are better left alone. It is strongly told, and in that style of oriental gloom, and grandeur, which is best adapted to such articles, it has also a moral of a peculiar kind. The object is to shew the " Perpetuity of woman's love, and its reward." That reward being desertion, punishment and wo! The world is very bad, it is true, but we hope not quite so bad as to render such a moral as this justifiable. This gloomy chapter may give pleasure to some, but to us, while we confess the talent it displays, the emotions it produces are any thing but pleasurable. "The wooing of Master Fox" is very German, very perfect in its keeping, and extremely meritorious, if mere closeness of imitation can be deemed merit. It is a perfect pendant to the old apologue of Reinhart and Isangrin, concerning which any of our readers, who are curious in antiquarian details, may learn as much or as little as they please, by referring to page 347 of the 8th volume of the Foreign Quarterly Review. It may be a proof of bad taste in us, but we have always considered tales of talking beasts and reasoning birds,-unless redeemed by marvellous wit, as is "les quatres facardins" of Count Anthony Hamilton,-admirably suited to the meridian of the nursery. "The Life of Dreams" is so sublimely metaphysical, that it is, to us, utterly incomprehensible, and we should have no hesitation in calling it nonsense. There must be in all fiction a similarity to truth, or the mind revolts from that which it cannot even cheat itself into believing. "The Brothers" is a very neat, well executed, tale of chivalry, with nothing extraordinary, either in that which is told, or in the manner of telling. It comes in apropos de bottes to an exquisite engraving of the castles of Liebenstein and Sternfells, and to a very beautiful vignette, and -hinc illæ lacrymæ. "The fallen Star; or the History of a false Religion" is the only portion of the work to which we can give our unqualified approbation; it is perfect no one but Bulwer could have written it, and Bulwer himself could not have written it more ably-wild, dark, and mysterious, it has yet that air of reality which convinces our imaginations and enchains our every faculty. It opens thus: "And the Stars sate, each on his ruby throne, and watched with sleepless eyes upon the world. It was the night ushering in the new year, a night on which every Star receives from the archangel that then visits the universal galaxy, its peculiar charge. The destinies of men and empires are then portioned forth for the coming year, and, unconsciously to ourselves, our fates are minioned to the stars. And they who sate upon those shining thrones were three thousand and ten, each resembling each." * "Each Star wore a kingly diadem; round the loins of each was a graven belt, graven with many and mighty signs; and the foot of each was on a burning ball, and the right arm drooped over the knee as they bent down from their thrones; they moved not a limb or a feature, save the finger of the right hand, which ever and anon moved slowly pointing, and regulated the fates of men, as the hand on the dial speaks the career of time. "One of the Three Thousand and Ten wore not the same aspect as his crowned brethren: a Star smaller than the rest and less luminous; the countenance of this star was not impressed with the awful calmness of the others, but there was sullenness and discontent upon his mighty brow. And this Star said to himself,- Behold! I am created less glorious than my fellows, and the archangel apportions not to me the same lordly destinies. Not for me are the dooms of kings, and bards, the rulers of empires, or, yet nobler, the swayers and harmonists of souls. Sluggish are the spirits and base the lot of the men I am ordained to lead through a dull life to a fameless grave. And wherefore ?-is it mine own fault, or is it the fault which is not mine, that I was woven of beams less glorious than my brethren? Lo! when the archangel comes, I will bow not my crowned head to his decrees. I will speak, as the ancestral Lucifer before me: he rebelled because of his glory, I because of my obscurity; he from the ambition of pride, and I from its discontent.'" The archangel comes, the discontented star murmurs and requests permission to be "the ruler of one, who, if abased, shall aspire to rule." His wish is granted, a mortal is designated who, having been born under his influence, may be moulded to his will. The star shoots downwards, and appearing to Morven the son of Osslah, a deformed herdsman, the outcast of a giant tribe of warriors, breathes strange thoughts into his mind. Morven, by accidental occurrences, gains a knowledge of facts which he retails as prophecies; the events confirm his truth, he becomes the priest of a new, a horrible religion; he gains power, he wades through crime to supreme dominion, tramples on the necks of nobles, deposes and creates monarchs at his pleasure, * "and Morven, the high-priest, was ten thousand times mightier than the king. And he died full of years and honor, and they carved his effigy on a mighty stone before the temple, and the effigy endured a thousand ages, and whoso looked on it trembled; for the face was calm with the calmness of unspeakable awe. And Morven was the first mortal of the North that made Religion the stepping stone to Power. Of a surety Morven was a great man." Again the last night of the old year comes round, the stars sit as before each upon his ruby throne, and Lucifer arises from the abyss and calls down the discontented star. For "Then the Star rose from his throne, and descended to the side of Lucifer. ever hath the spirit of discontent had sympathy with the soul of pride. And they sank slowly down to the gulf of gloom. "It was the first night of the new year, and the Stars sate, each on his ruby throne, and watched with sleepless eyes upon the world. But sorrow dimmed the bright faces of the kings of night, for they mourned in silence and in fear for a fallen brother. "And the gates of the heaven of heavens flew open with a golden sound, and the swift Archangel fled down on his silent wings; and the Archangel gave to each of the Stars, as before, the message of his Lord, and to each Star his appointed charge. And when the heraldry seemed done, there came a laugh from the abyss of gloom, and halfway from the gulf rose the lurid shape of Lucifer the Fiend. "Thou countest thy flock ill, O radiant shepherd! Behold! one Star is missing from the three thousand and ten!' Back to thy gulf, false Lucifer, the throne of thy brother hath been filled.' "And lo! as the Archangel spake, the Stars beheld a young and all lustrous stranger on the throne of the erring Star; and his face was so soft to look upon that the dimmest of human eyes might have gazed upon its splendor unabashed; but the dark Fiend alone was dazzled by its lustre, and, with a yell that shook the flaming pillars of the universe, he plunged backward into the gloom. "Then far and sweet from the Arch Unseen came forth the Voice of God. "Behold! on the throne of the Discontented Star sits the Star of Hope; and he that breathed into mankind the Religion of Fear, hath a successor in him who shall teach earth the Religion of Love.' "And evermore the Star of Fear dwells with Lucifer, and the Star of Love keeps vigil in Heaven!" With this noble passage we will close both extracts and criticism. Had the entire volume been conceived in the spirit, and drawn with the vigor of this noble episode, it would have been the author's masterpiece. The splendor of this gleam does not surprise us, for nothing can be too splendid for him in his vein; nor does the general obscurity terrify us, for he could have done no better in so limited a sphere. If he values his fame, Bulwer will write no more annuals ! THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE OMNIBUS. "Trace the great chain, each thin-spun link pursue, THE Omnibus is of modern invention—the ancients knew nothing of the Omnibus. Its enjoyments were forbidden to them. They could neither see nor taste. The fountain was shut up-the book sealed. They were ignorant. They lived too early in the world's history. They died too soon for their own. We can only lament their ignorance-it is now too late to repair the evil, and our joys and luxuries must sometimes be embittered, when we think how few were possessed by our fathers--when we reflect that they knew nothing of the Omnibus ! And yet they fondly imagined, in simplicity most wonderful, that they knew much, that they enjoyed much, and many of their wise men and magnates, doubtless, in the solitude of distinction, wept with the madman of Macedon, that the Ultima Thule had been attained. The appetite and the sense had, with them, pillars not less impassable than those of Hercules. The world was all waste beyond. No barque might penetrate that unfathomable void-no mind perceive its depths-no conqueror win its sway-no plummet fathom its mysteries; and the potentate who profferred the wealth of a world for an untasted pleasure--a new enjoyment— had, not less than Solomon, discovered all the narrow nothingness of life. He, too, could feel with the preacher, that all was vanity. He knew nothing of the Omnibus! Years ages succeeded, and the Omnibus was yet unknown. Strange, that life should have been desirable on such terms. Well might they esteem it vanity, when lampreys and the mushroom were held luxuries for men. What, indeed, under such circumstances, was the value, the importance, the passion of conquest? For what? Here, indeed, lies the mystery. The era of the Omnibus is not the era of ambition. It could not be looked for at such a period. It required for its discovery a new condition of things-a new order of events-a new class of men. Pursuits, differing entirely from those existing at, and marking, such a time, were essentially necessary to the establishment of the Omnibus. The Romans, though wise in many things, and daring in all, could never have made it. They were not wise, not daring enough for this; and again, they were quite too individual-too selfish. The horse then was rather the instrument of war; not merely, or not so much, of carriage. With the Greeks, the case did not vary materially. They counted the speed rather than the utility of the animal, and the horse had no existence independent of the All his employments were for the individual, for the selfish, for the ambitious; and the Omnibus was still unknown. A social era was necesVOL. III. 20 sary for its creation, and the popular mind required a new direction, and an impulse directly opposite, for such an invention. The chariot of the ancient games, or of ancient warfare, driven and maintained by a single, or not over a pair of warriors, though guided in all directions, was any thing but social in its character. Destruction was the striking organ of such a period, and the build of the Omnibus demands the opposite development. . The Omnibus, therefore, indicates an era! Who shall question this truth? Not the philosopher-not he, who, looking through the surface, beyond effects, and up to causes, may trace the nature, the character, and the claims of a people, in their domestic habits and exercises. Let us look to causes. A single glance will prove what we assert. The Omnibus could never have been known to the ancients. It was the fruit of a philosophy warring with, and in the very teeth of, theirs. It could only be the creature-not of general equality in the people-but of a general passion for equality-of a time of increasing accommodativeness in the popular spirit-of a diffusion of hoarded wealth-of a long repose from war—of a mercantile and money-loving condition of things. The mere seeker after amusement would never have craved it-the utilitarian would hold it the very best vehicle in the world. It might have belonged to Carthage, had she been permitted to survive, to pursue her old occupations, and, instead of colonizing other countries, to continue blessing and beautifying her own. Yet it could not have been invented in the time of Hanno and Hamilcar. Hannibal would have disdained it, unless, mounted on the back of his elephants, its inmates were willing to carry spear and javelin for the destruction of their neighbors. With the crafty Greek it could not have been tolerated, or if known, would have rapidly fallen into disuse. He is too much the individual-he goes only on his own account, and is in a blessed condition of ignorance on the subject of joint-stock companies. Persuade him to enter with the rest, and it will only be to cut their throats, and be off with their purses. The Omnibus suits another order of people. It is Yankee all over-it accommodates him, who, however selfish he may be in other respects, is never exclusive-who is never willing to be much alone. It suits nobody half so well. Give the Englishman his stanhope, the Yankee his omnibus, and the comets have no terrors-the world goes right. We say the Omnibus marks an era-and what era? It follows, in the negative, from a knowledge of those which it would not suit, of those which it will. It must indicate a social condition of mankind. By social we do not merely mean the living together in communities. The barbarians did so, yet were not social. The social history of the Romans was a farce. The Scythians preyed less upon one another, and seem never to have had a Nero, who could fiddle while their cities were burning. Mark the change as we progress to our own times. Peter the Cruel could share such luxuries with his mistress, and the social condescensions of Miguel are something of a proverb. Tyranny to-day is certainly not the tyranny of yesterday. Anciently, the despot hunted game for himself, and wo to the poor devil who came between his spear and the victim. The modern tyrants hunt always in couples, and the holy alliance will be found to illustrate the social character of the era which their own wise labors are in tended to subvert. It is rather irreverent in a matter so very grave as the present, to perpetrate a pun; but under our own eyes have we not seen an entire people, with no other reason but that they were Poles, ready made to the hand, yoked to the body of the great Omnibus of Russia. Kings are social now-they were selfish in times past. The luxuries of power, like all other luxuries, have undergone refinement. The difference between past and present, in this particular, is indicated by a comparison the most humble. Of old, all drank from the same cup-now, each man has a cup of his own, and thus-mark the social loveliness of the thing-all drink together-all are upon an equal footing, and thus all matter of offence is avoided. This fact brings to view another peculiarity of this era, and the most striking feature of all-its levellism. In this abides a chief beauty of the Omnibus. It ministers equally to all classes, and, as if the more fully to illustrate the republicanism of the thing, the little urchin who receives the sixpences at the door, is, without doubt, the most important personage of the company. The Omnibus has no prejudices, no partialities-no charge of favoritism will lie against it. The coxcomb takes his seat beside the blacksmith, and dare not complain, if his white inexpressibles win some unusual hues from the fellowship of his sooty neighbor. The statesman and politician is "hale fellow, well met," with the greasy citizen who votes against him; and the zealots of different sectaries, dismounted of their several doxies, are compelled to ride, cheek-by-jowl, with one another. Such is the levelling and democratic Omnibus. This was not the case of yore. What were vehicles then? The horse himself was a decided aristocrat. He bore no burthen which was not honorable in the strict acceptance of society. The scion of the ancient stock looked down in his loneliness of place upon the poor plebeian, who was required to keep pace on foot beside him. No wonder the horse is proud. He had the pay of a soldier in times past, and was far more honored for his service. So, too, the dog-he had his pay for military service, agreeably to the same standard, in the days of chivalry; and in the Spanish wars in America, the favorite breed and blood frequently slept in the same bed with his owner. All these periods were decidedly hostile, not less to society, than to the Omnibus. They discouraged all utilitarianism as slavish, which came not with battle-they kept down humanity-they restrained the onward course of man, and bowed his neck to the yoke of the oxen-they fettered civilization, and dammed up all the generous tendencies of society, which, in its true nature, is entirely republican. There is yet another feature of this era, thus indicated by the Omnibus. It does not merely bring down the prince from his high station-his pride of place, and the concentrated selfishness of all his purposes. It goes yet farther. It lifts the peasant into hope! It does not merely bring the peer to his level-it elevates him, if not into the condition of the peer, at least into an arena of equal contest and a fair field, in which the peer has no advantage. There is an important, an imposing truth, in this small particular. It carries a warning to the titled,-to the insolent dominator of ages,— to the misbegotten and misdirected assumptions of class and caste,-to the few, who, violating all the legitimacies of nature, yet assume to be the le |