which are being made in the apartments destined to receive her illustrious guest. The members of the different branches of the famille Bonaparte are almost au complet now in Paris. The Emperor wishes to bring them all around him, and I suppose they are nothing loath. Last year Jerome's son by his former marriage, and his grandson, came over; the latter has entered the French army, and is now serving in the Crimea with his regiment, the 7th dragoons. Since then, the children of the ex-Prince of Canino, formerly naturalized a Roman prince, and now re-naturalized French, are arrived in Paris. An hotel, bought and prepared for them by the Emperor, situated in the rue de Grenelle Saint Germain, near the Esplanade des Invalides, has received them. The youngest of these princes, a boy of fifteen, it appears, is a great favourite of the Emperor's; they say he is to be educated in Paris, to pass his examinations, and be placed at St. Cyr (a military school), and to represent the military part of the family Napoleon. One of the finest chateaux of France, one which most recals historic souvenirs of the seventeenth century, the Chateau de Saint Fargeau dans l'Yonne, which was inhabited by Louis XIV., and where Mademoiselle de Montpensier was exiled after her marriage with Langun, has been almost completely destroyed by fire. The loss is estimated at two millions of francs. The Chateau de Saint Fargeau belonged to the Marquis de Boisgelin; the room of Louis XIV., still furnished and decorated as in the days when it had been inhabited by the king, that is to say, with its state bed, like that at Versailles, with the curtains and hangings in silk of gold and silver-this room, with all it contained, has been completely destroyed. As a monument rich in works of art and historical recollections, it is irreparable. We are in daily expectation of hearing news from Sebastopol; I only hope our success may not be too dearly purchased. Farewell, my dear C. (I am afraid my Gossip" is somewhat heavy this time.) Yours, ever faithfully, P OUR LIBRARY TABLE. دو A MEMOIR OF THE REV. SIDNEY SMITH. By his Daughter, Lady Holland. With a Selection from his Letters. Edited by Mrs. Austen. 2 vols. (Longman and Co.)-Much as has been said and written of this good and gifted man, this witty scholar and clever wit, this scorner of shams, even though consecrated, this warm, bright bit of fine humanity, much more remains to be said and written; for the present volumes, full as they are of varied amd interesting memories, by no means satisfy us that the theme is exhausted, or that the biography of Sidney Smith has definitively appeared. Woodford, in Essex, claims the honour of being his place of birth, which occurred in 1771, the year in which the learned Helvetius, Tobias Smollett, and Gray the poet, "went the way of nature," and just three years before poor "Goldy's' death. The spirit and humour of the future Canon of St. Paul's appears to have early developed themselves, as well as his love of books and aptitude for learning. Within a short time of his being placed at Winchester School we find him captain; and, though overflowing with life and spirits, reading Virgil under "a fresh tree's shade, while his schoolfellows are at their play. At Oxford he passes through the ordeal of a collegian's life unsinirtched by either dissipation or debt, and relinquishes his own wishes to obey those of his father, adopting the church as a profession in lieu of the bar, to which he had aspired. We have not space to follow him to the solitary scene of his first pastoral labours, Salisbury Plain, the curacy of which he subsequently resigned for a tutorship. To his residence in the modern Athens, and his friendship with its literati, we may trace the part he took in establishing the "Edinburgh Review," in the pages of which he boldly attacked the time-honoured abuses of power and intolerance, scoffed clerical sycophancy into contempt, and made the pride of prelacy a joke. His boldness, his truth, his scorn of crooked policy, of great men's patronage, his advocacy of causes and questions which the generality of men would in those days have feared to meddle with, and which from their long existence, and the high places from which they emanated, seemed hopeless of redress, all mark the generous, fearless, independent spirit of the man, and point him out as one of the reformers of his day. Nothing can be more amusing, and at the same time more loveable, than the glimpses we get of Sidney Smith at home; his kindly nature, and overflowing sense of humour, seem never to have flagged; the very difficulties and provokements in his way afford him subjects for mirthful description; and nothing can be more whimsical than the account of his building, furnishing, and filling his house at Foston-le-Clay, in Yorkshire, the living of which Lord Holland had obtained for him. Some one had persuaded him to make his own bricks, which of course turn out bad; then having purchased some thousands of them, and several tons of timber, he is advised to employ oxen in drawing them, and accordingly "bought four." "Tug and Lug, Hawl and Crawl; but Tug and Lug took to fainting, and required buckets of salvolatile, and Hawl and Crawl to lie down in the mud." In the same gay vein the Yorkshire clergyman continues: "A man-servant was too expensive; so I caught up a little garden-girl, made like a mile-stone, christened her Bunch, put a napkin in her hand, and made her my butler. The girls taught her to read, Mrs. Sidney to wait; and I undertook her morals. Bunch became the best butler in the county. At last it was suggested that a carriage was much needed in the establishment: after a diligent search I discovered, in the back settlements of a York coachmaker, an ancient green chariot, supposed to have been the earliest invention of the kind. I brought it home in triumph to my admiring family. Being somewhat dilapidated, the village tailor lined it, the village blacksmith repaired it; nay, but for Mrs. Sidney's earnest entreaties, I believe the village painter would have exercised his genius upon the exterior; it escaped this danger, however, and the result was wonderful. Each year added to its charms; it grew younger and youngera new wheel, a new spring. I christened itThe Immortal!' It was known all over the neighbourhood: the village boys cheered it, and the village dogs barked at it; but 'Faber meæ fortune' was my motto, and we had no false shame. Added to all these domestic eares, I was village parson, village doctor, village comforter, village magistrate, and Edinburgh 'Reviewer.' So you see I had not much time left on my hands to regret London." And, indeed, this constant activity appears to have been one of the helps to his genial humour, and the fondness for trifling (which in common with most deep-thinking men he loved to indulge in)-the reaction of mental labour. "He spent," observes Lady Holland, much time in reading and composition: his activity was unceasing. I hardly remember seeing him unoccupied but when in conversation. * * Immediately on coming to Foston, as early as the year 1809, he set on foot gardens for the poor, and subsequently Dutch gardens for spade cultivation. Then the cheapest diet for the poor, and cooking for the poor, formed the subject of his inquiries; and many a hungry labourer was brought in and stuffed with rice, or broth, or porridge, to test their relative effects on the appetite." ** snatching, gravy-spilling, door-slamming, bluebottle fly-catching, and curtsey-bobbing.' 'Explain to Mrs. Marcet what blue-bottle fly-catching is.' 'Standing with my mouth open, and not attending, please sir.'' And what is curtsey-bobbing? 'Curtseying to the centre of the earth, please sir.' 'Good girl: now you may go. She makes a capital waiter, I assure you. On state occasions Jack Robinson, my carpenter, takes off his apron, and waits too, and does pretty well; but he sometimes naturally makes mistakes, and sticks a gimlet into the bread instead of a fork!'" minds us, "with a difference," of a friend's Without accepting this too literally, it regroom and gardener, who, promoted under similar circumstance, by way of refining gold, brought champagne to table in a claret-jug-an incident which his master, with as keen a sense, and as large a capacity for comedy as the canon, indemnified himself for, by putting it into his repertoire of jokes. All the world knows of Sidney Smith as a critic, politician, wit, and scholar; but we learn much more of his domestic and inner life from these volumes; and our admiration for the man grows into love. His practical good sense, his active kindness, his cheerful humour glow along the pages with continual sunshine; and our only regret is, that want of space prevents us from copiously extracting from the work: by the way, how characteristic of the man, and what a lesson to some living formalists, is the fol lowing! "My father was sitting at breakfast, one morning, in the library at Combe Florey,' said Mrs. Marcet, who was staying with us, when a poor woman came, begging him to christen a new-born infant without loss of time, as she thought it was dying. Mr. Smith instantly quitted the breakfasttable for this purpose, and went off to her cottage. On his return, we inquired in what state he had left the poor babe. Why,' said he, 'I first gave it a dose of castor-oil, and then christened it; so now But we have not yet done with Bunch, whom the poor child is ready for either world.'” Mrs. Marcet thus alludes to : "I was coming down-stairs the next morning, when Mr. Smith suddenly said to Bunch, who was passing, 'Bunch, do you like roast duck or boiled chicken?' Bunch had probably never tasted either the one or other in her life, but answered, without a moment's hesitation, Roast duck, please sir,' and disappeared. I laughed. You may laugh,' said he, but you have no idea of the labour it has cost me to give her that decision of character. The Yorkshire peasantry are the quickest and shrewdest in the world; but you can never get a direct answer from them. If you ask them even their own names, they always scratch their heads, and say, 'A's sur ai don't knaw, sir.' But I have brought Bunch to such perfection, that she never hesitates now on any subject, however difficult. I am very strict with her. Would you like to hear her repeat her crimes? She has them by heart, and repeats them every day. Come here, Bunch' (calling to her), come and repeat your crimes to Mrs. Marcet.' And Bunch-a clean, fair, squat, tidy little girl, about ten or twelve years of age-quite as a matter of course, as grave as a judge, without the least hesitation, and with a loud voice, began to repeat:- Plate Very different practice this from the clergyman who, when called in to a man dying of starvation, satisfied himself with reading prayers! POEMS. By Mary Brotherton. (Brussels: J. H. Briard, 4, Rue aux Laines.)—The fact of this small volume, smuggled as it were into print, published in the capital of King Leopold, and unheard of in the Row, having passed through two editions, is a sufficient proof that there is more of reality in its title than we generally meet with in these days, when every young lady, whose ideas resolve themselves into rhyme, imagines the echoes of other brains her own, and fondly dreams herself an unsunned Sappho. Mrs. Brotherton's poems possess not only the charm of pure language and smooth and finished rhythm, but there is a freshness of metaphor, and an originality of expression, that make the effortless spontaneity of their production as clear to the spirit of the reader as the summer song of a bird, or the impetuous outpourings of a mountain freshet; they have a character of their own, and with much feminine sweetness are devoid of feebleness. The longest poem, the "Forest House," we like least; it appears to us to have been written earlier than the rest, and to lack their later vigour. Our space will not admit of much quotation; but out of many of equal merit, the following poem will serve as a specimen of our author's powers: "PEACE." "Burn the tapers round the bed Where a woman lyeth dead: Where a woman lieth dead. Many of the poems take the sonnet form, and are gems in point of delicacy and finish. Had our space admitted of it, we should have been glad to have abstracted one or two for the benefit of our readers, but shall do more justice to the author by referring them to the volume itself, which deserves to be more widely known. LAYS OF LOVE AND HEROISM. By Eleanor Darby. (Hope and Co., London, 16, Great Marlborough-street.)-This is another volume of poetry, of a more pretensive character in size AMUSEMENTS THE PRINCESS'S. Mr. Charles Kean's magnificent revival of "Henry VIII." continues to attract admiring audiences. Nothing can be more exquisite than Mrs. Kean's delineation of the faultless, forsaken, yet forgiving Katherine. The cha and quantity than the one we have just discussed. Mrs. Darby is the author of the "Sweet South," which not very long since we remember to have noticed in these pages; and the appearance of the present work is a proof that she is at least no idle wooer of the Muses. The contents of the present volume are far more varied than the last, and the author appears to have benefited by experience, and to have bestowed more care on the construction of her verses. In the "Lily o' Dundee" (which is very prettily illustrated, by the way), the author has succeeded extremely well in attaining the Scotch rhythm and expression. "The Spanish Bride" is dramatic and interesting, inasmuch as the incident described actually occurred. Amongst the minor poems are some graceful verses; we may instance "April Clouds," and "Thou hast smiled on my Slumbers." Further, the book has the merit of containing many original traditions, which have never before been versified. THE BAND OF HOPE REVIEW; THE BRITISH WORKMAN.-(Partridge, Oakey, and Co., 34, Paternoster-row.)—Amongst the humble (but not on that account less valuable) aids to social progress, we are pleased to find these publications steadily continuing their useful course. From the latter we quote the following beautiful paragraphs, from an article on the dignity of labour: "Labour gathers the gossamer web of the caterpillar, the cotton from the field, and the fleece from the flock, and weaves it into raiment, soft and warm, and beautiful; the purple robe of the prince, and the grey gown of the peasant, being alike its handiwork." "Labour smelts the iron, and moulds it into a thousand shapes for use and ornament, from the massive pillar to the tiniest needle, from the ponderous anchor to the wire-gauze, from the mighty fly-wheel of the steam-engine to the polished pursering or the glittering bead. "Labour, by the universally-spread ramifications of trade, distributes its own treasures from country to country, from city to city, from house to house, conveying, to the doors of all, the necessaries and luxuries of life, and by the steady pulsation of an untrammelled commerce maintaining healthy life in the great social system." This is striking the right chord-the key-note to self-respect a feeling that ennobles every craft, and sweetens labour with a knowledge of the importance and utility of its individual existence in building up the commonwealth of his land and times. OF THE MONTH. racter of the dying Queen, sublimated by suffering, finds in this charming actress a finished portraiture; and what she lacks in physical majesty is made up in infinite grace, beauty, and fervour. THE HAYMARKET. At this house no one can complain of being time, and has in fact fallen in love with another, but returns, just as his brother and Margaret are about to be united; whereupon old feelings are renewed, and circumstances occur which naturally excite the suspicion of the morbidly sensitive hunchback. There follows a terrible quarrel, almost fratricidal, between the brothers, and an amount of heart-anguish to Franklyn and Margaret, through which both are made purer, and brought to thorough confidence on the one hand, and perfect love on the other; but only to prove that by the Martyrdom of despair Love's immortality is won. In the end, Margaret finds herself resigned to Clarence, while Franklyn is driven forth from society to roam in woods a solitary man. tired of the cates, through reason of their same- | fice. Clarence has been absent in the meanness; tragedy, comedy, opera, and farce, succeed each other almost too rapidly for us to chronicle their several deserts. The curtain has only fallen on the great American tragic actress, to rise and put us face to face with one of the most fascinating of our native artists, Miss Helen Faucit, who made her re-appearance at this house in the part of Pauline, in the "Lady of Lyons," a character with which she has identified herself, and which has never found a more graceful interpreter. Besides this event, so gratifying to the admirers of the sentimental drama, besides also the revival of "Fra Diavolo," and other stock operas, there has been the production of an original one by Mr. H. Smart"Berta, or the Gnome of Hartzburg," the words of which have been supplied by Mr. Fitzball; which with the situations are unparalleled by any combination of this librettist, and fairly put analysis out of the question. The fable is a mystery, incomprehensible to us, and, according to a contemporary critic, to the composer also, who has therefore" contented himself by writing airs, ballads, choruses, and concerted pieces, upon the usual opera pattern, without apparent attempt to parallel the peculiarities of his mate." Nevertheless, there is some clever and carefully-written music in the "Gnome," and Mr. and Mrs. Sims Reeves, and Mr. Weiss (in fact the whole operatic company), did their best to realize the extraordinary situations allotted to them in this strange drama, and give effect to the finish and spirit of Mr. H. Smart's music. Since then a new tragedy, "Love's Martyrdom," the advent of which was alluded to in our last monthly notice, has been produced; but while it proves the author (Mr. John Saunders) to possess considerable poetic power, it exhibits great defects of construction, much want of dramatic tact, and an entire ignorance of all that belongs to the playwright craft. The play, without being strictly original either as regards style or conception, is highly practical, and to the perception of its sentiment and passion may be attributed the measure of success it has attained; for with the exception of Miss Faucit's representation of the heroine, Margaret, we regret to say the rest of the characters were illconceived, and worse realized. Properly represented, "Love's Martyrdom" may prove more effective than we have been led to believe it; at present it reads better than it acts. In the meanwhile, the manager has introduced a farce, adapted from a piece by MM. Clairville and Lambert Thiborest, which appeared last autumn at the Palais Royal, under the title of "Histoire d'un Sou." The comic humour of the indefatigable and talented manager, actor, and adaptor, Mr. Buckstone, has overlaid the whole with an amount of whimsical drollery, and invented a character for himself in Mr. Stanly Jones; and the French farce, under the title of " Only One Halfpenny," comes out at the Haymarket better than new. The construction is very slight. The plot, if such it can be called, turns on the circumstance of Mr. Jones's loan of a halfpenny to a young lady in an omnibus (young and beautiful of course), to relieve her from an awkward dilemma with the Cerberus at the door, she having but 34d. to pay a 4d. fare. Struck with a sudden admiration of the lady, and having no other means of gaining access to her presence, the gallant cockney calls the next day for its repayment, and finds the fair Henrietta (Miss Swanborough) clad in her wedding-dress, and actually about to be married that very morning to a gentleman to whom her father is deeply involved, and who is about to accept the lady in lieu of her parent's acceptance, which has been dishonoured. Of course there is no love in the case, at least on the part of the intended bride. All this intelligence Mr. Stanly Jones learns from the fluent lady's maid, Bridget (Miss Chaplin). It happens that neither mistress nor maid are in possession of the coin Mr. Jones has called for-the only piece in their possession is a crown, which Bridget, bribed by the keen-witted and enamoured Mr. Jones, can The following is a succinct description of the nowhere procure change for, and which of course, plot:- Franklyn, a gentleman of Lincoln, a at the most usurious rate of interest, is inadmishunchback, with his moral character modified sible as payment for a halfpenny. In the meanby the influence of his physical deformity, is while, the uncle of the lady, a very peppery old affianced to a lady named Margaret, who has a gentleman, and who has very reasonable intengreat admiration for his intellectual qualities, tions of projecting Mr. Jones summarily down but is undecided as to whether she has any real stairs, produces what appears to be the required love for his person. It is doubtful to both whe- coin, and thus severs (to appearance) the slight ther she has not rather a liking for his hand- link between his niece and her exigent creditor, some brother, Clarence, to whom some time who rushes out in despair, but presently rushes previous he had been willing to resign her, and in again, having discovered that it is not a halfhad had a picture painted, called " Love's Mar- penny he has received, but a French sou; his tyrdom," as a memorial of the intended sacri-austere pertinacity to recover his simple coin and no more, raises the indignation of Mr. | only, however, to find the cotton awnings that Plantagenet to its climax. But matters take another turn when Mr. Jones confesses the reason of his return, and produces the dishonoured bill of the lady's father, which he has managed to purchase from her intended bridegroom in the brief interval of his exit, and thus redeems her from the disagreeable alliance, and leaves her free to love another. We need hardly say the very lightness of the piece keeps it afloat. MR. AGUILAR'S CONCERT. The annual Concert of this talented composer and pianist took place at Willis's Rooms on the 14th of June, and proved one of the most fully and fashionably attended of the season. The programme was most liberal, and the music excellently chosen. The opening trio (in M.S.) for piano, violin, and violoncello, was admirably performed by Herr Ernst, Signior Piatti, and Mr. Aguilar, and exhibited, like all this gentleman's compositions, a perfect knowledge of his art, with a fine appreciation of its beauties, and much inventive power. Nothing could be finer than this masterly pianist's execution of Beethoven's Sonata (No. 1 of Op. 29); and a Bolero of his own was most brilliantly played. The rest of the concert was excellently sustained. Herr Ernst's graceful Nocturne Sentimentale was enthusiastically encored, and was repeated with all the earnest and poetical feeling which characterises the cantabile playing of this artist. Sing on, ye little birds," was charmingly given by Signor Ciabatti; and Mr. Miranda's voice was heard with great effect in Handel's famous Aria (in Acis and Galatea), "Love sounds the Alarm." 66 Madame Ferrari sang with her accustomed sweetness and simplicity; nor must we overlook a duet admirably given by Mdlle. Anna Falconi and Signor Ciabatti. The performance concluded with the Beneficiare's performance of Mendelssohn's Andante and Rondo Capriccioso, the remembrance of which had nearly made us for getful of a flute solo, the composition of Mr. Aguilar, and which was beautifully executed by Mr. R. S. Pratten. THE CRYSTAL PALACE CONCERT. Lured by the fame of the Flower Show of the 2nd of June, and with a hope that some few blossoms of that Floral festa would remain to grace the concert of the 4th, we betook ourselves to this charmed region of art and beauty, had shaded the botanical and horticultural specimens remaining, in evidence of all we had lost. The concert, we are bound to say, was a mockery and delusion; a few, perchance, of the thousands who came to hear Alboni (who by the way never came at all), and who managed to forestall the seats immediately in front of the orchestra, probably caught the rain of notes which Madame Amedei's voice poured forth, and the giant tones of Herr Formes's. All we can say is, that at the distance of Francis I.'s statue, only a few of the lady's very highest notes, and a scattering of the basso's lowest ones, fell to our share; the rest ascended into the galleries, or were lost in the transepts; and when, in the hope of improving our position, we moved to the distant margin in front, we found the whole thing grown farcical; the lady vocalists, like so many autoheads, and turned over the leaves of the music matons, opened their mouths and shook their and as for Herr Ernest and Signor Bottisini's violin and violoncello performances, though we it reminded us forcibly of Sir John Mandeville's are bound to believe that both were perfection, North Pole, the sounds from whose kit were account of the French mariner's fiddling at the frozen before they could be heard; but with this difference, that the sailors had the benefit of them when the thaw came; whereas the notes of these great artistes were lost to us for everlost in space, or trodden under the feet of the restless audience, who, disappointed of hearing in the situations they had found for themselves, galleries, and vice versa. It is an obvious fact, were constantly migrating from the arena to the that either the idea of vocal concerts must be abandoned in the Crystal Palace, or the Company must use some artificial means to concentrate sound within the space occupied by the performers and audience. But why are mixed concerts needed at all? Music heard at distance in the grounds, or doubling through the galleries, or penetrating the courts, is a most sweet accompaniment to the dreams of past and present beauty, or high historical associations with which our steps are everywhere attended; surely there is no need to superadd the attraction of a May Fair concert to the intellectual feast spread within these transparent walls. But we have other causes of fault-finding with the Crystal Palace Company-causes of shortsighted policy, as inimical to its public character and the honourable estimation in which everything and everybody connected with so grand an undertaking should be invested, that one can scarcely believe they exist with the connivance of the executive. Originally the first five days of the week were especially dedicated to the people, now Monday is especially the people's day; yet upon this day, with a standing advertisement in the Times,' that the palace and grounds are open to the general public on Mondays, &c., this féte was projected for season ticket holders only; and we ourselves witnessed the disappointment of several persons |