211 We The Fairies' Child is walking, And principal aim was to teach the people that | Amid the nut-grove, still and brown, My Love is as fresh as the morning sky, My Love is as soft as the summer air, O, glad is my heart when I name her name, O darling, I fly like a dreamy boy; The face of my Love has the changeful light O hope of my heart! O light of my life! O, come like the Summer, my own sweet To your home in my longing breast! That love fills my eyes with pride- their beams, When I think of my own young bride. We add, from the " Fairy Ballads," one not indeed of the best, but best suited to our space, yet with merit withal, the following picture of "The Fairies' Child." It is by Mr. T. Irwin, and we pay him no small compliment when we say that Mr. Westwood could hardly treat the subject with more grace than we find here: O, who can tell what things she hears- Blooms from the wood of every hue, And lo! as the cloud on ocean's brim, Now by her pillow, small and white, Mid faded leaflets lying, An eager star, like a taper light, The scent of the broom-buds fills the room, And just as the first bird, mounted high Where the weary folk are dreaming. It is said of the physician Théophraste Renaudot, that he founded the Gazette de France expressly for the amusement of his patients. He succeeded admirably both in amusing and curing them, because, as he said, there was something to delight all, but nothing that could exasperate any. We write this for the especial benefit of Mr. Hayes, for whose profit, indeed, we might say more; but as Cardinal Dubois remarked when he began his Memoirs, and would not depart therein from what was his peculiar vocation: "Je ne suis pas de mon métier historiographe de France." THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. BY WM. M. THACKERAY. "A STREET there is in Paris famous, For which no rhyme our language yields, Rue Neuve des Petits-Champs its name is, The New street of the Little Fields; And here's an inn, not rich and splendid, But still in comfortable case, In which, in youth, I oft attended To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse. "This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is, A sort of soup, or broth, or brew; A hotch-potch of all sorts of fishes That Greenwich never could outdo. Green herbs, red peppers, muscles, saffern, Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and daceAll these you eat at Terré's tavern, In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. "Indeed, a rich and savory stew 'tis, And true philosophers, methinks, Who love all sort of natural beauties, Should love good victuals and good drinks. And Cordelier or Benedictine Might gladly sure his lot embrace, Nor find a fast-day too afflicting Which served him up a Bouillabaisse. "I wonder if the house still there is? I recollect his droll grimace; "How's Monsieur Terré, waiter, pray? The waiter stares, and shrugs his shoulder'Monsieur is dead this many a day.' 'It is the lot of saint and sinner, So honest Terré 's run his race!' 'What will Monsieur require for dinner?' 'Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse?' "Ah, oui, Monsieur,' 's the waiter's answer, 'Quel vin Monsieur desire-t-il?' Tell me a good one.' 'That I can, sir: 'So Terré's gone,' I say, and sink in 'He's done with feasting and with drinking, With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse.' "My old accustom'd corner here is, The table still is in the nook, I'd scarce a beard upon my face, I'll pledge them in the good old wine. The kind old voices and old faces My memory can quick retrace: "There's Jack has made a wond'rous marriage, And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse. "I drink it as the fates ordain it Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes; Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it, In memory of dear old times. Welcome the wine, whate'er the seal is, And sit you down and say you grace, With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse.' AT THE CHURCH GATE. BY W. M. THACKERAY. The minster bells toll out And noise and humming; They've stopped the chiming bell, I hear the organ's swell She 's coming she's coming! My lady comes at last, Timid and stepping fast, And hastening thither, With modest eyes downcast, She comes- she's here-she's past. May heaven go with her! Kneel undisturbed, fair saint, I will not enter there, But suffer me to pace From the Literary Gazette. A Century of Acrostics on Names of Eminent Men. Simpkin, Marshall, & Co. THE acrostic is an old and favorite form of verse, but we do not remember to have be==fore seen a separate volume of such poetry: In our own language its use has been almost wholly an exercise of ingenuity, and it has been considered fit only for trivial subjects, to be classed among nuga literaria. The word in its derivation includes various artificial arrangements of lines, and many fantastic conceits have been indulged in. Generally the acrostic has been formed of the first letters of each line, sometimes of the last; sometimes of both; sometimes it is to be read downwards, sometimes upwards. An ingenious variety, called the Telestich, is that in which the letters beginning the lines spell a word, while the letters ending the lines, when taken together, form a word of an opposite meaning, as in this instance : "Unite and untie are the same-so say yo U. Not in wedlock, I ween, has this unity bee N. In the drama of marriage each wandering gou T To a new face would fly -all except you and IEach seeking to alter the spell in their scen E." Although the fanciful and trifling tricks of poetasters have been carried to excess, and acrostics have come in for their share of satire, the origin of such artificial poetry was of a higher dignity. When written documents were yet rare, every artifice was employed to enforce on the attention or fix on the memory the verses sung by bards or teachers. Alphabetic associations formed obvious and convenient aids for this purpose. In the Hebrew Psalms of David, and in other parts of Scripture, striking specimens occur. The peculiarity is not retained in the translations, but is indicated in the common version of the 119th Psalm by the initial letters prefixed to its divisions. The Greek Anthology also presents examples of acrostics, and they were used also in the old Latin language. Cicero, in his treatise "De Divinatione," has this remarkable passage: "the verses of the Sybils (said he) are distinguished by that arrangement which the Greeks call Acrostic; where, from the first letters of each verse in order, words are formed which express some particular meaning; as is the case with some of Ennius's verses [the initial letters of which make which Ennius wrote!']" The modern history of acrostics would supply some curious literary entertainment, but we must not occupy more space with general remarks. In the volume before us a successful attempt is made to use this form of verse for conveying useful information and expressing agree able reflections. The alphabetic necessity of VOL. XI. 51 DCV. LIVING AGE. the choice of words and epithets has not hindered the writer from giving distinct and generally correct character to the biographical subjects, as may be seen in the following examples, which are as remarkable for the truth and discrimination of the descriptions as for the ingenuity of the diction: "GEORGE HERBERT. "Good Country Parson, cheerful, quaint, Thy Temple' now is Heaven's bright rest. "Deep rolls on deep in thy majestic line, R ich music and the stateliest march combine : Yet, who that hears its high harmonious strain Deems not thy genius thou didst half profane? Exhausting thy great power of song on themes Not worthy of its strong, effulgent beams. "Oopyist of Nature simply, sternly true, - "Wondrous Wizard of the North, Thy genius foremost stands in all her long array. LAMB. "Like the bright Impress of thy genial mind, "KNIGHT. "Knowledge diffusing of most useful kind, "Wandering, through many a year, 'mongst Cumbria's 0'er her wild fells, sweet vales, and sunny lakes, Gives thee a place scarcely surpass'd by any; Handing thee down 'mongst knights of prouder name. MACAULAY. 1 "Masterly critic! in whose brilliant style And rich historic coloring -breathes again Cloth'd in most picturesque costume the while All the dim past, with all its bustling train. Under this vivid, eloquent painting, see, Life given anew to our old history's page; A nd in thy stirring ballad poetry, Youth's dreams of ancient Rome once more our minds engage. "LONGFELLOW. "Lays like thine have many a charm ; "Thy verse is like rich music to the ear; Of elder laureate bards have pour'd-it seems DICKENS. "Delightful Novelist! lov'd by youth and age, Ennobling humble worth, and struggling poverty. 8 weet sympathy pervades thy bright, thy glowing The series of acrostics commences with Homer, Cicero, and Virgil, and is followed in chronological order down to our own times. The dates, appropriate mottoes and occasional short notes being given, render the book more useful as an agreeable miscellany of bibgraphical and historical sketches. It may further gain the interest of our readers for the work when we add, that it was composed "to relieve some of the many unoccupied hours that belong to that greatest of afflic tions, the deprivation of sight." In these modern days of ours, printing has | knot the "Question d'Orient." Yet we still go' become a sort of "culte," and the humble pro- on believing in Captain Pen; there are still those fession of literature is transformed, to use the among us who believe in Cheap Literature, "not cant transcendental phrase, into the "priesthood wisely, but too well." We still believe that of letters." Four years ago, Captain Pen went masses of print will do our business, spread light bragging about that he had done for his sturdy far and wide over the earth, and conduce to that rival Captain Sword; but the Exhibition of All" progress of the species " of which so much is Nations had not closed four months before Cap- said and sung. The whole nation suffers from tain Sword was the principal figure in a certain a plethora of print, and seems likely to suffer, coup d'état; and three years had not gone by, at least during our day and generation. before, the pen failing in a rather lamentable fash- tator. ion, the sword went forth to out that famous Spec From Gallenga's "Piedmont." side of the woman who had wrought all the mis SCENE IN THE HISTORY OF PIEDMONT.ery that awaited him. The Marchioness awoke sword, which lay on the table by his bedside; and at length succeeded, not without great difficulty, in breaking the King's heavy slumbers. and bounded up with a scream; but she was "IN life's last scene what prodigies sur- hurried away in her scanty night attire, and conprise! After steering through all the veyed first to a nunnery at Carignano, then to a depths and shoals of the wars of Louis the state prison at the Castle of Ceva. Not a few of Fourteenth, and facing in the field the ablest her relatives and partisans were arrested in of his Marshals, Victor the Second was the course of the same night. wrecked by doting. At sixty-four he married "The Chevalier Solaro, one of the colonels, the widow of Count St. Sebastiano-an old | next proceeded to possess himself of the King's flame of his youth, whom he created Marchioness of Spigno. Tired of business, and devoting himself to this new bride, he resigned the throne to his son, Charles Emanuel, after the manner of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, in spite of the entreaties of that son and the remonstrances of his subjects. But in a few months, weary of inaction, or stirred up by the ambition of the Marchioness, who wished to be a real Queen, Victor announced his intention to resume the sceptre. Charles, a submissive son, called his Council together, and intimated his willingness to resign, but that he did not deem himself authorized to do so without their assent. The laymen were apprehensive, but silent. The Archbishop Gattinara spoke out. "Victor sat up in his bed; he looked hard at the faces of his disturbers, and inquired on what into a paroxysm of fury; he refused to accompany errand they had come: on hearing it, he burst them, to dress, to rise from his bed. They had to wrap him in his bedclothes, and thus to force him from the chamber. "It was a painful and an anxious moment. The soldiers had been chosen for their character of reliable steadiness and discipline, but were not proof against the passionate appeals of the man who had so often led them to victory. Murmurs were heard from the midst of them, and a regiment of dragoons, addressed by Victor in the courtyard, gave signs of open mutiny. The Colonel, Count of Perosa, however, with great "Gattinara strongly and at full length demon- presence of mind, ordered silence in the King's strated the unreasonableness of Victor's preten-name, and under penalty of death, and drowned sions; when, at his persuasion, it was unanimously resolved that the tranquillity of the country did not admit of a repeal of that King's act of abdication. The apprehension of Victor Amadeus was next moved. "Whilst they were yet deliberating, a note was handed to the King, by which the Baron of St. Remy, commander of the citadel of Turin, announced that at midnight Victor had come from Moncalieri, on horseback, followed by a single aid-de-camp, and asked for admittance into the fortress. The commander had firmly but respectfully answered that the gates of the citadel could not be opened without an order from the King; whereupon the old King, in a towering passion, had turned his horse's head back to Moncalieri. "This last proof of Victor's readiness to resort to extreme measures determined the still wavering minds in the King's Council. An order of arrest against Victor was drawn up, which Charles Emanuel signed with trembling hand, with tears in his eyes. the old King's voice by a roll of the drums. They thus shut him up in one of the Court carriages, into which he would admit no companion, and followed him on horseback with a large escort to the Castle of Rivoli. "Rivoli was for some time a very hard prison to Victor Amadeus, with bars at the windows, a strong guard at the doors, and unbroken silence and solitude within. His frequent fits of ungovernable rage made his keepers apprehensive that reason had forsaken him; and they treated him, though with marked respect, yet with untiring watchfulness, as a maniac. They show stillor at least they showed till lately-a marble table which the strong old man cracked with his doubled fist in one of his paroxysms of anguish and fury. By degrees, however, loneliness and confinement did their work, and the storm of angry passions subsided into the calmness of deep-set melancholy. The rigor of his captivity slackened, though by no means the vigilance of his gaolers. He was allowed the use of books and papers, and intercourse with friends; presently, also, the soothing company of the Marchioness, the fair tempter who had wrought him all this woe. At his own request he was removed to Moncalieri, as he complained of the keen air of Rivoli: but the infirmities from which he "The Marquis of Ormea, who had been raised to power by the father, who now conducted the affairs of the son, and was more than any man implicated in these fatal differences between them, took the warrant from Charles' reluctant hands, and, on the night of the 27th to the 28th of Sep-was suffering sprang from other sources than intember [1781], repaired to Moncalieri. "He had encompassed the castle with troops, summoned from the neighborhood of the capital, and charged four colonels with the conduct of the dangerous expedition. "These walked without resistance into the old King's apartments; where he was found plunged in one of his fits of sound, lethargic sleep, by the clemency of sky or climate. His mind and body were equally shattered under the consequences of the violent scenes he had passed through. He now turned his thoughts to Heaven, and prepared for coming death. He wished for a reconciliation with his son, and, through the confessor that this latter had sent him, sued for an interview. Charles Emanuel instantly ordered his carriage |