evil hour, the leech pledged his life to the Czar that he would cure the Czarowitch Karakatcha, the only son of Ivan's friend, Danyar. The patient was already out of danger, when a paroxysm of boyish passion brought on a relapse: again Karakatcha was out of danger: in one day more Antony would demand his bride, on the full redemption of his pledge: a single potion remained to be administered. In the absence of Antony, who deemed his personal attendance no longer necessary, a deadly poison was substituted, at the instigation of Nicholas Poppel, by a vile creature of a vile official of the court, who employed this miserable instrument to pander to Poppel's hatred of Antony, and to gratify, at the same time, his own fiendish malice towards Anastasia and the family of Obrazétz. Karakatcha died,—the life of Antony was forfeited. The Czar refused to hear any evidence of his innocence. He was thrown into a deep and dismal dungeon. His generous friends secured the means of his escape, and furnished him with tools to break his priHe refused to fly. He had pledged his life for the cure of Karakatcha; by his own promise it was forfeited, although his failure was due to the infernal villainy of others. The Czar was deaf to all entreaties for the life of Antony. The victim was delivered over to the merciless Tartars of Danyar. By them he was inhumanly butchered; and so perished the Heretic, in the prime of manhood and of science, at the moment of his union with the highest and loveliest in Russia, the victim of ignorant prejudice and superstition, while the heaven of his destinies was as bright and cloudless as his most ardent aspirations could have desired. At the twelfth hour the Czar relented, but the pardon accorded came too late to save the life of Antony; it could only rescue his memory from infamy.

son.

And Anastasia ?She died. The bitterest anguish of the soul preyed upon her heart,-she faded, withered, and pined away, like the lily which the scythe of the mower has rudely separated from its stem, till insanity at length came as a terrible relief to her, whose life could henceforward be but one blank, and hurried her onward to that tomb, through which she passed to a union with her beloved in a lovelier and brighter world.

Such is the brief outline of this melancholy tale. The ground plan is excellent,-the materials singularly rich. For the embellishment of his story, Lajétchnikoff could rest upon

the peculiar and romantic phases of a rude age and ruder people, in the early ferment of civilization,-on the influence of a strong-minded man upon semi-barbarians,-the character of Ivan himself,-the religious troubles of a superstitious people,-the fanaticism and cruelty of ignorance, -the representation of the Roman Catholic faith in the light of a heresy, the Oriental elements in the Russian State,and the manifestation of the highest of European feelings,religion, patriotism, chivalry,-fettered in their early expression by the formalities of Eastern life.

But, if the epoch and scene selected are admirably adapted for the purposes of romance, the characters of the piece have been no less skilfully chosen; and they have been elaborated with equal care and fidelity. The great prince Ivan, Obrazétz and his son Khabar, Simskoi, Antony, Aristotle, Andriousha, Aphànasii, Nikitin Mamon, Paleologus, Nicholas Poppel, Anastasia, Selínova, though differing so widely from each other, are depicted with great truth and power. Ivan, however, and Anastasia, are the most finished portraits in the picture; and nothing can more clearly indicate the extensive range of Lajétchnikoff's imagination, than the dissimilarity of the spirit in which these two characters have been conceived.

In Ivan, there is a politic union of passion and of craft: his impetuosity is as great, and his cunning as cautious and far-seeing, as were the same qualities in his successor, Peter the Great. Indeed, we cannot help supposing that Lajétchnikoff meant to shadow forth the character of the latter, under the mask of Ivan. There is the same violence of temper, the same fiery energy,-the same industry and perseverance, the same snake-like stealth, and cold-blooded treachery, when their interests seemed to require it,-in both sovereigns. The portrait of Ivan, as drawn by the pencil of Lajétchnikoff, may produce nothing but disgust and abhorrence in those who have been accustomed to test all men's characters, without regard to the times and circumstances under which they lived, by the same rules which they employ in the estimation of their own compeers. But a great man, and Ivan was such,-cannot be so appreciated. To arrive at a true knowledge of those who have brought great talents to the remedy of great practical evils, in arduous times, we must judge them by a different canon from that which would give us the true proportions of the Smiths, the

Johnsons, the Tompkinses, and the other anonymes of our own vicinage. We have met with but few who could measure out even-handed justice to Napoleon Bonaparte, from inattention to this necessity: and the character of David, in the Scriptures, must be to such persons wholly inexplicable. The absolute rules of right and wrong are immutable, but when we apply them to individuals, a thousand modifying circumstances must be taken into the calculation. And, judging Ivan in this spirit, we cannot fail to be struck by the nobility, decision and hardihood of his nature, and that profound insight into men, which led, through the most thorny and dubious routes, to his great success. We have been the more particular in alluding to this point, inasmuch as we are assured, by the very competent authority of Mr. Shaw, that Lajétchnikoff has adhered closely to the truth of history in his delineation of the principal characters and events in this novel.

If things totally dissimilar, and without any common analogies, could be legitimately contrasted, we might say that, in every possible constituent of her nature, Anastasia was directly the reverse of Ivan. The difference of sex does not make a wider distinction between them, than the difference of character. Kind, mild, affectionate, and wholly forgetful of self and selfish interests, with an innocence as pure as the unspotted snow, and a devotion to others which absorbs and engrosses all other feelings,-she forms as beautiful and perfect an impersonation of feminine graces and virtues, as ever the mind of an artist conceived. There is no fault nor flaw in the delineation,-it is beautiful throughout,--and we may say of her what the Ettrick Shepherd said of his "Bonnye Kilmeny❞—

That she was pure as pure could be.

The loveliness of feature and of form,-the charm of expression, the brilliancy of colour,-the enchantment of manner, all the external attractions of Anastasia,—were but a faint revelation of the harmony and perfection of her inner being. The only definition of beauty that we can give, in a form sufficiently explicit and comprehensive for our own taste, is to be found in a novel application of the words of the Anglican Catechism: "It is the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace,"-and we know not how we could more satisfactorily confirm its truth, render it in

telligible to all, and remove the appearance of a profane levity, than by referring to the character of Anastasia as a complete illustration of its import. Yet, with all her loveliness of character and of person, she is no paragon of conventional perfection,-an artificial creature of rules and observances, but pure from the spontaneous impulses of a pure heart, and raised above all ordinary canons of female excellence, by that lovely exuberance of instinctive affection, which leads her, without guide, in a path in which she cannot err, though all others might lose themselves. She is the delightful dream of a highly poetic imagination, with all the warmth of human kindliness in her veins, all the ease of life in her movements, and clothed with the habiliments of reality: and with so much skill has the delineation been finished, that we would believe her existence to be real, although one such vision of loveliness is vouchsafed to few in their earthly career, and more than one to none. In the whole range of the literature of fiction, there is no more lovely, more loving, and more lovable heroine, to be found than Anastasia, the daughter of Obrazétz.

It would be a pleasing recreation to examine the other creations of Lajétchnikoff in the present novel,-to analyze the characters of Obrazétz, Simskoi, Fioraventi, Andriousha, etc., but we have already occupied more space than we ought in the present day of cheap and rapid publication, when the literature of yesterday is forgotten to-morrow, and the only hope of justifying ourselves is, that others may be persuaded to recur to "The Heretic," in the perusal of which the reader will soon discover for himself our sufficient justification.

ART. IV. The Letters of Marcus Tullius Cicero to several of his friends: with remarks by WILLIAM MELMOTH, Esq. London. 1753.

WE like to peruse these old English editions,-not that we despise or underrate the enterprize which has ushered forth so many brilliant specimens of typography from the American press, but we cherish a veneration for these ancient volumes, very much like that we feel for respectable old gentlemen. They bring up before the eye much more vivid pictures of the times of which they treat, than the duodecimos of the present day. The very dust and cobwebs of the folios and quartos of a hundred years ago, carry us that much nearer the events which they commemorate; and the large, clear type, and quaint expression of a former age, seem to convey to the mind a more lucid view of its men and occurrences, than we gain from the issues of the more modern press.

We regret that we cannot extend the feelings of reverence we have for the book, to the entire character of the man whose correspondence it records; and, for the purpose of establishing the truth, that men's vices should not be overlooked in our admiration of their abilities, we propose to glean from these old volumes, some memorials of the mind and conduct of Cicero.

It seems to us that the character of Cicero has been misunderstood by the great majority of persons. It is a species of misapprehension common to every age, arising from the brilliancy which a man's intellectual exhibitions throw around his private life. This is what raises the statesman, whose elevation is often secured by every violation of private faith. This is what gains the celebrated actor fame, whose life is a scene of debauchery and drunkenness. The great body of people judge men by some splendid public display. They stand always as in a theatre, where the brilliant lights and remote scenery cause tinsel to look like gold, and painted paste-board like placid lakes and luxuriant trees. The faithful historian, however, must break up the illusion. He must remember that he is out of the theatre, when he comes to judge men by their actions. He must disrobe them of the court dress in which they display themselves on pub