sedulous inculcation of self-exertion, as regards action-there had been a hint given with respect to self-distrust in the formation of opinion. We know enough of American children to know that this hint is needful; but, indeed, clever youth needs it all over the world. In conclusion, we conscientiously and warmly recommend 'The Mother's Book' to all who have the superintendence of young children. We wish we were little again, that Mrs. Child might nurse us in the manner that she recommends in a case of infantine sorrow "Seat him in your lap, encourage him to tell all about his troubles, comb his hair you gently in the meantime, and in a few minutes the vexation of his little spirit will be entirely soothed." We should like to know when the World will treat her children in this sweet spirit!

Briefe eines Verstorbenen, &c.-Tour in Germany, Holland, and England, in the years 1826, 1827, and 1828. By a German Prince. Vol. IV. Stuttgart.

[Third Notice.]

We think it right to say, that our extracts of this and last week, from the Tour,' are taken from the volume not yet translated ;only the first volume of the translation having as yet appeared.

Crockford's.-"This genius may be called a Fisher of Men. From the station of a poor fishmonger, he has succeeded in raising himself to the rank of scourge, and, at the same time, of favourite, of the wealthy and fashionable world. He is a player who has won millions, with which he has built a palace for play, in the style of the Parisian Salon, but with an Asiatic splendour, almost eclipsing even royal state. It is, in the now prevailing style of Louis XIV., adorned with all those tasteless flourishes, a superabundance of gilding, a heaped-up jumbling of stucco-work and painting, &c.-a tendency in fashion which is extremely natural, inasmuch as the English nobility are gradually increasing in resemblance to the noblesse of Louis XIV. "Crockford's cook is the celebrated Ude, practically, as well as theoretically, the first in Europe. The entertainments and attendance are in the highest degree of perfection, together with a jeu d'enfer, at which frequently 20,0001. and more, change hands in the course of the evening. The society constitutes a club, to which it is extremely difficult to obtain admittance; and though the game of Hazard is criminal in England, the greater part of the ministers are members of this club; and the Premier, the Duke of Wellington, is one of the committee !" London Concerts.-"For some weeks my ears have been ringing with three or four concerts every evening, or rather every night, as one would here call it. These concerts have suddenly become the rage, from the most exalted and select down to the veriest Nobodies in town. Mesdames Pasta, Caradori, Sontag, Brambilla; Signors Zuchelli, Pellegrini, and Curioni, sing everlastingly the same airs and duets, which, however, seem not to tire the auditors. Often, indeed, the artistes themselves, wearied by the perpetual monotony, sing somewhat carelessly; but this makes no difference to the ears which hear them, for these are rarely of a very musical organization, but merely inspired by the fashion. Indeed, some of the last comers can hardly distinguish whether the Basso or the Prima Donna is singing-which, however, does not prevent their being transported with delight. For the artistes the affair is extremely profitable: Sontag, for instance, receives 401., and sometimes 100%., in every society in which she is heard; and there are often three or four in an

"In addition to all this, you have Moscheles, Pixis, the Brothers Bohrer-in fine, a swarm of virtuosi, who, like moths towards the light, all fly buzzing about the English gold without ever being burned; but, on the contrary, as far as regards the women, often kindle new flames right and left, and thus gain more by the devotion of the fire-worshippers' than by the exercise of their art."

London Fashionable Crowds.-"I went to a

party given by the Duke of Clarence, where the crowd was so truly English, that I, in common with many others, after half an hour of fruitless effort, was obliged to relinquish my object, and seek my indemnification at some other ball. Such was the pressure in the first room, that employ their arms the more effectively. Ladies several gentlemen put on their hats in order to bedecked with jewels were thrust down, and lay, or rather half stood, swooning with exhaustion. Screams, groans, curses, and sighs, were the only sounds heard. Some few merely laughed at the scene; and, however inhuman this may have been, I must reproach myself with having formed one of the laughers, for it was really too ridiculous to hear such an affair called by the name of society."

English Republicanism.—" Foreigners always form to themselves a more or less republican idea of English Society. In public life this principle is certainly remarkable, and is daily becoming more so; the same may be said of their domestic habits, in which an extreme egotism will be found to prevail. Grown-up children suddenly become estranged from their parents; and what we call domestic life, is here applicable only to husband and wife and little children, so long as these latter continue in immediate dependence on their father. As soon as they grow up, a republican coldness and separation comes between them and their parents. And hence has an English Poet said, that "the love of grandparents for their grandchildren arises solely from this cause-that they behold in their sons nothing more than covetous and inimical heirs, but in their grandsons the future foes of these foes." Such a thought could only have had birth in an English brain!

"In the social relations, on the other hand, we meet not with a single trace of the republican element from the highest grade to the lowest. Here, everything is more than aristocratic in the extreme; it resembles the Indian castes. A different' constitution of what is here called the great world would doubtless have ere this been formed, had England possessed a court, in the continental acceptation of the word, to give a tone and direction in the highest sense.

"Such a court is not here to be found. The English kings live as private individuals, the greater part of the offices about the court being nearly nominal, and their holders assembled only on great occasions. But, as, somewhere in society, a focus must be organized, whence the highest light and highest influence were to stream forth, the wealthy aristocracy seemed called upon to assume this station. But, with all its power and riches, it was not in a condition to maintain such a station adequately. The English nobility, proud as it is, cannot, as to antiquity and purity of descent, if value is to be attached to such matters, call itself exclusive-nor, indeed, compare with the French, certainly not with the higher German nobles, who, for the greater part, have remained intact. It dazzles only by the ancient historic names so wisely preserved, which, as perpetual masks, pervade the whole of English history, though new families, often springing from very obscure people, mistresses,

&c. &c. are hidden behind them. The nobility of England has indeed the most solid advantage over that of other countries through its real wealth, and still more through the participation in legislative power accorded to it by the constitution; but when not on these grounds, but by a pretension to nobler blood, and higher extraction, it indulges and justifies its overbearing haughtiness, then, indeed, the assumption is doubly laughable."

Fashion." But it is felt almost instinctively, and tacitly agreed to on all hands, that the universal queen is not aristocracy, nor wealth, but a power entirely new. This is Fashion, an enthroned goddess, who, in England alone, personally, if I may so express myself, rules with a despotic and inexorable sway, but is always represented in the manifest form of some skilful usurpers of both sexes.

"The spirit of castes, which extends from her downwards, through all grades of society, has here attained an unexampled perfection. It is sufficient to have visited intimately in a lower circle, you are immediately either not received at all, or with the greatest coldness in that immediately above it on the ladder-and no Bramin ever shrunk from a Paria with greater horror than an acknowledged Exclusive does from a Nobody. Each degree in society is, like the English fields, separated from the other by thornhedges. Each has its peculiar manner, and expressions, its cant, as it is called, and, above all, consummate contempt for all beneath it. One perceives at a glance that the nature of such a society must be consummately mean and narrow in its particular coteries-and herein lies the distinction from Parisian society."

a

Fashion in Princes." It is almost ridiculous, but not less true, that the present King George IV. is highly fashionable; his predecessor was not at all so, and neither of his brothers is so; which, by the way, redounds to their praise, for a truly distinguished man can never be sufficiently frivolous to be able or willing to maintain himself in this category."

Dandies. "A modern London Exclusive is, in point of fact, nothing but a copy, and a wretched copy, both of the former roués of the Regency, and of the courtiers of Louis XIV. The same qualities are common to both: selfishness, frivolity, unbounded vanity, and an utter want of heart; both think themselves entitled to regard all things with haughtiness and scorn, while they crawl in the dust before one idolthe former Frenchmen did so before their king -the modern English do so before the acknowledged ruler in the realm of fashion. But what a difference in the more remote results! In France, the absence of morality and honesty was, at least as far as might be, supplied by the minutest refinement of manners-the want of mind, by wit and amiability-the impertinence of selfexaltation was rendered endurable by a polished elegance aud pleasingness of demeanour-and a selfish vanity was counterbalanced, or at least palliated, by the splendour of an imposing court, the perfect art of conversation, a winning ease, and an intercourse which enchained by its wit and graceful ease. What, on the contrary, does an English dandy offer us? Instead of a noble ease, he casts aside every gene of good demeanour; he inverts the order of intercourse with women, so that these seem the wooers and he the wooed; he uses his best friends, if they be not of the fashion, according to his humour, as though he knew them not-he 'cuts them,' as the term of art expresses it; he has by heart the inexpressibly fade jargon, and all the affectations of his 'set'; always knows what is 'the thing'-and, with these constituents, stands forward a Lion' in the world of fashion. If, besides, he keep a particularly handsome mistress, and have further succeeded in seducing some poor trusting fool who was silly enough to

offer herself up to the fashion, abandoning husband and children for his sake, then his reputation will, of course, be all the higher. And if, in addition to all this, he squander plenty of cash, if he be young and have a name in the peerage book, he can want but little more, at all events to play a distinguished part, and he possesses, in the highest degree, all the ingredients that go to the making a Richelieu of our day. That his conversation should consist solely of trivial jests and slander, which, amidst a large society, he whispers in a lady's ear, without deigning to know that any one but she and himself are in the apartment-that to men he can only talk of gambling and sports-that beyond the routine of certain fashionable phrases, generally the boast of the shallowest brains, he is unsurpassably ignorant—that his awkward style should not surpass the nonchalance of a ploughboy stretched on a stone bench-and that his gracefulness should much resemble that of a bearall this leaves not a gem the less in the fashionable crown."

In all this we see nothing to quarrel with the Prince about. The genus he has a right to lash, and few will sympathize with the sufferers. But we are not so sure of the privilege, which any foreigner, however distinguished," (this is the author's favourite adjective, when alluding to himself and his German friends,) can lay claim to, of accepting invitations and receiving repeated attentions, without being subject to the social and moral obligation of respecting the secrecy of private life, and of being silent with regard to individual foibles, of which he could have known nothing, had he not been admitted to the most confidential intercourse. Such considerations, however, have little weight with His Highness of Puckler Muskau; on the contrary, the only effect of a feast with him, seems to be a fit of indigestion; and never does he appear to feel himself so much at home, as when abusing his host and ridiculing the whole company, who have the "distinguished" honour of meeting his princely mustachios. The poor spirit and bad taste of this, is evident enough when men are the objects of his sarcasm; but when the innocent frivolities of our fair

countrywomen are subjected to his philosophical dissection and bilious estimate, we cannot but wonder that he who so vigorously and justly inveighs against whispering slanders somewhat loudly into a lady's ear before company, should not have hesitated in proclaiming what, if not slanders, are little better, in a studied form, and before the world. But to proceed.

After sketching two distinguished noblemen, in a style which has already tempted politicians to turn translators, he thus de

livers himself on

The Earl of Ch-st-f-d.-" The young heir to a celebrated name and large possessions, appears also inclined to advance his claim as a leader of ton: but as the excellent lessons of life, contained in the Letters of his ancestor, have fallen on a very barren soil, and other circumstances have not as yet sufficiently favoured him, he has hitherto been fain to content himself with a very second-rate sort of leadership, and with the mere acknowledgment of his beautiful equipages and horses, together with the charms

of his celebrated mistress."

He then praises an English Countess at the expense of all her country women-abuses a Viscountess from "the land of the mountains and the flood," and laments that another lady, when she holds court in her old castle,

which once belonged to Queen Elizabeth, appears really to indulge the douce illusion that she is actually Elizabeth,-while of a fourth, he predicates, that she is neither "fish nor flesh." We have then two male characters, which are drawn well enough, but not labelled.

66

They who are intimately acquainted with English society, will not be surprised, nor think me guilty of exaggeration, when saying that the fashionable hero of whom I speak, a young man of good family, but without means, and at bottom nothing but a skilful Chevalier d'Industrie, feels himself both justly characterized and highly flattered by the name sweet mischief, which is given him. The Marchioness seems hitherto only to be attracted by the sweet, which consists she may probably hereafter become also acin a conversation of softly-whispered slanderquainted with the mischief.”

"The bel esprit, whose caustic power is so much feared, that people court him as savages do the devil, that he may not bite them, has one of the most revolting exteriors I have ever encountered. He is above fifty years of age, and has all the appearance of a pomegranate embittered in gall a grey and greenish old sinner, who cannot eat at dinner till he has robbed two or three men of their good name, and said as many more ill-natured things, often anything rather than

witty, but which nevertheless are instantly hail

ed by all near him with loud applause and convulsive laughter. * But the man is the fashion. His sayings are oracles, his wit must be exquisite, since he holds his privilege to exercise it from fashionable society; and when fashion speaks, then, as I have said before, the free Englishman is a slave."

But we must conclude for the present; whether the Prince's book is good or bad, it is very certain the people of England are anxious to read his report of them, and we shall probably give a few more extracts.

also most likely been refused admission into some of the Annuals-not for want of merit, but for want of name;-and it is also most probable, that some splenetic friend has smiled as he read to him, in confidence, his most touching stanzas;--but what of all that? -a man must live long after he has been jilted and laughed at. As there is some true poetry about this author, we shall be glad to see him again, and hear his voice in a more natural strain.

Frederick Wilding; or, the Ways of the World. A Novel. 3 vols. London, 1832. Baldwin & Cradock.

HAD the author of ' Frederick Wilding' taken a tithe of the pains in forming his narrative, and taming down his language, which he ascribes to himself in an amusing preface; he would have written a much better book. He seems well acquainted with the world and its ways, and in communicating this knowledge, he indulges in a sort of hardihood of detail, which gives an aspect of positive reality to his scenes and his narratives. All those who prefer an ounce of fact to a pound of fiction, will rub their hands when they open the adventures of this Kentish Wilding. The characters are one and all of that common race of mortals, who may be classed under the unamiable names of hunting squires, choleric justices of the peace, canting hypocrites, fashionable speculators, and well-bred fellows, who hover between the gambler and swindler, or partake of the nature of both. But they are frequently redeemed from the crime of common-place, not by their actions, for these are ordinary, according to their natures, but, from a certain dramatic tact, and sharp sagacity, which groupe the figures well, and put vigorous language into their mouths, and dissect motives till the ribs are

fragment expects little praise for what he has Ir we believe the preface, the author of this done. "It was," he says, "written at random, published at random, and a random sale is all that is required to complete the wish of its noviciate author." We shall not stop to question the propriety of hurrying a work before the public, when the writer himself is, as Milton was, nothing satisfied with what he hath done: we shall rather

address ourselves to the poet-for poet he is, in spite of his bad preface-on the manner and matter of his poem. The whole, from beginning to end, is one prolonged lamenta tion: now, other poets have written dolorous things; but then there was a cause and an aim in their lamentations-whereas this

young

bard has nothing that we can see to complain of. He says he is young: it is plain he has been educated: it is certain he has leisure on his hands and some money in his pocket, else he could neither have written nor travelled. What, in the fiend's name, ails him? He may depend upon it, that so far from having any cause of quarrel with the innocent world, he has many reasons for being glad; and we advise, him, therefore, as he seems acquainted with the sea, to cast care o'erside, bring up his leeway, and have done with all this affectation. He has been jilted, we dare say, by some broomstick of a damsel, on whose unworthy person he hung the choicest garlands of his verse: he has

exhibited boxing-bouts, hunting-matches,

scenes

in club-rooms, games at cricket, visits to the green-room, keen drinking, ordinary gambling, pluckings in hells, scandal over the tea-cup, love-making, and duels abound. With regard to the story, it is the early years of a young Kentishman, who, with strong passions, and something like an equal leaning to good and evil, is let loose, at twenty, on the world, and runs a sort of crooked career-now flourishing in virtue, then sunk in dissipation; acting like a hero one moment, like a fool another; undermined for a time in love by a canting hypocrite, and cheated out of his fortune by

a combination of swindlers. At last Fortune relents the course of his true-love runs smooth; the hypocrite is unmasked; the swindler is shot; the virtuous are rewarded; and Frederick Wilding becomes on a sudden sober and wise, and marries a sensible and

lovely woman, to aid him in maintaining his unwonted dignity of character. The true aim and scope of the author's undertaking may be read in the following letter, from a sharp shrewd swindler, when the hero of the story becomes settled and sedate:

sibly the only friend I have ever had. You "My Dear Sir,-I esteem you the best, pos

have been the cause, Sir, of my discarding many of those maxims which tend to degrade our nature, and make those who nourish them, unhappy. I have not thrown Mandeville into the fire; but, will you believe me; yes, I think you will, when I tell you that I preferred selling him?

"I have scanned your life, Sir (I am fond, I delight, in wishing to be thought wiser than others-but that you know already); well, Sir, I have scanned your life, and by it I am convinced a man may be honest without being at the same time a fool-that upright conduct divested of selfishness, may procure friends, and that it will keep them firm.

"At your first entry into life, you indulged your imagination in notions which mislead the young; you were willing to rest content with errors, consoling yourself that there was more of good and true wisdom in them, than in the cold and severe virtues. In this spirit you termed prodigality liberality, and frugality parsimony and mean thrift. You were then unacquainted with the maxim, that a warm heart requires a cool head; that knowledge is a treasure, but that judgment is the treasure of the wise; that Fortune is an almost universal mistress, but that Prudence is the mistress of her.

"If it be true that he alone can enjoy the sweets of prosperity who has been made to taste the bitterness of adversity, that chance is your's: you once conceived it your destiny to have outlived your fortune, your health, your friends, and your love, and, what was still worse than all these your spirits; but you then saw that the worst affliction is that with which man afflicts himself.

Many cry out that all is barren-you can deny it; you have had two friends-friends willing to assist you, not with their advice, (which, Heaven knows, is on all occasions most lavishly bestowed on the unfortunate,) but with their persons, their time, and their purses; and you have had a mistress beautiful, kind, and good-the girl of your heart, and a noble-minded lady she is; she forgot you not, Sir, in your adversity; she deserted you not in your days of error; she forsook you not in your hours of shame and sorrow.

"The price of a virtuous woman is far above rubies; rejoice with the wife of thy youth; may thy fountain be blessed: I cannot conclude better than by wishing you many years the enjoyment of so much beauty, good sense, and good disposition. Adieu;

"JOHN ARNOLD."

"sort

We shall make no regular selection of passages from this work, for the sake of letting our readers into the intricacies of the story, for, in truth, there are parts which are anything but clear to ourselves; they are mysterious," as the Frenchman says of something which he did not understand in 'Roderick Random.' We prefer exhibiting the author in a few detached scenes-the first which comes to hand is of a gentle and rather moving kind :

"The younger sister was at this time little more than a child, but she was thus early noted, as one likely to possess, not only the outward form as fair as her sisters, but in addition, there were discoverable in her, the first principles of a fine intellect. She was from her youth of a melancholy turn of mind, and her picture, taken in one of those her serious hours, bears resemblance to that of Mrs. Siddons and the Kemble family. When quite a child there appeared a fondness for her on the part of Sydney, the husband of the younger sister. He appeared to contemplate with the delight of a father, the expanding genius of Gertrude, and became her master, (dangerous occupation) in teaching her music, and the rudiments of painting. She was about seventeen, when he discovered, from an unpleasant sensation akin to jealousy, which he experienced at some attention paid her by a young gentleman of her own age, that he entertained for her an affection different from a father's or brother's love. Sydney might have been tinged with vices incident to young men of

generous natures, but they had not corrupted him, nor had they contaminated a mind peculiarly alive to sentiments of honour. He had a sensibility unpossessed by the husbands of the other sisters; he could share in her feelings, in her hours of romance and melancholy. In doing this, he flattered himself that he indulged no gentler feeling than a concern for the welfare of one whom he conceived to be worthy of far greater attention than she received from her family, and whose mind, he observed, and perhaps truly observed, was above the family's comprehension. He viewed her as one also, who, from her romantic ideas and youth, stood in need of an adviser. She was oftentimes heard to express a determination to retire from the world, and end her days in solitude. She would then say, that she was assured all hopes of happiness were to her lost for ever, and it became evident, that there was some secret almost bursting from her heart, or some lingering, half-smothered affection for an object, the attachment to which shame or fear hindered her from avowing, and the concealment fed on her cheek - her pallid appearance, and her dejection was now visible to her friends, and affected the family with a sorrow hitherto unexpressed by them on her account. Her disposition was sufficiently known to them, to be one not liable to be disturbed by common occurrences. It was not like those waters which are ruffled and put into agitation by every breeze. She was nearly eighteen, Sydney was flushed with wine, he pressed her passionately to his bosom, and kissed her with an ardour, which, how much soever it might have surprised her, she showed no disposition to resent. vens,' said he, what is this? It cannot be levity in Gertrude, is it love, then? No, no; it was considered a liberty from one whom she had ever seen willing to act kindly towards her; she resented it not, viewing me as one privileged by situation and connexion; as one who claimed a favour sanctioned by custom, for have I not from her childhood given her the kiss of friendship, and she was aware of my disordered state, and seeing it, passed it over as the rudeness of one not strictly himself.' But whatever were her sensations towards him, he was now fully sensible of the extent of a passion, which till then he had been anxious to consider powerless

'Hea

and pardonable. The reflection caused a shuddering in him: as for seduction, he degraded her not for a moment by the thought. But allied to her as he was, the sister of his wife, the criminality of his meditations, for her image was now at all times present to him, nearly maddened him. I will subdue the vile passion,' said he; 'I will tear it from my heart.' But now the parting kiss became as customary as the farewell at parting. There was to him an indescribable charm in her society. Their meetings were now more frequent, and their partings became more fond, but nothing on her part had as yet transpired, to furnish him with the slightest ground of suspicion that she considered him more than a beloved brother and her only friend." i. 88-93.

The following is by a rougher hand; the picture is vigorous and coarse :—

"A tradesman's or a farmer's wife is up in the morning. She has to scold her servants, to wash and whip the children, and to have the breakfast comfortable for the good man. She has to look to the baking and cookery, and she has to see that there is no waste or useless expenditure (within the house), of that property, which she is aware is all that she has to regard as the support of the credit of her husband, of herself, and family.

"When she has a holiday, the husband drives her out, or a least is driven out with her.

"When she receives company, and they have a party, everything is regular. The dinner, the

apologies, the retirement with the female part of her visitors after a few glasses of wine, the sending in word to the gentlemen, 'if you please tea is ready,' the cards, the cross looks at them, the cold beef, the relics of the feast, the custards and tarts which have survived the dinner, the grog, the pipe or cigar, the song, the story, and the departure home-all is regular. Each man retires to his home with the partner of his affections, and each one is happy in the bosom of his family; and they possibly experience a negative kind of happiness, unknown to those in higher circumstances. The purity, as to conjugal faith, among the lower classes, we will say nothing about. The innocence of shepherds and shepherdesses, of ploughmen and milkmaids, is about as it always was, I believe. Their goddess is nature, and its dictates they obey. They confuse not themselves with reflections on the past or future." i. 270-272.

There are many shrewd sayings, pithy remarks, flashes of wit, and passages full of observation in these volumes; nevertheless, there is too much about hypocrisy, and seduction, and swindling, to suit our taste, or to make Frederick Wilding' welcome to a community at all circumspect in matters of purity of speech, or propriety of behaviour. We are sorry at being obliged to say this, because we are disposed to like many of his scenes; we thought him not more bold than just, in hunting down a hypocrite who eternally talked of spiritual impulses, and growth in grace, and rejoiced when he saved the hangman a job, in shooting off the Hon. Thomas Decker, by hands a degree less impure than his own.

Poems by William Cullen Bryant, an American Poet. Edited by Washington Irving. London, 1832. Andrews.

WE have done our best to make English readers acquainted with the literature of America, and among other works which we thought especially deserving their attention, were the Poems of Bryant, reviewed some months since in this paper. It was, therefore, with no common feeling of satisfaction, that we received this beautiful volume, in which his scattered treasures are collected and recommended to the attention of Englishmen, by one whose name and fame are dear to them as the honoured of their own country. We have only room at this last hour for the Dedication-next week we shall cull our samples.

"To Samuel Rogers, Esq.

"My Dear Sir,-During an intimacy of some years standing, I have uniformly remarked a liberal interest on your part in the rising character and fortunes of my country, and a kind disposition to promote the success of American talent, whether engaged in literature or the arts. I am induced, therefore, as a tribute of gratitude, as well as a general testimonial of respect and friendship, to lay before you the present volume, in which, for the first time, are collected together the fugitive productions of one of our living poets, whose writings are deservedly popular throughout the United States.

66

'Many of these poems have appeared at various times in periodical publications; and some of them, I am aware, have met your eye, and received the stamp of your approbation. They could scarcely fail to do so, characterized as they are by a purity of moral, an elevation and refinement of thought, and a terseness and elegance of diction, congenial to the bent of your

+ See Athenæum, No. 215, p. 795.

LIVING ARTISTS.-No. XIII.

HENRY BONE, R.A.

THOSE who desire to live for three or four centuries in all the splendour of oil colours, may go to Phillips or Pickersgill; but those who wish to have a lease of their looks while woods grow and water runs, should go to Henry Bone. He is unequalled in Europe for the perfect truth and enduring brilliancy of his productions: other artists work coldly, and trust to the permanence of fleeting and unstable colours for the fame that belongs to hereafter;-but Bone works in a warmer element and with more glowing materials: he trusts nothing to chance, or to the caprice of oil mixtures: he considers that he has accomplished nothing till his portraits have passed, like the three children, through a burning fiery furnace, and come forth from the ordeal unharmed. In other words, he is a most skilful enamelist, and has brought his art to such perfection, that neither fire nor water can injure his performances: they would come forth from a blazing pile as bricks come from a kiln, more confirmed in their colours; and those accidents which rob art of so many treasures-which make oil paintings ashes, and sculpture lime-would but increase the worth without diminishing the lustre of the enamel portraits of this distinguished artist. By what chance, or rather by what process of study and experiment, he has been able to achieve all this, it would be unfair to relate, even if we were acquainted with the secret: we can only say, that it is the offspring of many years' labour and research, and that it first dawned on him when, in his youth, he wrought, as Flaxman did, for the Potteries. As we set some value upon our person, and wish not to look quite horrid when we are dead, we purpose to have our portrait passed through the fire of immortality which burns in Clarendon Square; and we would advise all those who, without any effort of their own, desire to live after death in this world, to do the same.

If they hesitate to do this, let them, at all events, go and look at the magnificent collection of portraits which the artist has in his gallery. For noble and intellectual heads it has no rival: all who have rendered England a word of fear, or of admiration, are there-more particularly the heroes and heroines of the golden days of Elizabeth and James, and the stormy times of Charles and Cromwell. Though these heads are of miniature size, nothing can surpass their fidelity of resemblance to the portraits whence they are copied; and nothing can equal the deep brilliancy of their hue, unless it be the singular skill with which it is made proof against destruction. We shall attempt no catalogue of these portraits suffice it to say, that all the chief beauties of ages, in which beauty was frequently allied with talent; and all the chief men of three reigns, in which England produced her best statesmen, best poets, and best warriors, both by sea and land-all are there: puritans and high churchmen-cavaliers and round-heads. The heads of Sir Philip Sidney, Ben Jonson, Shakspeare, Inigo Jones, Milton, Blake, Sir Harry Vane, and Cromwell, we remember as particularly fine; but all are excellent; and when we look at them, we are struck with the truth of the saying, that the true historical paintings are the portraits of distinguished

men. Nor is the collection entirely confined to heads of the olden time: many eminent men of our present day have resorted to the artist; and we hope that more will go, for it cannot be otherwise than gratifying, to think that the portraits of those who have made or are making old England famous in all lands, are ensured against destruction, and will be as fresh and unfaded a thousand years hence as they are now. When we first had the pleasure of visiting this fine collection, it was in the days when an introduction was necessary: it is otherwise now-it is opened to the curious like any public gallery. As we stood, catalogue in hand, gazing upon the mighty of the days of old, we were suddenly joined by the artist himself, with all the marks of studying in the fire upon him. His brow was flushed, his hands begrimed, and his dress a little disordered. He welcomed us with that cordiality which comes from the heart-pointed out a few accessions which he had lately made to his ranks of heroes and heroines-and then whispered that he must return to his fire, in which he had left the head of Mary of Scotland-the third one of that princess which had passed through his crucible. An acquaintanceship of sixteen years has but confirmed the impression which Bone made on us during that brief interview: he is mild and unassuming; and though waxing old, and, we are concerned to add, somewhat infirm of body, he has all the cheerfulness of youth and the placidity of happy old age about him. We know not that he has ever consigned his own likeness to the custody of eternal colours: his head, by Chantrey, is very like, and is in the keeping of Bone himself, and he probably thinks it sufficient.

Some years ago, when our king stirred a little in matters of art, and our government did not absolutely discourage it, the purchase of Bone's Gallery of Enamels was talked of, catalogues made out, and a price spoken of: it was the intention then to add them to the national collection. We never heard of any proposition respecting art so much to our own mind.

A collection such as this should belong to the nation-and that nation is wanting in a proper feeling of its own dignity, which neglects to make such a purchase. There is no gallery where the portraits of our great men-we do not mean titled men

may be seen: the heads of the "illustrious" are scattered over the island, and pilgrimages must be made to widely-distant parts by those who wish to see them. Moreover, the painting of Vandyke, or Lely, or Jamesone, is no security against fire; and scarce a year passes without some warning concerning the mutability of all such things; but the enamels of Bone are matters beyond the power of fire to harm. These are times, it is true, of economy and curtailment; but it is a bastard sort of economy which takes sixteen thousand pounds into consideration, when such an acquisition as this can be made. We have lately heard reproachful language uttered against the public for its coldness respecting the collection which Lawrence left as a legacy to the nation, to be redeemed by twenty thousand pounds. Now, though we think Sir Thomas's drawings and sketches by the great masters might be valuable to an academy desirous of the proficiency of its students, we by no means think that the nation would care one

pitch of a quoit for them, or regard them as better than so much old paper curiously lined and stained; and the reason is obviousthose things exhibit but the rudiments of the art-the first gropings in the dark, as it were, of the gigantic genius of Angelo or Raphael; it is only with full and finished works—and not always with these-that the world has any sympathy. The collection of Henry Bone owes none of its attractions to imported sympathy or affection, which must arise from knowledge in the details of art: the works which compose it are in themselves complete: they lay hold of our regard by the strong ties of nationality and talent: the glory which the illustrious originals of these portraits shed on their own age, continues to give light to ours; and if the country could but see, we are sure they would feel, how honourable-nay, how wise it would be to make the gallery of Bone the property of the nation.

TRANSLATION FROM THE POLISH OF
NIEMCEWITZ.

THIS life is but a dream at best,
Where shadows pass, but nought remains;
Some seem with wealth and honours blest,
Some, bow'd by misery and chains.
A few there are, before whose eyes
A crown will flit, in mock'ry sent;
To others darker visions rise,

Of country lost, and banishment.
And, oh! what bitter cause to weep

The boon of life thus hardly given, If, after all this troublous sleep, We wake-but not to taste of Heaven. J. H. U.

JESTS FROM THE ANTIQUE.-No. III.

APOPHTHEGMS OF ARISTIPPUS.

1. Being asked why philosophers frequented sities better than the others do. the rich, he replied, "They know their neces

2. A rich man came to offer his son as a pupil; Aristippus demanded five hundred drachmas: "Why," said the parent, "I could purchase a slave for that sum." "-"Do so," replied Aristippus, "and then you will have two." 3. When asked by Dionysius, why he left Athens to visit Syracuse, he replied, "When I wanted wisdom I went to Socrates; now I want money, and come to thee."

[From Athenæus.]

APOPHTHEGMS OF STRATONICUS.

1. The musician Stratonicus adorned his being asked how many pupils he had, he replied, school with statues of the Muses and Apollo; "Twelve, with the aid of the gods!" He had really but two.

2. Finding, at Mylassa, more temples than inhabitants, Stratonicus commenced his speech with "Hear me, steeples," instead of people, (vaoi for Xavi.)

3. A friend asked him, whether long or round vessels were the safer, he answered, "The safest vessel is she that has gained her port."

4. King Ptolemy having spoken more warmly than wisely to Stratonicus on the subject of music, he replied, "Sire, the management of the sceptre is different from that of the plectre." 5. Stratonicus was once listening to a bad harper, who sung as wretchedly as he played: turning to a friend, he quoted from Homer

One thing the Gods have given and one denied. Being asked to explain, he answered, "The Gods have given him the art of playing badly, and denied that of singing well.'

"

6. He said that the mother of Satyrus was

+ The plectre was the quill with which the harp was played.