1859-09-15 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 15, 1859. NUMBER 20 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ For the Courant. TO F. H. E. ----- BY MONOS, JR. ----- Ah! news from home; the precious boon Comes like a breeze of dawn that blows When night is passed in fever's throes, In the light of a sickly moon:--

A breeze that bears upon its wings The perfume of undying flowers, Those memories of childhood's hours, The first and last of earthly things.

To him, indeed, who leaves his home To cast his lot in alien lands, These gentle messengers are bands That bind him for all time to come.

I gaze upon the page you sent, And straightaway clasp your hand in mine, Remember joys of "Auld Lang Syne," And shed the tears now too long pent.

Forget the while the hate and scorn Our parents gave us in their fall, While for a moment I recal The sea-shell memories of morn.

Sweet memories, though they make us sad, As one who dreams of those long gone, Awakes and finds himself alone, He weeps, but in his tears is glad.

You'll think it strange that one you knew So full of mirth in younger times, Should fill a page with solemn rhymes In thinking of his youth and you.

I wander in deserted rooms; My friends are fleeing from my face, And if I follow, I must trace A pathway bordered with their tombs.

The shouts that made the rafters ring Have died to echoes in the past; Our feasts and follies are at last But memories to which we cling.

Farewell! and if we meet again Before that meeting which WILL be, I pray in earnestness that we May stand once more as friend to friend. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A NOVELTY IN "SNOBDOM."--Among the novelties of snobbism is the four-horse team--a small open waggon on the principle of a trotting-waggon, is fitted up with two seats intended to hold four persons perched high up in the air, with a back to the seats four inches high, running all over with crinoline, holding two youngsters with cane-coloured beards, and short crop at that, with four horses (stage fashion) attached, and driven by said youngsters, may be seen daily on the Fifth Avenue and on the upper part of Broadway, New York. The horses are not matched in colour; the greater variety the better. Such is the ton style, and it will be all the rage. That term of contempt, a "one-horse team" and a "pair of bays," will be the symbol of lower life and lower tendom. ------------------------------------------ The London Star says:--The sale of Tennyson's last poem has been something enormous, indeed much beyond that of any of his previous publications, considering the short time that has elapsed since its publication. ------------------------------------------ Sir John Bowring, who was among the passengers unfortunately wrecked on baord the Alma in the Red Sea, lost by that disaster "a large portion of valuable MSS., with public documents." ------------------------------------------ THE SCULPTOR OF FLORENCE; OR, THE MYSTERIOUS PATRON. ----- A TALE OF ITALY. ----- "This is no mortal business."--SHAKSPERE.

THE setting sun tinted with his golden beams the bright vine leaves that clustered luxuriantly around the little window of the studio in which Giolio Arnolfo, the ablest sculptor in Florence, studied and practised those principles of art by means of which he hoped to gain, at last, that far distant and uncertain reward of genius--the admiration of posterity; and the valley by which Florence is surrounded, lighted by the gorgeous splendour, presented a scene so perfectly picturesque, that it had succeeded in withdrawing for a time Giulio's attention from the model which he was then about to finish; and his thoughts from that dearer object on which they were more frequently employed--his beloved Berta. While he gazed with the passionate intensity of an artist on the surrounding landscape glowing in the brilliancy of departing day, and on the distant hills, whose various heights and situations contributed, by the diversity of their colours, to complete the beauty of a scene calculated to inspire deep feelings of poetry and devotion, the hum of the busy city, the gentle murmur of the Arno meandering in its peaceful course, and the vesper chimes of the neighbouring churches and monasteries, plunged him into a deep and sorrowful reverie. He at length aroused himself. "It is indeed very beautiful, and yet I cannot gaze on it without sadness; something oppresses me, some undefinable feeling of sorrow mysteriously arises from this vast field of beauty, to weigh down my naturally buoyant spirits. Strange, that the contemplation of such magnificence should at once delight the eye by its brightness, and plunge the soul into despondency by the dark and hidden fancies which it gives rise to! But a truce to such folly; I must to Berta, if she miss her walk, I shall return ungladdened by her smiles and thanks, which outvalue all the fine feelings in Italy." So saying, he was about to leave the apartment, when the door opened and he was prevented by the entrance of a stranger. He was a man of noble appearance, who, by the dignity and refinement of his manners more than by his commanding figure and richness of apparel, impressed upon his beholders the conviction of his superior rank. Though somewhat past the prime of life, his step had not lost its elasticity, nor was the original vigour of his frame diminished; and his countenance, which bespoke a calm and philosophic endurance of the ills of this world, possessed at the same time an indescribable expression of power and benevolence, calculated to procure for him alternately fear and reverence. He was dressed in mourning, but the materials of his habit were of the most costly nature; and a diamond cross, which was suspended to a broad crimson riband round his neck, shone in mournful, though brilliant contrast to his otherwise sombre costume. Giulio, who first imagined that the interruption might have proceeded from the arrival of one of the many idlers who frequented the studios of the artists, apparently less for the purpose of purchasing than of retarding their productions, was about to protest against being detained, when he was arrested by the superior demeanour of his visitor, whose appearance seemed to promise the only recompense which could be made for delaying his visit to Berta--the probability of his becoming a patron, and one of rank and affluence. The stranger commenced the conversation: "Signor Arnolfo, though hitherto personally unknown to me, I am acquainted with you through your productions, more especially one that has established your claim to the character of an enlightened and accomplished artist." Arnolfo bowed--"I mean the Wounded Cupid in the collection of the Plazzo ------. Impressed with admiration of your abilities I have selected you as the artist by whom a sepulchral groupe, solemn in its design, and sad in its import, must be executed." "Must be-- there is little need of must be when both fame and gold are to be had for the trial," responded Arnolfo to himself; but his visitor proceeded. "The design is that of a youth mourning over the dead body of his betrothed--the figures are to be the size of life; the price five thousand crowns, and the time of completion this day twelvemonth. Any alterations you may suggest except as regards that point, I am not only willing but anxious to receive, but upon that I am determined--by this day next year the figures must be completed." "Plague on his must be," again muttered Arnolfo; then addressing the Stranger, said, "Signor, proud as I am of the task which you have been pleased to assign me, I am still more so from the consciousness of having obtained that distinction by the former exertion of my humble talents, and will endeavour to prove my sense of your kindness by the punctuality and zeal with which I will obey your behest." "I do not doubt it Signor Arnolfo, but as I leave Florence immediately, and shall not return till the twelvemonth is expired, pray give me your ideas upon the interesting work which I have proposed to you." "Willingly; and the more so, as I should prefer for a subject, should you concur with me, a lover watching his expiring mistress, for of two distressing ideas, an amiable and affectionate maiden sunk into a placid sleep, the type and harbinger of death, eagerly and attentively watched by an afflicted lover, in whose countenance is painted the horrible conflicts of anguish, hope and despair, is less heart-rending, than to see the pallid corse of all of earthly that he ever loved, gazed on by the chosen of her heart, with love for what is has been, and with horror at what it is-- cold, unfeeling clay, a tenant for the noisome grave, and food for the worms of earth. I am, perhaps, however, hazarding a conjecture on the arrangement of the groupe, which may not accord with the object to which it is intended to apply it when finished. Pray Signor, what may that be?" "Time will shew," replied the Stranger, "in the meanwhile let it be as you propose; there is but little difference between the glazed eye of the dying and the closed eye of the dead, yet slight as it is, the here and the hereafter wait upon the change, I will now show you my idea of the positions into which I think the figures should be thrown;"--so saying, he took up a crayon and hastily sketched upon the wall, a rough but masterly outline of the design. The spirit which pervaded this trifling performance increased the astonishment which seized the youthful artist when he remarked, that though every line was correct and ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

154 THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ expressive of the action of the groupe, the heads of both figures were wanting. "I fear me, Signor," said Arnolfo, "that my work will fall far short of what so great a master of the art could wish, yet spite of my fears I must acknowledge myself greatly obliged for this specimen of your skill, and for the study which it will save me; believe me, I do not mean to flatter you, but I feel that in embodying that idea, I shall produce a masterpiece." "Your commendation is flattering," replied the Stranger, "I had but intended to assist, not to dictate your management of the work." "Pardon me," continued Giulio, whose admiration and wonder increased as he contemplated the sketch; "pardon me, but I would fain know why one so talented has omitted the heads of the figures, surely you who have told the subjects by the headless trunks, have other reasons than fear of failure in the countenances for this omission." "Oh, there are many and good reasons for that, Signor Arnolfo, and perhaps none better than that I have improved upon the Grecian who veiled the face, whose passions he dared not attempt to paint, and so have left them entirely to the imagination of the spectator. But the evening is fast closing; are my terms such as you could wish?" Giulio, who was overwhelmed by his liberality, expressed himself in the warmest terms of gratitude, and promised that his wishes should be attended to in every respect. "Here, then, is thy reward, Signor Arnolfo, but remember thy task must be finished by this day twelvemonth: Fare thee well!" so saying, and having thrown a purse well filled with gold upon the table, the Stranger took his departure. The astonished Giulio immediately returned to the examination of the drawing on the wall, the beauty and truth of which plunged him into an ecstasy of admiration and delight. The more he gazed the greater was the wonder which it produced in him, but when at the highest pitch of enthusiastic excitement, he recollected the emphatic manner in which his new patron had insisted upon the design being completed by a certain time, his mysterious bearing, and the circumstance of his waiving all explanation of the purpose for which the statue was intended, he felt considerable repugnance to the undertaking, and would, if his visitor had not left him, have been inclined to throw aside the golden opportunity which presented itself, and to decline the newly offered patronage despite the liberal reward attendant upon his exertions. These circumstances contributed to allay the joy which he would otherwise have felt at the prospect of being shortly united to Berta, the possession of so large a sum removing the only obstacle to their union which existed; and though the sight of the purse, which remained untouched upon the table, excited pleasing and brilliant hopes within his breast, the events of the evening appeared so mysterious and unintelligible, that on the consideration of them he relapsed into the fit of melancholy from which he had scarcely roused himself at the entrance of his visitor, and which was renewed with increased force at his departure. But Giulio's was a restless and vacillating spirit; and by the time he had hastily cleared up his studio, arranged like a very lover his attire, and arrived at the dwelling of his Berta, he had shaken off the gloom which enveloped his mind, and was all light and air at the tidings he was about to communicate. Glad and joyous that night was the meeting of Giulio and Berta, for it was the first in which, with any wellfounded hope, they had deliberated upon plans of future happiness. The more than womanly mildness of Berta was shown in the deep-felt silence and grateful tears by whcih she evinced her delight and satisfaction at the brilliant prospect which opened before them; while Giulio, ever enthusiastic and impetuous, revelled amidst hastily formed schemes of future conduct, and visionary ideas of never ending enjoyment. Wild and incoherent were the fancies which floated before his heated imagination: now would he purchase a villa on the banks of the Arno, where the presence of his Berta should cheer and encourage him in his studies; and now he determined not to quit Florence, but enjoy with her the society to which he hoped his talents would introduce them; and as he hastily and impetuously expressed his quickly changing thoughts, the flash of his eye, the rapidity of his utterance, the very tone of his voice were so peculiar and expressive, that they seemed the result of that unearthly joy which old crones and dotards pronounce to be the infallible and fatal token of a doomed man. The hour of parting at length arrived, and though while at the side of Berta, the youthful sculptor felt loath to say--good-night; yet the farewell once uttered, he was all impatience to retrace his steps, and ere he sought his couch, to gaze once more upon the drawing of his new patron. Though he viwed it with increased admiration, envy gradually found an entrance into his bosom, and whispered him that his reputation might be tarnished if it were known that, instead of supporting the dignity of the artist and exercising his own imagination, he had consented to become a copyist by adopting the ideas of another. Actuated by these feelings, he was from that moment continually employed in designing and new modelling the subject, yet though the thought of executing it in the manner which he had promised became daily more insupportable, it seemed as if for want of being satisfied with any production of his own, he should at last be compelled to do so. His creative powers appeared suddenly to have abandoned him; his ideas, which once crowded upon him, seemed to have fled at the moment when their presence was most needed; and instead of, as they were wont, answering his beck in bright and airy throngs, they now rose slowly and laboriously before his exhausted fancy. Yet, in spite of the study and meditation which he had expended upon them, every fresh sketch seemed more faulty than its predecessor. This wanted expression, that wanted grace; in one the figures were too stiff, in another they were unskilfully arranged; in short, strive as he would, the original design remained unrivalled. Months passed away in this manner, and the commission of his patron, hitherto uncommenced, now appeared less likely than ever to be completed; for Berta, who had inherited from her mother a weak frame and delicate constitution, had latterly evinced alarming symptoms of a rapid consumption. This circumstance was fatal to Giulio's studies; he felt that he should not long possess her, and anxious to soothe her by his kindness, and alleviate her sufferings by his tenderness, he was unremitting in his attendance upon her, gratifying all her wishes and anticipating all her wants. It was at the close of a warm spring day, that Berta, reclining on a couch, was left to the care of her afflicted and desponding Giulio; a small lamp burning before an image of the Virgin shed a tremulous light over the apartment, and the cool gales of evening wafted through the veil-like curtains of the window, lulled her to that repose, which her exhausted state required, but which had been denied to her by the oppressive heat of the day. While Giulio gazed on the pale and faded cheek which had but a few weeks before seemed to him the roundest and rosiest that ever gladdened the eye of an admirer, his heart sunk within him, when he reflected in how few and quickly fleeting hours the frail and beauteous form, in whom all his happiness was centred, would perish like its rivals the sweet flowers of spring; and how that with her all his dream of joy would pass away, and leave him to a waking as replete with woe, as his visions had been with bliss. By such agonizing thoughts as these was his mind distracted and his whole frame agitated. His bosom swelled with the extremity of his grief, and the tears started to his eye-lids: still not one sigh had he power to breathe, not one tear could he shed to relieve his sufferings, and alleviate the distress. Care-worn and heart-broken, with the attention of a nurse and the affection of a husband, he bent over his exhausted Berta, whose mind wandering in her sleep to the recollection of those by-gone moments, when made happy by the assurance of requited affection, their hearts were exchanged, and vows of eternal constancy mutually plighted, she gained temporary strength from the excitement, and as she slept, exclaimed, with all the energy of fondness, "And will you always love me, Giulio?" What Giulio's sensations were when he heard that overwhelming evidence of affection few can tell; he felt as if at that moment the extremes of bliss and misery were centred in his breast; painful and terrible was the struggle which checked the involuntary expression of his feelings; a faintness came over him; stupor was rapidly overwhelming him, but the tears poured down his rugged cheeks--he wept--and in the midst of sorrow was comforted that the rest of the sleeper remained undisturbed. But the hour of his trial had not yet passed away; his mind, already tortured beyond the ordinary limits of human endurance, was destined to undergo still further suffering on the rack of blighted affection. While he yet wept and remained immovable through the weight of his affliction, his eyes wandered unconsciously around the apartment, and when they reached the wall whereon the shadows of himself and Berta were reflected, he was filled with horror at perceiving that the dark outline presented a surprising and fearful resemblance to the design of the Stranger. Great and terrible was the shock, which it gave to him, and the overpowering impression that the hand of Providence had guided the mysterious events of the last few months, rushed upon his mind and harrowed it. Horrified at this awful indication of his approaching destiny, consciousness gradually forsook him, and after a few moments spent in a struggle for mastery over his feelings, he fell senseless to the floor; and thus hastened the catastrophe which his distracted fancy had anticipated. The noise of his fall, which brought her brother Giacomo and the nurse into the chamber, likewise awakened Berta, and the sudden alarm which it occasioned her, brought on all the worst symptoms of her complaint to that degree that Giulio was necessarily left unheeded, while their attentions were directed to the assistance of Berta; but in vain. She was seized with a violent fit of coughing, and the exertion proved fatal to her; her frame, already attenuated by the rapid progress of the disease, could offer no furhter resistance, and the rupture of a blood-vessel placed her beyond the reach of mortal suffering. Wonderful are the ways of Providence, and the power of human nature. Giulio, whose grief had hitherto been most immoderate, and whose returning senses communicated to him fresh causes for indulging in it, bore without a tear this sudden bereavement, and he who a few hours before felt assured that nothing could afford him consolation under such an event, was able almost immediately to comfort and condole with her fond and unhappy brother. So true it is, that He who sendeth afflications will enable us to bear up against them, and will "temper the wind to the shorn lamb." It was a sad sight, when a band of maidens clothed in their funeral robes of white, bore the lamented Berta to her grave; and as they scattered flowers upon the coffin, many of the spectators wept and said, "Alas! death has cropped the sweetest flower in Florence." Giacomo loud in his grief, and exhausted by his continual lamentations, was obliged to lean for support upon the arm of Giulio, who proceeded with an undaunted step and an undimmed eye to the grave in which they were abou tto lay the remains of his betrothed. Many marvelled when they say his placid demeanour; but none believed it to result from indifference or want of feeling, and though they knew not the cause, they felt assured that a sufficient one existed. At the close of this imposing ceremony, Giulio returned to his studio, as if to banish all recollection of his misfortunes by the resumptions of his long neglected pursuits, upon which he apparently entered with an increased enthusiasm, seldom quitting his retirement but when forced by the summons of a friend, and carefully ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. 155 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ excluding from it all his accustomed visitors. A settled and gloomy melancholy appeared to possess him; and as his friends saw from time to time how thin and emaciated he became, they regretted that he gave himself up to such incessant application. Early and late was he employed: the noon-day passenger watched him as he passed, and the houseless wanderer was cheered by the rays of his midnight lamp. This was, however, a course which could not long continue; and it happened that Giacomo who was an accomplished painter, wishing to consult him upon a point of art, was surprised by Giulio's not attending to the signal which he had given to such friends as he desired to hold communion with. The signal was twice or thrice repeated, and with as little effect as before; Giacomo alarmed at the circumstance called loudly upon him to open the door. "Arnolfo, my dear friend, I wish to see you: pray answer me; if you are too busy, tell me when you will be at leisure, and I will come again." Still he received no reply. Fearful of the cause of this continued silence, he applied his shoulder to the door, and succeeded in bursting it open. What was his astonishment when he beheld Arnolfo, resting his head upon his hand, apparently asleep, before a splendid and newly finished monument! He attempted to rouse the artist, but the icy coldness of his hand told to the terrified Giacomo that Giulio Arnolfo, the sculptor, slept in death. At the foot of the monument, in which, though moddelled after a drawing on the wall of the apartment, Giacomo speedily recognized the figures of his sister and Giulio, lay the open tabets of the latter, and in the first leaf was written:

"To my dear Friend and Brother, Giacomo: By the love I bore towards your sister, by the esteem I bear towards yourself, I implore you to comply with the last wishes of your dying friend. Let me be laid in the same grave with my beloved Berta, and place over us the tomb which, thanks to the Blessed Virgin, I have lived to finish. As for the gold, the wages of death, expend it, I beseech you, in deeds of charity, and in masses for the souls of your ill-fated sister and friend. Fear not that its return will ever be demanded from you; he from whom I had it was no dweller upon earth. Farewell! as you would have my spirit rest in peace, obey my bidding. Farewell. G. A."

The doubts which Giacomo might otherwise have felt as to obeying the wishes of his friend, were, however, removed the evening before his interment. A stranger, enveloped in a large travelling cloak, knocked loudly at the door and inquired for Signor Arnolfo. Giacomo, irritated at the indecency of thus disturbing the house of mourning, hastened out with the intention of reprimanding the intruder, but was checked in finding, in answer to his questions, that he was the mysterious visitor whose commission had been attended with such fatal results. Giacomo accordingly explained to him the unfortunate circumstances which had attended his former visit, and begging that the tomb might be applied agreeably to the wishes of the artist, offered to return the purchase money to the stranger, who, seemingly shocked at the events which had taken place, declined receiving it, and expressed great anxiety that it might be disposed of as the deceased had specified; then bidding Giacomo, a kind, though hasty farewell, he took his departure, and was heard of no more. This monument, which was long visited for the beauty of its design and execution, and the interesting history connected with it, is, however, no longer in existence. In the year 17--, when the church in which it was placed was fired by lightning, it shared the fate of many noble memorials of the affection and skill of former times, which were then mingled with the dust they were intended to perpetuate: and in these pages remains the only record of The Sculptor of Florence and his Mysterious Patron. ------------------------------------------ Catharine de Medicis, when told Scaliger knew twenty languages, said, "That is twenty words for one idea. I would rather have twenty ideas for one word." ------------------------------------------ MARY STUART ACCORDING TO LAMARTINE. ----- If another Homer were to arise, and if the poet were to seek another Helen for the subject of a modern epic of war, religion and love, he would beyond all doubt find her in Mary Stuart, the most beautiful, the weakest, the most attractive, and most attracted of women, raising around her, by her irresistible fascinations, a whirlwind of love, ambition, and jealousy, in which her lovers become, each in his turn, the motive, the instrument, and the victim of a crime; leaving, like the Greek Helen, the arms of a murdered husband for those of his murderer; sowing the seeds of internecine, religious and foreign war at every step, and closing by a saintly death the life of a Clytemnestra; leaving behind her indistinct memories, exaggerated equally by Protestant and Catholic parties, the former interested in condemning her for all, the latter in absolving her from all, as if the same factions who had fought for her during her life had resolved to continue the combat after her death! Such was Mary Stuart. Mary's death resembled a martyrdom; her memory, which had been execrated alike by the Scottish Presbyterians and the English Protestants, was practically adopted by the Catholics as that of a saint. The passions were Mary's judges; therefore she was not fairly judged, nor will she ever be. Elizabeth having thus mercilessly sacrificed the life of her whom she had so long and so unjustly retained in hopeless captivity, now added the most flagrant duplicity to her cruelty. Denying, with many oaths, all intention of having her own warrant carried into execution, she attempted to throw the entire odium on those who in reality had acted as her blind and devoted agents. This policy of the English Queen was unsuccessful, however; posterity has with clear voice proclaimed her guilty of the blood of her royal sister, and the sanguinary stain will ever remain ineffaceable from the character of that otherwise great sovereign. If we regard Mary Stuart in the light of her charms, her talents, her magical influence over all men who approached her, she may be called the Sappho of the sixteenth century. All that was not love in her soul, was poetry; her verses, like those of Ronsard, her worshipper and teacher, possess a Greek softness combined with a quaint simplicity; they were written with tears, and even after the lapse of so many years, retain something of the warmth of her sighs. If we judge her by her life, she is the Scottish Semiramis; casting herself, before the eyes of all Europe, into the arms of the assassin of her husband, and thus giving to the people she had thrown into civil war a coronation of murder for a lesson of morality. Her direct and personal participation in the death of her young husband has been denied, and nothing in effect, except those suspected letters, proves that she actually and personally accomplished or permitted the crime; but that she had attracted the victim into the snare; that she had given Bothwell the right and the hope of succeeding to the throne after his death; that she had been the end, the means, and the alleged prize of the crime; finally, that she absolved the murderer by bestowing upon him her hand--no doubt can be entertained regarding these points. To provoke to murder, and then to absolve the perpetrator--is not this equivalent to guilt? In fine, if she be judged by her death--comparable in its majesty, its piety, and its courage, to the most heroic and the holiest sacrifices of the primitive martyrs-- the horror and aversion with which she had been regarded, change at last to pity, esteem, and admiration. As long as there was no expiation she remained a criminal; by expiation, she became a victim. In her history blood seems to be washed out by blood; the gulit of her former years flows as it were from her veins, with the crimson stream; we do not absolve, we sympathise; our pity is not absolution, but rather approaches to love; we try to find excuses for her conduct in the ferocious and dissolute manners of the age; in that education, depraved, sanguinary, and fanatical, which she received at the Court of the Valois; in her youth, her beauty, her love. ------------------------------------------ HAPSBURG.--This celebrated House, which has lately received such a severe shaking, is about to change its name. So much has it been subject to crosses and reverses lately--so much so taht its foundation is by no means so sound as it used to be--that for the future it is to be called "the House of Mishapsburg."--Punch. ------------------------------------------ IT is a beautiful custom in some Oriental lands to leave untouched the fruits that are shaken from the trees by the wind; these being regarded as sacred to the poor and the stranger. ------------------------------------------ THERE is but one kind of love, but there are a thousand different copies of it. ------------------------------------------ THE EXECUTION OF MARY STUART. ----- M. de Lamartine's latest literary manner is strikingly exemplified in his life of the Queen of Scots, written by him in English, and recently published in London. It is admirably romantic, and in no part more so than in this description of the execution: She arrived in the hall of death. Pale, but unflinching, she contemplated the dismal preparations. There lay the block and the axe. There stood the executioner and his assistant. All were clothed in mourning. On the floor was scattered the sawdust which was to soak her blood, and in a dark corner lay the bier which was to be her last prison. It was nine o'clock when the Queen appeared in the funeral hall. Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, and certain privileged persons, to the number of more than two hundred, were assembled. The hall was hung with black cloth; the scaffold, which was elevated about two feet and a half above the ground, was covered with black frieze of Lancaster; the arm-chair in which Mary was to sit, the foot-stool on which she was to kneel, the block on which her head was to be laid, were covered with black velvet. The Queen was clothed in mourning like the hall, and as the ensigns of punishment. Her black velvet robe, with its high collar and hanging sleeves, was bordered with ermine. Her mantle, lined with marten sable, was of satin, with pearl buttons, and a long train. A chain of sweet smelling beads, to which was attached a scapulary, and beneath that a golden cross, fell upon her bosom. Two rosaries were suspended to her girdle, and a long veil of white lace, which in some measure softened this costume of a widow and of a condemned criminal, was thrown around her. . . . . . . Arrived on the scaffold, Mary seated herself in the chair provided for her, with her face towards the spectators. The Dean of Peterborough, in ecclesiastical costume, sat on the right of the Queen, with a black velvet foot-stool before him. The Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury were seated like him on the right, but upon larger chairs. On the other side of the Queen stood the Sheriff Andrews, with white wand. In front of Mary were seen the executioner and his assistant, distinguishable by their vestments of black velvet, with red crape round the left arm. Behind the Queen's chair, ranged by the wall, wept her attendants and maidens. In the body of the hall, the nobles and citizens from the neighbouring counties were guarded by the musketeers of Sir Amyas Paulet and Sir Drew Drury. Beyond the balustrade was the bar of the tribunal. The sentence was read; the Queen protested against it in the name of royalty and of innocence, but accepted death for the sake of the faith. She then knelt down before the block, and the executioner proceeded to remove her veil. She repelled him by a gesture, and turning towards the Earls with a blush on her forehead, "I am not accustomed," she said, "to be undressed before so numerous a company, and by the hands of such grooms of the chamber." She then called Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth Curle, who took off her mantle, her veil, her chains, cross and scapulary. On their touching her robe, the Queen told them to unloose the corsage, and fold down her collar, so as to leave her neck bare for the axe. Her maidens weepingly yielded her these last services. Melvil and the three other attendants wept and lamented, and Mary placed her finger on her lips to signify that they should be silent. . . . . . She then arranged the handkerchief embroidered with thistles of gold, with which her eyes had been covered by Jane Kennedy. Thrice she kissed the crucifix, each time repeating, "Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit." She knelt anew, and leant her head on that blcok which was already scored with deep marks; and in this solemn attitude she again recited some verses from the Psalms. The executioner interrupted her at the third verse by a blow of the axe, but its trembling stroke only grazed her neck; she groaned slightly, and the second blow separated the head from the body. ------------------------------------------ NECROLOGY OF 1859.--This year will be as remarkable as was 1832 for the decease of a great number of eminent men. Already in six months we make the following record: Prof. Olmsted, astronomer; Dr. Abbott, antiquarian; Alexander Von Humboldt, philosopher; Wm. H. Prescott, historian; Dr. J. Nichols, divine; Dr. Abbot, do.; Councellor Phillips, orator; Joseph Sturge, philanthropist; Henry Hallam, historian; Robert Walsh, literature; Thomas K. Harvey, poet; Dr. Kendall, divine; Mrs. Jane E. Locke, poet; Lady Morgan, literature; Madame Bosio, singer; Chas. Leslie, painter; Dr. Bailey, editor; Prince Metternich, statesman; Sir Jamsetsee Jeejeebhoy, East India philanthropist; Rufus Choate, lawyer; Hon. Richard Rush. [New York Evangelist. ------------------------------------------ EVERY anniversary of a birthday is the dispelling of a dream.--Zschokke. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

156 THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ We are happy to afford our readers a correct copy of "The Mocking Bird," by the well-known and talented JUDGE MEEK, of Alabama:

THE MOCKING BIRD ----- From the vale, what music ringing, Fills the bosom of hte night, On the sense, entrancèd flinging Spells of witchery and delight! O'er magnolia, lime and cedar, From yon locust top it swells, Like the chaunt of serenader, Or the rhyme of silver bells! Listen! dearest, listen to it! Sweeter sounds were never heard; 'Tis the song of that wild poet-- Mime and minstrel--Mocking Bird.

See him, swinging in his glory, On yon topmost bending limb, Carolling his amorous story, Like some wild crusader's hymn! Now it faints in tones delicious As the first low voice of love! Now it breaks in swells capricious, All the moonlight vale above1 Listen! dearest, etc.

Why is't thus, the sylvan Petrarch Pours all night his serenade? 'Tis for some proud woodland Laura, His sad sonnets all are made; But he changes now his measure-- Gladness bubbling from his mouth-- Jest, and gibe, and mimic pleasure-- Winged Anacreon of the South! Listen! dearest, etc.

Bird of music, wit and gladness, Troubadour of sunny climes, Disenchaunter of all sadness-- Would thine art were in my rhymes, O'er the heart that's beating by me, I would weave a spell divine; Is ther eaught she could deny me, Drinking in such strains as thine? Listen! dearest, etc. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Literary and other News. ----- MRS. HENRY C. KING, of Charleston, has a new novel just out from the press of Derby & Jackson, entitled "Silvia's Word."

M. HORACE VERNET has returned to Paris from Italy, with materials for some magnificent tableaux of recent events.

MOSES D. PHILLIPS, of the well-known book-publishing firm of Phillips, Sampson & Co., of Boston, died recently in that city.

FREDERIC S. COZZENS, in his "Wine Press," for August, tells an amusing story about "Little Tom Fortune," which is worth reading.

CHARLES DICKENS has given mortal offence to the Dublin people, by publishing an article in his new serial, entitled "Her Majesty's Irish Mail."

ALI KHAN, embassador from Persia to Paris and London, has arrived in Paris with twenty-five young men, who are come to France to be educated.

MR. ALFRED TENNYSON and Mr. Tom Taylor are announced as contemplating a departure to this country.

MR. BAYLE ST. JOHN, the well-known author, died August 1st.

HENRY L. FLASH, of Mobile, has written two pretty poems, which have been set to music by Schlesinger. The one entitled "What the Cricket Sang," is dedicated to Miss K. M., of New Orleans, and the other, "She was Fairer than the Blossoms," to "Violetta," of Mobile.

HENRY MORFORD, editorially connected with the New York Leader, is about to give the literary world, through the publishing house of H. Dexter & Co., a beautiful volume of poems, entitled "Rhymes of Twenty Years," illustrated with a fine portrait on steel of the author.

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE still remains quite ill. Her friends fear that she will never be restored to health.

ANTHONY TROLLOPE, the well-known novelist, and a son of the Mrs. Trollope, has returned to England after a nine months' tour through the West Indies, Central America, etc. The result of his observations, as embodied in a book of travels, is already in the hands of Messrs. Chapman & Hall.

CHARLES DICKENS has made an engagement to visit this country during next autumn. While here, he will give sixty "Readings," according to a pre-arranged programme, at various points, for the very reasonable remuneration of twenty-five thousand dollars cash at the start, and one-fourth of the net profits of the exhibition.

CARL FORMES, the celebrated basso, lately passed through London, en route to the Rhine, intending to remain there for a short time to repose after his arduous tour through North and South America, where is success was fully commensurate with the great reputation he brought from Europe. He had a large money-box with him.

MR. HUGHES, author of "Tom Brown's School-days," has a new work in press.

AMONG the passengers who sailed from New York for Havre last Saturday, was John Mitchel, late editor of the Citizen.

MISS KAVANAGH, author of "Nathalie," has a new book in the press of Ticknor & Fields.

THE EARL of Minto, father-in-law of Lord John Russell, is dead.

BARON E. ROTHSCHILD, from Germany, is at present in New York.

DR. HAWKES has declined the Professorship of History, recently tendered him by the Trustees of the University of North Carolina.

CHARLES DICKENS has given mortal offence to the Dublin people, by publishing an article in his new serial, entitled "Her Majesty's Irish Mail." A correspondent in Saunders's News Letter threatens to have Mr. Dickens tarred and feathered, or worse, should he return to give any more of his readings in Ireland.

MR. SEBASTIANOFF, a Russian savan, has discovered an old MS. of Ptolemy's Geography in the Monastery of Mount Athos, and has made photographic copies of the maps for the classic world.

WHAT POE THOUGHT OF TENNYSON.--Poe, in his Essay on the Poetic Principle, said of the poet laureate; "I call him and think him the noblest of poets--not because the impressions he produces are, at all times, the most profound--not because the poetical excitement which he induces is, at all times, the most intense--but because it is at all times the most ætherial--in other words, the most elevating and the most pure. No poet is so little of the earth, earthy."

THE AUTHORSHIP OF ADAM BEDE.--The long disputed question of the authorship of "Adam Bede" has at last been answered by the actual, who is neither Rev. Mr. Liggins, nor William and Mary Howitt, nor any person named Elliott. Mr. Howitt put himself to the superfluous trouble of making a public denial of the authorship on behalf of himself and his wife. But no person, whose opinion was worth heeding, would ever have imagined that that worthy couple could ever have written such novels as "Janet's Repentance," and "Adam Bede." There were some critics who had the sagacity to discover, as was done in the case of "Jane Eyre," that "Adam Bede" was a feminine production, and so it turned out. The London Critic and other English journals state positively that the author of "Adam Bede" is Miss Mary Ann Evans, already known to the literary world by her remarkable translation of Strauss's "Life of Jesus."

AMONG the instances of a vigorous old age, that of Miss Catherine Sedgwick stands conspicuous. Although seventy years old, she has just produced a new novel.

DEMPSTER, the vocalist, has gone to England, on a visit to Tennyson. He expects to give an entertainment before Queen Victoria, at Balmoral, and will afterwards make a professional tour through Great Britain.

"BARRY CORNWALL" (Dr. Procter) is the author of the "Trade Songs," which appear weekly in "All the Year Round."

"CAMDEN: A TALE OF THE SOUTH."--In the account given of the death of the Rev. John A. McClung, it is stated that he was the author of a tale or historical novel called "Camden; or, A Tale of the South." Can any reader of the Courier give information concerning the work, and also concerning a work of the same or a similar title, written by John Adamson, of Camden, S. C.?--The Charleston Courier.

AN OLD "HISTORIE."--We give the full title of an old volume to which we have referred, and for which we are indebted to the library and heirloom books of a friend who has been long known as a book-keeper: "The Historie of all the Romane Emperors, beginning with Caivs Ivlivs Cæsar, and successiuely ending with Rodvlph the second now raigning. "Wherein (in summe) are contained their liues and acts, together with the rising, greatnes, and declining of the Roman Empire: the original and successe of al the most famous nations of the world: the erecting and alterations of sundrie estates and kingdoms: and generally the most part of all the memorable warres and battailes that haue bin in the world since that time. "First collected in Spanish by Pedro Mexia, since enlarged in Italian by Lodovico Dvlce and Girolamo Bardi, and now englished by W. T. "London. Printed for Matthew Lovvnes, 1604." The translator's name is given to the dedication in full, W. Traheron. This edition affords some good speciments of the early English (printing) imitations of the arts and decorations of the manuscript illuminations, in initials and borders.--The Charleston Courier.

OLD BOOKS.--We are indebted to Mr. J. W. Palmer, Superintendent and Manager of the Omnibus lines of R. Douglas & Co., for an examination of the old and rare volume, whose full title is given below: Tractatvs Ethici: Sive Commentarii in Aliqvot Aristotelis Libros ad Nichomachum, De Moribus, A Celeberrimo Philosopho Edvardo Brerewood, Art. Mag. è Colleg. Æneanasensi, olim conscripti. Iam primum ex authoris ipsius Autographo, summâ fide, nec minori curâ castigati, & publici juris facti. Per T. S. S. S. Theolog. Bacchalaureum, & Colleg. Ænea-nasens. apud Oxon Socium. Oxoniæ, Excudebat Guilielmus Turner, Impensis Edvardi Forrest, 1640. The volume bears on the fly leaves the signatures Saml. Danforth, J. Danforth, E. Libris Edvardi Bass, December 2d, 1745, and John Danforth, 1713. We are informed that several old copies of different works, and especially of the "Book of Books," are waiting reports. We shall be pleased to extend the list for the benefit of collectors and antiquarians.--The Charleston Courier.

IN the Atlantic for September "A Visit to Martha's Vineyard," is attributed to Mrs. Austin; "Zelma's Vow" to Grace Greenwood; "The Murder of the Innocents" to the Rev. T. W. Higginson; the poem entitled "The Singer" to Buchanan Read, and that entitled "October to May" to Florence Percy.

MUNIFICENT DONATION.--The Charleston Mercury states that Honourable Oliver J. Morgan, of Louisiana, has presented to Bishop Polk, of that State, the handsome sum of forty thousand dollars, as the foundation of a professorship of Agricultural Chemistry in the University of the South. This munificent donation makes up the entire amount of $500,000 required by the charter for the establishment of the proposed University.

THE PRINCE OF WALES EXPECTED IN CANADA.--The Quebec Chronicle says that the Prince of Wales, his tutor, and a Court physician, may be expected to arrive there by the next Canadian mail steamer.

IMPORTANT TO AMERICAN COLLEGES.--A friend wishes to contract for the delivery of two hundred degrees of LL. D., three hundred of D. D., and twenty-five thousand of A. M., on or before the 1st of August, 1860, on moderate terms and qualifications.--Exchange Paper.

THE two sons of Robert Burns, the Scottish poet, are at present in Ireland, where they were welcomed with demonstrations of respect.

THE library of the late Douglas Jerrold, Esq., is about to be sold at auction in London. The collection is said to be small, but well selected, and to be curious, from the fact that many volumes are presentation copies, and contain the autograph of the authors.

THE article on Berkshire in the last Quarterly Review is attributed to the pen of the author of "Tom Brown's School Days."

AT a recent sale in London, thirty-seven lots of autograph poems and letters, by Burns, were put up to competition, and realized high prices. The letters, dating from 1792 to 1796, were chiefly addressed to Mrs. Riddel, of Woodly Park, and brought from £3 to £5 each. Among the poems were the original of "The last time I came o'er the Moor," which sold for £14 18s.; a folio sheet, with three songs, "My Chloris," etc., fetched £6 2s. 6d.; "O, bonnie was yon rosy brier," a composition of four stanzas, £5 15s.; a song, "My Nannie's awa," £9 10s. the largest price was given, very properly, for the noblest song in the language, "A man's a man for a' that." It was accompanied by a previous ballad to the same tune, curious as showing the trash that Burns supplanted. This lot realized 10gs.

THE Alton Courier (Ill.,) states that a pourtrait of Esther Johnson, the "Stella" of Dean Swift, can be seen in a bookstore in that city, and adds that its authenticity is beyond all question.

IT is reported that Mr. Bonner has offered Mons. Blondin ten thousand dollars to contribute a series of Niagara-Papers to the Ledger--each of them to be written on a tight-rope while the author is crossing the Falls.

CARLYLE AND ALLIBONE.--In copying the letter of Thomas Carlyle in relation to "Allibone's Dictionary of English Literature and British and American Authors," we should have added a line of comment, that it is the very object of this great work to enable readers to be "vigilantly and conscientiously select (see the letter) in their choice of books." In his preface (page 3,) Mr. Allibone remarks:--"The multiplicity of books, even in my own language, renders a careful selection absolutely indispensable. It has been computed that of the six hundred and fifty thousand volumes in the English language, about fifty thousand would repay a perusal! Suppose a person to read one hundred volumes a year, it would require five hundred years to exhaust such a library! How important, then, is it to know what to read. And how shall this knowledge be obtained?" Mr. Carlyle's letter proves the value and usefulness of Mr. Allibone's Dictionary.--The Home Journal.

RUSSIAN DEMAND FOR AMERICAN BOOKS.--The New York Evening Post observes that few people have any idea of the extent to which some of our book publishers are interested in the Russian trade. A while since the Appletons filled an order for three hundred dozen American works, chiefly of American authors, with a few reprints, for St. Petersburg. These American books go to stock a circulating library in the Russian capital.

THE DICTIONARIES.--The London Critic has the following article relative to the Dictionary controversy, in this country. Dr. Worcester's superb quarto is on the eve of publication by the house of Swan, Hickling & Brewer, of Boston: "We perceive from some controversy which is proceeding in certain American literary papers, that some doubt has arisen as to the value of Dr. Webster's English, or, more properly, Anglo-American Dictionary. We have not yet seen the new dictionary of Dr. J. E. Worcester, and cannot, therefore, speak absolutely as to its merits. What we do know, however, is satisfactory. Dr. Worcester eschews the perverse blunders into which Dr. Webster obstinately fell, and as obstinately persisted in; and it will be something to know that a lexicographer has arisen in America learned enough to know that 'theatre' ought not to be spelt 'theater,' nor 'traveller' with one l. These solecisms, together with the purism which is affected in this country of spelling words ending in 'vice' with 'vise,' are, however, all but universal in the United States. Apart from the philological considerations involved in this, the advantaes of a uniform mode of orthography are too obvious to need explanation, and so long as the citizens of the States choose to preserve the mother tongue, it is but reasonable to expect them to adhere to the custom and practice of the mother country. We have not, like the French, an Academy, or indeed any other tribunal, for the absolute settlement of such questions; and perhaps it is a pity that we have not. Meantime, however, those who use the language should be content to follow the custom, rather than wander out of the way for the gratification of their own whims and individual fancies."

THE POMPEII OF ENGLAND.--The excavations at Wroxeter, in Shropshire, England, are carried on with vigour, and the public are freely allowed to inspect the work. Carriages and pedestrians arrive daily in great numbers at the site of the ancient Uriconium, and the spot promises to become one of the "lions" that every tourist must visit. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. 157 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Courant. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ COLUMBIA, S. C., THURSDAY, SEPT. 15, 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 office of the Courant has been removed to No. 144 Richardson Street, over Flanigan's Shoe-Store. WM. W. WALKER, JR., & CO. ------------------------------------------ Home Again. We were glad to welcome into our new sanctum last week, our Editor-in-Chief, Mr. HOWARD H. CALDWELL. He has returned from his Northern tour in improved health and fine spirits. ------------------------------------------ The Courant. Our subscription list has recently been increasing so rapidly that we were unable to furnish last week's Courant to all of our subscribers. A large number of names was received after the paper had been printed, and our former subscribers being first supplied, but few copies remained for the others. Hereafter we will print a sufficiently large edition to supply the demands so generously made upon us. Our readers cannot have failed to notice the improvements in the typographical execution of our last number, when compared with many of its predecessors. Our office is now in able and competent hands, which is a sufficient guarantee that The Courant will fully equal in appearance and accuracy any Southern journal. ------------------------------------------ The Columbia Athenæum. The Library of the Columbia Athenæum, we learn, has lately received an accession in the way of a number of volumes, in most part, Congressional documents, through the kindness of our immediate Representative, the Honourable Mr. BOYCE; and these, we think, will not prove valueless, as books of reference, etc. In connexion with this, we would, with others who have done so before, urge the claims of this institution upon our citizens. In compliment to its illustrious projector and President, it should have their countenance and substantial patronage; and when these are given, we may confidently expect a higher order of things amidst us--in a taste for reading and growing culture of the mind, and a greater impetus to literary pursuits. The Library--and we speek advisedly--although small, presents a favourable opportunity for improvement and advancement in knowledge. To those who have a fondness for things antiquarian, we commend it--not that in this department it is full or perfect, but that we have here a something not altogether contemptible--a something that will repay a ramble over its shelves. The news of the day can be gleaned from the newspaperfiles of the Reading-Room: the principal papers of the Union are found there--blending instruction with amusement. By the payment of the trifling sum of five dollars annually, one is entitled to all the privileges of the Athenæum--a not unpleasant place in summer--if any place can then be pleasant--and a decidedly pleasant place in winter. It is open from 9, A. M., to 1, P. M., and from 3 to 5, P. M., and from 7 to 10, P. M. ------------------------------------------ Our State Agricultural Fair. The time for our annual State Agricultural Fair is rapidly drawing nigh. Apart from its chief object--agriculture, and the development of the resources of our section in that respect --it is looked forward to with much concern and interest by our people--indeed, by all who exercise their hands as well as their heads--even by the fairer portion of the State, the ladies, whom we may expect--and we hope they will visit us in large numbers--attendant upon it, for, to some of us, what would be the attraction without them and their dainty handiwork? There is one department we should like to see enlarged, and that is the picture-gallery. Let us have such contributions from every part--hitherto there has been too little done--the result will be a good one. ------------------------------------------ The Weeklies. The illustrated weeklies--"Harper's," "Frank Leslie's," and "Ballou's"--may be had at Mr. GLASS' book-store, as well as all the new books of the day--a satisfactory evidence that our esteemed bibliophile is up to "the times." He is opening a large and varied stock of books and stationery, and can, we are convinced, please the most fastidious. ------------------------------------------ Pretty Good. The Spartan discourseth as follows concerning the Associate Editor of the Courant: "The Charleston Mercury's New York correspondent says W. W. Walker Jr's, legacy, in England, is £100,000. If so, from a Walker he may turn trotter! and a fast one, too." We promise you, Mr. Spartan, an invitation to "that supper" which another brother of the quill strongly hints at--that is, when the "funds come," which (as "Return-Day" is near at hand) might be very acceptable just now. ------------------------------------------ "The American Publishers' Circular AND LITERARY GAZETTE," for September 3d, is upon our table. This is the fifth volume of this highly valuable hebdomadal, and, once for all, we commend it to the notice of our readers as furnishing "a full and correct record of current publications," "the title of books issued during the week, with their size, price, number of pages, and publisher," "regularly a list of the most important new English books," and other items of indispensable information. Every reading-man must acknowledge its value. Price $2.00 a year. Address as above, No. 6 Appleton's Building, 346 Broadway, N. Y. ------------------------------------------ Literary Notices.

RECOLLECTIONS BY SAMUEL ROGERS. Boston: Bartlett & Miles. MDCCCLIX.

This is an American reprint of a recent English work. It is a posthumous work of SAMUEL ROGERS, edited by WILLIAM SHARPE. It is a collection of random personal notes amassed by ROGERS during his unusually long sojourn among the literary celebrities of Britain. It embraces notes on Fox, Burke, Grattan, Porson, Tooke, Talleyrand, Erskine, Walter Scott, Grenville, and Wellington--ten in all. There is nothing of regular biography, nor of biographical essay, nor even sketches; merely jottings--detached facts, expressions, opinions, conversations, and stray anecdotes--thrown together without any apparent plan, save arrangement under separate heads. The volume contains about two hundred and fifty duodecimo pages. Of these, seventy are devoted to Fox. We give a brief extract, to illustrate the style of the "Recollections:-- "Dined at William Smith's, March 19th, 1796, with him [Fox], Dr. Parr, Tierney, Courtney, Sir Francis Baring, Dr. Aikin, Mackintosh, and Francis. Sheridan sent an excuse. "Delighted with his fine tact, his feeling, open, and gentleman-like manner; so full of candour and diffidence, and entering with great ardour and interest into the conversation. "Francis was an idolater of Don Quixote; Fox said he had not formerly admired it so much. Read Spanish, and had acquired it with great ease, by means of the Italian partly. Had read the other works of Cervantes, and Quevedo, who was very difficult. "Was disappointed by Schiller's Robbers. When I hinted its having been suggested by Massinger's Guardian, he remembered it instantly, and said he should read it again. "Very fond of the society of boys; as also Mrs. Armstead. They have them over from Eton. "Every thing is to be found in Homer. "Had read The Monk, a novel just published by lewis; thought it clever. "Tired of the ballet. "He loved children. "Found it very hot on the canals in Holland." That must suffice. Those who desire more of the same sort, will find more--a great deal more--in the volume. These little things have their use and their interest. The volume is not devoid of humour, though very few attempts are made in that way--fewer than Rogers's ambition for wit would lead us to expect. In the notes on Talleyrand is quoted the old joke about the Prince's living so long, because the Devil was afraid of him--parceque le Diable en a peur. The memoranda of Burke are mainly quotations from others; because Rogers was not personally acquainted with Burke. The book, as we said of its details, has its use and its interest; and yet, almost any author would be, and not without reason, quite ashamed of being its author. And this consideration doubtless decided the Poet of Memory to let it be a posthumous work. That feebleness which marks the previous literary productions of the Banker Poet characterizes this one. It is true that the work is posthumous, and has been revised by the editor; and thus gets a slight remove from the author himself; still, the spirit of "the Bard, the Beau, the Banker," very abundantly pervades it. The "Patriarch of the poets of the nineteenth century" ought to have had something worth reading about his contemporaries. Feeble as are all his poems, this "Recollections," (if it is fair to compare it with any thing in the world of letters,) is perhaps even feebler than they. What with the poor old bachelor's immense wealth, fashionable habits, famous breakfasts, his Job-like patience, his perseverance, and above all, the patriarchal time he managed to live--what with all these, despite his utter want of any thing like genius, he did much in his small way, successfully, too, in keeping up his name in the world of letters. Now that he is dead, there is no hope for him many years longer; and this "Recollections" is poor enough to have finished even a better name than Rogers left us. We speak of him as a littérateur purely. His common-place elegancies have always been passable-- merely that. As a man he was very well; much praised, and stood very high. As a banker, he succeeded. As a courier, he seems to have done well. As a poet ------. There is an anecdote of his early life. His uncle adopted him and his elder brother, and took them into his banking-house. The elder brother was, ere long, detected in writing verses. The old banker was shocked; and when he died--that did not kill him, however, we believe--he bequeathed the verse-writer a fixed annuity, but left the main business and the bulk of his fortune to Samuel, remarking tha the would never be a poet. The story may be true--

"I say the tale as 'twas said to me."

At any rate, we think the uncle-banker was right. The "Recollections" is got out in Boston's best style. The print is clear and beautiful. The tinted paper is luxurious. The binding is well done. It is not got out in exactly the style that Rogers himself had his "Italy" issued; but then Rogers paid fifty thousand dollars for that. Still, the book is in the neatest style of American plain typographic art. It sells at seventy-five cents a copy. J. W. D. ------------------------------------------ Our European Correspondence. ----- LUCERNE, July 16th, 1859. I am in an excellent humour now--I am. I have only been robbed by hotel-keepers, cheated by shopmen, allowed no sleep, blistered with walking, burned by the sun, and tortured generally. But I shall tell you of my myseries seriatim. About two weeks ago--I have no head for dates--I managed to get away from Leipzig to the Rhine. My journey as far as Cologne would not interest you, so we will begin with it. Cologne is really the starting-point for a trip up the Rhine, and for this reason, almost as much as on account of its nobleness as a city, is an object of peculiar interest to the traveller. Its great features are five--the eau de Cologne--the opposite odours (eaudes,) COLERIDGE having counted his "seventy separate and well-defined stinks," here; the Holy Three Kings; the famous St. Ursula, with her eleven thousand virgins, and the Cathedral. The second curiosity it required no valet-de-place to shew me--the others I sought out. The Cathedral is one of the few things that deserve this reputation. Unfinished as it is, it is a wonderful triumph of human ingenuity. It was intended to be five hundred and ten feet high, but has thus far only reached an elevation of about one hundred and sixty-five, or so. From without, the main feature is its elegance and lightness--so much so, that it appeared to me rather a vast idea than a real structure--the mighty embodiment of brilliant thought, which elevated the beholder's conception to its own level, rather than a ponderous, inert mass, to overwhelm him, as most edifices of such extent are. Within, the magnificent painted-glass window, the tall pillars, and the lofty arches, seem to lift one up till he becomes, as it were, a part of the great structure; or, more properly, it infuses itself into his mind, and is lost in an indescribable sensation. Every effort is now being made to complete it. The Prussian Government, which, by the way, is not Catholic, contributes largely. A number of singers have been for some time giving concerts about Europe for its benefit, and every visitor has a card stuck at him, praying him to contribute to the great work. About three hundred and fifty workmen are constantly employed on it. In the St. Peter's Church I saw the celebrated painting of RUBENS--"The Crucifixion of Peter." As the world has decided upon its merits, I need not preach them. The stooping posture in which the visitor is placed to view it (looking from under a sort of stand) brings his head in so much the same position as the Apostle's, as to give the face of the latter a most life-like appearance. The Church of St. Ursula is, perhaps, the greatest curiosity of all. It will be remembered that the tale goes, that she was an English Princess, who having visited rome with her eleven thousand virgins, was returning down the Rhine, when they were attacked at Cologne by Attila and his barbarians, and all massacred. The spot where they were buried was kept in memory, and in the eleventh century the present Church was erected upon it. Many of the remains were left in the earth below the Church; but vast numbers were unearthed--some buried in the Church, and the bones of many deposited in the walls, etc. Portions of the wall are filled with skulls, others with bones. The Golden Chamber has all the upper half of the walls covered with bones as a ground work, and on this a rude history of the affair in Latin, likewise in bones. Many skulls are preserved in handsome cases. I saw St. U.'s right foot, and one arm. She was distinguished, when found, by an embroidered belt bearing her name and office. It is a strange old Church, extremely gloomy, and lined with paintings descriptive of the whole voyage down to the place of the massacre. The Holy Three Kings, I forgot to say, are buried in a chapel in the Cathedral. There are three hundred makers of eau-de-Cologne in the city! and each has three qualities of the water--nine hundred kinds of Cologne! From Cologne I went to Coblentz by sail, as the scenery, at least below Bonn, is uninteresting--and, to tell the truth, I had seen it before. Coblentz is quite a handsome city, and the main fortification of Prussia on the Rhine. There is here a bridge of boats across the Rhine to Ehrenbreitstein, the famous fortress. You can derive some idea of the appearance of things here from the scrap of an engraving I enclose. The Fortress is built on a seemingly impregnable rock, to which the ascent is very tiresome, but from which one obtains a magnificent view of Coblentz, with the Rhine and Moselle (which flow together, but do not unite for some distance,) and the mountains and crags and fields and vineyards, so abundant on the Rhine. From Coblentz, I took the boat up the Rhine to Mayence. Shall I attempt to describe the Rhine? Or shall I tell you only that we sailed up a broad, placid stream, with, here ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------