International Weekly Miscellany of Literature, Art and Science - Volume 1, No. 5, July 29, 1850

SEVERAL FAMOUS FRENCHMEN have left the world within a few weeks. Quatremere de Quincy, who was in the first rank of archæology and æsthetics, died at the age of ninety-five; Count Mollien, the famous financier—often a minister—at eighty-seven; Baron Meneval, so long the private, confidential, all-trusted private secretary of Napoleon, between seventy and eighty; Count Berenger, one of the Emperor's Councillors and Peers, conspicuous for the independence of his spirit, as well as administrative qualifications, was four-score and upward. The obsequies of these personages were grand ceremonials. President Napoleon sent his carriages and orderly officers to honor the remains of the old servants of his uncle. This class might be thought to have found an elixir of life, in their devotion to the Emperor or his memory. A few of them survive, like Marshal Soult, wonders of comfortable longevity.

REMARKABLE WORK BY A CHINESE

To the man of science, the philanthropist and the Christian, it will prove a stirring incident that a work on Geography has just been issued by a native Chinese, embracing the history and condition of other nations. Here is a stroke, such as has never yet been dealt against the ignorance and prejudice which has erected such a wall of exclusiveness around three hundred millions of people. A Lieutenant Governor is the author, and, by a commendatory preface, it is pressed upon the notice of his countrymen by a Governor General—both of these men high in office in the Chinese Government.

In reference to his map of the world, the writer remarks: "We knew in respect to a Northern frozen ocean, but in respect to a Southern frozen ocean we had not heard. So that, when Western men produced maps having a frozen ocean at the extreme South, we supposed that they had made a mistake in not understanding the Chinese language, and had placed that in the South which should have been placed only in the North. But on inquiring of an American, one Abeel, (the Missionary,) he said this doctrine was verily true, and should not be doubted."

It is a fact full of interest that the chronology adopted in this work is that usually received by European writers. The more prominent facts of sacred history subsequent to the Deluge, are either alluded to, or stated at length, much as they occur in the Scriptures.

It is interesting to us, too, that this work presents to the Chinese a more definite and discriminating view of the different religions of the world, than has yet appeared in the Chinese language.

Speaking of different countries of India under European sway, where Buddhism or Paganism and Protestantism exist together, the author does not hesitate to say that the latter is gradually overcoming the former, "whose light is becoming more and more dim." This is a very remarkable concession, when we consider that the individual who makes it is probably a Buddhist himself, and represents the religion of China as Buddhism.

It is a remarkable fact, that this work contains a more extensive and correct account of the history and institution of Christian nations than has ever been published before by any heathen writer in any age of the world.

This remarkable work will introduce the "Celestials" to such an acquaintance with "the outside barbarians" as cannot fail to give them new ideas, remove something at least of the insane prejudice against, and contempt of, all other nations, which has so long prevailed. We regard it as a very important agency in preparing the way for that Christianity which the friends of the perishing are seeking to introduce into that benighted empire. A book by a native Chinaman, himself high in office, and recommended by a still higher officer of the government, the author still himself a Pagan, yet reasoning upon the great facts of the Bible, and opening the hitherto unknown civilized and Christian world to his countrymen—such a book cannot but become an important pioneer in the work of pouring the light of truth upon that dark land.—Boston Traveler.

[From Sartain's Magazine, for August.]

REQUIEM

UPON THE DEATH OF FRANCES SARGENT ASGOOD.

BY ANNE C. LYNCH

To what bright world afar dost thou belong Thou whose pure soul seemed not of mortal birth? From what fair realm of flowers, and love, and song, Cam'st thou a star-beam to our shadowed earth? What hadst thou done, sweet spirit! in that sphere, That thou wert banished here? Here, where our blossoms early fade and die, Where autumn frosts despoil our loveliest bowers; Where song goes up to heaven, an anguished cry From wounded hearts, like perfume from crushed flowers; Where Love despairing waits, and weeps in vain His Psyche to regain. Thou cam'st not unattended on thy way; Spirits of beauty, grace, and joy, and love Were with thee, ever bearing each some ray Of the far home that thou hadst left above, And ever at thy side, upon our sight Gleamed forth their wings of light. We heard their voices in the gushing song That rose like incense from thy burning heart; We saw the footsteps of the shining throng Glancing upon thy pathway high, apart, When in thy radiance thou didst walk the earth, Thou child of glorious birth. But the way lengthened, and the song grew sad, Breathing such tones as find no echo here; Aspiring, soaring, but no longer glad, Its mournful music fell upon the ear; 'Twas the home-sickness of a soul that sighs For its own native skies. Then he that to earth's children comes at last, The angel-messenger, white-robed and pale, Upon thy soul his sweet oblivion cast, And bore thee gently through the shadowy vale,— The fleeting years of thy brief exile o'er,— Home to the blissful shore.

MR. HEALEY is in Paris, engaged busily on his Webster and Hayne picture, of which at the time of its projection, so much was said. The canvas is some twenty feet by fourteen, and all the heads will be portraits. It will be valuable, and must command a ready sale. Will Massachusetts buy it for her State House, or South Carolina for her Capitol? It would be a splendid ornament for Fanueil Hall, and not be misplaced on the walls of the Charleston Court House.

MANUEL GODOY, the famous "Prince of Peace," it is mentioned in recent foreign journals, has left Paris for Spain. The Government at Madrid has restored a considerable part of his large confiscated estates, and he probably has returned to enjoy a golden setting sun. He must be at least eighty years of age.

MONS. LIBRI, a well known savant, member of the Institute, and a professor of the College of France, has been charged, in Paris, with having committed extensive thefts of valuable MSS. and broken in the public libraries. He has persisted in proclaiming his innocence, and is warmly defended by certain papers. An indictment was found, he did not appear; he was tried, in his absence, for contumacy. He was found guilty of the most extensive depredations in this way. Abstracting the most valuable books, effacing identifying marks, sending them out of the country to be rebound, and then selling them at costly rates. He was sentenced to imprisonment for ten years at hard labor.

SKETCH OF A STREET CHARACTER OF CAIRO.—The Caireen donkey-boy is quite a character, and mine in particular was a perfect original. He was small and square of frame, his rich brown face relieved by the whitewash of teeth and the most brilliant black eyes, and his face beamed with a merry, yet roguish expression, like that of the Spanish, or rather Moorish, boy, in Murillo's well known masterpiece, with whom he was probably of cognate blood. Living in the streets from infancy, and familiar with the chances of out-door life, and with every description of character; waiting at the door of a mosque or a cafe, or crouching in a corner of a bazaar, he had acquired a thorough acquaintance with Caireen life; and his intellect, and, I fear, his vices, had become somewhat prematurely developed. But the finishing touch to his education was undoubtedly given by the European travelers whom he had served, and of whom he had, with the imitativeness of his age, picked up a variety of little accomplishments, particularly the oaths of different languages. His audacity had thus become consummate, and I have heard him send his fellows to —— as coolly, and in as good English, as any prototype of our own metropolis. His mussulman prejudices sat very loosely upon him, and in the midst of religious observances he grew up indifferent and prayerless. With this inevitable laxity of faith and morals, contracted by his early vagabondage, he at least acquired an emancipation from prejudice, and displayed a craving after miscellaneous information, to which his European masters were often tasked to contribute. Thrown almost in childhood upon their resources, the energy and perseverance of these boys is remarkable. My little lad had, for instance, been up the country with some English travelers, in whose service he had saved four or five hundred piastres, (four or five pounds), with which he bought the animal which I bestrode, on whose sprightliness and good qualities he was never tired of expatiating, and with the proceeds of whose labor he supported his mother and himself. He had but one habitual subject of discontent, the heavy tax imposed upon his donkey by Mehemet Ali, upon whom he invoked the curse of God; a curse, it is to be feared, uttered, not loud but deep, by all classes save the employés of government. His wind and endurance were surprising. He would trot after his donkey by the hour together, urging and prodding along with a pointed stick, as readily in the burning sandy environs, and under the noonday sun, as in the cool and shady alleys of the crowded capital; running, dodging, striking, and shouting with all the strength of his lungs, through the midst of its labyrinthine obstructions.—The Nile Boat.

MENDELSSOHN'S SKILL AS A CONDUCTOR.—In the spring of 1835. Mendelssohn was invited to come to Cologne, in order to direct the festival. Here we met again, and thanks to his kindness, I had the pleasure of being present at one of the general rehearsals, where he conducted Beethoven's Eighth Symphony. It would be a matter of difficulty to decide in which quality Mendelssohn excelled the most—whether as composer, pianist, organist, or conductor of the orchestra. Nobody ever knew better how to communicate, as if by an electric fluid, his own conceptions of a work, to a large body of performers. It was highly interesting on this occasion to contemplate the anxious attention manifested by a body of more than five hundred singers and performers, watching every glance of Mendelssohn's eye, and following, like obedient spirits, the magic wand of this musical Prospero. The admirable allegretto in B flat, of Beethoven's Symphony, not going at first to his liking, he remarked, smilingly, that he knew every one of the gentlemen engaged was capable of performing and even composing a scherzo of his own; but that just now he wanted to hear Beethoven's, which he thought had some merit. It was cheerfully repeated. "Beautiful! charming!" cried Mendelssohn, "but still too loud in two or three instances. Let us take it again, from the middle." "No, no," was the general reply of the band; "the whole movement over again for our own satisfaction;" and then they played it with the utmost delicacy and finish, Mendelssohn laying aside his baton, and listening with evident delight to the more perfect execution. "What would I have given," exclaimed he, "if Beethoven could have heard his own composition so well understood and so magnificently performed!" By thus giving alternately praise and blame, as required, spurring the slow, checking the too ardent, he obtained orchestral effects seldom equaled in our days. Need I add, that he was able to detect at once, even among a phalanx of performers, the slightest error, either of note or accent.—Life of Mendelssohn.

There is a mutual hate between the virtuous and the vicious, the spiritual and the sensual: but the pure abhor understandingly, knowing the nature of their antagonists, while the vile nurse an ignorant malignity, pained with an unacknowledged ache of envy.

Superstition In France.—The Courrier de la Meuse says: "Witchcraft is still an object of belief in our provinces. On Sunday last, in a village belonging to the arrondissement of Verdun, the keeper of the parish bull forgot to lay before the poor animal at the usual hour its accustomed allowance of provender. The bull, impatient at the delay, made a variety of efforts to regain his liberty, and at last succeeded. The first use he made of his freedom was to demolish a rabbit-hutch which was in the stable. The keeper's wife, hearing a noise, ran to the place, and as soon as she saw the bull treading mercilessly upon the rabbits with his large hoofs, seized a cudgel and showered down a volley of blows on the crupper of the devastator. But not being accustomed to this rough treatment, the bull grew angry, and fell upon his neighbors the oxen, and what with horns and hoofs, turned the stable into a scene of terror and confusion. The woman began to cry for help. Her cries were heard, and with some trouble the bull was ousted from the stable, and forthwith began to butt at everything in his path. The mayor and the adjoint of the commune were attracted to the scene of this riot, and on witnessing the animal's violence, declared, after a short deliberation, that the bull was a sorcerer, or at any rate that he was possessed with a devil, and that he ought to be conducted to the presbytery in order to be exorcised. The authorities were accordingly obeyed, and the bull was dragged or driven into the presence of the curate, who was requested to subject him to the formalities prescribed in the ritual. The good priest found no little difficulty in escaping the pressing solicitations of his parishioners. At last, however, he succeeded; but though the bull escaped exorcism, he could not elude the shambles. Condemned to death by the mayor as a sorcerer, his sentence was immediately executed."

The Libraries At Cambridge.—There are now belonging to the various libraries connected with the University, about 86,000 volumes beside pamphlets, maps and prints. The Public Library contains over 57,000 volumes. The Law Library, 13,000; Divinity School, 3000; Medical School, 1,200; Society Libraries for the Students, 10,000. There have been added during the past year 1,751 volumes, and 2,219 pamphlets.

The Birmingham Mercury thinks some of Lord Brougham's late proceedings may be accounted for in part by natural vexation at Cottenham being made an earl. "Cottenham is several years younger than Brougham, and was his successor in the chancellorship, and yet he gets an earldom, while Brougham, who was known all over the world before Cottenham was ever heard of out of the Equity Courts, still remains and is likely to remain a simple baron."

Romantic History of two English Lovers.—In the reign of Edward III., Robert Machim, an accomplished gentleman, of the second degree of nobility, loved and was beloved by the beautiful Anna d'Arfet, the daughter of a noble of the first class. By virtue of a royal warrant Machim was incarcerated for his presumption; and, on his release, endured the bitter mortification of learning that Anna had been forcibly married to a noble, who carried her to his castle, near Bristol. A friend of Machim's had the address to introduce himself to the family, and became the groom of broken-hearted Anna, who was thus persuaded and enabled to escape on board a vessel with her lover, with the view of ending her days with him in France. In their hurry and alarm they embarked without the pilot, and the season of the year being the most unfavorable, were soon at the mercy of a dreadful storm. The desired port was missed during the night, and the vessel driven out to sea. After twelve days of suffering they discovered faint traces of land in the horizon, and succeeded in making the spot still called Machico. The exhausted Anna was conveyed on shore, and Machim had spent three days in exploring in the neighborhood with his friends, when the vessel, which they had left in charge of the mariners, broke from her moorings in a storm and was wrecked on the coast of Morocco, where the crew were made slaves. Anna became dumb with sorrow, and expired three days after. Machim survived her but five days, enjoining his companions to bury him in the same grave, under the venerable cedar, where they had a few days before erected a cross in acknowledgment of their happy deliverance. An inscription, composed by Machim, was carved on the cross, with the request that the next Christian who might chance to visit the spot would erect a church there. Having performed this last sad duty, the survivors fitted out the boat, which they had drawn ashore on their landing, and putting to sea in the hope of reaching some part of Europe, were also driven on the coast of Morocco, and rejoined their companions, but in slavery. Zargo, during an expedition of discovery to the coast of Africa, took a Spanish vessel with redeemed captives, amongst whom was an experienced pilot, named Morales, who entered into the service of Zargo, and gave him an account of the adventures of Machim, as communicated to him by the English captives, and of the landmarks and situations of the newly-discovered island.—Madeira, by Dr. Mason.

Centenary Performances in commemoration of the death-day of John Sebastian Bach—the 28th of July—are this week to be held at Leipsic, (where an assemblage of two thousand executants is to be convened for the display of some of the masters greatest works,) at Berlin, at Magdeburg, at Hamburg, and at other towns in North Germany.

[From the Leader.]

Poets In Parliament

The prominence which the "winged words" of Victor Hugo have recently given him in the Assembly has called forth sarcastic insinuations and bitter diatribes from all the Conservative journals. There seems to be an intensity of exasperation, arising from the ancient prejudice against poets. A poet treating of politics! Let him keep to rhymes, and leave the serious business of life to us practical men, sober-minded men—men not led away by our imaginations—men not moved to absurdities by sentiment—solid, sensible, moderate men! Let him play with capricious hand on the chords which are resonant to his will; but let him not mistake his frivolous accomplishment for the power to play upon the world's great harp, drawing from its grander chords the large responses of more solemn themes. Let him "strike the light guitar" as long as women will listen, or fools applaud. But politics is another sphere; into that he can only pass to make himself ridiculous.

Thus reason the profound. Thus saith the good practical man, who, because his mind is a congeries of commonplaces, piques himself on not being led away by his imagination. The owl prides himself on the incontestable fact that he is not an eagle.

To us the matter has another aspect. The appearance of Poets and men of Sentiment in the world of Politics is a good symptom; for at a time like the present, when positive doctrine can scarcely be said to exist in embryo, and assuredly not in any maturity, the presence of Imagination and Sentiment—prophets who endow the present with some of the riches borrowed from the future—is needed to give grandeur and generosity to political action, and to prevent men from entirely sinking into the slough of egotism and routine. Salt is not meat, but we need the salt to preserve meat from corruption. Lamartine and Victor Hugo may not be profound statesmen; but they have at least this one indispensable quality of statesmanship; they look beyond the hour, and beyond the circle, they care more for the nation than for "measures;" they have high aspirations and wide sympathies. Lamartine in power committed many errors, but he also did great things, moved thereto by his "Imagination." He abolished capital punishment; and he freed the slaves; had the whole Provisional Government been formed of such men it would have been well for it and for France.

We are as distinctly aware of the unfitness of a poet for politics, as any of those can be who rail at Hugo and Lamartine. Images, we know, are not convictions; aspirations will not do the work; grand speeches will not solve the problems. The poet is a "phrasemaker"; true; but show us the man in these days who is more than a phrasemaker! Where is he who has positive ideas beyond the small circle of his speciality? In rejecting the guidance of the Poet to whom shall we apply? To the Priest? He mumbles the litany of an ancient time which falls on unbelieving ears. To the Lawyer? He is a metaphysician with precedents for data. To the Litterateur? He is a phrasemaker by profession. To the Politician? He cannot rise above the conception of a "bill." One and all are copious in phrases, empty of positive ideas as drums. The initial laws of social science are still to be discovered and accepted, yet we sneer at phrasemakers! Carlyle, who never sweeps out of the circle of sentiment—whose eloquence is always indignation—who thinks with his heart, has no words too scornful for phrasemakers and poets; forgetting that he, and we, and they, are all little more than phrasemakers waiting for a doctrine!

There is something in the air of late which has called forth the poets and made them politicians. Formerly they were content to leave these troubled waters undisturbed, but finding that others now are as ignorant as themselves, they have come forth to give at least the benefit of their sentiment to the party they espouse. In no department can phrasemaking prosper where positive ideas have once been attained. Metaphors are powerless in astronomy; epithets are useless as alembics; images, be they never so beautiful, will fail to convince the physiologist. Language may adorn, it cannot create science. But as soon as we pass from the sciences to social science, (or politics,) we find that here the absence of positive ideas gives the phrasemaker the same power of convincing, as in the early days of physical science was possessed by metaphysicians and poets. Here the phrasemaker is king; as the one-eyed is king in the empire of the blind. Phrasemaker for phrasemaker, we prefer the poet to the politician; Victor Hugo to Léon Faucher; Lamartine to Odilon Barrot; Lamennais to Baroche.

Kossuth, Mazzini, Lamartine, the three heroes of 1848, were all, though with enormous differences in their relative values and positions, men belonging to the race of poets—men in whom the heart thought—men who were moved by great impulses and lofty aspirations—men who were "carried away by their imagination"—men who were "dreamers," but whose dreams were of the stuff of which our life is made.

The fine immortal spirit of inspiration that is ever living in human affairs, is unseen and incredible till its power becomes apparent through the long past; as the invisible but indelible blue of the atmosphere is not seen except we look through extended space.

The distinction between the sensual, frivolous many, and the few spiritual and earnest, may be stated thus—the first vaguely guess the others to be fools, they know that the former are fools.

[From the New Monthly Magazine.]

Frank Hamilton; Or, The Confessions Of An Only Son.

By W.H. Maxwell, Esq

Chapter I