of character long hidden-or time furrows their cheeks-and then the love evanishes for ever,-going down, with no hope of resurrection, into the deepest of all moral graves-the grave of indifference. Drop Thirty-four. Very crafty persons may be at once known by the great breadth between their eyes. I have remarked that persons with this peculiarity of feature are also better qualified than others to judge of physical beauty and the harmonies of external proportion. Drop Thirty-five. When you pen a common-place you should always strain a point to redeem it by a jeu-de-mot. Yet perhaps I am unphilosophical in my advice, for most great truths are essentially commonplace. So, for that matter, are all the dogmas and dictates of reason-the reason of many, c'est à dire, not of all, for what is hight reason with the Oldclothesmen is high treason with the Purple-and-Fine-lineners. Drop Thirty-sír. Life is a game which perversely varies its character according to the age at which we play it in youth, when much may be lost, it is a game of chance; in manhood, when little remains to be won, it is a game of skill. Drop Thirty-seven. Gay people commit more follies than gloomy; but gloomy people commit greater follies. Drop Thirty-eight. The intellect of poets feeds their vanity; that of philosophers counteracts theirs. Drop Thirty-nine. No neglect, no slight, no contumely from one of his own sex can mortify a man who has been much flattered and courted by women. No matter from what source it may emanate, he will always and necessarily attribute it to envy. Drop Forty. my way to XL. Drop Forty-one. Many persons have experienced a strange sensation of uneasiness and apprehension, as it were, of undefined evil, at hearing the knolling of a deep bell in a great city at noon, amid the bustle of life and business. The source of this sensation I take to lie, not so much in the mere sound of the bell as in the knowledge that its monitions, of whatever character they may be, are wholly undictated by human feelings. We are more or less jealous of the interference of our fellow-beings in our concerns, even where their motives are purely disinterested, because, in spite of us, we associate with it the idea of ostentation and intrusiveness. But, a solemn voice from a mass of inanimate metal, especially when the hum and turmoil of the world are around us, is like the tremendous appeal of a dead man's aspect; and its power over us becomes the greater because of its own total unconsciousness of the existence of that power. Drop Forty-two. It is seldom that any one who is ingenious at finding arguments is ingenuous in stating them. A clear-headed man, for all that, may be a very candid one; and a great misfortune it is for him to be so. Being always reasonable, he is of course, from the nature of society, always engaged in controverting some absurdity. Hence tracasseries with his friends, and all those other kinds of asseries before the world to which these usually lead. Drop Forty-three. The world has less tolerance for novel theorists upon morals and metaphysics than for even soi-disant discoverers in the sciences. The reason is obvious. Almost every man confesses to himself his ignorance of all things relating to the mysteries of the external world; but it is difficult to persuade any man that he is not himself the best judge of what passes in his own mind. Drop Forty-four. If a combination of the Sublime and the Sarcastic be possible, I fancy I find Perseverance has enabled me to find it in two lines by Gleim : Und Freidrich weint? Gieb ihm die Herrschaft über dich, O, Welt, Weil er, ob auch ein König, weinen kann! And Frederic weeps? Give him dominion over thee, O, Earth! For this, that he, albeit a king, can weep. Drop Forty-five. Victories, after the lapse of some years, ruin a country even more certainly than defeats. The money which governments raise from speculators for carrying on successful wars must be repaid to them with interest; and as it is the nature of wealth to go on producing wealth an enormous accumulation of the circulating medium must take place in the coffers of the few to the detriment of the many. The larger party tending to pauperism in an inverse ratio with the augmenting prosperity of the smaller party, affairs daily grow more generally worse; until at last the very continuance in existence of the nation becomes a problem to be solved only by a revolution. Drop Forty-sír. Experience is a jewel picked up by a wrecked mariner on a desert coasta picture-frame, purchased at a preposterous cost, when decay has done its duty on your finest Titian-a prosing lecturer who sermonises a sleeping congregation-a warden who alarms the citadel when the enemy has broken through the gates-a melancholy moon after a day of darkness and tempesta sentinel who mounts guard over a pillaged house-a surveyor who takes the dimensions of the pit we have tumbled into a monitor that, like Friar Bacon's Brazen Head, tells us that Time is past a lantern brought to us after we have traversed a hundred morasses in the dark and are entering an illuminated village-a pinnace on the strand found when the tide has ebbed away-a morning lamp lighted in our saloon when our guests have departed, revealing rueful ruin--or any thing else equally pertinent and impertinent. Why then do we panegyrise it so constantly? Why do we take and make all opportunities to boast of our own? Because, wretched worms that we are! we are so proud of our despicable knowledge that we cannot afford to shroud from view even that portion of it which we have purchased at the price of our happiness. Parade and ostentation-ostentation and parade for ever!"they are the air we breathe without them we expire." Drop Forty-seven. "How populous-how vital is the grave!" cried Young. He was in the right in the sense he contemplated. He was in the right, too, in a separate sense. The grave is vital to the renown of those great men who had none during life. "Silent as the grave," say some-bah! the grave is your only betrayer of secrets. It is the camera obscura which the student of human nature must enter to behold sights unrevealable by "garish day," and "amid the hum, the crowd, and shock of men." Stagnant waters picture the sky better than stormy: "Nicht im trüben Schlamm der Bache mon. "The day of a man's death is better than the day of his birth," saith SoloTo the man of genius at least it proves so. If his friends do not embalm him like the Egyptians, or give him money like the Greeks, to pay Charon his fare, they do more-they write recommendatory letters to Posterity in his behalf. Yes: fame, like Mrs. Shelley's Frankenstein, is a genuine production of the sepulchre. "The night-mare Life-in-Death is she." She springs up from the dust of him who seeks her no more, as the phoenix rises from its own ashes. "The gravedews winnowing through the rotting clay" are distilled into an elixir vitæ which, unlike St. Leon's, turns out no burden to its possessor. The season of requital is come, and the crowd cry out, Le roi est mort, vive le roi! What the reason? How is the anomaly explained? Why all this hullaballoo, begotten on a sudden? Because the man is dead because he is out of the way. He is "fallen from his high estate." He has ceased personally to : Never in the bosom of the stream, Of the mirrored sun remains. SCHILLER. excite the wonder and wrath and envy of others. His works are before the world, to be sure, and that is mortifying, but he, the worker, is behind the world, and that is fortifying. No fear of pleasing him now by flattery. He can no more "hear the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely.” Walls have ears, quoth the proverb, but those of the tomb are an exception. "Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust" to smile a reply to a compliment? Low in the arms of the Mighty Mother he lies, no more the unconscious stirrer-up of heart-burnings among those whom he overlooked, but hated not, and who hated him because they could not overlook him. Therefore let the shell and lute now resound with his praises! Ah! after all, human nature has been libelled. We are not stocks and stones." We are glad of all opportunities to effect a compromise between our jealousy and our justice. And is not this much? Let him who thinks it little remodel society upon a plan that shall enable men to possess passions "as though they possessed them not," for otherwise he is scarce likely to be satisfied on this side of the Millennium. Drop Forty-eight. Horace Smith's shop-board with Going, Staymaker," is very good, and better still if true; but I certainly once saw over a gateway the notification, "John Reilly, Carpenter and Timberyard." Drop Forty-nine. The Irish Aunalists sustain the literary character of their country famously. I like samples of style such as those que voici. "Mac-Giolla-Ruadh plunged into the river and swam to the shore, but was drowned before he landed." "The Kinel-Owen defeated the Kinel-Connell with terrible slaughter, for Niall Garbh O'Donnell lost one leg in the battle." "The Lord Lieutenant and Maurice Fitzgerald then returned to Ireland, both in good health, except that Maurice Fitzgerald caught a fever on the way, from which he did not recover." " Hugh Roe now sent word to the Italians to come and assist him, but this they were not then able to do, for they had all been killed some time before by," &c. Pope, it occurs to me, has an Irish line in his Essay on Man. Virtuous and vicious every man must be ; Few in the extreme, but all in the degree. And Schiller another in his Robbers: "Death's kingdom-waked from its eternal sleep! And Milton another in his Paradise Lost: "And in the lowest deep a lower deep." Drop Fifty. Poets are the least sympathising of breathing beings. They have few or none of the softer feelings. One cause of their deficiency in these is that they have already vented them in verse. Pour the wine out of a flask and you leave the flask void. A second and better reason for their insensibility is this, that two master-sentiments cannot coexist in one bosom. The imagination refuses to share its sovereignty with the heart. "One fire tires out another's burning," says Shakspeare, who, I fancy, took a much deeper interest in the fate of his own dramas than in all the affairs of the world besides. The use of poetry to poets is that it preserves them from great crimes and vices. gross If it quenches every spark of sympathy in their breasts, on the other hand it absorbs them too much to allow them to seek a reputation by throat-cutting or city-burning. Negatively poetry is thus of use to mankind. With regard to its positive use to them, as this is an age of discoveries we may perhaps find it out by-and-by. Drop Fifty-one. A translator from Spanish, French, High Dutch, &c. should always improve on his original if he can. Most continental writers are dull plodders, and require spurring and furbishing. I see no harm in now and then giving them a lift and a shove. If I receive two or three dozen of sherry for a dinner-party, and by some chemical process can convert the sherry into champagne, my friends are all the merrier, and nobody is a loser. As to translations from the Oriental tongues, no one should attempt them, unless for the purpose of adducing them as documentary evidences in support of some antiquarian theory, about which the world does not care three halfpence. By the way, I submissively insist that Mr. Lane's new version of the Arabian Nights, now coming out in numbers, is the most quackish jackassicality of latter days. Mr. Lane is a good writer and a shrewd observer, but he cannotno man can-Europeanize Orientalism. One might as well think of introducing Harlequin's costume into the Court of Chancery. Drop Fifty-two. Shelley was remarkable for very bright eyes; so was La Harpe; and so was Burns. Maturin's eyes were mild and meditative, but not particularly lustrous: when he raised them suddenly, however, the effect was startling. By ron's did not strike the observer as much as might have been expected, probably because of his ill health. As De Quincey correctly remarks, the state of the eyes greatly depends on that of the stomach. Carleton has a fine intelligent eye, filled with deep, speculative thought, "looking before and after." My idea, nevertheless, is, that in general too much stress is laid on the expression of the eyes. In many faces their supposed character is derived from the other features. What eye can be more beautiful and expres sive than that of an infant, who has no passions, and whose mind is as yet a blank? Drop Fifty-three. I disapprove of encouraging the working classes to read too much. One inevitable result of their knowledge must be, that their wants will become multiplied in a greater degree than their resources. For a successful and summary method, however, of enlightening the multitude by means of books, I refer readers to the history of the Caliph Omar and the Alexandrian Library. Drop Fifty-four. "Murder," says Shakspeare, "though it hath no tongue, will speak with most miraculous organ." Here is evidence that the existence of the organ of Destructiveness was not unknown to our ancestors. Or perhaps "will speak" points to the nineteenth century, and the passage is a prophecy. I neither know nor care. Drop Fifty-six. Whence, I should like to learn, springs One word more upon Craniology. the propensity to general ridicule ?— to scout most things and people as humbugs ? Spurzheim's theory makes and great Destructiveness and Conit a product of deficient Veneration gruity, i. e. Wit or Humour. I largely doubt. Rabelais lacked Congruity; bibits but a moderate share of it. In so did Swift. Curran's masque exGodwin and Wordsworth it appears full; yet to both wit is an abhorrence. Voltaire had large Veneration. Sterne's head, it is true, answers to the required duty for the head of every man who is laid ideal, but making Sterne's head do the reverse of stern is something too bad. For myself I place faith in but four of the thirty-two organs: Selfesteem, Secretiveness, Firmness, and Hope; but this last I would call Castlebuilding; and I conceive that it and Ideality are the same faculty. Drop Fifty-seven. One of the finest passages in modern fiction is the meeting between Watson and Welbeck in Brockden Brown's Arthur Mervyn. The The stern concentrated rage of the avenger-the more awful from its calmness-and the wordless resignation and despair of the wretched seducer are portrayed with a terrible faithfulness to nature. introductory words of Watson-" It is well. The hour my vengeance has long thirsted for is arrived. Welbeck ! that my first words could strike thee dead! They will so, if thou hast any claim to the name of man,"-prepare us for the harrowing disclosures that follow-the death of Watson's sister "from anguish and a broken heart," and the suicide of their lunatic father in consequence. And when Watson, having narrated the latter circumstance, draws a pistol from his breast, and, approaching Welbeck, places the muzzle against his forehead, saying with forced calmness-"This is the instrument with which the deed was performed," who, even of those that cannot feel the scene, but must acknowledge the graphic nature of the conception? The duel, also, across the table, with its unlooked for result in the death of Watson, and the whole of the subsequent narrative of the interment of the corpse in the cellar-how peculiarly, but how powerfully they are given! Our interest in the entire affair is heightened by the singular character of Welbeck, who, by the way, is not at all like the Falkland of Caleb Williams, though Dunlop, Brown's biographer, fancies he perceives a marked resemblance between them. Let us hope that Arthur Mervyn will find a place among the Standard Novels. It deserves the honor fully as much as Edgar Huntly. Drop Fifty-eight. Writing a poem for the sake of developing a metaphysical theory, is like kindling a fire for the sake of the smoke. Drop Fifty-nine. Love, even fortunate love, never leaves the heart as it found it. An angel once dwelled in the palace of Zohir, and his presence was the sun and soul of that edifice. But, after years, there came a devil, stronger than the angel; and the devil drove the angel from the palace and took up his own abode therein. And a woeful day was that for the palace, for the devil brake up the costly furniture and put all things at sixes and sevens, and the mark of his hoof was every where visible on the carpets. But when some time had passed, he too, went away; and now the palace was left a lonely wreck, for the angel never more would return to a dwelling that had been desecrated by a devil. So it continued to wax older and crazier, till at last one night a high wind came and swept it to the earth, where it lay ever after in ruins. Many say, however, that the angel might have remained in it to this day had he combated the intruder with might and main in the beginning, but that he chose rather to hold parley with him, and even invited him to come under the roof. Drop Sixty. Inscribed in the Chronicle of the Forty-four Mandarins is the record of the confession of A-HA-HO-HUM, Man of Many Sciences, Son of the Dogstar, and Cousin to the Turkey-cock; and thus it runneth I, A-HA-HO-HUM, HAVE TRAVERSED THE EARTH, AND THE HEARTS OF MEN HAVE BEEN LAID BARE TO ME; AND LO! MY TESTIMONY CONCERNING ALL THINGS IS THIS : No Wall is Dense, and no Well is Deep, where a Will is Baring. THE-OUT-AND-OUTER. FEMALE PORTRAITS. NO. I." MY AUNT EMILY." PART SECOND.-CONCLUSION. It was in the week succeeding to the long-remembered 22nd of Sept. 179-, that all Europe rung with one of those awful, but not unprecedented Alpine visitations, by which hamlets, nay, even cities, (by the fall of the giant mountains beneath whose shadow they were reared,) have been suddenly, and for ever, blotted from the face of the earth. A catastrophe-more limited in its effects, but similar in its causes to that which, within the memory of recent travellers, overwhelmed the flourishing village of Goldan, and transformed into a rocky desert the garden-like valley and fairy lake of Lowertz-annihilated, no one survived to tell precisely when or how, the little bathing establishment which (with the habitual daring of those who live amid avalanches or volcanoes) had been reared by the proprietor of the medicinal springs of St. Remi, in a spot expressly calculated to invite destruction, whenever long-continued rains should loosen the superincumbent |