certain degree, and the full meaning of the passage will be—' John is wise to a certain degree: Richard is wise beyond that degree'—or, perhaps—' John is wise: Richard is wise beyond that man.'—It is probable that this is nearly the form in which the comparison was originally expressed; subsequently the adjective coalesced with the word corresponding to beyond, by which the idea of excess was conveyed, the noun man was omitted as unnecessary; and in process of time, as the force of the comparative particle er became gradually obscure, the pronoun than would put on an adverbial appearance, and would thus retain its accusative form after this inflection was lost from the living pronoun. In common speech we still see the traces of the ellipse above supplied. Speaking familiarly, we say ' Richard is wiser than John is,' meaning 'than John is wise.'

The only other instance in which we use the word than is after other, and this seems to corroborate Grimm's assertion (III. 685), that this latter word is of the comparative form. The original meaning of the word other is second, which it still retains in the expression 'every other,' 'every other day' meaning every second day. Grimm says, 'it is evident that the thar, dar, ther, (Gothic) anthar, (old high German) andar, (Anglo-Saxon) other, is comparative, and identical with the tar of the older tongues ;'—but he gives very vague hints of the mode in which the meaning of these words can be reconciled to a comparative form. However, if we suppose the root of the word anthar, other, to be (as appears really the case) the cardinal number one— and attribute to the syllable ther, the meaning we have above shown to belong, in general, to the comparative er or ther—the result will represent, with equal truth, the ordinal second, or the common meaning of the word other. According to this view, a second man, or an other man is one-beyond, or one-besides the man first-mentioned, or besides those mentioned. We should, therefore, analyze the following sentence in this manner :—

12 3

No other than Achilles would have behaved with^uch cruelty.

1 2 3

Achilles behaved with cruelty; no one besides that (man) would have behaved with such.

The whole of the chapter on Comparison is a very remarkable one, and well worthy of attention; but the remainder does not fall within the immediate scope of these observations, which we cannot conclude better than in the words of our author's preface:—

'It is not to be supposed that all our views will prove correct, but in the very means taken to prove their errors, new paths will be discovered to the truth, the only aim of upright labours, and the only result whichwill long stand the test of criticism. What was most difficult to


us will appear child's play to our posterity, who will then apply themselves to new modes of analysis of which we have no idea, and will meet with difficulties where we thought all smoothed down.'

Art. VIII.—The Duchess of Berri in La Vendee; comprising a Narrative of her Adventures, with her Private Papers and Secret Correspondence. By General Dermoncourt, who arrested her Royal Highness at Nantes. London. 8vo. 1833.

'T A Vendee Et Madame,' of which this is the version, -L' appears to us a very amusing, and, in some respects, a curious publication. The account of the Duchess of Berri's mad crusade in France -is here related by one of her enemies—by the very officer who arrested her, and who was moreover remarkable for the activity and severity with which he crushed the insurrection of her followers; yet the narrative is, on the whole, so favourable to the Duchess, that one loses sight of the degrading catastrophe in which the affair ended; and the frailty of the mere woman is forgotten in the indefatigable constancy, the spritely courage, the generous fidelity to her friends, and the noble self-devotion of this—as in this work she appears—extraordinary heroine. The adventures of Charles II., or of Charles Edward, are not so romantic; nor were either of them called upon for so much personal exertion of body or mind as the Duchess. There are scenes in this strange drama as romantic and as heart-stirring as any in Waverley, and they are sketched with a simplicity and force which occasionally remind us of—because they are evidently copied from—the author of Waverley himself. We know not whether the General has employed the help of another pen—we have been told that he has only furnished his notes to a more experienced writer. Very likely. Who ever disputed the authenticity of Captain Crichton's Memoirs because it is known that Swift held the pen? How many people can tell a story vividly and powerfully, for one that can write it down without getting chilled and cramped! The old Captain could talk at his ease to the Dean across his own fireside; but had he undertaken to write himself, we should probably have had a dry skeleton before us, in place of the vigorous barbarian that Swift's masterly little tract exhibits. We can easily suppose that the present work may have been got up much in the same style. The account General Dermoncourt gives of himself would not lead one to suspect him of being of a literary turn, and certainly the literary portion of the work is very well done— too well, we think, to be altogether the production of a vieille moustache de la Revolution. But the facts are universally admitted

to to be correct; and the sentiments, whether traced in all their detail by his own hand or not, are at least adopted by him, and they do honour both to his heart and his head. General Dermoncourt exhibits, in this work, at least, a rare instance of the union of ultra-radical principles with a kind disposition—of a certain ferocity in the contest with an indulgent and gallant good-nature after it. We presume his book must be essentially true, because its tendency is certainly favourable to his opponents, and we very much doubt whether M. de Chateaubriand's elegant pen could have produced anything so likely to re-elevate the character of the Duchess of Berri in France, or even in Europe, as this unpretending, but forcible panegyric, from the lips of her captor! His description of himself will not prepare the reader to expect any partiality in favour of the Duchess or her cause.

'I was appointed to the command of the military sub-division at Nantes. At my time of life, when a man may speak of himself with the same freedom he would use in speaking of another, I may be allowed to say, that my appointment was a proof that ministers would no longer trifle with the insurgents of La Vendue. Forty-four years' service in Europe, in Asia, in America, and in Africa—the giant battles in which I have shared, and compared with which our battles of the present day are mere skirmishes, have made me careless of life, and the sword fit lightly to my hand. Moreover, my disgrace under the Restoration, during the existence of which I would not re-enter the service—the active part I took in the conspiracy of Belfort, in which I was near losing my head—and the promptitude with which I offered my services to the provisional government of July 1830, constituted a sure moral pledge to the government of the zeal with which / wovld smite the Chouans. I accordingly took my departure for Nantes.'—pp. 18, 19.

We shall not follow him through the able and interesting account which he gives of the Vendean war in general, and of the particular measures with which he endeavoured at first to repress, and, when it had broken out, to crush the insurrection. Our limits will only permit us to give a hasty sketch of the Duchess's personal adventures; but we must make one exception for a description of the Vendeau mode of warfare—not merely on account of the merit of the description, though that is considerable, but as a proof that nature is nature in the Boccage as in the Highlands. We believe the following description to be perfectly accurate, as regards La Vendee; but there is in the style of the narrative something that persuades us that the person who wrote it was familiar with the two celebrated ambush scenes in the Lady of the Lake and Waverley:—

'As for the army which you expect every instant to encounter, it vanishes like smoke, for in truth it has no existence.

• When

'When a day is fixed on to strike a blow—at daybreak or even during the night, the tocsin is sounded in the village designated as the point of union. The neighbouring villages reply in the same manner, and the villagers quit their cottages if it be in the night, or their ploughs if in the day, throwing upon their shoulder the gun which they scarcely ever quit. Having stuffed their belt with cartridges, they tie their handkerchief round a broad-brimmed hat which shades their sun-burnt countenance; stop at their church to utter a short prayer; then, inspired with a two-fold faith, in God and in the justice of their cause, they wend their way from all parts of the country to the common centre. Their chiefs soon arrive, who acquaint them with the cause of their being assembled; and if the object be to attack some patriot column, these chiefs state the road which the column will pursue, and the hour it will pass. Then, when this information is well understood by all, the chief in command gives them the plan of the battle in the following words :—*' Eparpillez vou$, mes gars!" (" Scatter yourselves, my boys !") Immediately each breaks, not from the ranks, but from the group, marches off his own way, proceeds onward with precaution and in silence, and in a short time every tree, every bush, every tuft of furze bordering either side of the high road, conceals a peasant with a gun in one hand and supporting himself with the other, crouched like a wild beast, without motion and scarcely breathing.

'Meanwhile, the patriot column, uneasy at the thought of some unknown danger, advances towards the defile, preceded by scouts, who pass without seeing, touch without feeling, and are allowed to go by scathless. But the moment the detachment is in the middle of the pass, jammed in between two sloping banks, as if it were in an immense rut, and unable to deploy either to the right or to the left, a cry—sometimes an imitation of that of an owl—issues from one extremity, and is repeated along the whole line of ambuscade. This indicates that each is at his post. A human cry succeeds, one of war and of death. In an instant each bush, each tuft of furze, glares with a sudden flash, and a shower of balls strike whole files of soldiers to the earth, without their being able to perceive the enemies who slaughter them. The dead and wounded lie piled upon each other on the road; and if the column is not thrown into disorder, and the voices of the officers are heard above the firing—if, in short, the troops attempt to grapple body to body with their assailants, who strike without showing themselves—if they climb the slope like a glacis, and scale the hedge like a wall, the peasants have already had time to retire behind a second inclosure, whence the invisible firing recommences as murderous as before. Should this second hedge be stormed in the same manner, ten, twenty, nay a hundred similar intrenchments offer successive shelters to this destructive retreat: for the country is thus divided for the-security of the children of the soil, which seems to show a maternal solicitude for their preservation, by offering them a shelter everywhere, and their enemies everywhere a grave.'—p. 29-83.' But

But we must return to the Duchess. On the 29th May, 1832, she arrived, in the Carlo Alberto steamer, off Marseilles. It had been previously arranged that on that night an insurrectionary movement was to be made in that city. It blew hard—the sea was high—an attempt to laud on the coast would expose the vessel to great danger. The captain nevertheless offered to run the risk; but this the Duchess would by no means hear of—she would risk as little as possible any one but herself—and insisted that a boat might be lowered down, in which she alone would attempt a landing. For a considerable time the captain refused to comply—he remonstrated on the great personal danger— 'but it is,' says General Dermoncourt, 'a peculiarity in the Duchess's character to adhere more strongly to her resolutions when any opposition is offered to them.' She moreover gave reasons for her determination, which she considered as 'sacred.' She had herself fixed the hour for the insurrection, and she would not be deterred, by any personal danger, from being at the appointed place and hour to share that of the friends and followers of her son. The captain was forced to submit—the boat was lowered—the Duchess, with M. de Menars and General de Bourmont, entered it.

'It was by a miracle that so slight a vessel was able, during three hours, to resist so heavy a sea. The Duchess, on this occasion, was what she always is in real danger—calm, and almost gay. She is one of those frail, delicate beings whom a breath would be supposed to have power to bend, and yet who only enjoy existence with a tempest either over their head or in their bosom.'—pp. 6S, 69.

At length the three adventurous passengers landed on the coast as evening had set in. Not daring to enter any house, they resolved to pass the night where they were. The Duchess, having wrapped herself in a cloak, lay down under the shelter of a rock, and fell asleep, while M. de Miliars and General Bourmont kept watch over her till daylight.

The first glance which the twilight had allowed them to cast upon the city, satisfied the Duchess of Berri that her instructions had been followed. The white Hag had replaced the tricolor upon the church of St. Laurent, and the alarm-bell, whose deep tones escaped from the old church, vibrated through the air. At eight o'clock they heard the drums beating to arms in every part of the city. This continued till eleven, without any report of fire-arms being mingled with it; then all was again silent: but the illomened tricolored flag bad already resumed its place on the tower of St. Laurent. It required almost the exertion of the manual strength of the two gentlemen to prevent the Duchess from entering Marseilles. They, however, succeeded in prevailing upon her to

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