been much in England, and spoke the language | to be suddenly summoned home to be placed at very fluently. He said that he was a younger the head of the Treasury Department. 'You brother of the famous banking house of that see England can not possibly allow Russia to name, and as I had no reason to doubt the word eat up Turkey, nor can France permit England of a gentleman I valued so highly, it was my cus- to take too firm root in Egypt. Is it not theretom to introduce my friend as M. Rothschild. It fore plain, that the statu quo must be maintained saved embarrassing explanations. effectively as laid down in the treaty of Adrianople—the statu quo maintained, and exchanges kept easy? That is the point, after all, to keep exchanges easy. Sorry to see, this evening,' continued he, addressing me, that the French funds are down again.' "As we may want to amuse ourselves, you may possibly have a pack of cards among your effects?' I said interrogatively. "It is barely possible,' he rejoined. I will look; and if I should not chance to find any, I am quite confident our good friend Setta Mezzo has a pack—if he added, 'you had intended him to be of the party-' "Eight o'clock came, and with it my friend, Mr. Dove. He was en grande tenue. Fine black throughout, with amazing pearls for shirt-studs. A very delicate foot had Dove, brilliantly booted. Small hands, nicely kidded. In truth, Mr. Smytthe, the young Dove was gentlemanly to the last degree. I have rarely met a more gentlemanly person than Dove. "My room was not very much illuminated. Light is a little vulgar, I think. Well shaded rooms, à demi-jour, as our amiable French friends say-and not without reason—are much preferable. Gas is gaudy-fortunately there is none in Bologna. A wax candle or two better suits the complexion.* 66 Presently M. Rothschild arrived-a grave gentleman, in white cravat and loose black clothes. He displayed no diamonds. Kings do not always wear their crowns; and I have observed that bankers' buttons are not always Friedrichd'ors nor Napoleons. M. Rothschild had, also, roomy boots, and a hat which did not dazzle the eye with that painful polish of newness, observable in the hats of-well, if you choose-of yourself, my dear Smytthe. He was staid and rather taciturn. Yet, upon Mr. Dove's suggesting a leading question about the Turkish loan then pending, M. Rothschild indulged in a very luminous exposition of the true financial policy of Europe. "You see, my dear sir,' said he, addressing Mr. Dove, who looked as if he were expecting * [What a profound social observation on the part of my friend. Don Bob. I am proud to know a man who knows so many things, well.-J. S., Jr.] "While the eminent banker was employed in stating to Mr. Dove why the French funds had fallen, I heard the nimble step of the Count Setta Mezzo. "Come in,' cried I; and the Count came in, resplendent. "The Count wore trowsers plaited at the hips, and large around the body. He had a very brilliant waistcoat, with metal buttons, and a display of parti-colored jewelry upon his shirt front, a blue body-coat, with effulgent buttons, and a crimson cravat completed the bulk of his attire. It was garnished with many very beautiful chains, and his small hands flashed with invaluable rings. His appearance was certainly very effective, and as I say that Dove was a good deal impressed, I whispered to him as I returned from saluting the Count: 666 'A natural son of the Pope.' "I saw the republican eyes of my friend dilate with joy at the intelligence. "A man of great fashion, répandu every where,' continued I; then said: "Count Setta Mezzo, my particular friend, Mr. Dove, from America.' "Ah! charmé ! cried the Count, bowing ardently, and pressing the well-kidded hand of Dove in his own. You are from one very great country. Ah! Amérique, Amérique! and you are recently arrive?' "A few weeks since, only,' replied M. Dove, in a manner that did honor to his country. "And how are mee friend Mr. and Mr.,' inquired the Count, rattling over a list of names, apparently not unknown to Dove. cigars?' cried he, in the most easy, winning | schild.' You understand all that, you young manner. 'How can one young Americain live blasé men of the world! I know you. without his smoke!' "Well, we sat down to whist. 666 Mr. Dove won 'Perhaps,' said I, 'smoke may be disagree- the thousand francs. The Count winked at him. able to M. Rothschild.' M. Rothschild said, gravely: 686 Oh, no,' said he, 'don't let me be a bugbear. I don't smoke. It would hardly become a man in my situation, but I am very fond of it. I pray you not to mind me.' 66 Cigars were lighted. And we sat conversing around the table. The grave M. Rothschild endeavored constantly to entrap Mr. Dove into a learned conversation upon the present financial condition of the world, and how the discoveries in Australia and California would affect the Russian securities. Dove's great respect for a Prince among earthly rulers made him very attentive, but I saw that he was bored. In fact, you would have thought, my dear Smytthe, that M. Rothschild had some intention of wearying his companion, so pertinacious was he. "At length I, who saw how young Dove longed to amuse himself in some pleasanter way than discussing finance, said: 666 What a pity we haven't a pack of cards, we might while away an hour pleasantly enough.' The moment Dove heard the proposition, he shouted Sure enough,' as if any kind of relief were delightful. "But,' said I, 'unfortunately I play so little that I have no cards in my room, and it's late to buy any-the shops are shut.' 666 'How very fortunate I am,' interrupted the Count, I was going to meet a few other friends after I leave your charming apartments, and I had one little pack with me. I bought it as I came along.' "So saying, the Italian nobleman produced a fresh pack, at the sight of which the young eyes of my friend Dove sparkled. I rang at the same time for a little refreshment. "Perhaps M. Rothschild doesn't play,' said the Count. "Sir, you are an accomplished player, I com pliment you upon your skill.' "Dove blushed, and tossed his head carelessly. The play went on-and the drinking, and the night. I ordered more brandy and cigars. Mr. Dove won again. The Count threw up his hands with delight. "Vive la jeune Amérique!' cried he. "Mr. Dove smiled in return. He smiled a great deal. In fact he seemed to have difficulty in stopping. His eyes were very radiant and very red. His cheek was flushed too, and his hand not so steady as a statue's. In truth he seemed a good deal excited, and the few observations which he ventured, were rather fragmentaryin fact I fear that Mr. Dove h-cc-d as he talked. "About two o'clock in the morning we were a good deal interested in the game. The luck had unfortunately turned against your countryman, who was some five thousand francs upon the wrong side of Cr. About three o'clock, at a very interesting passage of the game, Mr. Dove's eyes closed in a reeling manner, and he sank quite powerless under the table. We immediately raised him, and, as it was clear that he would be unable to play longer that evening as I hoped he would have done, to recover what he had lost we resolved to carry him quietly to his room, in which operation Giuseppe assisted, for which M. Rothschild gave him a hundred francs on account, which he had just found in the purse of Mr. Dove, that the Count had removed from his pocket, fearing that it might increase his weight too much, as we carried him to his room. "It was very singular, also, that a fine diamond ring slipped from his finger, and could not be "It is not my habit, certainly,' said that gen- found, although M. Rothschild, the Count, and tleman. "Nor mine,' added I. "But I have no moral objection to taking a hand,' continued he. 666 'Nor I.' continued I. 466 'Allons donc,' shouted the enthusiastic Italian, while his eyes flashed as brightly as his rings and chains. 'Meester Dove, me and you against the old ones, hey?' "Certainly,' answered Dove, pouring out some Cognac, Young America and Young Italy for ever!' I searched every where for it. "The next morning I learned that Mr. Dove was too unwell to leave Bologna, and after a little conversation with my friends-who had kindly passed the night in my room, lest our guest should be in want of any thing-I stepped into his room. "Oh, no, it's nothing,' replied Dove, who was unwilling to be considered the inferior of "And Dove and Setta Mezzo clasped hands any man at a debauch; I thought I'd lie over and drained a glowing beaker. this morning. That was rather dizzy brandy, though, I confess. In fact, I was so sleepy the latter part of the evening, that I don't distinctly remember every thing that happened.' "M. Rothschild proposed whist, as the game most adapted to his position, and quietly put down a bill for a thousand francs. Dove opened his eyes, enchanted to play on the great scale "You've not forgotten, I hope,' said I, pullwith so distinguished a man. You young men ing out thirty Napoleons (which I rather think must see life, you know, Smytthe. It's a pleas- the Count had found in Mr. Dove's purse) and ant thing to say, 'when I won a few thousands laying them down, that I owe you this little of the Queen of Spain, or of Lafitte, or of Roth-sum.' "No, really,' cried Dove, I can't allow it, I don't remember it a bit, I can't take the money.' "My dear sir,' replied I, 'you forget that it is a debt of honor, and all the more obligatory, because you hold no memorandum of it. Don't say another word.' "Then we fell into a little light discourse, and I implored him to send for me if he wished any thing, and withdrew. "I found M. Rothschild and the Count sipping coffee in my room. The latter said he had just taken three places in a post-carriage for Florence, and begged us to accept the two spare seats. "It goes in half-an-hour,' said he, and it's now half-past nine.' enacted by any one who can strut and declaim. In like manner, an author is not ennobled by the subject which he chooses, but by the power with which he handles it: an historian may sink below contempt, though he has chosen Europe for his arena, and the most stirring period of its annals for his epoch; a tragedian, though he depicts the most mysterious horrors which humanity has undergone, may justly be hissed off the stage for the imbecility of his performance; an epic poet, though Alfred be his theme, pursued through twelve cantos of sonorous versification, may be saved from damnation only by the obscurity which secures him from perusal; -while the delineator of the simplest and humblest scenes of life, if his pictures be but faithful, his sentiments lofty, his perceptions just, and his coloring natural, may attain a deserved immortality, become a household name at every hearth, a favorite with all ages, and a blessing to all times every performance, whatever be the kind of work It's nothing,' replied Dove; 'nothing at all.' it takes in hand; and nowhere is its impress "I happened in as I chanced to be passing,' more deep and unmistakable than in those vol continued M. Rothschild, merely to ask if itumes which reproduce in fiction the richest and "Well,' said M. Rothschild, 'I should like to visit the statues and pictures in Florence once more, and I will go if the Chevalier is willing.' "I could not refuse, and at a quarter before ten M. Rothschild stepped into Mr. Dove's room. "Ah! good-morning,' said he. Sorry not to find you well.' Genius stamps its own signet on most genial realities of life Considered merely as artist productions, we are disposed to place the ablest and finest works of fiction in a very high rank among the achievements of human intellect. Many of their characters are absolute creations—an addition to the mind's wealth--an "everlasting possession"-a "Four hundred Napoleons,' interposed M. positive contribution to the world's museum of Rothschild, with financial precision. enduring wonders and unfading beauties-ex "Exactly,' said Mr. Dove. 'Giuseppe, bring istences as real as the heroes of ancient story the writing-desk.' or the worthies of private life But even writers who do not aspire or can not reach so high as this, often leave behind them enduring and beautiful records, "which aftertimes will not "Your ingenuous countryman then wrote a draft for the amount, and handed it to M. Rothschild, who, looking at his watch, said that he had an engagement at ten, and bade Dove good-willingly let die;'" of conceptions lofty and morning. "Fortunately the post-carriage was just ready to start, and the Count and I were on the steps. We lost no time, and in a few minutes were quietly bowling out of the old town of Bologna. It is a fine old city, my dear Smytthe, and as I said to the youth who has just passed us, 'quiet rather, and moral.' However, have you thought of my heiress?" "Dear Don Bobtail,” said I, “after your pleasant story I shall want at least a month to consider." WE INFLUENCE OF NOVELS. refined, of beings who win their way to every heart; of domestic pictures which all must love and nearly all may emulate; of virtues at once so loving and so real, that scarcely any one can contemplate them without imbibing some good influence from the sight; of victories won in many a moral struggle, which irresistibly suggest a "go and do thou likewise" to every reader. If novels and romances, of which the tone is low, and the taste bad, and the coloring voluptuous, and the morality questionable, are among the subtlest and deadliest poisons cast forth into the world, those of a purer spirit and a higher tendency are, we honestly believe, among the most effective agencies of good. Hundreds of readers who would sleep over a sermon, or drone over an essay, or yield a cold and barren assent to the deductions of an ethical treatise, will be startled into reflection, or won to emulation, or roused into effort, by the delineations they meet with in a tale which they opened only for the amusement of an idle hour. E do not look upon prose works of fiction as constituting by any means an insignificant or trivial province of literature. In this, as in any other line of exertion, merit is to be measured, not by the department chosen, but by the degree of excellence reached in that department. The glory of an actor is not considered to be indicated by the dignity of the role assigned to him, but by the truth and vividness of his representation; and the confidantes, the valets, and the peasants are often the great characters of the piece, while the lovers, kings, and heroes are The story may not (and never should) have been VOL. VII.-No. 37.-F "For truth in closest words shall fail, written with a definite, didactic aim; there may | with sometimes a pensive expression; it was a good, loving face, with soft, blue, floating eyes, full of beauty and tender thought. A smile always played on the lips-not forever of gladness, but of charity, and content, and trust in the future to which her hope was turned. And often a song poured through those lips, as though some happy bird were nestled in her bosom, and sang with her breath its hymns of delight in the joys of life. be little moralizing and no formal exhortationthe less of either the better; yet the reader may find a chord struck which needed only striking to vibrate to the end of life, but to which the key-note had never yet been found: he may see there depicted with a life-like pencil, the contest | with a temptation against which he is himself struggling, the termination of a career in which he has just taken the first hesitating step, the holy endurance and the happy issue of a trial All this did Jennie seem to me, and more than similar to one which is at the moment darkening this she was, and she loved me, and I was conhis own path: he may see how suffering is borne, fident in her affection. For I was then young, how victories are won; by what moral alchemy, and my heart was warm and my hope was strong. and through what dread alembic, peace and good I was buoyant as the breeze, and my life was may be made to spring out of evil, anguish, and for years a perpetual summer's day It was the conflict: he may meet with reflections and an-time when the pure springs of nature had not alogies which reflect a sudden light upon his soul and reveal to him the deepest and saddest secrets of his own being-till the hour when he perused that humble volume becomes a date and an era in his existence. Nor are works which thus operate upon the reader by any means always or necessarily those which display the greatest genius in the writer: for the production of such effects, simple fidelity to nature, the intuition of real sympathy, or some true and deep experience of life, are often more powerful than the most skillful and high-wrought delineations. Edinburgh Review. Τ FAITHFUL FOREVER been wasted among the fickle and the cold; it was the golden season when trust is the companion of truth; it was the first harvest which garners into the bosom those thoughts and emotions amid which, as on a bed of flowers, "hope clings, feeding like a bee." The heart of Jennie was as deeply stirred, but her soul was more serene than mine. There was a fearful storm in Europe. I heard of grim tyrants sitting on thrones, whence they gave their commands to armies which marched to the east and to the west, and tore up the vineyards, and trod down the gardens, and blotted out the peace of the world. Anon, there came rumors of a mighty host that had melted away sian snows Then there came a strange ambition into my mind. My blood became hot. A calamitous frenzy filled my brain. The name of Glory consecrated all these murders to my imagination I would carry a flag in one of those armies would mix in the crimson throng. I would myself bear a sword amid those forests of flashing steel. I IT is a dear delight for the soul to have trust in the north, and glutted with its blood the Rusin the faith of another. It makes a pillow of softness for the cheek which is burning with tears and the touch of pain. It pours a balm into the very source of sorrow. It is a hope undeferred, a flowery seclusion into which the mind, when weary of sadness, may retreat for a caress of constant love; a warmth in the clasp of friendship forever lingering on the hand; a consoling voice that dwells as with an eternal echo on the ear; a dew of mercy falling on the bruised and troubled hearts of this world. Bereavements and wishes long withheld descend sometimes as chastening griefs upon our nature; but there is no solace to the bitterness of broken faith. Jennie was the morning star of my life Long before I trod the many wide deserts of the world, I pledged my hope to her. She was so young that my affection came fresh as dew upon her heart. She was gentle to me, and tender, and fond, and sometimes I thought that she loved me less for my own sake than for the sake of love So I watched the opening bloom of her mind I wondered what springs of truth were bursting there to make her a joy and a blessing on the earth. I knew that every pulse was warm with a sacred love; but it was not then that I learned all the deep and abounding faith that had its home in the heart of my Jennie Jennie was slim and graceful, with a light step and a gentle dignity of demeanor, which, with her joyful ways, was like the freshness of shade near a sunny place. Her face was fair, And I told this to my Jennie. I thought she would certainly bless me as a hero. I thought she would bind a scarf about my waist, and bid me "go where glory waits thee," if I still remembered her. But, when I said I should leave her for a while and come back with honor, and pride, and the memory of brave acts, and the conscious gratulations of a breast that never knew fear, she became pale, and looked at me sorrowfully, and fell upon my neck, weeping most bitter tears I asked her why she could grieve, and said the danger was one chance among innumerable probabilities of success. But she only sobbed and trembled, and pressed me to her bosom, and prayed me not to go. I reasoned with Jennie. I tried to persuade her of the glory of the war. I told her how much more worthy of love she would think me when I came back adorned with laurels. (O how green are the leaves that bloom from slaughter!) I said her image would be my companion; hor voice would be my vesper-bell, her smile my star of the morning; her face would be the visitant of my dreams; her love the mercy that would And so I went. Let me forget the horrors and the crimes of that long adventure. Instead of two years I was away seven; and from the first shield me from every danger She listened with suspended sobs and trembled, and all the while her eyes were appealing to my own, and penetrating to my heart to invoke its faith, that II was sad, sick, remorseful. Nothing but memmight not tempt misfortune to blight the early bridal of our hearts When I had done, her answer was as if I had not spoken, for still she only said that I must not go. She gave no more reasons now And I-did I deserve her love, when I thought that explaining and persuading were answers to the pleading tears, and swelling bosom, and quivering frame, and speaking eyes of that maiden Niobe shaken by her mournful fears? ory recalled to me the thought of love. And then did Jennie's reproaches rise up in judgment against me. I was long lost from her during the confusion of that terrible campaign. A solid continent now lay between us, and now an ocean. I heard not of her during four years Ah! she has forgotten, said I, the fiery, willful one to whom she gave her early love. At length I returned; but I was not he to whom she had said that sweet and dear farewell. "You will be changed when you return," she I was maimed, mutilated, disfigured—a cripple, said was. I change I knew I could not change' Why should Jennie doubt my truth? I would prove it. My mind was fixed. My fancy was flushed by ambitious anticipations I was resolved to leave. Jennie, at length, when her entreaties failed, reproached me, but so gently, that her very upbraiding sounded like a benediction. And so it It was not even the selfishness of affection. It was a pure, tender, earnest solicitude. She told me I was breaking faith with her in thus going away to engage in war. Was it for this that she had become the affianced of my heart? Was it for this that she had pledged her love, with every sacred vow, to answer mine? Was it for all this that I should take my hand from the pleasant cares of peace to corrupt it in the villanies of war; that I should mix with the worst of my kind; that I should ride over the harvests of the poor, and carouse in the glare of their burning homes, and see sweet babes made fatherless, and wives bereaved, and brides left desolate in the world? Oh, no. It was I that broke my pledge. I was not true to my early vow. I was not all for her I had made a new idol for my heart. I had declared I would never cause any sorrow to her, by denying to her love one of its earnest wishes. And now I was doing this I was making her grieve; I was risking the leaving her desolate to the end of her days For the sake of what? For the sake of a soldier's ambition. Ambition ! As though to wear the gray hairs of a good old man were not a nobler hope than to die in a trench, or live, shuddering with the memory of carnage, and fire, and blood, and all the nameless horrors of a war! I can not tell all the sorrows of that parting An infatuation burned in my head, and blinded me an object. I came home with a fleet filled half with trophies, half with the limbless, sightless remnants of a glorious war. But then it was a glorious war. Yes; in twenty years the earth had been dyed with the blood of six millions of men. What a miserable thing-the relic of a man-I looked, when in the sunny summer we bore down the Channel. I thought of Jennie, as the parting cup went round. I already looked upon her as lost; I had not falsified my pledge, yet had I not broken my own faith in doubting hers! I repented all I had done. Could I bind her to her own? Could I ask her to take, instead of the manly figure she had last seen, a wretched creature such as I then was? I had feelings of honor-naval honor-honor that blooms on the drum-head-honor that struts in a red sash, and feathered hat. I would release her! As though love were an attorney's bond As though a penful of ink could blot out the eternal record of a heart's first faithful affection. I wrote to her. I said I heard she was unmarried still. I had come home. I was also unmarried; but I was maimed, distorted, disfigured an object to look at. I had no right to insist on our contract. I would not force myself upon her. I would spare her feelings. I would not extort a final ratification of her promise. I loved her still, and should always with tenderness remember her, but I was bound to release her. She was free! Free! Free, by virtue of a written lease. Free, by one line, when the interwoven menories of a life's long faith were bound about her heart; when every root of affection that had struck into her bosom had sprung up with new blossoms of hope to adorn the visionary future. Free, by my honorable conduct-when she cherished as on an altar the flame of her vestal love, made fragrant by purity and trust. Her letter was not like mine It was quick, passionate, burning with affection It began with a reproach, and the reproach was blotted with a tear At length I went. Jennie's last blessing upbraided me more deeply than her first reproach When she knew that I should go, she said not one more desponding word; and then did I feel how gentle she was in sorrow, as she was serene-it ended with a blessing, and a tear had made in her days of joy. But I comforted myself I decided that Jennie, good as she was-dear, loving, noble-could not comprehend the idea of patriotism. And, once, a thought of falsehood crossed my mind I reflected that I had never tried her she might not be true to the absent: It would be good to test her faith. Let that blessing sacred too. Let me come to her. Let her see my face Let her embrace me. me never leave her more; and she would soothe me for all the pains I had endured. Not a word of her own sorrows! Scarcely could that happiness be real. And had my long absence; had my miserable disas |