cided support, not only of the German | gest of their · Recollections' as this Prince. Press in general, among which the Rheinische Written with no apparent purpose of proZeitung has spoken out most clearly, but ducing effect, or even with the design of even of the Liberal Austrian Press. It publication, the literary merit of the work might be expected that the fate of Maximil- is very considerable. We meet with deian would induce Austrian journals to be scriptions which are vivid, reflections which rather severe against the Mexican Republic. are simple but ardent, and an acquaintance But the fact is that papers like the Neue with several branches of art which, perhaps, Freie Presse of Vienna, a Liberal organ of the majority of readers had hardly been led the most extensive circulation, and one to expect from Maximilian. We should say, which exercises great influence even beyond for example, that Naples has seldom been the frontiers of Austria, acknowledge in the better described, nor Pisa, Pompeii, Lucca, strongest terms that the procedure of the Baiæ, and Capri. Those who have visited Mexican Government is the only one which these places will recognise at once that no it could possibly take without dereliction of unskilled or unfamiliar hand has touched national dignity. We speak of articles that these modest yet artistic pictures. But the have appeared since the reply to Mr. King- author seems especially to delight in delake's interpellation was given by Lord scribing works of art, and to excel in the deStanley. Now, when the Austrian Press scription. After wandering through the maintains such views, we think the English Pitti gallery at Florence, he notes down in Government might make the first step to his diary, with regard to a picture of the wards a reconciliation without fear for its First Napoleon, whose soul the artist had own dignity. In the interest of trade and depicted as in hell: commerce the re-establishment of a regular intercourse ought not to be delayed any Napoleon in hell in one of them, and this is but

The Pisans recognise with delight the head of longer.

natural; it is characteristic of mankind to condemn the hated fallen enemy, and to rejoice over

his disgrace; one does not risk anything by it, From The Examiner.

for he has become harmless. As long as the Recollections of My Life. By Maximilian Pisan bell-figure was called Roi d'Italie, there I., Emperor of Mexico. Bentley.

was not gold enough to be found to represent

the nimbus In his apotheosis; but the god of the In the Midsummer of 1851, Maximilian day fell from the heavens, and the holy light was started on his first sea-voyage. “I was converted into the glow of hell. Sic transit glad,” he says, “to realise my much-longed- gloria mundi. for desire. Accompanied by several ac- And, again, in speaking of the necessary quaintances, I put off from the dearly-loved influence of religious belief on art, he says: shore of Africa. This moment was one of great excitement to me, for it was the first Constantinople had fallen before the sword of time I confided myself to the sea for a long Mohammed. Græco-Byzantine art and philosatrip. We dashed rapidly through the waves, phy and the rich sciences of the East found a and already, at about a quarter past seven the Medici, which in its turn conferred splen

home in Italy, through the luxurious spirit of (July 30th), amidst the strains of the na: dour on their new dynasty. The tiara was tional hymn, we went on board the frigate borne by a Medici, and the hitherto forgotten Novara, our future floating palace, of which treasures of Rome were wedded to Greek recthe name itself was a good omen to every ollections, which brought forth a new epoch in Austrian."

art, the Mythologico-Christian. The Lord's Throughout the first volume of these Supper was celebrated in the Temple : Venus • Recollections we are treated only to the got the same court-rank as the God-mother. It visits of the Prince to Italy, Andalusia, and was in harmony with such a state of things to Granada. Nothing of a political kind is blend the customs of antiquity with those of found in this volume in the way of refer- modern times, and call this philosophy. But ence, opinion, or incident. It is simply a from this resulted an unsatisfied Ideal. Men dismost interesting record, a “ diary,” of Max- covered that the gods of antiquity only repreimilian's pleasure-trip in days when the sented men ; and the pride of the senses which shadows of his future throne could cast no took possession of the heart, and laid in it the

first produced great things in art and science, gloom on his imagination; but when, surrounded by his friends, he opened his heart themselves to be a kind of divinity, needing to

germ of atheism. The very princes believed to free enjoyment and his mind to intelli- longer to be afraid of the old God. "'They pursed gent observation. Few tourists, if we may religion only as a convenient state institution for apply the word to such a traveller, have their subjects. In France Francis I. was the contributed to the press so admirable a di- chief supporter of the worship of the Syrens,

round which he attempted to throw a nimbus by the arts of Italy. Catherine di Medici was too zealous in the service of Aphrodite, and Louis XIV. Jupiterised himself entirely. A vanity that could be satisfied, vanity and the apotheosis of sensuality, became the philosophy of rulers. These ideas soon descended to the people, and were fed by their rulers and celebrated in their songs, and finally had their chief representative in Voltaire. France saved Italy partly by concentrating these ideas in herself; but she had to pay for this glory with her blood. The tombs of the Medici produce thoughts of a very cold and

terrible kind.

We find but passing allusions in this volume to any of the royal persons whom modern revolutions rendered illustrious, at least by circumstance if not in character. At Naples Maximilian met King Ferdinand, of whom perhaps he might be supposed to be thinking when, in another part of his diary, he wrote: "It is only when a man either does deeds, or resists a progressive development, that his name is noted down in

the books of Clio."


A tall strong man, with short cropped hair and beard, and with a laced three-cornered hat, received us; my good genius whispered to me that it was the King. Indeed, it must have been a higher revelation, for I had imagined King Ferdinand to be a different man. His figure still floated before me indistinctly, as I saw him fifteen years ago in Vienna, when he was a young man of twenty-six years of age. Now, to be sure, he was forty-one, but, from his ance, one would have taken him for a man considerably above fifty; so much has the destroying power of the South and the influence of the years of revolution worked upon him. Later, when I had an opportunity of examining him more closely, I recognised the features of his youth, but his fine black hair had turned grey and his face had become wrinkled. He wore the rather plain uniform of one of his regiments of Grenadiers, which he prefers, I was told, to all others since the revolution. The riband of the Austrian Order of St. Stephen was hanging over his shoulder. He received me in the most friendly manner, and conducted me directly to the Queen.

Elsewhere he describes the eldest son of the King, the present Francis II., who was then but fifteen years of age. "The poor young man is very timid; which may arise partly from the manner in which he is educated. He is kept out of the world that he may remain child-like." A curious observation also is to be found, about this date, to the effect that two things struck Maximilian principally during his visit to the docks and arsenal of Naples - "the great profusion of galley-slaves, dressed in red, who meet you on all sides, rattling their heavy chains, and the numberless portraits

and busts of the King." We can appreciate the satirical remark of Maximilian on this odd conjuncture: "I do not like to see, during a monarch's lifetime, monuments everywhere erected to him, out of base flattery."

In the second part of the introductory volume we find our traveller in Andalusia; and, at first, a minute description of the Cathedral of Seville, and, afterwards, one of the Cathedral of Granada, occupy considerable space. Then we take a sudden leap into a wholly different kind of entertainment; and we wish that space would permit us to transcribe at length a magnificent description had the fortune (or ill-fortune) to witness, of a genuine bull-fight, which the Prince for the first time in his life, at Seville. But


must content ourselves with merely


giving his after-thoughts, some of which will at least be easily comprehended by "How the feelings every English reader. in so short a space as a quarter of an hour! of a man can be changed," says the Prince, On entering, I felt uneasy, and very uncomfortable; and now a mania for the bloody spectacle possessed me." And again: "The spectator's nature is soon changed; his original nature is awakened; wild passion gains the mastery, and he is annoyed when the bull does not succeed in his deadly thrust, when phases of the fight are not steeped deep enough in blood." All this one can perfectly comprehend; but there follows a passage which will shock the tender susceptibilities of not a few of those discerning critics who draw a very wide distinction between taking a personal and hazardous part in cruel sport, and merely assisting as a neutral spectator at a risk incurred by others:

I love such festivals, in which the original nature of man comes out in its truth; and much prefer them to the enervating, immoral entertainments of other luxurious and degenerate countries. Here bulls perish, there heart and soul sink in a weak, sentimental frivolity. I do not deny it, I love the olden time! not that of the last century, where, amidst hair-powder and insipid idyls, men glided over a false paradise down the yawning abyss. No! the time of our ancestors, when chivalrous feeling was developed in the tournaments, when vigorous women did not ask for their smelling-bottle at every drop of blood, nor feigned a swoon, when the wild and not as now, behind barricades; this was a boar and bear were hunted in the open forest, vigorous time which brought forth strong children. What remains to us of this heritage of the manly amusements of cur fathers? Perhaps the hunt? No! We call ourselves hunters, but we send from a secure distance a killing bullet into the half-tamed boars. It is only war, which

philanthropy cannot abolish, notwithstanding, promenade in the shrubbery of the park like a their thirty years' exertions; and two sports ghost of his former self. In all matters of art have been preserved in two nations, which have the English are far behindhand : with them, not yet degenerated. The first sport is the fox- comfort and the practical are the principal things hunt in England, in which man exposes himself aimed at; art is not understood by them : it is to dangers worthy of himself, nor recoils before just the opposite with the Italians, who are so any obstacle ; and if it be said that it is useless enthusiastic “ per le belle arti," that they, for to risk one's life for useless purposes, I may an- art's sake, freeze like tailors in their giant palswer, I believe that those who shun unnecessary aces under fresco-painted ceilings ; Germans and dangers will not find the courage to meet inev- French alone succeed in uniting the two. itable ones. The second sport is the bull-fight in Spain ; a true popular festival of the olden Certainly the Prince was a very observant time. It is true that they excite the passions, traveller, and a very lively writer. He was the inherent savageness of man, but so also they not one of those whom he himself describes do his strength, and whoever takes an enthusi- with deep contempt, “who believe themastic part in these scenes will not lack interest selves in duty bound to travel; but think it for other things, and at least will not perish bad style in the highest degree to find inthrough apathy. In the Spanish people there is terest in anything interesting, or to get atstill a proud chivalry, and, potwithstanding the tracted, still less excited, by anything beausport transmitted to them by their forefathers, tiful.” It is refreshing to read the warm the Spaniards are devout and charitable. Every- generous language in which he suffers himthing has its season, and their variety is the high- self to express his admiration and attachest charm of human life.

ment to his home and friends. He might A description, from an Austrian point of be prophetically describing his own disasview, of English dinners and English habits, trous future, when, alone almost in a strange will be found in the “ Visit to Gibraltar," land, he poured out his sorrows to his own of which incomparable fortress the Prince heart, and found relief in death. “I felt observes, with truth as well as irony: “How very sad, for it was the first time that I had glorious for England's proud sons, to find not been with my brother on this happy day," in all their voyages, at every turning point — his birthday. And then he proceeds to of their wide sea-roads, a bomb-proof hotel! describe his loneliness, in language which, They can everywhere find their countrymen, at least to us, is full of mournful meaning: and everywhere can sing under the blessed shade of their banner, 'Rule Britannia !'" I was alone, quite alone in strange seas, He laughs at the “ Humourously executed under another sky ; besides, I thought so long statue of Elliot, the stubborn defender of and so deeply of one of my beloved at home, Gibraltar;” nor is he very complimentary in one of those forlorn dispositions of mind in

about whom my heart was anxious, that I was to English art :

which man feels a sort of sweet despair and longs With an immense old-fashioned hat on his for home. My family had made me too happy large head, the hair of which ended in a pigtail, at home; but it is well that such a life should with legs like a broomstick, the gilt keys of the have an end, and these heavy hours are a bitter fortress in his right hand, the old hero seems to but wholesome medicine.

“ A GUARDIAN," writing from Hitchin to the lated in connection with the “ Jewish Blind," & Times on the question of vagrancy, attributes charity wbich, as its name indicates, has been its increase to the leniency of the magistrates : raised for the support of the blind among the and to prove his point cites two cases, the latter Jews. Sir Benjamin Phillips, the president of of which is certainly novel. It was that of a this institution, has been informed that a woman woman who had in her possession thirty-seven who had been stone-blind for about eight years shillings, and a skilfully constructed straw buby, had recently recovered the perfect use of her eyeby means of which she excited compassion. Per- sight. It appears that, during a thunder-storm haps the worthy magistrates let the woman off that prevailed some weeks since, she became sudfrom admiration of her ingenuity.

denly aware, as she expressed it, of“ a glimmer London Review. of light " and from that time to the present her

vision has improved daily ; perfect eyesight is A CURIOUS circumstance, and one which we now restored to her. recommend to the notice of medical men, is re

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LINDA TRESSEL, by the Author of Nina Balatka. Price 38 cts.



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And young souls still must weep and part, The day is sunny, and the air is free

And old ones yearn for a sleep of heart; And joyous in the light. All, all is bright!

For Time ingulfs our life's dreams one by one, But where is she?

As Earth the setting sun ! 0, that I could but bear myself away From these dry dusty streets, to be one hour

And yet, as slowly home in that still night Within that far-off Dell, where sunbeams play

We went, oft pausing, betwixt shadowy woods, Upon a myriad cool green leaves and flowering Beam'd forth. And when I bade her look, and

Lo! in the twilight clear the Vesper-star spray;

said And the brook gurgles on its way, Trickling adown the rocks from pool to pool,

“Our sun is down, and yet Love's star is shinFresh’ning the noontide hour with murmurs cool !

She smiled, and press'd my arm, - and we went

home. There is a light step in that Summer dell Ah! then how sweet she look'd, The gentle rustling of a silken dress ;

There 'neath the Planet, as her eyes, suffused, And pausing in still loveliness,

Beam'd back the radiance of Love's starry Sweet eyes look dreamily into the brook.

home! How would they look Were mine to meet them in the mirroring

O Sunshine! making all things glad wave ?

As if thou wert the god of this fair world! If, coming up unseen, I could but peep

How is it that we prize Over her shoulder, and delighted trace

All bright things most when they seem near to Bright on the pool the sunshine of her face ?

die? Would she not startle with a troubled splendour, What light so loved as that of setting suns — As oft I've seen it breaking from her eyes,

What rose so dear as the bright summer's last ? Like the soft wild-fire of the summer-nights; And Love, which else had borne itself in calm, And, turning, smile and let my arm go round Grows madness as it nears the last adieu! her,

Ah me! so slow to learn this world's rule And we be happy for one bright brief hour! The Heart must be content, although not full!

One evening, on the slopes above that

I watched with her the dying of the sun,

Looking across wide moor and sleeping woods

“Thou hast made us for Thyself: and the heart To where the Orb sank 'neath the far-off hills.

never resteth till it findeth rest in Thee.” – St. The golden light lay round us on the slope, Augustine. Fast ebbing upwards on the hill behind, Chased by the rising flood of twilight shadow."

MADE for Thyself, O God ! Below, lay slumbering woods and darkening Made to shew forth Thy wisdom, grace, and

Made for Thy love, Thy service, Thy delight; dells, And in the air, and everywhere,

might; The hush of solitude and coming Night.

Made for Thy praise, whom veiled archangels

laud ! And so we stood, with interlacing arms, And watched the bright Orb sinking

O strange and glorious thought, that we may be Slow — slow — but ebbing, waning ever

A joy to Thee! Inexorable! irresistible!

Yet the heart turns away Not all the strength, we felt, of all on Earth

From this grand destiny of bliss, and deems Could for one moment its glad light prolong!

'Twas made for its poor self for passing dreams! It touched the low range of the western hills,

Chasing illusions melting day by day, And on the far horizon seem'd to rest —

Till for ourselves we read on this world's best, A disk sublime of ruddy golden light:

“ This is not rest!”
Then its bright face was segmented, as down –
Down - down it sank, red-beaning to the last, Nor can the vain toil cease
Till the top rim was gone, and the black line Till in the shadowy maze of life we meet
Of Earth, like Death, had swallow'd all. One, who can guide our aching, wayward feet,
And then we look'd into each other's face To find Himself, our Way, our Life, our Peace.
With bright eyes that grew sad; and neither In Him the long unrest is soothed and stilled;

Our hearts are filled.
But each press'd closer to the other's side.
Two hearts then felt a fear they would not speak,

O rest, so true, so sweet!
And yearn’d to be together whilst they may !

(Would it were shared by all the weary world!)

'Neath shadowing banner of His love unfurled, Poor Hearts! it is an old, old story We bend to kiss the Master's pierced feet; You there saw pictured in the evening sky, - Then lean our love upon His boundless breast, All bright things die!

And know God's rest! LOVE, even, has not immortality!

Sunday Magazine.

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