thoughts of him and his particular taste, the ungracious salutation would be, "It is so strange you will wear flounces; I cannot endure them, and they do not become you.' Well, I gave James Thompson," the coxcomb" as Harry called him, leave to understand that I was no more "at home" to him; and I stayed away from all places of amusement to which Harry would not or could not go (which former I at last discovered was most frequently the case); and I did treat Charles Wood more coolly than my conscience approved, for nature gave him a good, kind heart, if she did not make him a genius; and I left off flounces, which my tasty little dressmaker thought "such a pity;" and I braided my hair, which all the time cried out against the stiff bands put on the curly locks; and, in short, for six months I made a fool of myself, by giving way to all my exacting lover's whims. It makes me shudder when I think of what had been my fate if I had married him—I should have died a very martyr long before this day. I knew that on most subjects Harry's opinion was worth having, his judgment being sound, so I resolved to try what might be done on this point, which concerned our happiness so much. By degrees I went back to my old habits, saying never a word to him about the test I was intending to put him to. Perhaps you would have proceeded differently; you might have chosen to urge him not to distress himself about affairs far too trifling for his interference, about which no woman likes the dictation, even of a favored lover. But such a course was not the one for me; and, in the end, a person acting on other reasoning than mine probably would have arrived at the climax I did. Wherever among my old friends I chose to go I went, without consulting the pleasure of his highness, who had led me about as a child quite long enough. What books I liked I read, considering my judgment in such a matter quite as good as his own. I dressed in what fashion I pleased, and wore iny hair in the style nature intended. At one And what of George Stephenson? Ha! determined stroke, I broke the thread-like ha! I always laugh when I think of him chains, which, from their very fineness, had do you, dear? What did we think of him, been more galling than links of iron. I till we discovered one day, much to our could read Harry's thoughts by his undisguised amazement, that he was engaged to us both? look of astonishment; and it was with anx-I will leave the echo to answer what! Never iety, I do confess, that I awaited the result; shall I forget what that tabula presentedfor all this time I loved him well, though my we being our own spectators when, with attachment was not of a nature so selfish as head resting on my knee in the old summerwas his love for me. One day I sent him a house, you, with trembling lips, told me of note, with a purse which I had knitted for that delightful youth, and of your future him, requesting him to accompany me in the prospects; and how, when you approached evening. There was to be a horseback party the interesting climax, I chimed in and told on the lake-shore. Much astonished was I my story too; and how, instead of becoming on the return of the messenger he brought sworn foes from that hour, two more loving back an answer to my note, with the rejected and light-hearted beings seldom took pen in gift! Harry declined the ride, saying he had haud than we, when we wrote that joint a severe headache (well might his head ache, letter which saved George from the fate of when it contained a brain capable of conceiv-bigamists. Well, we must agree that there ing such a note!) After some preliminaries, Harry proceeded to tell me that my gifts were altogether unacceptable, so long as my "heart continued not right towards him; that I grieved him beyond all expression by the heartlessness I had exhibited in my disregard of all his wishes and opinions. This strange note ended by begging that I would not join the party that night; he would visit me in the evening, and receive from me then any explanation I might be ready to make. In ten minutes more, the messenger was on his way back to Harry Kirkland's office, bearing with him a neat package, which contained that young man's notes, miniature, gifts, &c., with an assurance, which I wrote with a most steady hand, that my evening ride would doubtless prove vastly agreeable; and that, as I had no apologies to offer or explanation to make, he need not be under the inconvenience of seeking me again at home, or elsewhere. I will not speak of the manner in which that afternoon passed away after I had returned Harry's second note unanswered, unopened; nor what thoughts were busy in my mind; nor what feelings filled my heart. But I will tell you this at tea-time, when father came home, he did not reject his daughter's kiss, nor the purse either; and now it is snugly resting in the bottom of his pocket, well filled, as I hope it may ever be. That moonlight ride, you remember it; perhaps you remember, also, that there was no gayer mortal among you than a certain Florence Cleveland. She may not have slept quite soundly that night, but it was not very long that Harry Kirkland's image disturbed her dreams. He was proud as I, doubtless thought himself the abused one; and I can readily believe that many times since he has blessed the day that saved him from marrying me. You know how suddenly Harry moved to New York that fall, and also how you wondered, in your ignorance, that we did not correspond! was never a more fascinating youth than he, if only to save ourselves from the obloquy of falling in love with such a rogue. Who'd have thought it? Those very stories of his early life and sorrows, which drew such earnest tears from my eyes, I suppose you, too, have wept as he told them. Ah me! Then there was the poet, Ernest Ward. I tolerated him, because his father was a college friend of my father, who wished us always to show the boy kindness, and make him feel that he was not quite without friends in the world. But you cannot believe that I loved him. Poor fellow, he is dead now. A long life seemed never to me to be his heritage; the fact is, he did not possess sufficient energy to keep him alive. And he was eternally railing against fate and his poverty - themes which no man must dwell on who wishes to gain favor in my eyes. His talents were not of that order which commands the ear of the public, and yet he seemed to think so, and in that thought centred his hope. There was nothing practical about Ernest. He belonged to that miserable class of dreamers (how many of them we see around us!) who are aptly described as having lost their way in the great roads of life as having groped blindly past the stations they were designed to fill. Ernest had a good deal of fancy and ingenuity, more than should have been lavished on newspaper enigmas and verses descriptive of the color of my hair and eyes; he might have made a capital designer and manufacturer of toys. He was made, I am convinced, for some such purpose, and might have excelled in a kindred art; but, least of all, you will acknowledge, was Ernest Ward fitted to be iny husband; and well for us was it, that if he did not know it, I did. the outward man, so I will not now speak of those great black eyes of his, which seem to pierce you through and through, as though they would know all your secret thoughts, which, as far as regarded him, could be only thoughts of admiration and respect. Neither will I now refer to that glorious voice, and the manly form that was never yet bent with the weight of a mean or sordid thoughtthat could not stoop to anything low or ignoble. Now, when I tell you that Ned hired himself to a sea-captain, whom his father has known from boyhood, for three years, that his wages, excepting a trifle, have been paid at Ned's request into his father's hands, to aid the old man in his embarrassment, you will certainly concur with me in thinking that my Edward Graham is the most noble and generous youth in the whole world! Only a week before his departure we made our arrangement; for before that time Ned had never spoken to me of love. I never heard of his broaching the subject to any one else did you? In three years he is coming back again by that time we shall have become settled, and have learned to love our new home. What farmers we shall be! Then Ned will join us in Wisconsin; and who says we shall not be a happy family there? and that Florence will not prove quite tractable and human, although people have dared and presumed to call her a "desperate flirt?" So, my dearest, I have given you a true history of my coquetting (?) life, with the exception of the tragedies you are acquainted with already. Frank Blake died, it is true, but never for a moment have I reproached myself with his death. He was "found drowned," so the verdict of the coroner's jury ran; but have none others been found drowned than men who were Last of all of whom I will speak is Edward in love? I am not jesting or speaking lightly Graham; and thus I fancy I hear him la- now. The subject is too fearful to jest about. mented by some whom, I would say, I am not Could they who have seemed to delight in callsorry to have left behind me -"A fine fellow, ing me little better than a murderess, but know but driven to desperation and to sea, by that what bitter, bitter hours I have spent writhworthless flirt, Florence Cleveland.' Now ing under their scorpion tongues, they would, will I give you an opportunity, ma chere, to I think, be satisfied. I tell you again, my laugh in your sleeve, if you will, for, beyond friend, Frank never treated me more kindly, the shadow of a doubt, I am engaged to this or considerately, or justly, than he did that same Edward, and, what is more, I mean to day when I told him I could not love him as marry him. How shall I explain conduct he deserved to be loved, though I must ever that will appear strange as this to you? You bear towards him the utmost respect, the know Ned almost as well as I do. As we kindliest feelings. And when Tom Harding have both known him from our childhood, it made that incident a theme for newspaper would be idle in me to speak of his fine, gossip, I wondered the right hand that dared noble, generous character, and of his sensible-write such things was not blasted. You know ness which is a far rarer component of the human character than many people seem to imagine. Our engagement was, I confess, an altogether unanticipated thing to me, though there was always a lingering thought in my mind that Ned approached a little nearer my standard of manly perfection than any suitor I ever had. You and I have often admired afterwards I went to Frank's home -to his widowed mother. She, too, turned in horror from ine, when I told her who I was, and why I had come so far from my home in search of her. Go to her now, my friend, and she will tell you that she attaches to me no blame. Even the agonized, heartbroken mother believed me, when I told her me. all that had transpired between her son and She knows, as you know, and as I know, that I never won the affections of her son intentionally, for the mean purpose of adding one more name to my list of conquests. ful; they had no power to frighten honesthearted, noble Ned Graham! Hereafter, when you see a woman whose conduct is (as mine has been till now) to you quite unexplainable, and full of mystery, listen, dear friend, and bid those around you listen, a little more earnestly to the voice of human love and Christian charity; and, trust me, the number of those who have the power to act long in direct opposition to the better impulses of woman's nature is surprisingly small. If your trust continues in me still unshaken, as in the days gone by (I know it does that you have not seriously doubted me ever), come ere long to Wisconsin, and I will insure you a husband of the "free soil," who shall bear as little resemblance to our faithless George as my Edward does, and a home in the wilderness, the glorious wilderness. God bless you, love, good-by And of that other, whose name I will not write be who died in the convict's cell had I aught to do with that man's crimes? The brutish madness with which he heard my refusal of his suit, his dreadful downward course afterwards; 0, can unreturned love be the instigator of such crimes? Had he not been a reckless youth ever; disliked of all the village boys, whose friendship even his wealth and good family could not buy for him? If I would not wed a villain such as he, where rests the blame? O, surely, not with me! I did not make that festering, sinful heart of his, nor did I lure him on to hope that I would ever be his wife. If love is heaven, what were life with such a man? I have not yet obeyed the call of my friend I cannot write more. "I am not what I have to the far West, now her happy home. Do been." Yet the sun shines brightly still, as you think it advisable for me to place myself in my childhood, and the future is full of in the hands of such a -but first let me hope. If I have disproved that charge of ask you, do you think Florence Cleveland was folly and heartlessness laid against me, it is a coquette? And, if so, is a coquette a well; nevertheless, I cannot think my pro- heathen? And, is this once prolific topic ceedings have been so very criminal, or sin-yet exhausted? On the Pathology and Treatment of Acute Rheumatism. By James Alderson, M. D., F. R. S., Senior Physician of St. Mary's Hospital, &c. The object of these lectures, delivered before the College of Physicians, is to trace the general origin of rheumatism to inflammation; its specific character- the affection of the joints, the rapid change from one part to another, and the occasional extension of the disease to vital organsto the peculiar condition of the blood in inflammation, and the consequent difficulty it encounters in working its way through the vessels of the joints. The views are enforced by a variety of facts, chemical, pathological, and anatomical; and Dr. Alderson, having exhausted his proofs, proceeds to apply his theory to the treatment of disease; which, however, involves no specific plan. It is based upon the theory; and does not greatly differ from the best usual treatment, beyond rendering reasons for it, and so making treatment the result of philosophy rather than of experiment. - Spectator. Traits of American-Indian Life and Character. By a Fur-Trader. A set of sketches drawn from the life-long experience of an old servant of the Hudson's Bay Company, whose employment has chiefly though not wholly lain beyond the Rocky Mountains. The incidents of fur-trading, Indian character, Indian life, and Indian treachery and massacre -the last by no means the least-form the substance of the book. The style is a little forced, in the manner of provincial writers unwilling to trust to their subject, and thinking they can im Manuel Pereira; or the Sovereign Rule of South Carolina. With Views of Southern Laws, Life, and Hospitality. By F. C. Adams. Written in Charleston, South Carolina. Manuel Pereira is the name of a free colored seaman, serving on board a British ship, who was imprisoned by the authorities of Charleston, South Carolina. This volume is a series of "sketches" upon the subject; in which nautical scenes, local persons, and local politics, or prej udices, it may be, predominate over the actual issue raised by the name. There is too much the appearance and manner of fiction without the real and life-like character of Uncle Tom's Cabin. The Patentee's Manual; being a Treatise on the Law and Practice of Letters Patent, especially intended for the use of Patentees and Inventors By James Johnson, Esq., of the Middle Temple; and J. Henry Johnson, Solicitor and Patent Agent, Lincoln's Inn Fields and Glasgow. A popular account of the law of patents, intended as a manual for inventors; the general principles of the law being illustrated by examples from recorded cases. It is a plain, wellarranged exposition; and enters perhaps more fully than usual into the important question of the specification. - Spectator. From the Press. A DAY WITH CHARLES FOX. THE question has been often asked, why a man of Fox's great talents and high connections was not more successful in his political career? The answer to that inquiry is to be found in the fact that his modes of life, and protracted dissipation, created strong prejudices against him amongst the people at large. To know why he failed as a statesman, we must know how he lived as a man; and, as the work before us is deficient in artistic form and graphic felicity, we will take upon ourselves the task of painting the life of Charles Fox for a day from the materials in these volumes, and those in our own possession. Our picture will not be a fancy one; no facts or statements shall be made which we cannot authenticate. We must of course suppose that we have received a cloak of invisibility while we exercise the privileges of Asmodeus for A DAY WITH CHARLES FOX. With what an easy, indolent air he sips his chocolate, while he glances over some piece of French trash, in which rumors, bon mots, scandals about the Faubourg St. Germain, and pedantry from the pays Latin are jumbled together in the fricassée style of French literature! There is a good-natured look of affability about our statesman that conciliates goodwill; and yet that compressed mouth and beetling brow, with its occasional heavy frown, tell of one whose temper can be wrathful, and whose soul can be impassioned with the fre of genius. The carelessness of the whole man, as seen in his character, is one of the most true and significant signs of his nature. Here is no formal bookcase with variorum classics and standard essayists. His books are as miscel laneous as his acquaintances, and, like his other friends, range from good to bad. A stray volume of Tacitus is beside the last Italian opera the new "Racing Calendar" is carelessly tossed over his old Eton copy of Thucydides. His valet brings in more letters About the noon of a summer's day (circa to him, in addition to the unopened pile al1787-8), sauntering along that "sweet shady ready on the table, and we can see that the side of Pall-mall" sung of by Captain Morris, sight of all that he has to read daunts the the fancy seizes us to visit Mr. Fox, whose man of ease. The variety of his life is attested orations we have read with delight, of whose by the superscriptions of his letters. Here is marvellous talents we have heard such won- the formal clerkly hand of a money-lending ders. Accordingly, we proceed to one of the usurer. There is a trumpery letter from a innumerable residences that he occupied dur- tuft-hunting democrat, proud of writing "My ing the vicissitudes of his career. We find dear Sir" to the nephew of the Duke of him living in second-rate lodgings, in the Richmond. He takes up a long packet with neighborhood of St. James' street, and the "E. B." in the corner. It is a prolix MS., mediocrity of his abode strikes us as contrast-written in a tremulous, hurried hand, with ing with the splendor of his fame. Ascend- copious interlineations. But the morning is ing to his sitting-room, we are face to face with a great historical character, and our breath is in suspense while with eager curiosity we gaze in his retirement upon the idolized hero of Party Worship. too oppressive to begin with poring over politics, and that dirty vile scrawl on yon crumpled paper, with news about" Seagull"* from the famed Sam Chifney, arrests his eyes. The political MS. is crumpled into a drawer, and, Lounging over his late breakfast sits one while our statesman, with something like whose personal appearance alone would rivet bustling activity, makes fresh notes in his betthe attention. His figure in robust manhood ting-book, there is ushered in one of his shows none of those traces of dissipation that dearest friends. It is Fitzpatrick, a dandy of we might have expected from the life of a rois- the eighteenth century, an Irish humorist terer. His swarthy complexion recalls to us with some Parisian grace, and something of Niger;" and the thick and a military carriage. He is prematurely bagbushy eyebrows, with something of a satur-gard and careworn from the campaigns of nine aspect, strangely blended with the signs of a passionate temperament, remind us of his Stuart blood through the Lennox family.* There is the " Charley Fox" of White's and Almack's - the "Mr. Fox" of aristocratic whig coteries- the "Fox" of history's page! his nickname pleasure, and his conversation, neither edifying nor instructive, is vastly amusing. And while the two friends are confidentially discuss sing of their common affairs, for they are deep in each other's secrets, pleasant noise of * "Seagull" won the Oatlands at Ascot, and in * His mother was Lady Georgina Caroline Len- stakes (then smaller than now) won close on nox, eldest daughter of the second Duke of Rich- 1,6001. He easily beat the Prince of Wales' mond. Lord Holland (p. 4, vol. i.) talks of the Escape" at Ascot, two miles for five hundred sensation at court from a duke's daughter marry-guineas, vast sums depending on the match. Sam ing a commoner not of illustrious family, but he Chifney used to say, "Mr. Fox was a grand man, omits to state that the marriage was an elopement. and know'd 'osses very well." Lord Holland Lady Caroline Fox was great-granddaughter of thinks it beneath "the dignity of history" to deKing Charles II. scribe his uncle's speculations on the turf. laughter is heard on the stairs, and the swarthy face of Fox is gladdened as his dear, sprightly Jack Townshend comes in along with the "Hare of many friends." What jokes! what mirth! what capital sayings sparkle, flash, and fly about that little shabby drawing-room! It is brilliant with the hues of fancy and humor. And Fox himselfwith what an easy, delighted air he enjoys the banter and good-humor of his companions! The names of the gifted and the beautiful are mentioned, and Fox tears open his invitations to the various scenes of gayety and joy where his presence is persuasively bidden in the autographs of the fashionable rulers of the age. Well, our statesman leads a pleasant life, and who would say that politics are a grave pursuit? Ay, or a great one? tion at the great lion of the day. They scrutinize his careless, easy dress, and note his blue and buff costume. They see his face, unclouded with care, and hear his laugh, while he tells light, gay anecdotes to the brilliant occupants of the chariot. Here come Lady Lade and her eternal ponies; and the duchess looks grave, and Fox bites his lips. And here comes the Countess of Clermont along with Lady William Gordon, telling of life at Paris and Marie Antoinette. There is a gentleman riding near, and, as he salutes Charles Fox, the Duchess of Devonshire, with her sprightly vivacity, quotes the line of the "Rolliad" The comely Villiers with his flaxen locks.* Here comes the brilliant Colonel St. Leger, a star of fashion, and idol of the fair. He is welcomed with the sweetest smiles by the Duchess of Devonshire. But the smile vanishes as St. Leger announces that the Duchess of Rutland, the brightest ornament of the Pittite female aristocracy, is driving thither in her pony carriage. There they are, the two rival beauties of the day Devonshire excelling in fascination, and Rutland unrivalled in grace Yet stay! We must see more of the life of this man of ease. The day is wearing on, and he saunters out to Brookes'. Every hand is put out to welcome him, and he is evidently the favorite of the club. Around him are clustered the Fitzroys, and the Keppels, and the St. Johns. How glad he is to see George Byng, and with what warmth he greets that delicate, slender young man — -the first a daughter of the house of Spencer, the new member for Northumberland a man and inheriting much of the versatile talent of of brilliant promise-Charles Gray! Every her race; the second a Somerset, with the one is glad to see him, and he has a word for blood of the Plantagenets in her veins. Both all. He is the king of his company, until a equal in the amount of admiration which new arrival comes, and with courteous em- followed them, but Devonshire decidedly carpressement the great party leader acknowledges rying the palm in popularity, and the other the presence of George, Prince of Wales. achieving the victory in power. What a They were early this morning in each other's stately air has Rutland as she proudly sweeps company before, and the prince's face betrays-by! Fresh from her vice-regal throne, she what Fox's countenance does not show that seems to have acquired more imposing dignia night of joy had been succeeded by the head- ty. And she smiles with flattered pride as ache of repentance. And now the prince and she thinks of the lines in which Fox anFox retire to a private room, where we must nounced her conquest when she was Marnot intrude on the secret plottings in which chioness of Granby: the vanity of court life and the passions of a political chieftain are commingled. But soon the secret council is at an end, and, after a fresh ambuscade has been plotted against Mr. Pitt, the prince and Fox emerge in high spirits, and the prince gayly challenges Lord Derby to a game of billiards, while Fox mounts his horse and goes to the Park. How the crowd look after him! How all the idlers regard his well-known face! See him beside the chariot yonder! Who could think that this was a man deep in state affairs, while he eagerly talks gossip and prattles badinage to the delighted ears of those lovely sisters, the Duchess of Devonshire and Lady Duncannon? Yes! He has made them happy. He certainly will join the coalition water-party up to Richmond. What a gay, joyous scene it is to-day, and what a blaze of fashion is in the Park! All eyes look towards Fox, as he continues to loiter by the side of the Duchess of Devonshire's chariot. See how admiring groups of provincials are gazing with admira Ye meteors, who with mad career Have roved through Fashion's atmosphere, And all creation hails the sun.† The Hon. John Charles Villiers, a great friend of the Prince of Wales, father of the present Earl of Clarendon. + See "The Meteor, the Comet, and the Sun," from Mr. Fox's pen, written in 1781, in honor of the Marchioness of Granby. It is in these lines occur epicenian Damer, For John scarce knows which sex can claim her. These lines are not printed in the memoirs of Fox under review. |