Imagens das páginas

It was unsafe to irritate a vain and ambitions man. Madame Von Beck must have been a sharp thorn in G6rgey"s side during the few weeks preceding the accompanying scene. He had ordered her to quit his camp; but she seems to have been indifferent to the mandate, staying just as long as she chose, and going about in it as she chose. She treated him with contempt as a traitor; which was a daring thing to do heforf his overt act.

"At length, the 13th of August, the dark day of Hungary, arrived. The drums were beaten, and the troops got under arms. I hastened to see the last of my brave countrymen, who had so often scattered before them the very men to whom they were now about to yield. Gorgcy rode at the head of the column; his brow was still hound up, as he had not quite recovered from the wound he had received at Komorn. His staff rode with him, accompanied by a large number of Russian officer?. I drove out too; I was determined to see the tragedy to an end, though my heart should break the moment after. The sky was cloudless and the sun shone brilliantly. I found our troops already drawn up before the encampment, between Villages and Szolijs. Near the latter place was a stream crossed by a bridge, on the other side of which the Russians were drawn up in order of battle. Our troops marched in companies to the bridge and laid down their arms, which were immediately taken possession of, and carried across the bridge by the Russians. It was a most piteous and affecting sight; our soldiers wept like children. The hoaned kissed his musket, pressed it to his heart, and laid it down like the rest. The huzzar dismounted from his horse, the beloved companion of his marches and his battles; the faithful friend that had never failed him in time of need, with whom he had shared his last crust, and his straw bed, in the wild bivouac. He knew not how to part with him; he embraced him and kissed his i;ps he sobbed upon his neck, aud wetted it with his (ears: he repeated all the endearing names which he had given his charger, whilst the spirited and sagacious animal looked round as if trying to comprehend his master's agitation, and whined in re*ponse to his caresses. This was a scene painfully touching, and can be understood by those only who know the marvellous attachment that springs up between the huzzar, and bis horse: to deprive him of his horse, was to take away from the huzzar a portion of his own existence. When he gave up the animal to the Russians, aud returned to his ranks, he was a broken-down and disconsolate man.

14 The artillery was next delivered up; the gunners speaking to the different pieces and bidding them farewell, as if they had been living creatures. Gorgcy stood by the bridge, surrounded with Russian officers. Xo tear fell from his eyes—no emotion was visible upon his countenance. He looked as cold and motionless as marble, betraying by no word or movement any sympathy I with the manifest pain of the gallant warriors who had | fought beneath his orders on so many battle-fields, and who were ever so fearless and devoted.

"A low murmur of rage and vengeance against him rose from the Hungarian ranks, which he pretended for a time not to hear; but by-and-by it became too evident to remain unnoticed, and he rode away with the Russians into their encampment. Those who up to the last moment had believed him true, now condemned him for a traitor. By two o'clock in the afternoon, ten thousand men had [I laid down their arms.

"The consequences arc known to the world. Why repeat the often toltl tale of horror! the torrents of Mood that were shed? the frightful violation of all the laws of heaven and earth 1 tho bloody and dishonoured ?rarcs, and the long catalogue of crimes, which have

made Austria and Haynau words of reproach among all tho nations of the earth."

Her subsequent adventures in Hungary and Austria are full of mournful interest. She makes her way to London—where she writes this book; and whence she hopes to make a journey to rejoin Kossuth. Site closes her eloquent work with the following words; they come direct from the heart, and speak to it:—

"And the true children of my- country, where arc they % What nameless sufferi ng do they endure because they were faithful to the last? Some have carried their sorrows to the primeval forests of America; there, at least, they will be free. Some, and amongst them him whose lofty soul, adorned with more than human excellence, should have called forth the reverence of all who admire genius adorned by goodness, receive from the hospitality of the Mussulman that refuge which Christian Europe denied, lest it should thwart the murderous instinct of a power claiming the name of the Redeemer. Some have gone to lay down their lives in the struggle against Scandinavian lust of power; others wander throughout the cities of continental Europe in misery and sorrow, or stalk through the streets of mighty London, wondering all day at its wealth, its power and liberty, and retiring at night to their miserable garrets, to dream of the past, and to die in anticipating the future.—Our sun rose brightly, it sunk in storms and blackness; yet it was but one day in the cycle of time. That sun shall rise again, though we are forgotten; and, in the consolation of this hope, I cease frcm complaining, and at length lay down my pen."



It is not long since a review of the "Literary Portraits" of this author appeared in the columns of our Journal; he now essays a loftier and more perilous flight. In his present volume there is the same *' merciless cleverness" that characterised the former; the same continued outpouring of glowing phraseology, the samo want of simplicity and condensation of style. Both sentiment and expression arc, to our thinking, often exaggerated; yet we think that our readers will acknowledge that none but a man of genius could have written passages like the following :—


"The Hebrew prophet, in his highest form, was a solitary and salvage man, residing with lions, when he was not waylaying kings, on whose brow the scorching sun of Syria had charactered its fierce and swarthy hue, and whose dark eye swam with a fine insanity, gathered from solitary communings with the sand, the sea, the mountains, and the sky, as well as with the light of a divine afflatus. He had lain in the cockatrice's den; he had put his hand on the hole of the asp; he had spent the night on lionsurrounded trees, and slept and dreamed amid their hungry roar; he had swam in the Dead Sen, or haunted, like a ghost, those dreary caves which lowered around it; he had drank of the melted snow on the top of Lebanon; at Sinai, he had traced and trod on the burning footprints of Jehovah; he had hiard messages at midnight, which made his hair to arise, and his skin to creep; he had been wet with the dews of the night, and girt by the demons of the wilderness; he lmd been tossed up and down, like a leaf, upon a strong and veering storm of his inspiration. He was essentially a lonely man, cut off, by gulph upon gulph, from tender ties and human associations. He had no home; a wife he might be permitted to marry, but, as in the case of Hosca, the permission might only be to him a curse, and to his people an emblem, and when (as in the case of Ezekiel) her death became necessary as a sign, she died, and left him in the same austere seclusion in which he had existed before. The power which came upon him cut, by its fierce coming, all the threads which bound him to his kind, tore him from the plough, or from the pastoral solitude, and hurried him to the desert, and thence to the foot of the throne, or to the wheel of the triumphal chariot. And how startling his coming to crowned or conquering guilt! Wild from the wilderness, bearded, like its lion-lord; the fury of God glaring in his eye; his mantle heaving to his heaving breast; his words stern, swelling, tinged on their edges with a terrible poetry; his attitude dignity; his gesture power—how did he burst upon the astonished gaze; how swift and solemn his entrance; how short and spirit-like his stay ; how dreamy, yet distinctly dreadful, the impression made by his words, long after they had ceased to tingle on the ears; and how mysterious the solitude into which he seemed to melt away! Poet, nay prophet, were a feeble name for such a being. He was a momentary incarnation—a meteor kindled at the eye, and blown on the breath, of the Eternal."

Christ's Solace In Natural Beauty.

"The manner of Christ's life, as he uttered his parables and other sayings, was in the highest degree poetical. It was the life of a stranger on this earth, of a wanderer, of one who had no home but the house not made with hands, which he had himself built. we identify his image with nature, and ever see him on lonely roads, midnight mountains, silent or stormy lakes, fields of corn, or the deep wildernesses of his country. Every step trode by the old seers, was retrode by him, as if to efface their fiery vestiges, and make the regions, over which they had swept like storms, green again. He was only sent to the lost sheep of Israel, but he more than once approached to the very boundaries of his allotted field. We find him, for instance, in the neighbourhood of Tyre and Sidon, straying by a mightier sea thin that of Tiberias, and lifting his eyes to a loftier summit than that of Tabor. 'He must needs' see Lebanon, as well as pass through Samaria. His were not, indeed, journeys of scntimeut, but of mercy; and yet, why should he not have gazed with rapture upon the peaceful, the pure, and the lofty, in the works, while he did the will, of God? This was, peradventurc, the chief source of his solace amid suffering and weariness.

He was not recognised by men, but the lilies 'of the field looked up meaningly in his face, the 'waters perceived him—they saw him well,' the winds lingered amid his hair, the sunbeams smiled on his brow, the landscape from the summit seemed to rrouch lovingly at his feet, and the stars from their far thrones to bend him down obeisance. He, and He alone, of all men, fell at home in nature, and able to tee it, and call it, 'My father's house.' He felt not warmed by, but warming the sun—not walking in the light of, but enlightening the world, and could look on its great orbs as but the ' many mansions' for his spiritual seed. Of all men he only (mentally and morally) stood erect, and this divine uprightness it was which turned the world upside down. The poetical point of tiem of nature, is not that of distant admiration or of cold inquiry, it is that of sympathy, amounting to immersion; the poet's soul is shed, like a drop, into creation; but this process teas never fully completed, save in onein him tcho uttered the Sermon on the Mount."


"Let us glance, first, at his parables, which are a poetry in themselves. Truth, half betrayed in beauty, half shrouded in mystery, is the essence of a parable. It is the truth wishing to be loved, ere she ventures forth to be worshipped and obeyed. The multitude of Christ's parables is not so wonderful as their variety, their beauty, their brevity, and the s\\ ect or fearful pictures which they paint at once and for ever upori the soul. Here we sec the good Samaritan riding toward his inn, with his wounded brother before him. There, lingcringly, doubtingly, like a truant boy at evening, returns the prodigal son to his father, whose arms, at his threshold, stretched out, seem wishing for wings to expedite the joyous meeting. In that field stalks the sower, graver than sowers are wont to be in the merry season of spring. On the opposite side, the fisherman, with joyful face, is drawing ashore his heavy-laden net. With yet keener ecstacy depicted on his countenance, you see the merchantman lighting on a pearl of pearls, while across from him is the treasure-finder, with circumspective and fearful looks, hiding his precious prize. And, lo! how, under the dim canopy of night, shadowing the barely-budding field of wheat, steals a crooked and winged figure, trembling lest the very darkness see him—the enemy—scattering tares in huddled abundance among the wheat. The morning comes; but, while revealing the rank tares growing among the good seed, it reveals also the large mustardtree which has shot up with incredible swiftness, * so that the fowls of the air do build in the branches thereof.' Here you see a woman mixing leaven with her meal, till the whole lump is leavened; and there another woman, sweeping the room, how fast, yet intensely, for her lost piece of silver. There the servant of the marriage-host is compelling the wanderers from the hedges to come in, his face all glowing with amiable anger and kindly coercion; and yonder, in the distance, with anxious eye and crook in his hand, hies the shepherd into the twilight desert, in sesrch of his 'lost sheep.' And, hark; as the marriage-feast has begun, and the song of holy merriment is just rising on the evening air, there comes a voice, strangely concerting with it, hollow as ihe grave—a whispered thunder. It is the voice of Dives, saying—* Father Abraham, have mercy on me, aad send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his linger in water, and cool my tongue, for I am tormxied in litis fame.' In such figures Jesus [has esJiausted life, earth, eternity."


"An old poet has quaintly called Jesus * The first true gentleman that ever breathed.' Paul's politeness, too, must not be overlooked, compounded as it was of dignity and deference. It appeared in the mildness of the manner in which he delivered his most startling ami shattering messages, both to Jens and heathens; in his graceful salutations; in his winning reproofs— the 'excellent oil which did not break the head;' in the delicacy of his allusions to his own claims and services; and, above all, in the calm, self-possessed, and manly attitude he assumed before the rulers of liis people and the Roman authorities. In the language of Peter and John to their judges, there is aii abruptness savouring of their rude fisherman life, and fitter for tbe rough echoes of the Lake of Galilee than for the tribunals of power. But Paul, while equally bold and decided, is far more gracious. He lowers his thunderbolt before his adversary ere he launches it. His shaft is 'polished,' as well as powerful. His words to King Agrippa—' I would to God, that, not ouly thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost and altogether such as I am, except these bonds'—are the most chivalric utterances recorded hi history. An angel could not bend more gracefully, or assume an attitude of more exalted courtesy."


"Slukspeare—nature's favourite, though unbaptized and unconsecratcd, child — has derived less from Scripture than any other great modem author, and affords fewer points of comparison with it. He was rather a piece of nature than a prophet, liis real religion, as expressed in the words, 'We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little life is rounded with a sleep,' seems to have been a species of ideal Pantheism. He loved the fair face of nature; he saw also its poetic meaning; but did not feel, nor lias expressed so deeply its under-current of moral law(r); nor the sublime attitudo it exhibits, as leaning upon its God. Hence, while the most wide and genial, and one of the least profane, he is also one of the least religious of poets. His allusions to Scripture, and to the Christian faith, are few and undecided. He has never even impersonated a character of high religious enthusiasm. He never, we thinV, could have written a good sacred drama;

and had he tried to depict a Luther, a Knox, a Savonarola, or any character in whose mind one great, earnest idea was predominant, lie had failed. The grey, clear, catholic sky behind and above, would have made such volcanoes pale. Had he written on Knox, Queen Mary would have carried away all his sympathies; or, on Luther, he would have been more anxious to make Tetzel ridiculous, than the Reformer reverend or great. Shakspearc was not, in short, an earnest man, hardly even—straugo as the assertion may seem—an enthusiast; and, therefore, stood in exact contrast to the Hebrew bards. . . .

"Goethe, we know, admired the Bible as a composition, took great interest in its geography, and had his study hung round with maps of the Holy Land. But even less than Shakspcare did he resemble its poets. Universal genius bred in Shakspearc a love for all thiugs which he knew, without much enthusiasm for any in particular. An inferior, but more highly cultured degree of the same power, led Goethe to universal liking, which at a distance seemed, and in some degree was, indifference. His great purpose, after the fever of youth was spent, was to build up his Ego, like a cold, majestic statue, and to surround it with offerings from every region—from earth, heaven, and bell! He transmuted all things into ink; he analysed his tears ere suffering them to fall to the ground; his tortures he tortured in search of their inmost meaning; his vices he rolled like a sweet morsel, that he might know their ultimate favour, and what legacy of lesson they had to leaoe him; his mental batiks he fought o'er again, that he might become a mightier master of spiritual tactics; like the ocean, whatever came within his reach was engulphed, was drenched in the main element of his being, went to swell his treasures, and generally 'suffered a seachange,' into 'something' at once 'rich,' 'strange,' and cold. This was not the manner of the rapt, God-filled, self-emptied, sin-denouncing, impetuous, and intense bards of Israel. Could we venture to conceive Isaiah, orEzekiel, entering Goethe's chamber at Weimar, and uttering one of their divine rhapsodies —how mildly would he have smiled upon the fire-eyed stranger—how attentively heard him—how calmly sought to measure and classify him—how punctually recorded in his journul the appearance of an 'extraordinary human meteor, a wonderful specimen of uncultured genius'—and how complacently iufcrrcd his own superiority!"


"The great charm of Abraham's character, is its union of simplicity with grandeur. He rises like one of those great stones which are found standing alone in the wilderness, so quiet in their age, so unique in their structure, and yet on which, if tradition be believed, angels have rested, where sacrifices have been offered up, and round which, in other days, throngs of worshippers have assembled. His prayers pierce the heavens with the reverent daring of one of the mountain altars of nature. He is at once a shepherd and a soldier. He is true to the living, and jealous of the honour of the ashes of the dead. He is a plain man, dwelling in tents, and yet a prince with men and God."


"The Book of Acts presents us with a great many characters, of whom, besides the apostles, the rapt Stephen, the Ethiopian Eunuch, the brave Cornelius, the most marked are unhappily evil. Barnabas, Ananias, Philip, Aquila, Mark, Silas, Timotheus, and Luke himself, have not much that is individual and distinctive. The sameness of excellence attaches to them all. It is very different with the others. Their shades are all dark, but all strikingly discriminated.

"There is, for example, Simon Magus, the begetter and name-giver to a distinct and dreadful crime (Simony), an original in wickedness, a genuine and direct 'child of hell.' No mistake about him. He thinks every thing, as well as every person, 'has its price,' and would bribe the very Spirit of God. You see him retiring from Peter's scorn and curse, blasted, cowering, half-ashamed, but unconverted. . . .

"Then there is Gallio, another great original in the world of evil, the first representative of a large class who, in all ages succeeding, have thrown the chill of their careless and cutting sneer upon all that is earnest and lofty in nature or man, in life or in religion.

"Then there is the town-clerk of Ephesus, one of those persons who substitute prudence for piety, and who find a sun in the face of a time-piece—who tell men when they arc not to act, but never when the hour of action has fully come, and when delays are as contemptible as they are dangerous.

"Then there is Tertullus the tool, servile, wiry, accommodating, plausible; who talks, but never speaks; and whose character may be studied as representing, in a full and ideal manner, all courtly pleaders who have since appeared, as well as many who have pled in nobler causes.

"Then there is Felix, whom one trembling has immortalised. Rude the lyre; but a great master stood once before it, and it vibrated to his touch. Even net tlcshadc has sometimes been made musical in the blast.

"Then there is Agrippa, the 'almost Christian' —one of thousands who, were Christianity and the thrill produced by eloquence the same thing, would be believers; but who, as it is, will lose heaven by a hair's-breadth, and feel little sorrow!

"Then there is Eestus, the emblem of the cool, intellectual man, who finds an easy solution for the problem of earnestness, or genius, or enthusiasm, or religion—a problem which, otherwise, would distress and disturb him—in the cheap cry, 'It is madness— Paul, Burke, Chalmers, and Irving, were mad.'

"We close this rapid glance at the more peculiar and striking of Scripture characters, by expressing our amazement: First, at their multitude; secondly,,

at their variety; thirdly, at the delicacy with which they aro discriminated; fourthly, at the manner in which they are exhibited — so artless, brief, and masterly—not by analyses or descriptions, but by actions and words; fifthly, at the great moral and emblematical lessons which they teach; sixthly, at the fact that the majority of these characters have left duplicates to this hour; seventhly, at the honesty of the writers who record them; and, lastly, at this significant fact, there is one character who appears transcendant above them all, at onco in purity, power, and wisdom."

These extracts will enable the reader to form an estimate of the beauties and faults (if such, indeed, he consider them) of Mr. Gilfillan's volume.

THE BORE RUSHING UP THE HOOGLEY. This engraving, though small in scale, may be considered as one of the masterpieces of our English landscape school. It will bear the closest and most critical inspection. The subject is one which it required the hand of a master to treat. It represents the sudden rush of the tide up the Hoogley river to Calcutta, accompanied by a heavy gale. The effect is wonderfully striking; the ship almost on her beam ends, cutting the lurid streak of light; the waving trees, and the distressed boat in the foreground, are rendered in the highest feeling of art, and executed with a precision and power of the burin never, perhaps, surpassed.


This is the taking title of a right lively and humorous little book, which will be perused, from beginning to end, with unflagging interest, and for the general truthfulness of which those of us who have visited America can personally vouch. Pitch where we may, we are pretty sure to light upon something clever, pointed, and characteristic. Take the following sketch, for example, of the " Great Barnum:"—

"Barnum is not an ordinary showman. He is not one who will be handed down to posterity, only on the strength of the objects which he has exhibited, or the curiosities which he has brought to light. He stands alone. Adopting Mr. Emerson's idea, I should say that Barnum is a representative man. He represents the enterprise and energy of his countrymen in the nineteenth century, as Washington represented their resistance to oppression in the century preceding. By 'going-a-head' to an extent hitherto unprecedented in his trade—devoid of any absurd delicacy as to the means by which the ends are to be accomplished—he has endeared himself to the middle and lower ranks of his countrymen, and seems to stand forth proud and preeminent as their model of a speculator and a man. I firmly believe that there aro few commercial people in the United States who

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