Early Writings of the late R. C. Sands: Third Notice.—Through the continued kindness of the co-member of the 'Literary Confederacy,' of which the lamentedSandswas so bright an ornament, we are enabled to set before our readers another Salmagundi from that gifted writer's facile pen. We have lately touched in these pages upon the character and proceedings of the early Puritans; and as a pleasant illustration of their peculiar views, manners, and customs, we shall venture to select a few passages from 'Salem Witchcraft, an Eastern Tale,' in whichSands's love of the ludicrous and the burlesque is forcibly exhibited. The era of the story is thatannus mirabilis, 1692; the scene the town of Salem, (Mass.,) into which a stranger, mounted on a charger, descended from John of Gaunt's ploughing team, enters at a devout gait. This isFaithful Handy, an ordained teacher of the Word, who has 'a recommend' from a reverend brother toDeliverance Hobbes; which 'recommend' in some degree superseded the formalities of courtship in those primitive days. MissHobbeswas no Hebe, if we may judge from this sketch of her person and features, taken as she turned round, while drawing water at a well, to reconnoitre the new comer: 'Shesquinted in the peculiar mode described by the poet, 'when one eye looked up, the other looked down;' and was terribly deformed in her person. Nature, in elaborating this rare article, seemed to have been trying an optical experiment; as if to show, by adapting her crooked figure to a parabolical reflector, how symmetry may be produced from the most hideous and uncouth distortion. Her head, shaped like a broad-axe, was garnished with a tuft of red wool, which 'streamed like a meteor to the troubled air,' and would, if transplanted, like the locks of Berenice, have affrighted the nations, threatening pestilence and war. Her green eyes were set deep in her head, and seemed affected, like the grass, by the hot weather. A huge hawked nose covered half her face. Her ears were set like a dog's in the back of her head; and her broad concave cheeks were rivelled with seams, stigmatized with scars, and riddled with the small-pox. Thin skinny lips, and a Bavarian poke of the chin, completed the nomenclature of her charms; and the rest of her person tallied with her face. Such was the dragon that answered in a shrill voice to the parson's inquiries, 'Yes, Deliverance Hobbes lives here; and I am her daughter Beautiful!' This was confirmed by the apparition of the matron herself; who was the exemplar of her daughter's attractions, except that her own charms had become mellowed by age, and contrary to the usual course of nature, matured into something rather less ghastly and horrible. She seemed to be informed of the purport of her visiter's mission; for her first inquiry was: 'Be you the minister that's got a recommend from Hugh Peters?' Faithful groaned in the spirit, as he replied, he was; and as he entered the house, could not repress an inward ejaculation: 'Hugh Peters had not ought to have did this! The Lord deliver me from Deliverance Hobbes, and the Gorgon, her beautiful daughter!'Deliveranceexpressesher willingness that the preacher should 'keep company with her daughter Beautiful,' in which the latter acquiesces, with a supernatural leer; whereat the preacher is greatly perturbed. 'She is too bitter ornary!' he exclaims, mentally; and even a plentiful repast of bread, butter, milk, hominy, pork, sweet-meats, pumpkin-pie, and onions, cannot blind him tothatfact; hence he makes an excuse to depart for a brief season, to visit his friend GoodyMercy Peabody, who lives hard by, promising soon to return:
'Goody Peabodywas very glad to see Faithful, whom she had not beheld before since he was a child; and he was much pleased with her daughter Patience, who was the very reverse of Beautiful Hobbes; being a healthy, clean-limbed, tidy, good-natured looking housewife. He now learned that Beautiful was asuglyas she wasbitter; being a vast virago, and an intolerable slut. In short, it was soon settled that he should keep company with Patience, and let Beautiful shift for herself. As soon as Faithful had left the mansion of Goody Hobbes, which he did as fast as fear and his horse could carry him, the damsel whom he thus uncourteously shunned, having devoured him and his charger with her eyes, till they were out of the sphere of their vision, incontinently swallowed the remaining segment of the pumpkin-pie to which he had paid his most earnest devoirs, and waddled off to her dressing-room, to adorn her person for his expected return. In about half an hour she made her reäppearance in the parlor, which had been in the mean while swept and garnished. But not as she went out did Beautiful now return. She had exchanged the dishabille in which she was accustomed to perform her domestic duties for the whole paraphernalia of her toilet; and she now appeared arrayed in shreds and patches of as many different colors as are found in the neck of a turkey-cock, and loaded with every article of her wardrobe, which she imagined could give zest to her appearance, or add intensity to her charms. Her fiery locks, condensed to a focus, and curiously entwined with a green riband, much resembled a bunch of carrots dextrously garnished with grass. Her crooked carcase had been, in some measure, straightened by a pair of tight stays, which, reaching to her hips, prevented her, as she sat in a high-backed chair, from making any other than gyral contortions. Goody Hobbes, who had also paid some attention to her charms, sat opposite her daughter, admiring the second edition of her own perfections. Admiration of themselves, and of each other, for a while kept the two paragons silent. The elder at length broke forth: 'I guess it's high time for Faithful to be back.' To which the younger replied, 'I guess so too.' Then says the elder Hobbes, 'I guess there an't no witches and spectres at Punkapog-pond.' 'I guess there an't,' rejoined Beautiful. A long pause now ensued, which was broken by the matron's observing, 'I admire what keeps Faithful so long at Goody Peabody's.' 'I admire so too,' says Beautiful, who, from the bottom of her stays, spoke like one from the tomb. 'I admire how ornary Patience Peabody is,' quoth Deliverance. 'I admire at her too,' quoth Beautiful; 'how bitter she is! They say she has seen the black man.' Another long pause ensued, during which the impatience of the couple manifested itself by agitations, and writhings of their heads and extremities. Faithful not making his appearance, these spasmodic affections increased to universal and horrible convulsions of their whole frames; and they sat like two Pythonesses on their sacred stools, pregnant with inspiration, and looking unutterable things. At length, in the midst of her paroxysm, Deliverance bounced from her seat, exclaiming with vehemence, 'I notion to send Remarkable to see where the minister stays!'
'Goody Peabodywas very glad to see Faithful, whom she had not beheld before since he was a child; and he was much pleased with her daughter Patience, who was the very reverse of Beautiful Hobbes; being a healthy, clean-limbed, tidy, good-natured looking housewife. He now learned that Beautiful was asuglyas she wasbitter; being a vast virago, and an intolerable slut. In short, it was soon settled that he should keep company with Patience, and let Beautiful shift for herself. As soon as Faithful had left the mansion of Goody Hobbes, which he did as fast as fear and his horse could carry him, the damsel whom he thus uncourteously shunned, having devoured him and his charger with her eyes, till they were out of the sphere of their vision, incontinently swallowed the remaining segment of the pumpkin-pie to which he had paid his most earnest devoirs, and waddled off to her dressing-room, to adorn her person for his expected return. In about half an hour she made her reäppearance in the parlor, which had been in the mean while swept and garnished. But not as she went out did Beautiful now return. She had exchanged the dishabille in which she was accustomed to perform her domestic duties for the whole paraphernalia of her toilet; and she now appeared arrayed in shreds and patches of as many different colors as are found in the neck of a turkey-cock, and loaded with every article of her wardrobe, which she imagined could give zest to her appearance, or add intensity to her charms. Her fiery locks, condensed to a focus, and curiously entwined with a green riband, much resembled a bunch of carrots dextrously garnished with grass. Her crooked carcase had been, in some measure, straightened by a pair of tight stays, which, reaching to her hips, prevented her, as she sat in a high-backed chair, from making any other than gyral contortions. Goody Hobbes, who had also paid some attention to her charms, sat opposite her daughter, admiring the second edition of her own perfections. Admiration of themselves, and of each other, for a while kept the two paragons silent. The elder at length broke forth: 'I guess it's high time for Faithful to be back.' To which the younger replied, 'I guess so too.' Then says the elder Hobbes, 'I guess there an't no witches and spectres at Punkapog-pond.' 'I guess there an't,' rejoined Beautiful. A long pause now ensued, which was broken by the matron's observing, 'I admire what keeps Faithful so long at Goody Peabody's.' 'I admire so too,' says Beautiful, who, from the bottom of her stays, spoke like one from the tomb. 'I admire how ornary Patience Peabody is,' quoth Deliverance. 'I admire at her too,' quoth Beautiful; 'how bitter she is! They say she has seen the black man.' Another long pause ensued, during which the impatience of the couple manifested itself by agitations, and writhings of their heads and extremities. Faithful not making his appearance, these spasmodic affections increased to universal and horrible convulsions of their whole frames; and they sat like two Pythonesses on their sacred stools, pregnant with inspiration, and looking unutterable things. At length, in the midst of her paroxysm, Deliverance bounced from her seat, exclaiming with vehemence, 'I notion to send Remarkable to see where the minister stays!'
Remarkable Short, a woman six feet in her stockings, and quite 'in keeping' with theHobbesfamily, is despatched after Faithful by Deliverance, in these dulcet-words: 'Remarky, I wish you'd go down to Goody Peabody's and look after the minister that ate supper here. I notion that he's forgot that it's time for him to come back and pray, before we go to bed.' Remarkable and her errand were not very courteously received. Goody Peabody said 'she admired what business such a long-shanked, ill-conditioned, bitter-looking body as she, had to be snooping about other people's houses at that time of night; that Faithful was going to keep company with her daughterPatience; that Remarkable had better return to her employer; adding, that if she didn't troop in less than no time, she would see if her help,Preserved Perkins, couldn't help her.' Remarkable, after a series of adventures, arrives at home, and reports progress. Deliverance and her daughter Beautiful receive the intelligence of the defection of the minister in a paroxysm of anger and mortification; which ends in Beautiful's falling back in violent contortions, exclaiming that she is 'bewitched by Patience Peabody!' The village of Salem, it should be premised, was at this period in a woful state of perturbation, if we may believeCotton Mather, who tells us that 'the devils were walking about the streets with lengthened chains, making a dreadful noise in our ears; and brimstone, even without a metaphor, was making a horrid and an horrible stench in our nostrils. And whoever,' he adds, 'questions any of these things, I hold to be a person of peculiar dirtiness.' If we may believeMather, therefore, the 'Prince of the Air' and his imps, with an innumerable host of spectres, phantoms, apparitions, and hobgoblins, were let loose upon this devoted place, and at the instigation of old women, potent in witchcraft,were playing their damned pranks upon the inhabitants. Some delighted to stick pins and forks in the tender flesh of innocent babes. Others would grievously torment poor damsels, buffeting and tossing them about in a most lamentable manner. Sometimes they would cause the most serious and sober-minded persons to babble forth unutterable nonsense in all the known languages of the earth, except the Iroquois, in the which, it is said, the devil himself hath no skill. At others, they would excite the worthy townsmen, yea, even the selectmen themselves, to cut the most strange and fantastic capers; performing those evolutions which the Greeks call [Greek: kuzisan] and [Greek: ekkuzisan], now upon their heads they would dance aërial hornpipes and fandangos; and anon going upon all fours, they would bark like a pack of hounds, or bray like a troop of jack-asses. Beside this, brutes, and even inanimate matter, were the subjects of wicked sorcery: gridirons, shovels, and frying-pans, clattered and rang, though touched by no mortal hand; spits before the fire would fly up the chimney in the twinkling of an eye, and anon coming down again, stick in the back-log in a spiteful and portentous manner; and three-legged stools, slipping on one side, would laugh to see the matron whom they had eluded, lie sprawling on the ground. Naughty children would feign themselves bewitched by some person against whom they had taken an antipathy, and would kick, sprawl, and bellow, with wonderful agility, until they had succeeded in moving the tender hearts of judge and jury, and had the satisfaction of seeing poor Irishwomen hanged, whom their brogue convicted of infernal colloquies, or some poor old lady ducked and drowned, whom an unlucky squint showed to be possessed of an evil eye. In short, the whole country was in an eminently distressed and bedevilled predicament; and Beautiful Hobbes was a decided victim. A universal twitching assailed her joints; a sheeted paleness usurped her smoke-dried cheeks; the purple faded from the tip of her nose, and the color of her eyes became a dingy yellow; and she exclaimed, amid sobs and hiccups, 'Mother, there is a ball in my throat, and Patience Peabody hurts me!' And she continued to roar lustily, and pray for deliverance from her tormentor. Early next morning the Justice of the County Court is informed that there is a decided case of malignant witchcraft at Goody Hobbes's, where he is wanted immediately, in his judicial capacity. Accompanied therefore by the sheriff, andCotton Matherand his son, he straitway repairs to the scene of bewitchment: 'When they arrived there, the room was full of people. Deliverance and Remarkable were keeping guard on each side of the bed in which lay Beautiful, who, as soon as the Justice entered, uttered a terrible screech, and fell into hysterics. Mr. Mather junior then walked up to the bed, and passed his hand over the coverlid. They asked him what he felt? He said there was something supernatural there, resembling a rat, and quickly withdrew his fingers, having received a scratch quite across his hand. The mob were now, by command of the Justice, turned out of the room, and Mr. Mather senior made a prayer of half an hour's length; Deliverance every now and then giving her daughter a spoonful of brandy, to keep her quiet. When the prayer was concluded, Beautiful was told to say Amen; but she only made a muttering sort of noise, which sounded more like an imprecation than any thing else. After many ineffectual attempts, they gave over asking her to repeat the word; and the Justice asked her, 'Who hurt her?' She then answered, glibly enough, 'Patience Peabody; she sticks pins in me; and there is her spectre!' This was enough for the Justice, who ordered the sheriff, in a magisterial tone, to seize and hold the body of Patience Peabody until farther notice, at the same time calling out of the window to one of the crowd around the house, to go down to Dr.Drybones, and request his immediate presence. The messenger found that worthy functionary taking his morning walk in the grave-yard which adjoined his dwelling. 'He was a lank, long-visaged figure, skinny and withered up in his person, and who bore a considerable resemblance to one of his own dried preparations. One would imagine from his appearance that he had become assimilated to the spot where he usually perambulated; and where it was said he had sent the greater number of his patients, as if to have them under his more immediate charge.' Dr. Drybones repairs forthwith tothe possessed mansion, in a parlor of which the Squire and the two Mathers are awaiting him. After the first salutations, they all repair in a body to the chamber where Beautiful was lying, engaged in her gymnastic exhibitions:
'TheDoctor, at the head of the 'posse comitatus,' advanced solemnly up to the bed-side, and protruding his long skinny hand, took hold of the maiden's wrist between the fore-finger and thumb, with the true Esculapian gripe. Then closing his eyes, and holding in his breath, as if to condense all his sensibilities to the ends of his fingers, he began counting the pulsations. In about half a minute he pronounced, in a solemn, sepulchral tone, at each pause pouting out his lips, and smacking them in a curious manner: 'Pulse slow, and frequent; indicating a congestion of the cerebrum, and general plethora, together with a phlogistic diathesis; you understand me, Squire.' 'Oh, perfectly, perfectly; exactly so, Doctor,' replied the Justice, putting on one of his wisest looks; who, though he knew no more than a brewer's horse how a pulse could be slow and at the same time frequent, and also how this indicated a congestion of the cerebrum, yet did not like to confess his ignorance. 'And observe, Squire,' continued the Doctor, who had been lately reading a work on Nosology, and wished to show off a little before the Justice, 'observe, I say, the dilatation of the pupils, and the twitchings of the muscles, and the tossing of the extremities, and the spasmodic affection of the diaphragm, and the tetanic symptoms; you understand me, Squire; a very curious and complicated case, Squire.' The Justice, who at each stop in the Doctor's speech, had put in his usual 'Just so; exactly so; satanic symptoms, no doubt, Doctor;' coincided in this opinion. He also added that he had discovered the witch, and issued a warrant for her apprehension. Mr. Mather senior now came forward, and with a sneering and sarcastic expression of countenance, proposed, that as the Doctor understood the symptoms so well, he should exert himself a little to relieve them; at the same time insinuating that drugs and doctors were mere flea-bites, when opposed to witchcraft. 'Certainly,' replied the Doctor, in his deliberate tones, 'certainly, friend Mather, I shall do to the utmost of my poor abilities to fulfil the nineteen indications which offer. Of which the first is phlebotomy; the second a cleansing emetic; the third a saline cathartic; the fourth a potent anti-spasmodic; the fifth a relaxing sodorifie; the sixth——' 'Now may Satan take both you and your nineteen indications!' interrupted Mather senior, who was much offended by this pedantic and conceited speech; and whose indignation was vehemently aroused by his being called 'friend Mather,' which he considered a downright insult, he having a most horrible antipathy to Quakerism. 'I tell you what, Drybones,' continued he, 'you are a person of a shallow wit, and small capacity for understanding these things; and touching the wonders of the invisible world, I hold you to be little better than an ass. Here Mather junior put in his oar, saying that Drybones was a quack, and an ignoramus, and that he would not trust him to bleed his cow. Drybones, however, who possessed a happy share of equanimity, and who prided himself upon his imperturbable countenance, paid no manner of regard to these discourses; but pulling out an enormous fleam-lancet, and turning to the Justice, exclaimed: 'Now by the blessing of God, will I open the jugular of this damsel!' Then calling for three small porringers, and setting the spring of his lancet, the edge of which he tried upon his thumb-nail, he advanced boldly up to the bed.'
'TheDoctor, at the head of the 'posse comitatus,' advanced solemnly up to the bed-side, and protruding his long skinny hand, took hold of the maiden's wrist between the fore-finger and thumb, with the true Esculapian gripe. Then closing his eyes, and holding in his breath, as if to condense all his sensibilities to the ends of his fingers, he began counting the pulsations. In about half a minute he pronounced, in a solemn, sepulchral tone, at each pause pouting out his lips, and smacking them in a curious manner: 'Pulse slow, and frequent; indicating a congestion of the cerebrum, and general plethora, together with a phlogistic diathesis; you understand me, Squire.' 'Oh, perfectly, perfectly; exactly so, Doctor,' replied the Justice, putting on one of his wisest looks; who, though he knew no more than a brewer's horse how a pulse could be slow and at the same time frequent, and also how this indicated a congestion of the cerebrum, yet did not like to confess his ignorance. 'And observe, Squire,' continued the Doctor, who had been lately reading a work on Nosology, and wished to show off a little before the Justice, 'observe, I say, the dilatation of the pupils, and the twitchings of the muscles, and the tossing of the extremities, and the spasmodic affection of the diaphragm, and the tetanic symptoms; you understand me, Squire; a very curious and complicated case, Squire.' The Justice, who at each stop in the Doctor's speech, had put in his usual 'Just so; exactly so; satanic symptoms, no doubt, Doctor;' coincided in this opinion. He also added that he had discovered the witch, and issued a warrant for her apprehension. Mr. Mather senior now came forward, and with a sneering and sarcastic expression of countenance, proposed, that as the Doctor understood the symptoms so well, he should exert himself a little to relieve them; at the same time insinuating that drugs and doctors were mere flea-bites, when opposed to witchcraft. 'Certainly,' replied the Doctor, in his deliberate tones, 'certainly, friend Mather, I shall do to the utmost of my poor abilities to fulfil the nineteen indications which offer. Of which the first is phlebotomy; the second a cleansing emetic; the third a saline cathartic; the fourth a potent anti-spasmodic; the fifth a relaxing sodorifie; the sixth——' 'Now may Satan take both you and your nineteen indications!' interrupted Mather senior, who was much offended by this pedantic and conceited speech; and whose indignation was vehemently aroused by his being called 'friend Mather,' which he considered a downright insult, he having a most horrible antipathy to Quakerism. 'I tell you what, Drybones,' continued he, 'you are a person of a shallow wit, and small capacity for understanding these things; and touching the wonders of the invisible world, I hold you to be little better than an ass. Here Mather junior put in his oar, saying that Drybones was a quack, and an ignoramus, and that he would not trust him to bleed his cow. Drybones, however, who possessed a happy share of equanimity, and who prided himself upon his imperturbable countenance, paid no manner of regard to these discourses; but pulling out an enormous fleam-lancet, and turning to the Justice, exclaimed: 'Now by the blessing of God, will I open the jugular of this damsel!' Then calling for three small porringers, and setting the spring of his lancet, the edge of which he tried upon his thumb-nail, he advanced boldly up to the bed.'
TheMathersinterposed, however, and 'prevented the effusion of blood;' it being considered by the strict Puritans as much a matter of heresy for a doctor to interfere with a case of witchcraft, as it is for a physician at the present day to treat one of canine rabies by what is called 'regular practice.' The Justice and theMathers, after the doctor had left the house, departed together, discussing on their way many serious topics and profound questions concerning witchcraft, sorcery, enchantments, good and bad spirits, apparitions, and such grave matters; in which the elderMatherdisplayed so much and such various learning upon his general theme, that it quite overpowered the Justice; who at last interposed, saying, petulantly: 'Well, for my part I don't know nothing about these things, and always did. A little law is all that I know.' The Squire having arrived at home, is informed by the sheriff that he has Patience in custody; when, accompanied by his 'divine friends,' the man of law proceeds with magisterial dignity to his hall of justice, where he finds a great mob of people, and hears the dolorous shrieks of sundry frantic-looking women, which he finds on inquiry to proceed 'from Abigail Williams and her gossips, who are roaring out because Patience hurts them.' 'Ha!' said the Justice, 'I begin to smell a rat. That Abigail Williams has borne testimony in every case of witchcraft that has occurred in this town since the beginning of the troubles thereof; and if she had been pinched, and pricked, and bruised, half so much as she says she has, she must have been a corpse long ago.' 'Pray, young woman,' said he, addressing himself to Patience; 'what is the matter with Beautiful Hobbes?' 'I do not know,' said Patience; 'I reckon she is crazy.' 'But why does she cry out against you, for putting the black man upon her?' 'I do not desire to spend my judgment thereon,' answered she. The worthy magistrate seemed puzzled what to say next, and turning to DoctorMather, inquired, 'what was his judgment touching the question, whether the devil could torment in the shape of a virtuous person?' Mather made answer, 'that he should be proud to communicate his poor opinion thereof at a more seeming time; but held it best, under correction, to proceed with the business in hand.' 'Well,' said the Squire, 'I believe there is no more to be said. I must make out this young woman's mittimus, and have her confined until the grand jury sit.' Faithful interposes for his lady-love, remonstrates against her imprisonment, and offers to undertake to make Beautiful repent her accusations before night, if he might be allowed a private interview with her; at which propositionMatherexpressed himself shocked, and severely reproved Faithful for desiring to have infernal communication with a woman accused of witchcraft. When the Justice and his reverend guests had gone back to discuss the question, whether the devil could torment in the shape of a good man, the crowd proceeded to the sheriff's house, the women ranting, roaring, and screaming; the bedevilled Abigail Williams, among the rest, walking as if afflicted by Saint Vitus, screeching in the most painfully distressing tone, and ever and anon falling into apparent convulsions; the mob the while mingling their groans and dolorous wailings, as if Pandemonium had broken loose in good earnest, and Satan had come again upon the earth like a roaring lion. Meantime Faithful bends his way to Dame Hobbes's, to remonstrate with the possessed Beautiful. He reaches the mansion:
'Witha trembling hand he ventured to open the door, after he had knocked several times in vain. Through the smoke which filled the apartment, he saw the elder female seated by the fireside, with her chin resting on her palms, and a stump of a pipe in her mouth. Remarkable was lying, seemingly dead drunk, upon the floor, and snoring like fifty bull-frogs; and Beautiful, in a short gown and petticoat, was sitting on the side of the bed, discussing a large bowl of bean-soup. The old woman took no notice of Faithful, but continued smoking her pipe with great sang-froid; but the eyes of Beautiful twinkled with emotion at his appearance. With a mixed expression of countenance, where pleasure and surprise at beholding the preacher curiously blended with the bitter twist given her visage by the hot soup, she motioned him to sit down beside her. He obeyed with the dubious air of one who seats himself with a half-formed resolution of suffering the extraction of a grinder. She edged up to him, and asked him if he would have some soup; but he declined the offer with a graceful wave of the hand, telling her that he came to have a little private conversation with her. At this, Beautiful told him to say what he had to say, as Remarkable was too drunk, and her mother too sleepy, to overhear him. The preacher now commenced a long and animated expostulation with the damsel, on her conduct, in which he mingled threats and promises, reproofs and entreaties, in a subtle and orator-like manner. Beautiful at first heard him with great impatience, and seemed convulsed with inward emotion; now stifling a rising sob, and now gulping down a spoonful of the soup. He at last seemed to hit upon an argument that fixed her attention; for all at once she became quite calm, and as soon as he had finished, wonderful to relate, promised to behave herself, and not be bewitched any more. Upon this he departed, telling her that the Justice was coming in the evening to see how she did, and bidding her be careful, and mind what he had told her.'
'Witha trembling hand he ventured to open the door, after he had knocked several times in vain. Through the smoke which filled the apartment, he saw the elder female seated by the fireside, with her chin resting on her palms, and a stump of a pipe in her mouth. Remarkable was lying, seemingly dead drunk, upon the floor, and snoring like fifty bull-frogs; and Beautiful, in a short gown and petticoat, was sitting on the side of the bed, discussing a large bowl of bean-soup. The old woman took no notice of Faithful, but continued smoking her pipe with great sang-froid; but the eyes of Beautiful twinkled with emotion at his appearance. With a mixed expression of countenance, where pleasure and surprise at beholding the preacher curiously blended with the bitter twist given her visage by the hot soup, she motioned him to sit down beside her. He obeyed with the dubious air of one who seats himself with a half-formed resolution of suffering the extraction of a grinder. She edged up to him, and asked him if he would have some soup; but he declined the offer with a graceful wave of the hand, telling her that he came to have a little private conversation with her. At this, Beautiful told him to say what he had to say, as Remarkable was too drunk, and her mother too sleepy, to overhear him. The preacher now commenced a long and animated expostulation with the damsel, on her conduct, in which he mingled threats and promises, reproofs and entreaties, in a subtle and orator-like manner. Beautiful at first heard him with great impatience, and seemed convulsed with inward emotion; now stifling a rising sob, and now gulping down a spoonful of the soup. He at last seemed to hit upon an argument that fixed her attention; for all at once she became quite calm, and as soon as he had finished, wonderful to relate, promised to behave herself, and not be bewitched any more. Upon this he departed, telling her that the Justice was coming in the evening to see how she did, and bidding her be careful, and mind what he had told her.'
Accordingly, when evening arrives, Faithful accompanies the Justice and the sheriff to Goody Hobbes's mansion, which the 'visiting party' enter with faces as long and serious as if they had come to a funeral. The Justice breaks silence, by asking Beautiful how she finds herself, to which she responds, 'I notion I feel better this evening, and am not bewitched any more.' 'Then,' quoth the Justice, 'I guess you was crazy this morning.' 'I guess I was,' answers Beautiful. The final result is, that Patience Peabody is liberated, and Remarkable Short and Preserved Perkins, who have 'conspired against the general peace,' cut a remarkable figure in the stocks; where, being obliged to endure each other's company for two hours side by side, they contracted an affection for that position; 'their passions vacillated from the extreme of hate to that of love; a sneaking partiality arose between them; Preserved afterward married Remarkable, and a curious couple they were.' Faithful carried back his blooming bride, with whom he lived a long life of peace and innocence. 'They had thirteen children; the first was called Welcome, and the last Content; and their posterity inherit the land to this day.'
Manyof our readers, who never had the good fortune to hear the elderKean, will thank us for the annexed striking picture bySands, of his personation of Shylock, in'The Merchant of Venice.' It was written for the 'Literary Journal,' a thin monthly pamphlet, which closed its very brief existence some twenty-five years ago:
'Kean's manner in the first part is that of the miserly, calculating Jew; and it is not until the entrance of Antonio, that we suspect him of aught worse than usury. The sight of Antonio kindles his hatred, and he exclaims, 'Cursed be my tribe, if I forgive him!' We tremble for the merchant, and shudder, as with a sudden change of countenance he smooths the wrinkle of hate from his brow, and turns to his victim with, 'Rest you fair, good Signior.' The speech in which he recounts the bitter scorn, the personal indignities he has received from Antonio, was finely given. It was not said entirely in anger; beneath his indignation could be discerned a malignant pleasure; and when he said, 'Well, then, it now appears you need my help,' his eyes seemed to flash with ferocious joy. The conciliating and jesting manner he assumed while settling the terms of the contract, was admirable, and the performance of the whole scene was without a fault. The passage most deserving praise, in the next act in which he appears, is the trembling eagerness with which he receives the news of Antonio's loss, as he exclaims, almost breathless: 'What, what, what! Ill luck, ill luck?' And even, while in his impious rapture, he thanks God, he still doubtingly asks, 'Is it true; is it true?' But it is in the trial scene that this gifted actor puts forth his strength. With what an unmoved air he listened to the Duke's exhortation to be merciful! His reply was not spoken with violence, in the loudness of anger, but with a horrid calmness in a subdued but chilling manner; and he asked, 'Are you answered?' in a tone of bitter irony. So fiendish a countenance we wish never to look upon, except when we know it is assumed, as when he sharpened the ready knife, and cried with a serpent hiss, 'To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there!' We almost quaked before the glance of his demon eye, as he seemed to gloat upon his victim. As he gazed on Antonio, his lips were slightly curled by the bitter smile of satisfied malice; his eyes were bright and distended with the joy of his revengeful anticipations; yet he neither spoke nor moved. We pass over many points, to notice his answer to Portia's suggestion, of sending for a surgeon, lest Antonio bleed to death. 'Is it so nominated in the bond?' And the expression with which he raises his eyes from the paper, and says, with a smile which a devil might own, 'I cannot find it—'tis not in the bond.' As the court proceeds to award the sentence in his favor, his face becomes lighted by exultation; his whole form seems to throb with joy; he bares his hands, and grasps the knife, with convulsive eagerness. But who can do justice to the sudden transition of his manner, the horror-struck, doubting air, the fixed rigid countenance, with which he hears the forbidding clause? When he finds utterance, it is but a sentence of four words which he pronounces. But how are they pronounced! The fingers which had clenched the knife gradually unloose their grasp, and fall nerveless and slowly by his side; the disappointed, dejected, almost exhausted tone, in which he with difficulty articulates 'Is that the law?' Surely this was the perfection of acting. We have beheldCooke's representation of this character with delight, and have dwelt upon it with pleasure. But, great as it was, compared toKean's, it appears a cold performance. Indeed, Mr.Keanapproaches nearer toGarrickthan any actor since his time.Kemblehas more majesty;Cookepossesses more physical power, and though not a good, yet a finely-modulated voice.Cooperhas great advantages both of person and voice; but they are all deficient in that astonishing variety of expression, that power of reaching men's hearts, and causing them to tremble, which distinguishes Mr.Kean.'
'Kean's manner in the first part is that of the miserly, calculating Jew; and it is not until the entrance of Antonio, that we suspect him of aught worse than usury. The sight of Antonio kindles his hatred, and he exclaims, 'Cursed be my tribe, if I forgive him!' We tremble for the merchant, and shudder, as with a sudden change of countenance he smooths the wrinkle of hate from his brow, and turns to his victim with, 'Rest you fair, good Signior.' The speech in which he recounts the bitter scorn, the personal indignities he has received from Antonio, was finely given. It was not said entirely in anger; beneath his indignation could be discerned a malignant pleasure; and when he said, 'Well, then, it now appears you need my help,' his eyes seemed to flash with ferocious joy. The conciliating and jesting manner he assumed while settling the terms of the contract, was admirable, and the performance of the whole scene was without a fault. The passage most deserving praise, in the next act in which he appears, is the trembling eagerness with which he receives the news of Antonio's loss, as he exclaims, almost breathless: 'What, what, what! Ill luck, ill luck?' And even, while in his impious rapture, he thanks God, he still doubtingly asks, 'Is it true; is it true?' But it is in the trial scene that this gifted actor puts forth his strength. With what an unmoved air he listened to the Duke's exhortation to be merciful! His reply was not spoken with violence, in the loudness of anger, but with a horrid calmness in a subdued but chilling manner; and he asked, 'Are you answered?' in a tone of bitter irony. So fiendish a countenance we wish never to look upon, except when we know it is assumed, as when he sharpened the ready knife, and cried with a serpent hiss, 'To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there!' We almost quaked before the glance of his demon eye, as he seemed to gloat upon his victim. As he gazed on Antonio, his lips were slightly curled by the bitter smile of satisfied malice; his eyes were bright and distended with the joy of his revengeful anticipations; yet he neither spoke nor moved. We pass over many points, to notice his answer to Portia's suggestion, of sending for a surgeon, lest Antonio bleed to death. 'Is it so nominated in the bond?' And the expression with which he raises his eyes from the paper, and says, with a smile which a devil might own, 'I cannot find it—'tis not in the bond.' As the court proceeds to award the sentence in his favor, his face becomes lighted by exultation; his whole form seems to throb with joy; he bares his hands, and grasps the knife, with convulsive eagerness. But who can do justice to the sudden transition of his manner, the horror-struck, doubting air, the fixed rigid countenance, with which he hears the forbidding clause? When he finds utterance, it is but a sentence of four words which he pronounces. But how are they pronounced! The fingers which had clenched the knife gradually unloose their grasp, and fall nerveless and slowly by his side; the disappointed, dejected, almost exhausted tone, in which he with difficulty articulates 'Is that the law?' Surely this was the perfection of acting. We have beheldCooke's representation of this character with delight, and have dwelt upon it with pleasure. But, great as it was, compared toKean's, it appears a cold performance. Indeed, Mr.Keanapproaches nearer toGarrickthan any actor since his time.Kemblehas more majesty;Cookepossesses more physical power, and though not a good, yet a finely-modulated voice.Cooperhas great advantages both of person and voice; but they are all deficient in that astonishing variety of expression, that power of reaching men's hearts, and causing them to tremble, which distinguishes Mr.Kean.'
Kean's power over the feelings of his audiences seems scarcely to have been surpassed by any actor that ever trod the stage. Hosts of admirers speak of him even now with unabated enthusiasm.
Thesubjoined beautiful reflections and yet more admirable poetry are from an essay based oddly enough upon a version of one of the monosyllabic poems ofAusonius; a string of verses, in which the last monosyllable of each line forms the first of the next, and the first is the same as the last; so that they may be read over and over again without end. 'We take it,' writesSands, 'as a good motto for a paper which we mean to write, without having any precise notion on what subject we shall descant. We mean to make, on something or other, 'a few plain and practical remarks,' as the Rev. Mr. —— says, when he means to preach a sermon five quarters of an hour long.' The paper thus lightly commenced, closes as follows:
'AMANwho lives out his threescore and ten years, or lingers beyond that period, must, in the common course of events, see the ordinary revolutions affected by time and death. At the middle of his career, he sees a flourishing family around him; friends and connections formed in his advancing course; attachments begun in sympathy, and cemented by interest. He lives on; and his children are scattered by the accidents of mortality, and their graves are in different countries. His friends have vanished from their former haunts, and the places that knew them, now know them no more for ever. 'He asks of the solitudes, where are they? and the hollow echo answers, Where?' There is no one to sympathize with his remembrances of the past; his infirmities become a grievance, or he thinks them so, to those around him; and he still feels that lingering attachment to life, which answers the philosopher's question,an mors malum sit, with the powerful evidence of consciousness. Hope and Memory delude the pilgrim in his journey, by the false colors with which they paint the scene before and behind him. 'Man never is, but always to be blest;' and as the future, depicted by the fancy only, presents unmingled visions of delight, the past, mellowed by time, loses the little inconveniences which jarred discordantly with the passingmusic of pleasure; and its remembrance makes us regret what when present we neglected. It was under the influence of such reflections, that the following lines were composed. They were written in a prophetic hour by one who died young, and willing to depart:
'AMANwho lives out his threescore and ten years, or lingers beyond that period, must, in the common course of events, see the ordinary revolutions affected by time and death. At the middle of his career, he sees a flourishing family around him; friends and connections formed in his advancing course; attachments begun in sympathy, and cemented by interest. He lives on; and his children are scattered by the accidents of mortality, and their graves are in different countries. His friends have vanished from their former haunts, and the places that knew them, now know them no more for ever. 'He asks of the solitudes, where are they? and the hollow echo answers, Where?' There is no one to sympathize with his remembrances of the past; his infirmities become a grievance, or he thinks them so, to those around him; and he still feels that lingering attachment to life, which answers the philosopher's question,an mors malum sit, with the powerful evidence of consciousness. Hope and Memory delude the pilgrim in his journey, by the false colors with which they paint the scene before and behind him. 'Man never is, but always to be blest;' and as the future, depicted by the fancy only, presents unmingled visions of delight, the past, mellowed by time, loses the little inconveniences which jarred discordantly with the passingmusic of pleasure; and its remembrance makes us regret what when present we neglected. It was under the influence of such reflections, that the following lines were composed. They were written in a prophetic hour by one who died young, and willing to depart:
Delusiveworld! whose phantom throngStill flit, with juggling smiles, along,To cheat the aching sense;Where, as in man's primeval tongue,Joy hath no present tense!Joy, decked in unsubstantial hues,The impatient fool for e'er pursues,Till when the form is nigh,The enchantress fair no more he views,And all her colors fly.But lo! 'tis there! 'tis there, again!He starts anew, on quest as vain—The enchantress is not there!But like a vampyre from the tombs,Behind, once more, the form assumesIts station in the air.Thus Hope and Memory still delude;Now with the future's fancied good,Now with the fancied past;Till comes eternal night to broodAbove them both at last!While thus I mused, I heard a voiceOf sweet and solemn tone:'O child of clay!' it said, 'rejoice,Nor woo despair alone.'For know thine age hath reached its prime:There is a race of menWho do but hail life's summer-time,And sink to earth again.With one swift flame their being burns,And soon their dust to dust returns'—Blest Spirit! tell me—when?Again the voice of music spoke:'There is a happier sphere,Where neither hope nor memory mock,Yet joy is present there;And dreaming souls to bliss have woke'—Blest Spirit! tell me—where?'Thou may'st with equal eye beholdHours, days, and years behind thee rolled,Grasping each present Now;Nor dread the moment yet to come,Nor weep o'er pleasure's mental tomb'—Blest Spirit! tell me—how?
Delusiveworld! whose phantom throngStill flit, with juggling smiles, along,To cheat the aching sense;Where, as in man's primeval tongue,Joy hath no present tense!
Joy, decked in unsubstantial hues,The impatient fool for e'er pursues,Till when the form is nigh,The enchantress fair no more he views,And all her colors fly.
But lo! 'tis there! 'tis there, again!He starts anew, on quest as vain—The enchantress is not there!But like a vampyre from the tombs,Behind, once more, the form assumesIts station in the air.
Thus Hope and Memory still delude;Now with the future's fancied good,Now with the fancied past;Till comes eternal night to broodAbove them both at last!
While thus I mused, I heard a voiceOf sweet and solemn tone:'O child of clay!' it said, 'rejoice,Nor woo despair alone.
'For know thine age hath reached its prime:There is a race of menWho do but hail life's summer-time,And sink to earth again.With one swift flame their being burns,And soon their dust to dust returns'—Blest Spirit! tell me—when?
Again the voice of music spoke:'There is a happier sphere,Where neither hope nor memory mock,Yet joy is present there;And dreaming souls to bliss have woke'—Blest Spirit! tell me—where?
'Thou may'st with equal eye beholdHours, days, and years behind thee rolled,Grasping each present Now;Nor dread the moment yet to come,Nor weep o'er pleasure's mental tomb'—Blest Spirit! tell me—how?
Althoughwe find ourselves 'at the end of the tether,' we cannot resist the inclination to present the following forceful lines. Possibly the sentiment may be deemed heretical by the very imaginative and the young; but even such, if tasteful and discriminating persons, cannot choose but admire the melody of the verse, and the beauty of the imagery:
Infiction's devious wilds the heart misled,To dull reality ungrateful turns;Substantial earth's fair plains untempting spread,And day's blest beam with light unlovely burns.Yet not all Fancy's dreams, most wild and bright,Are worth one day of Comfort's calm routine;And simple Truth, attired in vestal white,Transcends her starry front and garments' sheen.And constant woman's fond and glowing kiss,And heaven's own workmanship of mortal charms,Are worth whole ages of imagined bliss,Lost in ideal Beauty's airy arms.The monster brood that cloudy spectre boreTo rash Ixion, deem not half so vainAs the fond progeny of minstrel lore,Nursed in the womb of a distempered brain.Why float these visions of delusive birthBefore the wanderers on the wastes of time,Ordained to tread the firm, unyielding earth,Nor yet the spires of heaven forbidden climb?Is it that the soul divine, imprisoned here,Beyond its dungeon bars essays to roam,O'erleaps the due progression to its sphere,Sees forms and shadows of its destined home?Or, lost to innocence, to truth, to Eden,Did our dark curse not quench each early ray,But leave its broken beams, to light unbiddenThe checkered mazes of the exile's way?
Infiction's devious wilds the heart misled,To dull reality ungrateful turns;Substantial earth's fair plains untempting spread,And day's blest beam with light unlovely burns.
Yet not all Fancy's dreams, most wild and bright,Are worth one day of Comfort's calm routine;And simple Truth, attired in vestal white,Transcends her starry front and garments' sheen.
And constant woman's fond and glowing kiss,And heaven's own workmanship of mortal charms,Are worth whole ages of imagined bliss,Lost in ideal Beauty's airy arms.
The monster brood that cloudy spectre boreTo rash Ixion, deem not half so vainAs the fond progeny of minstrel lore,Nursed in the womb of a distempered brain.
Why float these visions of delusive birthBefore the wanderers on the wastes of time,Ordained to tread the firm, unyielding earth,Nor yet the spires of heaven forbidden climb?
Is it that the soul divine, imprisoned here,Beyond its dungeon bars essays to roam,O'erleaps the due progression to its sphere,Sees forms and shadows of its destined home?
Or, lost to innocence, to truth, to Eden,Did our dark curse not quench each early ray,But leave its broken beams, to light unbiddenThe checkered mazes of the exile's way?
Wehave not exhausted the stores which our obliging friend of 'the Confederacy' has placed at our disposal. When we have more space, we shall resume the desultory series which we are compelled to bring abruptly to a present conclusion.
Gossip from an American Lady in Paris.—We derive the subjoined pleasant gossip from a young and gifted American lady, at present resident in the French metropolis. We hope to be similarly favored, whenever our fair correspondent shall find leisure from the demands of society to transcribe her fresh 'jottings-down' for our pages: 'Wewent to the Hotel des Invalides this morning to see the plans in relief of the fortified towns of France. They are exhibited to the public only during one month in the year. The plans of those cities I have visited interested me particularly. They are so minute that Miss L——, who accompanied us, had no difficulty in finding the country-house near Toulon where she spent some months last year. I was much struck by the plan of Embrun, in Dauphiny, that little town celebrated in both history and romance by the pilgrimages so frequently made to it by devout Catholics. It is strongly fortified and built on a rock of semi-circular form, which rises so perpendicularly on one side from the meadows which lie below, that one would suppose it must have been hewn away by the hand of man. I was much interested, too, by the plan of Mont St. Michel, in Normandy, the celebrated prison, built on a rock, which the tide separates twice a day from the main land, and where the political prisoners condemned after theémeuté, in May, 1839, are confined. We were looking at the plan of a fort, on the pedestal of which the name had not been labelled as on the others, when a soldier standing near informed us it was that of Ham, where the nephew ofNapoleonis now a prisoner. It is in Picardy, which I am told is the most arid and unfruitful province in France. It is built around a quadrangular court, or I should rather say there are three buildings and a terrace which form a hollow square. The prince, who is said to be a remarkably good horseman, is allowed to ride on this terrace, which is not shaded by trees; indeed, if this plan be correct, which I suppose it must be, as it has just been made, there is but one tree within the precincts of the fortress.... In the evening, my friend, Madame D—— took me to the house of the Polish PrincessCzartoryski. PrinceAdam Czartoryskiis from his birth, his wealth, and his character, one of the most illustrious of the Polish refugees. His life has been checkered by every extreme of good or ill. In early youth, he served in the army of the republic of Poland. He was at one time the captive ofCatherineII., and in 1831 was at the head of the provisional government of Poland. After the total defeat of the Polish army, Prince and PrincessCzartoryskiwith some difficulty made their escape, with their three children, the youngest of whom was not a year old. The Princess had not even a change of linen with her, and no time to collect her jewels, which were brought to her after she had reached the Austrian frontier, by a soldier, whom she had never seen before, and who refused to tell his name. It is impossible to imagine a greater contrast than that offered by the present mode of life of the Prince and Princess, and the splendor by which they were formerly surrounded. PrinceAdamwas one of the richest proprietors, and possessed not one, but several, of the most magnificent palaces in Poland, and was accustomed from childhood to every comfort and luxury which wealth could devise. The house he now inhabits is as simple as possible; but he remains at home every Monday evening for the purpose of seeing his friends and countrymen; and hissalonis always crowded with the most learned men and most fashionable women in Paris. These weekly receptions are attended with but very little expense here, as tea and lemonade are the only refreshments it is the custom to offer. PrinceCzartoryskiis a most venerable-looking man of about seventy. The expression of his face is habitually melancholy, but at times he isvery animated in conversation. Like most Poles, he speaks low and very slowly. I remarked that he was particularly polite and attentive to young people, which in a man, who, from his various misfortunes and trials, can take but little interest in general society, is, I think, very striking. The Princess, who must be almost thirty years younger than the Prince, is very lady-like and prepossessing in her manners. She is much beloved by hercompatriotes: her efforts to relieve those who are in distressed circumstances being unceasing. She employs all her leisure hours in embroidering; and her embroidery, which is more beautiful than any thing of the kind I have ever seen, is sold at a bazar, which is opened during the last week of every year; new-year's day being the time when the French make those presents to their friends which in England and in our country are made on Christmas day. All the ladies of the Princess's acquaintance of course contribute to her bazar; and those who are remarkable for their beauty or their talents, are invited by her to keep the stalls. * * *Mrs.B——, whose son, a lad of about sixteen, is now engaged in attending thecours de religion, or religious lectures of M.Coquerel, one of the clergymen of the Reformed Church of Paris, took me this morning to hear one of the lectures. M.Coquerelis the nephew of the celebratedHelen Maria Williams, by whom he was educated. He is the most eloquent, and I believe the most learned, clergyman in Paris. I had been much pleased with his sermons, and was therefore very glad to have an opportunity of hearing one of his lectures. His class was composed of about thirty young men, of different ages, from sixteen to twenty-five. He has written a little book called 'Cours de Religion,' which he makes use of in his lectures. The method he adopts is this: He reads a paragraph from this little volume, and then comments upon it, and explains or developes it, often relating interesting anecdotes suggested to him by the subject, or asking questions which the foregoing lectures enable the scholars to reply to. The young men take notes, write them out at home, and bring these papers to Mr.Coquerelat the next lesson. The lectures for young men take place twice a week, from October to May, and those for young ladies at different hours during the same period. The scholars are admitted to take the sacrament at Pentecost. M.Coquerelis a most active and industrious man. Beside several volumes of sermons, and innumerable papers for different religious journals, he has published a very useful work, called 'Biographie Sacrée,' in which every name mentioned in the Bible is to be found. His manner is very animated; and as each lecture lasts but an hour, it is impossible that the attention of the young hearers should become weary.... 'April19th. Went to the exhibition of paintings by living artists, which is now open at the Louvre. The most beautiful picture there, is one by M.Cogniet; 'Tintorettopainting his dead Daughter.' The biographers of the great master inform us, that he had a daughter who evinced great talent for painting, to whom he was devotedly attached, but who died when young. M.Cogniethas chosen the moment whenTintoretto, rising from his easel, on which rests the unfinished portrait, stands gazing on his beloved daughter, who is lying on a bed in the fore-ground of the picture. The father is almostde face, but the lower part of his figure is concealed by the bed. A crimson curtain falls behind him, and forms a rich but not gaudy back-ground to the picture and, by throwing a slight reflection on the daughter's face, relieves the whole from that disagreeable effect, which, with less judgment and good taste on the part of the artist, it must have produced, without taking from it the solemnity which the subject required. This is, on the whole, almost the only picture of the modern French school which pleases me entirely; in which there is no exaggeration of expression or gesture, and which deserves to be compared to those of the modern school of painting in Germany. I have no doubt that the circumstance of an exhibition taking place every year is a great disadvantage to young artists, who hurry to finish a picture for that occasion, in order that their names may be mentioned in the journals, and that they may obtain a celebrity which lasts but a few weeks. If the exhibition took place but once in five years, I am convinced we should see more fine pictures at the Louvre. Among the portraits I remarked one ofMajorPoussin, who resided for so many years in the United States. It is painted by MademoiselleGodefroid, a pupil ofGerard, and is a very good likeness. I was struck by a portrait of M'lle deFauveau. This lady is of a noble family of Brittany, and is well known for her devotion to the cause of theDuchess de Berri, and for the talent she has displayed in the art of sculpture. She is neither young nor handsome; she is dressed in the costume of a peasant of Brittany, a sort ofblouseor loose frock, with her hair cut short in a strait line across her forehead, as we sometimes see it in the portraits of the early French kings. There is a portrait of theDuke of Orleansat the Louvre. It was painted from memory byScheffer, a very clever artist. Some of the fruit-pieces and portraits,au pastel, in colored chalks, are very beautiful. Indeed, the French excel in this style of drawing. Among the paintings on porcelain we particularly admired a Holy Family, copied from one of the old masters. It is a perfect bijou. The day after our visit to the Louvre, Mrs. R—— took me to theatelierof Mr.Healy, the young American artist. His portrait ofWashington, copied from one byStuart, gave great satisfaction toLouis Philippe, and has been placed in one of the historical galleries at Versailles. Mr.Healyhas now a beautiful picture of two of ColonelThorne's daughters, which he is retouching, at his room. The attitudes, particularly that of the eldest of the young ladies, are very graceful, and the whole picture in very good taste.'
The Irish Sketch-Book.—This capital work by 'Mr. M. A.Titmarsh,' otherwise W. M.Thackeray, Esq., author of 'The Yellowplush Correspondence,' has just been published by Mr.Winchester, at the 'New World' office, in a very neat little pamphlet-volume, illustrated with numerous engravings, from the pencil of the author. Our readers have had repeated evidences of the high estimation in which we hold the writings of Mr.Thackeray; and they may trust our judgment in this, that they will find the volume before us to be second to no previous work of the writer. It is, in fact, Ireland on canvass; its various cities and towns; its ludicrous modes of travel, and more ludicrous travellers; its wretched poverty, its generous hospitality; its suffering, and its indomitable good-humor. We were not until now aware that Mr.Titmarshwas 'given to song' as well as to romance and painting; but his 'Peg of Limavaddy,' a handsome kettle-scrubber, who handed him his 'rummer' of ale, and laughed so joyously at an accident which befel it, establishes the 'soft impeachment:'