creased by the difficulties overcome in creating them? We gaze on the Venus de Medicis, and never ask by what process so much loveliness was produced. Our estimate of the worth of Hogg's works is not influenced by his telling us of his hardships outwardly and inwardly: we admire not his ‘Kilmeny' the more because once on a time the wardrobe of the writer was scanty, and his toilette much neglected-in short, a poet, if such is his pleasure, may proclaim his sorrows to the world and show his miseries by the way-side, but he must not think that the said world will care a bodle about them. We shall, however, let him speak for himself—though other hands have been before us, there is much in his Memoir both to glean and reap: he commenced the " idle trade" in the twenty-fourth year of his age. "The first time that I attempted to write verses was in the spring of the year 1796. Mr. Laidlaw having a number of valuable books, which were all open to my perusal, I about this time began to read with considerable attention; -and no sooner did I begin to read so as to understand, than, rather prematurely, I began to write. For several years my compositions consisted wholly of songs and ballads made for lasses to sing in chorus; and a proud man I was when I first heard the rosy nymphs chaunting my uncouth strains, and jeering me by the still dear appellation of 'Jamie the poeter.' up Burns said that his own success had produced a swarm of ill-spawned monsters who wallowed in his train: he at last inspired a spirit more akin to himself: "The first time I ever heard of Burns was in 797, the year after he died. One day during That summer a half daft man, named John Scott, came to me on the hill, and to amuse me repeated Tam O'Shanter. I was delighted! I was far more than delighted-I was ravished! I cannot describe my feelings; but, in short, before Jock Scott left me, I could recite the poem from beginning to end, and it has been my favourite poem ever since. He told me it was made by one Robert Burns, the sweetest poet that ever was born; but that he was now dead, and his place would never be supplied. He told me all about him, how he was born on the 25th of January, bred a ploughman, how many beautiful songs and poems he had composed, and that he had died last harvest, on the 21st of August. "This formed a new epoch of my life. Every day I pondered on the genius and fate of Burns. I wept, and always thought with myself-what is to hinder me from succeeding Burns? I too was born on the 25th of January, and I have much more time to read and compose than any ploughman could have, and can sing more old songs than ever ploughman could in the world. But then I wept again because I could not write. However, I resolved to be a poet, and to follow in the steps of Burns." His first published song was 'Donald M'Donald': there is a fine roll of words, but the poetry is ordinary: it obtained, however, great popularity: "There chanced to be about that time a great masonic meeting in Edinburgh, the Earl of Moira in the chair; on which occasion, Mr. Oliver, of the house of Oliver & Boyd, then one of the best singers in Scotland, sung Donald M'Donald.' It was loudly applauded, and three times encored; and so well pleased was Lord Moira with the song, that he rose, and in a long speech descanted on the utility of such songs at that period-thanked Mr. Oliver, and proffered him his whole interest in Scotland. This to the singer; yet, strange to say, he never inquired who was the author of the song!" His first important work was the Queen's Wake: a poem of great original merit weak as a babe in some parts, but strong as a giant in others: it raised him at once to a high station among the bards of his country. The greeting which he received on his success from William Dunlop, is characteristic of both : Yon's "Ye useless poetical deevil that ye're!' said he, what hae ye been doing a' this time?'What doing, Willie! what do you mean?''D-n your stupid head, ye hae been pestering us wi' fourpenny papers an' daft shilly-shally sangs, an' bletherin' an' speakin' i' the Forum, an' yet had stuff in ye to produce a thing like this! Ay, Willie,' said I; 'have you seen my new beuk?'-'Ay, faith, that I have, man; and it has lickit me out o' a night's sleep. Ye hae hit the right nail on the head now. the very thing, sir.'-'I'm very glad to hear you say sae, Willie; but what do ye ken about poems?'-Never ye mind how I ken; I gi'e you my word for it, yon's the thing that will do. If ye hadna made a fool o' yoursel' afore, man, yon wad hae sold better than ever a book sold. Od, wha wad hae thought there was as muckle in that sheep's-head o' yours? d-d stupid poetical deevil that ye 're! And with that he went away, laughing and miscalling me over his shoulder." He succeeded nearly as well in prose. His Winter Evening Tales' are easy and natural. He then tried his hand as an editor, and gave to the world his 'Jacobite Relics.' Of this undertaking he speaks with as much satisfaction as the work deserves : "The native Highlanders were so jealous of a Sassenach coming plodding among them, gathering up their rebellious scraps, that, had it not been for the influence of the ladies over the peasantry of their respective districts, I could never have succeeded. But, in the end, I am sure I produced two volumes of Jacobite Relics, such as no man in Scotland or England could have produced but myself. I assert it, and can prove it; for besides the songs and histories of events and persons, I collected all the original airs over a whole kingdom, many of them among a people whose language I did not understand; and that work I dedicated to the Highland Society of London in a poetical epistle." The vicissitudes of his fortune were equal to the variety of his works; but such is the equanimity of his temper, that nothing ruffled him: "One may think, on reading over this Memoir, that I must have worn out a life of misery and wretchedness; but the case has been quite the reverse. I never knew either man or woman who has been so uniformly happy as I have been; which has been partly owing to a good constitution, and partly from the conviction that a heavenly gift, conferring the powers of immortal song, was inherent in my soul. Indeed, so uniformly smooth and happy has my married life been, that on a retrospect I cannot distinguish one part from another, save by some remarkably good days of fishing, shooting, and curling on the ice. Those who desire to peruse my youthful love adventures will find some of the best of them in those of 'George Cochrane,' in the following tales." establishing Blackwood's Magazine, and till Though he aided mainly in planning and of late continued to write for it, he dislikes the notice taken of him in the 'Noctes,' and desires much to have a lawsuit. These are his words : : "For my part, after twenty years of feelings hardly suppressed, he has driven me beyond the bounds of human patience. That Magazine of his, which owes its rise principally to myself, has often put words and sentiments into my mouth of which I have been greatly ashamed, and which have given much pain to my family and relations, and many of those after a solemn written promise that such freedoms should never be repeated. I have been often urged to restrain and humble him by legal measures as an incorrigible offender deserves. I know I have it in my power, and if he dares me to the task, I want but a hair to make a tether of." He touches with a sarcastic hand the cha racters of Constable, Miller, Blackwood, and Longman & Co., booksellers,—with all of whom he has had dealings; but his chief pleasure lies in drawing the characters of his friends and associates. The person of Wilson he sketches with a clever, but a caricaturing hand: "All I could learn of him was, that he was a man from the mountains in Wales, or the west of England, with hair like eagles' feathers, and nails like birds' claws; a red beard, and an uncommon degree of wildness in his looks." Scott he has given more at length, but not with much felicity. When collecting the Minstrelsy, Sir Walter was introduced to the mother of the Shepherd, that he might hear from her lips the fine historical ballad of Auld Maitland' : "When he heard my mother sing it he was quite satisfied, and I remember he asked her if she thought it had ever been printed; and her answer was, 'Oo, na, na, sir, it was never printed i' the world, for my brothers an' me learned it frae auld Andrew Moor, an' he learned it, an' mony mae, frae auld Baby Mettlin, that was house-keeper to the first laird o' Tushilaw.' "Then that must be a very auld story, indeed, Margaret,' said he. 666 'Ay, it is that! It is an auld story! But mair nor that, except George Warton and James Steward, there was never ane o' my sangs prentit till ye prentit them yoursell, an' ye hae spoilt them a'thegither. They war made for singing, an' no for reading; and they're nouther right spelled nor right setten down. 666 "Heh-heh-heh! Take ye that, Mr. Scott,' said Laidlaw." Hogg has had his own luck in coincidences -he was born on the same day of the month as Burns: he was married on the same day as Lockhart, and is just five months and ten days younger than Scott, whom he is resolved, it seems, to survive, for the sake of drawing his character at full length. who, I think, know Sir Walter better, or under"There are not above five people in the world stand his character better than I do; and if I and ten days younger, I shall draw a mental outlive him, which is likely, as I am five months portrait of him, the likeness of which to the original shall not be disputed. In the meantime, this is only a reminiscence, in my own line, of an illustrious friend among the mountains." Of Southey he speaks as all men must who have the honour of knowing that eminent person: "Southey certainly is as elegant a writer as any in the kingdom. But those who would love Southey as well as admire him, must see him, as I did, in the bosom, not only of one lovely family, but of three, all attached to him as a father, and all elegantly maintained and educated, it is generally said, by his indefatigable pen. The whole of Southey's conversation and economy, both at home and afield, left an impression of veneration on my mind, which no future contingency shall ever either extinguish or injure. Both his figure and countenance are imposing, and deep thought is strongly marked in his dark eye; but there is a defect in his eyelids, for these he has no power of raising; so that, when he looks up, he turns up his face, being unable to raise his eyes; and when he looks towards the top of one of his romantic mountains, one would think he was looking at the zenith." Wordsworth seems but little of a favourite with the shepherd: a joke of no very brilliant kind, hazarded by the former, occasioned this unhappy breach between these two originals. The character of Lockhart is not sketched with the tact which we expected: he dwells more upon his youthful propensity of quizzing and mystifying, than seems necessary or fair; though he does justice to his talents and unaffected kindness of heart. We believe he has made a mistake—though one of no moment-when he says, that Allan Cunningham recited some of his own poems when he visited his shealing on Queensberry Hill: Allan, we assure him, did no such thinghe never recited his verses to any one; and, at the period alluded to, he had not written a word. Of Galt he speaks with much kindness; and, indeed, he speaks ill of no one, though sometimes the temptation to do so seems almost resistless. On the whole, we like this volume greatly we hope that all those, and they were both titled and numerous, who sought the shepherd's company in London, will patronize this beautiful reprint of his works: it is the best possible way of showing respect for the man and the poet. Contrast. By the Author of 'Matilda,' &c. 3 vols. London, 1832. Colburn & Co. THIS novel, we presume, takes its name from the contrast between the scenes in humble life and high life, with which it is varied, and the heroine's changes of fortune, from her poor parental hut on the sea shore, to the drawing-rooms of Grosvenor Square. The work, however, has arrived too late for us to offer anything like a critical opinion on its merit but, as our readers may be anxious to get a glimpse into a forthcoming novel by the Earl of Mulgrave, we shall make one or two brief extracts. We will first give a full-length portrait of the hero, sketched by a very clever and able hand, Lady Gayland :— "I have known Lord Castleton long and well-how long and how well it is unnecessary for the present purpose to recollect. But circumstances made an observer like myself thoroughly acquainted with his character. His misfortune is not a common one. His means have always been in exaggerated proportion to his ends. Faculties, which ought to have extended their influence over society in its more extended sense of the community, he has confined to its more limited definition-company; and he would have been more perfect in all relations as a companion, had he also been a statesman, a soldier, a philosopher, or even a poet. The human mind does not, like the baser metal, accumulate in store; but like the physical organs of our frame, from empty craving it takes to feed upon itself. In the limited sphere he had chosen, as Lord Castleton could not dread defeat, he learnt to despise success, and thence to cavil at its causes. Let me see what is there I can compare him to, that has come within your observation: we went together the other night to the pantomime. "Yes, thank you,' said Lucy, smiling even through the interest of this discussion, at the amusement she had then experienced, "Well, then, his mind is something like the The first introduction into London society of Lady Castleton, an amiable country girl, is cleverly sketched. "That style of beauty, which is defined as toilet on the succeeding evening: for he thought 'O pray of the authors, who first amuse themselves, as the best way of amusing their reader. Formerly even plays were works, but now work is but play. Besides, from the days of Byron downwards, if an author has passions he puts them into poetry-if foibles, he owns them, with only the additional lackering of some imaginary merit, confesses himself grand but faulty-doubly gratifies his vanity, by being himself his own theme-puts but a little gilt paper upon the blackest parts of his character, and, in this Mayday finery, presents himself to an admiring world." iii. 27-8. Sympathy of Sound. "Perhaps that sympathy which depends on sound is, of all others, the most independent of events, the most survives change, or despises distance. It may be, that when any similarity occurs, the points of difference are not so distinguishable by the ear as by the eye; but certainly in foreign lands, the tone of a bell, or even the whistling of the wind, will sometimes recall a distant home more strongly than any likeness in the outline of the landscape. And amongst individuals the recollection of a loved and a lost one is sometimes casually revived by a well-known intonation, or even emphasis, in the mouth of an indifferent relative, when no family resemblance of feature would have been admitted." iii. 54-5. Old acquaintance.-Burns, in his immortal song, has expressed the cordial feeling of such meetings in humble life-his Lordship moves in another circle, and has a different opinion: "It is a pleasing illusion which, on such an occasion, makes a man appropriate, as indicating a clear sense of his own merits, those manifestations of delight at his re-appearance, which have oftener no other foundation than the ebullition of selfish satisfaction, at any break or change in the wearisome monotony of a life of pleasure." iii. 10. Next week we shall speak more critically. Memoirs of William Sampson, an Irish Exile: "There are two established modes of relating this history in Ireland; they are sufficiently brief and characteristic: one party says, 'A junto of tyrants, whose cruelties exceeded the worst actions of Nero and Domitian, drove an outraged people to take up arms, and punished with remorseless barbarity, the excesses provoked by their own crimes.' The other says, A union of infidels and papists made an unprovoked attack on a mild and merciful government, which afterwards, with foolish clemency, allowed too many of the traitors to escape with "The study of letters is as light as the lives impunity;' from such pregnant texts are easily iii. 21-2. Some brief passages, in our hasty perusal, struck us as worth extracting: Modern Literature. derived volumes of vituperative declamation, with laudable modesty, denominated history. The editor cannot adopt either version of the circumstances, for the simple reason that both are untrue, and both the most mischievous falsehoods that have ever been propagated. There has never yet been a civil war, with a clear case of right on one side and of wrong on the other; to assert such a thing, would be to declare, that nature produces iniquity and perfection in such large masses, as to allow of our characterizing classes of men, as fiends or angels. In all discords, much evil must of neces sity be found on both sides, and much must be attributed to circumstances, not subject to the controul of either." p. x-xi. These are, we think, sensible words; we shall shun the dangerous discussion which the subject demands, and quote, without either commendation or censure, a few passages, to show the spirit of the man. William Sampson in Prison. "From hence I was sent under a guard to the Castle tavern, where, night and day, two sentinels were placed in my room. From these sentinels I learned to what atrocious length the brutal licentiousness of the military had been encouraged. A young man of the North Cork militia, whom I had, by civilities, drawn into conversation, frankly regretted the free quarters in Kildare; where, he said, that amongst other advantages, they had their will of the men's wives and daughters. I asked him if his officers permitted that; and he answered by a story of one, who had ordered a farmer, during the time of the free quarters, to bring him his daughter in four and twenty hours, under pain of having his house burned. The young girl had been removed to a neighbouring parish. The father would not be the instrument of his daughter's pollution. And this young soldier assured me, he had been one who, by his officer's command. had burned the house of the father. And this was called loyalty to the king and British constitution; and now this crime, with a million of others, is indemnified by law; whilst I, who would rather die than countenance such atrocity, am, without inquiry, dungeoned, proclaimed, pursued, and exiled. And still, great as my wrongs are, they are but as shadows of those of thousands of my countrymen." p. 7-8. Character of the English Army. "I have mentioned that Sir Ralph Abercrombie had been obliged to abdicate the command of the army in Ireland. I am not obliged to conjecture what his reasons were. He frankly and consistently with his manly character, published them in one short sentence, where he said, that his famous army of Carhampton 'had become contemptible to its enemies, and formidable only to its friends.' And true his words did prove, when the half naked peasants of a few counties of Ireland, without arms or ammunition, or any other leaders than those there was not wisdom to deprive them of, their misery and their despair, could wage war and gain victories over the most costly army in Europe." p. 20. The Author's Notion of the Union. "But it is said, we are now united with England, and such questions should be buried in oblivion. I deny the fact. One step towards that union is certainly gained, the consent of England. Whether Ireland may consent, I do not know; I am far from taking upon me to say the contrary. But before that can be known, the nation must be let out of prison, or recalled from banishment, and fairly treated with. If we reap no other benefit than whips, racks, and house-burnings, free quarters, and martial-law; if there be no tenderer mode of wooing us than this adopted, I have no scruple to protest against it as a frightful treason, and a blood-stained union. We may be obliged to submit, as we | have heretofore done; we may be governed by force, as we have been heretofore governed; but we shall not have consented to this match of force, and the people of Ireland may yet fly to the only consolation left them, union amongst themselves, and, grown wiser by past errors, learn to pardon and forget, and instead of look. ing back to causes of endless quarrel, look forward with courage and with hope." p. 33-4. Our columns must be devoted to other matters than the details which this fierce exile has given of his controversies with men in power; his wanderings by sea and land; his imprisonments at home and abroad, and the schemes which he entertained with others for the future welfare of Ireland. In truth, the book, though edited by a skilful and able man, and full of interest, is, nevertheless, have flowed like a sea since the day of our little to our liking; the sorrows of Ireland birth; one woe is no sooner cured than another is opened. There is, of a surety, a joy in grief; a pleasure in being sad; individually, the Irish are the happiest and most joyous of mankind as a nation they are the least so. They allow themselves to be misled by designing men, and to be moved much by small matters; they are kept continually in motion, and follow no settled plan; their isle is the fairest the sun shines on; they are seven millions strong; and nothing seems wanting to their happiness and prosperity but their own resolution. A country which permits itself to be perpetually agitated, will never prosper. It was an Irish gentleman who said, "Confound these apple-trees of mine! though I transplant them twice a year they bear no fruit!" Arlington. By the Author of Granby,' &c. 3 vols. London, 1832. Colburn & Bentley. In our few introductory words to the extracts from the 'Contrast,' we apologized for defering criticism until next week-the reasons for such apology will not be less powerful because we received two new novels instead of one, and must, therefore, serve us on the present occasion. We have only time and space for brief extracts. 66 6 The Advantages of Travel. And what do you consider the advantages of travel?' asked Lord Rochdale, in rather a drier tone than Lord Arlington liked. "One word includes many of them; it liberalizes.' "Liberalizes? Liberality is a pretty word,' said Lord Rochdale; but I don't like many of its fruits; and I positively dislike a great deal that passes under that specious name. Liberality means laxity; it means abuse of one's country; it means the being (what too many men now aim at becoming) that nondescript creature-a citizen of the world.' 666 "My liberality means none of these,' replied Lord Arlington. "Ay! every man's own liberality is a phonix of the finest feather,' said Lord Rochdale, with that tone of sarcastic superiority which he was apt to assume, especially towards young men; but,' he added, with a condescension that made the matter worse, 'what does your's mean?' "I don't profess myself good at a definition,' said Arlington; but my "liberality" means a disposition to look at other nations impartially, to acknowledge their merits where they exist, and profit, when we can, by their example.' "That sounds well,' said Lord Rochdale; 'but profiting by the example of other nations, amounts, too often, in practice, merely to the adoption of what is pleasant, without consider. ing what is right.' That,' said Lord Arlington, 'is the abuse of travel. I was speaking of the use that may be made of it.' "And I,' replied Lord Rochdale, 'of the use which is made of it. Which of these is most to the purpose?' "The latter,' said Lord Arlington, 'if it can be proved; but I think we may hardly assume a fact, and reason upon it as if it was established.' Arlington then half turned away, for he did not like the brow-beating tone with which Lord Rochdale chose to maintain his not very defensible side of the question; nor did he choose to pursue an argument with one who seemed too much to assume that superior age implied supe rior wisdom, and who spoke almost as if he thought that difference of opinion was impertinent in so young a man. The Earl looked at him gravely for a moment, as if he read what was passing in his mind; then relaxing the austerity of his countenance, as if desirous to make amends, he touched his arm, and in an under-tone directed his attention to what was passing among others of the party within hearing. "Listen,' said he, and you will hear more of the uses and advantages of travel.' "Mr. Theobald at that instant was speaking to Lord Bolsover. "I will just tell you what I did. Brussels, Frankfort, Berlin, Vienna, Munich, Milan, Naples, and Paris: and all that in two months, No inan has ever done it in less,' "That's a fast thing; but I think I could have done it,' said Lord Bolsover, with a good courier. I had a fellow once, who could ride a hundred miles a day for a fortnight,' "I came from Vienna to Calais,' said young Leighton, 'in less time than the Government courier. No other Englishman ever did that,' "Hem! I am not sure of that,' said Lord done-from Rome to Naples in nineteen bours: Bolsover; 'but I'll just tell you what I have a fact, upon my honour-and from Naples to Paris in six days.' "Partly by sea?' "No! all by land;' replied Lord Bolsover, with a look of proud satisfaction. "I'll just tell you what I did,' Mr, Leighton chimed in again, and I think it is a devilish good plan-it shows what one can do. I went straight an end as fast as I could to what was to be the end of my journey. This was Sicily; so straight away I went there at the devil's own rate, and never stopped anywhere by the way; changed horses at Rome and all those places, and landed in safety in I forget exactly how long from the time of starting, but I have got it down to an odd minute. As for the places I left behind, I saw them all on my way back, except the Rhine, and I steamed down that in the night-time.' "I have travelled a good deal by night,' said Theobald. With a dormeuse and travelling lamp I think it is pleasant, and a good plan of getting on.' And you can honestly say, I suppose," said Denbigh, that you have slept successfully through as much fine country as any man living?' "Oh, I did see the country-that is, all that was worth seeing. My courier knew all about that, and used to stop and wake me whenever we came to anything remarkable. Gad! I have reason to remember it, too, for I caught an infernal bad cold one night when I turned out by lamp-light to look at a waterfall. I never looked at another.' 'There was a pause in the conversation, and the group moved onwards to another room. Are these gentlemen friends of yours?" One other little scene must content us on this occasion: "Is half-past five your luncheon hour?' said Lord Rochdale drily, drawing out in rather a reproachful manner a very large watch. 'We came not to luncheon, but to dinner-but I must apologize for our early intrusion.' "My dear Lord! intrusion! a word I never understand-though by the by I ought, for it reminds me- -(I don't know whether I ever told you, it happened to me ages ago,)—I did intrude with a vengeance once: I would not tell a story against myself, only I got so well out of the scrape. I was asked to dine with a Sir Dixie Hickson, a stiff, bluff, beef-eating sort of man, who was under some obligation to me, or I to him, I don't know which. Well, I forgot name, residence, all but the day-came home in a hurry, looked into the Court Guide, found a Sir Hicks Dixon, drove to his house, found a party assembled, bowed to a fat woman in a turban who sailed forward à la maitresse de maison, and simpered an apology, for Sir Hicks', or Dicks', or whatever he might be, 'unavoidable absence;' I forget why, but did not like to put off the party, and hoped to look in in the evening.' (Mind I had never seen the femme Hickson.) Down we went to dinner; a guest had failed, so there was a place for me; did not know a soul of the party; such a set of creatures were never before assembled on God's earth! Well, I ate, drank, and talked with the savages, told them some of my best lies, and was growing immensely popular, when in drops Sir Hicks from the country. You should have seen us! we set each other like two pointers backing in a stubble, with a covey between them, while the femme Dixon kept fussing with an introduction-Sir Hicks, Sir James,-Sir James, Sir Hicks! At last the light broke in, and I explained, and we laughed about it for a whole hour. I was afraid when all was over I should have had to pay my debt of dinner to Sir Dixie; but the best of it is, I have not seen or heard more of either him or Sir Hicks. It would have served me right if they had asked me to dinner once a week for ever visiting such people. It is not likely that you should know them.' "I am afraid,' said Lord Rochdale, after vouchsafing a very gruff laugh at Sir James's story; 'I shall decline considerably in your estimation if I confess that I know them both. I was made acquainted with Sir Hicks Dixon by a matter of business in which he conducted himself very honourably-and as for Sir Dixie Hickson, inharmonious as his name may sound to ears polite, I am afraid he is one whom my antediluvian notions will not allow me to cutbecause he happens to be related by marriage to Lady Rochdale.' "Oh, ay, I remember,' said Sir James, who had never heard of it before, but was glad in his confusion to say that he remembered any thing. An excellent man-a highly respectable, excellent man-so they are both-both Sir Hixie and Sir Dicks. But, my dear Lord, to change the subject, you'll stay with us a week, won't you? You know you promised us a week.'" i. 179-82. Le Livre des Cent-et-Un. Vol. IV. We begin our promised translations for this week, with an extract from M. Jouy's contribution, entitled, "The Church, the Temple, and the Synagogue.' "German Synagogue at Paris. "I went to the synagogue an hour before the time agreed upon, in order to have leisure for the examination of this place of worship, which I had never before entered. "Above the altar, at the bottom of the sanctuary, the tables of the law are enclosed in a cedar press, covered, before divine service, with a curtain of silk velvet, embroidered with gold. "There are two inscriptions in the interior of the synagogue. Over the entrance: 'Thou enterest here with God: 'And with God shalt thou go away! At the other extremity, on the moulded cornice which separates the choir from the sanctuary: Remember for whom thou comest here!" "I was making my observations, with my hat in my hand, when one of the keepers of the synagogue approached, and requested I would replace my hat upon my head, because the God of the Jews holds uncovered heads, in his temple, as an abomination. I complied the more readily, because the contrary practice, adopted in Christian churches, has always appeared to me calculated to prove fatal to such as, like me, have delicate lungs. Without believing that the God of Israel attaches to this ceremonial as much importance as the keeper of the synagogue, I found it more seemly and advantageous than the custom in mosques and pagodas of entering them bare-footed. "The family I was waiting for, arrived; Mr. d'Arcis, his son-in-law, and his grandson, took their seats near the desk, where I joined them. Mrs. and Miss Levy went to the upper gallery, exclusively reserved for females, in conformity to the commandment in Deuteronomy, which prescribes the separation of the sexes in places devoted to prayer. "From the extreme simplicity of their dress, it is easily perceived that the frequenters of this synagogue do not belong to the most wealthy class of Jews. Mr. Samuel, to whom I made the remark, admitted that the richer Israelites, with the exception of three in his own family, attended divine worship only twice a year, and contributed but a very small sum to the expenses of religious establishments. Nothing is more simple than the service of the Hebrews in their synagogue. It consists in prayer, readings from the Old Testament, and a few psalms. "Their prayers are contained in the formulary of their worship; they are read with solemnity by a rabbi, and at the end of each verse the congregation say Amen. "The readings from the Old Testament consist of some verses from Deuteronomy and Numbers, recited alternately by the rabbi and the congregation. "The service concludes with psalms sung in counterpoint of exquisite harmony. The beautiful voice, and remarkable talent of the principal singer, attracted to the German synagogue, some years ago, the most brilliant company at Paris. The empire of fashion, and the power of music, upon the imaginations of the fair sex, are well known; and it was feared, at one time, that the enthusiasm inspired by the Hebrew singer and his young assistants, would do great injury to the Italian Opera, and fill the synagogue of the Rue Nazareth at the expense of the church of St. Roch.", The paper entitled 'The Public Festivals at Paris,' by Pommier, is forcible and true. There is great spirit in the following extracts. "Champs-Elysées. "It is a fine thing to behold a fête in the Champs-Elysées, if only to abuse it. The preparations begin long before the day appointed, and the true Parisian enjoys these almost as much as he enjoys the fête itself. Theatres are built, orchestras erected, yew trees raisedr wooden garlands hung up, and brackets fos lamps nailed to every tree. Everybody know, that on such a day there are to be rejoicings, and nobody fails to attend. "Ho! get out of the way! the giant city is in motion. Take care of yourself! The sluice is open, and the waters of the cataract gush freely through. Every outlet pours forth the crowd into the Champs-Elysées, like rivers disgorging their foaming waters into the sea. The ban and arrière-ban of Parisian cockneyism are in motion, and myriads of human beings flock to the same point. It is like the gulph of eternity; everything enters, but nothing comes out. Even the suburbs are depopulated to increase this ocean of men which inundates the ChampsElysées. "Such a day is one of triumph for those who go on foot. They are kings in their quietude and pride. There is nothing to interrupt them, for carriages are not permitted to enter the crowd. The bourgeois, in his best attire, with his wife and children hanging upon him, ap. pears with a half-satisfied, half-wearied look, The recruit, just arrived at Paris, looks on in stupid admiration, whilst the soldier, drilled into effrontery, advances bold and erect, setting off with majestic pride his gaudy uniform. Near them passes, with a sardonic smile, the conceited milliner, leaning upon the arm of a tall young man belonging to the civil-to the superlative of the civil-in spite of his wouldbe military airs." "Distribution of Provisions to the Crowd. "On a given signal, the distribution began. Everywhere some little place, divided off, contained two gendarmes, two or three distributors, and a police commissary with his badge, the latter being a sort of security to the people that there was to be nothing but fair play. On a sudden, loaves of a pound weight, and sevenpenny pies, flew about to the right and left, behind and before. Avalanches of sausages, and other charcuterie, fell, from a great height, upon the gaping crowd, whose heads, motionless an instant before, were now agitated like the coerced waves of the ocean. Hundreds of hands were raised to dispute the prizes as they felland many enormous mouths, in deceitful expectation, were opened only to champ the impalpable air. It seemed to illustrate the old proverb-that quails fell from heaven ready roasted. Was it not an ingenious thought, to use loaves as projectiles, bombard us with pies, and fire at us with grape-shot of roasted chickens? Was it not delightful? But mark with what ingratitude it was repaid! The people have since chosen to make their distribution; but in lieu of eatables, they gave bullets and paving stones. "What fine things, however, are these distributions of indigestion! What burlesque success, and tragi-comic episodes give variety to the spectacle! The men hired to perform theoffice of catapults for the projection of the eat ables among the crowd, laughed uproariously as they added a thousand tricks to their functions. Sometimes a loaf, like a bomb upon the ground, or a stone upon the surface of the water, performed a ricochet upon a mass of skulls in forced contact; at others, a ham made a carambol with a pair of noses. You may fancy the bumps, contusions, broken heads, and black eyes which proceeded from all this; and the number was increased by private altercations among the competitors. So many appetites were in requisition, that nothing remained whole in the same hands. No one could succeed in carrying off a substantial piece of anything, for the favours of royalty were divided in a manner to demonstrate the ad infinitum divisibility of matter. One poor wretch, having at length succeeded in getting something to eat, was about to enjoy his prize, when a ball, in the shape of a loaf, knocked out his remaining teeth. Now, surely nothing can be more inconsistent, at a distribution of eatables, than to begin by putting your jaws hors de combat. "All this afforded infinite amusement to the disinterested spectators belonging to the higher orders of society, who were looking on beyond the projecting range of the living catapults. Among the latter, however, were a few strong and facetious fellows, fond of trying their muscular powers, and every now and then, a loaf, or some other object, thrown with great force, and passing the line of computed probability, would alight on the cranium of a musked dandy, more in advance than his fellows. Oh! the shame and ridicule of such an accident! To be wounded by a shot or the splinter of a bomb was delightful, but to be mutilated with a German sausage, or knocked down with a chitterling, was the very acme of disgrace!" "The Mât de Cocagne. "The most dramatic part of these scenes is the mát de Cocagne. There were four around us. Their diameter, at the base, is about eighteen inches; they are very smooth, and every time they are used, are anointed with black soap, or grease of the dirtiest kind. This is not attractive, as you may perceive; but is not the road to greatness often in the same state? and do they who attain the summit pay attention to the filth they may have collected by the way? "The masts, after being well greased, are strongly fixed in a perpendicular position. The summit is bedecked with flags, and the bandrol representing the first prize, placed at the highest extremity. The crown, a hoop adorned with foliage to which the prizes are fastened, is raised to the top by means of a rope and a pulley. These prizes are of silver, and consist of two spoons, two forks, a goblet, and a watch of the commonest kind. The shining metal of these prizes, resplendent from the sun's rays, is an irresistible lure to exertion. Around the foot of the mast is a species of ditch-a line of circumvallation guarded by gendarmes, in order that fair play may be observed. This ditch, defended by palisades, is successively crossed by the competitors. The latter are not found among the ordinary populace; they do not belong to the class of operatives which you and I are accustomed to see;-their strongly-marked features are never beheld but on occasions like the present. Their countenances exhibit a certain patibulary and anti-social expression,their general appearance conveys an idea of the meanest and most degrading kind of latrocination; they are such people as you may see at the bar of the petty tribunals, or standing close to the guillotine at an execution;-a class, in short, compared with whom the rag-gatherers and shoeblacks in the streets are a high aristocracy. It is a singular sight to behold these half-savages almost in a state of nudity, with their trowsers tucked up as high as possible, displaying their brawny, black, and dirty legs and thighs. "The first who attempt the ascension are without hope of success; they only prepare the way for others by wiping, so far as they go, the mast with their bodies, and rubbing off the grease with their hands. In all human attempts, he who leads the way generally encounters the most difficulty, and reaps the least portion of glory. The first in a new undertaking is seldom able to gather the fruits of success, although he has to encounter the largest share of trouble. As the mast is much thicker at the base than at the summit, the higher the competitor goes, the greater the difficulty of climbing; consequently, the last usually receives the most applause, whilst the glorious efforts of the beginners, who, by wiping the mast, led to this success, remain unnoticed and unknown. "At length the charm is destroyed, and a vigorous rogue passes the hitherto impassable point. Every succeeding competitor will now do the same; for men are so formed, that when, by example, the possibility of a thing is illustrated, that thing is no longer a difficulty, and thousands perform it. The robust rogue, however, gets on and continues his ascent; but he is at length tired, and seems to flag. The spectators encourage him, and he has only a few feet more to arrive at the object of his desires. He makes an effort-it produces nothing, but he does not yet lose ground. He stops and rests himself. Cries are heard all round-' He will win! He will not win!' Poor Tantalus! "After a few minutes' rest, he resumes his labour-but in vain; he exhausts his strength without advancing. He even seems to be going downwards, and actually loses some inches, which he, however, recovers by a superhuman effort. But this last attempt destroys his remaining strength, and he slides down the mast amid the jeers and commiseration of the crowd." We add two extracts from the Cimetière du Père Lachaise,' by Eugene Roch, whom we have already noticed as having contributed to former volumes of this work. "The Bride's Grave. "I held several garlands in my hand; but knew of only one tomb upon which I could place them! Eight years had elapsed since I assisted at the wedding of one of my friends. It was a funeral rite-the last consolation of pure and virgin love!-There exists a disease more cruel than every other, because it wages pitiless war against youth instead of age, and commences its very first attacks upon the breath of life. The physician, on discovering its wellknown symptoms, turns away his head in sadness, for he is without resource against its ravages. The destructive germ of this malady, in its last stage of developement, was in the bosom of the bride. The young man, her betrothed, who loved her with an affection as passionate as her own, was not selfish enough to refuse this vain phantom of a marriage. It afforded her consolation, and he was eager to gratify her. She allowed no part of the ceremony to be omitted; and, in spite of its immediate danger, encountered the death-chill of a particularly damp and cold church. It was, as I have already stated, the last consolation of a dying virgin. We conducted her to the house of her husband; I took her arm, and helped her to ascend the staircase. She moved with pain. Alas! how were my thoughts pre-occupied! I felt sure that this young and lovely creature would never again descend these stairs alive. On entering the nuptial apartment a ray of happiness beamed upon her pale features, and a spark of hope seemed to shine there,--but in an instant it disappeared, and left no trace behind. Exhausted with the fatigue, she immediately retired to her chamber; she had her chaplet hung up within view, and her wedding dress spread at her feet. For twenty days she looked at them with a sweet but heart-rending smile!-on the twenty-first she saw them no more. Having accompanied her to the altar, I had also to accompany her remains to the grave. She was buried on an eminence, opposite to the old en trance. A tear started in my eye as I looked round and saw before me the grave of the virgin wife." "Maternal Affection. "I observed the motions of a young female, among the shrubs, where grief and sorrow retire to uninterrupted solitude. She was a wife, and had lost her first-born. With what care did she replace the old and faded flowers with fresh ones! How lightly did she press her foot upon the spade, which she feared to make enter too deeply into the soil! With what care did she use the contents of a small watering-pot, which she took from behind a yew-tree; and how lovely, yet how melancholy, her smile at the first shoots of verdure! It was a smile pourtraying the deep pathos of maternal affection. Three feet of soil seemed not to conceal from her the face of her son. She appeared to look upon him, and hung over his tomb as if it were his cradle. Tender mother! thy babe is asleep, thou smilest upon him and fearest to awake him. A stranger to everything around her, and her attention absorbed by fond recollections, she heard not the bustle of the rich man's funeral. "Every one else ran to witness this pomp; and each, to save himself trouble, climbed over the graves in his way, sullied with his footsteps the white grave stones, and made the slight black rails, which form but a feeble rampart to the sepulchres, bend under his weight. The very persons who but an instant before had, with religious care, adorned the tomb of a relative or friend, trampled, without pity, upon the freshly-turned flower-borders which filial piety had not yet had the courage to surround with rails, or threw down the garlands of white flowers which surmounted the monumental inscriptions or adorned the graves. So true is it, that even the cypress of the tomb is sacred for him only by whom it is planted. This heedless profanation is renewed each time that a bier is attended to the place of its last deposit by solemn and ostentatious pomp." An Historical and Practical Treatise upon Elemental Locomotion, by means of Steam-carriages on Common Roads. By Alexander Gordon, Civil Engineer. London, 1832. Stewart. THERE is a great deal of valuable information contained in this little volume. Mr. Gordon, we suspect, is best pleased with his speculations on the probable extinction of pauperism, by the judicious introduction of locomotive steam-carriages; but, for plain men like ourselves, the practical knowledge contained in his work is much more important and interesting. The historical notice of steam-carriages is particularly curious, and the evidence of the various engineers and others, examined before the Committee of the House of Commons, will give a permanent value to his work. The proofs given in the first chapter, of the advantages consequent on facilities in inland transport and speedy communication, may seem at first a little over-laboured, until it be remembered, that, even in the last century, petitions were presented from counties in the neighbourhood of London, praying parliament not to extend the turnpike-roads into the remoter parts of the country, lest these remote districts, by means of a less expensive labour, should be able to under-sell them in the London markets. The work is enriched with numberless plates, and is, on the whole, one well worthy of considerate attention. Byron's Life and Works. Vols. III & IV. THESE beautiful volumes contain the Life from 1814 to 1820. They are illustrated by a 'View of the Wengen Alps,' from a sketch by Hulmandel; The Coliseum,' by Harding; 'Marathon,' by Stanfield; and a Street in Athens,' from a sketch by Page; all neatly engraved by E. Finden. ROSCOE'S NOVELIST'S LIBRARY. THE present volume will satisfy the most determined lover of cheap literature. Here is the Vicar of Wakefield,' and 'Sir Launcelot Greaves,' neatly bound together, with illustra tions by George Cruikshank, a portrait of Goldsmith, and a memoir by Roscoe, for five shillings. |