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walls. He seems to have shaken off the old •ickness of unquiet aspiration, and to be living in every pulse for the first time. Next morning the "light of the clear star fell in the rosy tinted dawn upon himself and the marble Psyche; he trembled to look on the image of the incorruptible; it seemed as if his glance were pollution." He veils it; but he cannot be easy while its presence, speechless and reproachful, is in the room. There is an old well in his yard, half choked with rubbish and overgrown with creepers; he casts the statue into it. But the shock of disappointed passion and moral revulsion has been too much for him ; he is prostrated by fever, and when he wakes again it is as a strange man in a new world, with only a few ghostlike memories from his old life, which seems nothing to the ever-present realities of Heaven and Hell. The thought of passing from trouble and change into God's peace upon earth overpowers him, and he becomes a monk. His friends tell him that he has betrayed the trust given him by God in forsaking art; he crosses himself, "oaaunt Satanas," and goes on his way praying. Visions of his buried Psyche rise before him, but he kneels before the crucifix till they depart. So years glide on, and at last the cloister bell tolls for him, and he is laid in earth brought from Jerusalem, among good men gone before him. Nothing seems to be left of his work or of his name on earth. But after many years the workmen who are laying the foundations of a new street disinter the statue of a beautiful girl with butterfly wings from the rubbish of an old well; and critics know it for a noble work of the Renaissance time. "What is earthly is blown away, disappears; only'the stars in the infinite .know of it. What is heavenly shines in its own light, and when the light is quenched, even then the thought lives."

We have tried to do justice to the real beauty of this story without criticising it in detail as we went on. We think it Andersen's best effort of the kind, but we must repeat that we think him unequal to the work. The very peculiarities of his style, the power of homely illustration and fanciful allusion, which make him the poet of common life, have a tendency to degenerate into farce in a higher region. When lie wishes to paint the disgust of the young princess at the ar

tist's presumption, he tells us that her faes had an expression "as if she had suddenly touched a wet, clammy frog." He describes in a passage that reads like'a reminiscence of Hamlet, how a maggot wriggled and crawled in the skull of a dead artist, as if the same quaint humor that draws its occasion in Shakspeare from the contrast of tin gravedigger and the churchyard, was appixv priate to the thought of spiritual beauty. These, it may be said, are mere faults of style, but they are faults that indicate deepej deficiencies. That the purpose of a life may subsist when the life itself is wrecked, as the soul may outlast its tenement, is undoubtedly true. But the story could not .well hare been worse told than in " Psyche." For w» require some evidence that the artist's sens* of the beautiful was indeed a serious conviction, interwoven with his very existence, out of which a great work might grow naturally, and not a mere borrowed opinion or vagrant dream. He falls too easily and completely to have had in him the stuff of which men and artists are made. The man who is exhausted by one feeling would be incapable of even one immortal work. Precisely the history of his long, shattered after-life—th« miserable years during which he might hav« risen again, and did not—make it impossible to .believe in him as a sculptor. His tru* life, his real Psyche, if his story has beea rightly told, was at the foot of the Cross.

But M. Andersen has his revenge uponnt and all critics in his last story. It tells how the snail reproached the dog-rose for its luxuriant bloom and frivolous life. "You hav» f;i\ en the world all you have had in you; whether that had any worth is a question I have not time to think over, but the serious point is, you have done nothing for your inner development." The rose humbly admits its inferiority. "You are one of those thoughtful, deep natures, one of the highly gifted, who will astonish the world." "That is not my idea," said the snaiL "The world does nothing for me; what should I do fox the world? I have enough to do with myself, and enough in myself." And years went on. The snail was earth in the earth; the rose tre» was earth in the earth; but new flowers wer* blooming in the garden, and new snails grew there; they crept into their houses and spat ,, what was the world to them P

From The Press.

Verses and Translations. By C. S. C. Cambridge: Deighton, Bell, and Co.

Humorous poetry is too often a failure. It is apt, in weak hands, to become vulgar. Even Tom Hood failed sometimes, as might be expected from one who wrote so much; and, Ingoldsby and Bon Oaultier ezcepted, we have recently had no humorous writers of any mark. C. S. C. is, to our mind, capable of taking a high rank among humorists in verse. He is not so wildly laughable as Ingoldsby, nor does he so felicitously as Bon Gaultier mingle poetry with his fun. But he is always amusing, always polished and scholarly, never coarse. Rather fond, perhaps, of beer and tobacco: he tells us that

"The heart which grief hath cankered Hath one unfailing remedy—the tankard."

And again he laughs at those intemperate opponents of smoking who attribute to tobacco all possible evil results:—

"How they who use fusees
All grow by slow degrees
Brainless as chimpanzees,

Meagre as lizards;
Go mad, and beat their wives;
Plunge (after shocking lives)
Uuzors and carving-knives
Into their gizzards."

Very fantastic are some of his rhymes, as in the following quatrain:—

"Ere the morn the cast has crimsoned,
When the stars nre twinkling there
(As they did in Watts's Hymns, and
Made him wonder what they were)."

Very dry, too, are some of his whimsicalities: here is his description of a schoolboy friend :—

"And such was he. A calm-browed lad

Yet mad, at moments, as a hatter:
Why baiters as a race are mad
I never knew, nor does it matter.

* He was what nurses call a ' limb;'

One of those small misguided creatures.
Who, though their intellects are dim,
Are one too many for their teachers:

"And, if yon asked of him to sar
What twice 10 was, or 3 time* 7,

HcM -linn i (in quite a plncid way)
From liearcn to earth, from earth to heaven,

"And smile, and look politely round.

To ratcli a cnsual suggestion;
Bat niaka no effort to propound
Any solution of the question."

It is sad to think that this friendship was interrupted by a love passage; both young gentlemen became amorous of the schoolmaster's daughter, and of course fought a deadly battle for her.

"Tho people said that she was bins:

But I was green, and loved her dearly.
She was approaching thirty-two;
And I was then eleven, nearly.

"I did not love ns others do

(None ever did that I've heard tell of); My passion was a byword through The town she was, of course, the belle of."

It is curious to find C. S. C.'s humorous verses supplemented by some graceful and elegant translations both from and into Latin. The rendering of Milton's "Lycidaa " is extremely happy, as are also some of the translations from Horace. As a sample of humor in Latin we quote a verse of " Laura Matilda's Dirge: "—

'Lo I from Lemnos limping lamely,

Lags the lowly Lord nt Fire,
Cytherca yielding tamely
To the Cyclops durk and dire."

Thus rendered by C. S. C.,—

"Lnstra sed ecce labans clando pcdo Lemnia linquit

Lnridua (at lente Ingnbriterque) Deus: Amisit veteres, amisit inultus, nmores;

Teter habet Vcnerem terribilisque Cyclops."

The volume contains a few charades, which we think hardly equal to the rest of its contents. Praed was the master of the art of charade-writing. C. S. C. does not condense sufficiently and has not picturesqucness enough. But the volume is altogether a very pleasant one; pleasant to read as one smokes one's evening cigar; and this the author will assuredly deem high praise.

From The ICxnmincr, 27 Sept. THE ALLIANCES OF FRANCE.

The sagacious emperor and consummate politician who has now for ten years ruled the destinies of France, finds himself singularly isolated after the lapse of so many years of a certainly not unsuccessful or inglorious policy. During much of that period, if not during all of it, his most palpable aim has been to acquire friends and secure allies. For this purpose the means first employed were personal interviews designed to cement personal friendships with his brother sovereigns. There is no one of them whom he has not met, as host or as guest, and under circumstances calculated to do away with the prejudices naturally entertained against the nephew of the first Napoleon. Some time, however, has already elapsed since the French Emperor was made fully aware that all his efforts in this direction, and by these means, have been fruitless. However cordial and satisfactory for awhile were the relations between the Tuileries and other courts, they gradually became colder. We hear no more of personal interviews or royal visits. Even Alexander and Napoleon are not the Pylades and Orestes they once promised to be. Alexander, indeed, is quite ready to do any small thing to oblige his brother; be can recognize, for example, the Italian King de facto, under reserves and restrictions. He would do even more than this in return for the consideration of France in continuing to shut her eyes against the Poles. But that the active alliance between France and Russia has declined we need no other proof than the abandonment of Montenegro to the Turks.

It was, probably, the conviction that no solid or profitable alliance would be formed with the old and great sovereigns of Europe by means of personal or other intercourse, which prompted Napoleon to turn bis attention to the work of making friends of nationalities. This it was that opened his car to the insinuating proffers of Cavour. No two leading spirits, indeed, ever entered upon a common task with more complete dissentiment between them than Cavour and Napoleon. If Cavour looked to unite at least North Italy under the house of Savoy, the emperor looked to becoming himself the Pole Star of Italian hopes, and the regener

ator of Italian destinies. He had no forecast that Victor Emmanuel would rise at once so completely in the ascendant as to occupy the Italian zenith totally to his eclipse. The moment Napoleon discovered the actual tendency of things that way, he stood still in his own path.

The probability then was a complete quarrel between the future King of Italy, and the French Emperor. But the latter could not afford to lose the profit of all that he had done, lie has therefore continued to befriend Victor Emmanuel in order not to lose his hold of Italy. And he has fed both that sovereign and his people with promises which he is no longer prepared to fulfil. There is little doubt that when Napoleon made these promises he looked to the provisional state of his relations with Italy being completely broken in upon by foreign war. It is evident from his dealings with, and promises to, the Hungarian exiles, that he, too, as well as Garibaldi, looked to a renewal of the war with Austria as a necessity. But a change has come over the spirit of the imperial dream. Reasons have been found showing the bad policy of depressing Austria altogether, and so probably leaning to the formation of a stronger and more united Germany, a consummation to which the French have ever had the deepest objection. Whatever the motive, it appears certain that the project once entertained by France of renewing her attack upon Austria has been abandoned.

The emperor, as the Moniteur has this week been reminding the world, made efforts to settle the Roman difficulty. He offered the Pope Cavour's programme of a free Church in free Italy, with the revenues of Umbria and the patrimony secured. There are many who hold that the day in which this compact should be concluded would be a fatal one for the house of Savoy. It would establish permanently not only in the midst of Italy but throughout it, a Church more powerful than it is at present, less obedient to civil authority, more determined and more able than ever to dispute the prerogatives of an Italian Parliament in education, in religious influence, in a thousand ways; more able ulso than it is, even with a pnetorian 'guard of French bayonets, to make itself the I spring and centre of that reaction which ma; thrust Italy hack to the condition of five years ago.

However, the Church will not consent to this. And Napoleon cannot quarrel outright with the Church. Universal suffrage is the law of his land, and elections for its representative Assembly are approaching. The Liberals are awake, and the Orleanists have leagued with them. The Church is angry, and the Legitimists have received orders to act as auxiliaries to this anger. A hostile majority, or even a formidable minority in the Chamber, would be most inconvenient, when it is considered that a Chamber without an Opposition at all has still succeeded in restricting the Budget, flinging out a Dotation bill, and filling the Tuileries with six months of annoyance and anxiety.

The Italian Ministry have, therefore, been told they must wait. They answer, — We can wait if permitted to announce a definitive settlement in any time. But that would be a threat to Rome, and would'exasperate the Church as much as immediate violence. Signer Rattazzi has, therefore, announced the determination of his sovereign to declare that the Government considers Rome to be a necessary portion of Italy, and its inhabitants the subjects of that kingdom. France forthwith deprecated any such sweeping announcement, which would arger the Pope's court, and even give it a fair excuse for declining all future negotiations. The Italian Ministry has put off the Chamber and the declaration till November, but proclaims that it can do no more. If a settlement cannot then be announced, a dissolution of the Chamber must take place, and what resolve a Chamber elected under such a pressure of circumstances might take, is what neither Victor Emmanuel nor Rattazzi can answer for. In this way stand the relations between the governments and the courts. La Guerronniere's articles have added to the exasperation, and the clauses of the Treaty of Commerce have been left unconcluded by the negotiators.

In the efforts made by Napoleon the Third to secure alliances, there were none on which he laid more stress than those with his southern neighbors, Spain and Italy. If secure of these he might easily, it was thought, meet the hostility of the north. But he has been unable to secure the friendship even of the second-rate sovereigns of the south.

Spain rebels against the high-handed dealings of the French in Mexico. Italy shows her teeth also in a very natural fit of resentment and almost despair.


The last numbers of the two great leaders, Tory and Whig, have long articles on the War to overthrow the American Republic. The concluding paragraphs are copied.

From The Quarterly Review, Oct., 1862.

But, whatever the probable fate of slavery in the Confederacy may be, it cannot affect the national duties of England. We are very good friends with the Kingdom of Spain and the Empire of Brazil, in both of which slavery flourishes, and where there is neither an immediate nor a proximate probability of emancipation.* Nor ought we to forget that ten years have not elapsed since we plunged into a bloody war, and spent some eighty millions of money, to uphold the integrity of an empire in which the white slave-trade is still carried on. A country which is united to Turkey by diplomatic ties so affectionate and confidential is not called upon to be squeamish abutit the domestic institutions of its allies. But, in the interest of the antislavery party themselves, we ought to be careful that no hostility to us should be excited in the minds of the Confederates by any undue favor shown to their opponents. The new State will be bound by no treaties to suppress the slave-trade, and the precedent we ourselves set in the case of the traders of the United States will preclude us from demanding a right of search, except where it has been voluntarily conceded.

But, in truth, the whole slavery dispute seems petty and trivial, when we read the weekly narrative of American carnage or the daily tale of Lancashire starvation. With every respect to the negro, we cannot stop to inquire into wrongs under which he apparently thrives and is happy, when the blood of our own race is being poured out like water, and our own fellow-citizens are perishing by inches. We cannot contemplate the battle-fields strown with corpses, or vast regions once busy and prosperous now laid

* In Brazil even emancipated sl«ves are ditqnftlifiril by Inw from voting for Senators, Deputies to ill'" Imperial l'IirlI.uncut, nnd Members of the Provincial A*semblie*, and from being elected Sena

do not eujoy.

waste by war, and console ourselves with the reflection that, if it be only continued long enough,^it may possibly end in promoting the negroes suddenly to a freedom which they will not appreciate, and will certainly misuse. We cannot reconcile ourselves to the sight of a famine-stricken population at home by the hope that, if their sufferings are sufficiently prolonged, the integrity of an aggressive and unscrupulous empire may possibly be restored. Every consideration of humanity to those abroad and those at home demands that we should do everything in our power, and, if need be, risk something, to bring this fearful desolation to a close. As soon as the time comes—we trust that it may be close at hand—when, by a fair interpretation of international law, we can join with other European powers in recognizing an independence which is already an accomplished fact, there is a fair hope that the Federals may see in our declaration an honorable plea for retreating from a contest from which they will assuredly never be extricated by success.

From The Edinburgh Review, Oct., 1862.

We do not deny the obligations of national morality. "We fully admit that every people is responsible for its acts, and for the way in which it exercises its influence over others. A violation of national faith, or a wanton provocation of the greatest of all evils—war—is never committed with impunity. As it is, however, with private, so it is with public, morality; the providence of God has ordained, that the real prosperity of nations, as of individuals, and the good government of the civilized world, should be worked out by the action of each seeking, within certain limits, that which is for his own interest. - When a nation oversteps those limits there is a Nemesis waiting patiently to avenge the crime—a Nemesis not the less sure because the retribution is not always undergone by the generation which committed the offence, nor understood by those on whom it falls. What is the meaning of the instinct of patriotism and the love of one's own country, except that men, in dealing with other nations, should keep steadily in view the welfare of their own?

On no other principle can a State maintain its place in the civilized world, and on no other principle do we assign honors and rewards to our statesmen and our soldiers. On no other principle, certainlv, can the prolonged war of the North against the South be for a moment defended.

If this be so, why are we in this case to "discard all selfish considerations "? Why specially on the question of Secession and our sympathy with the South or North, are we to neglect the element of advantage to England? It can hardly be said that the Government of the United States in their dealings with us have set us the example of unselfishness, although their feeling has been sometimes adverse to us, when there was no apparent interest to guide it in that direction; as for instance at the time of the Crimean War.

As a people, it is not our business to say what interpretation of the American Constitution is the right one. Whether we approve or disapprove of the municipal laws and institutions of the South, their independence of the Government at Washington is not the less a fact. If it be manifestly for th« advantage of England to acknowledge that fact by recognizing the national character of the Southern Confederacy, we cannot se« why their morality, for which we are not responsible, should stand in the way of such recognition. Neither the peace of the world nor the triumph of good over evil will be promoted by shutting our eyes to facts and events on such grounds as these.

But, on the other hand, we do not say that it is for the interests of England wisely considered, at the present moment to recognize the Southern Confederacy. We are inclined to believe that Lord Palmerston's policy has been hitherto right—that at this moment the acknowledgment of the South as a nation would of itself effect very little, and might cause to England evils greater than those which it would remove.

If this be so we have nothing to do but to lament the civil war which is raging in the United States, and we must bear as well as we can the suffering of Lancashire, whilst we wait patiently and calmly for the course of events.

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