1859-09-01 The Courant

THE COURANT, A Southern Literary Journal. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ HOWARD H. CALDWELL, EDITOR.] "Sic vos non vobis." [WM. W. WALKER, JR., & CO., PROPRIETORS. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ VOLUME I. COLUMBIA, S. C., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1859. NUMBER 18 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ For the Courant. FOREVER THINE! ----- BY CLAUDIA. ----- I. Linked in the golden chain of "long-ago's," Those sweet words twine around our throbbing hearts; Hushing its pulses for awhile to catch The low, fond murmur, as Time onward darts,-- Forever Thine!

II. Forever Thine! Ah, me! I see those words, Once written on a page of spotless white, Grow dim and meaningless as, day by day, Old loves come thronging up the steep pathway; And, as I strain my weary eyes to catch One of those dear, familiar glances back, They vanish from my sight.

III. Forever Thine! The maiden blushes hide The violet lines that trace her temples fair; She leans that trusting head confiding there, And whispers as his bride, Forever Thine!

IV. Forever Thine! Sighing like prisoned wind thro' waving pine, Painful remembrances of "auld lang syne;" Hoping and wishing like fond thoughts in Spring: Trembling and brightening, like the Dolphin's glow, With the reflection of Death's silvered sting, Forever Thine!

V. Hopes, like the glow-worm's light, illume But the one spot, while all around is gloom, One sad, wild cry is wailing in my breast, "What might have been." I lay me down to rest, And dream of morning in the evening time; Again I Dahlias in sweet gardens twine, And whisper to my love Forever Thine! Columbia, S. C. ------------------------------------------ From the Southern Rose of 1839. A TALE OF SCIO. ----- No spot on earth presents a lovelier picture to the eye of the traveller than the isle of Scio; at least this was so when I saw it, previously to the Greek Revolution. Of all ths islands of the Archipelago, it had received the most peculiar favour from the haughty Turk. Its inhabitants had been permitted to engage in commerce, and the arts of the ancient race had again visited it.-- Gardens filled with the luscious fruits of a tropical clime were spread along the shores. Flowering trees and aromatic shrubs loaded the air with fragrance. On landing, the joyous countenances I met, and merry laughter heard at intervals, convinced me that I had come among a happy people. Here, as I before remarked, the sway of the Turkish Sultan was but slightly felt: a small tribute was indeed exacted, but this the wealth of the inhabitants was easily able to meet, and a Turkish governor had been placed over them, but he was mild in his manners and much loved, although of another race. Yet even this seemed to take from them the liberty which the young Greek, in reading the annals of his country, knew to have been the peculiar possession of his forefathers. The more prosperity threw its blessings around him, the more his thoughts would dwell on that which he possessed not, the glorious prerogative of his race. The Greek mariner is brave and imaginative in the highest degree. The rock of Salamis told him the story of other days. How could he but long to

"Snatch from the ashes of his sires, The embers of their former fires, And leave behind a name of fear, That tyranny should quake to hear?"

And the time was at hand. Yes, the time was coming when they would burst assunder the iron chains of despotism. America had given them an example of what could be effected by an undaunted resolution, and, while the memory of their fathers kindled in their bosoms, the fires of patriotism, the image of their ancient republican virtue lived again in the heroic Washington, in the eloquent Henry, the boast and pride of our Western world. There was a young Greek who came in my company to Scio. During our voyage, he had forcibly struck my attention, whether from the respect paid to him by those around, or from a certain dignity and grace of manner, I cannot tell. He was rather above the middle size, taller than the Greeks usually are, with noble, commanding features, an eagle eye, which, when he was in the least roused, seemed to flash fire, in short,

"A form more active, light and strong, Ne'er shot the ranks of war along."

I said to myself, this is indeed a hero, and one who might claim kindred with Alcibiades. A lively voice and merry laugh were heard from a group before us; the young Greek stepped eagerly forward, a glance of recognition was returned from some one of the party, and I saw a young girl exchange greetings with him, in a way that shewed that they had met before. I gazed upon the scene and yet I saw it not; my thoughts were for a moment busy with the happy remembrances of my own youth; they hurried me back to my native village--I saw thee again, my Mary, in all thy loveliness. Thou art now the bride of another, and I am doomed to wander over the earth an outcast from my home and from my kindred. "And this is Marco," she said, "why how you are changed? Is it possible you were once my playmate? How tall you have grown! When did you come from Pæste? Do you like the Austrians? Surely not as well as your own folks." How long Melissa might have continued her questions, 'twere impossible to tell; the young man answered by taking her hand in his, and whispering his replies into her ear, so that they were lost to us. Marco was one who burned for the deliverance of his country: he had met with many Greeks abroad who were like himself, ardent in the cause of freedom. He was a member of that secret associated entered into by the young Greeks, an association by which they were pledged to each other, and bound by the most dreadful oaths, that they would see their country free from Turkish despotism or die. Among the Suliotes, a tribe of hardy mountaineers of the Morea, he had become the chief of a band as determined as himself. The hour so long desired was near at hand, and Marco had come to this island to infuse, if possible, into its inhabitants some part of the patriot glow of his own ardent disposition. The father of Melissa was one eminent, not only for his wealth, but for the sway he possessed over the minds of the islanders. To gain him was Marco's object, and, though means of Melissa, he had little doubt of success. When a boy, he had passed much of his time at his mansion, and thus had early become acquainted with this young Greek girl. In Eastern climes the passion of love is characterized by a suddenness, a violence, which absorbs for a time every other feeling. Ah! Haidé, thou personification of this powerful sentiment, Byron in thee, but too well pourtrays the vividness of Eastern passion. Such a love was not destined to be that of Melissa for Marco. She loved him only as a sharer in the sports of her childhood; her heart was another's. Marco had admired, nay had loved her with an enduring attachment, and his hopes of further happiness had been centred in her.-- As he grew up to manhood, "his country had become his idol: to it he had sacrificed every selfish, every endearing sentiment, and for it he was willing to offer up his life," but when he saw her, when her arm locked in his, she walked beside him, the fairest of the daughrers of Greece.

"Rich in all youth's loveliness, her jewelled hair, Spread o'er the marble throne of thought, in folds Of graceful drapery,------- From out of the fringes of the snowy lid, Her intellectual eye its radiance sending -------Her graceul form, Its fair proportions though her robe revealing In sylph-like beauty."

'Twas enough to shake the philosophy of the stoutest heart. "And have you bound yourself," she said, "by this dreadful oath? Are we not happy here? Why make tumult where all is peace?" "This calm is but delusive," he replied; the Sultan only waits to punce upon his prey, until commerce shall have sufficiently enriched your shores, to make them a worthy prize, and then Melissa, dost think he will spare thy father? Will he spare thy beauty?-- No! ruthless soldiery will trample on all that is beautiful here, and thou, O Melissa, thou hast heard, hast thou not, of a Turk's Seraglio?" "Mahammed, our governor, has protected us long. I fear these are gloomy thoughts of yours, and that carried away by the desire of change, you are about to involve yourself--our contrary, in irretrievable calamities. O think on this ere it be too late. Think upon the greatness of our foe--how small the number of those possessed of the same degree of patriotism as thyself!" "Cease, Melissa, to urge objections. I have thought of all these things. You know not the extent of this conspiracy; our emissaries have penetrated even to the throne of the Czar of Russia; wherever the Greek name, the Greek religion is found, there we shall have supporters. The fleet of the Moslems will be as chaff before the Greek fire, in the hands of our bold and crafty mariners. My Suiliote bands shall pour from the mountains upon the terror stricken Turk. We fight for liberty, our altars and our homes. Their effeminate and luxurious soldiery will yield before the spirit which sits upon our banners, and proclaims in the heat of battle, "The spirit of liberty is with you, and will give you victory." Well may Mahommed tremble, and well may Greece rejoice that her days of deliverance are at hand. But we approach thy father's house, and now, Melissa, assist and be with me, the deliverer of our country." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

138 THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Marco thought that he spoke with the Melissa of his youth. He spake with her as one who was to revive in herself the Spartan woman of old; he little thought of the torture inflicted on her by each word that fell from his lips. The governor of Scio had one son, handsome in person, winning in his address and manners, but perfidious, crafty and revengeful. He had, by some unaccountable means, won the affections of the young Greek Melissa --had promised her to forsake his religion--to become a Christian in name and in principle--had spoken to her of the ancient glories of her race, and how he despised his own in comparison with it, and she believed him.-- Guileless herself, passing all her days in retirement, she knew not of the duplicity of mankind, and her simplicity had thus made her the dupe of a remorseless and heartless villain. Ali Ben Ali, for that was his name--had observed her hanging on the arm of the handsome Marco, had seen them in close conference together. Stung with jealousy and resentment, he vented his rage in secret curses, and following them at a short distance, he saw them enter the house of Melissa. That evening she was to have met him in a grove of acacias, back of her father's grounds, at the hour of midnight. He went to the spot long before the time, and after waiting in an agony of impatience, as the last shadows of evening fell before the time, Melissa came. Veiling his anger under a smiling countenance, with the fond eagerness of a lover, he advanced towards her. "Ah, cruel girl, dost thou know how long thou hast detained me from the lustre of thy countenance? Remove thy veil, dearest. Why should it hide charms so soon to be mine own possession? Why these tears? Has any grief befallen thee? Has thy father discovered our attachment? or dost thou doubt me? Have I not promised to renounce all for thee? My country, my name, my religion?" "Ah it is for this I doubt thee, and fear me, that untrue to these so sacred ties, thou mayest prove so to me." "Melissa, some one has poisoned thy mind against me; some one has promised more to thee than I. The accursed Greek has made thee treat me thus--I am no longer trusted, is it indeed so? Can Melissa doubt, after all, that I have done all that I have said? Yes, she does, I see it in her manner toward me. But ah, let him beware me. The love of Ali is deep, but his revenge shall be terrible. I saw him with thee, but now --Marco Bozzaris--he crossed my path when a child, but she shall not now that I am a man. "Listen to me, Ali, this is not so--thy love mistakes." Melissa, mark me, you shall rue the hour you dared fasten this counterfeit upon me. I loved you truly, deeply, fondly, but now, may curses light upon--" "Ah, ah, curse me not, spare me, I love! I love! You are deceived, your passion hurries you away." "Thee, I cannot kill, but Marco! May I perish, but I will be revenged." "Oh, then, I must tell you all. You say you love me you tell me, you swear to me, that you will be one of us --that, in your heart, you desire to see again Greece revive and take her place among the nations. You say all this; you love, and I will trust you. Even if you engage not with us, your love for the Greek Melissa will bind you to us. Greece is about to awake from her long sleep, to grasp at independence. Marco came not here to sue Melissa for her love, but to see if martial fire yet existed in the loveliest of the isles of Greece. I can tell you no more." "And is this true? Swear it, and I will love thee, doat upon thee as before." "I swear by the prophet's tomb, by that name which the Christian trembles to speak! This is true." "The next morning, ere the sun had risen on that devoted Isle, a bark loosed from it shoses bound for Constantinople, and in that bark went one, the agent of destruction to all that was lovely and beautiful in Scio. Ali Ben Ali had heard enough to raise him in the eyes of his Sovereign, and to gain him command. What to him was that lovely being whom providence had blessed, it is true with beauty of person, but in that gift had made ruin her portion? Marco had been successful in his attempts. He left Scio, the evening of the next day, proud of reviving martial ardour in his countrymen, and full of hope.-- Mahommed fell a victim to the too hasty passions of a people, suddenly roused, and full of the cause of their country--he being gone, the whole people busied themselves in preparing munitions of war, in fortifying the island, against attack and concerting with the neighbouring isles. The eighth morning after the departure of Ali, a fleet was observed to approach the Island, and in consternation the Sciotes perceived that the Turks were upon them. A silence, terrible and threatening, pervaded the fleet. At length Ali Ben Ali made his appearance on the prow of the Admiral's ship, which had approached nearest the shore. He called for his father, Mahommed, to appear. No answer was retured. "They have slain him," he said, "and vengeance is what remains to us." He scarce had ceased; when the artillery from thirty ships at once broke upon that unhappy isle. Houses, temples, all things beautiful totter and fall before the murderous cannon. The people disputed inch by inch the ground where so much happiness and prosperity had been theirs. Melissa is seen every where mingling among the combatants. She exhorts the soldiers to fight to the death, for their wives and daughters. "We will perish with you, she said, they shall not lead us into slavery." But thousands on thousands pressed. Vain was the struggle. All was now one blackened mass of smouldering ruin--Scio, no longer the pearl of the ocean. Havoc the cry, neither age nor sex were spared, and now where was Melissa? On the eve of that eventful day, a lovely female, with dishevelled hair, and in all the agony of grief, might have been observed, leaning over the body of an aged man, in a retired part of the Island. The soldiery had not yet found her. 'Twas Melissa; her father had fallen early in the day and had been borne, by the direction of his daughter, to this spot, while she endeavoured to fill his place in the field. When all hope was gone, she had come to lament over him, and by self-destruction, to free herself from dishonour. The fatal dagger was already in her grasp --the stroke about to be given, when her hand was arrested by one whom she dreaded even worse than death, though once the object of her love. The same smile was upon his countenance, as when he had last left her, when with protestations of eternal love upon his lips, the most fiendish malice at his heart, he had gone forth to betray her. "Ah pretty one!" said he, "thou art mine now, and may heaven pardon thee for this attempt upon thy life. Wast bound for paradise so soon? I see how it is.-- Thou wishedst to join the houries there, thy sisters in loveliness. What a pity to have detained thee. But come, you are indeed to leave Scio, but you go on board of one of my galleys. 'Tis my turn to command now." Heedless of all things, and mechanically, she suffered him to lead her from the spot; no word, no sigh escaped her. 'Twas midnight, and the Turkish fleet, after the bloody scenes of the day, lay hushed in profound repose save the Admiral's galley, where the lights still shone, and the music that came along the waters anounced that the feast there held, by the officers, was still in progress. There had been a wedding there that night. Melissa was the bride--a silent one, however, for she had not yet opened her lips. Grief had made her dumb. She looked on all objects around, as though she saw them not. Suddenly ere the midnight hour had passed, her dreadful fate seemed to flash across her mind. She shrieked, and fell in agony upon the deck. All gathered around her, as we often see in our cities the mob collect around some novel and interesting object. 'Twas then that a light bark bore noiselessly toward the Turkish ships--it reached the side of the Admiral's galley; the grappling irons were thrown, and in a moment the fine ship was inextricably involved with the galley; one plunge and then another followed. Suddenly, a streak of livid light shot athwart the deck; and then arose a dreadful cry, "the Greek, the Greek!" With the speed of lightning, the whole ship became involved in smoke and flame, some plunged into the water, others stood without the power of motion where they were, until it was too late to save themselves. The fire soon reached the powder magazine, and then followed an explosion, which made the distant hills re-echo sounds more dreadful than had ever been heard there before, since the creation. Some half dozen poor wretches alone escaped from that dreadful scene. Among those that perished was of course the fair Greek of Scio. Marco Bozzaris died in battle. He revenged the beautiful Scio, the fair Melissa. The bones of Moslem thousands whiten the plains of Greece. Her liberties have arisen triumphant from the oppression of ages.-- Bozzaris,

"I tell thy fate without a sigh, For thou art freedom's now, and fame's, One of the few, the immortal names, That were not born to die." ------------------------------------------ THE DEAD HOUSE AT MUNICH.--A correspondent of the New York Times, writing about the funeral of Eberhard, the oldest artist in Munich, Bavaria, who died on the 13th March last, thus describes the dead house and the precautions taken there against burial before life is extinct: When I arrived at the cemetery, the body was still in the Leichenhaus, and the crowd were waiting around the door. I worked my way to the window, and looked into the room, saw six corpses, laid out in horrible pomp, with canopies or bowers of artificial flowers and foliage over them, and wax candles burning all around them.-- Each was dressed in the garment of life--there were no shrouds. The rigid figure of a military officer seemed even in death to be stiffer for a military coat with a high collar, and covered with gold lace and embroidery.-- Another was a bride, and lay in her veil and orange flowers, in the silent embrace of a mightier bridegroom. And the old Professor in a dress coat, with his whitegloved hands crossed upon his breast, and his head (like those of all the others) lifted out of the coffin and propped up by a cushion, seemed to be sleeping a ghastly nightmare sleep--so little did the stern, set face harmonize with the incongruous dress and the empty state which surrounded it. Each body had a small wire attached to a ring upon its finger, and connected with a bell, so that the slightest motion would at once call the attendants. This precaution aainst mistaken burial before life is really extinct is of long standing here. It is proper to say, however, as an answer to statements which are becoming very fashionable now-a-days, as to frequency of such an occurrence, that the cases in which the supposed dead have manifested life by motion during the three days of their remaining in the Leichenhaus, are altogether traditional--of late years, certainly, nothing of the kind has here taken place. ------------------------------------------ CARD-TABLE SIGNALS.--Never let man and wife play together at whist. They are always telegraphs; and, if they fancy their looks are watched, they can always communicate by words. I found out that I could never win of Smigmag and his wife. I mentioned this one day, and was answered, "No, you never can win of them."-- "Why?" said I. "Because," said my friend, "they have established a code." "Dear me!" said I; "signals by looks?" "No," said he; "by words. If Mrs. Smigmag is to lead, Smigmag says, "Dear, begin."-- Dear begins with d--so does diamond; and out comes one from the lady. If he has to lead, and she says "S," my love!" she wants a spade. "Harriet, my dear, how long you are sorting your cards!" Mrs. Smigmag stumps down a heart; and a gentle "Come, my love!" on either side, produces a club."--Theodore Hook. ------------------------------------------ GOOD HUMOUR.--Humour is a perennial source of purity and freshness to the mind. It clears away the cobwebs; it qualifies the hot, rich draughts of sentiment; it freshens up the sated edge of appetite; it flows through the whole being like a babbling stream, with vendure always green upon its banks. Without humour, we are either hot simooms or arid plains. Your Keats and your Shelleys burn themseves out for want of it; your Shakspeares and Dickenses are so irrigated by its delicious coolness, that they endure green and fresh forever.--Oliver. ------------------------------------------ The Bury (Eng.) Post records the death of Mr. Stevenson Fitch, so well known in archæological circles as a zealous and accomplished antiquary. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. 139 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ CÆSAR CROSSES THE RUBICON. ----- On the ever memorable night when Julius Cæsar had resolved to take the first step (and in such a case the first step, as regarded the power of retreating, was also the final step) which placed him in arms against the state, it happened that his headquarters were at some distance from the little river Rubicon, which formed the boundary of his province. With his usual caution, that no news of his motions might run before himself, on this night, Cæsar gave an entertainment to his friends, in the midst of which he slipped away unobserved, and with a small retinue proceeded through the woods to the point of the river at which he designed to cross. The night was stormy, and by the violence of the wind all the torches of his escort were blown out, so that the whole party lost their road, having probably at first intentionally deviated from the main road, and wandered about through the whole night, until the early dawn enabled them to recover their true course. The light was still grey and uncertain, as Cæsar and his retinue rode down upon the banks of the fatal river--to cross which, with arms in hands, since the further bank lay within the territory of the Republic, ipso facto proclaimed any Roman a rebel and a traitor. No man, the firmest or most obtuse, could be otherwise than deeply agitated when looking down upon this little brook--so insignificant in itself, but invested by law with a sanctity so awful, and so dire a consecration. The whole course of future history, and the fate of every nation, would necessarily be determined by the irretrievable act of the next half hour. In these moments, and with this spectacle before him, and contemplating these immeasurable consequences consciously for the last time that could allow him a retreat--impressed also by the solemnity and deep tranquillity of the silent dawn, whilst the exhaustion of his night-wanderings pre-disposed him to nervous irritation --Cæsar, we may be sure, was profoundly agitated.-- The whole elements of the scene were almost scenically disposed; the law of antagonism having perhaps never been employed with so much effect; the little quiet brook presenting a direct antithesis to its grand political character; and the innocent dawn, with it pure, untroubled repose, contrasting potently, to a man of any intellectual sensibility, with the long chaos of bloodshed, darkness, and anarchy, which was to take its rise from the apparently trifling acts of this one morning. So prepared, we need not much wonder at what followed.-- Cæsar was yet lingering on the hither bank, when suddenly, at a point not far distant from himself, an apparition was descried, in a sitting posture, holding in its hand what seemed a flute. This phantom was of unusual size, and of beauty more than human, so far as its lineaments could be traced in the early dawn. What is singular, however, in the story, on any hypothesis which would explain it out of Cæsar's individual condition, is, that others saw it as well as he; both pastoral labourers (who were present, probably in the character of guides,_ and some of the sentinels stationed at the passage of the river. These men fancied even that a strain of music issued from this aëriel flute. And some, both of the shepherds and the Roman soldiers, who were bolder than the rest, advanced towards the figure. Amongst this party, it happened that there were a few Roman trumpeters.-- From one of these, the phantom, rising as they advanced nearer, suddenly caught a trumpet, and blowing througu it a blast of superhuman strength, plunged into the Rubicon, passed to the other bank, and disappeared in the dusky twilight of the dawn. Upon which Cæsar exclaimed:--"It is finished--the die is cast--let us follow whither the guiding portents from Heaven, and the malice from our enemy, alike summon us to go." So saying, he crossed the river with impetuosity; and, in a sudden rapture of passionate and vindictive ambition, placed himself and his retinue upon the Italian soil; and, as if by inspiration from Heaven, in one moment involved himself and his followers in treason, raised the standard of revolt, put his foot upon the neck of the invincible republic which had humbled all the kings of the earth, and founded an empire which was to last for a thousand and a half a thousand years. In what manner this spectral appearance was managed--whether Cæsar was its author or its dupe--will remain unknown forever.--De Quincey. ------------------------------------------ MILTON'S RECEIPT FOR THE SALE OF "PARADISE LOST."--At a late sale of ancient manuscripts, autographs, &c., about two years ago, Milton's receipt to the publisher for the purchase money of "Paradise Lost," was knocked down at the price of £15, to a gentleman who bought it on commission for the United States.-- This receipt, in Milton's handwriting is now on its way to Philadelphia, and probably lost forever to England. What were the authorities of the British Museum about to allow so interesting a relic to slip from our possession! --F. M. E. [London Star. ------------------------------------------ LETTER FROM THOMAS CARLYLE. ----- Mr. Carlyle, the English journals lately announced, is rusticating in Scotland, and busily engaged upon the concluding volumes of his "History of Frederick the Second, called Frederick the Great," whereof the first portion was last year published--in London, by Chapman & Hall; in New York, by Harper & Brothers.-- From a letter now before us, we learn that Mr. Carlyle is at Aberdour, on the Frith of Forth, in that part of the East of Scotland called the "Kingdom of Fife."-- The envelope has the address "S. A. Allibone, Esq., Book-writer, &c., Philadelphia, U. S. The letter is as follows:

ABERDOUR, FIFE, (for Chelsea } London,) July 18, 1859. } Sir:--A good while ago, I am ashamed to acknowledge my neglect by saying so, but it was not intentional, nor is it quite without excuse, your massive impressive volume, "Allibone's Dictionary of English Literature and British and American Authors," was duly handed in at Chelsea; nor did I fail to look a little into it, though exceedingly busy then, and now. I can truly say the labour you have gone into (which appears to be faithfully done, wherever I can judge of it,) fills me with astonishment; and is indeed of an amount almost frightful to think of. There seems to be no doubt the book will be welcome to innumerable reading beings, and to tell them much that they wish to know; to me, the one fault was, that, like the Apostle Paul's sheet of Beasts, it took in "the clean and the unclean," and thereby became of such unmanageable bulk, to say no more. Readers are not yet aware of the fact, but it is of daily increasing magnitude, and already of terrible importance to readers, that their first grand necessity in reading is to be vigilantly, conscientiously select, and to know everywhere that books, like human souls, are actually divided into what we may call "sheep and goats,"--the latter put inexorably on the left hand of the Judge; and sending every goat of them, at all moments, whither we know, and much to be avoided, and if possible ignored, by all sane creatures! This is candidly my verdict; and I regret to think you cannot well like it; nor, as you perceive, had I any wish to produce it, till summoned. With many respects and acknowledgments, Yours, sincerely, T. CARLYLE. S. A. ALLIBONE, Esq., &c., &c., Philadelphia. The book in question is based upon the principle of giving some information about every person who has committed British or American authorship. Of some mere mention is enough. Thus Mr. Carlyle obtains a biographical and critical notice to the extent of a page in Allibone's Dictionary, (equal to five ordinary 8vo. pages,) while next to him is another Thomas Carlyle, described in two lines, as of the Scottish bar, and author of "The Moral Phenomena of Germany," of which a second edition, enlarged, was published in London.-- Philadelphia Press. ------------------------------------------ COMPARATIVE LONGEVITY.--In the French Revue Encyclopedique are some interesting statements on longevity, and the proportions of deaths to the population, in the different countries of Europe. According to the data here presented, the duration and value of human life varies much between one European nation and another. The British islands, and especially Scotland, appear to be favourable to the life of man; in a million of inhabitants, the annual deaths are somewhat more than eighteen thousand. Sweden and Norway are also salubrious climates; there are only two deaths in that part of Europe for three in the southern countries. In Denmark and the Greater part of Germany, the proportion is about the same. Russia and Poland, where the mass of the inhabitants may be said to have scarcely the necessaries of life, are astonishingly favourable to the continuation of existence; the population lives, on an average, half as long again as the Italians, and exactly twice as long as the inhabitants of Vienna. The mean rate of mortality is in Switzerland, in the provinces of the Austrian empire in Spain, in which countries the annual deaths are about one in every forty. France, Holland, Belgium and Prussia do not vary much from the same proportion. In other parts of Europe, the deaths are one in thirty, and often more in the countries that border on the Mediterranean. ------------------------------------------ G. P. R. JAMES, Esq.--The Richmond News says:--"We hear that G. P. R. James, Esq., has determined to leave Venice and return to Virginia, for the purpose of making it his permanent residence.-- Whether this is correct or not, we are unable to say; but, in the event of its being true, the time of his arrival here, and the pleasure of having him with us again, will be looked forward to by all with the greatest felicity and gratification." ------------------------------------------ SINGULAR ORNAMENT. A brooch worn by the Countess of K------- has recently been the subject of comment among the eminent company of Polish nobility, who are now exiles in Paris.-- Encircled by twenty brilliants upon a dark blue ground of lapis lazuli, and protected by a glass in front, may be seen--what? A pourtrait? A lock of hair? No, neither the one nor the other, but only four bent pins wrought together in the form of a star. The history of this singular ornament is contained in the following communication: "The Count K------- was, some years ago, in his own country, suspected of being too much inclined to politics, and was, consequently, one night, without examination or further inquiry, torn from the bosom of his family by police officers, conveyed to a fortress in the distant part of the country, and thrown into a damp, dark dungeon. Days, weeks, months passed away without his being brought to trial. The unhappy man saw himself robbed of every succour. In the stillness of death and darkness of the grave, he felt not only his strength failing him, but also his mind wandering. An unspeakable anguish took hold of him. He, who feared not to appear before his judges, now trembled before himself. Conscious of his danger, he endeavoured to find something to relieve himself from the double misery of idleness and loneliness, and thus preserve him from a terrible insanity. Four pins, which accidentally happened to be in his coat, had fortunately escaped the notice of his jailor. Those were to be the means of deliverance to his spirit. He threw the pins upon the earth--which alone was the floor of his gloomy dungeon--and then employed himself in seeking for them in the darkness. When, after a tiresome serach, he succeded in finding them, he threw them down anew; and so, again and again did he renew his voluntary task. All the day long, sitting, lying, or kneeling, he groped about with his hands until he had found the pins which he had intentionally scattered. This fearful, yet beneficial, recreation continued for six years. Then, at last, a great political event opened suddenly the doors of his prison. The Count had just scattered his pins; but he would not leave his cell without taking with him his little instruments of his own preservation from despair and madness. He soon found them, for now the clear bright light of day beamed in through the doorway of his dungeon. As the Count related this sad story to the Countess, she seized the pins with holy eagerness. Those crooked yellow brass pins, which, during six fearful years, had been scattered and gathered alternately, were become to her as precious relics; and now, set in a frame of brilliants, worth £400, as a treasure of much greater value, she wears them on her bosom.--Court Journal. ------------------------------------------ BETHLEHEM. The birthplace of the Saviour is associated with the tenderest recollections of the founder of the Christian faith. The town stands on a hill and presents a fine appearance from a distance; but an entrance soon convinces one that it is but little better than other oriental towns. The church and monastery covering the Cave of the Nativity, are very imposing; and the interior contains much to boast of, among which is a double row of elegant Corinthian pillars. The Cave of the Nativity is lighted by thirty lamps, which burn day and night, blinding the eye with their brilliancy, which, together with their reflection in the polished surfaces of the marble walls, completely bewilder one on first entering.-- The altars are continually wreathed with fragrant, freshly gathered flowers; and a silver star, inserted in the floor, marks, it is said, the exact spot of our Saviour's birth. This may not be the true manger alleged, but at any rate it cannot be very far off. We therefore satisfy ourselves with the belief that we are at least near the spot over which the star appeared, announcing the birth of the Messiah. In rapid succession, its incidents crowd upon the memory--the appearance of the star to a company of shepherds watching their flocks by night on these plains, and also to the wise men who go to Bethlehem to worship the babe, and pour out their offerings of gold, frankincense, and myrrh--the unavailing efforts of Herod to destroy the child--and the flight of Mary and Joseph with their precious charge into Egypt. ------------------------------------------ THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH CABLE.--The cause of the failure of this cable has at length been discovered. It has been ascertained that the gutta percha used to insulate the interior wires, is only calculated to bear a heat of 90 degreess. When the first cable was made, it was coiled in a yard having a southern exposure, and subjected for several days to an extraordinary heat, the thermometer ranging at 94 degrees in the shade--the heat on the cable, from the sun's rays, being at least 130 degrees. The consequence was that the gutta percha was softened, and the internal copper wires worked through and came in contact with the external iron wire, and when the water penetrated to the internal core communication ceased. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

140 THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE TOAD AT HIS REPAST. ----- Few of our readers, most probably, have ever observed the toad at his repast. It is performed with electric rapidity, and with more than telegrammic precision. The tongue is doubled back upon itself, and is tipped with a glutinous secretion. The moment the beetle comes within range, the tongue is shot forth with an unerring aim, and quick as lightning the captive is withdrawn. They are invaluable in a garden. M. Jesse, in his gleanings, complains of gardeners destroying them, of savagely cutting them in two with their spades. We hope not.-- Horticulturists of such "gross ignorance," ought themselves to be extirpated. The beauty and vigour of our flower-border we have long ascribed, in a measure, to a select family of toads, which we tenderly protect, and some of which have now reached a patriarchal age. M. Jesse mentions that Mr. Knight, the eminent Nurseryman, keeps a great number of toads in his stoves, for the purpose of destroying the wood-lice that infect his plants, and that they do not seem at all affected by the heat, even when it reaches 130 degrees. We are surprised at this latter statement, which does not agree with our observation. We have observed that the toad in very hot weather seeks shelter under foliage, or buries himself amongst the soft mould. In the evening he emerges from his concealment, and no doubt then employs his protusile tongue. Mr. Buckland mentions a curious use of toads. They are employed as insect traps. A brigade of marauding toads are conducted into the garden in the evening. They make a famous supper; but in the morning their entomological employer, by a gentle squeeze, compels them to disgorge their evening meal, "and in this way many curious and rare specimens of rare and minute nocturnal insects have been obtained." "There is just now," says Dr. Buckland, "a plague of ants in many of the London houses, which defy extermination. I strongly recommend those who are troubled with those plagues to try whether a toad or two won't help them." Most certainly. They clean melon frames of these insects, and why should they not perform the same friendly office in the drawing-rooms of London citizens? Nothing but prejudice can prevent the adoption of the excellent suggestion. And yet the prejudice exists, and they are a loathed species. Toads from time immemorial, have been persecuted by schoolboys, and you cannot wander through a village on a Summer day without seeing defunct and flattened specimens of these unoffending creatures. Innocent of literature, it would be tracing the cruelty of the urchins to too high a source to ascribe it to the "ugly and venomous" toad of Shakspeare, or yet the more odious imagery of Milton. And yet from the erroneous natural history of the two great national poets the idea may have originated, and thus been handed down from one race of school-boys to another.--Blackwood. ------------------------------------------ EXTRAORDINARY CASE OF SOMNAMBULISM.--An English paper, the Stamford Mercury, narrates the following singular incident: "An extraordinary instance of somnambulism occurred in Stamford shortly after midnight on Monday last. About one o'clock Sergeant Harrison, while on duty at the lock-up, observed a person clothed in white walking toward St. Paul street. Supposing it to be some one who had assumed a disguise for the purpose of playing a joke, he walked up to the individual, whom he found to be the wife of Mr. Olive, cabinet maker, having nothing on but her night dress. She was walking about with her eyes wide open, apparantly awake, but in reality in a state of perfect somnambulism. She was taken to her home, which was close at hand, and her husband aroused, by whom she was placed in bed. It appears that she got up, unlocked the front door, and went into the street without either disturbing her husband or arousing herself; nor was she conscious of what had taken place when she awoke in the morning. But the most remarkable feature in the case is, that, although she had been unable to walk without crutches or assistance for the last year or two, she was, when discovered, walking as well as any other person, and without either the support of a wall or a crutch." ------------------------------------------ NIAGARA.--For many days I lingered in the purlieus of Niagara. I often walked from the Suspension Bridge along the Canadian shore, getting at every turn a new glimpse of loveliness; and on other occasions have sat for hours on Prospect Tower, with no companions but a favourite book and the eternal music of the Falls. In storm, in shine, in moonlight, and in mist--in all weathers and at all hours--I have feasted on the beauty and tranquillity of the scene; for, as soon as the ear becomes accustomed to the roar of the waters, they descend with a lulling and soothing sound. And when I was compelled to take my farewell look, and travel to new regions, I repeated to myself, neither for the first time nor the last time, "I have lived, and loved, and seen Niagara."--Ib. ------------------------------------------ From Meek's "Songs of the South."

THE MOTHERS OF THE SOUTH. ----- The Mothers of the South! In the lurid morn of battle, When from the cannon's mouth Came the thunder's deadly rattle-- Their fair and fragile forms Shrank not, in terror, from us, But--rainbows on the storms-- Still gave us freedom's promise! Then pledge to-night their memories bright, Our noble Southern mothers! Who, in the strife,--maid, matron, wife,-- Stood by their sons and brothers!

On Camden's fatal plain, At Eutaw and Savannah, The star of freedom's train Was beauty's woven banner! Throughout the night of woe, The flag was still resplendent, And many a son fell low To keep its folds ascendant! Then pledge to-night their memories bright, Our noble Southern mothers! Who, in the strife,--maid, matron, wife,-- Stood by their sons and brothers!

Oh, yes! we'll keep their names Embalmed in song and story, Those iron-hearted dames Who cradled freedom's glory; And should the strife of war E'er tinge again our waters. We'll find, our hearts to cheer, Those matrons in their daughters! Then pledge to-night their memories bright, Our noble Southern mothers! Who, in the strife,--maid, matron, wife,-- Stood by their sons and brothers! ------------------------------------------ JAPAN LEGERDEMAIN. ----- He threw up the sleeves of his dress, and showed a piece of some tissue paper, which he held in his hand. It was about six inches square, and by dexterous and delicate manipulation he formed it into a very good imitation of a butterfly, the wings being extended, and at the most each was one inch across. Holding the butterfly out in the palm of his hand, to show what it was, he placed the two candles which were beside him in such a position as to allow him to wave a fan rapidly without affecting the flame, and then, by gentle motion of his fan over the paper insect, he proceeded to set it in motion. A counter-draught of air from some quarter interfered with his efforts, and made the butterly truant to his will, and the screen had to moved a little to remedy this. He then threw the paper butterfly up in the air, and gradually it seemed to acquire life from the action of his fan--now wheeling and dipping toward it, now tripping along its edge, then hovering over it, as we may see a butterly do over a flower, on a fine Summer's day, then in wantonness wheeling away, and again returning to alight, the wings quivering with nervous restlessness. One could have declared it was a live creature. Now it flew off to the light and then the conjuror recalled it, and presently supplied a mate in the shape of another butterfly, and together they rose, and played about the old man's fan, varying their attentions between flirting with one another and fluttering along the edges of the fan. We repeatedly saw one on each side of it as he held it nearly vertically, and gave the fan a short quick motion; then one butterfly would pass over to the over, both would wheel away as if in play and again return. A plant with some flowers stood in a pot near at hand, by gentle movements of the fan the pretty little creatures were led up to it, and then their delight, how they played about the leaves, sipped the flowers, kissed each other, and whisked off again with the airs and graces of real butterflies! The audience was in ecstasies, and young and old clapped their hands with delight. The exhibition ended when the old man advanced to the front of the stage, within arms length of us all, accompanied by his magic butterflies, that even in the open air continued to play round the magician and his fan. As a feat of legerdemain it was by far the most beautiful trick we had ever heard of, and one that must require an immense amount of practice.--Blackwood's Magazine. ------------------------------------------ ROYALTY IN A RAZOR.--Mr. Rogers records an interesting bit of dialogue between himself and Prince Talleyrand: Rogers.--Did Napoleon shave himself? Talleyrand.--Always; though he was long about it-- shaving a little and then conversing, if anybody was with him. A king by birth, said he, smiling, is shaved by another. He who makes himself roi, shaves himself. ------------------------------------------ BROADWAY. ----- Sydney Smith's assertion of the inferiority of Broadway to Bond-street, is ludicrously untrue at the present time. Bond-street! quotha? Bond-street is no more to be compared to Broadway for beauty, extent, life, bsutle, and wealth, than a dingy old farthing of the reign of George III. to a bright new sovereign of the days of Queen Victoria. There is no street in London that can be declared superior, or even equal, all things considered, to Broadway. It is a street sui generis, combining in itself the characteristics of the Boulevard des Italiens at Paris, and of Cheapside or Fleet-street in London, with here and there a dash of Whitechapel or the Minories, and here and there a dash of Liverpool and Dublin. It is longer, more crowded, and fuller of the find buildings than the Boulevard des Italiens; it is as bustling as Cheapside; and, more than all, it has a sky above it as bright the sky of Venice. Its aspect is thoroughly Parisian. Were it not for the old familiar names of Smith, Jones, and Brown over the doors of the stores and warehouses, and the English placards and advertisements that everywhere meet the eye, the stranger might fancy himself under the maximized government and iron grip of Napoleon III.

ITS BUILDINGS. Were there anything like uniformity in the design of its long lines of buildings, Broadway would be one of the three or four most magnificent streets in the world.-- Even without any general design--for each man builds exactly as he pleases--the street, in its details, surpasses any single street that England or the British Isles can shew. From the Battery, facing the sea, where Broadway has a very ignoble commencement, to Trinity Church, there is nothing remarkable about it; but from Trinity Church, of brown stone, with its elegant spire, to Grace Church, built entirely of white marble, a distance in a straight line of nearly three miles, and thence on to Union Square, and the statue of Washington, Broadway offers one grand succession of commercial palaces. Formerly--and perhaps when Sydney Smith wrote--the houses were for the most part of brick, gayly coloured, with here and there a house of brown stone or granite. [ Mackay's Life and Liberty in America. From Dr. Arnold's Ishmael. ------------------------------------------ DESCRIPTION OF MOHAMMED. ----- MOHAMMED is said to have been of middle stature; to have had a large head, strong beard, round face, and reddish-brown cheeks. His biographers state that his forehead was high, his mouth wide, his nose long and somewhat of an aquiline shape; that he had large black eyes; that a vein which extended from his forehead to his eyebrows, enlarged when excited by anger; that his splendidly white teeth stood far apart; and upon his lower lip was a small mole. His hair, hanging over his shoulders, retained its dark colour to the day of his death; he sometimes dyed it brown, but more frequently applied to it odoriferous oils. It was only at his last pilgrimage that he had his head shaven. He trimmed his moustache and his finger-nails every Friday before prayer. His neck, it is said, "rose like a silver bar upon his broad chest." Between his shoulders he had a large mole, which was looked upon as the prophetic seal. A physician once wishing to remove it, Mohammed objected, saying, "He who made it shall also heal it." His hands and feet were very large, yet his step was so light as "to leave no mark on the sand." Mohammed spoke but little, yet occasionally permitted himself a joke. A woman once came to him, saying, "My husband is ill, and begs thee to visit him;" upon which he inquired, "Has not thy husband something white in his eye?" She returned in order to examine it. On her husband asking what she was doing, she replied, "I must see whether you have anything white in your eye, for the Apostle of God asked the question." Her husband at once recognized the joke, convinced her that this was common to all eyes. On one occasion, when an old woman conjured him to pray for her that she might ender paradise, he replied, "No old woman dares enter paradise!" As she began to weep, he reminded her of the verse in the Koran which declares that perpetual youth will be restored to women. The Arab prophet was compassionate towards animals, and would wipe down his horse, when it perspired, with his sleeve; but this was nothing extraordinary among his countrymen. His cat was lifted up to share his own dish; and a white cock which he had, he called his friend, considering him a protection against devils, genii, witchcraft, and the evil eye! ------------------------------------------ MADAME RISTORI.--The New York Times learns that it is the intention of this celebrated artiste to visit the United States for the purpose of giving a series of dramatic Matinees--we presume readings from French daramatists, which, we predict, will not be a good speculation on this side of the Atlantic.--Chas. Ev. News. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. 141 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Courant. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ COLUMBIA, S. C., THURSDAY, SEPT. 1, 1859. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE COURANT. Subscriptions for the Courant will be received at the Bookstore of Mr. P. B. GLASS, in this City, where single copies can be obtained every week. The following gentlemen have been appointed Traveling Agents for the Courant: G. W. MEETZE, JAS. S. BALLEW, THOS. P. WALKER, W. THOS. WILKES. W. C. WINN. Mr. MEETZE will visit Lexington and Edgefield Districts, Mr. BALLEW, Laurens and Newberry, Mr. WILKES, Chester, Mr. WALKER, Richland, and Mr. WINN, Abbeville, and adjoining Districts--during the present month. We cordially recommend these gentlemen to the kind attentions and courtesies of our friends. WM. W. WALKER, JR., & CO. ------------------------------------------ PICTORIAL SHEETS. Admirable reading and entertainment for a summer's warm afternoon are "Harper's," "Frank Leslie's," and "Ballou's." Mr. GLASS, who sends us copies, has them always, and punctually, on hand. Go and get them. ------------------------------------------ "THE ENTERPRISE," Published at Greenville C. H., S. C., by Messrs. PRICE & McJUNKIN, comes to us the present week bearing the marks of its usual excellence and worth. We commend it to business men and others as a valuable upcountry advertising medium, etc., meantime that it is in other respects a journal deserving of patronage and support. Subscription: $2.00 a year, in advance. ------------------------------------------ PERSONAL. We find the following items in the "personal" column of the Home Journal: ON DIT.--Betsy Blake, one of the most gifted and accomplished women of the day, is writing a novel for the Home Journal. Madame Le Vert has her new book nearly ready for press.-- Five large editions of her "Souvenirs of Travel" have been sold. William Cullen Bryant has been passing a few days with Mr. Bancroft, the historian, at the cottage of the latter, in Newport. Howard H. Caldwell, the Southern poet, and editor of the Courant, the literary journal of Columbia, South Carolina, has been stopping at the Metropolitan. M. Thiers is now staying at the country house of a friend, near Charleroi, for the purpose of collecting materials for an account of the battle of Waterloo in his next number of the Consulate and Empire. ------------------------------------------ EDITORIAL CORRESPONDENCE. ----- NEW YORK, Aug. 20, 1859. Dear Courant: Since I wrote last I have been pursuing my observations with the usual interest. The weather has been dry, clear, and altogether just as such as makes one feel that he must go out into the street. You are doubtless aware that the "Season" has not yet commenced. No Opera yet, to my sorrow; although there is quite enough of that style of singing and playing at the "fashionable" Churches. (Oh, fishermen of Galilee! what would ye have thought of such a phrase, if by any prolepsis it could have been even whispered in your hearing?) Last Sunday we heard a regular Operatic Concert, and again on Monday (Feast of the Assumption) we heard another. The music was magnificent, perfect, delightful--anything that it ought to have been except the first and indispensable requisite; that it ought to be Church music, and not a selection of grand Opera airs, choruses and "instrumental astonishers, (as FISCHE SCHELLEY says.) There was no devotion in one bar of the whole concert. Oh, how I longed for even one solemn Gregorian cadence! I see by the Charleston Mercury, of the 12th, that the New York correspondent of that paper announces for my friend DAVIDSON and for me, a forth-coming volume of poetry, apiece. We had not heard of any such thing before. The "Richmond Greys" are here on a military visit. They are making a great deal of noise in this noisy city. Last night they had a grand dinner at this Hotel, (Metropolitan,) and behaved as badly as the custom requires, to wit: shouting and screaming terribly, until the "wee sma' hours ayont the twal." After Governor WISE's famous exposè of Chevalier CASSIDY and the Albany regency, it seems a little queer that all this city works so hard to do a Virginia company due honour; particularly when we consider that the New Yorkers are not famous for hospitality. The adherents of the Albany-junto, however, have sense enough not to speak of the offending Governor before the warm-blooded Virginians, and thus far all "goes on bravely." The chief excitement just now seems to be in religious way. Dr. BELLOWS, the great Unitarian, having set on foot a very queer movement. His intentions seem to be to get up an Unitarian-Latin-Greek-English-Church; that is to say, a mixture of these four. The preparation of the Ritual seems to be the only thing which now delays them in promulgating their scheme in all its fullness. Dr. BELLOWS is followed by a large number of the Unitarian Church: not, however, by Dr. OSGOOD or Dr. FROTHINGAM, as at first reported. It is now certain that this "Board-Church" is to teach very little of the fundamental doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church--as the Trinity, works, absolving power, &c., but it will imitate its pomp and ceremony, and many of the externals of private devotion; as for example, the use of the Rosary. Dr. BELLOWS defends this practice, and "says his beads" regularly, it is said here. However, nothing very definite is yet known. To me, his "Suspense of Faith," just published by C. S. FRANCIS, of this city, and contained in full, in last weeks' "Century," is the most contradictory jumble of ultra Unitarianism, sacramentalism and formalism that I ever saw. He denies his own grounds, contradicts his own reasoning, and altogether leaves the reader quite as wise as he was before he read the sermon. There was no little excitement created by the rumors of a "New York Mortara Case," as the Herald called it. It seems that an Irish woman lost her child; passing by the residence of Rev. Dr. CUMMINGS one day, she says she saw the child at the window--per contra, Dr. CUMMINGS and all of his household aver that they never saw the child in their lives, and that they have had nothing to do with his abduction. I suppose that the case will drag along for several weeks, and then, as nothing definite can be established, it will fall through. Dr. CUMMINGS enjoys justly a very high reputation in this city for learning and ability. He is the Pastor of St. Stephen's--a large and "fashionable" congregation. Doubtless, your readers are aware that the journals of this city are making great noise in the way of frantic political articles in every imaginable phase of wire-pulling, but especially in reference to the next Presidency, the Charleston Convention, &c., &c. The Herald, with all the other corrupt journals of the city, are making up for lost time--the entire inside sometimes being taken up with articles on the political news. Even my friend McMASTER of the Freeman's Journal, finds abundant room for the expression of his preferences for Judge DOUGLAS. Mr. McMASTER is certainly a man of great ability, and defends his position well, but "we" sincerely hope that his wishes in this respect may be disappointed. I had intended to speak of the Fine Arts, Aspinwall's Murillo's "Immaculate Conception," and his other valuable paintings, Belmont's, the Dusseldorf, &c., &c., but we are taking up too much space already. En passant, let me say that there are many Carolinians here, and of them and the fine arts we shall discourse in our next. Yours, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF. ------------------------------------------ LITERARY NOTICES. ----- THE TRUE AND THE FALSE: FOUR IDYLLS OF THE KING. By Alfred Tennyson, D. C. L., Poet Laureate. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. MDCCCLIX.

Few of us there be who remember not our first acquaintance with the all-famed King Arthur and his Kights of the Round Table--with the recollection of the same is connected many a pleasant memory and association, which we would not, if we could, forget--our childhood-years with all their host of bright dreams and sunny hours, now alas! melting away, perhaps, forever, into the shadows of the past, rise up before us when we hear mentioned the illustrious names of King Arthur and his valiant Knights. Their names are blended also with the reminiscences of later years--for who recals not the delight, with which, when a youth, he pored over the pages of Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry? To all of us therefore--and we fain would hope that no heart has so far lost the freshness of its spring-time as to be incapable of appreciating it--this present volume of Tennyson comes every way welcome: the arch-enenchanter brings back our youth once more, and more than this, leads us captive amidst the rainbows and the flowers of faëryrealm. The semi-mythic traditions, then, of King Arthur and of the Knights of the Round Table have afforded themes for these "Four Idylls of the King." Investing with all the accessories of romance the incidents of an uncultured age, and keeping in the back-ground every harsher feature that would mar the effect, he has presented us with a picture of man's heart-nature, refined and true, even amid barbarism. Whatever be the progress of the human race in some respects, the heart is always the same, aye, from the æra of creation downwards, influenced and swayed by the identical hopes and fears, loves and hates, nobility and frailty, as were our forefathers; and with wondrous fidelity has Tennyson shown it in every word, in every sentence, in every verse. As to artistic merit, the "Idylls" are fully equal, if not superior, to "The Princess:"--the verse is melodious--nay, absolutely, musical--and charmingly unaffected. In the narrative, Tennyson has aimed at, and attained, a simplicity rivalling Homer, which must delight and enrapture the reader. The "Idylls" are "Enid," "Vivien," "Elaine," and "Guinevere." The first and second rank under the head of "The True"--the third and fourth under that of "The False." In each is displayed a high dramatic power, yet most successfully, perhaps, in "Elaine" and "Guinevere;" while in all, we meet with the same deep poetic subtlety and dainty nicety of expression which characterize the other works of the Laureate. Of extracts we could give many; though are at a loss what to give--where each would be but the counterpart of the other in its varied beauty and its felicity. It is superfluous, nay, impertinent, at this late day, to laud Tennyson's word-painting --here, his ability is undoubted, and of it, he has yielded ample proof in the "Idylls." To all we would say, procure the book at an early day, for you know not of how much enjoyment you deprive yourselves, what time you delay to do so. "Elaine," we take it, will prove the most popular with, and in so far, acceptable "Idyll," to, the general reader. From it alone can we make excerpts, being constrained from want of space to do more. Here is the opening:

"Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, High in her chamber up a tower to the East, Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot; Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam; Then fearing rust or soilure, fashioned for it A case of silk, and braided thereupon All the devices blazoned on the shield In their own tinet and added, of her wit, A border fantasy of branch and flower, And yellow-throated nestling in the nest. Nor rested thus content, but day by day Leaving her household and good father, climbed That eastern tower, and entering barred her door, Stript off the case, and read the naked shield, Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms, Now made a pretty history to herself Of every dint a sword had beaten in it, And every scratch a lance had made upon it, Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh; That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle; That at Caerleon; this at Camelot: And ah, God's mercy, what a stroke was there! And here a thrust that might have killed, but God, Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down, And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.

How came the lily maid by that good shield Of Lancelot, she that knew not ev'n his name? He left it with her, when he rode to tilt For the great diamond in the diamond jousts, Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.

Sir Lancelot, as all are aware, though high in the favour of the unsuspicious King Arthur, was a traitor, between whom and the Queen there existed a liaison. Travelling to the tournament of "the nine-years-fought-for-diamonds," he loses his way, and comes to the castle of Astolat, where he first sees Elaine, the only daughter of the house. This is Sir Lancelot's picture, with the effect it produced upon Elaine.

"He spoke and ceased; the lily maid Elaine, Won by the mellow voice before she looked, Lifter her eyes, and read his lineaments. The great and guilty love he bare the Queen, In battle with the love he bare his lord, Had marred his face, and marked it ere his time. Another sinning at such height, with one, The flower of all the West and all the world, Had been the sleeker for it; but in him His mood was often like a fiend, and rose And drove him into wastes and solitudes For agony, who was yet a living soul. Marred as he was, he seemed the goodliest man That ever among ladies ate in Hall, And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes. However marred, of more than twice her years, Seamed with an ancient sword-cut on the cheek, And bruised and bronzed, she lifted up her eyes And loved him with that love which was her doom."

On his departure for the field of tourney, Lavaine, one of the brothers of Elaine, accompanying him, she stole down the tower-stairs, excusing herself to herself, to have a farewell look at the valiant Lancelot.

"There to his proud horse Lancelot turned, and smoothed The glossy shoulder, humming to himself. Half envious of the flattering hand, she drew Nearer and stood. He looked, and more amazed Than if seven men had set upon him, saw The maiden standing in the dewy light. He had not dreamed she was so beautiful. Then came on him a sort of sacred fear, For silent, though he greeted her, she stood Rapt on his face as if it were a god's. Suddenly flashed on her a wild desire, That he should wear her favour at the tilt. She braved a riotous heart in asking for it. "Fair lord, whose name I know not--noble it is, I well believe the noblest--will you wear My favour at this tourney?" "Nay," said he, "Fair lady, since I never yet have worn Favour of any lady in the lists. Such is my wont, as those, who know me, know." "Yea, so," she answered; "then in wearing mine Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord, That those who know should know you." And he turned Her counsel up and down within his mind, And found it true, and answered; "True, my child. Well, I will wear it: fetch it out to me: What is it?" and she told him, "A red sleeve Broidered with pearls," and brought it: then he bound Her token on his helmet, with a smile, Saying, "I never yet have done so much For any maiden living," and the blood Sprang to her face and filled her with delight; ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------