individual getting and holding. It is not, who rules the state, but who rules me. Better be secure under one king, than exposed to violence from twenty millions of monarchs, though oneself be of the number.

"But superstitious notions you harbor, sovereign-kings! Did you visit Dominora, you would not be marched straight into a dungeon. And though you would behold sundry sights displeasing, you would start to inhale such liberal breezes; and hear crowds boasting of their privileges; as you, of yours. Nor has the wine of Dominora a monarchical flavor.

"Now, though far and wide, to keep equal pace with the times, great reforms of a verity, be needed; no where are bloody revolutions required. Though it be the most certain of remedies, no prudent invalid opens his veins, to let out his disease with his life. And though all evils may be assuaged; all evils can not be done away. For evil is the chronic malady of the universe; and checked in one place, breaks forth in another.

"Of late, on this head, some wild dreams have departed.

แ There are many, who erewhile believed that the age of pikes and javelins was passed; that after a heady and blustering youth, old Mardi was at last settling down into a serene old age; and that the Indian summer, first discovered in your land, sovereign-kings! was the hazy vapor emitted from its tranquil pipe. But it has not so proved. Mardi's peaces are but truces. Long absent, at last the red comets have returned. And return they must, though their periods be ages. And should Mardi endure till mountain melt into mountain, and all the isles form one table-land; yet, would it but expand the old battle-plain.

"Students of history are horror-struck at the massacres of old; but in the shambles, men are being murdered to-day.

Could time be reversed, and the future change places with the past, the past would cry out against us and our future, full as loudly, as we against the ages foregone. All the Ages are his children, calling each other names.

“Hark ye, sovereign-kings! cheer not on the yelping pack too furiously. Hunters have been torn by their hounds. Be advised; wash your hands. Hold aloof. Oro has poured out an ocean for an everlasting barrier between you and the worst folly which other republics have perpetrated. That barrier hold sacred. And swear never to cross over to Porpheero, by manifesto or army, unless you traverse dry land.

"And be not too grasping nearer home. It is not freedom to filch. Expand not your area too widely, now. Seek you proselytes? Neighboring nations may be free, without coming under your banner. And if you can not lay your ambition, know this: that it is best served, by waiting

events.

"Time, but Time only, may enable you to cross the equator; and give you the Arctic Circles for your boundaries."

When Mr. Melville has well visited and criticised Europe and America, he goes back to the metaphysical cloud-land, where he admires, without being able to inhabit the realms of Alma, and Serenia (Christ and His Kingdom.) Aylla, or Human Happiness, is lost forever: Mr. Melville is resigned to do without her.

Such is the colossal machine invented by Mr. Herman Melville. It is not unlike the gigantic American Panorama, thus advertised on the London walls.

GIGANTIC, ORIGINAL AMERICAN PANORAMA. In the great American saloon, can be seen the prodigious moving

Panorama of the Gulf of Mexico, the Falls of St. Anthony and the Mississippi, painted by J. R. SMITH, the great American artist, covering four miles of canvass, and representing nearly four thousand miles of American Landscape.

MANY citizens of the United States have visited Europe and communicated their reflections to the public. Willis has given his "Pencillings by the Way;" Cooper, his "Recollections of Europe: England, Italy, Excursions in Switzerland, Residence in France, Homeward Bound;" six volumes of criticism, or rather of prejudice. We have Sanderson's "American in Paris," and "Sketches of Paris;" J. D. Franklin's "Letters from Paris;" C. S. Stewart's "Sketches of Society in Great Britain."

Willis has spirit and fun, without good taste or good breeding: Cooper has bad humor changed into philosophy. The rest are not above mediocrity.

Americans have written a good deal about their own country; Cooper, whose "Democrat" greatly irritated his fellowcitizens; Channing, eloquent adversary of Slavery; George Waterton and Nicholas Biddle Van Zandt, good editors of Statistic Tables; the author of "A Voice from America,” a

pamphlet remarkable for the justice and courage of its ideas; Sanderson, author of "America ;" Jack Downing's Letters, by Davis, a raillery at the political manners of the Union; Washington Irving; James Hall's "Sketches of the West;" "Dr. Reid's Tour ;" and above all, Audubon, painter of the immense forests and their inhabitants. Three Germans, Prince Puckler Muskau, F. Lieber and J. Grundt follow, the work of the last, as badly composed as written, tries to prove the reign of Aristocracy in the United States.

As for the English who have visited the United States to growl or mock, their name is legion. Mrs. Trolloppe, Fanny Kemble, Tyrone Power, Basil Hall, Hamilton, Miss Martineau, Marryatt, and Dickens, who has printed his voyage under the title "Notes for general circulation.”

These works, so various, written with intolerable diffusion and carelessness, full of the pre-occupations and interests of their authors, compose one side of the process now pleading between the old and new civilization; between feudal Europe, who is losing her Past, and the United States, which have not yet gained their Future. Every year, fresh British travellers cross the ocean, to see the progress of their grand-children. These latter, in their turn, pass the Atlantic, when they can get leisure from their speculations, clearings, or bankruptcies, look closely at their old mother, and hope to avenge themselves on her, and to find in her, faults, vices and absurdities. Each does his work. The aristocrats try to prove that the democracy is vicious and vice versa: the young vainly battles with the old; Marryatt, Hall, Martineau, Trolloppe, Dickens, have fired upon Americans; Cooper, Willis, and others return it. Irving, the man of taste, treats his English fathers with

filial kindness.

Thanks to these sixty odd volumes, one can see America without going there, without quitting one's fireside.

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