on duty as captain of the National Guard since early daylight, towards noon posted himself on the terrace of the Tuileries, beneath the windows of the King's apartments. A great quantity of straw was strewn upon the entrance, to enable the dragoons to ride from the other side of the château, down the steps, into the garden. Scheffer sat upon the straw, and after some time a voice was heard calling him by name. We will now quote Mrs Grote's thrilling narrative, as she received it from the lips of Scheffer himself:

I, the Queen.' Scheffer sprang up, approached the château, and perceived the Queen at the 'croisée.' He said, 'What does your Majesty want with me?' 'I want you,' said she, 'to assist in conducting us out of the château. The King has abdicated, and we are going to depart.' Scheffer and Oscar Lafayette immediately entered the château, in the intention to ascend to the King's apartments; but they had not got half-way up when they met the King and Queen, their sons, and sons' children, together with the Duchess of Orleans, and her two sons, all coming hurriedly down the stairs. The Queen said, 'Scheffer, keep close to the King; your uniform will inspire respect.' The King gave his right arm to the Queen, and they

set out. Scheffer walked close to the

King, on his left side; the rest of the party following in the train. Nobody spoke a word, except on one occasion, when an officer, unmindful of a bough of a tree which hung low, was swept off his horse by it. The King suddenly stopped and said, 'Pray, somebody go and assist that officer.'

There

was a considerable mass of people. Scheffer, knowing the impossibility of getting the royal party away unrecognised, took off his 'schako,' and, waving it in the air, called out to the people, 'Le Roi part, vive le Roi!' The people offered no opposition; but very few voices responded to his cheer. Scheffer then assisted the Queen into one of the 'rémises,' the King after her; then one child after another was taken on to their laps, until five souls were in the carriage, and it could hold no more. The King kept calling out, 'Where is my portfolio? Pray, for heaven's sake, do not lose sight of my portfolio.' Scheffer caught the portfolio from the hands of one of the attendants, and threw it up to M. Dumas, who had mounted beside the coachman. The second carriage having

been filled in like manner with the first, the royal party drove off at a rapid pace (still escorted by the dragoons), and took the road to Passy, along the Quais.' Place de la Concorde, the Duchess of "There remained now standing on the Orleans, with her two sons, M. Jules de Lasteyrie, M. Scheffer, and (I think) two or three more royal personages.. noise of the insurgents pouring in numbers down the Rue de Rivoli sounded alarmingly upon their ears. The Duchess now took Scheffer's left arm, and he held the young Comte de Paris with his right hand, followed by M. Jules de Lasteyrie They re

The

with the Duc de Chartres. traced their steps towards the château. When they reached the centre of the gardens, Scheffer heard a loud crash in the direction of the Rue de Rivoli. The mob had forced the iron gates, and were thronging into the gardens. Scheffer called out, Vive la Duchesse d'Orleans!'

-Vive le Comte de Paris!' The mob, although offering them no molestation, seemed uncertain whether to respond or not. The young Comte de Paris took off his cap and bowed repeatedly to the populace. The boy manifested no symptom of fear, preserving entire self-possession. One of the mob cried out, Un roi ne se découvre pas !'

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They passed out of the 'Grille' on to the Quai,' and walked along by the river-side to the Chamber of Deputies. Scheffer stood near them during that terrible, stormy scene, which ultimately public. M. Jules Lasteyrie, after this resulted in the proclamation of the Rewas over, managed to get the Duchess out, through the President's garden, and conducted her (as is well known) to the 'Invalides.' The Duc de Chartres was

placed during the tumult in some part of the building. Scheffer told the Duc de Nemours that the young boy was in a place of safety, and that the Duc himself had 'better get out of the way,' his person being well known. The Duc asked one of the National Guards to lend him his uniform. The man did so, putting on the Prince's clothes in exchange; and so the Duc made his way out."

In the following June, during the three terrible days, Scheffer fought bravely at the head of his company, under General Changarnier, then commander of the National Guards. On the election of Louis Napoleon to the Presidency, Scheffer was somewhat hopeful of the march of public events; but "the Roman Expedition" again doomed him to disappointment, and his dream of a "Republic"

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ended, as we all know, in the " coup d'état" of December 1851. Scheffer was thenceforth an altered man; he shunned all society, and could for the time neither eat, nor sleep, nor paint. He looked haggard and dejected, and in a few broken phrases uttered the anguish of final despair. His devotedly attached wife, during the few remaining years of his life, used every effort to divert his thoughts. But his mind would still painfully dwell upon the humiliation of his country; he could not endure to see the streets of Paris swarm with troops; and he passed whole days immured in his atelier. His friends and his comrades, like himself, were overwhelmed in the one common calamity and despair. Among the noble, patriotic, and pure-minded Frenchmen," writes Mrs Grote, "with whom it has been my good fortune to be acquainted, three of the most distinguished may be said - figuratively speaking- to have "died of their wounds," namelyLéon Faucher, Ary Scheffer, and lastly, Alexis de Tocqueville, of whose mental anguish I have been in cach case a sympathising witness." Scheffer's health, indeed, was ere long wholly broken, and life had grown a weariness. His brother and his wife had died, and many of the friends of his youth were gone. And even when the first anguish had subsided, and he resumed once more his accustomed avocations, we find him still agitated and disheartened. In his art, too, he is painfully oppressed with the feeling that his brightest and fondest dreams must remain for ever unrealised. We learn, at this time, that while his critical powers had become keener, and his faculties had attained a higher scope, he himself grew more and more dissatisfied with his own creations. Yet he laboured, we believe, early and late almost, indeed, without intermission. And now, under pressure and ten thousand misgivings, were executed some of his most intense and spiritual pictures. His "Madeleine en Extase," "Les Gemissemens," the "Tentation," "Christ au Roseau," and "Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalere after the Resurrection," are special examples of that "sombre" tone of mind, that "pale cast of thought,"

that rapt contemplation and religious melancholy, which constitute the peculiar characteristics and the unspeakable charm of Scheffer's latest works.

In

We have seen that it fell to the lot of Scheffer to proffer to Louis Philippe the crown of France; that in the storm of February 1848 it was he who conducted the royal household into exile; and now again, two years later, we find that, putting aside all other feelings in presence of the duty which he owed to the royal family at Claremont, he paid the last homage to the mortal remains of "Louis Philippe of Orleans." His tried attachmentto the exiled family was nowise diminished in misfortune. During the last years, indeed, of his life, he is found a frequent visitor at Claremont. In England he has kind friends and patrons; he dreads and dislikes, it is true, our climate, but, with Montalembert, he loves our liberty. England, too, he meets with much in art to interest him. He visits the British Museum, and writes thus of the Elgin Marbles to his daughter: "My dear child, nothing in the whole range of art can come up to them, for beauty, for grandeur of concep tion, and for truth. Those immortal beings must positively have existed; nay, they live even now in these very fragments." He comes to England again in 1857, paints a portrait of the ex-Queen of the French, and spends some days at the Manchester "Exhibition of Art - Treasures." Like other foreigners, he had never understood, or rightly estimated, our English school. He was now delighted. "I had no conception," he writes, "how rich the English school is! There have lived great painters among you; that is unquestionable! I have been in a sort of Paradise of Art' for these three weeks past. The power of dealing with colour, especially, possessed by the English artists, fills me with admiration. I only wish it could be imparted to myself!" In July a visit was paid to the house of a devoted friend on the shores of Menai Staits. The picturesque mountains of Caernarvon were round about him; the ships glided by on the blue sea; the peace of this delectable retreat, the exhilaration of the salubrious air,

"combined to infuse into the temper and feelings of Scheffer so efficacious a balm, that it almost revived the whole man. The effect might be likened to one of those serene afternoon skies, which we have all of us frequently gazed upon after a tempestuous day; seemingly arranging itself, as it were, for a calm, radiant sunset."

But Scheffer again returns to Paris, where a fresh shock awaits him. Manin, the heroic defender of Venice, falls ill, and Scheffer is startled by the unexpected intelligence of his friend's sudden death. The funeral ceremony awakens strong emotion, and the disease of the heart, from which he had suffered for four years, was aggravated. Scheffer, indeed, grows so ill that his friends are seriously alarmed; but the attack for the moment passes off, and once more he resumes his painting. "Les Douleurs de la Terre " receives the final touches, and "the Angel announcing the Resurrection" is again in hand. But at this moment came to him the unexpected tidings of the death of her Royal Highness the Duchess of Orleans. His whole life had been a self-sacrifice in the service of his friends, and he at once resolves, at any risk, to pay his last "dévouement" to the memory of the departed Princess. The fatigue of the journey to England, the chill of the sepulchral building, and the emotion induced by the solemn scene and service, were more than his impaired energies could sustain. In the night

a bell was heard to ring in Scheffer's chamber, and his daughter, hastening to his side, found him seized with difficulty of breathing. He revived, and with extreme care he was enabled to reach his country house in the neighbourhood of Paris, from whence he had departed only a month before. "The balmy air of full summertide, and the quietude of his retreat, coupled with the presence of those most dear to him-all combined to shed a momentary gleam of enjoyment overthe brief space of existence which Scheffer had yet to traverse." To quote the closing and solemn words of Mrs Grote, Scheffer seemed "to regain at least a tranquil, if not a cheerful frame of mind. He even applied himself to the easel for several days at intervals, painting upon the work which I have spoken of above, the Angel Announcing the Resurrection of Jesus.' But the enfeebled organs connected with the heart grew daily more and more incapable of their functions, and it was soon perceived by his afflicted family that Scheffer's precious life was ebbing to its close. A few days later, all hope had ceased, and on the 15th of June this great and virtuous man yielded up his last breath. It was a beautiful summer's evening, the calm splendour of which irradiated the scene of his departure from earth. Not more calm, however-not more serene was the aspect of the heavens than were the conscience and pure spirit of him who thus passed to his eternal rest, to suffer, to strive no more."

I AM not much of a schemer, nor extravagantly addicted to the architectural amusement of building castles in the air, but the consciousness that I was now in possession of a fortune much greater than I had ever hoped to obtain by personal exertion, did certainly give some stimulus to my imagination. When I awoke on the morning after my interview with Mr Shearaway, I was in no hurry to rise, but gave myself up to indulgence in a reverie as full of thick-coming fancies and brilliant phantasmagoria as are the clouds at sunset, when all the hues of heaven are intermingled in gorgeous profusion and disorder, and when aerial forms of wondrous tracery and device rise, float, and dissolve in the molten atmosphere of the west.

Independence, to a certain extent, I had already achieved-that is, I had abjured the folly of trusting to others for a helping hand, and thus had escaped from the degradation of political subserviency and bondage. That was, of itself, no slight matter; because expectancy is not only an obstacle to all honourable enterprise, but it insensibly cripples and enfeebles the mind, depriving it of the power of forming just conclusions, and of discerning between the false and the true. The man who is wholly self-reliant may no doubt be unfortunate, but he never can be despicable. Though his labour may but suffice to gain for him a daily crust, better is that meagre fare than the seat of a sycophant at the sumptuous table of the rich.

Now, however, I found myself all at once not only independent, but free -free from the necessity of labouring continuously for mere existence-free to adopt any career in life towards which I felt an inclination. What ought I, under the circumstances, to do-what were to be my future

VOL. LXXXVIII.-NO. DXLI.

avocations? Should I attempt to make a figure in the world, and strive after fame and distinction ?--or should I, availing myself of my good fortune, abandon all such ideas, and subside into passive inaction? In the days of my poverty, I had almost reproached Carlton for his indolence in avoiding public life, since he had ample means at his disposal. I had talked somewhat dogmatically to the apathetic Mr Lumley of the duties incumbent upon men of property and position; and I had even lectured Attie Faunce on his desultory and aimless habits. I was then very proud of myself, and self-gratulatory, because I had worked steadily, and to some little purpose; and it had appeared to me that all men were under a moral obligation to do the like. But I had omitted to take into account the nature of the incentive. I had really no merit in working, for without work I must have starved. There was no help for it; I must either swim or go down, so I set myself to buffet with the waves. I tried to reach the shore, on which I saw other people reposing; and it seemed to me that their quiescence, in contrast with my struggle, was something almost sinful. I wondered why they also did not battle with the stream. At length, however, I felt ground beneath my feet, and began to think that, after all, there might be some sort of difference between forced and voluntary exercise.

My cogitations, as is usual in such cases, had no definite or practical result. I have already hinted that my ambition was never exorbitant in degree; and increased experience, and observation of the world and its ways, had convinced me that those who attempt to climb the highest, and who cannot endure to see a rival above them, make a wanton and foolish sacrifice of much of the happiness

2 R

of existence. I am loth to disturb with a rude breath even one filament of the charm-woven gossamer of poetry; but I really must say that I feel no sort of sympathy for Mr Longfellow's hero, who persisted in carrying his Excelsior banner to the very summit of the Alps, and got frozen to death for his pains. Common sense should have dictated to him the propriety of tarrying at the hospice. This, I know, will be regarded by many as a base and ignoble sentiment; for it is astonishing what a multitude of people are continually urging others to press forward and upward, whilst, for their own share, they are content to remain stationary. They are quite happy to be spectators of the superhuman exertion, energy, and daring of the gladiators whom they can coax into the arena; but catch them deliberately placing themselves within reach of the weapon of the retiarius! So they will applaud - and very loudly too, and sometimes sincerely enough-the feats which are exhibited before them; whether the operator be a politician, who, by dint of vivid intellect and commanding oratory, aspires to sway the senate-or a hero (so long as he is fortunate), who presents himself as the champion of the liberties of his country-or a tauridor in the bull-ring of Seville-or a Blondin, wheeling a barrow on a tight-rope over the Falls of Niagara-or any other character who has nerve enough to approach the confines of the impossible. It is they who shout "Excelsior!" and they often continue to do so long after the object of their applause is thoroughly sick of his undertaking, and would fain retire from the post of peril. God forbid that I should undervalue any effort which a man can make when prompted by a sense of duty! I know, and am proud to acknowledge, that there are men-— ay, and women too-who have dignified our generation by the most noble disinterestedness and self-sacrifice; who have consecrated their lives to the service of their Creator and their fellow-men with entire singleness of heart, and no thought of the applause of the world; but deeply indeed would I dishonour them if I should say that they were actuated

by ambition. Ambition, according to my understanding of the wordfor I never trouble myself with the definitions of metaphysical writers, whose alembic seems to me especially constructed for the decomposition of sense implies the presence of a purely personal and selfish motive. Now, selfish motives are, to a certain extent, entitled to respect. The man who neglects to provide for the wants of his own household, is justly stigmatised as worse than an infidel. There is, no doubt, a meaner and more contracted sort of selfishness than this; but, for the credit of our species be it said, it is not often exhibited, and is always visited by reprobation. But, is climbing the ladder, for the simple sake of the poor brag that you have attained the highest round, a wise thing, or a right thing? I venture to doubt that. Such faculties or powers as God has given to a man, that man is bound to exert for God's service, but not otherwise. Something he must do for himself, for that is the divine commandment, earlier than almost any other; but he is nowhere required to make himself a Nimrod or an architect of the Tower of Babel. Sheikh Abraham was about the quietest and least obtrusive character that ever existed. A man more devoid of personal ambition never drew the breath of life; and yet to him was given the Promise that in his seed should all the nations of the earth be blessed. As for your Alexanders, Cæsars, and Napoleons, your Wolseys, Cromwells, and Robespierres, what can be said of them beyond this, that they were quite as much the slaves of ambition as the hoarding miser is the slave of avarice?

Then, looking around me on those whose ambition was of a more contracted kind, what did I descry? Men of real talent abandoning those pursuits for which nature had designed and culture qualified them, to wrangle and intrigue in the senate; urged on by the hope that one day or other they may attain to political power. Hopes, alas! often miserably frustrated; but when realised, how pitiful does the reality appear! Baited by opponents, reviled by the envious, molested by greedy depen