AMONG the numerous paintings exhibited at the Royal Academy of Arts, at Paris, in 1820, there was one which attracted particular attention. The impression produced on the spectators by this picture is still fresh in the recollection of many; the crowd regarded it with mute astonishment, and artists of all degrees in the scale of excellence, bestowed upon it the most unqualified praise. It was only a rough draft, hastily sketched off, but evidently traced by a master-hand, an original idea powerfully pourtrayed-an effort of genius that could hardly fail to arrest the attention of the most indifferent observer. Near this point of general attraction, stood a young man, who appeared embarrassed by the universal admiration. "Is this your performance, my friend ?" said M. de Gtapping him gently on the shoulder. "Yes, sir," replied the young man, but I had not time to" ***What does it signify ?-it is better than all the rest. You shall go to Rome, my friend!" and he offered him his hand. "I thank you, sir," faltered the young artist, "this is more than I could dare to hope' Eight days afterwards he departed for Rome. Rome! the dream of painters and poets-the sublime book of ages, where each, in sailing down the stream of time, has left its mark-that immense ruin of the world, where genius searches for imperishable traces of its former glory and power; that Rome which he had studied at a distance, he was now about to visit. Our young artist, absorbed in the most enthusiastic anticipations, viewed with indifference the woody declivities and fertile valleys of France. Its broad meandering rivers gently gliding through its highly cultivated plains; its animated and bustling cities; the rich fields of Provence; Marseilles, with its active and enterprising citizens, ever busy in the pursuit of commerce; the Mediterranean, sparkling in the glorious rays of a southern sun; and finally, the balmy coast of Italy, presented themselves to his unobservant eye without exciting emotion. It was for Rome that he treasured up the admiration of his soul, in order to be poured forth in all its freshness. Rome, which he expected to see at each turn of the road,-which he fancied he descried, as the old steeples of some Italian city appeared in the distant horizon. He entered the "eternal city" by the Portu del Papolo, as the softened rays of the setting sun shed their last feeble light over its ruined grandeur. The youthful artist, whose enthusiasm was excited to the highest degree, determined to gratify his eager curiosity that very evening; he therefore engaged a guide to conduct him to the Coliseum, by torch-light. After wandering some time amidst the gloom of this immense ruin, whose circular and fantastical outline almost overhanging them, stood out distinctly against the blue sky of Italy, he proceeded to view the modern palaces. The "great world" of Rome appeared to be concentrated on one point-the Theatre de Argentina. The marble palaces reflected the light of the torches, and vibrated to the rolling equipages of Roman princes and strangers, who crowded to hear the favourite singer of the day. "This is the Theatre de Argentina, sir," said his guide, "Signora Caronari sings to-night — Signora Caronari, the glory of Rome, Milan, Naples, the prima donna of Italy!" He entered the theatre. A species of intoxication at first seized him, as perfumes, flowers, harmony, and the dazzling brilliancy of the chandeliers burst upon him; but recovering himself, he warmly applauded the beautiful prima donna, whose melodious voice was just dying away in the last thrilling cadence of one of Rosini's favourite songs. As the charming cantatrice was displaying the resources of her rich voice in the execu tion of a brilliant Cavatina, the wandering eyes of the young Frenchman happened to rest on a female figure in one of the opposite boxes. Rome, the theatre, the prima donna and her harmonious notes, had all vanished from his mind the moment his eye was arrested by this beautiful image, the varied expressions of whose noble countenance, seemed to convey a new and strange emotion to the heart of our young artist. He observed her at one time, smiling, gay, and happy as the harmony of Rosini; and, at another, as a melancholy note ascended from the orchestra, or a chromatic modulation trembled on the lips of the accomplished singer, a sort of involuntary shudder pervaded her whole frame, and strong symptoms of terror and apprehension were visible in her expressive countenance, and, as the last vibration of the harmony that had produced the effect had ceased, it again varied under a thousand other rapid sensations. But when the music had ceased, and the curtain had dropped over the scene like the waking reality that dissipates a delightful dream, she, as it were, fell back upon herself, and her dull, lustreless eyes, and pallid countenance, occasionally impressed with an expression of profound terror, sufficiently indicated that she was labouring under the apprehension of some dreadful inevitable calamity. And as she rose to depart, leaning on the arm of a man who sat in the shade at the back of the box, she turned a last look on the sympathising artist, in which was strikingly pourtrayed the gratitude of an unfortunate heart towards those who feel for it. He hurried through the crowd, and as he arrived breathless at the steps where the carriages were drawn up, he fancied he saw the pale figure that had so much interested him, through the glass of a splendid equipage that was ra. pidly driving off to make way for another. He rushed after it, and when the vehicle disappeared at the corner of a street, he followed the sound of the wheels for a considerable distance through the dark and deserted streets, until, smiling at his folly, he paused, and found himself alone and astray in a strange city. After wandering for more than an hour, he at last, in utter despair, sat down among some ruins, where he expected to find shelter for the remainder of the night. Having seated himself on a fragment of a marble column, with his back resting against the wall, he soon began to feel the gradual influence of sleep steal over his exhausted frame, when a low voice whispered in his ear, "Is that you?"-"Yes," replied he, mechanically; and before he had time for reflection, or indeed was quite awake, his eyes were ban. daged, and his hands firmly secured. He was then carried by two men, and put into a vehicle, which was driven rapidly for about half an hour, during which brief space the young artist's reflections were not of the most pleasing description. When the carriage stopped, the two men, who assisted him to alight, carried him through a garden, as he discovered by the perfumes of flowers, and the grinding of the gravel-walks under his bearers' feet-then along cold marble galleries, and across several apartments, through which they passed with noiseless steps. Having set him down, and removed the bandage from his eyes, he perceived that he was in a large room, hung with sombre drapery, and dimly lighted by cne small lamp placed on a marble table near the fire-place. Standing at the table was a man of a tall commanding figure, whose face was concealed by a mask of black velvet. At the distance of a few paces from him, on a sofa, reclined a female dressed in black, with a thick veil thrown round her head, and leaning over a child, whose slumbers were disturbed by occasional sobs. The irregular breathing of the child, and the measured beat of a pendulum, were the only sounds that disturbed the solemn silence that reigned in this gloomy chamber. The two men who had carried the trembling painter, stood behind him, and were also masked. "Here he is," said one of them, softly, as soon as they had set down their burden. The tall figure advanced slowly towards the Frenchman, and taking his hand, led him to the sofa. "This woman must die," said he, turning towards him; but just at this instant the feeble light of the solitary lamp fell upon the artist's face, and his conductor, uttering a dreadful imprecation, pushed him away rudely. His eyes flashed through his mask. "What have you done?" cried he to his men, "this is not the priest." They rushed upon the terrified artist, and, throwing him down, held the points of their daggers to his breast, and in this position waited their master's commands. The veiled female made a slight movement, and clasped the child to her breast. There was a moment of silence and fearful suspense, during which the masked figure arrested by a gesture the poignards ready to strike, and so near the breast of the intended victim, as to graze his clothes at each pulsation of the heart. All resistance, all complaint, was useless. "Who are you ?” said the mask, hurriedly, in a deep voice. "A Frenchman-a painter."-" What has brought you here ?""Having lost my way in the streets of Rome, I heard some one ask 'Is that you?' and, in hopes of finding it, answered, 'Yes.'-" You are then a stranger in Rome? How long have you been here ?" "Since yesterday evening. "Good!" 66 muttered his interrogator-and he seemed to breathe more freely. "Sir," continued he, you must die."-"May God comfort my poor mother," ejaculated the artist. "Listen! if you will swear to me on your honour-on your life, and on that of your mother, to depart from Rome and Italy at day-breaknever to return-if you will swear never to divulge to a living soul, what you have seen to-night, I may perhaps spare your life. Do you swear?" The painter sighed at the thought of leaving Rome. "Quick, quick," uttered the tall figure, in a tone of impatience. "I swear then."" Bandage his eyes. If you ever violate your oath, I swear-and I never fail to keep my oaths, (pointing to the dying female,) to punish you." Three hours after this the artist was on his way to Paris. M. THE DUKE OF LUXEMBURGH. THAT great man declared upon his deathbed, that "he would rather have had to reflect upon that he had administered a cup of cold water to a worthy poor creature in distress, than that he had gained so many battles in which he had triumphed. New Books. WINTER STUDIES AND SUMMER RAMBLES IN CANADA. By Mrs. Jameson.* [THERE is nothing in these volumes to disturb the political tendencies of anybody. They describe summer rambles' over various parts of Canada, before the late rebellion, and winter studies,' while in Canada, but very often with no reference whatever to the loca lity in which they were written. The work, in short, is desultory in an unusual degree, mingling together reflection, descriptionpoetical, musical, and pictorial criticismsketches of character, anecdote and narrative, without any attempt at system. The matter is good in its various kinds, and therefore, to persons in whom the bump of order is not unduly developed, we can safely promise considerable entertainment and instruction. We shall proceed at once to our extracts, merely affixing head-lines'.] 6 London Society contrasted with Canadian. -New Year's Day-colder than ever. This morning the thermometer stood at eighteen degrees below zero, and Dr. Rtold me that some chemical compounds in his labo. ratory had frozen in the night, and burst the phials in which they were contained. They have here at Toronto the custom which prevails in France, Germany, the United States, (more or less everywhere, I believe, but in England,) of paying visits of congratulation on the first day of the year. This custom, which does not apparently harmonise with the manners of the people, has been borrowed from the French inhabitants of Lower Canada. I received this morning about thirty gentlemen-to gentlemen luckily for me the obligation is confined-two-thirds of whom I had never seen nor heard of before, nor was there any one to introduce them. Some of them, on being ushered into the room, bowed, sat down, and after the lapse of two minutes, rose and bowed themselves out of the room again without uttering a syllable: all were too much in a hurry, and apparently far too cold to converse. Those who did speak, complained, sensibly enough, on the unmeaning duty imposed on them, and the danger incurred by running in and out from overheated rooms into the fierce biting air, and prophesied to themselves and others sore throats, and agues, and fevers, and every ill that flesh is heir to. I could but believe and condole. These strange faces appeared and disappeared in succession so rapidly, that I was almost giddy, but there were one or two among the number, whom even in five minutes' conversation I distinguished at once as Published by Sauuders and Otley. superior to the rest, and original minded, thinking men. In London society I met with many men whose real material of mind it was difficult to discover-either they had been smoothed and polished down by society, or education had overlaid their understanding with stuccoed ornaments, and figures historical and poetical-very pretty to look at-but the coarse brick-work, or the rotten lath and plaster, lay underneath: there being in this new country far less of conventional manner, it was so much the easier to tell at once the brick from the granite and the marble. The town of Niagara-low state of moruls.-The land all round Niagara is partícularly fine and fertile, and it has been longer cleared and cultivated than in other parts of the province. The country, they say, is most beautiful in summer, taxes are trifling, scarcely felt, and there are no poor-rates; yet ignorance, recklessness, despondency, and inebriety, seem to prevail. A, who has been settled here five years, and B- himself a Canadian, rate the inorality of the Canadian population frightfully low; lying and drunkenness they spoke of as nearly universal; men who come here with sober habits quickly fall into the vice of the country; and those who have the least propensity to drinking, find the means of gratification compara tively cheap, and little check from public opinion. Men learn to drink, who never drank before; Sir Francis Head recommended to me, playfully, to get up a grievance, that I might have an excuse for paying him a visit. I think I will represent to his Excellency the dearness of books, and the cheapness of whiskey. I could not invent a worse grievance, either in earnest or in jest. Coleridge.-Hazlitt.-Lamb.-Of all our modern authors, Coleridge best understood the essential nature of women, and has said the truest and most beautiful things of our sex generally; and of all our modern authors, Hazlitt was most remarkable for his utter ig norance of women, generally and individually. Charles Lamb, of all the men I ever talked to, had the most kindly, the most compassionate, the most reverential feelings towards woman; but he did not, like Coleridge, set forth these feelings with elaborate eloquence -they came gushing out of his heart, and stammering from his tongue-clothed some times in the quaintest disguise of ironical abuse, and sometimes in words which made the tears spring to one's eyes. He seemed to understand us not as a poet, nor yet as a man of the world; but by the unerring instinct of the most loving and benevolent of hearts. When Coleridge said antithetically, "that it was the beauty of a woman's character to be characterless," I suppose it is as if he had said, "It is the beauty of the diamond to be colourless;" for he instances Ophelia and Desdemona; and though they are colourless in their pure, transparent simplicity, they are as far as possible from characterless, for in the very quality of being colourless consists the character. Speaking of Coleridge, reminds me that it was from Ludwig Tieck I first learned the death of this wonderful man; and as I, too, had "sat at the feet of Gamaliel, and heard his words," the news struck me with a solemn sorrow. I remember that Tieck, in announcing the death of Coleridge, said, in his impressive manner, "A great spirit has passed from the world, and the world knew him not." Sir Francis Head.-As an official representative, Sir Francis has not the advantage of the height, fine person, and military bearing of Sir John Colborne. He is a little man, with a neat, active figure, a small but intelligent head, grave and rather acute features; his bright blue eye is shrewd and quick, with an expression of mingled humour and benevolence, and his whole deportinent in the highest degree unaffected and pleasing. Dr. Johnson. Of a very great, and at the same time complex mind, we should be careful not to trust entirely to any one portrait, even though from the life, and of undoubted truth. Johnson, as he appears in Boswell, is, I think, the only perfectly individualised portrait I remember; and hence the various and often inconsistent effect it produces. One moment he is an object of awe, the next of ridicule: we love, we venerate him on this page-on the next we despise, we abhor him. Here he gives out oracles and lessons of wisdom, surpassing those of the sages of old; aud there We see him grunting over his favourite dish, and "trundling" the meat down his throat, like a Hottentot. But, in the end, such is the influence of truth, when we can have the whole of it, that we dismiss Johnson like a friend to whose disagreeable habits and peculiarities we had become accustomed, while his sterling virtues had won our respect and confidence. If I had seen Johnson once, I should probably have no impression but that made on my imagination by his fame and his austere wisdom, and should remain awestruck; at the second interview I might have disliked him. But Boswell has given me a friend, and I love the old fellow, though I cannot love his bull-dog manners, and worse than bull-dog prejudices. Sensibility an element of Wisdom.-" A man may be as much a fool from the want of sensibility as the want of sense." Theatricals at Buffalo.-In the evening I went to the theatre, to a private box, a luxury which I had not expected to find in this most democratical of cities. The theatre is small, of course, but very neat, and prettily decorated. They had an actress from New York starring it here for a few nights-the tallest, handsomest woman I ever saw on the stage, who looked over the head of her diminutive Romeo, or down upon him-the said Romeo being dressed in the costume of Othello, turban and all. When in the balcony, the rail did not reach up to Juliet's knees, and I was in perpetual horror lest she should topple down headlong. This would have been the more fatal, as she was the only one who knew anything of her part. The other actors and actresses favoured us with a sort of gabble, in which not only Shakspeare, but numbers, sense, and grammar, were equally put to confusion. Mercutio was an enormously corpulent man, with a red nose, who swaggered about, and filled up every hiatus of memory with a good round oath. The whole exhibition was so inexpressibly ludicrous, that I was forced to give way to fits of uncontrolable laughter— whereat my companions looked not well pleased. Nor was the audience less amusing than the dramatis personæ : the pit was filled by artisans of the lowest grade, and lake mariners sitting in their straw hats and shirt-sleeves-for few had either coats or waistcoats. They were most devoutly at tentive to the story in their own way, eating cakes, and drinking whiskey between the acts; and whenever anything especially pleased them, they uttered a loud whoop and halloo, which reverberated through the theatre, at the same time slapping their thighs and snapping their fingers. In their eyes, Peter and the nurse were evidently the hero and heroine of the piece, and never appeared without calling forth the most boisterous applause. The actor and actress had enriched the humour of Shakspeare by adding several Yankee witticisms and allusions, the exact import of which I could not comprehend; but they gave unqualified delight to the merry parterre. I did not wait for the second entertainment, having some fear that as the tragedy had proved a farce, the farce might prove a tragedy. WIT OF THE ANCIENTS. FROM THE ORIGINAL AUTHORS; WITH REFERENCES. (For the Mirror.) THALES used to say that the oldest of all things is God, for he is unborn; that the most beautiful of all things is the world, for it was made by God; that the greatest of all things is space, for it contains all things; that the swiftest of all things is thought, for it runs over all things; that the strongest of all things is necessity, for it conquers all; that the wisest of all things is time, for it discovers all. Diog. Laert. i. 35. When Philippus, a Roman orator, was pleading on a certain occasion, a witness was brought forward who was quite a dwarf. "May I question this witness ?" said he to the magistrate who presided.-"Yes," replied the magistrate, who was in a hurry, him be short."-" No fear," rejoined Philip. "for he is already very short."pus, De. Orat. ii. 60. "but let -Cic. A good repartee is related of Caius Sextius, who had but one eye. Appius, a man of wit, but of no great purity of morals, said to him, "I will sup with you to-night, for I see," he added, looking in Sextius's face, "that there is room for one."" You must have clean hands, however," retorted Sextius, "before you sit down."-Ibid. Thales, on a certain occasion, observed that death differed little from life. "And why do you not die then ?" asked one of his hearers. "Because it would make little difference," was the reply.Diog. Laert. i. 35. Thales being asked which was the elder of the two, night or day, "Night," replied he," by one day."-Diog, Laert. i. 36. Being asked whether a man could escape the knowledge of the gods when doing ill, "Not even," replied he, "when thinking ill." -Ibid. Et. Val. Max. vii. 2. Being asked by one who had committed adultery, whether he might swear that he had not committed it, "Is not perjury," replied he, "worse than adultery ?"—Ibid. Being asked what was most difficult, he said, "To know one's self."-Ibid. Being asked what was most easy, he said, "To give advice to another."— Ibid. Being asked what was most pleasant, he said, “For a man to obtain what he desires." -Ibid. Being asked what God is, he said, "That which has neither beginning nor end."-Ibid. Being asked what was the most extraor. dinary thing that he had seen, he said, " An old tyrant." [He meant that it was wonderful that tyrants were not assassinated before they reached old age. Ad generum Cereris sine code et vulnere pauej, Descendunt reges et sicca morte tyranni.-Juv. Ibid. Compare Phut. de Dam. Soc. et Conviv. Sap. Being asked what makes us bear affliction most easily, he said, "To see our enemies in greater affliction."—Ibid. Being asked how a man may lead the best life, he said, "By forbearing to do what he blames in other men."— Ibid. Being asked who might be considered happy, he said, " He who has good health, is at ease in his circumstances, and of an intelligent and cultivated mind."- Diog. Laert. i. 37, "Do not strive," said Thales to one of his friends, " to get riches unlawfully; and do not be ready to listen to accusations against those whom you have taken under your patronage."-Ibid. "Whatever treatment you have shown your parents," said he to another, " expect a like return from your children."—Ibid. He used also to say, that we should be as mindful of our friends in their absence as in their presence; and that we should not be anxious to adorn our person with dress, but our minds with wisdom.-Ibid. Aulus Sempronius was candidate for an office, and went, accompanied by his brother Marcus, to a certain Vargula, who had a vote. The brother saluted Vargula, and offered to embrace him, " Boy," cried Vargula, calling to a slave, "drive away the flies."-Cic. De Orat. ii. 60. 66 into every thing about the house, said of him Nero, having a thievish slave, who pried that he was the only servant in his family from whom nothing was either sealed or hidden. The same words might have been used of a good servant.-Cic. De Orat. ii. 61. Spurius Carrilius, in fighting for his country, had received a severe wound, which made him halt so much that he was unwilling to go abroad. "Do not shrink," said his mother," from showing yourself to your countrymen, for every step you take will remind them of what you deserve from them."-Ibid. When Scipio Africanus was adjusting a crown on his head at an entertainment, it burst several times. "No wonder," said Licinius Varus, "that it does not fit, for it is a great head that it has to cover.". [Magnum enim caput est.]-Ibid. Quintus Cicero, the brother of the orator, i was a man of diminutive stature. Cicero, seeing a gigantic half-length of him painted on a shield, remarked, "The half of my bro-. ther is greater than the whole."-Macrob. Sat. ii. 3. Vatinius, during the civil war, was elected consul, but was deprived of his office a few days afterwards. "The year of Vatinius,” observed Cicero, on his deposition, "has been an extraordinary one; for it has contained neither spring, summer, autumn, nor winter.” And on another occasion, when Vatinius: complained that Cicero had not visited him when he was sick, " I set out," said Cicero, |