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conclusive to you-all I ask is that you would becomingly arranged, and holding in his hand a give my views weight enough to make you re- large bouquet, intended to express quite as many ëxamine your opinion of Augustus Vernon, to tender and pretty sentiments as twenty love sonavoid above all things any entanglement with nets could do. The whole expression of his him until something more can be ascertained as countenance changed from the air of bewitching to his real character, and to withdraw yourself tenderness he had assumed to one of blank disawhile from his influence until your mind be- appointment when he perceived the unsepticomes less dazzled, less bewildered."

mental Margaret enter, instead of the fair VirA deep sigh and fast flowing tears were Vir- ginia. ginia's only replies for some minutes; at length He regretted Virginia's indisposition, and would she said; "you are unreasonable, Margaret, and have sent her many pretty messages, accompaabuse your power over me."

nying the bouquet, which he desired Margaret to “I have no power, dear Virginia, but what af- give her sister, but there was a sort of dryness fection and reason can give."

and coldness about her mavner, though she was Virginia perceived by Margaret's look and tone perfectly polite, which froze the sentiments on that she was hurt and grieved at what she herself his lips before he could utter them, and they had said, and with a sudden reaction of feeling she were both equally relieved from a burthensome threw her arms around her sister's neck. “For- tete-a-tete by the entrance of the party who had give me, Margaret,” she said, " have pity on me gone out on a fishing expedition in the morning. and for my sake at least try to do him justice.”

Fes* “I do try, I will try every thing that I can for your happiness, for God knows it is dearer to me than my own, but try to compose yourself and tell me, I entreat you, whether you have committed yourself in any way to Augustus Vernon,

A Lament on a Brother Deceased. whether you think he understands the nature of your feelings towards him?"

BY WILLIAM PEMBROKE MULCHINOCE. Oh no, I hope not, I think not, surely you do not think I would permit him to discover

I move by the heaving deep, them, unless he had made a declaration of love


When the winds awake from sleep, in words, indeed I hope he does not know all

To moan. that you do." “I trust not: then our care must be to pre

I gaze on its bosom blue vent his making the discovery."


Where mirror'd below I view Just as Margaret had uttered these words she

Each star.
beard Augustus Vernon's voice in the parlor, en-
quiring of one of the servants if the


From mine eye the heavy tears were at home. Struck with dismay and vexa

I dry,

As I think on the happy years tion Margaret looked at Virginia as if to consider

Gone by. what had best be done. “I will go and receive Mr. Vernon and tell

For him of the fair young brow him you are indisposed, Virginia, which I am

I weep,

Who takes in the church-yard now sure will be no falsehood."

His sleep; Virginia was bathing her eyes to efface all traces of the tears she had just been shedding, as

For he was the star above Margaret said this, and she replied with hesita


That tinged with the light of love tion, and embarrassment,

My night. “But will it not appear strange? he will suspect something."

Sadly I now must roam,

And sigh No, that is impossible, I shall say with all the

For him, who has found a home boldness and straight-forwardness of truth, which

On high. compels belief you know, that you have the headache and are not well enough to go out.”

My tongue in the halls of mirth

Is mute, And without giving Virginia any farther time

And sad are thy notes on earth, for doubt, closing the door hastily, Margaret

My lute. went to receive Augustus Vernon, wishing earnestly that he was a thousand miles off. She

A fiend o'er my bosom steals found him standing in a graceful attitude, fait a

Through air,

And his voice all wildly wails peindre, arrayed with the utmost care, his curls


much pains in the unravelling often turns out to

have deserved none. OF STYLE IN WRITING.

Of style Milton says: "For me readers al

though I cannot say I am utterly unrestrained in Fine artificial writers love to stuff their pages those rules which best rhetoricians have written with high-flown figures of speech and gaudy in any learned language, yet true eloquence I flowers of rhetoric. They still carry on the tin- find to be none but the serious and hearty love of sel manufacture in all its branches, they delight truth: and that whose mind soever is fully posin the superlative and hyperbolical and ever af- sessed with a fervent desire to know things and fect the "'Ercles vein." They cannot describe with the dearest charity to infuse the knowledge an ordinary incident, a simple affair, without a of them into others—when such a man would flourish of trumpets. It might amuse a man of speak, his words, by what I can express, like so wit,—such as Dean Swift,—to strip some of many nimble and airy servitors trip about bim at these flowery productions of their superfluous command, and in well-ordered files, as he would ornaments; to sift this bushel of chaff and find wish, and all aptly into their own places.” Dr. how many grains of wheat it contains; to trim Johnson advises him that would acquire a style and razee the redundant, the epithetical, the tur- elegant and smooth to give his days and his nights gid, and to expunge whatever seems only to to the reading of Addison. The advice is good weaken the sense. To make the thing the more and quite disinterested, for his own style is the palpable, the original and the corrected copy very reverse of Addison's. Dr. Franklin in immight be arranged vis-a-vis in parallel columns. proving his style found it a good exercise to read Cervantes brings in the curate, the barber and a number of the Spectator, shut the book and the house-keeper, tossing Don Quixote's libra- try how nearly he could imitate the original. ry-musty old tomes of enchantment and knight Longinus suggests to a writer, when about to aterrantry, out at an upper window down into the tempt a lofty flight, to conceive within himself court-yard, and making a bonfire of them. If how Homer, or some one of the master-spirits of all the books extant were collected, how many of the world would have expressed himself on such them might deserve to share the same fate? And an occasion. So in the present day a writer even of those that might escape with their lives, - might ask himself what would Milton or Pascal how many, if they were made to pass through have said in this case. The difficulty is that in the ordeal of a just criticism, would emerge de- order to conceive what Homer or Milton would pleted, shrunken, emaciated skeletons, disem- have said, it is necessary to have Homer or Milbowelled ghosts, “ lean anatomies," "rempants ton's grasp of mind. of themselves ?" The Brobdignaggian folio would John Foster, in his inimitable essays, remarks: dwindle into a thin octavo, the corpulent quarto "False eloquence is like a false alarm of thunwould awake in the form of a Lilliputian duo- der, where a sober man that is not apt to startle decimo. How many horse-cart loads of poems, at sounds looks out to see if it be not the rumbhistories, voyages and travels, romances, dramas, ling of a cart.” And again : “ Eloquence rememoirs and novels, encyclopædias, pamphlets, sides in the thought and no words can make that abridgments and epitomes, short and easy ways, eloquent which will not be so in the plainest vade-mecums—what vast piles of newspapers that could possibly express the sense.” The and magazines and reviews would expire in this Latinized pedantry of style is well taken off by expurgatorial brush-heap ?

the licentious wit, Rabelais, where he makes the Fine writers sacrifice simplicity to artifice and Paris student give an account of his religion : “I affectation, and endeavor to set off poverty of revere the olympicals ; I latrially revere the suthought by a showy dress. Fond of hyperbole pernal astripotent; I dilige and redame my proxand disdaining the temperate zone, they must ims; I observe the decalogical precepts; and either congeal amid the snows of eternal winter according to the facultatule of my vires I do not or melt in the blaze of an equatorial sun. This discede from them one breadth of an unquicule : extravagance defeats itself; the mind rejects such nevertheless it is veriform that because Mamincessant draughts upon its credulity. Some mona doth not supergurgitate any thing in my writers affect a mystified style, counting plain locules, I am somewhat rare and lent to supererEnglish quite too vulgar for the sublimity of their rogate the elemosynes to those egents that ostiethereal spirits--they manufacture a sort of Mo-ally queritate their stipe." Pantagruel to cure saic dialect of their owu only to be understood him of his Latin style caught him by the throat by the initiated and envelope themselves in a and so throttled him that he soon began to beg bazy veil of transcendental smoke. Their wri- for mercy in his own tongue naturally. Rabetings are apt to be like Egyptian hieroglyphics lais adds that Octavian Augustus advises “to which need to be decyphered, and what has cost'shun all strange words with as much care as

Vol. XV-91


pilots of ships avoid the rocks of the sea." An

CITY AND SALON. artificial style is proof of the absence of feeling. A man who feels warmly has po time or inclination to cast about for fine words; the proper Reports come in night after night from the words come spontaneously. Children use a nat- Provinces. The Government discusses, with seural style and a fish-woman in a passion may ex-verish anxiety, the political complexion of each hibit a specimen of eloquence from which the new Representative. The quidnuncs talk with cast-iron rhetorician might learn a lesson. Elo-ardor; the Cafés are alive with conversationists. quence is but the voice of nature. To write New names are bruited from mouth to mouth; well, one must be full of his subject and feel what and lineage, education, and political bias, are ferhe writes and write what he feels. The best reted out with all the aids of registers and ProEnglish writers are fonder of using their own vincial Journals. The Presse sends out its extras, mother-tongue, the Anglo-Saxon, than the Ro- bringing down intelligence to the latest moment. man. Dr. Gregory says: “In one of my early The men of the Ateliérs Nationaur, gleeful interviews with Mr. Hall [Robert Hall] I used with their easy-earned wages, are sauntering at the word “felicity' three or four times in rather their work in the Parc Monceau, or along the quick succession. He asked, “Why do you say quays; and cry-long life to the Government • felicity,' sir ? Happiness' is a better word, more that supplies us with home and bread! musical and genuine English coming from the But meantime commerce is sadly falling off; Saxon.” “Not more musical, I think sir.” “Yes, no strangers are now loitering about those elemore musical; and so are words derived from gant shops of Rue de la Paix for trinkets and the Saxon generally. Listen sir; •My heart is bijoux; manufactories are closed; the railways, smitten and withered like grass ;' there's plaintive unable to complete their engagements for conmusic. Listen again sir; • Under the shadow oftinuance of their lines, are taken in hand by the thy wings will I rejoice;' there's cheerful music.” Government, whose resources between fète-giv“ Yes, but rejoice' is French.” “True, but all ing, and labor payments, and equipment of Garde the rest is Saxon; and “rejoice' is almost out of Mobile, are fast failing. tune with the other words .Listen again, Thou The projected plans of completing the Tuillehast delivered my eyes from tears, my soul from ries, and extending the markets, loom over the death, and my feet from falling;' all Saxon, sir, heads of Exchequer men more and more giganexcept delivered.' I could think of the word tic. Railway shares are sadly down, and fluctu* tear,' sir, till I wept. Then again for another ate hour by hour. The rich man of yesterday is noble specimen and almost all good old Saxon poor to-day; and rich again to-morrow. The English : Surely goodness and mercy shall fol- holders of houses are refusing payment of rents; low me all the days of my life; and I will dwell and untenanted buildings can find neither lessees, in the house of the Lord forever.""

nor buyers. Richard Sharp, in one of his letters, says, “I -A young man of easy fortune, in Paris world, am convinced that in the gravest age! and in has purchased, a week before the Revolution, at the sublimest passages the simple terms and the the date of bis marriage, a Hotel, for which is to idioms of our language often add a grace beyond be paid the sum of 600,000 francs. Of this, one the reach of scholarship, increasing rather than half remains secured upon the property. His diminishing the elegance as well as the spirit of creditor, straitened by the exigencies of the time, the diction. Utinam et verba in usu quotidiano is compelled to foreclose the mortgage: the Hotel posita minùs timeremus.'"

realizes, a week after the Revolution, 200,000 “He that would write well,” says Roger As- francs only, leaving the former rich possessor cham, “must follow the advice of Aristotle, to worse than bankrupt. Judge, if such worsted speak as the common people speak and to think Bourgeois would fing up his cap for the Republic! as the wise think.” In support of this opinion Wealthy families of St. Germain, finding their many of the examples often cited are amusing incomes reducing by a third, are curtailing esas well as convincing. The following from a penses. Horses and carriages are sold at ruingreat author may be added—" Is there a God to Jous rates. Old diners at the Café de Paris now swear by and is there none to believe in, none to order humble meals of private restaurateurs

. trust to ?” What beconies of the for ceand sim- The Theatre, that sweetest of luxuries to a Paplicity of this short sentence when turned into risian, is abjured. The employees of the Opera the clumsy English which schoolmasters indite are deserting. Except upon free nights—another and which little boys can construe ? " Is there a drain upon the failing treasury—the benches are God by whom to swear, is there none in whom never full. to believe, none to whom to pray?"

* From an unpublished work, "The Batle Summer," C. C.

now in Press.

Notwithstanding, Parisian Salons are not quiet|erty, or damaged commerce, or a little night-fear, nor dull. The new scenes, the approaching as- against this new nobleness of excitation—this sembly, the clubs, the Briarian Journalism, the God-like effort for something better, purer, highdepth and interest of the questions at stake keep er-by which intellect shall be quickened, new the public mind strung to its utmost tensity. Nor faculties developed, new sympathies awakened, in the discussion of such topics does society lose and every old nation of Europe suddenly started that happy grace and ease without wbich Paris into consciousness of those active, and present society would be no longer itself. A certain in- faculties, with which heaven has blessed them, describable bonhommie and careless freedom yet not for sloth, and unrest, but the most extended, throw their charms over the most serious of Salon possible development ? talk.

-You see-says Madame-glancing round at -Madame P— has disposed of her equipage; her humble entresol, with what sympathy my she has even changed her quarters from the pre- friends console me. But allons, courage! You mier to the entresol ; but she wears the same old must not, my dear Colonel, bear so hardly on our air of cheerfulness; she disposes such jewels as poet Lamartine. remain with double effect; she pities her friend -Qu'il est bien, cet homme !-murmurs the who, from fear or economy, is obliged to quit young man. Paris-la belle Villeeven in its worst estate. - It is the worst to say of him-continues

You enter her little salon of an evening ;-an Madame,—that he is unused to power. But what elegant little salon—though scarce ten feet above better prestige than this for a people with whom the street:-she is half-reclining upon a luxu- power is new? You cannot surely doubt his rious brocade-covered chair;-her dress is dis- humanity, nor his generosity, nor his devotion ; posed with the same artless care that always be- and for philosophy, what is better than that which longs to a French lady's toilette ; her white haud, springs out of the hour (a true French sentiment) set off with a lace rufle, and ornamented by a tempered by adversity, and lighted with poetic single brilliant, lies carelessly upon the richly ardor ? carved arm of fauteuil. She receives you, half The topic changes as easily as words flow from rising, with a cheerful smile ;-beckons you by a a French-woman's lips. wave of the hand to a seat, and resumes, with

-And you have seen the play of Geo. Sand, the most unaffected good-humor and flow of wit, Le Roi attend; and Mademoiselle

is she not her previous talk.

gracieuse? but ma foi, what audience! Poor She stops-she remembers that you, as a stran- Madame Dudevant! they say she is utterly disger, would be glad to know on what topic the consolate at Tours;--no wonder-so inspired by conversation is drifting in these troublous times. the change ;-a Lelia, at last found a pure, and She runs over in an instant the salient points of loving Stenio! But I forget, you have not been the discussion ; by a half dozen effective, short to the spectacle, sivce the unfortunate night of sentences, full of color, of verve, and action, she that terrible, chanting crowd, -quelle horreur ! throws the whole burden into your hands, and -Yet how patiently, how earnestly they lispuzzles you for an expression of opinion while tened even to Corneille ? you are only admiring her address.

-And who would not, with such interpreter A tall, thin-faced Colonel is of the company as Rachel ?-noble in Elvira, but how like a a Royalist in feeling, but serving now in Repub-ghost of the bloody past, in her white robe chantlican army. He has been educated to respecting that fearful Marseillaise ! old-fashioned politicians; he has no faith in Arago -God save us-says an old lady in the coror Cremieux; he sneers at Lamartine, and berates ner—from those terrible Canaille ! unmercifully the cowardly, truckling measures of Thus much, to give an idea of the toue, the Provisional Power.

and change of the salon talk. Another is a young employée in an important Madame P- is a quick, Parisian lady,-of bureau of state ;-quick, penetrating, overflow- more years by a dozen than you would credit ing with humor, he defends with the good nature, her--whose judgment lies in her fancy; she is a and warm abandon of youth, a system which is true philosopher--meaning only life philosophywaking all the youthful blood in France. He because her philosophy consoles, and forgets. would accept the Republic even with all its pos- The Colonel is a stiff, austere reader of the sible excesses, rather than be the slave of that Débats newspaper : he is of highest Bourgeois ; system which by force of bribery, and corrup- his friends among the bankers, and old noblesse. tion, and the dogmas of feudal habit and tradi- The young man is of some school of St. Cyr,

on,—denied to all talent its prestige, and to with cleverness and life;—some accident may youthful France, its best and dearest hopes. give him position that will make him great; or

-What-says he-will you weigh lost prop- kill him on some June barricade.

The old lady is nurtured in the faith of the fing over the volume, for Necessitas nullam habet old regime,-perhaps was one of the suspecte of legem. Robespierre; with her, a Republic is a night- It is conceded that Sir William was a remarkmare, and all people-Canaille.

able man. He was born io London in 1746, and died in Bengal, India, in 1794. His life was short, and his attainments were various and extraordinary, but so well known, that an allusion to them is scarcely necessary.

Our remarks will LINES.

not extend to his Life of Nadir Shab-his Per

sian Grammar, or Dictionary-his SacontalaThis morn through many a pleasing scene or his translation of the ordinances of Memu. In sun and shade my course I held,

We leave these to be investigated by others who
A weight of grief upon my heart,
Which could not be dispelled.

possess larger means for purchasing costy works.

Our design is simply to make a few remarks on
In vain I sought to catch the joy

the Poems of this distinguished jurist.
Which seemed to move in leaf and flower, These Poems are for the most part versions of
The breeze" came to me" from the fields, Eastern originals; but the translator states that
But with no soothing power.

he has taken considerable liberties with the auBirds filled the air with noisy songs,

thors themselves. He has filled up the outline,

introduced new characters, and enlarged the plan The squirrel leaped from bough to bough, There was no cloud in Heaven to throw

on which the pieces were at first written. They That shadow on my brow.

are mere careless effusions, such as any man

whose pursuits are grave and profound might What secret influence was there,

produce in moments of relaxation from severe To guide my thoughts, dear Babe, to thee, And give relief I could not find

study, and were to the author what her leaves In Nature's kindly glee.

were to the Cumean Sybil, as described by Vir

gil in the third book of the Æneid,
The stream that wandered by, might well
An emblem of thy life impart,

Nunquam deinde caro volitantia prendete sazo
But even its music failed to stir,

Nec revocare situs-aut jungere carmina curat. The fancy in my heart.

The mind of Sir William Jones possessed a That there are sweet similitudes

wonderful power of apprehending what others I know, betwixt the flowers and thee,

had discovered. He could follow on any path Yet, while a thousand flowers were near, which pioneers had opened. His attainments Not one occurred to me.

were out of all proportion to his original mental I only know, that unannounced

power, and they resulted probably from his acThy image glanced across my mind,

quiring some one language profoundly-the rest And like a transient sunbeam passed,

being mastered almost without exertion and as But left no gloom behind.

a necessary consequence. We have ceased to AGLAUS.

wonder at this great orientalist, since Professor Lee of Cambridge bas rivalled him—or since Dr. Carey, at Serampore, conquered twenty-seven dialects—and Ross, in Scotland, who was a mere

youth when he died, could write seventeen tongues THE POEMS OF SIR WILLIAM JONES. when he died. After all, the admirable Crich

tons, we think, must doff their plumes before our I now understood what a Poet was, namely one who Learned Blacksmith. An education in things is could sing what he saw and felt.-Hansen,

always more utilitarian than an education in

words. We are not certain but that the acquireThe library at Ringwood is so small, that the ments of Sir William would have crushed the writer is obliged to depend a good deal on bis fine genius of Burns; nor could the swan of neighbors for mental entertainment. On a rainy Avon have possibly borue their weight. day a short time since, a fair daughter of Eve No friend of morals, however, can ever wanwas kind enough to send him a morceau in the tonly depreciate the Calcutta Judge, for be was Poems of Sir William Jones. His taste was a man of unblemished virtue. We cherish for never very oriental, for he has always liked a bis memory the warmest veneration. His deprairie better than a jungle, and a stout oak bet- signs were magnificent, and his ardor in oriental ter than a banyan tree. But having nothing else studies was worthy of all praise. He was not to read he was reduced to the necessity of look- the first, however, who gave an Eastern direc

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