequence of their corruption and negligence. The freedom of election keeps it in their power to ruin or sustain this system. Are there then no causes at work to defeat the ends of such a trust, and covert it to a curse? We know that though the people are "capable enough of truth," they are no less capable of error, and with wonderful complaisance accept it from those who mean to abuse them. Our prosperity depends therefore upon the courage and vigilance of the wisest; and no less upon their courage than upon their vigilance; for even in popular assemblies it is dangerous to speak the truth; the opinion of the many destroys liberty of speech, and converts oratory into an echo of the popular cry. If free states depend for their existence in great part upon the honesty and docility of the uninstructed many, they rest then, no less upon the hope that a few will have the courage and the power to sway them right. Among the potent causes of corruption in a state is the increase of dependent classes, ignorant and servile. By this cause England has lost her liberties, and lies at the mercy of an aristocracy. The tenant wears the color, and votes at the pleasure of his lord; and in the towns, bribery and intimidation accomplish the same end. In America this evil is but just beginning to be felt, and only in the cities and manufacturing towns; to what extent it may grow, as the number of poor artisans and foreigners shall increase, can be only guessed. If the wages of our manufacturing population be ever permanently reduced by foreign competition, to the standard of pauper labor, and manufactures, from the same cause, pass entirely into the hands of wealthy capitalists, results may be anticipated, that must endanger our liberties; or even should the form of these liberties remain, their spirit must be impaired. While the States remain a Union, there is no fear that the great cities will ever be possessed by a monied aristocracy, such as seized upon Florence, and oppressed the smaller states of Greece. The traders of Venice, when their city had become populous, began to exclude strangers and new-comers from a share in the government, and by voting themselves gentlemen, founded the Venetian Aristocracy; a nobility of wealth, remarkable for arrogance and impotence, but fortunate in their situation, and prudent in the use of their advantages. They remain to this day incapable of growth, and unworthy to govern; and Machiavel, who seems to have had * Machiavel Discourses, B. iii. c. i. 648 Opinions of Nicholas Machiavel. [June, 1841.] no love for them, blames their ignorance for attempting conquests on the main land, and confiding in mercenary troops, "as though courage were the sinews of war." Nor is it reasonable to suppose that any war could ruin us; much less impair the Union or the Constitution. Though the cities on the coast should be destroyed, and trade suspended for a century, we should learn better to live within ourselves, and rely upon the soil, and upon manufactures, the strength of the interior. Political prophets threaten us with ruin from another, and apparently more destructive, tendency than the one toward an aristocracy of wealth; the same, namely, which anciently afflicted Athens, and, of late, Paris, in the Reign of Terror—a social equality declining to a social tyranny, and ending in a despotism. But the preparatory steps to such a catastrophe have not so much as begun among us; religion is not less powerful than formerly, private morals not less recognized and in force, and the Constitution, notwithstanding man violent assaults made upon it by those who talk most loudly about the Republic and the people, is still revered in the hearts of the great mass of our countrymen. Our nation even now possesses what France desired, and so imperfectly attained by its revolution, the organization of a monarchy, without its ruinous encumbrances. We have substituted a spirit of obedience, for a spirit of servility. Rejecting differences of rank, (which, if they mean anything, mean differences of privilege,) we suffer no distinctions but those of nature; each associates with his natural equal, unrestrained by prejudice of birth. A mean-spirited son may seek a society despised by his more generous father; and the son, in turn, rises in his grade above the father. Each takes the place appointed him by nature. Poverty, even, has ceased to be an impediment to honor. Our legislative assemblies have no representative of fashion; as the best of them stand for character and opinion, rather than for interest. In this spirit the nation has begun, and in this, (if the precedents of history deceive not,) it must continue. The first laws of a nation stamp their principles so deeply in its character and substance, no wearing can destroy it while the race exists. In the history of every people, the old thread of policy runs on for centuries, and may be followed back to its origin in the early circumstances of their State. If Rome, from Numa to this day, has not ceased to be the Church of Italy; if England, from the conquest, remains a usurping aristocracy, while Ireland agitates and laments, as, of old, she agitated and lamented; if the Frenchman loves monarchy, and the Swiss his liberty in despite of every change, and the slow wear of ages;—then may we believe, that our Constitution, grounded as it is, in the very nature and character of the nation, is not, as some imagine, an experiment of polity, of doubtful issue, but must remain while our race lasts. In a little time, we shall be the most powerful nation of the world; a nation, warlike and ambitious from the first, and beginning now to glory in its strength. What changes in human affairs this spirit may effect cannot easily be predicted; enough, that not we alone, but the world, may have cause to dread them. J. D. W. THE CAW-CUS. BY J. H. COLLIER. 'Twas the morning gray, At the break of day, Before the bright sun rose From the cloudy couch where "his majesty" lies, To start on his journey along the skies, And dazzle with rays the drowsy eyes Of people in a dose; The Caw-cus. 649 And the morning mist was on the stream And the vapor on the hill, And the nodding trees seemed but to dream In the motionless air, all still— Save when the wing of the waking bird In the thick boughs rustled lightly, And the fall of the clear dew-drop was heard, On the green leaves glistening brightly. "Caw! caw! Hurrah! hurrah! That's it, Sammy! Go it, Bill! Room, boys, room! let 'em have their fill! We'll have some fun in spite of the law— Caw! Caw! Caw!" On the withered limb of a giant oak, With a corn-field just below, In a suit of black and a sable cloak, Sat the gentleman who thus strangely spoke In a voice betwixt a shriek and a croak, And the gentleman was a crow. On branch! on twig! on bush! on tree! Around—about—above—below— Far as the mist-veiled eye could see, On every spot there was a crow. With wings extant—that is, extending— And throats all much more stretched than they, Like half-fed pigs for swill contending, Or half-feëd lawyers for their pay: Fighting—biting—pulling—hauling— Flying—lying—pecking—squalling— The strong ones scratching the weak ones faces— Big, crowding little ones out of their places— Gathered together like kind connection To hear a testator's will— The crows were holding a free election The executive chair to fill; For the office of their aged prex, Who had held it rather too long, Was vacant now, as the crow was "ex," Unhappily having transgressed the lex, And being impeached for wrong, In not taking care of his duties official, Neglecting the tenets of committees special, And instead of allowing the strong majority To think for him, he'd really dared To think for himself, and who ever heard Of an officer in the minority? So at it they went with beak and claw A president to elect, For it happened, as often it happens, alas! That when the majority met en masse, A candidate to select, Some dozens of names, with some dozens of ends, Were offered and backed by some dozens of friends, All sworn that they'd never "withdraw;" But crows are but men, And have their weak points; Like their prototypes—when 650 The Caw-cus (June, A person anoints The sensitive souls of crows With quantum sufficit of sapo ad lavem, The gen'rally do whatever he'd have them, And thus they are led by the nose. So the candidates dwindled down to two, As among the crows they always do, Being just in the same condition, And ne'er having heard of Lewis Tappan, They go for principles, not for man, Poll no split-tickets, and don't care a --- Fig for abolition. The one, was an antiquated crow, Who had lived some hundred years or so, And done "the state," in time ago, Some service, I hardly can tell what -- At least, he declared so, in a speech That he made on a twisted stump of beech Before they began to ballot. The other, a saucy, queer-faced chap, With a knowing cock of his eye, And a turn of his head that seemed to say, He knew a thing or two more that they Ever thought that he did, and that "by The powers" when they caught him in a nap They'd catch a mouse in a weasel's trap, If they didn't, he'd "never say die." As grave as a parson singing a psalm, Or a judge when charging a jury, Or an alderman giving thanks over a ham, Or a senator not in a fury-- "He'd thank them much, were the honor conferred-- What his opponent said, they all had heard-- He couldn't do much--but then, on his word, Whatever he could He cheerfully would"-- And the vote was a clear "two-third." * * * * * * He stood alone--for the crows was gone, Though he knew not why they went-- His thoughts quite lost in deep meditation, Reflecting how to govern his nation, And putting a stop to importation, Raise the duty on powder to ten per cent-- Forgetting that he was a crow-- While studying out a new "corn-law," He heard, not he, the warning--"caw!" And he saw not, what the others saw, An enemy down below. Whiz!--bang!--alas! too late he rose-- A flash--and the whistling lead Cut short his thoughts, and left the crows, And him, without a head. Binghampton, Feb. 1845. 1845.) Gesta Romanorum. 651 GESTA ROMANORUM.* The use of Allegories for the purpose of conveying instruction is of the most primitive origin. It is impossible to trace it back to any particular period or nation. In written forms they are among the earliest embodiments of thought existing. The Hebrew writings--of which the received Scriptures form the greater part extant--furnish many examples, as do also the sacred writings of the Persians, the Chinese, and the most ancient people of Egypt and Hindostan, with the more polished and poetical creations of classic Mythology. The rude Myths of the Scandinavian nations, and the yet ruder oral traditions of the American Indians exhibit the same covered representations of ideas. It seems, in fact, to have been the tendency of the human mind in the imaginative early ages of nations to represent the varieties of human thought and action under a guise of personification and fictitious incident. Nearly all the characters in the mythology of different countries would be found, on a curious investigation, to have been merely various abstract attributes, personified and clothed by the inventive and restless imaginations of men. The "Gesta Romanorum" is a collection of stories, invented, as far as can be determined, by some monk, or monks, of the middle ages. They are mostly of an allegorical design, made to represent the nature, relations and tendencies of the virtues and passions of men, under the guide of a great variety of persons, high and low, mostly taken from the first centuries after the Christian Era, and under Roman domination. Like Pilgrim's Progress, however--that finest of all allegories--they are not the less delightful fictions for their sober application; nor would the unadvised reader be likely to suspect their secret design. There is a vast deal of magic and necromancy in many of them, showing an evident Eastern origin--elements altogether in keeping with the simple and credulous age in which they were written. Many of the tales are very beautiful; and no less writers than Shakspeare, Chaucer, Schiller, Scott, Southey and Parnell are indebted to those old monks for many of their fine plots and striking incidents. The choosing of the three caskets in "The Merchant of Venice," and the conduct of the three daughters in "Lear," are taken directly from two of the stories. As for the present version of the Gesta, they are well executed; but the machinery of the three college students, Thompson, Herbert, and Lathom, might as well be spared. With their angular commentaries, stiffly endeavoring at ease, they form no very graceful links between the beauties of the antique fictions. The story of Queen Semiramis, which we extract, is not in the character of the book, as it is not allegorical; but we remember to have been delighted with it many years ago, and it will doubtless please our readers now. QUEEN SEMIRAMIS. " 'OF all my wives," said king Ninus to Semiramis, "it is you I love the best. None have charms and graces like you, and for you I would willingly resign them all.' " 'Let the king consider well that he says,' replied Semiramis. 'What if I were to take him at his word?' " 'Do so,' returned the monarch; 'whilst beloved by you, I am indifferent to all others.' " 'So, then, if I asked it,' said Semiramis, 'you would banish all your other wives, and love me alone? I should be alone your consort, the partaker of your power, and queen of Assyria?" " 'Queen of Assyria! Are you not so already,' said Ninus, 'since you reign by your beauty over its king?' " 'No--no,' answered his lovely mistress; 'I am at present only a slave whom you love. I reign not; I merely charm. When I give an order, you are consulted before I am obeyed.' " 'And to reign, then, you think so great a pleasure?' " 'Yes, to one who has never experienced it.' " 'And do you wish, then, to experience it? Would you like to reign a few days in my place?' " 'Take care, O king! do not offer too much.' " 'No, I repeat it,' said the captivated monarch. 'Would you like, for one whole day, to be sovereign mistress of Assyria? " 'And all which I command, then, shall be executed?" " 'Yes, I will resign to you, for one entire day, my power and my golden sceptre.' " 'And when shall this be?' *New York: Wiley & Putnam, 161 Broadway. 652 Gesta Romanorum. [June, "'To-morrow, if you like.' "'I do,' said Semiramis; and let her head fall upon the shoulder of the king, like a beautiful woman asking pardon for some caprice which has been yielded to. "The next morning Semiramis called her women, and commanded them to dress her magnificently. On her head she wore a crown of precious stones, and appeared thus before Ninus. Ninus, enchanted with her beauty, ordered the officers of the palace to assemble in the state chamber, and his golden sceptre to be brought from the treasury. He then entered the chamber, leading Semiramis by the hand. All prostrated themselves before the aspect of the king, who conducted Semiramis to the throne, and seated her upon it. Then ordering the whole assembly to rise, he announced to the court that they were to obey, during the whole day, Semiramis as himself. So saying, he took up the golden sceptre, and placing it in the hands of Semiramis-'Queen,' said he, 'I commit to you the emblem of sovereign power; take it, and command with sovereign authority. All here are your slaves, and I myself am nothing more than your servant for the whole of this day. Whoever shall be remiss in executing your orders, let him be punished as if he had disobeyed the commands of the king.' "Having thus spoken, the king knelt down before Semiramis, who gave him, with a smile, her hand to kiss. The courtiers then passed in succession, each making oath to execute blindly the orders of Semiramis. When the ceremony was finished, the king made her his compliments, and asked her how she had managed to go through it with so grave and majestical an air. "'Whilst they were promising to obey me,' said Semiramis, 'I was thinking what I should command each of them to do. I have but one day of power, and I will employ it well.' "The king laughed at this reply. Semiramis appeared more piquante and amiable than ever. 'Let us see,' said he, 'how you will continue your part. By what orders will you begin?' "'Let the secretary of the king approach my throne,' said Semiramis, with a loud voice. "The secretary approached--two slaves placed a little table before him. "'Write,' said Semiramis: 'Under penalty of death, the governor of the citadel of Babylon is ordered to yield up the command of the citadel to him who shall bear to him this order.' Fold this order, seal it with the king's seal, and give it to me. Write now: 'Under penalty of death, the governor of the slaves of the palace is ordered to resign the command of the slaves into the hands of the person who shall present to him this order.' Fold, seal it with the king's seal, and deliver to me this decree. Write again: 'Under penalty of death, the general of the army encamped under the walls of Babylon is ordered to resign the command of the army to him who shall be the bearer of this order.' Fold, seal, and deliver to me this decree.' "She took the three orders thus dictated, and put them in her bosom. The whole court was struck with consternation; the king himself was surprised. "'Listen,' said Semiramis. 'In two hours hence let all the officers of the state come and offer me presents, as is the custom on the accession of new princes, and let a festival be prepared for this evening. Now, let all depart. Let my faithful servant Ninus alone remain. I have to consult him upon affairs of state.' "When all the rest had gone out- 'You see,' said Semiramis, 'that I know how to play the queen.' "Ninus laughed. "'My beautiful queen,' said he, 'you play your part with astonishment. But, if your servant may dare question you, what would you do with the orders you have dictated?' "'I should be no longer queen, were I obliged to give an account of my actions. Nevertheless, this was my motive. I have a vengeance to execute against the three officers whom these orders menace.' "'Vengeance--and wherefore?' "'The first, the governor of the citadel, is one-eyed, and frightens me every time I meet him; the second, the chief of the slaves, I hate, because he threatens me with rivals; the third, the general of the army, deprives me too often of your company; you are constantly in the camp.' "This reply, in which caprice and flattery were mingled, enchanted Ninus. 'Good,' said he, laughing. 'Here are the three first officers of the empire dismissed for very sufficient reasons.' "The gentlemen of the court now came to present their gifts to the queen. Some gave precious stones; others, of a lower rank, flowers and fruits; and the slaves, having nothing to give, gave nothing but homage. Among these last, there were three young brothers, who had come from the Causasus with Semiramis, and had rescued the caravan in which the women were from an enormous tiger. When they passed before the throne-- "'And you,' said she to the three brothers, 'have you no present to make to your queen?' "'No other,' replied the first, Zopire, 'than my life to defend her.' "'None other,' replied the second, Artaban, 'than my sabre against her enemies.' "'None other,' replied the third, Assar, 'than the respect and admiration which her presence inspires.' "'Slaves,' said Semiramis, 'it is you 1845.] Gesta Romanorum. 653 who have made me the most valuable present of the whole court, and I will not be ungrateful. You, who have offered me your sword against my enemies, take this order, carry it to the general of the army encamped under the walls of Babylon, give it to him, and see what he will do for you. You, who have offered me your life for my defence, take this order to the governor of the citadel, and see what he will do for you; and you who offer me the respect and admiration which my presence inspires, take this order, and give it to the commandant of the slaves of the palace, and see what will be the result.' "Never had Semiramis displayed so much gaiety, so much folly, and so much grace, and never was Ninus so captivated. Nor were her charms lessened in his eyes, when a slave not having executed promptly an insignificant order, she commanded his head to be struck off, which was immediately done. Without bestowing a thought on this trivial matter, Ninus continued to converse with Semiramis till the evening and the fête arrived. When she entered the saloon which had been prepared for the occasion, a slave brought her a plate in which was the head of the decapitated eunuch-''Tis well,' said she, after having examined it. 'Place it on a stake in the court of the palace, that all may see it, and be you there on the spot to proclaim to every one that the man to whom this head belonged lived three hours ago, but that having disobeyed my will, his head was separated from his body.' "The fête was magnificent; a sumptuous banquet was prepared in the gardens, and Semiramis received the homage of all with a grace and majesty perfectly regal; she continually turned to and conversed with Ninus, rendering him the most distinguished honor. 'You are,' said she, 'a foreign king, come to visit me in my palace. I must make your visit agreeable to you.' "Shortly after the banquet was served, Semiramis confounded and reversed all ranks. Ninus was placed at the bottom of the table. He was the first to laugh at this caprice; and the court, following his example, allowed themselves to be placed, without murmuring, according to the will of the queen. She seated near herself the three brothers from the Caucasus. "'Are my orders executed?' she demanded of them. "'Yes,' replied they. "The fête was very gay. A slave having, by the force of habit, served the king first, Semiramis had him beaten with rods. His cries mingled with the laughter of the guests. Every one was inclined to merriment. It was a comedy, in which each played his part. Towards the end of the repast, when wine had added to the general gaiety, Semiramis rose from her elevated seat, and said- 'My lords, the treasurer of the empire has read me a list of those who this morning have brought me their gifts of congratulation on my joyful accession to the throne. One grandee alone of the court has failed to bring his gift.' "'Who is it?' cried Ninus. 'He must be punished severely.' "'It is yourself, my lord- you who speak; what have you given the queen this morning?' "Ninus rose, and came with a smiling countenance to whisper something into the ear of the queen. 'The queen is insulted by her servant,' exclaimed Semiramis." "'I embrace your knees to obtain my pardon, beautiful queen,' said he; 'pardon me, pardon me;' and he added in a lower tone, 'I wish this fête were finished.' "'You wish, then, that I should abdicate?' said Semiramis. 'But no- I have still two hours to reign;' and at the same time she withdrew her hand, which the king was covering with kisses. 'I pardon not,' said she with a loud voice, 'such an insult on the part of a slave. Slave prepare thyself to die.' "'Silly child that thou art,' said Ninus, still on his knees, 'yet will I give way to thy folly; but patience, thy reign will soon be over.' "'You will not, then, be angry,' said she in a whisper, 'at something I am going to order at this moment?' "'No,' said he. "'Slaves!' said she aloud, 'seize this man- seize this Ninus!' "Ninus, smiling, put himself into the hands of the slaves. "'Take him out of the saloon, lead him into the court of the seraglio, prepare everything for his death, and wait my orders.' "The slaves obeyed, and Ninus followed them, laughing, into the court of the seraglio. They passed by the head of the disobeying eunuch. Then Semiramis placed herself on a balcony. Ninus had suffered his hands to be tied. "'Hasten,' said the queen, 'hasten, Zopire, to the fortress; you to the camp, Artaban; Assar, do you secure all the gates of the palace.' "These orders were given in a whisper, and executed immediately. "'Beautiful queen,' said Ninus, laughing, 'this comedy wants but its conclusion; pray, let it be a prompt one.' "'I will,' said Semiramis. 'Slaves, recollect the eunuch. Strike!' "They struck; Ninus had hardly time to utter a cry: when his head fell upon the pavement, the smile was still upon his lips. "'Now I am queen of Assyria,' exclaimed Semiramis; 'and perish every one, like the eunuch and Ninus, who dare disobey my orders.'" 654 Critical Notices. [June, CRITICAL NOTICES. "LIFE OF SMITH!" We found upon our table, a few days since, a work of more than respectable execution and dimensions, having the above title impressed upon its back in conspicuous letters. We did not open the book, we were so struck with the announcement. "Life of Smith!" Ah! thought we, this, possibly, is the history of that notorious rascal, "John Smith"—that same sad wight, who, in one short month, if the newspapers are to be trusted, took to his embrace three wives, robbed a traveler in Texas, passed counterfeit money in Missouri, stole a horse in Kentucky, fired a barn in Ohio, and presided at a "large and enthusiastic" meeting of the "unterrified Democracy" at the capitol. If so, we shall now have a history that will be attractive and interesting, even to Mephistophiles himself. The world will now be enlightened, and if the rogue is dead, there is an end of his voting more than forty times at one election—a reflection that will greatly increase the lamentations of the mourners. But if not the real Johannes, (se ipsissimus) it is doubtless one of his kith and kin—the almost equally notorious Tom, Dick, Bill, or Bob Smith, who kicks up a row now and then in our peaceable emporium, and figures in the vicinage of the Tombs, with sundry aliases of classic euphony. Or, possibly, it is the genus Smith that is celebrated in sober biography. Alas, then, for the profits of directory and other publishers to whom names are a staple in trade. Take away the family of Smiths, and what is there left? A sadder reflection came over us. The finest wit of his age, the accomplished critic, the generous and eloquent advocate of the rights and liberties of man, the sure and steadfast enemy of whatever is oppressive and unjust—SYDNEY SMITH—has gone to his final rest. Cant, hypocrisy, tyranny, can trouble him no more. Doubtless, within these covers are tributes to his genius and worth, gathered by the assiduous care of friendly hands. "Heu! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!" (Which we take the liberty to translate: Alas! how much less it is to live with all the other Smiths, than to remember thee!) We ended our soliloquy; we hastily opened the volume: "Life of the Hon. Jeremiah Smith, LL.D. Member of Congress during Washington's Administration, Judge of the United States Circuit Court, Chief Justice of New Hampshire, etc. By JOHN H. MORRISON. Boston, Charles C. Little and James Brown. 1845." We were glad, at least, to see that the world was not at once partially depopulated! It is not always wise, in modern days, to publish the biography of a man. So many are issued, setting forth the qualities of persons known and unknown, that they are apt to be promiscuously neglected. The volume before us was evidently published for circulation amongst the particular acquaintances and personal friends of the deceased, and to them, we believe, it will prove an acceptable offering. We do not see in its pages much that is calculated to interest the general reader, any further than as the example of a virtuous, humane and prudent man is always of public interest. We do not find in it any new or striking views of philosophy, natural or moral, nor of science, literature or law, nor any information or facts touching the history of government, that are not already well known. There is nothing in the record that would induce one to place him in any rank of great men. The copious extracts given from his private journal, and from his correspondence, show him to have possessed a serene, contemplative mind, well balanced and stored with practical wisdom, a generous heart, and a temperament that created for him a circle of warm friends; but little further is to be gathered from the work. Several pages are filled 1845.] Critical Notices. 655 with specimens of his wit and humor; we confess, that in our obtuseness of intellect, we cannot, in general, discover the point or force of either. We imagine that they can only be appreciated by those who, from their superior opportunities, can associate them with the personal and peculiar private characteristics of the worthy judge. It is an error not at all uncommon with biographers, and into which Mr. Morrison has fallen, to insert anecdotes and saying of the subjects of their memoirs, which lose all their force the moment they are committed to paper. Mr. Morrison seems to have half-suspected the same thing, uttering a lamentation to the point; "Alas! that there is no way to catch and make tangible the aroma of such wit." If Judge Smith was truly a gentleman of great humor, no one would suspect him of it by looking into his obese biography. Transferred for safe keeping to such a receptacle, it seems to have exuded through a variety of loose pores, like the flavor of Samian wine decanted into an American jug. But we close the book, putting it up on a shelf by itself. Its back will always be towards us, presenting a sublimely comprehensive memento: "LIFE OF SMITH!!" HISTORY OF GERMANY, from the earliest period to the present time. By FREDERICK KOHLRAUSCH, Chief of the Board of Education for the Kingdom of Hanover, and late Professor of History in the Polytechnic School. Translated from the German, by JAMES D. HAAS. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 200 Broadway. We have received from the publishers several numbers of their serial re-publications of this very valuable History. The History of Germany is to be completed in five numbers, and will form a most welcome accession to any library. There are no good histories of Germany in the English language. Such of them as are not mere compilations are interwoven with the histories of other countries. We speak, of course, of a complete history, from the earliest ages, and not of detached intervals; for of the latter kind there are numbers of every variety of excellence. The aim of the author is thus expressed in his own language:— "My sole object has been to produce a succinct and connected development of the vivid and eventful course of our country's history, written in a style calculated to excite the interest and sympathy of my readers, and of such especially who, not seeking to enter upon a very profound study of the sources and more elaborate works connected with the annals of our empire, are nevertheless anxious to have presented to them the means of acquiring an accurate knowledge of the records of our Fatherland, in such a form as to leave upon the mind and heart an enduring, indelible impression." Accordingly, Professor Kolrausch's History —not, indeed, very eloquent in diction —is concise and luminous, crowding into brief limits the varied annals of a great race for many centuries, and bringing clearly before the mind the peculiar elements out of which have arisen several of the most important States of modern Europe. The work is for the most part well translated, and published in a form and manner worthy of attention from those even whose fastidious wealth is disposed to snuff at anything cheaply furnished. Records of the Heart. By MRS. SARAH LEWIS. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 200 Broadway. It is always with hesitation that we take up a volume of poems by a lady, whatever may have been her known advantages of education and opportunities. They make so much greater use of sentiment than of a kindled reason—of fancy than inventive imagination—of sensibility, in short, than broad, perceptive sense—which, after all, must be at the bottom of all intellectual achievements—that we always fear an evident falling short of the "Divine Heights." We do not agree with all that a writer has urged, in relation to the feminine mind, in a passage of an article in the present number; but we are constrained to think that the grace and beauty which belong to them are also in outward objects so attractive to their thoughts, that they are seldom led to the massive and sublime. Sappho and Miss Barrett, we 656 Critical Notices. [June, think, are really the only ones of the gentle race who have breathed a very rare atmosphere. The others, including even Mrs. Hemans, whom certainly we greatly admire, never get much beyond the region of the affections and passions---of whispering winds and flowers, moonlight and tinkling waters. They have never stood on the difficult "iced mountain-tops," looking over the vast world, with clouds below and the great heavens just above. Joanna Baillie used, indeed, a masculine style; but she had not, in fact, much of the spirit of poetry. Like the best of female poets in this country, Mrs. Lewis stands somewhat in proof of these remarks. She lives, and attempts to live only in a land of fancy and the affections. She is taken with the murmur of leaves and waters; she sees always the image of young Love beckoning her onwards. Of these, however—though her strains are often unequal and inartistic —she sings naturally and sweetly enough; and a place will not be denied her among the poetesses of our country. She has feeling enough, which is one of the chief elements of poetry. What she chiefly lacks is greater power of condensation, and more attention to the forms of verse. If she has not written, she has at least printed too much—a fault common to many others. There are many passages in the book so good as to warrant her expending much greater care and labor on shorter efforts. Let her avoid, also, a tendency to imitation—the great fault of our poets. We might put down more points of praise; but we have not space. As it is, we believe the fair author will be better pleased with these few simple indications. "Look into thine own heart and write." We can only make room for two or three brief extracts, which will show the character of her verse, and that she has the poet's eye for the picturesque, and the poetic heart. In the story of "Florence," we find: "The waves are smooth, the wind is calm, Onward the golden stream is gliding, Amid the myrtle and the palm And ilices its margin hiding; Now sweeps it o'er the jutting shoals In murmurs like despairing souls; Now deeply, softly flows along, Like ancient minstrel's warbling song; Then slowly, darkly, thoughtfully, Loses itself in the mighty sea. The sky is clear, the stars are bright, The moon reposes on her light; On many a budding, fairy blossom, Are glittering evening's dewy tears, As gleam the Gems on Beauty's bosom, When she in festal garb appears. The citron-trees along the strand, With golden fruitage brightly teem; The lilies in the water stand, Watching their shadows in the stream, And ring the while their tiny bells, As round their feet the billow swells." We would suggest, in passing, that Mrs. Lewis do not write too much in the octo-syllabic. It is really a fatal measure, though she has generally managed it well. One or two stanzas, however, from a Monody on L. E. L, may show that she is not confined to that measure. The verses are fine. "Shelley and White, and all the tuneful race— Behold their death-bed, their untimely doom! In India three have found a resting-place, From Missolonghi one went to his tomb— How sad! Two hapless sons repose in Rome, Torquato fell by Este's cruel hand, Dark Sappho sleeps beneath th' Ionian foam, The immortal Dante in the exile's land, And thou, fair Albion's child, midst Afric's burning sand! Genius on thee had shed his starry beams, And lit within thy breast his quenchless fire; Thy young heart filled with Fancy's brightest dreams, Whatever Hope, and Faith, and Truth inspire. But Fate, before whose breath must all expire, To ruin hurled thy high expectancy, The laurel tore from thy impassioned lyre, Extinguished love, thy soul's divinity, And wrung thy bleeding heart till it was bliss to die." servative minds of the country, far more numerous, and more powerful, have had no organ of the through which to utter their sentiments, and spread a healthier influence through the community. Besides these considerations, it is evident to all that our literature demands place on a higher basis than hitherto it has occupied, and the character of the nation a more honorable defence against foreign malignity and arrogance. It is time we should free ourselves from literary dependence and the flood of trash inundating the country, and repel the hostility of Europe with the dignity that belongs to a great and prosperous people. It is thought expedient, therefore, to establish a Magazine or Review, which discarding all sectional and sectarian influence, shall aim to defend the great and true interests of the Republic; to harmonize, in a kindlier acquaintanceship, the different sections of the country; to set forth more clearly the inexhaustible resources of our territory; to elevate the morals of the people; to withstand pusillanimity at home and indignities abroad; to promote American science, and diffuse throughout the land a higher order of taste in letters and the arts. Above all, it is, under God, the design of this Review to put down and demolish, by whatever weapons of reason or ridicule, the specious theories and doctrines assiduously sown among the people by Jacobin demagogues, and unprincipled, or visionary, organs of the press—holding forth in their place the only safe principles—liberty under law, progress without destroying, protection to every thing established worthy of national honor. This periodical will be published monthly in the city of New York, to be called "The American Review—a Whig Journal of Politics, Literature, Art and Science." The price of the Magazine will be FIVE DOLLARS a year; to be paid on receiving the first number. Single numbers fifty cents. Each number, containing about a hundred and twelve pages, printed in double columns, on fine paper, will consist of a leading political article, with a variety of literary miscellany, in history, biography, criticism, fiction, poetry, statistics, science and the arts. Every third or fourth number will also present a likeness of some distinguished man of the Republic, executed in the highest style of the art, together with an earnest and truthful biography, which may stand as a part of the history of the nation. In addition to the Congressional names above, a number of writers, both political and literary, from all sections, and acknowledged to be among the ablest in the community, have been secured as permanent contributors; and it is confidently believed that this periodical will be inferior to no other at any time issued in this country. The conduct of the Review will be under the control of George H. Colton, associated, however, especially in the political department, with other gentlemen of known standing and attainments. That no person may hesitate in the matter of subscription, assurance is given that the permanent appearance of this Review will be put beyond contingency. It is earnestly requested of every one willing to be interested in this design, especially Whigs, to obtain as many subscribers as possible, transmitting them with their places of residence, to the Editor in New York, through the postmaster. If each would only procure, or be the means of procuring, one subscriber—and many could easily obtain a number—it is seen at once that most important aid would be extended to this Review with little trouble, and some service, we believe, to the great interests of the country. That this may be entered into the more readily by Committees, Societies, Clubs, &c., the following liberal terms are offered:—Five copies for $20; the amount to be remitted in current New-York funds; or any person becoming responsible for four copies, will receive a fifth gratis. Persons in the country, remitting the amount of subscription, can receive the work by mail, strongly enveloped, or in any other way arranged by themselves. One thing is particularly asked of all who wish to aid the work—SUBSCRIBE DIRECT TO THE EDITOR, G. H. COLTON, 118 NASSAU-STREET, NEW-YORK. It will save an agency discount of 20 or 30 per cent. By Law, remittances for all periodicals may be made free of expense, by mailing them in the presence of the postmaster. All communications to be addressed, post paid, to the Editor, G. H. Colton, 118 Nassau-street. The following are some of the testimonials of the Press, given on the appearance of the February Number: The American Review "is the work which the Whig Party have long needed. It is able, it is judicious, is is dignified. . . . Let the Whigs wisely, generously step forward, and place the Review on a basis of security and conscious power. Ten thousand subscribers would do this, and a fourth have already volunteered."—TRIBUNE. "The second No. of this new Monthly was promptly on our table with the first morning of the month. The Number is a capital one, and much the ablest and most valuable monthly which February has sent us. . . . The work supplies a want which has long been deeply felt.—COURIER AND ENQUIRER. "Our friends of the Democratic must nib their pens anew. This month their Whig rivals are clearly masters of the field. Indeed, we have never seen an abler number of any American Magazine, than this second Number of Mr. Colton's Review."—NEW WORLD. "The second Number of this excellent Magazine is received, and its Table of Contents is rich indeed. It is conducted with that measure of ability, we think, which must insure its success."—EXPRESS. A NEW GREEK READER. A NEW SELECTION OF EASY AND CLASSICAL GREEK, PRINCIPALLY FROM THE EARLIER WRITERS; WITH COPIOUS NOTES AND REFERENCES TO THE GRAMMARS MOST WIDELY IN USE, of E. A. SOPHOCLES AND PROF. BULLION: BY J. O. COLTON, FORMERLY TUTOR IN YALE COLLEGE: TO BE CAREFULLY REVISED UNDER THE SUPERVISION OF THE EDITOR OF THE "AMERICAN REVIEW," BROTHER TO THE DECEASED, AND ACCOMPANIED BY AN AMPLE LEXICON, PREPARED BY E. A. SOPHOCLES. This Reader has been extensively introduced into schools and colleges throughout the country, and its merits generally acknowledged. When thoroughly revised, it will be a work peculiarly adapted, beyond any other of the kind, to induct the student, easily and by degrees, into a knowledge of the Greek language. Its great merits will be, that the Greek selected will be mostly of the pure style of the earlier writers ; that it will not be too difficult for the learner, but lead on from the simplest passages to those less easy ; that the notes will be ample but concise, not distracting the attention from the text by a display of unnecessary information ; that there will be, from page to page, the fullest references to those Grammars which are most generally used through the country ; and that the Lexicon will be particularly adapted, by its full definitions and forms of inflection, to make the acquisition of the language easier to the student. To the excellence of the former edition, many valuable testimonials have been given, chiefly from authorities in our first Colleges. It had, however, several defects, such as are incident to the first publication of a Classical work ; and it was intended by the Author to revise the work thoroughly for new editions. This having been some time since prevented by his unfortunate and early death, the revision will go on under other but careful hands ; and it is believed that this Reader will be an aid to the rapid acquisition of the Greek language far superior to any other before the community. It is designed that the new edition shall be made ready for publication during the winter and spring. Transcribed and reviewed by contributors participating in the By The People project at crowd.loc.gov.