might be attended with unpleasant if not dangerous consequences. But I will call on Mr. Parton; a sedative will doubtless afford some relief. Tooth-ache is somewhat prevalent just now."

this vice, which is frequently made to do duty for a virtue! We often flatter ourselves we act from principle, and despise the one who shall be only suspected to act on another basis, when at the same time, did we search diligently, we might find ourselves necessitated to confess (inaudibly to the world perhaps) that pride is the strongest promoter and sustainer in our socalled works of principle. Whether this may be ever true, and how often and how far, each can answer for one and no more; in my own affair I have candidly confessed its agency, and fear not in this case to be accused of deceit.

To return to my narrative; which I fear is rather prosy. I became at length involved in difficulties; partly through the knavery of others-partly through my own neglect. I knew not which way to turn to extricate myself, and there were none in whom I could place the necessary confidence but the friend I had chosen to bear my burden rather than consult. The ultimate consequence was, incarceration for debt. My affairs were in almost remediless confusion; and with none but creditors interested in their arrangement, I had but slender hopes of speedy liberation. Not long, however, did I pine in hopeless captivity-not long was liberty denied me; though by what, or whose agency my liberation was accomplished, I tried in vain to discover. An accident at length revealed that it was no other than that of my shunned and despised friend. I stayed not to inquire if pride might counsel or oppose the act, but hastened to his residence; where, though unable to give utter

Years passed: my friend's tooth, or what is more to the purpose, the pain, had taken a polite departure; but I could not reinstate him in the honours he had once worn in my estimation. He was still the kind friend, and experience and knowledge of the world had qualified him for a prudent and able adviser; but yet I could not forget the puerility (as it seemed to me) of his behaviour in that unlucky, mal apropos visit during his fit of mal a la dent, as our continental neighbours call it. Subsequent occurrences might reasonably have justified my friend in doubting my attachment, or at least suspecting the sincerity of my professions, and their disinterestedness; nor were there wanting in this more than the thousand and one cases of daily occurrence kind-intentioned and amiably-disposed persons to throw out sundry hints to my disadvantage; and if they were found insufficient to pour into his ear, old saws of "the rarity of true friendship," volunteering at the same time a full and particular description of the certain marks whereby to know the person capable of this exalted virtue, none of which, you may be sure, pertained in the slightest degree to me. Then came a descant on hypocrisy and selfseeking intimates, who called themselves friends, &c. For myself I was too much aware, and it may be, too much ashamed of the paltry cause of my own altered feelings to enter upon an in-ance to my gratitude, I learned that one may terview; and though I neither had confided, nor would confide their nature to another, hardly even own it to myself, I yet dared not to hope I had escaped rendering it apparent in my conduct. Thus was I tempted to withdraw myself from my friend when my presence alone would have gone farther to refute the accusations levelled against me, and done more towards frustrating the malicious insinuations of my enemies, than the most elaborate oration of Cicero himself.

Perseverance does much: it made the sluggish tortoise victor over the nimble-footed hare; it has worn channels in stones, and to harder substances imparted a brilliant polish to their otherwise rough and rugged surfaces. Vices may be corrected, and oh! if wrongly directed, too surely even good habits are eradicated by this same perseverance, which made the stuttering Demosthenes a fluent orator, and joined with a softer passion as some declare, Quentin Malsys, the blacksmith, a painter. What marvel, then, if it estranged me from my friend, and my friend from me? I bitterly

lamented this in secret; but scorned to acknowledge publicly, by word or look, that I noticed the matter. In the meantime his affairs became flourishing; mine the reverse: and this widened the breach, as pride then forbade the smallest approach on my part towards reconciliation.

Pride, ah! how many of our actions-aye, even of our best ones, may be attributable to

bear with fortitude the diminution of fortune; with forbearance the comparative contempt of a valued friend; liberate that friend from the prison where his own follies had placed him; conceal the deed, lest it might wound his vanity, and yet be unable to bear the simple pain of toothache with tolerable patience! Truly the boils and blains of the patient Job were not his least inflictions, nor to be forgotten in his catalogue of sufferings. Those who think otherwise let them woo and win a few days of tooth-ache, and then candidly give their opinion.

MY HEART IS SAD.
(Song.)

My heart is sad, I am oppress'd-
Oh! sing the song I love;
Perchance 't will soothe my soul to rest,
And darkest thoughts remove.

My heart is sad to thee I turn;

Thou wilt my burthen share;
When dimly did life's taper burn,
It brighten'd 'neath thy care.

My heart is sad, oh sing to me;

Yea, bid my sorrows cease;
Oft hath my spirit found with thee
Earth still hath left its peace.
CLARA PAYNE,

LITERATURE.

EVENINGS AT HADDON-HALL. Edited by the Baroness de Calabrella. (Colburn.)-We are late in noticing this work, for it belongs to the class of gorgeous Christmas volumes; we cannot, however, allow it to pass without a word of introduction to our readers. To say that the numerous illustrations with which it is em

bellished are from designs by George Cattermole is alone an earnest of its attractions to the lover of art. As may be supposed by those who know his style, they nearly all refer to feudal scenes and by-gone times; for Cattermole always seems to us the Sir Walter Scott of the pencil. The prose and verse, explanatory of the engravings, are by various hands; though strung together by a slight, but ingenious plan, novel in its construction, and which does credit to the taste and talent of the Baroness de Calabrella. The "getting up" is very beautiful, and the binding both rich and chaste. We have only space to extract a few lines from a charming poem, of several pages, by Anna Savage. It is a "Romance of Venice," in verse; and the following serenade which occurs appears to us peculiarly well adapted to music:

"'Tis midnight's charmèd hour,
And every folded flower

Weepeth in sorrow that sweet Day hath flown:
Softly she sunk to rest

Lulled on Night's quiet breast,

And o'er her smiles her ebon hair is thrown.

"The hours pass slowly by

With pinions noiselessly;

On to the curtained East they sadly move,
As if they feared to break
Her slumber, or awake

The listening Echo of my whisper'd love.

"They wait for thee, sweet one;
For thy dear smile alone
Illumes my dreary path o'er Life's dark sea:
Rise, in thy beauty rise,

Star of these southern skies,
For weary is my way, love, without thee!"

SCRIPTURAL MUSINGS; by Augusta M. Wicks. (Seeley).-This is a work which reflects great credit on a young authoress. It displays a thorough knowledge of the Scriptures, a fervid piety, and great enthusiasm in the cause of religion.

Heavisides belong to this class) to copy-involuntarily, no doubt-the style, both in thought and expression, of the authors they most admire. The really great poet must interpret the language of nature for himself.

THE PALACE OF FANTASY; 'or, The Bard's Imagery: with other Poems. By J. S. Hardy. (Smith, Elder, & Co.)-A volume of a more ambitious aim than the last, though displaying, as we think, less genius. Still it would less of novelty than is demanded now sufficed to have been an acceptable collection in times when

content the reader.

DER STELLVERTRETER (The Proxy), By Emelie F. Carlen.-This is another novel from the practised pen of the authoress of "The Rose of Tisleton." We cannot say that it is equal in power or execution to many of hers; the plot is old and hacknied, the characters fac-similies of those we have before encountered in her works. The petty, tyrannical father; the affectionate, kind-hearted, gentle mother; the amiable and lovely daughter; the faultless lover--at least such he is meant to be, although we should beg leave to call him exigéant and egotistical-and all the supernumeraries who fill up the various tableaux, are old familiar portraits, seen in a different light, and with fresh back-grounds. This is, however, a fault by no means peculiar to this authoress we could name many of our own compatriots, who have written much, in whose works it is quite as evident as here; perhaps from thought running always in one channel, and, if we may use the metaphor, always using the same lay-figures without other alteration than a mere change of drapery and attitude.

:

The plot is simply this: Two brothers fall in love with one lady: the elder wins her hand, the younger her heart; and this latter flies his country, and is heard of no more until the commencement of the story, when we find the elder reduced, by unlucky speculations, to actual poverty, and inhabiting, with his wife and child, a miserable lodging in a back street. A letter arrives, for which they have not money to pay, but which is generously paid for by a stranger, who sees the distress of poor Frau von Spalden, at the post-office, informing them of the death of Rudolph V. Spalden, who had amassed an immense fortune in the East, and of the contents of his will, by which he bequeaths an annuity to SONGS OF THE HEART; THE MEETING OF his brother, and the residue of his property to a THE MINSTRELS; AND MISCELLANEOUS stranger who saved his life in a tiger hunt, upon POEMS. By Edward Marsh Heavisides. (Simp-condition that he weds Augusta V. Spalden; but kin, Marshall, & Co.)-A volume containing many charming poems, and richer even in promise than performance. We would advise the author to trust to the powers of his own mind and own observation. It is the fault of nearly all young poets (though we know not if Mr.

should he refuse, he forfeits the half of it; while, should she refuse, she forfeits the whole. The letter farther announces the arrival of the cousin of the heir, who brings a portrait of the fortunate man, and appears as his proxy. Constantine Sterner shortly makes his appearance, and pre

throne Henri III., a character composed of jarring qualities. One of the greatest merits of an historical romance writer, in our humble opinion, is so to give the colouring of the times as to render it impossible for us to mistake the epoch in which the action is supposed to pass. This merit Mons. Dumas possesses in a very extraordinary and transcendent degree; all the scenes in his historical novels bear in them as it were the stamp of their age.

sents Augusta with the portrait of a very handsome young man, on whose account he makes her many flattering speeches, and requests her miniature in return. Augusta, with the usual perversity of heroines, throws the picture aside, and falls in love with the far handsomer cousin; and he, forgetful of his character of proxy, plays the lover in such good earnest that the father, who is resolved, come what may, that his child shall fulfil the conditions of her uncle's will, forbids the proxy the house. He quietly By a sly device of his favourite, St. Luc, Henri obeys; the heir appears; Augusta is threatened, is awakened from sleep, and reminded by, as be scolded, and abused by her father, entreated by imagines, a supernatural voice, of some of the her mother, and persecuted by her lover; and many acts which lie heavy on his conscience. Constantine looks coolly on; until satisfied that The terror-stricken monarch hopes to appease she loves him for himself alone, and is worthy (!!) offended Heaven by various bodily mortificaof his affection, he declares himself to be the tions, and begins not only to strike himself with rightful heir, and the other merely a counterfeit. a "cat-o'-nine-tails" of discipline, but commands There are several underplots interwoven; but a general flagellation amongst his courtiers, who there is a degree of heartlessness through-in vain beg to be excused. The buffoon Chicot, out all, with the exception of Augusta and however, contrives to elude the royal decree by her mother. laying on the shoulders of those near him, while at the same time he dexterously contrives to DER JESUITEN (The Jesuit).-This, doubt- keep himself out of the reach of their stripes. less, was suggested to the author's mind by The king now leaves the room, and, as if by enEugene Sue's" Wandering Jew;" but, like most chantment, the flagellation ceases, excepting on imitations, it is very inferior to the original type. the part of Chicot and the young Comte d' O., We think the author quite right in withholding who, cordially detesting each other, take this his name, which is, we believe, by no means unopportunity of keeping up as it were a whipping known in the literary world; this work certainly duel. Meanwhile Henri enters the apartment of would not add to his fame. There is an un- his meek but much neglected queen, and making pleasant degree of coarseness in many portions; her a present of a magnificent row of pearls, tells the incidents are far-fetched and improbable; the her to put them away, as well as the rest of her characters, both male and female, are anything jewels, and put on sackcloth. "What for, but such as inspire respect or interest. In the sire?" inquires the gentle Louise de Loraine. first part of the novel the scene is laid in Lon-"For my sins, Madame.” The poor queen, don and the environs, and it is not a little amusing to observe the odd mistakes in localities, phraseology, and the use of titles which occur, as well as the strange manners and customs described. The plot turns on the endeavours of the Jesuits to get the property of a wealthy and ancient family into their hands, and the manner in which the king of the beggars circumvents them, and eventually marries his daughter to the heir. This society of beggars is represented as rivalling in power that of the Jesuits; the magic words For ever," pronounced anywhere, are sure to raise up protectors for those acquainted with them. Arthur, the heir and ostensible hero, is a vain, weak, foolish boy, in whose fortunes or misfortunes it is impossible to feel any interest. The king of friend Chicot into the confessional, in which he We also followed, with much interest, our the beggars is quite a hero of romance, bom-conceals himself during a meeting of the "Ligue." bastic and mysterious, and his daughter a silly, sentimental girl. The other characters are, one and all, radically bad.

"LA DAME DE MONSOREAU. Par Monsieur Alex. Dumas.-The vein of Monsieur Alex. Dumas is inexhaustible! Another work appears, as clever, racy, and entertaining as its predecessors. M. Dumas really makes us most agreeably go through a regular course of French history. "La Dame de Monsoreau" takes up the thread of political events from the conclusion of "La Reine Margot." We have now upon the

who knew better than any one else how many sins her husband had to repent of, submissively dresses herself in sackcloth, and thus accoutred appears before the assembled courtiers, who during the king's absence had given themselves a temporary respite, all but Chico and the Comte d' O., who both of them appear with bloodstained shoulders; on seeing which, the king by turns embraces them, falling on their necks, and calling them his good and dear friends to thus arduously work for his salvation. The whole scene is told in a strain of humour impossible for us to render, though we have to thank Mons. Dumas for one of the most hearty fits of merriment we have for a long time enjoyed.

Whilst thus ensconced Chicot overhears a conspiracy formed against Henri III., to whom, notwithstanding his many faults, the buffoon is sincerely devoted. What profit Chicot intends to make of the information thus gratuitously gained, soreau," much to our regret, is not yet finished, we have yet to learn, for "La Dame de Monthough the two first volumes have already appeared, so justly eager are the Parisians to read any new work bearing the name of Alex.

Dumas.

Paris.

UNE INCONNUE.

MUSIC.

MUTUAL INTERNATIONAL FRIENDLY ADDRESSES.

department has been the production of an opera entitled Don Quixote; it is from the pen of Since our notice in the last number of the Mr. G. A. Macfarren, a gentleman well-known "New Monthly Belle Assemblée," the inde- to the musical devotees of this metropolis. The fatigable and versatile exertions of the manager portion selected, from among the many so of this theatre have brought forward a large abounding in dramatic effect in this work of amount of amusement, the whole bearing that Cervantes, is, where the hero-the Manchegan stamp of novelty, without which, to a Lon-knight-errant-after leaving the delightful abode don audience, the particular branches of the of the knight of the " green great coat," Don dramatic art exercised at this house, would prove Lorenzo, encountered on his way two persons "flat, stale," and to the manager decidedly in clerical garb, accompanied by peasants, and "unprofitable," The great event in the operatic having learned from them the story of the