much of this spirit manifest in the infidel teachings of the present day-less to be dreaded, but more abhorrent, at least in their expression, than the philosophy of Bolingbroke and Hume. We think we discover some of this in Shelley. If so, it is a spot upon the escutcheon of his fame. We have said thus much in regard to this celebrated genius, because we deem it our duty to warn the unwary against what were once, if not always, his errors, and are embodied in his published works. We refer, as we have all along, to the notes to Queen Mab. Yet Shelley may be pitied, and in bestowing this pity, we yield a tribute to the

hold pity from that soul that is filled with aspirations for the good, the beautiful and the true-that overflows with fervent love for the race-that puts forth its sympathies

grossly erroneous. Moreover, that such opinions are deeply | the feelings of the devout and the believing. There is evil in their tendencies, we firmly believe, although their effects upon individual minds may be different, and, in some instances, from circumstances, almost innocuous. Such may have been the case with Shelley, so far as his actions were concerned-for we speak not now of his precepts, or the manner in which those precepts were set forth. But duty towards those who, fascinated by the spells of his genius, might forget the ingredients of the charm, leads us to condemn such principles as we find set forth in the notes at the end of his Queen Mab. It is no slight or unimportant blow that strikes at the marriage-contract-it would sunder the strongest tie of society, and unloose the bands of its "mil-excellence and efficacy of Christianity. Who can withlos golden wheels." It is a radical error that would shut out the idea of a "creative Deity"-that would destroy belief in an Intelligent Providence, who directs, rules and provides for the universe. It may conceal its withering in-yearning for the sunlight and the genial breeze, and yet is fluences under tenets that philosophy evokes from the misty mocked, checked, crushed! Oh! tempest-tossed is such a depths of speculation, and that poetry clothes in hues of spirit-now catching glimpses of something far brighter than summer light-but it is, after all, a noxious principle. It earth, now enveloped in sweeping clouds and hurried along shatters at once the basis of true morality, quenches the in darkness-now tuned to exquisite melody that gushes fires of living faith, interrupts the soul's communion with its from afar, and floating with quivering wings in radiance and God, and leaves it darkened, desolate, and tossed from doubt joy; now "sorrowing before the mystery of the universe to doubt. We care not how amiable, how full of love to hu- and scarred in the conflict with doubt." Then it is that we manity the heart may be that broods upon such theories-we need the firm rock of Christian Faith, where we may get eare not how lofty and splendid the intellect which patro-above the vexed billows and look beyond the rushing mist— nizes and defends them; they cannot consecrate them and where amid change, sorrow, disappointment, we may they cannot make them true-they cannot set bounds to their have peace within, and lean secure, upon an immutable, a evil influences when once they are let loose, when once REVEALED promise. they sweep with a flood-tide upon the world. But the The work before us, will be very acceptable to the litedreams of genius, the speculations of philosophy, can ne-rary public, and especially to the admirers of Shelley. ver crush in the great heart of humanity, the belief that elings, even with the most debased, around the idea of His existence. With no unrolled volumes of human wisdom, and no teachings of human lip, man stands up in the vast cathedral of nature, and evidences of God are strewn all around him. The sunlit valley and the mountain rill, the rocking branches that hang above, and the sheafy grain that glitters below, all tell of the Creator. There is not a flower that weeps at night, not a star that looks out from its Angel home, not a rainbow that spans the dark portals of the storm, not a breeze that whispers beneath the moon; but speaks of God, and strikes dumb the noisy argument of the Atheist. But we are wandering from the point which we had in view, and it was this-that we must beware of the subtle charm and evil influence which may lie under the beautiful productions of true genius. The very fact that they are the sentiments of a mighty and splendid mind, should lead us to examine them more closely-to be upon our guard with a stricter and more vigilant watch. Genius can give even falsehood the coloring of truth. It is when the common intellect gives birth to fervid, strong, eloquent precepts like these, that we may conclude them to be moral and righteous-that we may believe it to be the force and the glory of truth that charms and captivates us. No sweetness of disposition, then-no power of mind-can hallow error and immorality. Beautiful as is the shrine-exquisite as the carvings and the imagery are we know that an unholy flame is burning within, and that the libation and the sacrifice here are given to Ashtaroth and Chemosh.

We presume that his letters will be read with peculiar interest. These, fresh, untrammelled, immediate from the heart, give us a better idea of the true thoughts and real feelings of the man, than the poem or the essay. It is not necessary for us to recommend a production of Shelley as a work of genius. The announcement of its publication, will be enough to procure patrons on this score. We have but glanced at these volumes--we do not intend to criticise them. We may hereafter present our readers with

some extracts.

The first volume contains "A Defence of Poetry"—the only complete prose work that Shelley has left. Following this, we have Fragments, Translations, &c. There is among these, an Essay on a "Future State," and also one upon "the Punishment of Death;" both fragments. In the latter, we presume, Shelley takes those, as we deem them, more sound and philanthropic views which are already beginning to agitate the public mind. The second volume is occupied with Journals and Letters.

Referring once more to the Essay on our first page as appropriate to this notice, we close what has in fact been a dissertation upon some of the opinions of Shelley, rather than a notice of the work before us. The extracts, which we will endeavor to give, may enable us to form a different idea of Shelley's character and sentiments than that which is generally prevalent. But as to this, we are not now prepared to say. However superficial or desultory these remarks may be, we trust that they will not be deemed inappropriate, or barren of good.

chard-1840.

There is one other point to which we would, briefly, allude. Whatever may be our own ideas, we should certainly respect the feelings of others in regard to the opinions which The Works of Washington Irving-2 vols. Lea & Blanthey bold sacred. We cannot but censure, and censure deeply, the truly great mind that will suffer irritability to drive it to harsh and blasphemous expressions respecting religious opinions. It looks as if genius, conscious of the impotency of the legitimate weapons, had taken to ridicule

We are not about to enter upon a work so superfluous as that of recommending the writings of our distinguished countryman. We will merely

and jesting. We might argue, moreover, that in revenge for say, that Messrs. Lea & Blanchard have published his persecutions and his sufferings, the skeptic philosopher two volumes of his works, consisting of The had meant to retort in such a manner as to wound and injure Sketch Book; Knickerbocker's History; Brace

bridge Hall; Tales of a Traveller; Conquest of and how it operates, are all matters of mere speculation,

Grenada; The Alhambra. They have also comprised these in one large volume.

We wish to preserve in the columns of the Messenger, the following well-known and exquisitely beautiful reflections, extracted from "St. Mark's Eve;" in Bracebridge Hall.

"I am now alone in my chamber, but these themes have taken such hold of my imagination that I cannot sleep. The room in which I sit is just fitted to foster such a state of mind. The walls are hung with tapestry, the figures of which are faded, and look like unsubstantial shapes melting away from sight. Over the fire-place is the portrait of a lady, who, according to the housekeeper's tradition, pined to death for the loss of her lover in the battle of Blenheim. She has a most pale and plaintive countenance, and seems to fix her eyes mournfully upon me. The family have long since retired. I have heard their steps die away, and the distant doors clap to after them. The murmur of voices, and the peal of remote laughter, no longer reach the ear. The clock from the church, in which so many of the former inhabitants of this house lie buried, has chimed the awful hour of midnight.

"I have sat by the window and mused upon the dusky landscape, watching the lights disappearing, one by one, from the distant village; and the moon rising in her silent majesty, and leading up all the silver pomp of heaven. As I have gazed upon these quiet groves and shadowy lawns, silvered over, and imperfectly lighted by streaks of dewy moonshine, my mind has been crowded by 'thick-coming fancies' concerning those spiritual beings which

"walk the earth

Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep." Are there, indeed, such beings? Is this space between us and the Deity filled up by innumerable orders of spiritual beings, forming the same gradations between the human soul and Divine Perfection, that we see prevailing from humanity downwards to the meanest insect? It is a sublime and beautiful doctrine, inculcated by the early fathers, that there are guardian Angels appointed to watch over cities and nations, to take care of the welfare of good men, and to guard and guide the steps of helpless infancy. 'Nothing,' says St. Jerome, 'gives us a greater idea of the dignity of our soul, than that God has given each of us, at the moment of our birth, an Angel to have care of it.'

"Even the doctrine of departed spirits returning to visit the scenes and beings which were dear to them during the body's existence, though it has been debased by the absurd superstitions of the vulgar, in itself is awfully solemn and sublime. However lightly it may be ridiculed, yet the attention involuntarily yielded to it whenever it is made the subject of serious discussion; its prevalence in all ages and countries, and even among newly discovered nations, that have had no previous interchange of thought with other parts of the world, prove it to be one of those mysterious, and almost instinctive beliefs, to which, if left to ourselves, we should naturally incline.

and contradictory theories. If, then, we are thus ignorant of this spiritual essence, even while it forms a part of ourselves, and is continually present to our consciouness, how can we pretend to ascertain or to deny its powers and operations when released from its fleshy prison-house? It is more the manner, therefore, in which this superstition has been degraded, than its intrinsic absurdity, that has brought which it has been applied, strip it of the gloom and horror it into contempt. Raise it above the frivolous purposes to with which it has been surrounded, and there is none of the whole circle of visionary creeds that could more delightfully It would become a sovereign comfort at the bed of death, elevate the imagination, or more tenderly affect the heart. mortal separation. What could be more consoling than the soothing the bitter tear wrung from us by the agony of our idea, that the souls of those whom we once loved were permitted to return and watch over our welfare?—tha: affectionate and guardian spirits sat by our pillows when we slept, keeping a vigil over our most helpless hours!--that beauty and innocence which had languished into the tomb, blest dreams wherein we live over again the hours of past yet smiled unseen around us, revealing themselves in those endearment? A belief of this kind would, I should thias, be a new incentive to virtue; rendering us circumspect even in our most secret moments, from the idea that these we once loved and honored were invisible witnesses of all

our actions.

"It would take away, too, from that loneliness and destitution which we are apt to feel more and more as we get and find that those who set forward with us, lovingly and on in our pilgrimage through the wilderness of this world, cheerily, on the journey, have one by one dropped away from our side. Place the superstition in this light, and I confess I should like to be a believer in it. I see nothing in it that is incompatible with the tender and merciful nature of our Religion, nor revolting to the wishes and affections of the heart.

"There are departed beings that I have loved as I never again shall love in this world;-that have loved me as 1 never again shall be loved! If such beings do ever retain in their blessed spheres the attachments which they felt on earth-if they take an interest in the poor concerns of transient mortality, and are permitted to hold communica with those whom they have loved on earth; I feel as if now, at this deep hour of night, in this silence and solitude, I could receive their visitation with the most solemn but unalloyed delight.

"In truth, such visitations would be too happy for t world; they would be incompatible with the nature of this imperfect state of being. We are here placed in a DPTU scene of spiritual thraldom and restraint. Our souls are shut in and limited by bounds and barriers; shackled by mortal infirmities, and subject to all the gross impediments of matter. In vain would they seek to act independenty of the body, and to mingle together in spiritual intercourse. They can only act here through their fleshy organs. Ther earthly loves are made up of transient embraces and org separations. The most intimate friendship, of what bre "In spite of all the pride of reason and philosophy, a vague and scattered portions of time does it consist! We take doubt will still lurk in the mind, and perhaps will never be each other by the hand, and we exchange a few words and perfectly eradicated; as it is concerning a matter that does looks of kindness, and we rejoice together for a few short not admit of positive demonstration. Every thing con-moments-and then days, months, years intervene, and we nected with our spiritual nature is full of doubt and diffi- see and know nothing of each other. Or, granting that we culty. We are fearfully and wonderfully made;' we are dwell together for the full season of this our mortal life, the surrounded by mysteries, and we are mysteries even to grave soon closes its gates between us, and then our sens ourselves. Who yet has been able to comprehend and de-are doomed to remain in separation and widowhood; un scribe the nature of the soul, its connexion with the body, they meet again in that more perfect state of being, where or in what part of the frame it is situated? We know merely soul will dwell with soul in blissful communion, and there that it does exist; but whence it came, and when it enter-will be neither death, nor absence, nor any thing else to ined into us, and how it is retained, and where it is seated, terrupt our felicity."

PUBLISHED MONTHLY AT FIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM-THOMAS W. WHITE, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.

freedom, and cooperate with others for the safety and wel- | failed, he alone ought to suffer the consequences, and not fare of his country. involve those who had trusted him.

+

At this time he formed an acquaintance with Michel An- He quitted Geneva in 1822, and went to reside with a gelo Buonarotti, a republican, at Geneva. He describes friend near Lausanne for several months. While there, une him as an old man with white hair, whom persecution and charmante Anglaise arrived whom he had known at Geneva. adversity could never shake or cast down-and who, proud They met with mutual interest; and when he found that of his independence, gained a living at Geneva by giving the impressions she was receiving were likely to trouble lessons in music and Italian. With this modern Procida, her repose, he heroically determined to quit the place, and as he terms him, whose existence had been a continual sa- encounter the rigors of winter on his way to Italy. That crifice to political convictions, he at once enlisted; and, the struggle was a hard one; that it was with many a pang determining to rise above the fictitious modes and forms of he left her, his language feelingly expresses. “Abandonner the world, he believed himself honored when initiated into Lucy! au moment même ou ses paroles, ou ses tristesses, a numerous society of good patriots, who zealously labored me révélaient son amour, était un sacrifice dont je n'eusse for the cause of universal liberty. After undertaking seve-pas été capable quelques années auparavant. * Mais ral missions, which proved unsuccessful, he became con- dans la solitude et la meditation j'avais appris ce qu'exivinced that there was not that unity of action amongst them, geait le véritable honneur, et que la première condition that concentration of force and power that might lead to de bonheur pour l'homme de bien, était de ne reculer jamais any decisive result; he therefore determined to withdraw devant un sacrifice quand sa conscience lui en fait une loi.” from political life in France, in the full faith, however, that Accordingly he departed for Milan the 18th of December, the liberal cause would eventually triumph by legal mea- 1822, notwithstanding the entreaties of his friends, and the sures; and without having recourse to those extremes which advice of his sister, who was wholly ignorant of the mission impose so heavy a responsibility on those who employ he had undertaken, and only regretted that he should quit them. Resolving then to avoid political intrigues, and to his father and friends for an uncertain time. In passing remove himself from the temptation they offered to his ar- over the mountains which separate the canton d'Altorí dent mind, he came to the conclusion of passing a year or from that of Tessin, he encountered some danger from the two in Italy, where he might devote himself to literature deep snow; and was only saved by his faithful guides, who and the arts. When Buonarotti learnt his intention of re- not only preserved his life, but his effects, at the risk of their maining some time at Florence, he conceived the idea of own safety. His port-folio had accidentally fallen over a charging him with a secret mission for that interesting precipice, and was lodged among the thick branches of pinecountry. This Andryane accepted with joy. He was trees below. One of the guides determining to secure it. filled with the idea of animating the courage of those who caused a rope to be fastened round his waist, and was lowgroaned under a foreign yoke, and the desire of re-organiz-ered down the frightful precipice; and by this means reing those patriotic associations which had so powerfully stored the port-folio, which was afterwards to prove so fatal contributed to the revolution of Naples and Piedmont-as- to the owner. sociations which would at least keep alive in Italy the desire and hope of nationality. He devoted himself to the study and history of a country, the language of which he already spoke with facility, and with whose exiles he had already become fraternized. To execute his mission, it was necessary that he should have long conferences with Buonarotti and other Italians. He received from them the proper documents, and was made acquainted with all that had been done before 1821 in the different provinces and towns of the peninsula. They also informed him of the names of those persons who had taken the most active part in the revolutionary movements, and promised to announce his arrival to them before hand, that they might be prepared to receive him. Notwithstanding objections which he made, on the score of inutility and danger, he yielded to the wishes of Buonarotti, by placing in a large port-folio a number of papers of all descriptions-letters of recommendation-and one addressed by Buonarotti to his brother, an advocate at Florence. It was agreed, however, that he should not be the bearer of these documents, but that one in whom they could confide should deliver them to him in the first town of Piedmont or Lombardy, at which he should stop. That he undertook this embassy, actuated by the noble and generous principles which his heart had suggested, is evident; it is equally so that he was ignorant of the existing state of Italy. He knew not that its spirit was subdued, and that it was peacefully slumbering in its chains. He was ignorant that in many parts of the country, the Carbonari, far from conspiring together, only sought to avoid all suspicion that might bring upon them the vengeance of the government, wholly under the influence of Austria. He was ignorant of the strict espionage maintained by that government; and counted upon free and generous hearts ready to join any enterprize for liberty and independence. The responsibility which he took upon himself he perfectly understood; that he held in his hands the fate of many, all of whom depended on his prudence and discretion; that if he

On his arrival at Bellinzona, he met the refugee Italians who had expected him. Among them was Malinverni, a man of warm feelings and sanguine expectations; he conf!dently anticipated the independence of Italy, through the influence of secret societies. He received Andryane with delight-gave him the most fervent assurances of perfect success, and opposed his prudential objections to taking with him the regulations, diplomas, &c. that might endan ger all concerned. After some debate, it was decided that the papers should be sent to him at Milan by a trust-worthy person. We pass over the agitation and labor of mind and body which he experienced-of his painful regrets afer parting with Lucy; and hasten to his arrival at Lugano, where he repairs to the retreat of a Piedmontese, an csi man, who, less enthusiastic than his countryman at Bellinzona, was far from giving him the same encouragement; on the contrary, he assured him, that nothing at that time could be done for Italy, and that they must wait for better times "Is it at Milan," he said, "that you expect to find adherents " You do not know, young man, that there is there an inqu sitorial committee, who exercise over Lombardy and all Italy the most absolute power? Are you ignorant that this committee have imprisoned more than a hundred men on suspicion, and are every day making new arrests ?" After a long conversation with this honest and judicious mar. who faithfully represented the hazard and inutility of Ardryane's mission, they parted; the young man less sanguine than he had been, of the success of the cause be ba undertaken. A new meeting, however, with a young Italian, as sanguine as himself, restored his hopes. When be entered Italy he broke forth into a musical rapture, sirgiza aloud, "Bella Italia, alfin ti veggo! ah, del ciel et de da terra, cara Italia sei l'amore!" * This land of beauty-of song-of the fine arts-who would not salute, for the first time, with enthusiasm! Andryane had left his papers with his prudent friend at Lugano, and therefore felt no anxiety. His first step was to seek one of those to

whom he had been recommended, and who resided near la | subjected by the dread of inquisitorial omnipotence, he dowane de Como. For the first time his spirit yielded to the wrote to his friends at Geneva, informing them of the real uncertainty of the result of the step he was about to take. state of things, and of the impossibility of effecting any He presented himself before him with diffidence-he was change. Accounts constantly reached him of new arrests. embarrassed and agitated, and though cordially received, At one time he heard that Salvotti, the inquisitor, had gone his tongue refused its office-he only stammered some to Vienna with a frightful list of persons arrested. At common-place phrases upon the misfortunes of Italy, and another, that the Marquis Palavicini had lost his reason his desire for her independence. By degrees, however, his under the cruel treatment he had suffered-that they inself-possession returned; he spoke with warmth and con- tended to use torture to compel Confalonieri to speak; and viction, and very soon perceived that he had dissipated the that his beautiful Countess, with her friend the Countess want of confidence which his first appearance excited. Trecavilli, were near being made prisoners. Everywhere To the hopes he expressed, he found however no corres- there existed the same terror of the inquisition, and the ponding sympathies. same dread of their arbitrary power. Two names were always prominent in the melancholy drama; one, as an object of admiration and pity; the other, as an object of aversion and alarm-Confalonieri and Salvotti; the former, as the angel of liberty; the latter, as the demon of oppression. The more he heard of Confalonieri, the stronger his interest became. He learned all that he had attempted in 1814 for the independence of Italy-the energy he had discovered in 1821. They spoke of his perseverance-of his admirable judgment-of his eloquence-and of the firmness, with which, in feeble health, he had supported a long and difficult judicial process against him. Monsiani, too, was imprisoned, because he was the friend of Confalonieri. They spoke of Theresa, the wife of Confalonieri, as an angel of virtue and goodness-of both as the happiest and the most charming couple in Milan. All pitied his melanIf he on whom he had most relied thus disappointed him, choly fate-all respected and loved him; but nothing could what could he expect? He presented himself, however, be-be done for him or his companions in misfortune-they fore one or two more, who received him with timidity and terror, and seemed so much embarrassed that he resolved not to explain his mission.

"My friends," the Italian replied, "and all those who languish far from their country, are ignorant of its position. They are deluding themselves. What can we attempt at present when we have lost, by exile or imprisonment, all those who formed our hopes in 1821? Where shall we find the Pecchios-the Demeesters--the Confalonieris? The disasters of 1821 have discouraged all. Only sentiments of indignation and hate towards our oppressors remain. You will not find a person in Lombardy who is willing to expose his life, his liberty, or his fortune, for its independence. In Lombardy nothing can be done."

It was evident that he trembled for the consequences of their interview; and when after a long conversation they parted, he entreated Andryane, per carità, not to mention to the inhabitants of Como that he had seen him.

were prisoners! The only solace he found, amidst the distressing ideas excited in his mind, was the music of Rossini, which he went every evening to hear. "It was then," said

After some reflection he exclaimed-" Mon prudent | he, "that I comprehended Monti, the poet's observation on viellard avait raison, il n'y a rien a faire maintenant en Italie."

Discouraged by all that had passed, he seriously thought of returning to France, to his sister, instead of proceeding to Milan.

this music. There is so much poetry in it, that I listen to acquire ideas and inspiration." He speaks of having the happiness of sometimes meeting this celebrated man. Το Manzoni, too, he was introduced-"Manzoni, l'honneur de l'Italie, comme écrivain; comme chrétien, le modèle de toutes les vertus."

An accidental observation, however, changes the gloomy course of his thoughts. He orders the coach for Milan; and, at the request of his host, consents to a young Abbe's taking a place with him. After general conversation, on the literature and poetry of France and England, they speak of the Italian exiles. The emotion that the young Abbé dis-sume them. It was near the same time that he received covers, leads Andryane to inquire if he has any friends among the sufferers? He then discovers that Gaetano Done of his own friends, is brother to the priest. Then folows a little history of his enthusiasm in the cause of Italyof his unhappy exile in consequence of the misery he had brought upon himself and family, by his rash attempt to liberate his country. Seduced by his imagination, and by the representation of others, he believed that all the provinces would rise in a body-whereas, he found no echo either among the poor or rich; or, in the Abbe's own language, "Ni dans les classes aisées, qui ne veulent pas compromettre leur commode existence pour conquerir une independence, dont ils ne sauraient que faire; ni dans le peuple qui se soucie peu de la constitution et de la liberté pourvu que sa polenta soit bien epaisse, et qu'il y'ait du pain et du lard á la maison."

A letter received from Buonarotti, in which he spoke with regret and surprise of the renunciation of his efforts, awoke in him the utmost agitation; but the inutility, as well as danger of all such attempts, determined him not to re

The conversation between Andryane and the good Abbé appeared to the former like an interposition of Providence, to warn him of the dangers he was about to encounter; but when he arrived at the gates of Milan, the appearance of the Austrian soldiery-the demands for a passport-the ceremony imposed-gave a new color to his thoughts; and the marks of subjection, plainly visible, excited anew his pity and indignation.

After several days' stay at Milan, in which he became more and more convinced of the degraded state of Italy,

the papers which he had requested Malinverni by letter not to send him. He could not, however, refuse to take them. He opened the port-folio, and rapidly looked over its contents, burned some which were of a nature to compromise the persons he had seen, and those he was yet to see; and, putting the rest in an envelope, determined to place them the next day under the care of a man in whom he could confide. His mind was now at ease, and he turned his thoughts wholly to his future abode in Italy. Naples, Florence-all presented a happy future. His route was through Bologna, Florence, Rome, upon the borders of the Adriatic, as well as upon the Mediterranean. Politics no longer mingled in his dreams. He was in the land of music, painting and statuary, and he determined to cultivate all that would make life pleasant. He fixed upon an early day for leaving Milan, and went to sleep at night with the recollection, that, at the age of twenty-four, he had before him a long season for study and improvement. His dreams were dreams of happiness and glory!

On the next morning, the 18th of January, he received a visit from a person he did not know-a man with a livid and suspicious countenance, and followed by a number of individuals armed and in uniform. Though greatly agitated, he endeavored to appear calm, and inquired of the man if he could be of service to him. Bolza, for it was he, replied that he was sent by authority to ascertain whether