How long I remained unconscious I cannot tell, probably not more than a few minutes. On opening my eyes, I found myself upon the ground, my shoulders supported by one of the soldiers, while a second was sopping my head with a handkerchief wet with cold water. My clothes were muddy and torn in several places. In the middle of the path, as unconcerned as if nothing had happened, or, as I thought, with a diabolical leer in his eye, stood the wretched cause of my troubles. At my side, surrounded by several ladies and officers in uniform, was the same person who had addressed me just before the accident. As I looked round and made attempts to rise, he said: 'Ah! you feel better; it was not much, after all.'

Whatever I may have thought, I coïncided in the opinion by replying: A mere trifle.'

'Monsieur is English,' he asked.

'Non, Monsieur, American.'

'Where are you going?'

"To Rio, Monsieur.'

'Alone?'

'No, Monsieur, I have some friends somewhere about here.' 'Ah! yes, I met them a few moments

was with them.

ago on the other side of the Well, take care of yourself,

mountain; Baron for there are places on the way down where a fall will not be so pleasant as here. Adieu.'

With these parting words and a hearty laugh, the Emperor (for he it was) mounted, and in a few seconds the cavalcade was hid from my sight by a turn in the path-way.

I rejoined my companions, whom I found drawn up in a line by the side of the road. They seemed anxious about me, and eagerly inquired where I had been, and the cause of my dilapidated appearance. I replied ambiguously, merely hinting that a friend had favored me with an introduction to his Majesty. A short time after, an account was published of the misadventure of an American in the Imperial presence. They charged me as the person. I attempted to deceive; they laughed, so I shrouded myself in impenetrable mystery. But the sight of a mule, or the name of an emperor, to this day brings disagreeable associations to my mind.

ON W O MAN.
NATURE, regardful of the babbling race,
Planted no beard upon a woman's face;
Not ROGERS' razors, though the very best,
Can shave a chin that never is at rest.

LITERARY NOTICES.

IDYLS OF THE KING. BY ALFRED TENNYSON, D.C.L. Boston: TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 1859. THE romances of King ARTHUR and his Knights of the Round Table, form a large and interesting branch of mediaeval popular literature. ARTHUR, MERLIN, GAWAINE, and LANCELOT, are historical characters in old Welsh and Armorican songs of the sixth Christian century, and were then the names of contemporary British heroes and bards who led and inspired the resisting but conquered Britons against the triumphant Saxons. The historical ARTHUR was a chieftain in the southern part of Britain, who enjoyed preeminence over neighboring princes, fought twelve battles, most of them against the Anglo-Saxons, and was mortally wounded in the conflict with his nephew MODRED at Camlan. His death was long concealed, and the consequence was a wide-spread, popular fiction that he had only withdrawn from the world into a fairy region, and that at a future crisis he would return to the Britons and lead them in triumph through the island. Such is the ARTHUR of the sixth century; and his contemporaries speak of him with respect but not with wonder. In the twelfth century he reäppears with his associates in innumerable romances, no longer in moderate greatness, but as a kind of miraculous MARS, before whom kings and nations sunk in panic as a chivalrous paragon of excellence, the favorite theme of minstrels, the very flos regum. From the twelfth to the fifteenth century the romances of CHARLEMAGNE and his paladins were hardly more popular in the principal countries of Europe than were those of ARTHUR and his knights. They were told voluminously in metre and in prose, with astonishing variety of sentiment and adventure, forming grand bodies of the mediaval doctrine of heroism, and displaying a sort of mythic code of life in accordance with the elevated and romantic spirit of ideal chivalry.

The laureate of England has returned to these early blossoms of modern genius for the subject of his latest poem, which is certainly a chef-d'œuvre, and will perhaps be accounted his magnum opus. It treats of but few of the incidents, and mentions few even of the names which are known to a student of Arthurian literature, but each of the four idyls is in itself a complete and most delicately-limned picture, a beautiful reproduction of a simple legend. The rich melody of the blank verse recalls some of the finest pieces in his earlier volumes as MORT D'ARTHUR and ULYSSES.

'ENID' is the heroine of the first idyl, which relates how her husband, the brave GERAINT, a Knight of ARTHUR'S Court,' first won her for his wife from YNIOL'S castle, and afterward won her from his own causeless jealousy. GUINEVERE, ARTHUR'S Queen, had been too hastily answered by a Knight that

HAD visor up, and showed a youthful face,

Imperious, and of haughtiest lineaments.

GERAINT at once followed him to avenge the insult, and fell in with YNIOL in a ruined hall, who chanced to have specially suffered at the hands of the proud knight. YNIOL's daughter sang in the distance:

'AND as the sweet voice of a bird,
Heard by the lander in a lonely isle,
Moves him to think what kind of bird it is
That sings so delicately clear, and make
Conjecture of the plumage and the form;

So the sweet voice of ENID moved GERAINT;'

and he only thought and said, 'Here, by God's grace, is the one voice for me' Soon she entered, and in a moment he thought, 'Here, by GoD's rood, is the one maid for me.' The hoary YNIOL spoke to her to tend the stranger's horse and to prepare flesh and wine, and when GERAINT was fain to give his aid, the host added:

"REST! the good house, though ruined, O my son!
Endures not that her guest should serve himself.
And reverencing the custom of the house,
GERAINT, from utter courtesy, forbore.'

At length the proud knight, the author of injury and insult, was vanquished by GERAINT- and not only vanquished, but changed. The work was great and wonderful.'

'His very face with change of heart is changed.
The world will not believe a man repents:
And this wise world of ours is mainly right.

Full seldom does a man repent, or use

Both grace and will to pick the vicious quitch

Of blood and custom wholly out of him,

And make all clean, and plant himself afresh.'

GERAINT bore away with him ENID, who became the favorite of ARTHUR's queen, and who afterward retired with him to his lands on the banks of Severn. There unluckily he heard her say at the close of a monologue: 'O me! I fear that I am no true wife.' He heard only enough for misinterpretation, and straightway in his frenzy he ordained a mild, bedlamite action, a fantastic journey. She rode before, under command never to look back, and he followed her. In that age of violence the foremost rider was the first to discover plots and purposed attacks, and twice she turned back to warn her husband, twice he vanquished the assailants, and twice reproached her for breaking his command. A third time a slight motion of her finger indicated the danger, and the warrior was in a manner pleased that she kept the letter of his word. He, however, was wounded, though victorious, and ENID turned only when she heard the clashing of his fall after he had begun again to follow her; and in the land of a barbarous and hostile prince, her patient kindness was most touchingly displayed. He was conscious, though believed to be dead, and while riotous knights revelled about her, her devotion only to her lord was triumphantly proved. At length the huge and bearded Earl DOORM ventured an insult to her.

THIS heard GERAINT, and grasping at his sword,
(It lay beside him in the hollow shield,)
Made but a single bound, and with a sweep of it
Shore through the swarthy neck, and like a ball
The russet-bearded head rolled on the floor.'

Then follows the confession of GERAINT:

'I HEARD you say that you were no true wife:
I swear I will not ask your meaning in it:

I do believe yourself against yourself,

And will henceforward rather die than doubt.'

The story closes with the arrival of ARTHUR and his knights, who had come to chastise the very Earl that had met his fate at the hands of GERAINT. Three other stories link, like this, the chivalry of the middle ages with the fine humanity of all times, and prove that TENNYSON's power is growing, notwithstanding the doubts which 'MAUD' occasioned to some of his admirers.

COUNTERPARTS, OR THE CROSS OF LOVE. By the author of 'Charles Auchester.' Boston: MAYHEW AND BAKER. 1859.

NOVELS Constitute the unaccountable and indescribable department of literature the favorite department, at present, with both readers and writers. There are novels in every style, suited to every taste, treating of every topic, revealing all conditions of life, discussing all branches of learning, rambling through every field of speculation, ordaining the principles of Church and State as easily as the rationale of manner, demolishing and reconstructing society, penetrating all mysteries, unfolding, in short, all the facts and all the wonders of the world which have been since creation, and which shall be while destiny be accomplished. The mission of the novelist is to depict society; and when we reflect that the ideas of all thinkers, the visions of all poetic dreamers, the diverse schemes suggested by love, by ambition, by benevolence, and the multiplied hopes and purposes of all classes of persons are combined and work and revel together in what may be called the mind of the community, it ceases to surprise us that the domain of the novelist embraces every department of human thought. Novels are popular because they are happy, exuberant, and comparatively artless accounts of the mingled theories and scenes of life which experience and reflection have furnished to the author. They are naïve, and leave impressions like those derived from social converse.

'Counterparts,' like its predecessor, is perhaps destined to be highly admired rather than widely read. Its leading characteristic is a peculiar refinement and nobility of sentiment, and its characters stand higher in the range of being than most of the recent heroes and heroines. It is decidedly, to our mind, a more civilized book than the works of our best reputed novelists.

The motto from COLERIDGE foreshadows the story as one of love: 'Two forms that differ in order to correspond - this is the true sense of the word counterpart.' Yet love throughout the volume rises to the higher meanings of the word, and seems a thing in sympathy with Platonic, not to say with Christian, thought. It was an odd caprice or principle in the authoress, to leave her three most prominent and delightful characters unmarried.

Not only the characters are admirable, but the ideas suggested on various themes are well up to the present standard of thought. Mesmerism just appears, but is not intruded; music is as abundant and charming as it is in social life, and on many questions of duty and modes of action the reader is constantly deriving impressions from superior personages. By its favors for what is termed the 'Arabian-Hebrew' race, 'Counterparts' recalls some of the novels of the younger DISRAELI, and a pride of race is apparent like that which DISRAELI betrayed when he declared that 'in history, every thing is race,' and that the Hebrew is the most ancient, the noblest, and the purest of all the races.

With merits of a rare order, the novel has also the essential requisite of being a fascinating story. We would like to predict that it will be the most widelycirculated romance of the season, but will only say that, if it be not so, the reason is, that the book is too good for the public.

POPULAR TALES FROM THE NORSE. By G. W. DASENT. New-York: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 1859.

THAT a rustic, popular tale should become a matter of importance in the history of migrations and of races is even more remarkable than the reconstruction of his toric periods and events from the crusts of the earth or from the roots of languages. A legend springs from the genius of a people, is created and modified by popular instincts and feelings, and is a sort of living institution expressing and transmitting the ideas, the hopes, the fears, and the fancies-gay, grave, or grotesque — of untaught men, from generation to generation. Popular legends thus serve as historical records, forming together a somewhat poetical transcript of the national mind in its various moods, as affected by the features of nature, the revolutions of state, and the symbolic conceptions of religion.

The most curious fact in connection with popular tales, is the evidence which they furnish of the relationship of remote peoples. They combine with comparative philology to prove that the Indo-European nations are of common stock - that they either inherited from immemorial tradition certain common faiths of fancy, or that they possessed a kindred character of race, a mental and moral similarity, which prompted them to build up the same stories. Older than the pre-historic Aryan migration must have been the germs, which grew into cognate, popular traditions in a zone from India, westward to Ireland.

The common story of WILLIAM TELL, and his daring shot, is mentioned by Mr. DASENT as an instance of a widely-spread legend, primæval among many tribes and races, which was at length attributed by a grateful people to their favorite champion as a real exploit. It appears in numerous Scandinavian legends of the eleventh century, is related a little later as the feat of a German magician of the Upper Rhine, and is told in England in the old ballads of ADAM BELL and Clym of the Clough. It is omitted in the older Swiss chronicles of TELL, and is first told of him in the year 1499, when it had been for at least a few centuries a common tradition of famous marksmen.