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for ever without a government. Anarchy is not | amiable parent: her exculpation is, in fact, the ordinance of God."

The prince had reached Windsor, when an incident occurred which had well-nigh disconcerted all his schemes. The king's boat had been boarded by some Kentish fishermen or smugglers, who mistook him for a Jesuit, leaving England in disguise. They plundered, rudely hustled him, and compelled him to go again ashore. He remained all-day shut up in a mean ale-house, sometimes by haughty language provoking the insolence of his captors, anon exclaiming, "Let me go! get me a boat! the Prince of Orange is hunting for my life!" raving of the miracles of St. Winifred, the disobedience of the fellows of Magdalene, and bewailing his own misfortune in having lost a piece of the true cross. His rougher auditors gazed at him with astonishment; the more humane looked on and listened in pitying silence.

The news reached London during the very crisis of a negociation which had all but ended in proclaiming William king. A troop of horse was sent immediately to Rochester, and James reconducted to Whitehall. Again pity, or the instinct of loyalty, turned many hearts to him. His partizans took courage, and had he himself shewn any symptom of resolution, he might, after all, have lived and died King of England. Piqued and embarrassed at this new contre-temps, William nevertheless remained as usual, silent, politic, and firm—

"The vacillating bondman of the Pope Shrank from the verdict of his steadfast eye."

though brief, ample and conclusive :-" She was a wife, and she obeyed her husband."

Long and vehement discussions ensued in parliament. It was debated first, whether James had "abdicated" or "deserted;" and next, whether the throne was "forfeited," or merely “vacant." Among the peers especially, James's partizans were powerful. They had twice a very close division, and once, on a vital question, a clear, though small majority-a proof how great, how all but omnipotent was the strength of royalty, had James known how to wield it. The crown eventually was settled upon William and the Princess of Orange during their joint lives, then upon the survivor; next on their issue, or such issue failing, upon the Princess Anne of Denmark and her offspring; and, thus entailed, was worn by William and Mary, by King William, and by Anne successively. In 1700, it became manifest that Anne would leave no child surviving her; Queen, Lords, and Commons, therefore, in whom, and in whom alone, paramount authority is by our constitution vested, limited the succession to Sophia, grand-daughter of James the First, Electress and Duchess-Dowager of Hanover, and on her descendants, BEING PROTESTANTS. From the Electress, through six generations, and five sovereign predecessors, the imperial crown of Britain has descended to our own Queen Victoria

"And He that wears the crown immortally
Long guard it hers!"

It will have been observed, that our constitu

Clarendon advised that James should be seized *The throne of England and Ireland, by virtue of and sent across the sea to Breda: but William the paramount will of Parliament, stands entailed hoped, and rightly calculated, that, if left alone, upon the heirs of the body of the Electress, being terror would prompt him again to exile himself. Protestants. In them the right is as truly hereditary A few cold words, with a hint that his son-in-law as it ever was in the Plantagenets or the Tudors. wished him to retire to Ham, were all-sufficient. The blood indeed of Cerdic and of the Conqueror But they derive it not from those ancient families. Stupified with alarm, he answered that he would flows in the veins of her present Majesty. Our Edprefer Rochester. A barge was manned imme-wards and Henrys illustrate the almost unrivalled diately. Three days he lay there, terrified and irresolute; while his friends in vain assured him that, if he would remain in England and retrace his errors, all might yet be well. Consternation depriving him of the little reason he had left, and, false to the last, having assured his confidants he would again see them on the morrow; he escaped by night, sailed in a small vessel down the Medway, and, as it may be well believed, no very hot pursuit was made after him, reached the coast of France, while his competitor established himself at Whitehall.

splendour and antiquity of the House of Brunswick. But they have transmitted no more right to the allegiance of England, than Boniface of Este, or William the Lion. That rests wholly on the Act of Settlement, and resolves itself into the sovereignty of the legisla

* ture.

And if the people's choice be, as it surely is, the primary foundation of magistracy, it is perhaps more honourable to be nearer the source than to deduce a title through some obscure chieftain, through a long roll of tyrants and idiots.”

-Hall. Cons. Hist. chap. 14.

These observations furnish the true, the only true, reply to the "skimble-skamble" stuff, which has been lately scribbled, relative to the omission of the words "Dei gratiâ" from the legend of our new silver coinage. By the permissive grace of God, Queen Victoria doubtless sways the sceptre of these realms; but by the like permissive grace, the president of the United States, Louis Napoleon, and ton, at Paris, or at Constantinople. Our beloved Abdul Medjid, the grand seignior, rule at WashingLady Mistress derives her title from the Act of Settlement of the year 1700. Her crown, the free gift of a free people to her ancestors, is rendered illustrious by her own virtues, and is secured to her by their

The throne was vacant: should William mount it as a conqueror or as a deliverer? He chose the honourable, the manly, and, as we believe, the only safe alternative; proclaimed a general amnesty, and at once convened a parliament. The Princess Mary joined him. She has been much vituperated, not merely by contemporary satirists and party scribblers, but by writers of her own sex, who should, we think, have recollected, that as a married woman, she could at best owe but "a divided duty" to her harsh, niggardly, and un-attachment.-B.

themselves. The famous third chapter we have intentionally left untouched; it cannot be con densed, and we respect the laws of copyright. Should life and health be spared to Mr. Macaulay, until his long and arduous labours are completed, he will hereafter rank as an historian with Hume, with Hallam, or with Gibbon. This is high praise; but we have not bestowed it lightly. His excellence did earn it ere he had it."

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BY MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND.

B.

tion recognizes, and guarantees to us, civil free-, dom under an hereditary monarch; and that when in 1688 and 1700 its stability was seriously endangered, on each emergency the difficulty was overcome with as little variance from our established laws as possible. Thus, at all hazards, our forefathers secured liberty;-bloodbought it may be, "bought as with a price" it has but too often been-for, "whatever be the cost of this noble liberty," says Mr. Hallam, "we must be content to pay it to heaven";yet well aware that no civil liberty can be long preserved, or worth preserving, save when defined, established, vindicated, and secured by SONNET.-AUTUMN'S LAST FLOWERS. law; they recognized and acted on this vital principle, when in the "Act of Settlement and Bill of Rights" they recapitulated the errors and offences which had rendered the dethronement of James the Second necessary, enumerated the franchises whereof his tyranny had despoiled them; and having so done, claimed, demanded, and insisted upon " them each and all," as their undoubted rights and privileges." Subject to their recognition, the crown was tendered to and accepted by the prince and princess;" the Bill of Rights" a second time emphatically and deliberately recording, that "all and singular the rights and privileges claimed in their said declaration, were the true, ancient, and indubitable rights of the people of these kingdoms."

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Time and space would fail us should we enter upon a vindication of the REVOLUTION. "The highest eulogy," remarks the historian, “which can be pronounced upon it is this-it was our last." But the laws and constitution of Great Britain have their imperfections ! Granted: human in their origin, they were framed by and for imperfect beings, they may doubtless sometimes need and are at all times susceptible of change;-laws eternal, perfect, and immutable, can emanate from God alone. It becomes us, therefore, to regard them, not with superstitious but affectionate veneration, and at all times cheerfully to obey, save where obedience involves the sacrifice of a higher duty. Rarely can this occur;-should an emergency arise to test the principle, still as heretofore, supreme authority, to re-enact, rescind, or modify, remains inherent in Queen, Lords, and Commons

"PONDERIBUS LIBRATA SUIS," our ark of liberty will maintain its equipoise the more securely, if, while watched with vigilant anxiety by all, no inexperienced hand be recklessly thrust forth to steady it.

And now our pleasant task is, for a time at all events, completed. Since we undertook to review these volumes, twelve months-twelve weary months have rolled away;-saddened with sickness, sorrow, and bereavements, which have, but too often left their traces on our pages, yet soothed by ceaseless literary occupations. Where all is admirable, it is difficult to make selections. In our abridged history, and editorial notes, we have aimed at impartiality, but shall be well pleased to know that distrust or laudable euriosity has induced our readers to examine for

Autumn's Last Flowers are falling one by one—
Those sickly children of the fading year,
With scanty retinue of leaflets sere,
And, though companion'd, seeming each one lone :
The gracious Summer-time its part hath done;
A slanting sun-ray struggles feebly near,

That shines as jewels have on death-brows shone.

Too chill to kiss from them the frosty tear,

Poor scentless blossoms-waking pity's sighs,
But unbeloved of bee or bird, or bright
Wing'd revellers, gay-coated butterflies!

The Heart has emblems, in its dreary night,
Of these pale flowers: like life-in-death they rise,
The faint-hued shadows of bright memories!

THE STRANGER'S HOME.

Where Pleasure holds her gaudy reign,
Midst scenes of fair delight,
And like the glow-worm on the plain,
Is seen the best at night-

Is that a home for him whose heart
Sorrow has filled to breaking?
Will there his long-felt griefs depart,
His breast (their home) forsaking?
Or in the forest's tranquil calm,

Far from the human eye,
Where Solitude might yield a balm
To check the bitter sigh?
Oh no! for there, though far removed
From world or worldly gaze,
Too many a form once known and loved
His fevered fancies raise.

Many have told of freedom, blest,
Found on the boundless sea,

And hail it as a place of rest

From grief and misery.

But though the rushing water's sound
Be music to the brave,

The exile's home were rather found
Beneath than on the wave.

But there is one still resting-place,
Where not a grief is known;
Where both the poor and kingly race
Alike find sorrow flown;

There, with the monarchy of death,
Destined no more to roam,
Where flowers hide the grave beneath,
There is the exile's home.

A. PECQUEUR.

RUB IN I.

(A Biographical Sketch.)

This most eminent tenor was born on the 7th wards to Vienna. During this period, Bellini, of April, 1795, in Romano, a village in the pro- with "Il Pirata" and "La Sonnambula," and vince of Bergamasco. His father was a pro- Donizetti with "Anna Bolena," had measured fessor of music, and the young Rubini was ini- the power and character of his voice with more tiated at so early an age in the national art, success than Rossini. Until 1831, Rubini had that we find him as a child of eight years, per- been paid direct by Barbaja, who had been forming publicly on the violin, and singing as compelled to raise his salary to £2,400. On a church chorister. At twelve he made his his- the recovery of his liberty, he made 125,000 trionic début in a female role. The exceed- francs (£5,000) in one year, in Paris and Loning sweetness of his voice soon gained him a don, where he played alternately every six certain reputation; and on one occasion, after months. His reputation stood unrivalled, and having sung with enthusiastic applause an air in- his riches far surpassed those acquired by any troduced into a comic opera, the manager mu- of the singers at that time, favoured by fortune. nificently presented him with four shillings! There was no Jenny Lind of the day to compete The progress of this triumph was somewhat with his success. In some time his arrested by the directeur of the Milanese Theatre annual income amounted to more than refusing his voice in their chorus on account £10,000, and the property he gained may be of its weakness. Thus compelled to join a valued at £100,000. He married, in 1819, strolling company, he starved through Pied- Madlle. Chomel, a singer, whom he met mont, hardly gaining enough to purchase food. at Naples, under the name of "La Comelli." These misfortunes drove him back to Milan, She was born in Paris, in May, 1794; she acwhere he thought himself most happy in obtain-companied her husband to London in 1831, ing an engagement to sing at Pavia, at a salary where she sang at her Majesty's Theatre in "11 of £2 per month, during the autumn. His bril- Pirata," for the last time. When Rubini bade liant success in this place may be conceived adieu to England, he departed with the most when we find him in an engagement at Brescia, solid testimonials of admiration. He went afterduring the Carnival of 1815, for £40 for three wards to the south of France, and thence to his months. This sum was doubled the following native Bergamo, which he subsequently left, on spring, when he engaged to sing at the theatre an invitation from the Emperor of Russia. There of San-Mosè. At last Babaja, the famous im- he contrived to organize for the Czar, at St. Pepressario, engaged him for the Théatre dei Fio- tersburgh, an efficient operatic company, to the rentini, at Naples, at the rate of 80 ducats (£14) enthusiastic delight of the Russian noblemen, per month. After a year, Barbaja wished to get who continued to greet with hospitality in their rid of Rubini, in spite of his increasing popularity, chilly clime, the sweet warbler of the more only consenting to retain his services on con- genial south. After two seasons, he quitted dition of reducing his salary to 70 ducats per Russia and the stage for ever.-Musical World. month. The singer received higher offers, but he preferred remaining in Naples, where he was taking lessons of the celebrated Nozzari. Nevertheless, he informed Barbaja, although he agreed to his proposals, he was perfectly aware of the advantage he took of his situation. When he returned to Naples, after having produced in Rome a very deep impression, his salary was raised to a proper amount. In 1825 he appeared for the first time in Paris, in the character of Ramiro, in the opera of "La Cenerentola," in which he ensured his complete success by that sweetness and flexibility of execution so peculiarly his own. The title of "King of Tenors" was unanimously accorded to him by the press and the dilettanti, on his appearance in "La Donna del Lago,' 'La Gazza Ladra," and "Otello." But, Barbaja, who had consented to lend to the managers of the Théatre Royal Italien in Paris, his primo tenore, demanded restitution at the end of six months. From Naples, where he returned in 1826, the artist was sent to Milan, and after

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MAXIMS FROM ROCHEFOUCAULT.

Avarice is more opposed to economy than liberality.

The world oftener rewards the appearance of merit than merit itself.

We talk little when not prompted by vanity. Trickery and deception arise from want of ability.

The most dangerous folly of old people who have once been agreeable, is, forgetting that they are no longer so.

We have few faults that are not more pardonable than the means we adopt for concealing them.

Whatever disgrace we may have brought on ourselves, it is almost always in our power to re-establish our reputation.

Merit may exist without distinction; but none arrive at distinction without some degree of merit.

THE TEAR OF PASSION.

Let it flow! 'tis a tear that comes not from the heart,

A grief that the powers of passion impart ;
The offspring of anger, a moment gave life,
Succeeding an outbreak of pitiful strife.

Let it flow it gives freedom and light to the mind,
By the bondage of fury in darkness confined;
As the sunbeam in heaven replaces the rain,
With its egress the heart will be peaceful again.

Oh! why in a heart, beneath features so fair,
Oh! why should the demon of discord be there?
How gained he admission, thy pleasure to dim?
There was not a corner created for him!

No! rather in silence and secresy creeping

He stole to thy bosom when Prudence was sleeping,
Igniting a flame there, which fiercely betrayed
Th' insidious entry its foe there had made.

The soft tear of Sorrow, which traceth its way
Down the cheek, may indeed be forbidden to stay,
And Pity's still drop undisturbed may remain
Till the eye with new brilliancy shineth again.
But Passion's dark flood from the breast should be

thrown;

Where till its departure no rest can be known, "Twere better to weep till Eternity's day,

Than a remnant of anger be suffered to stay.

A. PECQUEUR.

SONG-WINTER-TIME.

BY ROBERT H. BROWN, ESQ.

Winter-time is felt without,

Gloomy aspects fill the eye;
Winter snows fall round about,
In one deluge from the sky!
Though the storm be all so wild
In the depth of winter days,
Once again the log is pil'd,
And we gather round the blaze!

Earth hath many cloudy places;
But the gloom of sorrow flies
Before the smile of happy faces,
And the glance of loving eyes!

In the depth of winter-time

It is well we should rejoice, Joining in the Christmas chime

With a cheerful heart and voice!
Banish every cold regret;

Love and gladness have their sway,
Happy friends with us are met,
We will banish grief away!

Earth hath many cloudy places;
But the gloom of sorrow flies
Before the smile of happy faces,
And the glance of loving eyes!

Wakefield.

EPIGRAM.

"I wander from the point!" cried TomIt was an idle fear

How could he ever wander from

What he was never near!

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They tell me I shall never see thee more;
That in the barren Future there will be
No light to guide me o'er Life's stormy sea:
All my vast comforts now for ever o'er,
To my despair pale Pity shuts her door;

Woe whispers me thro' every wailing tree,
Whilst the light breezes, echoing and free,
Wail in mine ears the voice I knew before:
Long time ago I listened to a tongue

Eloquent, passionate as Petrarch's song, When of his Laura chaste the poet sung;

Ah! how can music to the earth belong, Now that low voice on which all raptures hung, Floats, deeply sweet, no more these shades among?

A. E. S.

LINES TO AN INFANT.

BY MRS. KEMPSON.

Lovely flower! scarcely opened
Art thou to the light of life;
Little knowing of its sorrows,

Reckless of its passion's strife.
Tiny blossom! thou art cherished
In thy parent's wreath of pride,
Far beyond all earthly blessing,

Whether weal or woe betide. All thy baby-tricks, like tendrils Twine thee closer round each heart;— Ah! fair child! there is no prayer

Nor hope in which thou hast not part! E'er as now may Time look on thee, As he passes on his way, Leaving thee with added blessingBasking in thy pleasure's ray. Nurtured in affection's garden,

May thy gentle training prove

That, when thy first bloom hath faded,
Thou hast gifts to win thee love.
Noble soul and kindly feeling-

Heart that scorneth thought of wrong-
Hand outstretched to raise the fallen
Strewed thy earthly path along.
These shall shew to thee a future

Peaceful as thy childhood's day, Give to thee, as years steal by thee, Bloom that fadeth not away.

OUR CONSERVATORY.

PARENTS AND CHILDREN.-No parent ever yet, since the world was, did his duty properly, as God intended him to do it, by the affections of the mind and the yearnings of the heart, as well as by the welfare of the body with its means, and live to complain of an ungrateful child. He may think he did his duty; oh yes, good easy man! and say so, too-very, very bitterly; and the world may echo his most partial verdict, crying shame on the unnatural Goneril and Regan, bad daughters who despise the Lear in old age, or on the dissolute and graceless youth, whose education cost so much and yields so very little. But money cannot compensate that maiden or that youth for early and habitual injustice done to their budding ininds, their sensitive hearts, their craving souls, in higher, deeper, holier things than even cash could buy. -M. F. Tupper.

MILTON'S EVE AND GOD'S CREATION."Milton's Eve! We are alone: we may speak what we think. Milton was great; but was he good? His brain was right; how was his heart? He saw Heaven; he looked down on Hell. He saw Satan, and Sin his daughter, and Death their horrible offspring. Angels serried before him their battalions; the long lines of adamantine shields flashed back on his blind eye-balls the unutterable splendour of Heaven. Devils gathered their legions in his sight; their dim discrowned and tarnished armies passed rank and file before him. Milton tried to see the first woman; but he saw her not." "You are bold to say so, Shirley." "Not more bold than faithful. It was his cook that he saw; or it was Mrs. Gill as I have seen her, making custards in the heat of summer, in the cool dairy, with rose-trees and nasturtiums about the latticed window, preparing a cold collation for the Rectors; preserves, and 'dulcet creams'; puzzled 'what choice to choose for delicacy best'; what order so contrived as not to mix tastes, not well joined, inelegant; but bring taste after taste, upheld with kindliest change.' "All very well, too, Shirley." "I would beg to remind him that the first men of the earth were Titans, and that Eve was then mother; from her sprang Saturn, Hyperion, Oceanus; she bore Prometheus

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Pagan that you are! what does that signify?" "I say there were giants on the earth in those days: giants that strove to scale Heaven. The first woman's breast that heaved with life on this world yielded the daring which could contend with Jove-the strength which could bear a thousand years of bondage-the vitality which could feed that vulture, death, through uncounted ages-the unexhausted life and uncorrupted excellence, sisters to immortality, which after millenniums of crimes, struggles, and woes, could conceive and bring forth a Messiah.

The first woman was heaven-born: vast was the heart whence gushed the well-spring of the blood of nations; and grand the undegenerate head where rested the consort-crown of creation."-From Shirley, by Currer Bell.

DAILY COSTUME.-Expatiating in the Westminster Review on Human Progress, "Helix" deplores the barbarous condition of the arts of costume: and he is right. Neither man's dress nor woman's fitly answers any one purpose of clothing; and the process of making is rude. Dresses are not made entire, of fitting shape, but are formed out of flat sheets of stuff, laboriously sewn together. The manufacture is rude, the effect uncouth. Woman is less disfigured than her mate, because her dress, in its essentials, is simpler; but man is basely disguised. A living philosopher has said that every man designs his clothing with the view of typifying externally what he feels to be his nature: and that seems to be a sound rationale of the true principle and the actual intent; but how near is it to the fact? The living statue man cannot be recognised in the living tailor's block. His vaulted head is roofed by a black chimney-pot-though, by the way, he never uses that chimney when he lights a tobacco fire in his mouth. His limbs he thrusts into shapeless cases, too loose to display the natural form, too light to assume any symmetrical form as drapery. His feet are put into black cases, which reduce the rounded and finelyfingered foot to a shape as near as possible to the model of a pianoforte-pedal. His trunk is encumbered by the meeting of the several bits that make his garment-flaps lengthened here, curtailed there. The column of his neck he hides with a complicated system of swathing, bows, and flaps, called a stock, surmounted by the stiffened flaps of a white garment beneath: on grand occasions, men of refinement, inclining to serious views on religious subjects, put a white table-napkin round their throats, and "boast themselves more lovely that before!" There is a notion that our dress is regulated by climate and convenience. They have their influence: bustling habits make us cultivate succinct forms; cold climate favours cloth. But the real regulators of costume are, first the tailor, who knows nothing about it, and then that tasteless person Mrs. Grundy. The tailor racks his fancy for "novelties," but cannot escape from the model of the senseless thing called a coat; nor will his invention enable him to join the exigencies of convenience and art. As to climate, a narrowbrimmed hat is not good either for sun or rain; a slack collar, with free opening betwixt stock and coat, neither for wind nor water; trousers are purveyors of mud. But it is Mrs. Grundy who is the great despot of the ugly regime. If it were not for her, men and women too would

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