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edifying. Quite true. But in justice we he makes an incursion into political by-ways, shop and the shambles. Humanity got disought, in excitements of this nature, to look he exposes himself to ridicule. And he seems mayed at the mountain of dogs, and retreated. closely and see what the real cause of the to be the one Frenchman wbom ridicule nei. Trade saw its chance, and shot into the vapublic concern is; and if concern in the ther dismays nor silences. He insists upon cant place. The iron egotists who rob a poor issue of a scandal be not a very high order it that he is created to be the constitution. creature of its life to sell its skin shall not of intellectual activity, it is at least immeas- huilder to "the parliament of man, the fed- pass for soft sentimentalists while I can wag urably better that it should be this than mere- eration of the world;" being sure that, if - pen. The crying hyena is new trader, and ly a morbid love for prurient details. And only his scheme be adopted, the war-drum I resist him in the name of dog and mar." let us say that the disposition to find in would throb no more, and the battle - flags It is certainly a good work to expose impos. every act of our neighbors the baser motive would be furled. Hugo, like Carlyle, is bent ture, and strip the garment of charity from is not elevating to him who indulges in it, on being a school-master of mankind; and what seems to have become a mere money. Dor is it calculated to exercise an influence the good-natured world, considering the glory making operation ; but we fear that Mr. for good upon the community.

of their writings, will, no doubt, “grin and Reade will have to give over novel-writing

bear it.” They have, perhaps, earued the altogether—which would be a sore grief to Those who know Victor Hugo's manner right to be chartered libertines of political his thousands of readers—if he sets about of political disquisition and prophecy will pedagoguery.

unearthing all the trading wolves which go shudder to think what is coming. We are

about appealing to public sympathy in the threatened with a perfect inundation of glit- MR. CHARLES READE finds time, amid his innocent garb of wool. However, one such tering generalities and epigrammatic highfa- literary labors, to make frequent diversions exposure is a worthy deed, and Mr. Reade latin in the shape of political memoirs. Victor as a social reformer. He is a vigorous rival has proved himself as efficient a champion Ingo does nothing, at least with the pen, by of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty of the dog as he is skillful in “wagging a balres. His literary schemes are as elaborate to Animals. Every thing he says and does is pen." od fall of complex structure as a military thoroughly Readesque in energy and pungener gineer's plan of siege. He, therefore, lays cy. Now, he has been running a tilt against

Literary. ont a scheme of discouraging proportions ; an institution called “ The Dogs' Home." It ** will be be able to relate his part in French was founded as a charity. Stray dogs, masplitics in less than three good-sized volumes. terless and kennel-less, were picked up and THE

THE îrst thing which it occurs to us to Ta already have his prologue, which is the welcomed to this canine retreat and hearth

say of Tennyson's “ Queen Mary" is,

that it is really a drama. Many of the modbape of an essay on “Right and the Law,” | stone. Thence they were doled out to such

ern so-called dramas are nothing more than in which the illustrious Academician seems people as wanted a faithful follower and do

poems, or “studies of character," broken up bent on persuading Frenchmen that right is mestic policeman. But, being for the most

into dialogue and cast in dramatic forms, but che thing and law another, and that, if they part ugly creatures, mongrel in breed and impossible of representation on the stage, Fact to do right, they must hold the law in without the advantages of a liberal educa. and, in fact, never intended for it; but Mr.

aht esteem and scant obedience. Follow- tion, there were few demands upon the sup- | Tennyson's characters really act, bis scenes * close upon this super - transcendental plies of the “ Home.” Mr. Charles Reade, appeal to the eye and not to the imagination, besis, which has the tone of one conjuring hearing suspicious things of the Home,”

and the drama itself, probably, will be seen mankind to resolve to be perfect, and so abol- ! made a private tour of inspection thither;

in its true proportions only when seen on the ish all necessity for law, we shall be con- and the result is one of his crisp, sharp, and

stage. We do not mean by this that it takes

its interest in any degree from the fristed with three volumes of memoirs, en- witty letters to a London paper. He says

prises,” “business," "gags," and carpentry, titled, respectively, “Before Exile," " During that the dogs are confined in seldom-cleaned

which are supposed to be indispensable to Exile," and "Alter Exile.” Modern French cages, are poorly fed, and kept like canine fel

the acting play; but the dialogue is too vig. bitory, then, is to be marked by epochs of

Nor was this the worst. He found out

orous, direct, and personal, for the full flavor Victor Hugo's own career. Instead of saying that after a certain time the undemanded dogs to be caught by merely reading it; the action that such and such a thing occurred in the were ruthlessly killed to save their board. is rapid, and great pains have evidently been iza of Louis Philippe, it will be proper to “So swift to shed blood," says Mr. Reade,

bestowed upon the pictorial accessories. Few 127 that it occurred " Before the Exile." And was 'home, sweet home.'” They were sac

dramas in the language, indeed, afford finer fe must believe that “During Exile” the rificed because they could not

sell all in a

opportunities for the magnificent scene-paint

ing which forms one of the achievements of current of French politics ran dark and ) moment, like a hot roll.”.

the modern stage-Whitehall Palace, LamErgid enough. Why will not men of real Mr. Reade goes on to tell the world what

beth Palace, the Guildhall, the Tower, Lonmains be content with the fame which that he knows about dogs, the sum of his infor

don Bridge, Westminster Palace, the Houses regius achieves in its own proper sphere? mation being that the half-bred dog is “often of Parliament, all would call for representa

There is no doubt of Victor Hugo's illus- a handsome animal and generally a more in- tion-and provision is made for at least three tiras rank among men of letters in his gen- telligent one than the thorough-bred." He street-pageants of a particularly impressive eration. The author of “Notre-Dame" and finds, however, that " if the dog captured is description. * Les Misérables” and “ Hernani" and "The riever, hound, or even plain Pomeranian,

The action of the drama covers the entire I-trible Year” ought to be content with the his chances of living a week are small; and

period of the reign of “ Bloody Mary,” opengortality which these bring, without seekif he is half as great a mongrel as the Anglo-ing with the entry into London which oc

curred just subsequent to her accession to 5 dew worlds to conquer. As poet and ro- Saxon race, he is pretty sure to be murdered

the throne, and closing with the proclamation tancer he is sometimes extravagant, too in a week, that home, sweet home' may

of Elizabeth by the Lords of the Council. tea hyperbolical; but here, at least, he is save his biscuit and sawdust, and sell bis

Of the dramatis personæ, there are no fewer : an element where he is strong and great. skin.” Between the policeman, who is given than forty-five, besides “Lords and other AtThe moment that, with a strange fatuity, he a reward for every stray dog he captures, and tendants, Members of the Privy Council, rriers the political arena, and imagines him. the Home,” which sells the dogs or kills Members of Parliament, two Gentlemen, Alza statesman, he becomes stilted, vision- them for their hides, the system has become dermen, Citizens, Peasants, Ushers, Messen*), wild, and, we had almost said, nonsensi. a sheer commercial speculation. “ Humani.

gers, Guards, Pages, etc.;" but out of the 2. It is sad that such a man as Victor Hugo ty,” says our Society F. T.P.C. A. of one,

* Queen Mary. A Drama. By Alfred Tennyald be laughed at; but, every time that “started a dogs' home; trade has grafted the Boston: J. R. Osgood & Co.

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crowd the figures of Queen Mary, Elizabeth,

PHILIP. Philip of Spain, Gardiner, Archbishop Cran. So, weary am I of this wet land of theirs,

And every soul of man that breathes therein. mer, Cardinal Pole, Simon Renard (the Spanish Embassador), and Sir Thomas Wyatt,

RENARD, stand forth conspicuously prominent, while

My liege, we inust not drop the mask before

The masquerade is overthe story takes its essential unity from the

PHILIP. lile of Mary herself.

-Have I dropped it ? The first act is a long one and decidedly

I have but shown a loathing face to you, business - like, being occupied chiefly with Who knew it from the first. positing the several leading characters, and

Enter MARY. twining together the threads of the subse

MARY (aside). quent story; but even thus early we come

With Renard. Still upon the main-springs of the drama— Mary's Parleying with Renard, all the day with Reinfatuation for Philip, the opposition of the

nard,

And scarce a greeting all the day for meEnglish to her marriage with him, and the

And goes to-morrow.

(Exit Mary. persecuting tendencies of the Roman Cath

Philip (to RENARD, who advances to him). olic revival. Scene v. of this act, in which

Well, sir, is there more ? Mary communes with herself over the minia

RENARD (who has perceived the QUEEN). ture of Philip, shows it to her attendants

May Simon Recard speak a single word ? and questions them regarding it, and avows

PHILIP. to Gardiner her inalterable determination to

Ay. have Philip and none other, is one of the

RENARD. most successful in the play; but it is too And be forgiven for it? long to quote entire, and its parts are too in

PHILIP. · terdependent to be separated.

Simon Renard The whole of the secoud act is devoted to Knows me too well to speak a single word

That could not be forgiven. the “ Kentish insurrection,” headed by Sir

RENARD. Thomes Wyatt, which came so near costing

Well, my liege, Mary her throne, and the complete defeat of

Your grace hath a most chaste and loving which enabled her to triumph over all oppo. wife.

Philip. sition, and to carry out her pet plans of mar.

Why not? The queen of Philip should be rying Philip and reëstablishing the Romish

chaste. worship in England. This act is spirited and

RENARD. dramatic, and contains some of the most Ay, but, my lord, you know what Virgil sings, skillful writing in the play.

Woman is various and most mutable. Before the third act opens an interval of

Philip. a year or more has elapsed, during which

She play the harlot! never. Wyatt and Lady Jane Grey have been be

KENARD.

No, sire, no, headed, Elizabeth consigned to prison as a Not dreamed of by the rabidest gospeler.

suspect," and the queen married to her There was a paper thrown into the palace, Philip, who by his haughty bearing and inso

" The king hath wearied of his barren bride."

She came upon it, read it, and then rent it, lent Spanish airs has already awakened bit

With all the rage of one who hates a truth ter hostility against himself both at court He cannot but allow. Sire, I would have and among the people. In this act the story

you

What should I say, I cannot pick my wordsmakes rupid progress. Pole, as Papal Legate, Be somewhat less-majestic to your queen. absolves England from the guilt of heresy,

PHILIP. and takes her back once more into the fold

Am I to change my manners, Simon Renard, of Holy Church ; under the pressure of Because these islanders are brutal beasts? Gardiner and Bonner- Mary being a willing

Or would you have me turn a sonneteer, coadjutor-the baleful enginery of religious

And warble those brief-sighted eyes of hers ? persecution is set in motion, and Elizabeth is

RENARD. partially reinstated at court. In the closing | Brief - sighted though they be, I have seen

them, sire, scene Philip, disgusted with the English cli

When you perchance were trifling royally mate, and tired of a wife whom he had never With some fair dame of court, suddenly fill loved, and whom he had accepted only from

With such fierce fire-bad it been fire indeed

It would have burnt both speakers. motives of state policy, is on the point of

Philip. leaving England. This scene is long ; but, as

Ay, and then? it summarizes in a manner the controlling

RENARD. motif of the play, we venture to quote a con- Sire, might it not be policy in some matter siderable portion of it :

Of small importance now and then to cede

A point to her demand ?
PHILIP.

PHILIP.
But, Renard, I am sicker staying here

Well, I am going. Than any sea could make me passing hence, Though I be ever deadly sick at sea.

RENARD, So sick am I with biding for this child.

For should her love when you are gone, my Is it the fashion in this clime for women

liege, To go twelve months in bearing of a child ? Witness these papers, there will not be wantThe nurses yawned, the cradle gaped, they led

ing Processions, chanted litanies, clashed their Those that will urge her injury—should her bells,

loveShot off their lying cannon, and her priests

And I have known such women more than Have preached, the fools, of this fair prince to come,

Veer to the counterpoint, and jealousy Till, by St. James, I find myself the fool. Hath in it an alchemic force to fuse Why do you lift your eyebrow at me thus ? Almost into one metal love and hate

And she impress her wrongs upon her CounRENARD.

cil, I never saw your highness moved till now. And these again upon her Parliament

We are not loved here, and would be tnen per

haps
Not so well holpen in our wars with France,
As else we might be-here she comes.

Enter Mary.
MARY.

O Philip! Nay, must you go, indeed ?

PHILIP.

Madain, I must.

Mary.
The parting of a husband and a wife
Is like the cleaving of a heart; one half
Will flutter here, one there.

PHILIP.

You say true, madam.

MARY.
The Holy Virgin will not have me yet
Lose the sweet hope that I may bear a prince.
If such a prince were born and you not here !

PHILIP.
I should be here if such a prince were born.

MARY.
But must you go?

PHILIP.

Madam, you know my father, Retiring into cloistral solitude To yield the remnant of his years to heaven, Will shift the yoke and weight of all the

world From off his neck to mine. We meet at Brus

sels.
But since mine absence will not be for long.
Your inajesty shall go to Dover with me,
And wait my coming back.

Mary.

To Dover? no, I am too feeble. I will go to Greenwich, So you will have me with you; and there

watch All that is gracious in the breath of heaven Draw with your sails froin our poor land, and

pass And leave me, Philip, with my prayers for you.

Philip.
And doubtless I shall profit by your prayers.

Mary. Methinks that would you tarry one day more (The news was sudden), I could mould my

self
To bear your going better; will you do it?

PHILIP.
Madam, a day may sink or save a realm.

MARY.
A day may save a heart from breaking, too.

PAILIP.
Well, Simon Renard, shall we stop a day?

RENARD.
Your grace's business will not suffer, sire,
For one day more, so far as I can tell.

PHILIP.
Then one day more to please her majesty.

Mary.
The sunshine sweeps across my life again.
Oh, if I knew you felt this parting, Philip,
As I do!

Philip.
By St. James I do protest,
Upon the faith and honor of a Spaniard,
I am vastly grieved to leave your majesty.
Simou, is supper ready?

RENARD.

Ay, my liege,
I saw the covers laying.

PHILIP.
Let us have it.

[Exeunt. With the fourth act the drama takes on a deeper tone, and rises to loftier heights of poetry. The entire act is devoted to the religious persecutions, especially to the burning of Cranmer at the stake. The scenes preliminary to this most melancholy tragedy in the annals of the English Church--the abortive petition of the Lords for Cranmer's pardon,

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the procuring of the recantations, the meet. one of the most repulsive characters in mod. ing at St. Mary's Church, where Cranmer is ern annals, and, without violating the truth expected to abjure his heresy, and abjures his of history or attempting to confuse our judgfecantations instead, the procession to the ment, linked her to her kind by simply exbib. stake-all are described with exceeding vivid- iting her under the influence of those pas. ness of detail. Cranmer's speech at St. Ma- sions and sorrows which are common to us ry's is surpassingly fine, unequaled in vigor, | all, and which, therefore, appeal to our most simplicity, and pathos, by any thing of the universal human sympathies. Henceforth, kind in recent literature. The horror of the History's stern verdict upon Mary will be actual scene at the stake is spared us, but the mitigated in the reader's mind by the recol. following description of it is given by an eye- lection of the scene (scene ii., act v.) of witness fresh from the burning:

wbich we shall now quote a part: PETERS.

POLE (to MARY). You saw him how he passed among the crowd ;

Ah, cousin, I remember Aplever as he walked the Spanish friars

How I would dandle you upon my kneo Bill plied him with entreaty and reproach :

At lisping-age. I watched you dancing once Bat Cranmer, as the helmsman at the helm With your huge father; he looked the Great Steers, ever looking to the happy haven

Harry, Where he shall rest at night, moved to his

You but his cockboat: prettily you did it death ;

And innocently. No, we were not made And I could see that many silent hands One flesh in happiness, no happiness here; Came from the crowd and met his own, and

But now we are made one flesh in misery : thus,

Our bridesmaids are not lovely-DisappointWhen we bad come where Ridley burned with

ment, Latimer,

Ingratitude, Injustice, Evil-tongue, He, with a cheerful smile, as one whose mind

Labor-in-vain. Tail made up, in haste put off the rags

MARY. They had mocked his misery with, and all in

Surely, not all in vain. wbite,

Peace, cousin, peace ! I am sad at heart myHis long white beard, which he bad never

self. shaven

POLE. Since Henry's death, down-sweeping to the Our altar is a mound of dead men's clay, chain

Dug from the grave that yawns for us beyond; herewith they bound him to the stake, he And there one Death stands behind the stood

groom, We like an ancient father of the Church

And there is one Death stands behind the han heretic of these times; and still the

bridefriars

MARY. plied him, but Cranmer only shook his head, branswered them in smiling negatives;

Have you been looking at "The Dance of

Death?bereat Lord Williams gave a sudden cry:

POLE. "Make short! make short!” and so they lit the wood.

No; but these libelous papers which I found Then Cranmer lifted his left hand to heaven,

Strewn in your palace. Look you here: the dod thrust his right into the bitter flame;

pope ind crying, in his deep voice, more than

Pointing at me with “ Pole, the heretic,

Thou hast burned others, do thou burn thy- This hath offended-this unworthy hand!”

self, beld it till it all was burned, before

Or I will burn thee," and this other ; seeik flame had reached his body; I stood

“We pray continually for the death

Of our accursed queen and Cardinal Pole." farked himhe never uttered a woan of

This last-I dare not read it her. (Aside. pain :

Mary. I never stirred or writhed, but, like a statue,

Away! Csaoving in the greatness of the flame,

Why do you bring me these ? are up the ghost; and so passed martyr-like

I thought you knew me better. I never read, Lrtyr I may not call him -passed – but

I tear them; they come back upon my dreams. whither?

The hands that write them should be burned
PAGET.

clean off To purgatory, man-to purgatory !

As Cranmer's, and the fiends that utter them
PETERS.

Tongue-torn with pincers, lasbed to death, or

lie Tup, but, my lord, he denied purgatory. Famishing in black cells, while famished rats Paget.

Eat them alive. Why do you bring me these? by then to heaven; and God ha' mercy on

Do you mean to drive me mad?

Polk.

I had forgotten In the fifth act the interest is concentrat. How these poor libels trouble you. Your pardon Queen Mary, who appears before us in

don,

Sweet cousin, and farewell! 660) bubble ier declining days, deserted by her husband,

world, Speless of an heir, involved by Philip in an Whose colors in a moment break and fly!”

I know not true i popular war with France, conscious of beWhy, who said that?

enough! hated by her people, and racked with diseuse. The pathos of this act is profound and (Puts up the papers, all but the last, which falls.]

Erit POLE. powerful; for, though Tennyson has made it'le effort to soften the hard and unlovely

ALICE. not.ines of Mary's character, though he has

If Cranmer's spirit were a mocking one,

And heard these two, there might be sport for represented her as she really was--a cold,

him.

(Aside. eitsh, eruel woman, in politics an incapable,

MARY. aj in religion a ferocious bigot-yet, recall

Clarence, they hate me: even while I speak

There lurks a silent dagger, listening her ardent devotion to Philip and her

In some dark closet, some long callery, drawn, spowful life with him, and looking upon the And panting for my blood as I coder desolation of her latter end, we are

LADY CLARENCE. cited to sympathy, and find ourselves re

Nay, madam, there be loyal papers, too, arding “ the bloody queen” with infinite And I have often found them. ats, if not with affection. This, indeed, is

MARY. legyog's true triumph: that he has taken

Find me one !

LADY CLARENCE.
Ay, madam ; but Sir Nicholas Heath, the

chancellor,
Would see your highness.

Mary.
Wherefore should I see him?

LADY CLARENCE.
Well, madam, he may bring you news from
Philip.

MARY.
So, Clarence.

LADY CLARENCE.

Let me first put up your hair ;
It tumbles all abroad.

MARY.

And the gray dawn
Of an old age that never shall be mine
Is all the clearer seen. No, no ; what matters ?
Forlorn I am, and let me look forlorn.
Enter Sir Nicholas HEATH.

HEATH.
I bring your majesty such grievous news
I grieve to bring it. Madam, Calais is taken.

MARY.
What traitor spoke? Here, let my cousin Pole
Seize and burn him for a Lutheran.

HEATн.
Her highness is unwell. I will retire.

LADY CLARENCE.
Madam, your chancellor, Sir Nicholas Heath.

MARY.
Sir Nicholas ? I am stunned, Nicholas Heath?
Methought some traitor smote me on the

head.-
What said you, my good lord, that our brave

English
Had sallied out from Calais and driven back
The Frenchmen from their trenches ?

HEATH,

Alas! no.
That gateway to the main-land over which
Our flag hath floated for two hundred years
Is France again.

MARY.

So; but it is not lost-
Not yet. Send out: let England as of old
Rise lion-like, strike hard and deep into
The prey they are rending from her-ay, and

rend
The renders, too. Send out, send out, and

make
Muster in all the counties; gather all
From sixteen years to sixty ; collect the fleet;
Let every craft that carries sail and gun
Steer toward Calais. Guisnes is not taken
yet ?

HEATH,
Guisnes is not taken yet.

MARY.

There is yet hope.

HEATH.
Ah, madam, but your people are so cold;
I dó much fear that England will not care.
Methinks there is no manhood left among us.

MARY.
Send out. I am too weak to stir abroad;
Tell my mind to the Council-to the Parlia-

ment:
Proclaim it to the winds. Thou art cold thy-

self
To babble of their coldness. Oh, would I
My father for an hour! Away now-quick!

[Erit HEATH.
I hoped I had served God with all niy miglit!
It seems I have not. Ah, much heresy
Sheltered in Calais. Saints, I have rebuilt
Your shrines, set up your broken images;
Be comfortable to me. Suffer not
That my brief reign in England be defamed
Through all her angry chronicles hereafter
By loss of Calais. Grant me Calais.--Philip,
We have made war upon the Holy Father
All for your sake! What good could come
of that?

LADY CLARENCE.
No, madam, not against the Holy Father;
You did but help King Philip's war with

France.
Your troops were never down in Italy.

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MARY.

nate, systematize, and classify the ideas that wealth. Now I am anxious here to insist I am a byword. Heretic and rebel

have been accumulated in the reader's mind. upon this fundamental point: whatever takes Point at me and make merry. Philip gone! And Calais gone! Time that I were gone too?

Professor Cairnes thinks that the present

the form of a plan aiming at definite practi(Sees the paper dropped by POLE.) state of instability and uncertainty even as

cal ends-it may be a measure for the divinuto fundamental propositions in political econ

tion of pauperism, for the reform of land-tenThere, there! another paper! said you not

for the extension of coöperative industry, Many of these were loyal? Shall I try omy, which has retarded and almost arrested

for the regulation of currency; or it may asIf this be one of such? the growth of the science in recent years, is

sume a more ambitious shape, and aim at reLADY CLARENCE.

owing partly to a want of precision in its defi- organizing society under spiritual and tempoLet it be, let it be. nitions, but chiefly to an attempt on the part ral powers, represented by a high-priest of God pardor me! I have never yet found one.

of many professed expounders of the science humanity and three bankers--it matters not

(Aside. Mary (reais).

(the French school especially) to extend its what the proposal may be, whether wide or “Your people hate you as your husband hates boundaries so as to include in it all the va

narrow in its scope, severely judicious or you.' rious phenomena presented by society. Be

wildly imprudent-if its object be to accomClarence, Clarence, what have I done? what sin sides the controversies which this has caused, plish definite practical ends, then I say it has

none of the characteristics of a science, and Beyond all grace, all pardon? Mother of God, and the difficulty involved in thus grouping

has no just claiin to the name. Consider the Thou knowest never woman meant so well, together phenomena which have no scientific And fared so ill in this disastrous world.

case of any recognized physical science-asMy people hate me and desire my death, relation to each other, the result has been to

tronomy, dynainics, chemistry, physiology, divert political economy from its proper field, Lady CLARENCE.

does any of these aim at definite practical the laws of the production and distribution No, madam, no.

ends? at modifying in a definite manner, it Mary.

of wealth, to a consideration of social inter- matters not how, the arrangement of things My husband hates me, and desires my death. ests and relations generally, in the discussion in the physical universe ?

Iu

Clearly not. LADY CLARENCE. of which its exponents have taken sides and

each case the object is, not to attain tangible No, madam; these are libels. become the apologists or assailants of in- results, not to prove any definite thesis, not to

advocate any practical plan, but simply to stitutions which it was their business simply Mary.

give light, to reveal laws of Nature, to tell us I hate myself, and I desire my death. to analyze. As a consequence of these at

what phenomena are found together, what eftempts to represent political economy in the fects follow from what causes. Does it follow We have little more to add. What we guise of a dogmatic code of cut-and-dried

from this that the physical sciences are withbave alreadly written will suffice, we trust, to rules, a system promulgating decrees, sanc- out bearing on the practical concerns of mangive the reader a tolerably accurate idea of tioning one social arrangement, condemning kind? I think I need not trouble myself to the scope and quality of the work. To char

another, requiring from men, not considera- Answer that question. Well, then, political acterize such a performance might savor of tion, but obedience, it has awakened the re- economy is a science in the same sense in presumption; while it would certainly be

which astronomy, dynamics, chemistry, and pugnance, and even the violent opposition, fruitless to follow the example of the London not only of those who have all along regarded

physiology are sciences. Its subject-matter Times (referred to last week), and institute

is different; it deals with the phenomena of the science as “dismal,” “unchristian," and a comparison between poets who have so lit. | “inhuman,” but of that vast mass of people

wealth, while they deal with the phenomena

of the physical universe; but its methods, its tle in common, even when they essay the who have their own reasons for not cherish- aims, the character of its conclusions, are the drama, as Shakespeare and Tennyson. It is ing that unbounded admiration of existing same as theirs. What astronomy does for enough to say that “Queen Mary” is worthy industrial arrangements which is felt by some the phenomena of the heavenly bodies; what of its author's fame; that its vigor, dramatic

popular expositors of so-called economic laws. dynamics does for the phenomena of motion ; fire, simplicity of diction, and freedom from The main object of Professor Cairnes in

what chemistry does for the phenomena of all effort at merely rhetorical effects, will these lectures is to bring back the science to

chemical combination; what physiology does surprise those whose knowledge of Tenny- | its rightful limits, which, as we have already

for the phenomena of the functions of organic son is founded chiefly upon his later work, in said, are the laws of the production, distri

life, that political economy does for the phewhich the singer has almost been lost in the

nomena of wealth: it expounds the laws acbution, and consumption of wealth, and to

cording to which these phenomena coexist artist; and that it will undoubtedly take a show that, within these limits, it is a true with or succeed each other; that is to say, it foremost place among the literary achieve.

science, dealing with phenomena only, and expounds the laws of the phenomena of ments of our time.

not intruding at all upon the domain of wealth."
morals, or either indorsing or condemning

In one lecture the Malthusian doctrine of PROFESSOR J. E. CAIRNES, of University social arrangements or industrial schemes.

population, and in another the theory of rent, College, London, is now generally recognized The argument in which this proposition is

are very carefully analyzed and explained; as the leading living exponent of the ortho- enforced is a beautiful example of lucid, for- but the entire book is one which we can recdos school of political economy-the school cible, and convincing reasoning; and though ommend warmly to all students of politicofounded by Adam Smith, and of which the the chain is too closely welded to be easily economical questions. The fact that the late J. S. Mill was, perhaps, the most distin- unlinked, we cannot refrain from quoting a

lectures were delivered some seventeen years guished expositor. Whatever he chose to single paragraph, bearing upon the points we

ago does not in any way lessen their value say, therefore, on politico-economical ques- have just mentioned:

-the problems of that time are the prob. tions, would be entitled to respectful consid

lems of to-day-and, besides the introduction eration ; but, independent of this, his little “For those who clearly apprehend what

of entirely new topics, extensive changes collection of lectures on “ The Character and science, in the modern sense of the term,

have been made throughout in the form and Logical Method of Political Economy” (New means, this ought sufficiently to indicate at

treatment. York : Harper & Brothers) fills a place in

once its (political economy's) province and

what it undertakes to do. Unfortunately, the popular literature of the science that has many who perfectly understand what science

Mrs. FRANCES Elliot is already known been occupied by no previous book. It is means when the word is employed with refer

to readers of the JOURNAL, by her “Romance not a systematic treatise on the principles of ence to physical Nature, allow themselves to of Old Court-Life in France," as a forcible, political economy; much less is it a complete slide into a totally different sense of it, or vivid, and graceful writer, with a decided survey of its phenomena and laws; but it rather into acquiescence in an absence of all taste for the picturesque and personal side stands alone in the precision with which it distinct meaning in its use, when they employ of history and an equally decided talent for defines the nature, objects, and limits of ecoit with reference to social existence. In the

brilliant, pictorial, and somewhat gorgeous nomic science, and the method of investigaminds of a large number of people every thing

description. Her latest work, “The Ital. tion proper to it as a subject of scientific is social science which proposes to deal with

ians" (New York: D. Appleton & Co.), takes study. For this reason it is admirably adapt-grievance, or in

social facts, either in the way of remedying a

order and prog

its chief interest from the same tastes and ed to serve as an introduction to the study ress in society: every thing is political econo

qualities. Though, in form, a novel, the of the science, or as the close of a course of my which is in any way connected with the story is exceedingly slight, and the chargereading when the time has come to coördi- | production, distribution, or consumption of ters are types rather than persons; the real

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object of the book being to picture the Italian society of the period, with its proud old Dobility, whose very names have an historic sound, and whose traditions link the present with the middle ages, but whose fortunes are grierously decayed, and its nouveaux riches whom the new order of things and the increasing importance of wealth have listed to a social prominence which the hereditary crite bitterly resents but is obliged to tolerate. Mrs. Elliot has lived long in Italy, she writes from abundant knowledge of her subject, and her delineations have a "truthful seeming" quality which one hesitates to call in question; yet we cannot help hoping that the picture is exaggerated, and that the author has been led by her preference for the salient and the striking to select the exceptious and ignore the rule. Every generous aird throughout the world has been in hearty fropathy with the awakening and growth of the new Italy; but what can be hoped of a ration of whose society the following can be truthfally written! For it must be remembered that these “ golden youth" are but the projuct, the illustration, the expression of the social life in the midst of which they are tred:

** Beside Count Nobili some jeunesse dorée { his own age (sons of the best houses in sioua) also lean over the Venetian casements. Lee the liveried giants at the entrance, these Laugh, ogle, chaff, and criticise the wearers of rhorn hats, black veils, and white headrar, freely. They smoke, and drink liqueurs il sherbet, and crack sugar-plums out of wystal cups on silver plates, set on embossed 1395 placed beside them. The profession of Lise yonng men is idleness. They excel in • Let us pause for a moment and ask what

do—this jeunesse dorée, to whom is com2wed the sacred inission of regenerating an beroie people? They could teach Ovid the 111 of love.' It comes to them in the air *I breathe. They do not love their neighcos as themselves, but they love their neighBirs' wives. Nothing is holy to them. S't world for love, and the world well lost,' is Seir motto. They can smile in their best the ad's face, weep with him, rejoice with him, ts: with him, drink with hini, and-betray m; they do this every day, and it well. ..es can also lie artistically, dressing up imcary details with great skill, gamble and 483, swear, and talk scandal. They can lead inaceful, dissolute, far niente life, loll in carrames, and be whirled round for hours, say be Florence Cascine, the Roman Pincio, ari the park at Milan-smoking the while, shi raising their hats to the ladies. ... They eru ready of tongue and easy of offense. They 11 figlit duels (with swords), generally a anless exercise. They can dance. They at hold strong opinions on subjects on which they are crassly ignorant, and yield neither 's fact nor argument where their mediæval 40es are concerned. All this the Golden îith of Italy can do, and do it well.

* Yet from such stuff as this are to come the future ministers, prefects, deputies, finan478, diplomatists, and senators, who are to arcerate the world's old mistress! Alas,

terward by an absorbing affection for the there are similar signs of affection for the bal-
man who in the end wins her hand. The lad. Mrs. Browning displays them frequent-
story of this affection is entirely unexcep-

ly, although it must be acknowledged that the
tionable, but the social background on which

high effort exhibited in her verse is generally it is thrown is a perfect Vanity Fair of folly, opposed to the directness and simplicity de

manded from the balladist. Mr. Browning is hypocrisy, and vice.

never more picturesque, more vigorous, more Mrs. Elliot, as we have said, has a marked

able to stir the pulses, than when he surrentalent for description, and in the present work ders himself to the emotion of the ballad. finds ample opportunity for indulging it. The Truly says a writer in the Spectator, that Mr. old city of Lucca, as it nestles in the valley Browning's ballads are among his most spiritof the Serchio ; its massive edifices, half ed poems. “They throb with a keen, sharp palace and half fortress, relics of the old pulse of tense energy and excitement, which warlike times when the lords of Lucca strug.

makes the eye and heart of his readers congled with Florence and Pisa for supremacy in

verge on the one point of sight of his narra

tive, and never dare to withdraw themselves Italy; its famous bistorical achievements;

till that point is reached." These ballads are its venerable nobility, contrasting oddly with

by no means the finest works produced by the the modern insignificance of their town; its poet, but they are the most popular, and even festivals and civic ceremonials ; its fêtes and persons who obstinately refuse to admire Mr. balls; the country around, with its olive. Browning's poetry will do justice to “ The plantations, chestnut-forests, and cornfields; Ride from Ghent to Aix," and to the noble the peasants, beggars, village gossips, and

story of “ The Breton Pirate, Hervé Riel." priests—all are brought before us with a viv.

The poet-laureate, too, has given us some idness that leaves little to be demanded of

charming examples of what a writer of the

highest culture and of exquisite taste can prothe reader's imagination. An actual visit to

duce in this direction. So have Mr. Rossetti, Lucca could hardly add much to the know).

Mr. Kingsley, the late Sidney Dobell, and edge which we seem to have gotten of the

other poets, who are all more or less indebted picturesque old city and the life of its in.

to the ballad-singers of earlier days. habitants.

"There is a mighty difference, of course, beWithout being exciting, “ The Italians” tween the ballad of literary culture and the is a book which it is not easy to Jay aside

ballad produced in an untutored period, but unfinished, and we can testify from expe

the one touch of Nature” makes the resemrience as to the facility with which it in

blance stronger than the diversity; and no one
duces one to sit into the wee small hours.

who reads Lady Anne Lindsay's “Auld Robin
Gray,” or Mr. Rossetti's “Stratton Water,"

can doubt that the inspiration which gave
A WRITER in Cornhill on “Ballad Poetry”

birth to the rude minstrelsy of a rude age is closes his paper with the following comments as potent as ever. Indeed, it would be possiin regard to a few recent poets as ballad-wri

ble to make a charming selection of ballads--
ters: “ Almost every poet, whether English or

Mr. Palgrave would call them “ballads in
German, who fiourished at the close of last

court dress"-dating from the beginning of
century or in the early years of this century, the century, and among them might be in-
shows a profound sympathy with the feeling

cluded a number of humorous pieces from the that gives life to the old ballads. In our coun

pen of Mr. Thackeray and other well-known
try this sympathy directed the poetical course

writers, which would impart a racy flavor to
of Scott, dominated the genius of Coleridge the volume. The element of humor is rarely
and of Wordsworth, influenced in a considera- perceptible in the old ballad, but in the ballad
ble measure the rhythmical efforts of Southey, i produced by men of letters it is a frequent
and moved with a secret but irresistible force characteristic, and many an admirable speci-
many a smaller poet, who, if there were still, men is to be met with in the recent literature
as in days of the troubadours, a minstrel col- both of England and of America."
lege, would be entitled to a certificate of
merit.

M. ARSÈNE HOUSSAYE, who is himself
"Of all modern writers, Scott retains, we

credited with an ambition to secure a place think, in the largest degree the force and pict- among the Forty Immortals, makes the followuresqueness of style which distinguish the old ing reference, in his last letter to the Tribune, minstrels. His description of Flodden Field, to the recent elections at the Academy: while exhibiting an artistic skill unknown in “There has just been a duel at the Academy. earlier times, has the spirit and movement, People said even in the eighteenth century, the directness and heartiness, which delight 'The French Academy is an illustrious comus in the balladists, and, as a writer in the pany where they receive men of the sword, men Times bas lately remarked, his “Bonnie Dun- of the church, men of the law, men of the dee” is, of all Jacobite ballads,

one of the world--and even men of letters. At present most spirited and soul-stirring.” In “Young the Academy is an illustrious company where Lochinvar," a modern version of an old story, they receive nothing but politicians. ThereScott gives another fine specimen of rapid and fore, before the duel of which I am speaking vigorous narrative which would have delight- the Academy had given the chair of Jules ed the waudering singers of an earlier age. Janin to M. John Lemoinne, and editor of the Lord Macaulay, too, caught with singular fe

Journal des Débats, a courteous gentleman, licity the strain of the ballad-singers, and there who will recall under the cupola of the Instiis not a school-boy in England who has not tute the appearance and the wit of Prévostread, we had almost said who cannot recite, Paradol, who was minister of France among “ The Battle of Naseby,” or the glorious | you. Rivarol, who was not an academician, story of

said, “To be one of the Forty you must have

done nothing;' but he added, 'You must not "How well Horatius kept the bridge

carry this too far.' M. John Lemoinne has In the brave days of old."

made no books, but he has fought valiantly “And in some of the poets who have lately against darkness and prejudice. I give him passed away, as well as in others who are hap- my vote. My son, who is also an editor of the pily still able to receive our love and homage, i Débats, assures me that he was the only candi

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it Italy!”

Alas, indeed! for this is not the worst of

Enrica, the heroine, is the only pure oman in the book ; and her innocence is preserved first by a childhood and youth beint in almost conventual seclusion, and af

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