white sticks, came dashing up; 'we must stop this noise, or all the country, even to the nests on the top of Etna, will know we are in motion. Muffle the bells, Chino; and tell us what's in the wind. It seems as if Don Diavolo himself were abroad.' 'He may be,' quoth a sturdy square-set fellow, with a face shining like a copper-pan well burnished, bare head, a white shirt, brown breeches, gray stockings, and buckled shoes-' he may be, Pipo, but in the dress of a gendarme. I told you of the patrols last night; to-day it has been worse. Orders have come from Messina to watch all the coast, as if an enemy were going to invade us. Luckily, Signor Soldato is stupid and slow. We shall have, perhaps, time to run this cargo in; and then we must lie quiet for a time, and smoke, and sing, and dance, and make love, but do no business at all.' themselves mirrors for half-a-dozen stars, separated the range which the party had just surmounted from another much loftier, though with an easier slope. The path leading over it could be distinctly traced; for it was occupied by a long procession of lights, the first of which had nearly reached the bank of the stream below. From the trampling and murmur borne across the valley by the night-breeze, it was evident that many hundred persons, some on foot, others on horseback, were coming that way; and the flashing of helmets, swords, and bayonets, in the light of the links, shewed that the chief portion of the party consisted of soldiery. One or two litters, however, could be distinguished; so that Walter guessed that some great personage was travelling under good escort from Messina to Palermo. He looked hastily around to discover what had become of Angela, and saw the white mule about a hundred yards off, moving rapidly away. Dashing in that direction without waiting to make out the pathway, slipping, scrambling, encourag soon came up with Jacopo, who was driving away the mule and its burden. Poor Angela gazed wildly about, not knowing what all this hurry-scurry meant. 'Stop, son of Pipo!' said Walter, laying his hand on the huge fellow's shoulder. 'In a general rout, every one has a right to choose his own path. The Indy will come with me.' Walter understood sufficient of this report, which was given in the most marked Sicilian dialect, to feel persuaded that the news of Angela's escape had been sent by rapid means to Messina, and that her intentioning Buck, who followed with desperate courage, Walter to land in Sicily was known. Even if he had hoped until then, therefore, it seemed now forbidden to do so. Difficulties, and obstacles, and disasters, were accumulating on all sides. He paused to consider whether Providence itself had not declared against him; but just as his courage was about to give way, there came to his heart as it were a low whisper, which said: 'Right being on thy side, no matter what is against thee. Struggle on, and the reward shall be, if not success, a satisfied conscience.' Then he glanced at Angela, who, ignorant of nearly all the new dangers that surrounded her, was already in the saddle, wrapped in a vast capote, beneath the hood of which her pale countenance looked, said the youngest of Pipo's sons, in a low respectful voice, like that of the Madonna in the chapel of San Giovanni. Poor fellow! he saw the beauty before him, but the beauty of the daub of which he was thinking was created by his own pious imagination. Jacopo felt that he was under the hand of a man at least his match for strength, and ascertained by a rapid glance that a reserve was coming up close behind. He therefore adopted the persuasive tone. 'You had better go along with us,' said he, unless you are inclined to fall into the hands of the Marchese Belmonte.' 'My father,' murmured Angela, gazing eagerly down the valley, where the litter-bearers had just halted on the bank of the stream, whilst a number of horsemen, who had probably seen figures moving suspiciously on the crest of the hill, dashed through the shallow water, and came clambering rapidly up. The file of mules, with heavy cloths thrown over their bells, began to move along the shore; Katerina A violent struggle took place in Angela's mind. and her sister, half laughing, half crying, bade adieu to Was it right in her to be wandering in this lawless their husbands, and kissed the hands of Angela, who had way by night through unknown regions-seeking for inspired them likewise with a respectful attachment; happiness in defiance of the laws-when perhaps her Walter and Mr Buck followed as cheerfully as they father was there, near at hand, repentant of his harshcould; and they had soon encircled the bay, and reached ness, instructed by her patient resistance, moved by the entrance of a narrow valley leading due south her mysterious flight, disturbed probably by the emoinland. The moon had not yet risen; but the stars, tions of fear and love, ready at the cry which she large and lustrous, and thickly sown, lighted the path could scarcely repress to receive her into pardon, and along which the mules, sulky at being deprived of their consent to her happiness? But then she remembered accustomed music, trod slowly, scarcely pricking_up a terrible scene, during which her cries of anguish had their ears when their masters cheered them on. The found no answer but reproach; she remembered the sides of the valley became soon clothed with trees, unhappy Prisoner, her husband, waiting with faith for which, indeed, here and there met overhead, forming a the appointed hour of deliverance which was to bring dark tunnel. On reaching a broad, dismal table-land, her into his arms; and when Walter, who had found Walter saw to his dismay that they turned eastward, it necessary to threaten ere he could drive Jacopo to away from Palermo, away from Maretimo; but he knew retreat, came to her, she murmured: that remonstrance would be useless, and determined to wait until the morrow, before he even thought of a plan of escape. Their course lay amidst patches of stony ground and brushwood towards a vast range of hills, rising in a succession of steps or parallel ranges of increasing height, at the foot of the first of which they soon arrived. The ascent, by a zigzag path, was difficult and slowly performed. They reached the summit of the first step without incident; but here a halt took place uncommanded, having apparently no definite object, men and animals collecting into a confused crowd, with eager murmurs, and then scattering over the hill in all directions. Walter, who was a little in the rear, hastened forward, and saw a brilliant but alarming spectacle. A shallow valley, along which ran a stream, visible here and there where small patches of the water made 'Save me-oh, save me! Better I should be in the hands of these rough men, than once more a prisoner in my father's house.' Walter lifted her out of the saddle, and badé Josef who had never quitted the head of the mule, drive it away. The escort had reached the summit of the bill and several men, seeing that it would be dangerous t urge the horses along the rocky ridge in the direc tion of the figures they could distinguish-moving ar stationary-had dismounted. Most of the smugglers were already out of sight; but Walter and his party were so near, that there was danger of capture if a moment were to be lost. The mule galloping down the slope in the well-known direction of its stable. attracted the attention of the soldiers, who fired one or two random shots after it. Meanwhile Walter, ha leading, half carrying Angela, hastened to escape from a too conspicuous position, and to descend into the valley, making towards a clump of trees that could be dimly distinguished on the banks of the stream. None of the party spoke a word; but all being equally ignorant of the place, trusted to his courage and judgment implicitly. The soldiers, encumbered by their sabres, and probably fearful of falling into an ambuscade, saw them, but followed slowly, shouting to them to stop. The remainder of the escort, grouped round the litters on the opposite side of the water, were distinctly visible by the light of numerous links that had gradually collected into one focus-but could evidently distinguish nothing, and murmured confusedly. The cover which Walter had selected was not more than a hundred yards from the nearest light; but trees and bushes lined the stream along all its upper course. They had almost reached the place of safety, when a loud, stern, authoritative voice, before which all others became silent, except one that seemed to speak in the feminine accents of entreaty and reproach, but which passed unheeded-a loud voice, we say, cried : "Take them, dead or alive! Fire!" 'Oh, father!' exclaimed Angela, turning fiercely, as if now careless of all danger, in the direction from which this ruthless order came. Her cry of reproach was so loud that it might have reached the ears to which it was addressed; but the soldiers, not at all liking the rough ground over which the chase was leading them, took advantage of the order, halted, and fired their carbines each from where he stood. The light was so dim, however, that nearly all their shot pattered on the stony ground without taking effect; but Walter knew by the peculiar start of Angela, whom he was dragging rather than leading under the trees, that she had been touched. had been so full of bustle, and noise, and life, was abandoned by all, save the four fugitives, who still crouched silently by the water-side. When they thought there was no longer any danger of stragglers remaining behind the escort, they began to talk of their position, which was by no means promising. 'Now, Mr Masterton,' said Buck, who was quite at sea, 'what are we to do? Where are we to go? Why have we left Pipo in the lurch? What are your projects? How many more times are we to be shot at ?' Without taking notice of the slightly mutinous tone in which these questions were put, Walter replied: 'Our object is still to contrive the freedom of Paolo di Falco. If we are less rich in means than we thought ourselves yesterday, we have the advantage of being complete masters of our movements. I propose that we should draw a little nearer to Palermo-keeping, however, away from the coast. Master Josefo, who is intelligent, though no hero, can be sent into some large village to purchase garments less foreign-looking than these, whilst we bivouac in some wood. Then we can present ourselves as travellers at another place, risking the chances of discovery. I trust to your co-operation, my dear sir. You must remain with Madame di Falco, whilst I go alone to find means of reaching Maretimo at the appointed time.' So many objections were at once raised, that Walter had to promise that when he had chartered a bark, he would contrive, if possible, to take his companions on board. 'We may have to coerce a crew again,' said Mr Buck. 'You are wounded, good Heavens!' exclaimed he. 'Why have I undertaken this journey,' said Angela, Just enough to forbid my forgetting this night!''but that when he stretches out his freed hand, mine said she bitterly, holding up her arm. The poor thing, exasperated, not by pain or danger, but at the thought that her father, even though ignorant of her presence, should have her shot at like a wild beast, was beginning to feel a vague sentiment of hatred that chilled and contracted her heart. Still the soldiers fired, as if in sport, and the bullets every now and then dashed the leaves from the branches over the heads of the fugitives. Walter, however, had his plan. Instead of attempting to fly up the stream, he led his little party through the wood, and made them all crouch down under cover of the bank, with their feet almost in the water. 'I have not played "hide-and-seek" in Berkshire for nothing,' whispered he to Mr Buck, who was, however, so absorbed in internally anathematising the assassins who had put him in such jeopardy, that he treated this observation with silent contempt. Angela bared her arm, which had been slightly grazed above the wrist, and washed the wound, and said gloomily: 'If he is thirsty, he will drink.' Walter, whose good-humour had quite returned, now that he felt confident of safety, rebuked her pleasantly. Unless the scratch is very deep,' whispered he, 'which you say it is not, I cannot allow you to be angry with the good old gentleman. He is a wonderfully vigorous brigand-hunter, that is all.' "The painful wound is in my heart,' replied, in a choked voice, Angela, whose tears had by this time begun to flow. From their hiding-place they heard a great deal of noise and shouting; and a group of men, calling to each other to keep close together, passed along the skirts of the wood. But the marchese probably soon got tired of this chase without results. The soldiers were ordered off; the line of march was reformed; the lights could be seen through the trees ascending the hill, and disappearing one by one over the summit; and presently that valley, which for nearly an hour may be the first to clasp it?' They determined to move at once in the direction of Palermo, which they judged to be distant about twenty miles; and being afraid of losing themselves, or meeting some of the scattered smugglers, if they attempted to bear at once inland, proceeded towards the road, or rather well-marked track, by which the marchese had marched. On issuing from amidst the trees, they found that the moon had risen; and by the time they reached the table-land they had already traversed, it gave sufficient light to enable them to continue their journey without fear of losing their way. Angela, whose little feet had scarcely ever been allowed to walk, except in a garden or a public promenade, sustained by her affection, bore the fatigue not only well but cheerfully. She had evidently by this time begun to look upon Walter as a being of a superior order, and thought that, because he seemed confident of success even now, there could be no reason for doubt on her part. Although the little party advanced very slowly, several times, on reaching the summit of hills that crossed their path, they saw the lights of the wellguarded travellers who preceded them, stretching in a serpentine line along a plain, or up a slope, or flashing like Will-o'-the-wisps through some wood. Now and then even a gust of wind brought to their ears the trampling of horses' hoofs, or the voices of soldiers, perhaps talking loud to keep their courage up; for every defile might conceal an ambuscade, and robbers had been known to harass, if not to attack, even stronger parties than theirs. There were, no doubt, many mules carrying baggage in company; and when this fact was suggested, Mr Buck, who was becoming quite lawless in the midst of these strange adventures, proposed that in case any animals dropped behind, they should be at once confiscated. It is possible that some improper action of the kind would have been performed had an opportunity occurred; but they marched nearly all night without meeting anything alive on the road. The inhabitants of the few hamlets they passed-not brought up with a proper amount of respect for the military authorities of the country-seemed to have deserted in part their houses on the approach of the escort; for several doors were open, but not a sound was heard, not a human shape moved. It is a prejudice in those parts, that men who are paid to assert the laws are more dangerous than those who make it a business to infract them. The travellers at first had some idea of occupying one of the deserted habitations, but judged it more prudent to push on, and halt beneath a group of chestnut-trees, which they made out by the first light of the dawn on a conspicuous eminence to the left of the road. They were so fatigued, that at first they did not even take the bearings of their hiding-place, but lay down almost indifferent to what might happen, and slept. In an hour, however, Walter, ever active, opened his eyes, and saw that the sun was shining horizontally through the grove, gilding one-half of the huge trunks, and filling the cloud of foliage overhead with streaks and spots of green light. His three companions slum bered still. Rising, he gazed around, and to his sur prise, and even dismay, perceived that, having advanced further during the night than he had calculated, they had reached what may be called the upper rim of the Golden Shell-the incomparable valley sloping down to the embayed sea, where Palermo, resting on the shore like a white nymph, admires her own beauties in the lucent wave. inked, and notched, and inscribed desks; the anguish of learning; the delight of escape from what is remembered with so much pleasure though the escape brings to mind delightful things too-the playground; and the boy friends; the rivals; the combats; the triumphs; the heroic reconciliations; the penknives exchanged; the predatory excursions planned; the farmers robbed and paid; the holidays; the smiles that garlanded the door of home; all these reminiscences, we say, came trooping, as it were, beneath Walter's eyelids, which closed for a moment, and then opened wet with tears. Suddenly there appeared advancing up the road leading to the villa a number of men, some of whom borea litter. It was easy to guess from their movements that they arrived from a long journey and Walter, by a process of reasoning which he did not notice, inferred that they must have formed part of the crowd whose appearance during the night had so opportunely dispersed the smugglers. Then he remembered that he had seemed to hear, at the most critical point of their adventure, a feminine voice, which he now for the first time connected with a person who occupied much of his thoughts, though he never dared to speak of her. A powerful contest between prudence, and what we may call an impulse of curiosity, took place. Under other circumstances, the issue would not have been doubtful; but unfortunately Walter, usually so able to master himself, felt drawn as by a loadstone towards that litter, which had now halted at the base of the flight of steps by which the portico of the villa was approached. He shook his English companion, bidding him watch awhile; was unaccountably satisfied with an answer that presaged only a deeper sleep than before; and abandoning his post with a recklessness for which many a sentinel has suffered death, began rapidly descending the defile. The rising sun by degrees heightened the colours of the landscape; and its rays seemed to stop and gather in sparkles on all the steeples, towers, and pinnacles of the city, and on the white villas, white statues, white balustrades, that shone between the deep green mass of the orange, citron, and pomegranate groves. The sea trembled as it were with pleasure between He was not, however, so mad as to go straight to the two mighty promontories on either hand. The the entrance, where the litter-bearers, after a slight hills, grand in outline, were covered almost to the form had rapidly ascended the steps, had cast themsummit with vegetation: here were wheat and bean selves down in the sun, as if exhausted by long travel. fields; there, palms gracefully bending, added an His object at first was simply to reconnoitre the Oriental feature to the scene; and there were, more ground; and for this purpose, having reached the over, bamboos, and laurel-trees, and oleanders, and meadow, and leaped the water-course, inattentive to aloes, all growing in wild profusion at the foot of the bright flowers it fed, he began climbing towards the slope from which Walter surveyed this beautiful the back of the orchard. He found it protected by scene. He had beheld it before when indisposed to high walls, surmounted by iron-gratings; and went all admire. Now he stood entranced. He could see a round, without obtaining any information whatever. few peasants in the distance moving along the path- On coming again in sight of the sleeping litterways between the fields; but there was no other sign bearers, he hesitated, reflected on his rashness, and of human life. The only sounds heard were the songs looked towards the grove of chestnut-trees. He of birds, some hid among the trees, no doubt in warm thought he saw something move there, and persuadlittle nooks, to which the sun penetrated by leafying himself that Mr Buck was on the watch, he drew loopholes; others in the grass, which they now and then ruffled in circular flights; while others were far out of sight in the crystal sky, from which their notes descended as in a dew of harmony. A few hundred yards from the spot where Walter stood was a pretty little villa, nestling in the midst of a kind of orchard of orange and myrtle trees, and approached in front by steps leading to a succession of little terraces, adorned with vases filled with bright flowers. He was separated from it by a ravine-if that name can be applied to a deep depression between two eminences without any sharp angles, but carpeted with sward, from which here and there sprang perfumed shrubs. At the bottom was a narrow green meadow, in the midst of which a bright sinuous line of deeper green shewed the presence of a water-course. Walter's eye turned with pleasure from the grand features of the scene to this charming prospect; and as a number of bees came buzzing along, boasting, as it were, of the flowers they had rifled, and threatening new conquests, thoughts long suppressed arose unbidden, and the names of Theocritus, and Bion, and Moschus, with the associations that become linked to them in youth; of the old schoolmaster with gray hair; the a little nearer to the garden-gate. To his surprise, on both the pillars which flanked it, he saw inscribed in marble letters the words: Villa CastelnuOVE! He at once remembered what Luigi Spada bad often told him, that the three young Castelnuoves were also engaged in the conspiracy to deliver Paolo di Falco; and that all the family might be trusted, from Antonio up to the excellent, though timid and lukewarm, comt :| himself. What he had just almost admitted to be puerik rashness, he now believed to have been inspiration. Passing boldly amidst the sleeping servants, not one ef whom raised his head, he pushed open the gate, and ascended rapidly. In another minute he stood before Bianca, and a young girl, not more than seventeen years old, who screamed slightly at his sudden appearance, partly, no doubt, because of the wildness and;, disorder of his costume. Bianca was also evidently a little startled, and had become quite pale. 'Hush, Antonia,' she said. We have come down here to talk aloud without awakening your father, and you raise your voice as if a serpent had stung you! Fie! This is a friend of mine; although, certainly, be does come upon us with dramatic rapidity. Signor Masterton, pray enter and rest, for you seem to have walked all night.'" mort * This calm reception and ironical tone were perhaps not exactly what Walter had thought of when he scrambled like a boy across the ravine; but still he had been at once recognised, and admitted to intimacy, and it would have been foolish to obey the impulse that told him to turn haughtily away. He entered the vestibule in which the two young persons were, and sat down without a word. So great indeed was his emotion, that his lips trembled, and he felt that if he attempted to speak, he should make an unmanly appearance. Even through the bronze mask which exposure to the air had cast over his countenance, it could be seen that the blood was slowly and unwillingly retiring. Sir!' exclaimed Bianca, her voice bursting more naturally from her lips than he had ever heard it before, and quivering with all the inflections of a woman's tenderness-sir,' she exclaimed rising, "I think you are indeed tired exhausted-nay, wounded.' She looked at the scar on his cheek, which had opened during the immense exertion he had made in escaping from the soldiery, and drawing near, and laying her hand on his arm, she added in a husky voice: **Can it have been you-you that crossed our path last night ?' "Yes, madam!' exclaimed Walter, restored to himself by these expressions of sympathy, and quite sure that he might speak with safety. But this wound was not received then. "Another was struck.' Great God!' cried Bianca, not Angela?'. *She.' Oh, horrible! I implored-moved by an irresistible impulse I implored her father to restrain the soldiers; but he believed there were ambuscades of brigands on every side. Yet, where is she? I know by your look that the marquis will not have that terrible sin upon his 'soul.' Walter, though unable to account to himself for the deep interest which Bianca seemed to feel in Angela, determined to trust implicitly to her. He led her, therefore, to a window, and pointed to the clump of chestnut-trees. There!' exclaimed Bianca, her eyes glistening with delight. I must go instantly and bring her in.' She would have hastened forth without more ado had not Walter restrained her. -Remember,' he said, almost unconsciously making Bianca an accomplice, that we are fugitives. Our entrance into this house must be secret. It belongs, if 1 mistake not, to the friends of Luigi Spada." A happy smile played round the mouth of Antonia when she heard that name; and she hastened to say that the surmise was correct. Then Walter remembered' that in idle hours upon deck by moonlightwhen men at sea talk of their loves even to strangers -poor Luigi had said something of one Antonia whom he had somewhere seen, and whom he hoped to marry, not, like Paolo, secretly in a garden-chapel, but with the knowledge and applause of all Sicily. He did not think it right then, however, to talk of the sad fate of the Filippa, but assented as cheerfully as he could when the young girl proposed to call her eldest brother, who was walking in the garden. Julio Castelnuoverwas, as we have said, not remarkable for spontaneous energy or invention, and willingly played the part of a subordinate; but he was hospitable and gentlemanly, and readily understood what it was necessary to do. " We must go out by the side-gate,' he said, and walk leisurely towards the chestnut trees. The party can come in one by one, or two by two, slowly, without exciting suspicion. The ladies will wait for us here. Come with me. We have been expecting you. We knew yesterday of your arrival at Torre del Capitano, and wondered why Luigi did not send you immediately to this place. He is fond of complicated plans—a prodigiously clever fellow-the greatest politician in Italy-everything will depend on him until it comes to this' Here Julio made the gesture of cut-and-thrust with the sabre; but as they were by this time under the trees of the orchard, Walter thought it right to tell him of the utter destruction of the Filippa, and the probable loss of the whole crew. The young man's face became livid, and his arms fell by his side. For a moment he seemed morally and physically prostrated. He and his friends had been so long accustomed to look up to Spada as the grand artificer of plots, that without him they were as helpless as children. 'Sicily is lost!' murmured Julio, and he did not utter another word during the passage of the little valley and the ascent of the hill. He had dropped, indeed, some way behind his eager companion, and followed moodily and mechanically. A terrible cry of horror and despair roused him. He sprang up the few remaining paces, and beheld Walter standing with upraised hands under the trees, his eyes intently fixed on a pool of blood in the centre of a bare piece of ground. Besides this fearful sign, there was nothing to tell that living creatures had passed that way. 'But this is impossible-it is impossible,' said Walter in that terribly calm tone of voice, in which despair sometimes reasons, as it were, with itself ere it plunges into suicide or insanity. I left them all three heresleeping tranquilly-and I deserted my post but for a moment and I return, and I find them not-nothing but these traces of murder.' Julio hastened to the other side of the grove, and looked over a broad expanse of heath, that extended to the skirts of a gloomy forest more than a mile distant. He could desery nothing in motion. By this time Walter had recovered from his stupefaction, and came to his side. 'We must pursue, and rescue them,' exclaimed he, stepping forward as if to suit the action to the word. 'Stay, friend,' cried Julio; the attempt would be mere madness at present. I see you have your pistols; but this outrage can only have been committed by a strong party of banditti. Reflect a moment. We have seen blood, but no corpses. There has been a struggle, and a wound has been given. But as yet there is no death. Let us be calm. Before moving, we must learn who has been at work here. We have means of knowing, and may recover the prisoners without a blow. It is, perhaps, a mere mistake.' Walter could not but admit that what Julio said was wise. Yet he felt his own culpability so strongly, that he could not bring himself to believe the fact that his friends were really removed beyond reach of rescue. He went, slowly it is true, over the heath, pausing every now and then where a big drop of blood was visible on the ground or on a leaf. Where the earth was soft, he could see the traces of horses' feet, which convinced him that pursuit would be hopeless. Still, however, he wandered on with a pistol in his hand; and it is true, that as through his fevered brain rushed thoughts of what misery might have been caused by his neglect of the just reproaches which Paolo, delivered perhaps to hear of unutterable misery, would heap upon his head-it is quite true, we say, that for an instant he meditated turning that weapon against himself. A motion, a rustling sound in some bushes near at hand, attracted his attention. It seemed as if a man was crawling cautiously away. 'Stop,' he cried, 'or you are dead;' and he leaped forward desperately. seka A face, horrid with fear, appeared near the ground. Immediately, however, its expression changed to one of delirious joy; and Josefo, the sailor-lad who had accompanied them so faithfully from Naples, despite dangers which he was unaccustomed to meet, sprang WHILE the whole country, absorbed in the one great subject of the day, is alternating between the deepest sorrow and the most fervent exultation, it can scarcely bestow more than a passing glance upon events which, but a short time since, would have claimed and received While every eye is turned towards that fearful field, where so many of our brave countrymen are falling, little heed is taken of the more tranquil scenes of death that are taking place around us. Yet here, at home, we have had losses which, however small in number when compared with those of Alma and Inkermann, claim from the literary chronicler at least a passing word of notice. John Gibson Lockhart heads our list. Although holding by no means one of the first places in literature, his works, and the associations that attach to his name, will doubtless gain for him a lasting reputation. As is well known, he was a native of Scotland, and received his education at the university of Glasgowcompleting his studies at Oxford. He commenced his literary career by contributing to Blackwood's Magazine, and became acquainted with Sir Walter Scott, whose daughter Sophia he married in 1820. In 1825, Mr Lockhart was invited to London, to take the post of editor of the Quarterly Review. He accepted the invitation, and held the office until very recently. Political circumstances made this journal more influential a few years ago than it has latterly been; but, under Lockhart, it steadily maintained its character as the most popularly attractive of all the reviews. In 1843, he was presented by Sir Robert Peel with a sinecure office worth about L.400 a year. With this income, and with property to which he had succeeded, Mr Lockhart passed his latter days free from those cares which so frequently imbitter the close of a literary career. He died of paralysis at Abbotsford, now occupied by his daughter. Mr Lockhart will chiefly be remembered by his Spanish Ballads, and his Life of Sir Walter Scott, which, notwithstanding all the exceptions that have been taken to it, must be held as amongst the most pleasing biographies in our language—indeed, perhaps, second only to the famed work of Boswell. Mr Lockhart's novels of Valerius, Reginald Dalton, &c., have not maintained their place before the public. The critic is not expected to be a very popular character, and it was not Mr Lockhart's destiny to be an exception to the rule: for this his satiric vein was too keen, his personal habits too reserved. In these respects, the contrast he formed to Jeffrey was very striking. their full share of attention. The death of Mr Frederick Knight Hunt, author of A History of the Newspaper Press, and editor of the Daily News, is another loss which literature has recently sustained. A self-educated man, raised from obscurity by the force of his own talents and perseverance, his life is interesting and encouraging in its various aspects. He was born in London in 1814, the eldest of six children, whom, with their mother, he supported for many years. It was no light task. By night, he worked in the printing-office of the Morning Herald newspaper; by day, he was clerk to a barrister in the Temple. Yet, while thus doubly engaged, he contrived to devote many spare moments to the improvement of his mind, and read with such assiduity, that he soon qualified himself for the place in literature he now assumed. Believing, however, that any other profession was better than the one he had adopted, he studied medicine, and passed his examination at the hall and college successfully. He soon, however, returned to literature; became connected with the Illustrated News, and other publications; and in 1846, was appointed by Mr Dickens one of the assistant-editors of the Daily News. In 1851, he became sole editor, and continued so until his death, a few weeks ago. To Mr Hunt's exertions and excellent management, the Daily News owes the reputation it has gained, as one of the first papers in Europe for early and authentic intelligence; it being in this respect now considered quite equal to the Times. Mr Hunt leaves behind him a memory that his fellowlabourers in literature will long cherish with affectionate regard, and a wife and family whom his prudence and industry have adequately provided for. Charles Kemble, Lord Dudley Stuart, Professor Edward Forbes, and Miss Ferrier-a Scottish novelist of some repute in her day-close the catalogue of our recent losses. American authors must think English critics very hard to please. If the American writer is satirical upon us, and makes merry with our manners and customs, he gets no quarter, but is assailed without mercy; his minutest errors are pounced upon with greedy exultation; his ignorance and presumption exposed at every step. This case is but slightly different if the writer speaks in our favour instead of our dispraise. His panegyrics are accounted absurd, his enthusiasm simulated. Recently, we have had amongst us a young American lady, Miss Clarke, who, under the name of Grace Greenwood, has written an account of her experiences of English society, and the impressions which travel in the Old World have made upon her mind. Though there is little in the book that merits either strong condemnation or high praise, there is much concerning ourselves that is pleasing to read, coming as it does from a stranger. But Grace Greenwood's Haps and Mishaps have been almost as ungently handled as Mrs Stowe's Sunny Memories. Because Miss Greenwood tells us what she thought of Mr Disraeli-how she was received by Mr Dickens, and whom she met at his table—an outcry is raised against this violation of the privacy of the domestic hearth, and authors are warned of the fate which awaits them should they open their doors to such travelling book-makers. Surely there is a little morbid sensibility in all this. Such writers as Mr Dickens can well afford to let us know something of their habits, of their friends, and of their daily life, without much dread of consequences. Surely, too, readers may feel some curiosity upon these points, without that curiosity being either impertinence or vulgarity. Grace Greenwood has told us several things which cannot fail to be interesting to all her own countrymen, and to many of ours, and certainly without drawing aside too much that veil which should shroud from the public eye the transactions of the most humble home. Strange news still continue to reach us from that country to which the young lady just alluded to belongs. The spirit of Shakspeare has been invoked by a Rapper,' and has condescendingly furnished the disturber of its peace with a new play, entitled T Hermit of Malta, which, it is said, is about to be acted, or is already acting, in America. The posthumous play, of course, has been pronounced by competent judges' quite equal to any of the other works of the immortal bard. Perhaps, however, these competent judges will alter their opinion when they learn that the play was written several years ago-was submitted, but without success, to several London managers-and *Haps and Mishaps of a Tour in Europe. By Grace Gree wood. London: Bentley. |