The Express. — London, England, 1851-04-12 00:00:00

LITERATURE. Memoirs of Horace Walpole asd his Contemporaries. Edited by ELIOT W,IIIIICUTON, Esq. Colburn. Horace Walpole enjoys a reputation in h;e country's literature of an altogether peculiar cha racter. lie is as well known and almost as much' read fumenybody of his century. But on what does! his depend? He has written history and ° poetry--hut nobody can call him historian or poet. Se e W as left more letters than any celebrated writer! —but there an fur finer letters than his in our epis tolatory collections. Byron s, for insiaacc, if not so finishea (Byron having done something else), are quite us shrewd, vigorous, and witty; Lady Wort ley Montague's arc at least as lively; while in the higher qualities of writing the letters of Swift, Gray, and Cowper are altogethir much superior pro &crone. We have wits with more wit than he. • And yet Horace Walpole decidedly ranks among our! writing magnates. Why? Mr. Horace's admirers must be told that scandal, acerbity, and the influesee l of a petty (though strongly marked) individuality, go to help their hero's reputation with the "reading pub tic." ln the first plum, there is an enormous love of gos sip among that enlightened body; in the second place that love of gossip leads to a wish to have it strongly easoured. We all remember the Irish witness aho said that his mother's religion was "taking whiskey In her tea :" in the same tendency society agrees with that old woman, and likes scandal and sarcasm with its tattle. Mark likewise a simple but strangely orerlooked fact, that any writer can produced strung efiiet whu will 'crib. himseljr: Horace Walpole has left us, himself, with all his weaknesses, vanities, prjudices, and affectations. Having failed to do any great thing in literature, he has left us what perhaps will last just as long—a picture in his extremely clever letters of his own spites, whims, and real personal notions of liking and disliking. Accordingly men love to look at him—men love to read his letters and talk about him: take away this egotistical ele ment, and his mere literary powers are not very ee l/lark:dile. }knee the peculiarity of his fame; it is of the wan Walpole that we think when we ' , peak of him. lie has (yen helped himself to the reputation of nn author —by disclaiming any wish to have it. 'the perpetual affi ratite' and irritabili.y with a hich his letters diedaini it, arc themselves highly provocative of attention and interest. A mere egotist and a mere wit, are comparatively no bodice ; but hue we have u man who was extremely clever, and had the weaknesses of fops into the bar gain. IValpole had real good sense, and even a is alum in his nature, but scarcely gives them even fair play ; 6t is a wise man unemulered by fine clothes ; his tense, like that of the proverbs in trench clack ers, creaks attention, while the samdereby are gaping at the snapping noise, and looking out for the almond! The first thing, accordingly, that the pdient leader thinks when he sees the alsive two patty %cameos is s surely I knew enough about Borace Wulpile berme: The editor, Mr. Eliot Warburton, mast have beta dreamier; (a process likely to be facilitated by a perusal of the proof's) when he se'd (Introduction, p. 1) " there are few public iiereons with whims: private life we are leas acquaintid." Why, what is the meaning of this? Wsa, ass Horace* " public life" as distinct from his s orate life?" lle was no-wise a public man CXII 11. as a silent " member," and a fat sinecurist ! His pi:rate life, in fact, is the fuundat ion of his public history. His claim to public notice rests on his letters which are the results of his observations of fashionable litis and eareSul gleaning of ancedetee, and a gs maid record of his preeredings- -his build ing, collecting, and btu-playing—his sarcasms and those of his friends—the a inknemses of his relations, and the health of his dog. His house, " Strawberry," is as well known to us, and was before the e Me moirs" as the "(mice of Mare" was to Juvenal— '. Nola ooljt's Hall thooos si sue!" Nobody has lelt such a t Laved of himself. Thew Memoirs" add nothing to the personal portrait of the man; they don't make hint a bit dim-. tincter to the eye. W but they do accomplish is this--they furnish an external history of lion, joined with amounts of people a itls a how he was brought in contact. YOU will know Walpole as a human cha racter no better by reading these "Memoirs' than you would know Shaktspenre's features better' by ruling the migrations of the niundos permit. At the WOW time shat they du give is well given. The nurrative is clear, and rises occasionally into a capital How of livelinier and point. The render who th sine to be informed of the personal notabilities of the last century will find a great deal of information about them. The book has no higher pretensions; in point of thought it Si nen herdeep nor sure. Indeed.ae . may notice us a remarkable (Mitre that distinguislus it, that at one part the writer adopts Walpole's pre judices about men greater than himself, in order to support his hero; while in another Walpole's weak neseest are relentlessly commenteil on. This arises from an affectation of impartiality which deceives nobility but it's author. IVe huve once or take fancied we could perceive the employment of dif ferent hands in the work: in fact, each hand being employed on the portion which he was least fitted to undertake. The general result, indeed, is, on the whole, rather tedious. For, chapter after chapter, Horace himself is lost sight of, while other people, re tely teomeeted with him, ore talked about at length. There is a good deal, too, of what a critic has called the "Tomb etone" style of editing—such as was very notable in Lord Dover's edition of " Horace's Letters to Sir 11. Mann." We memo, an accumulation of information about obscure people, which is antiquarian without being iastrue tive; a parish-clerk styli of obscure illustration. We really don't see why a living nublumun should be gratified at the mention of a great-great-grandfuther, ho was ceantially nobady in his time. But perhaps all this is harmless. In a word, these memoirs are tolerable reading for the idler portion of the public; as illustrative of English literature, they have next to no value at all. As this is, perhaps, the last time Horace Walpole will be called before oar generation for a formal notice of his claims by any such book as the present, it will be as well to look once more at his career. He was the third son of the great minister, and born on the sth October, 1717. It haslxem often asserted that he was in reality the son of Curr. Lord Hervey. Nothing has yet been decided.nor can he decided, on the point. lie certainly resembled the Henrys in character and style of intellect more than he did the Walpoles. Sir (lobed liked hint little. However, no one has a right to sully the memory of a mother whom Horace honoured (or such good qualities, on suspicion. It wes an age of suspicion, and moreover bus avowed guilt enough to answer for without it. Horace was educated at Etou and Cambridge, and was the schoolfellow of Gray. Of course we have an account of his childhood and youth from our biographer, which amounts to anybody else's child hood and youth. That he admired Milton at college is very probable, and it is still more probable that he said so. But we see no trees of Milton in kis life or writings; his love of hint was, like his love of repub licanism, entirely on the surface. An easy way of settling those difficulties is to call the man a" con tradiction," and pass lightly on. But fig-trees don't boar both thistles and figs ; there is consistency to be seen, by looking for it, in men as well as things. Horace Walpole was, from his youth, a very clever boy, and perfectly conscious of itt—at the same time he was a prime minister's son, and conscious of that. It naturally followed that he partook of both in fluences; he was much too clever not to sec that there was merit in Milton, and that many of the phenomena of royalty in his own day were ridiculous. This would account for his talking republicanism; but as to his doing anything—that was another matter. That broached a little too close on being ridiculous the other way! In fact, he seems never to have thought of doing anything at all; he never, so far as we can learn, had any predominant sense of duty. Eyes he had, and the qiuckest vision of the sense or nonsense of anything. They were very clear eyes—and they needed to be, for they were the only lights he had. Thus, for instance, his a love" of art and artistic matters—so prominent a feature in him—was only a matter of taste, the result of a cultivated judgment. It had nothing to do with his heart or soul, did not at all affect him (as it does artists of ;the high class) in his notions of life and duty. Ho was indeed an extremely able egotist, and, all the apparent contradictions in his life arise from Ins attempts to reconcile his selfishneuswithhis quick vision of right sad .wreng—ocoordiog to the best worldly Nance of these words. His history presents no very remarkable features of interest, as a narrative. He travelled, after leaving college, in company with Gray, when they had their well-known quarrel. When he retu-ned he entered parliament, and spoke once during the time of that ferocious struggle which precedeal his father's down , fall, us aU ministerial secessions from office arc oddly ;enough called. His speech was neat in expression, but had really little enough in it; paliament was not his place; he was too acutely sensible of what he could and what he could not do to risk ridicule by ; • trying too much. Anything but ridicule! You see Kat motto on his arms everywhere. He must not be laughed nt : so his speech is faultless, though mediocre, he must not be laughed at. Sa Sir Horace Mann is cautioned not to speak of his learning, and l)u Duffand is checked in the indulgence of her sentiment Not that Horace objected to be thought • " learned," if people really would think so. But he knew that the learned of the age would not think so, and kept clear! In his aching out in life, we notice in him, while young, always the same quali ties--quick sight, personal caution. Vanity is asso ciated with extreme perspicacity in him—as the pea ; cock has a hundaed eyes in his tail. There is some thing not very pleasing, however,in the contemplation of his going into society—playing the quiet, modest man of society, and then returning home to chronicle his malignant observation, and elaborate his savers in a letter! The letter was just the form for his character to use in literature ; there, his egotism had full play, his talent entire leisure, and his cautious ness full protection. When we look at his public actions—few as they arc—his praise must be mingled. He heartily worked for Ilyng—for which let him have all honour. But the hoax he played in forging a letter from the King of Prussia to Rousseau was certainly a dis creditable one. It had no ingenuity, and did great mischief. Then his talking afterwards about " play ing contrition,' and his abuse of all the parties con-; eerned—such men as D'Alembert, Rousseau, &c.—is paltry in the extreme. By-the-bye, the present biographer joins in most of Walp I ole's abuse of Literal,. He has to say, as his contribution to lite rary criticism, that Hume has "shrewdness." Chat terton--in spite of all that Wordsworth, Coleridge, and a host of men of genius have said of him—is growily, treated by the biographer also. We are not going here into the old controversy about Wal poles treatment of Chatterton. He acted just as might be expected of him, and showed compunction afterwards. In his 01%Ory letters. he speaks of him, too, as an "astonishing genius." But of course such remarks are lost on a biographer who could take poor Chatterton'a wild and sad gaiety about Beekford's death as a fair sample of that tine, noble nature. We are bound to say iliai there was not one paro chial member of the inquest which sat on his remains who was not better qualified to judge of him thou a biographer like this. We have men,ioncd Walpole'm good qualities; he had such, certainly—had the friendly virtues of the average gentlemen of his time. We like his fidelity to the ('onways, for example; we hold it very ha- portant in his favour that he inspired the affections I Ned regard of his friend Miss Berry. Indeed his! letters show a degree of sympathy with very various forms of human leis, indicative of what is called a good disposition. We are inclined to think that it was the canker of aristocracy" which Shelley saw iajuring the good in Byron, which helped to spoil Walpole. In another walk of lift: and a diffirent fortune, Walpole might have heartily admired John son, instead of meanly underrating hint'as he every where does ; his MAIM', wit, playfulness, and liveliness wool(' have been Goldomithisett—if we may coin a word. He would have developed naturally, and not, lived an anomalous half-life—living the right, and not striving for it—twaddling brilliantly, because he was afraid of being laughed at if he set up to teach,—and repudiating fair authorship, while always struggling for reputation in less elevated ways. His literary reputation must depend on his letters, and those alone. Byron called them income aiable," and so they are, in their way. They are clear, easy, elegant, and inimitably sty What a pity that egotism and a false position should have placed a man with such gifts in the position of a mere letter writer! 'When we BCC Plieh flume literary qualities • employed in tattle, scandal, and /Novi/Nye, we think of the jewels in a 'Radon idol : we pity the anoma lous waste as we gaze on the splendeseent ugliness. And then, the too great liveliness and levity punish themselves. Walpole's letters sometimes weary us, by their methodical sprightliness. •We would advise all readers to confine the ad miration of this celebrated man within limits. For a thick-and-thin admiration' of Walpole indicates an unwholesome mind, and a not over-good nature, too. by-the-by. If literature could not well spare the man himself, she could spare a good deal of the laudation he has had, and could spare, with least loss of all, the above two volumes. Italy in IMS. Itv L. M tniorri. The revolutions of Berlin and Vienna, and the great insurrection of Hungary, have found histo rians without number, but the origin, process, and issue of the Italian war of liberation in 1814 remain untold. Fragments and contributions have not. in deed, been wanting. The German General Willisen watched the campaign from the fortress of Verona, and has criticised the . generalship both of Radetzsky and Charles Albert with a skill which is not equalled by impartiality. The Earl or Ellesmere has endea voured to penorm the like service fin. the lmadit of the English public. Messrs. Macfarlane awl IlailFe Cochrane have celebrated the political sagacity and integrity of the King of Naples. o , hose faithlessness • has been exposed by General Pepe. M. Mazzini has drawn in terrible characters the fatal fickleness of Charles Albert, and celebrated the noble a.uira tions and heroic feats of the democratic party. Hut no one of these, nor the whole taken together, give us a due to the impulse which converted the pro verbially enervated Italians into a nation of wamors, or fully explain that circle of fatalities which began! on the ith of March, ls4B, with the evacuation of, Milan by Itadetzky, and ended with the re-entrance! of the Austrians into the city within a period of five months. M. Mariotti does this in an octavo volume of 500 pages. During the events he commemorates he was where every good Italian must have wished himself, in his native country. Ito was thus able to study the chief characters under all the advantages of dale inspection. and eon now appreciate their movements in the memory of the uncertainties under which they were resolved on. Many a public act too which seemed chivalrous to distant spectators, lax Jules very com mon-place, to use a mild expression, in M. Mariottrs Page s. I ; We have been in the habit of believing that Pio Nino commenced his reign by indulging his gene- I , rous and patriotic impulses. Lord Brougham has given him credit for originating the whole Italian l movement. Nothing of the sort, says M. Marotti. Pius originated nothing, in Italy. at least. Tho world has no idea how greatly it has been im- ' posed on by the well-assumed enthusiasm of the wily Italians for their new Pope. When it becomes knovni how few of all the line things said and done in her name ever received his sanction, the wonder I will be that men should now be accounting for his inconsistency, instead of seeing in his declared abso luast predilections the natural fruits of his vain and imbecile character. The beginning and the end of his offence was simply that amnesty of the lith of June, for which he suffered his people to clamour for more than a month, andwhich was only yielded at last to the importunities of private friendslup. It should seem that again and again measures repudiated by the Pope were, nevertheless, carried through and issued as if bearing his seal and signatu-e. Such are M. Mariotti's assertions; and, as a specimen of the acts intended, he adduces the blessing of the standards previous to the departure of the Roman volunteers to the war in Lombardy in April, 1848. General Ferrari, appointed to these legions, applied to the Pope to bless their standards; the Pope refines ; the general insists; the Pope is inesorabk ; no matter; the deputation sent to the Quirinal return with word that the holy father has prayed for their holy ban ner, on which the simple warriors leave Rome happy. Mr. N. tariotti aye of Tli Pan AND num. From the beginning there was mutual bad faith and wil -Ito daception between Piva sad Italy. The pope, " sheet sisbasd and self-wammited," Nattered himself that he could mats Italian patriethia • prop to the church. The patriots, hardly lees Wad. gated they could use the pope es a toot to be 'broken 011 NW Stab M•bm• ity. We do not, indeed,' think that many swhshed the dell intention expressed by THE EXPRESS, SATURDAY EVENING, APRIL 12, 1851. a Venetian old reprobate to N,. Macfarlane of " cutting off the old fool's bead:" but nut Italians were too trio to Alfieri's teachinq, not to be Mite that it was of the most vital importance for Italy that the " hifea-priest should : ultimately be sent back to the fisherman's net." The Italian movement, in short, bad already far pro- • ceeded, and could have reached its end without the friendly help of a pope; nay, was sure to thrive best under the frowns of any man that had trod in the footsteps of Gre gory; but since Pius had given, or was supposed to have given, hints of a better disposition, it was natural that a movement that had already drirtged Charles Albert and Leopold of Tuscany along with it, bliould include even the Roman pontiff in its temporary and conditional adoption. It was certainly not unnatural, though questionable, both as to honesiy and expediency, that the Italians, bese t as they were with towering difficulties, sliould find their ads antage in flattering the pope's 4, intense, imbeeik,vani,y," tha. they Ishould lead him on by swatting applause; that out of a zealous priest and clement sovereign—the utmost extent of his ambition—they should endeavour to represent him as an arch-reformer and agitator. The Italian movement which ran away with the Pope was an instinctive nationauty, a sense of the degradation of subjection ; it was that same feeling which inspired the exalted intellects of Dante and Al fieri with their sublime and touching disdain of the world, which fretted and raged in Alachiavello and i Lorenzo de Medici, and saved Julius 11. from madness only by hurrying him to his grave. This principle, impotent so luii as it was but a half conscious, I unintelligent, nod unsympathetic feeling, had begun to gather vast strength since the troubles of ls2l and 1841. Municipal jealousies were renounced. Florence had sent back to Pisa those chains of the old l'isan harbour, which, taken from the emulous city in the middle ages, had hung a melancholy trophy on her cathedral walls for centuries. A flood nt Brescia called down previous aid and tender words from Piedmont. Divided states began to feel that they were one alter all. The intelligent among the people, spite of the prevailing despotisms, united in scientific societies, where the tire mind was nut always °mu pivd on material nature. Even the princes were drawn, one by one, towards their liberal subjects. Consti tutions were grunted, abuses redressed, and popular institutions gradually introduced. Happy would the government. have been if this had been all. lint these were what the nation cared least for. One great want swallowed up all the rest. " Arms!" was the e 7. Civic and national guards was the institution ' in which Italy believed, and which, too, the "barba rian" dreaded. It was when MO Novo *Well muskets to the Bolognese that Austria made the first step in the war, and doubled the garrison of Ferrara. To restrain this impatient ardour of untried valour was the work of the moderate party in Italy, of the d'Azeglio's and Gioberti's. This party would have developed the military resources of Italy and cultivated the national feeling before entering upon a hazardous war with the common foe. Such was the slow and sure method of Italian In udenee. The times seemed favourable for its trial. The " Young Italy' party was not in a condition to net, and the Austrians soon had too many reasons for non interference. Europe applauded the bloodless revolu tion. Nothing seemed more perfect than the lull which reigned in Italy previous to the Paris out break in February. Sardinia, Naples, Itome, and Tuscany were now liberal. Upright and high-minder' men, devoted to their country's CLUISC--Mell like Ce sare Balls), Gino, Cappelli, Itidolti, Mamiani, and Bozelli—directed the atfaira of Italy. The nation profited by this interval of freedom to prepare for the great inevitable trial. The Italians flew to arms, and assumed as warlike an attitude as their long-cherished habits of case and luxury would allow. Had a year been given for the purchase of muskets, the training of youth, and the assemblage of leaders, history might have had a brilliant tale to tell of the exploits of Italian volunteers. But Providence had decided otherwise; all the Italians wanted was time, and that was not given them. existence; tha, abstinence from the immoral lottery, upon which Austria rinsed so heavy a tribute ; and that open war against tobacco smoke, which would have taken four mil lions of lire from the yearly revenue. M. Mariotti believes that had the deadly struggle to be decided between Austria and Lom ba rdy been indc pendent of eztraneous causes, there had been little fear of the result ; but it was not so. EFFECT OF TIIE TEENER ILEvoirrzoN.. The February revolution of Paris removed from the Italians all controul over their own actions; it did away i with all the spontaneousness and unanimity of their move-1 meat. Not, indeed, that they could, or ever did, actually build any hope on the sympathy of the French republicans, ' or on the magniloquent proclamations of Lamartine ; for Italy had been able to set a right value on French promises and declarations in 1831. Indeed, the promulgation of a republic was by no means in the programme of the patriots of the Gioberti and D'Azeglio school, now at the head of public opinion, who had hitherto,—many of them in good I faith, most of them from a sense of expediency,—acted under the auspices of popes and princes, who proceeded hand in hand with their nobility and clergy, who had just framed their own statutes on the model of that now down trodden French charter of 1830, and whom the vague ter rors of ancient Jacubinism and recent communism were not likely to remove front their already firmly adopted system. Mad the French revolution been without results in any other part of Europe, had Austria otherwise been able to keep her seat, there is reason to believe that the Lombards would have continued in the inaction to which they seemed to have resigned themselves from February 22 to March 18, hanging back in suspense, ready even, perhaps, for the pre sent, to listen to suggestionsof reconciliation or compromise, ready to submit to Austria, if unbroken and invincible, if inclined to the measures that the terrible juncture seemed inexorably to die,ate. It was not the promulgation of martial law that spread the "order of the grave through the streets of Milan, as many might be willing to suppose ; for the Milanese were long since under the rule of tile sabre, and a mere imperial decree could add nothiug to their terror. That decrm, however, shook:meow it was withlthe tidings of the Pari sian riots, gave evidence of the perseverance of the Vienna cabinet in its relentless course. Anon, and that cabinet itself had ceased to be. All Europe was on fire. Prussia— all Germany—convulsed throulhout. Vienna without go vernment. the great bond of Austrian unity di.aolved. Why should Lombardy be behindliand with her nektli hours ? What prudent considerations could prevail on the trampled, goaded Milanese to endure any longer The revolution of i'eclin:is was sudden, violent, irresist ible. They rose—they bled. On the 17th of March the news of tumults at Vienna, and of the " proclamation of a republic there," reached Milan and Venice. That was the signal fur attack. Within five days a host of seventy thousand combatants was routed and scattered, with a panic and con- fusion such us the world never witnessed since the days when angels smote the host of the Assyrian. God Li great. But it was fated that the Italians should forgetthat that astounding del'eat was God's work, not their own. It was—and we shall have occasion to see flagrant proofs of tic melancholy fact—it was hy tho very promptitude and facility- of that fled success that ltaly was undone. Only on the 16th of March Austria appeared invincible; on the .2ud it was thought she had ceased to exist. M. Mariotti details, with great minuteness, the mrnner of Itadctsky's retreat from Milan, and satis factorily disposes of the gross mis.statemcnts of the qtartrrly lterittc. The revolt of the Venetians, the capitulation of Ziehy, and the advent of Daniel Mania—the Kossuth of the Venetians—is well told. The cause of Italy, he remarks, was to be partly won by the small regular armies, but tar more by the volunteers. Of the latter, M. Mariotti writes: THE VOLUNTEERS. All Italy was eagerly rushliti --- itiarras ; 2,000 national guards from Itologna broke into the Modenese territory on the first report of a popular outbreak. Citizen and regular troops from Leghorn, toe whole body of stud:nits from Pies, set forth on their march across the Apennines without wait ing for guidance or orders. The youth of Turin and °cool stormed for arins and ammunition the palace-doors of their equally willing but more cautious and deliberate rulers. Masses or armed men were mustering in the streets of Rome. Naples was dragged along by an utemvernable multitude, anxious not to be the last in the national contest. " It is the will of God!" was the cry ; the same as in the old wi.rs of the Cross. Such tears of joy as were then shed Italian eyes were unused to, time out of memory. I The alarm spread far and wide. The commotion was felt in Switzerland. and France; at Corfu and Malta; at Con stantinople and in Egypt ; in Spain and Algiers ' • at Nes - - York and Monte Viedo. Whereve . : au Italian heart beat— ... there—truth must he said—was a soldier of the country. ' Nn consideration of age or infirmity, no private interest or domestic tie, proved a hindrance ; old military men, grown hoary in the pursuit of humble literary occupations, girt on a sword that had lain inactive since Napoleon. tnrecog nimble by long absence, denaturalised by long exposere to distant climates, by the adoption of outlandish manners, they stood on that native soil they had long given up all hope to revisit. A moving sight, and sublime, was that meetirg of exiles under the walls of Mantua and Verona. Thither most of them repaired; many actually having, Ininny refusing to have, any other home than the camp. It may be easy for a sneering traveller in the East to state, that '• of the refugee Italians who were going back to their own country, to rat up the last remnant of the Austrians, after all very few went." We could quoto sufficient instances of men whom as overstrained sense of public duty made too utterly regardless of other no less sacred duties of a private nature. But alas! it soon became obvious that it was not by num ber alone that Itedetzky could be oterpowered. Had mere bands of volenteers been a match for the Austrian soldiery, the Lombardo-Venetian provinces alone might and should, out of four or five millions of souls ' have been ablo for ce adequate to the task. But for a modern war—a war of fortresses, too, something more than men WC) wanted. The insurrectionary war was well nigh at an ' end. Those who had so long been teaching that an Italian revolution should rely for success on " God and the people," may tell us how two fortresses of the very first order, such as Manilla and Verona could be taken, as everything else is to he done, by the people; or even how their garrisons could be sufficiently surround,d and besieged therein. There is no great sense in referring to the achievements of the French revolutionary armies of 1789. The French were, by long habit, a martial race: the Garden Front:ruses, with with others of the best regiments of the ex-royal arms-, had merged into the popular ranks ever since they fraternised with them at the taking of the Basilic. These veterans of i the Flemish and American wars were the soul and nerve of that sans-culottie rabble, which was, however, disorderly only in dress and appearance. Nor is it less idle to point to the glorious example of national warfare, such as given by the Spaniards in 1819. The guerilla consisted of the sturdy mule-drivers and smugglers—half bandits—the vary kernel of those Anatolian and Catalonian tribes proverbial for their sobriety and power of endurance. They stood on the vant age-ground of their vast, broad, bleak mountain-range, and were headed by a priesthood who shrunk front no appeal to their worst, no less than to their best passions ; they relied, besides, for their sustenance on the inexhaustible supplies of • foreign power. The Italian volunteers—students most of them, and young men front the moss effeminate classes of the cities— were indifferently provided with anus, still more indiffer ently familiar with the use of them ; utterly unacquainted with finy, either regular or irregular, mode of warfare ; fighting on aground not always friendly ; ill-seconded by the still stupefied rural population; often compelled to vio lent means for subsistence, they were sure to prove as ex pensive a weapon as they were inefficient and unwieldy. (here is no doubt but a volunteer in Italy, probably in any other country, costs three times as much as a regular soldier. The Italian volunteers, by their gallant spirit, by a cer tain dashing impetuosity, and even by their perseverance under hardships and privations, far exceeded the expecta tions both of friends and eneaues. These their brilliant qualities might and should, most certainly, have been turned into amount, but only for auxiliary work—only for that kind of desultory warfare for which they were pro perly intended. It would have been arrant folly to hope that, by themselves, not only they could ever bring the war to a happy issue, but even that they could avert the most dire calamities from the defenceless country. The free corps, besides, had, properly speaking, no of ficers; Austria had left nothing unattempted that could utterly break the spirit of a population naturally not war like. The veterans of Napoleon's Italian army were mostly dead ; some of them had pined away as prisoners at Lay back and Spielberg, in consequence of the conspiracies of 1816 and 1820. The very few remaining were in their dotage; they understood nothing of that blind, reckless temerity with which revolutionary wars must be carried on. Of the regular armies the only one worthy m tioning winithe Sardinian. Ora author thui speak% of the PIEDMONTVIE ARMY. The Sardinian army, upon which all the princes of the house of Savoy, since their restoration is ISI4, and tbat ill fated Charles Albert, above all others, had bestowed so great a care—on whose good fenny, mien, and countenance they had plumed themselves, was, however, at the bast only intended for defensive warfare. Piedmont, in its best days a second-rate power, could only be expected to enter the field as an auxiliary ; in which case it would only have to supply its contingent, relying for generalship no less than for more solid resources, on that among its mightier allies whoa. side it deemed expedient to take. The idea, not only of entering the lists with Austria, but even of taking the field alone, would, in any normal state of things, have bean scouted as preposterous • and no preparations had ever been seriously made with that view. We shall waste no words in praise of the gallantry of the Sardinian troops, especially of those taken from Savoy and Piedmont, as friends and enemies have equally borne wit nem to it. The men were not only steady and resolute in Eof danger but also long-enduring and cheerful under vatic= and hardships. There was a liveliness and good- OW among these "merry men" worthy of the French of the old republican school, ready to Ed a , g ca o2r n.n ountenance on the gloomiest aspect of thiPr aw They wen sadly off,:to say the troth, on the score of • line but its want was made up for 17 a ready wllliagaess and mer Zeal, finless tliin by an easy depending.e on, end ro tifer fatilliar attachment to, their °Betio. These latter, chosen with obvious partiality from the aristocratic orders, were modest men, well-bred, and well-principled, keenly alive to feelings of fluty and honour, thoroughly free from bravado and boasting. Excessive spruceness, ermine like exclusiveness and fastidiousness, might be discernible amongst them, hut milting like morgue and supercilious ness. They had ben somewhat too long estranged from their soldiers during the dissipations of garrison life, but they had not been three days on the march ere a mutual good-win—a kind of family compact—had hound them to their men. Not much of the effeminacy and languor con sequent on Italian idleness and sensuality was to bo seen here. _ . . The riedmontese have sometimes been called the English of Italy; by their love of hones, by their earnestness of manners, high breeding, and gentlemanly behaviour, the S..rdinian officers ceriainly resembled men of the same call bs in England, rather than those of any other army no tho co iiinent. _ _ . The ultra-liberals of Lombardy affected to find fault with the arisorcratic pride of these officers, and with their lack of patriotic zeal. The Savoyards were certainly strangers to Daly, and could he actuated by no enthusiastic devotion to its cause. But they had embraced it with no less ardour, notwithstanding, out of the finest spirit of chivalrous ail ' venture, out of mere professional amateurship ; the very darkest ingratitude cannot charge them with having been chary of their blood for its sake. On the 29th of March, at Pavia, the king had only three divisions with him, amounting al.ogether to 23,000 men ; the army was not complete before the end of April, when it numbered about 30,000 men, 6,300 horses, and 120 can non. 'fu these must be added 3,000 Tuscan volunteer* and regular troops, and 3,000 men from Part= and Modena. Altogether it may be questioned if Charles Albert had, at any time, more toan 70 to 75,000 men tinder his immediate orders. The 5,000 Lombard volunteers in the Tyrol, rind, perhaps, as many Venetians in the Julian Alps, together with the 17,000 Roman* under Ferrari and Durand°, were intended for fron.ier war, and seldom acted in combination with the Sardinian forces. The pride of Cie army was its horse and artillery ; the cavalry- was no: on the war-footing at the outbreak of hos- Wide's, and was always imperfectly mounted. It consisted only of six regiments, all armed with long and rather pon derous lances. The artillery was faulilessly equipped and well trained; and it opposed sixteen-pounders against the Austrian pieces, which only carried twave pounds. The Lersaglicri, also, or sharpshooters, of which there were only two battalions, armed with a rifle of new inven tion, were, to say the least, a match fur the best firalleurs from Styria or the Tyrol. The Piedmontese infantry might, also, have been as good as any in Europe, but for some defects in its organisation. The men are generally small, but broad-chested, muscular, licalihy, and ae.ive. They are drilled to a greater rapidity of inovemmts than the Germans, and to a greater preci sion than the French. Their fire is well-aimed, but they are thought to be "not fond of close action, unable to stand, much le.s to repulse, a bayonet aitnek." This, how ever, in the estiauaiion of their enemies. . . The organic fault in the infantry to which we allude re sults faim its male of recruitment. The conscription binds them to Queen years service. They are, however , only fourteen months under arms, during which period arc made to go through all heir drilling, and are then sent home for the remainder of their time, under liability to bo called out as a reserve on any emergency. Asa reserve they do not form a separate body, but are made to join their respective regiments, and to take their place in the rinks with their comrades already in active service. his system—analogous to, and grouuded upon, that of the Prussian laudaehr, though it has the apparent advantage of doubling the forces of the state on the shortest notice—has, however, also the effect of bringing under the stauclardsmenuntiitedfor arms by long desuetude, by domestic IL -4, and family cares and concerns. The number of officers also becomes inadequate to the sudden tilling up of their cadres, upon a tran,ition front the peace to the war-footing. Those evils were not much felt at the opening of the campaign, and during the excitement of a triumphal march ; but as the dilheultieo of the undertak ing became apparent, and the length of the campaign ob vious, nothing con.ributed to the disorganisation of the Piedmontese battalions more than the weariness and home sickness of the husbands and fathers that had been too freely admitted into their ranks. The horse and artillery are, to a great extent, free from similar inconvenience, hence their superior steadiness and higher sense of duty. So much fur the body of the army : the soul of it was nowhere so be found. Once out of their snug quarters of Alessandria, Genoa, or Turin, away from their annual mus ter-field of (Ark, the Sardinian generals, together with their royal commander-in-chief, seemed to have lost the very rudiments of strategy. With utter improvidence had they set out, without maps, without knowledge of a couthry so near to their own, with the utmost contusion in their commissariat. Never before was an army so sorely tried iby hunger during a career of success. Orders were issued without number ; but as a wag of a stall-officer once coolly observed, "there was always so arching stronger than even a king's order, and that was Disorder.' By the time that Charles Albert could take the field, Radetsky had at least 50,000 men under his command, all severely disciplined; his army was highly organised, the officers romantically loyal. With these he might, in April, have considered him self a match fur the Sardinian anti his 70000, even, on the open field, but within four fortresses of the ! I first order, upon his own ground, with every inch of which lee was familiar, he had a decided advantage, of which it is surprising that both parties remained I so long unaware. Bonaparte, indeed, m 1796, had gone lover the same ground with success; but the French ' came as conquerors, while the Sardinians were rather defenders. Napoleon came anxious to strike a de cisive blow, and little heedful of the misery he might meanwhile inflict ; 'Charles Albert to shut up an enemy who it was fancied had been beaten off the field. Bonaparte had to deal with Mantua only, before it had received all the strength it poosmsed in 1803. But Charles Albert could only march through formidable quadrangle of fortresses, front one of which to the other was only a short night's march. The military difficulties which beset the King's path, and his own lack of genius, have been often insisted on. Another formidalie impediment to success is thus notices], by our author: inc TEMPER OP Inc PATRIOTS. Still the great mass of volunteers, especially Lombards, were looked upon as a mere encumbrance by the Pied montese generals. It was a weapon they ill knew how to weld. ply its very organisation the Sardinian army had absolutely no officers to spare for the drilling of these un tutored auxiliaries. The few that were set to the engrat".- NI task failed , signally: wedded to barrack routine, they could and would understand nothing of the eccentric manoeuvres of party warfare. Pos-ibly, also, some of those volunteers were wild and unmanageable: wilful, expen sive, troublesome, quarrelsom.-. Such is the nature of those combatants all the world over. Rut in this particular ease there were many reasons to make their conceit intolerable —their ambition insatiable. They were most of them the heroes of the Five Days "of Milan ;or men, at least, that strove hard to identify themselves with that great achievement. They thought that all had been done—or, at least, that enough had been done for their part ; they seemed inclined to leave the mere drudgery of what all thought would prove an uneventful war to the Pied montese, who were paid for it ; and yet, at the same time, they looked upon them with a vague jealousy, as if they grudged them the too easy laurels that bombard blood had ripened, and as if apprehensive of the high price the royal leader of those mercenaries might put upon his tardy and in.significant services. They had routed Radctaky: to the Piedmontese was left the comparatively safe and easy task of unearthing him. They persisting in looking upon themselves as a self-eman cipated, not a rescued, people ; and were very loud in their vindication of the inalienable right they had now so bravely re-asserted, of disposing of themselves at their own plea sure. They raked up old grievances against the person of the king; who, whatever might be thought of the past, was now irretrievably commit' d, and staked his all on what might yet prove a hasesdous game. This was the ease with the whole mass of the Lombard population. Pavia, Lodi, Creme, the find towns occupied by the l'icdmontese, remised them in silence. Nothing was heard at Milan, nothing was chalked on its walls, but the eternal Guelphie cry of " Viva Pio Nino! " the re was not one cheer for the monarch who was only anxious to abed every drop of blood fur the common cause. It took no little trouble to well-meaning patriots to get up a little show of enthu-iasin in behalf of the l'iulmon tree ; but every demonstration was slow, and by no means spontaneous. Not a few of the Milanese who took up arms, conse quently, far from wishing to afford the Piedmontese a help that they could by no possibiliiy want, were only anxious to prevent the ready-made victory from being too utterly and excludvely their own ; only anxious to go hand-in hand with them, with an emulation which, however ques tionable its motives, might have been happy in its effects. Charles Albert's great difficulty in the way of strengthening himself against the Austrians was the premature discussions and suspicions of the patriots. M. Mariotti would have liked this obstacle to have boon surmounted in the following fashion : THE STYLE OF ACTIO,/. But, alas I Charles Albert himself had from the begin ning fut that one condition of victory too sadly out of the question. His very virtues were hardly less fatal to him than his most capital faults. A little less chivalrous senti ment, a little loses romantic generosity on his part, might have saved the country in spite of itself. Charles Albert deserves blame, not merely for his vain regards to his Italian allies, but for his eubeervency to foreign mediators, for his dread of the French republic or of tho German con federacy, or for his deference to England. His greatest crime, in our ayes, is his want of vigour and energy against kis dosesetio opponents. He should at awe knee nuniked upon L om bard y, as on his own ground. should, from the 23rd of /Larch, hen assumed an absekute distatorship. He should have known enough of the Italian character to feel assured that it was necessary above all things to save Italy from "her greatest enemy "—herself. He should have converted the country into a vast camp, laid it under a strict mate of sedge. Would he not thus hays seed Budd*, the tremble ef dram it so aeon after. wards ? The constitution in Piedmont should have e mained a dead letter up to the close of the war. Those Italians that would not fight should at least have been made to hold their tongues. What was wasted in ink and paper might be so much better employed in gunpowder and muskets. Liberty, equality—nay, even "God and the people," should have had a compulsory holiday. He should have hushed up all disciesuons ndiourned all questions, till the king's intention. should ' have been revealeil, and his conduct justiaed by events. Time enough to play the part of a Cintimmus, an Andrea Doris, or a Washington when the sword of Italy cou ld with honour be rcturn dto it sheath. But during the war there should have been no " neutrality," no " compromise between p,!.ii-s"—in bet, no parties; no utterance of any cry but " War with the Austrian !" All sedition-shops, clubs, and raps, should have been closed. Incorrigible de magogues should—like the Viennese students on the op- I 'mite side—have been pressed for the army, and sent to the forloni hopes. The annexation should have been a fait or , rompli from the first l'iedmontcse occupation. It should have been high treason openly to mention the " individu ality " of Lombardy: from the moment the name of Italy was set up, all provincial demarkations had ceased to exist. Certainly no country more needed, none would more cheerfully have submitted to, a temporary reign of terror than Italy. It was only by showing himself terribly in earliest that the king could obtain oblivion of the past, and win confiuence for the future. Every town and province of Lombardy should have been made over to Piedmontese commissioners—mere rough drill-sergeants, whose political science should have been limited to a requisition of men, horses, and money. Mariotti, while acknowledging that a more loyal and noble heart than Mazzint's never beat, thinks that he "stabbed Italy to the heart" by , his protests and declarations. He taught Italy to look to France and Switzerland, when it was above all things necessary for every Italian to feel that only danger could come from those quarters, and that all was lost unless the nation, forgetting politics, com bined as one man in a long and determined strugglo against the Austrians. The disastrous retreat from Milan, the armistice, and subsequent humiliation of Italy are well known. Let us conclude with an extract on Tim IVEVOLLTION PRECIPTTATTII. . .... The contest that WILY to decide on the destinies of Italy was, at the carry dawn of 1518, brought on the fields of Lombardy, where alone it could come to a final issue. All that had previously occurred in other parts of the Penin sula, the more or less rational ,reforrns at Rome, Florence, or Turin,—the more or less plausible constitutions, hastily framed for Naples, Piedmont, and Tuscany, and even for the states of the church ; above all, the more significant 'revolutionary outbreaks in Sicily, although of so much moment upou Italian matters in general, and of the greatest consequ on the Lombard movement itelf, may, how ever, Ire cor sidereal as merely preparatory, merely episodical. It mattered little where an Italian revolution began, Austria and Italy were equally well aware where it must end. Foiled in their treacherous plots at 'tome, compelled to draw back with bet little honour from Ferrara, unable to stem the current that was setting in from abroad, the Austrians began to grow desperate at home. All their pro verbial system of slow wisdom and cautiousness, of silence and forbrantnee, was suddenly overthrown. The Austrians lost their temper—the very quality by which they had hitherto prevailed over the more hasty and mercurial • • • • The theorie: and examples of Tuscan end Roman pail-jots were hardly settled . keep the Lombards to a line of legal passive resistance. The salutary dread of Austrian bayonets was there to preclude the possibility of any other course. The most ardent among the Milanese liberals were con vinced that "a popular insurrection was not to he thought et that Lombardy woo only a small fraction of an empire larger than France ; that to rise was to expose the country I to a terrific reae,ion—to deliver up the Lombard cities to plunder, defeuceless families to military . outrage—to com promise the best chances of future emancipation ' • that their taciies should consist in holding the enemy on the hard and thorny ground of legality. From 1610 to 1648 Italy had fought with no other wea pons than shouts of "Viva Pie Nono!" the Lombards caught up the strain; they had'a "Pole's Hymn," which did du.y instead of a Jblesciteiise. With this the greeted their new pastor y the Archbishop Romilli, on his solemn entrance into his diocese, on the sth day of Septembo., 18.17. The appointment of an italiaii after the decease of a Ger man prelate (Gaisruck) was hailed as a return to national principles. Austria was here forced to depart from that system of denationalisation which had included. the very clergy. Romilli was an Italian, and came in the name of the Italian pontiff. The rejoicings, renewed on the Bth, and assuming a character of political demonstration that could not be overlooks d, led to the first bloody collision : the riots o: the Bth September called forth remonstrances on the part of peaceful and respectable citizens. These were, for the most part, acts of a strictly legal and constitu tional nature. The government of the Lombardo-Venetian kingdom was /not meant to be based on unmitigated des potism. Like most provinces of the Austrian empire Lom bardy had a " constitution : " it was the grant of the em peror Francis the First, and grounded upon old local institutions. It had, however e , n suffers dto fall into almost total disuctude ; partly swing to the actual abuses and flagrant encroachments of the omnipotent police, but partly, also, owing to the indifference or stubbornness of the people; always determined "to spurn Austria and her gilts, always reluctant to incur the charge of complicity with her government, even in the exercise of the most sacred duties. But a recourse to those forms of national franchises, such as they were,_ well suited the peculiar mood of the patriots of the day, bent as they were on trying the effect of lawful demonstrations, on " forcing Austria on her last entrenchments, and testing the truth of her benevolent intentions." There were central congregations in Milan and Venice, besides provincial congregations ' one tot each of the seven teen provinces,—representative bodies, based on no very free system of election, concentrating in themselves all the municipal powers of the state. To these the Lombards turned for redress ; they aimed at raising them from their wonted state of impotence and subserviency. They stormed them with addresses, petitions, demands fur committees ap pointed to inquire into the present condition of the country. Men utterly obscure, or only known from their modest and pacific dispositions, gave the first move ; in some instances, even men long devoted to the imperial government, and thereby exposed to popular animadversion. The whole country was astir with municipal meetings, commissions, &c. ; whose ostensible aim was merely to put into vi our the constitution of 1816, and see how far Austria could be amenable to her own laws and compacts. In Venice, however, Daniel° Manin, an advocate, and Nicole) Tommasco, a literary man of long established repu tation, thought they could find in the letter of those sta tutes of 1816 the basis of a freedom of the press. The first named gentleman presented a petition to that effect on the 21st December, 1847; the latter read a speech to the same purpose before the Athenaeum on the 29th of the same month, which the government were fain to consider as a seditous cry. This filled the measure of Austria's wrath who, determined to rid herself of further remonstrance by a stroke of her own clumsy policy, ordered the arrest of the two Venetian paniota on the 18th January, 1818. The le did not for all that swerve from their peaceful inn . They followed up their advantage by do• s in the theatres, in the churches, in the public slimes; by funeral services in honour of defunct patriots, by ovations to the Pope, by festivals and anniversaries with out sod Lby all that could - have a meaning, that could con ,ln eausion, however vague and remote, to the hope soma to their heart*. .The stir of men's minds was ha -1 werweleable. In proportion as the Italians made advances fi is lobo& of residence, the Austrians lost sight of the meapwail of timely concession. Perim tut time since the lost three and thirty years the Inailuda bad at last found a tongue ; for the first time they etc tsar formai beim aria imperial master, insist it right Is tallisitil Wu men. b was a fire sipullant seb s _and tee of doubtful sue- 1 own,But bun Mho boost llr fsraaed with Lan awl la - euldll and to' VIM the Vlll.Nallt upon tits they ponied that vim II which, u we have' uses, attached the hi he eery vitals of financial THE MODE OF ITALIAN ItEDEMETION The Italians must tight their battles entirely and ex clusively by themselves,—and this not merely hecause no foreign people could ever be found able or willing to help them, not merely because the hands that give nation its liberty way have it in their power to wrest it from them, not merely because independence gaiued by extraneous aid— independence at second baud, as it were—can never he based on Nile ground, and too often amounts to mere change of' masters,—but, indeed, because a long and bloody war, so it be only a war against foreign es ils, is a grist desideratum bit: Italy: and we also arc in so far "red," that, far from wishing to shorten and lighten the national struggle by fortuitous aids, we would wish it to continue su bug and to extend so far us to prove for the nation a baptism of regeneration : the blood spilt for so holy a cause would be as much blood saved in civil feuds and fraternal dissensions. For a war of that nature, how ever hastily undertaken, however clumsily managed at the outset, there is no doubt in our mind but that the Italian. or indeed any tuition, has always sufficient means at his dis posal, without looking ti,r extraneous nympathies. Only by the nation" we mean smnething else than Menial's " people." The nation in Italy is a more formless, more complicate bady, then in most other civilised communities; it sonsisted, in March 1818, of the goveniments, four in number, mad their subjects—of a clergy and hymen—rich and pour—above all of a stirring, more or less enlightened population of the towns, and of the inert mass of tho labourers of the soil. The efficient means for a prolonga tion of hostilities were g,lierally in the hand of the govern ments, more or less dependant on the good-will and pleasure of the we: classes. It was theretbre neeeosarl , either to secure the co-operation of' those who could dispose of these means, or begin by forcing theta from their hands. The Jolll'lllll of Design and Mannfathires. No. XXVI., for April. With numeruul IllustrAtious. ii - aii:' There is perhaps in all London no publication more novel in design, or more careful in execution, than this. Where the draftsman's amp the engraver's skill are available, we find it employed in these pages to give the earliest information about any taste ful novelty that offers its , :ll for patronage; whilst in those C1141:s where colour is concerned, and in which therefore an engraving must fail in conveying a cor rect idea, we have a specimen of the fabric itself fas toned upon the page. In this wa silks, cottons, and paper-hangings find themselves m course of publica tion" alongside the letter-press requisite for their satis factory introduction to the public. It seems likely that the Great Exhibit ion will show the English manufac turers as a class (whilst in advance as regards paddy of products), to be behind their foreign rivals in mat ters of taste. They will soon see how requisite it is to improve in this particular, and to do so they must patronise and study such works as this literary pioneer of the arts—the Journal of Design. PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED. Sir Aviaahl Mohan, Dart. Done in Verse, by GE0402 JOHN CAVLEY. Cantos I. 11. 111. Pickering. Drigrarirs. A l'ocm. IVesterton. What cart-loads of verso are heaped remorselessly upon the modern critic's table! The accomplishment of verse-making is doubtless ono to be encouraged, and rhymesters of all ranks should have their little bits of laurel without too nicely balancing the weight or quality of the poetic gum to be found in their number., on the principle that it is better to have people vain of their poetic efforts than of lower or grosser accomplishments. And in this spirit the critic of the present day may well pass lightly over the feeble muse that makes a sensation at tea parties if it fails to electrify the public. The author of ° Belgravia" is evidmtly on-' of those domestic, rhyming pets—the wonder of an admiring circle of part:al friends and relations. His mai.-rials are the old, worn pictures of rich ruffians and poor goddesses,—vice in velvets, and virtue sins:less ; and he belongs to that pro lific verse-producing class who give evidence of the gene ral cultivation rather than the poetic sensibilities of Eng. lishmen in the present day. In direct contrast to " Bel gravia," it is not unfair to place Mr. Cayley's Sir Regi nald Mohan. In this poem we find traces of the true poetic fire :—the author has rhymed, having something to embody Will SCI forth in his verse. lie bus a vivid and prolific fancy, a quiet humour, that given brilliancy to his images, yet is so kept under as never to mar the form° of sentiment or the depth of feeling. Sir Reginald Mohan," in truth,is a production, finished of its kind - , both in style and power. Only three cantos have yet been pub lished, but these are more than promises. We make a short extract; . . It is extremely proper For damsels undistinguished, imendowed, At once, for him who picks them (rum the crowd, To draw from their affections' flask the stopper, Anil pour it all upon the capti‘e proud, Like treading lacquer upon common copper; Pudding their hero, if a common-place one, With patchwork figments of imagination. Women, as well as men, who have their choice. Will choose and sometimes he some time in choosing, Much precious youth and precious patience losing; If youth be lost in what the common voice Declares to be a process most amusing; As birds in spring chirp, twitter, and rejoice, It may not be life's purposes diverting To spend some years philandering and flirting." TILE SUSPECTED MURDER. AT li,tstween.—At the last adjournment of the inquest on the body of Joseph Burlier, it was determined to send the contents of the ate mach of the deceased to some eminent chemist, in order that he might make a minute examination, and thereby as certain beyond doubt whether accnic existed in it or not. Professor Taylor was the gentleman selected by the coro- ner for the purpose, and it appears that he has discovered arsenic hi the matter forwarded to him, in considerable quantities. Information of this was received in Notting ham on Saturday, and on the sanr2 day Superintendent Burrows apprehended the wife of the deceased on the charge of wilful murder. Ile also endeavoured at the same time to secure Robert Ingram, the man who pur chased part of the arsenic for her ; hut he kept out of the way, and was not met with until Tuesday, when he was apprehended and convoyed to the county gaol.—Notting ham Journal. THE GL tsGOW VICTORIA lIRTDOE.—On Wednesday last the foundation stone of the new bridge across the Clydo was Lid by his (barn the Duke of Athol', Grand Master, I assisted by upwards of fifty masonic lodges. The Victoria Brides, as the completed structure will be designated, in commemoration of her Majesty's visit to the city in 1849, is to be erected on the site of the old Stockwell Bridge, which was taken down last year, after having stood for upwards of five centuries. It was built in 1345, and down to a compa ratively recent period formed the only or principal avenue of communication between the north and south banks of the river. The new bridge will be a very handsome structure, equal in point of architectural beauty and solidity of con struction to the Broomielaw Bridge, which is considered one of the finest in Europe. It is to be 50 feet in width, and will consist of five arches. .FATAL ACCIDENT ON THE SOUTH WESTERN RAIL WAT.—As the 6 p.m. up train was proceeding from South ampton to London, on Thursday night, at the ordinary rate, between Fleetpond and Farnborough, the driver of the en- Sine,the Cyclops, observed amen walking on the up line about 60 yards a-head of the train. The driver shut off the steam and opened his whistle, but to no purpose, the engine ran into him, and the train passed over the body, severing the head, and horribly mangling the remaining portion of the wen .—At a recent meetng nearest b "l b be m a k ing et I col l ec ted theW labourer. mane tlllelanab ut the taken d. It of A F exhibited a glen e = a t m b1 ; 1 1 : A f e c i t h b! d rh eo e t n Ae w n:2"4llll.drchill:sudETPteittih:;:edEre train t c h maiu rst:n d wan a enamelled with colour and gald. for marble and other stones in areVteetand been already patented.—Buikke. e . ~ ~; i~ ,i~ 1~1