The Sun. — London, England, 1831-01-01 00:00:00

1 r' '. ,j ~7 ~~ 4 , 7, I ~ Y turn to the advantage of those who have not failed in their duty. And now, Gentlemen, I come to another re proach that has been thrown upon this Chamber. The cause of liberty, say they, has not been pushed forward with sufficient rapidity. Its inevitable consequences have not been welcomed and developed as they ought to have been. It is true, Gentlemen, that the Revolution of 1830 lass not yet completed all that it is capable of accomplishing—all that it ought to accomplish—all that in the end it most un doubtedly will accomplish ; for it contains evithin its b ;- sum an immensity of future liberty and happiness. But let me ask you to say in all candour, can every thing le ned at once ? I beg leave to turn the attention of .amber to facts. It will be recollected that the of 1830 contains, towards its conclusion, a stet-- f the various laws which the country rendered obli , for the advancement of its own interests, amount .n number to nine ; four have been already enacted, A the country is enjoying the benefits of their. Trial by jury has been extended to offences by the press and to political offences—Deputies appointed to public offices have been made subject to re-election—the army estimates will be annually subotitted to a vote of the Chambers—and the future condition of our naval and military officers is settled and secured. All this, gentlemen, has bee?' done. As to what remains to be done, you are all fully aware. The law fur regulating the National Guards is in progress, and that fin. receiving the double vote has received the sanc tion of a transitory enectinent. Thus, Gentlemen, four laws have been passed, two are at this moment under dis cussion, and three remain fur consideration. Of these last, I beg leave toinform the Chamber that when I quitted the Ministry three laws were ready to be submitted to you —I mean the municipal, communal, and departmental laws. Surely never was there at any time greater expe dition than this. I will add that that extra legal, extra constitutional authority, which in the present day aims to impose its will upon us, is not likely to promote the cause of true liberty, for a spirit of revolt and insurrection is fl always inimical to its real interests. This spirit of re volt is too exclusive : it tends to the assumption of absolete power,—it is too full of the passions, and fan cies itself far above all other authority, to consent to march by the side of any. Insurrections may overthrow unjust governments, which can never be sustained by the coun try, because they are not in accord with it ; but they never create genuine liberty —they bear none of the germs of it within their bosoms. They beget nothing but disorders, and always end by introducing anarchy : they yield only to tyranny, which never fails for a time to gain the as cendancy. These, gentlemen, are the evils which disquiet Its. Society appears to have lost its balance ;it is endea -.ring to find its centre of gravity, and nothing can en - restore its equilibrium. In fine, gentlemen, the .ivernmeet appears to have by its side a power foreign to tself, but which ie resolved either to invade its attributes, draw it to its own purposes.—(Hear, hear.) Yet the :Nil is not without a remedy. The Government, I am hound to say, has not perhaps done all it ought to have done, even when I had the honour of being one of the Ministers, but it has contended against the evil, and in the end will gain the victory. The Chambers, I hope, will anpport it ; and even should the Government and the Chambers fail in their duties, I have confidence in the country—l have a firm conviction that the nation will effect its own salvation from the disorders that threaten to invade it as it delivered itself from tyranny in the days of July.—(Applause.) M. Persil declared, that whatever might be the reserve imposed upon him by his situation, it was impossible for him to remain any longer silent. He would lay aside all the learned doctrines that hail been developed, and confine himself to facts , . The Revolution of July was too sudden and unpremeditated not to leave hopes to the partisans of the repudiated Government. The Revolution of July had also revived the hopes of some old republicans who had not gained wisdom from experience. But there was this difference between the Republicans and the Carlists—that ttic former found they could only act under the mask of a lively sympathy with the new Monarchy, while the latter perceived that their only chance of success was in disguis ing their sentiments under the appearance of coinciding with the former. These were the causes of the tumult in the mouth of October. It was put down. The attempts made upon Vincennes by a misguided mob were easily de feated, but for this I allow no credit to the Ministry. The proceedings before the Court of Assizes next week will sufficiently inform France of the weakness of the causes of this disturbance, and of the existence of ringleaders, whom I can scarcely call conspirators. But that a conspiracy did exist, we have the proof in the following letter, found at the residence of one of the prisoners, a sentence of which was conanunicateci to you yesterday by the President of the Council. lam now enabled to read to you the whole letter, which is as follows My opportunities for writ ing to you with the certain . y of toy letters coining to hand are so rare, that it is a real happiness, whenever I can eend them to you with security. M. has just informed ins that he is going to London, and from thence to 1101yrood, and was happy in being thus able to prove his devotedness in the Royal Family. The fellowing is the picture of the affaiis of the day. We must have a republic in order to drive away the Orleans family; with out that we can do nothing, and we must labour ta bring it about. Several clubs have been formed, and I belong to several at the same time.—(A general laugh.)—The most connuending and the most violeet is that called les Ands du Peuple, at which the Chamber of Deputies is much alarmed.—(` No, no, they do not frightens us.') — We have agents employed to make the people, whose in terests it defends, acquainted with it : when once it has become well knows, a contest will take place with the National Guards, arid one of those bloody conflicts will ensue that ftequently have no other rause than a cross look. The moat timid will run away, the boldest will remain ; and this will be sufficient to tell you that I shall stand firm in the defence of our interests. The republic will probably spring trom the head of B. D. having lost our confi !entre since he turned Jrleanist. I have seen some people who delude themselves with the notion that the Duke of Orleans wishes to remain no longer King. Ile never had a greater desire to reign ; this at auy rate is the opininta of the National Guards who mount guard daily at the Palnis Royal, and whose officers dine at the table of the King, who takes care to treat them well, in order to secure them as his protectors.—(Laughter.) — The National Guard is not to he feared. It is composed of fathers of families, who are afraid of their lives, while we are animated and encouraged by powder and balls," &e. Gentlemen (concluded the Hon. Member), these are the calms of the delay of the Ministry in presentine the law !coked for by the country. They promised you yesterday to present immediately the election laws, and whew it is submitted, you will be able to judge of and appreciate their ennduct." M. Maugein endeavoured to prove that the uneasiness that prevailed was deeply rooted, and that the fauit was in the Government, who knew how to provide for the wants of :Le people. They had assumed the motto of the fallen government--" Nu more concessions." None of the pro mises of the revolution had been realized. They had iodised the phantom of the republic and the reign of terror to exante alarm.—(Here the Hon. Member was inter ;ruined by the President of the Council, on which M. Mauguin explained that he had no intention of intimi dating the Government.) He thee proceeded to show by facts that attempts had been made to alarm the people, and that they had not been satisfied. Ile had tie belief in the imaginary dangers from the Carlists, and repelled alas all ides of danger of a republic. He declared his belief that every one was in favour of a Monarchy and of liberty, and recommended Ministers to abandon all categories, such a s " Carlists," which only disseminated division, and use the term " Frenelinnen and France," in order that they might be understood by ail the world. The Ilon. De puty then asked if it was tree :hot a petty Prince of Italy had sent tack the letter addressed to Lim by Louis Philip, announcing his accession ; he also called for a communi cation of the protocol relative to the affairs of Belgium, at the same time informing the Chamber that this grave question would be the objett of a motion from General Lemarque.—(Hear, hear, front the extreme gauche.) • M. Merilhou considered the toplieeit of the Hon. Deputy as a direct attack upon Ministers. M. Maugnin anseaered, that he admitted that lai.inisters bad the power of doing good. M. Merilhou replied, that then the inference was a stilt stranger charge, and repelled with great energy the attacks made upon the Government.—Adjourned. (From the Tribune.) .. I?ROJECT OF ASSOCIATION OF THE SCHOOLS. "TO THE EDITOR OF TILE TRIBUNE. s nt ,—Loag i,v) I presented to the students the pro ject of an association to your journal. Now that we have s h a res in it, to the am o u nt o f 5,000 francs, I come in their name to claim your support. You will allow tne to take advantage of this opportunity to obgerve, that I was not dec e ived with regard to your inflexilide &fulness. Alone, Y.ll announced the Polignac Ministry ; you prepared us fur it s co nsequences ; you told us the truth respecting ale 221 ; a nd after the victory Df July, you foretold what has taken place, under the influence of Guizot, &c. " PROJECT OF THE ASSOCIATION. "To THE STUDENTS OF THE THREE SCHOOLS. " Dear Schoolfellows of Law, Medicine, and the Poly technic School,—We have tha same object in view, the liberty, the peace, and the happiness of the people; our motto is, ' Love of our country.' Long before the revo lution of July, the people, tired of an odious and humi liating yoke, bad cast their eyes E towarde you. In the hope of overturning one day a throne, raised by foreign bayonets and sustained by corruption, they relied upon your intelligence and upon your courage to act at the de cisive moment. On the 26th of July the counter-revolu tionary tocsin was sounded : a cry of alarm burst from the bosom of France, and this cry was re-echoed from the bottom of your hearts. The next day, careless of danger, you formed your battalions ; the people disputed with you the honour of ensuring the victory, and in three days the throne of the tyrant was lost in the blood which he hail caused to be shed. Precious blood ! united to our tears, mayest thou fertilize the soil of our country ! " Such is the history of our revolution. The thunder bolt of liberty annihilated at one blow the power of des potism. Shall I attempt to recall the sensations of the following day? No, the intoxicating feelings of popular triumph remain engraved on our memory ; but no expres sion can describe them. The combat of force began the revolution, that of reason ought to terminate it. How is this to be done ? By unmasking hypocrites and intriguers —by re-establishing tranquillity, and presenting a mass of young citizens, ready to attack the enemy of the principles for which we took up arms. Ah ! if every Frenchman were like you a stranger to ambition and to egotism, we should now have only to enjoy the happiness we conquered. But how many men bare made a shameful traffic of the fruits of your exertions ! How many men seek in revo lutions only a share of the spoil. Honour to you, my brave friends, you have had no share in the booty. " But it is not sufficient to preserve our own dignity, we must force others to follow the noble example. If the students were united, we might by our great number, by the purity of our sentiments, and by the education we have received, exercise a salutary influence over public opinion in favour of liberty. But, unfortunately, we sometimes differ on the means of attaining the end we have in view. To obviate this difficulty, let us associate in order to unite our efforts. Our provincial schoolfellows will unite with us willingly, and we shall then offer to France the n et& spectacle of a body beaming light into every spot to which it penetrates. The Press was formerly of service to the country ; but since several of its organs have found more rapid means of making their fortune, they seem to abandon us to ourselves. What is become of those men whom we thought rich in patriotism and talents, and who every morning came to animate us with the love of liberty ? They are Prefects, Employes, or Receivers. How revo lutions discover the workings of intrigue ! " The people who had mingled their blood with ours is in want of our counsels. Shall we abandon them to their inexperience, who surpassed us in courage ? It is our duty to instruct them, to inspire them with ideas of pure morality, and of frank and moderate policy. To what voice will they listen sooner than to that which called them to artns, and which did not cease to animate them with the cry of victory ! In fine, my dear schoolfellows, the project which I submit to you offers no difficulty, and it can only be useful to the country. This is saying that you will adopt it. Our fathers almost all electors, our friends who have gone before us in the career of sciences, will grant with enthusiasm the wishes of the children of July. We, ourselves, on quitting our schools, will he proud to see those who shall succeed us follow the path we have marked out for them,—not that which we traced with our blood on the pavement of Paris (God forbid that French blood should be again shed) but the line of prin ciples which our revolution has laid down, and which are, I trust, not to be effaced. But it will be s will so great an influence be tolerated by power ? To this we answer, what is to be feared from us ? And if it were to refuse, would we not exclaim with all France, what, then, have we conquered ? Why so much ingratitude towards men who have made you what you are? Reply in your turn, you who have gained every thing and lost nothing, do you persecute us thus because the remembrance of your con duct causes you as much remorse as that of ours gives us pleasure ? " ADOLPHE MOSHERY, Student of Medicine." A report is current, that the School of Medicine is to be closed for three months, on account of the proclama tions signed by a number of the pupils. This rumour, we are assured, is unfounded ; but it appears certain that the Minister of Public Instruction has convoked the Aca demical Council, to consider the course to be adopted te specting those who signed the proclamations in question. We have already announced the arrest of M. de Mes nerd, son of the Count de Mesmird, first Equerry to the Duchess of Berri, as well as that of two brothers, Messrs. Due; advocates. AI. de Mesnard was arrested at No. 252, 'tie St. Honors, at the house of M. Geslain, ex_ valet de chambre to the Duchess of Berri, against whom a warrant of apprehension has also been issued. The following letter upon the subject appears in the Quoti dienne " Mr. Editor,—l was in bed. M. de M—, jun., having come to Paris on business, and begged me to give him a lodging, was at my house, when four men, one of whom wore a tri-coloured scarf, and called himself a Com missary of Police, entered my apartment. The latter took several papers from the chimney-piece, and out of my writing desk, and after having examined them very mi• cutely opened some drawers, where he found a pound of gunpowder with some halls and a pair of pistols. He also took some other correspondence, which had nothing to do with polities. After• having scrupulously examined a number of letters, the contents of which were quite harm less, the Commissary of Police put his hand upon a paper containing some allusions and hopes relative to the return of the Duke of Bordeaux to France. Although this paper, which was merely the draught of a letter, was entitled to no attention, the Commissary thought it of high import ance, and gave it to one of the trusty persons in attendance on him. I thou felt that advantage would be gladly taken of this vain pretext to ascribe to the Carlists the commotion that had arisen, notwithstanding the absurdity of putting at the head of a conspiracy a mere valet-de-chambre to the Duchess of Berri. Not disposed to share the fate of the prisoner, I decided upon making my escape. I went behind the alcove, and thence ran dawn stairs without a hat. The Commissary, on finding that I had escaped in spite of his precautions, lost all moderation. He again examined toy papers, and on finding some nails ; files, old keys, &c., which came into my possession by being left in some furniture which I bought in 1825, at No. 1, Rue Neuve du Luxem bourg, the Commissary, addressing M. de M— said, with the intention of mortifying him, You are living with a thief.' Ille Commissary, no doubt, felt that in order to rain a man it was necessary to degrade hint. He himself was not the dupe of his own words. Every ob ject in my house would have set him right. Whom then can he hope to find that will believe such unworthy suppositions? These are all the grounds of the famous trial which is preparing - , and the causes of the arrest of Messrs. Duez. It was thought that the ties of friend ship, which ltd united me to one of them for these 12 years, would give me influence to change their opinions. What notion can they have of conscience ? " B. GESLAIN." The Quotidienne says—" We shall add to these de tails, that the son of M. de Mesnard, a young man 20 years of age, who had just arrived from the country, must have already convicted the examining magistrate that he was quite a stranger to political affairs." (From th. , !. Constitutionnel of Wednesday, Dec. 29.) ON POLAND. Unhappy Poland ! the Russian Autocrat is, perhaps, already on his march, with his innumerable armies, to stifle the independence of Poland, and drown its liberty in torrents of blood. There is no doubt but the resistance will be worthy of the heroes who contended with so much magnanimity against the savage Suwarrow ; but they perhaps, be overwhelmed by numbers, and who car. then say where the vengeance of irritated despotism will stop The :ncurrection in Poland is a consequence a our revo lution. This brgve nation thought of us when it broke its chains. It saluted the tri-co!oured flag, and without doubt it hoped in us. What ought the Government to do under such circumstances ? It ought to raise a powerful voice in favour of an oppressed people,—the old friend, the fahillul ally of FrAnce,—which assisted us in our wars with Europe,—which fought, conquered, and suffered with us. Let the tovernuient save Poland. This is the wish of France. Let us nut deceive ourselves. Wilen Poland is once reconquered, the Russian armies will come and attack, among us, the principle which stirs up na tions and troubles absolute Kings. All diplomatic pro testations to the country tend only to deceive us—to lull us into false security. Why fvar a magnanimous resolu tion ? It is almost always the prudence of Statesmen. (From the Moniteur of Wednesday, Dec. 29.) Every post that arrives from the departments brings UP. the proof that the troubles of which Paris hail nearly become the theatre, will have served only to give the pro vinces an occasion to displ iy with more energy their pa triotism and their love of the King and the charter of 1830. Every where, as at Rocen, Dieppe, and 'Versailles, the National Ga,tetle Italie offered to join their brethren in arms at Paris, in case their as,sistroce should be necessary to restore order. At Melun, on the day when the pews came of the events at Paris, the officers of the National Goud gave an entertainment to the officers of the garrison, , • 77=7 Vice le Roil Vine Ordre Public P Such was the cry of the guests. The departments of the Eure and Loire, the Aube, the Sarthe, and the Somme, have manifested the must lively sentiments at the conduct of the Parisian National Guard. At Tuurs, the same enthusiasm in favour of our citizen soldiers was shown. Scarcely had the Pre fect announced that some of the agitators were b i fu e d, when the whole population replied by cries of ' Vice le Roi!' In the department of the Vienne an address was already drawn up to his Majesty, asking his permission to join his brave Parisian Guard, whe❑ the issue of the events at Paris doubled their enthusiasm. The anarchists tnay have convinced themselves by per sonal observation of the love of Paris for public order and liberty. They have but to visit the departments, and they will see the provinces in nowise yield to the capital in attachment to the charter of 1830, or to popular royalty. (From Galignani's Messenger of Thursday.) On Tuesday the Minister of the Interior, the Mayors and Deputy Mayors of Paris, and the Prince de LA Muskwa, bad the honour to dine with the King and Potyal Family. In the evening his Majesty granted a private au dience to the Duke de Montemart, and afterwards held a Councils of Ministers. Yesterday the Prefect of Police was admitted to a private audience. M. Merilhou took the oath upon his appointment to be Keep. , r of the Seals. The King transacted business with the Minister of the Interior, and, in the afternoon, accompanied the Queen on an excursion to Neuilly. A Council of Ministers was held yesterday at the resi dence of the President of the Council, which sat in delibe ration from ten o'clock till two. The Journal des Debuts of this morning says—" The Sittings of yesterday and the day before have accomplished in the Chamber of Deputies what the National Guards ef fected in the streets in the course of last week, and the ♦ictory of order and the laws over disorder and popular coups d'etat is as complete in the political system a■ it wi.s in the material system. Every thing is reduced within the circle of the laws. Faction no longer exists; an op position alone rethairs, and, instead of riot, we shall have discussion." The Quotidiennc intimates that the letter read yester day in the Chamber of Deputies by M. Persil, is that found by a Commissary of Police at the residence of M. Geslain, ex-valet- de-ehambre of the Duchess of Perri. The four Ex-Ministers were removed last night from Vincennes, to be transferred to the fortress of Ham, in Picardy, there to undergo their sentence of perpetual im prisonment._ . . . . . The Tribune announces that an Association has been formtd of the students of the Law and Medical Schools and the pupils of the Polytechnic School, both in France and abroad, with the view of establishing concord, frater nity, and uniformity of principle. Extract of a letter from Weitnar, dated Dec. 19 :—" A report is current here, that the Emperor Nicholas had ar rived unexpectedly at Warsaw, and appointed his son and heir to be King of Poland ; by which measure he had pa cified the public mind, and put an eml to the Polish revo lution." " This intelligence," says the Angsburgh Ga zette, from which we copy the above, " comp fired with the latest accounts from St. Petersburgb, Berlin, and War saw, appears rather improbable." The Prussian State Gazette of the 23d instant an nounces that the Provision Government of Poland had ordered an immediate levy of ten battalions of 1,000 men in each waiwoide. Two rich manufacturers at Zgierza have raised a German legion at their own expense. The Mentz Gazette of the 25th inst. announces, that an express, which arrived at Augsburg on the 21st, brought intelligence that 160,000 Russians, who are marching from all parts of the empire, proceed with such rapidity, that it is expected that 80,000 men will enter Warsaw by the Ist of January. An Austrian Cabinet courier, sent off from St. Peters burgh with despatches for Prince Metternich, passed through B rlin on the 22d inst., on his way to Vienna. Russian Couriers from and to St. Petersburgh are con stantly passing through Berlin. They are frequently persons of note, as Colonels, Captains, attaches to embas sies, &c. PARIS STOCK EXCIIANGE, DEC. 30.-Five per Cents., 93f. 75c. 60c. 75c. 700. 75e. 80c. 70e. 80c. 90e. 95c. 941. 931. 95e. 60c. 80e. 70e. 60e. 50e. 60e. 50e. 10c. -Three per Cents., 62f. 95e. 631. 631. 10c 15c. 10e. 621. '2oc. 63f. 85c. SOc. 95c. 40c. 60c.-Bank Actions, 1510 f. 15151.-Itcnte de Naples, 641. 75c. 50c.-llente d'Ewagne, 13A-Tioval Spanish Loan, 64 61i-Rente Perp. d'Espagne, 504 51 504--Haytian Loan, 320 f . on London, one month, paper, 251. 20c. ; three months, paper, 25f. 10c. LITERATURE. MOORE'S MEMOIRS OF LORD BYRON, Vol.. 11. LONDON, 1831. We have barely had time to glance over the contents of this volume, so for the present must content ourselves with saying, that Lord Byron is made for the most part to be his own bio grapher through the medium of a very clever correspondent, with his English friends (espe cially with Mr. Murray the publisher), that the work appears to abound in personal anecdote, and that at the commencement we have an animated journal (penned by Lord Byron himself, for the perusal of his sister Mrs. Leigh) of his excur sion to the Jungfrau in company with Mr. Ilob house. The volume is embellished with a beautiful portrait of his Lordship taken when in his 19th year. We subjoin an extract descrip tive of one of Lord Byron's Venetian mistresses. The description is front his own pen : " Since you desire the story of Margarita Cogni, you shall be told it, though it may be lengthy. " Iler face is the tine Venetian cast of the old time; her figure, though perhaps too tall, is not less fine—and taken altogether in the national dress. "In the summer of 1817, '" * and myself were sauntering on horseback along the Brenta one evening, when, amongst a group of peasants, we remarked two girls as the prettiest we had seen for some time. About this period there had been great distress in the country, and I had a little relieved sonic of the people. Generosity makes a great figure at very little cost in Venetian livrer, and mine had probably been exaggerated as an Englieb man's. Whether they remarked us looking at their. or no I know not ; but one of them called out to me in Venetian, ' Why do not you, who relieve others, thin!: of ❑s also ?' I turned round and answered her—' Cara in sci troppo Lena c yiovane per aver bisogna del soccorso min.' She answered, If you saw my hut and my food, you would not say so.' All this passed half jestingly, and I saw no more of her for several days. " A few evenings after, we met with these two girls again, and they addressed us more seriously, assuring us of the truth of their statement. They were cousins ; Margarita married, the other single. As I doubted still of tl:e circumstances, I took the business in a different light, and made an appointment with them for the next evening. In short, in a few evenings we arranged our affairs, and for a long space of time she was the only one who pre served over me an ascendancy which was often disputed, and never impaired. " The reasons of this were, firstly, her person—very dark, till, the Venetian face, very fine black eyes. She was two-and-twenty years old. • She was besides a thorough Venetian in her dialect, in her thoughts, in her countenance, in every thing, with all their naivete and pantaloon humour. Besides, she could neither read nor write, and could not pl igue me with let ters,—except twice that she paid sixpence to a public scribe, under the piazza, to make a letter for her, upon some occasion when I was ill and could not see her. In other respects she was somewhat fierce and prepotente,' that is, overbearing, and used to walk in whenever it suited her, wilh no very great regard to time, place, nor persons ; and if she found any women in her way, she knoc!:e I them down. When I first knew her, I was in relazione (liaison) with la Signora ' 4 , who was silly enough one evening at Dolo, accompanied by some of her female friends, to threaten her; far the gossips of the Villeggiatura had al ready found out, by the neighing of my horse one evening, that I used to ride late in the night' to meet the Forna rum. Margarita threw back her veil (fazziolo), and re plied in very explicit Venetian, ' You are not his wife ; ain not Ilk wife; you are his Donna, and I am his Donna; your husband is a becco, and mine is another. For the rest, what right have you to reproach me ? if he prefers me to you, is it my fault ? If you wish to secure him, tie him to your petticoat-string? But do not think to speak to me without a reply, because you happen lo be richer than I am.' Having delivered this pretty piece of eloquence (which I translate as it was related to me by a bystander), she went on her way, leaving a numerous au dience with Madame " to ponder at her leisure on the dialogue between them. " When I came to Venice for the winter, she followed, and as she found herself out to be a favonrite, she came to me pretty often. But she had inordinate self-love, and was not tolerant of other women. At the Cavalchina,' the masqued ball on the last night of the Carnival, where ali the world goes, she pnatelted off the mask of Madame Contarini, a lady noble by birth, and decent in conduct, for no other reason but because she happened to be leaning on my arm. You may suppose what a cursed noise this made ; but this is only one of her pranks. " At last she quarrelled with her husband, and one evening ran away to my house. I told her this would not do; she said she would lie in the street, l.ut not go back to him ; that be beat her, (the gentle tigress) spent her money, and scandalously neglected her. As it was mid night I let her stay, and next day there was no moving her at all. Her husband came, roaring and crying, and en treating her to come back :—not she ! He then applied to the police, and they applied to me : I told them and her husband to take her; I did not want her; she had come, and I could not fling her out of the window ; but they might conduct her through that or the door if they chose it. She went before the Commissary, but was obliged to return with that ' becco ettico,' as she called the poor man, who had a phthisic. In a few days she ran away again. After a precious piece of work, she fixed herself in my house, really and truly without my consent; but, owing to my indolence, and not being able to keep toy countenance—for if I began in a rage, she always finished by making me laugh with some Venetian panta loonery or another; and the gipsy knew this well enough, as well as her other powers of persuasion, and exerted them with the usual tact and success of all she-things ; high and low, they are all alike for that. " Madame Bensoni also took her under her protection, and then her head turned. She was always in extremes, either crying or laughing, and so fierce when angered, that she was the terror of men, women, and children— for she had the strength of an Amazon, with the temper of Medea. She was a fine animal, but quite untameable. I was the only person that cook' at all keep her in any order, and when she saw me really angry (which they tell me is a savage sight), she subsided. But she had a thousand fooleries. In her _fazziolo, the dress of the lower orders, she looked beautiful ; but, alas ! she longed for a hat and feathers ; and all I could say or do (and I said much) could not prevent this travestie. I put the first into the fire; but I got tired of burning them before she did of buying them, so that she made herself a figure— for they did not at all become her. " Then she would have her gowns with a tail—like a lady, forsooth, nothing would serve her, but 'Z'abita colla coua,' or coo, that is the Venetian for la cola,' the tail or train) and as her cured pronunciation of the word made me laugh, there was an end of all controversy, and she, dragged this diabolical tail after her everywhere. " In the meantime she beat the women, and stopped may letters. I found her one day pondering over one. She used to try to find out by their shape whether they were feminine or no ; and she used to lament her ig rance, and actually studied her alphabet on purpose (as she declared) to open all letters addressed to me, and read their contents. " I must not omit to do justice to her housekeeping qualities. After she came into my house as " Donna di gorerno,' the expences were reduced to less than half, and every body did their duty better—the apartments were kept in order, and every thing and every body else, except herself. " That she had a sufficient regard for me in her wild way, I hal many reasons to believe. I will mention one. In the autumn, one day, going to the Lido with my gon doliers, we were overtaken by a heavy squall, and the gon dola put in peril—hats blown away, boats filling, oar lost, tumbling sea, thunder, rain in torrents, night coming, and wind unceasing. On our return, after a tight struggle, I found her on the open steps of the Mocenigo Palace, on the Grand Canal, with her great black eyes flashing through her tears, and the long dark hair, which was streaming, drenched with rain, ever her brows and breast. She was perfectly exposed to the stoma ; and the wind blowing her hair and dress about her thin tall figure, and the lightning flashing round her, and the waves rolling at her feet, made her look like Medea alighted from her chariot, or the Sibyl of the tempest that was rolling around her, the only living thing within hail at that moment ex cept ourselves. On seeing me safe, she did not wait to greet me, as might have been expected, but calling out to me—' Ah ! can' della Madonna, re esto it tempo per andar al Lido?' (Ah dog of the Virgin is this a time to go to Lido?) ran into the house, and solaced herself with scalding the boatmen for not foreseeing the temporale.' I am told by the set vents that she had only been prevented from coming in a boat to look after me, by the refusal of all the gondoliers of the canal to put out into the harbour in such a moment ; and that then she sat down en the steps in all the thickest of the squall, and would neither be removed nor comforted. Her joy at seeing me again was moderately mixed with ferocity, and gave me the idea of a tigress over her recovered cubs. " But her reign drew near a close. She became quite ungovernable some months after, and a concurrence of complaints, some true, and many false—' a favourite has no friends'—determined me to part with her. I told her quietly that she must return borne (she had acquired a suf ficient provision far herself and her mother, &c. in my service), and she refused to quit the house. I was firm, and she went threatening knives and revenge. I told her that I had seen knives drawn before her titre, and that if si.e chose to begin, there was a knife, and fork also, at her service on the table, and that intimidation would not do. The next day, while I was at dinner, she walked in (having broken open a glass door that led from the hall below to the stake Ise, by way of prologue), and advancing straight up to the table, snatched the knife from my hand, cutting me slightly in the thumb in the operation. Whether she meant to use this against herself or me, I know nut—probably against neither—but Fletcher seized her by the arms, and disarmed her. I then called my boatmen, and desired them to get the gondola ready. and conduct her to her own house again, seeing carefully that she did herself no mischief by the way. She seemed quite quiet, and walked down stairs. I resumed my dinner. We heard a great noise, and went out, and met them on the staircase, carrying her up stairs. She had thrown herself into the canal. That she intended to destroy her self, I do not believe; but when we consider the fear women and men who can't swim have of deep or even of shallow water (and the Venetians in particular, though they live or. the waves), and that it was also night, and dark, P.ud very cold, it shows that she had a devilish spir;t of some srlrt within her. They had got her out without much difficulty or damage, excepting the salt water she had swallowed, and the wetting she had under gone. " I foresaw her intention to rdix herself, and sent for a surgeon, inquiring how many hours it would require to restore her from her agitation ; and he named the time. I then said, I give you that time, and more if you re quire it; but ut the expiration of this prescribed period, if she does not leave the house, I will.' " All my people were consternated. They had always been frightened at her, and were now paralysed ; they wanted me to apply to the police, to guard myself, Ike. &c. like a pack of snivelling servile boobies as they were. I did nothing of the kind, thinking that I might as well end that way as another ; besides, I had been used to savage women, and knew their ways. " I had her sent home quietly after her recovery, and never saw her since, except twice at the opera, at a dis tance amongst the audience. She made many attempts to return, but no more violent ones. And this is the story of Margarita Cogni, as far as it relate■ to me. I forget to mention that she was very devout, and would cross herself if she heard the prayer time stlike." a • • • PROMETHEUS, WITH ENGLISH NOTES. LONDON, 1881. The Promethean Desmotes of lEschylus— one of the finest of the Greek Dramas—is here illustrated with English notes, partly original, partly selected, for the use of schools and col leges. The edition is a cheap and an able one. LONDON UNIVERSITY CALENDAR. LONDON, 1830. This Calendar contains an account of the origin and progress of that meritorious institu tion the London University, down to the pre sent period : its mode of education—the list, &c., of its Professors—the development of the course of instruction pursued in the several classes—every thing, in short, which, directly or indirectly, appertains to it. Some specimens of the Midsummer Latin Examinations of the ju nior classes in 1830, are also introduced, and display much more efficiency than those usually entered into at public schools. MAGAZINE DAY. MONTHLY MAGAZINE. There is nothing in any of the periodicals of this month equal in splendour, sarcasm, energy, and stateliness of diction, to the following admi rable stanzas by (evidently) some master-hand, who feels his strength and can exert it : MERLIN'S PROPHECY FOR THE YEAR Mil ! Wizard! dreaming in your cave, Twice ten thousand fathoms deep, Where the brothers of the grave Sit enthroned—Time, Death, and Sleep; Where the bones of Saxon kings Feed your ancient altars' blaze— • Tell me what new wonder springs, Wizard! on your New Year's gaze ? MERLIN. Stranger! leave me to my slumber— Merlin long is sick of earth ; Scoundrels still the soil will cumber, Asses still give asses birth ; Rogues will still be patriot praters, Treasury slaves still sell their wives ; Wigs and gowns will still hide traitors— Polls have pensions for three lived I" Times are coming—times are coming— John Bull, you shall break your fast ; Swords are clashing, drums are drumming— Hours of humbug ! ye are past. Horseguards men their backs are turning— Pensioned beauties are undone ; Ministers' own wigs are burning— Boldly, New Year thou'st begun. Hark, the bells from tower and steeple! All the locusts of the State, All the feeders on the people, Must no longer dine on plate— Mudt give up their Opera-boxes, Must give up still prettier things— Soft as turtles, sly as foxes, Dear to men of stars andstrings! Down his Highness goes for ever! Heartless, haughty, hollow, cold; Scorn has purged Ambition's fever, Ridicule his tale has told. With him sink his slavish rabble— Puny, pettifogging gang ! Fit in Treasury lies to dabble, Fit to cheer their Lord's harangue. Now, Sir Bob, farewell thy proneurs I Even Bill Holmes will cut thee dead ; All by tricks, and none by honours, Even thy 'treasury game has tied. Shelved on Opposition benches, Hume himself o'er thee shall crow— Whig, prig, Russell, storm thy trenches : Go, where thou at last must go! All ye pets in Treasury chariots ; All ye pampered, would-be queens— WIYCK of Pilates and Iscariots, Twenty summers past your teens! On your cheeks your calling painted, Battered, shattered, drunken, old— All ye reputations tainted, — Howl! your hour of pride is told ! All ve shallow Michael Cassios, All ye men of aiguillettes, All ye genus of mustachios, All ye Hussar dandizettes ; All ye tinselled aides-dc-camp, Proud to lick a Marshal's shoe, Scarlet as ye are, ere long, Like your Marshal, ye'll look blue. Ireland, " gem of land and ocean ! Finest pisant r y on earth !" Wholesale dealer in commotion! Soil of murder and of mirth ! Hack for every scoundrel's straddle, Every brawling beggar's dupe; Dan O'Connell on thy saddle— Anglesca upon thy croupe. Famed for Papists and potatoes ; Famed for patriots, thick and thin; Crammed with Brutuses and Catos Every roul a Jacobin! Ireland's bonds shall soon be broken, Spite of Byng, Fitzroy, and Hill ; Patriot lips the words nave spoken— Blood and spoil shall have their fill. Sounds are on the tempest winging. What has spoke them ? Wrath and shame. Memories start, like serpents, stinging ; _Searching, wild, and bright, like flame. - - Europe, from thy deepest piiscin Rings a voice that earth must hear, When the Spirit once has risen; — Man! thy day of grandeur's near! Italy! thy pangs are numbered ; Light shall through thy dungeon's shine ; Many an age thy strength had slumbered— Freedom's blaze forsook thy shrine. But the reign of blood and plunder— Tremble, Austria! shall be o'er ; Heaven not yet has lost the thunder— Gore shall yet be paid by gore. Poland! long baptized in slaughter, To high heaver thy cry is borne, Though thy blood was poured like water, Though thy heart by wolves was torn ! E'en on thee a light is beaming, Light that summons from the grave-- Light from lance and sabre streaming, Poland! thc,u'rt no more a slave! Germany! thou too art waking, Like the giant from his sleep, Heavily thy fetters shaking, Like the heavings of the deep Ere the storm begins to blow; Like the torrent on the steep, Gathering ere it bursts below ! Who shall stand that torrent's sweep ? Hour of mighty retribution! Who shall stand when thou art come ? Hour of fiery dissolution ! Strength a cypher, council dumb! But the tempest shall be chidden, Earth shall shine without a stain ; Guilt beneath its mountains hidden, Man shall be himself again! " Poland, Past and Present" is full and com prehensive in its details, liberal in its tone of politics, and in its language energetic and de clamatory. It bears evident traces of having been penned by the same hand to which we are indebted for the magnificent Prophecy of Merlin. " ])efoe ; his Life and Writings," enters with much minuteness into the political and ecclesi• astical history in which this unprecedently volu minous writer flourished. " Monsieur St. Croix" is a vigorously written tale, full of inci dent, but rather too abrupt and mysterious in its termination. " Notes of the Months on Affairs in General," as usual, are pertinent and caustic. BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE. The " Noctes" are this month most capital in point of whim and spirit, though somewhat un necessarily severe on the metaphysics of Mr„ Moore. The writer should remember that Moore is a poet, and it is a little hard to expect him to be a metaphysician also. If he dabble a little in this line, the critic should remember that he is but an amateur, and treat him accordingly. The success of Moore as a wit is quite enough to damn him as a metaphysician, tho two cha racters are quite incompatible. "On the Late French Revolution," is a review of two histories of that event ; one of which, by a Mr. Turn bull, meets with the justice that it deserves. " Dr. Parr and his Cotemporaries" is a masterly analytical notice of this much-over-rated scholar and divine. The writer clearly is De Quincy. No one else in the present day combines such deep scholastic learning with such freshness of thought and broad power of ridicule and carica ture. The article is pointed, witty, entertaining —very satirical, and assuredly very just. We subjoin a description of the Opium , Eater's first interview with the sesquipedalian pedagogue: " Nobody announced him; and we were left to collect his name from his dress and his conversation. Hence it happened, that for some time we were disposed to question ourselves whether this might not be Mr. Bobus even, (little as it could be supposed to resemble him), rather than Dr. Parr, so much did he contradict all our rational preconceptions. A nun,' said we, who has insulted people so outrageously, ought not to have done this in single reliance upon his professional protections ; a brave mao, and a man of honour, would here have °uric I about with him, in his manner and deportment, some such language as this,—' Do not think that I slieter myself under my gown from the natural consequences of the af onts I offer ; mortal combats I am forbidden, sir, as a Christian minister, to engage in; but, as I find it impos sible to refrain from occasional license of tongue, I am very willing to fight a few rounds, in a ring, with any gentle man who fancies himself ill-used.' Let us not be mis understood ; we do nut contend that Dr. Parr should often, or regularly, have offered this species of satisfaction. But we do insist upon it—that no man should have given the very highest sort of provocation so wantonly as Dr. Parr is recorded to have done, unless sonsciuus that, in a last extremity, he was ready, like a brave man, to undertake a short turn-up, in a private room, with any person whatso. ever whom he had insulted past endurance. A doctor, who had so often tempted a cudgelling, ought himself to have had some ability to cudgel. Dr. Johnson assuredly would have acted on that principle. Had volume the second of that same folio with which be floored Osborn, • happened to lie ready to the prostrate man's grasp, nebo can suppose that Johnson would have gainsaid his right retaliate ; in which case, a regular succession of ro would have been est,lolished. Considerations sy -- these, and the Doctor's undeniable reputation (gran even by his most admiring biographers) as a sanguin flagellator, throughout his long career of pedagogue, prepared us—nay, entitled us—to expect in Dr. Pr huge carcass of man, fourteen stone at the least. I his style, pursy and bloated, and his sesquipedalian w, all warranted the same conclusion. Hence, then, our prier, and the perplexity we have recorded, when the opened, and a little man, in a bus wig, cut his way throt the company, and made fur a fauteuil standing oppo to the fire. Into this he lunged ; and then fcrthtvi without preface or apology, began to open his talk u; us. Here arose a new marvel and a greater. If we I been scandalized at Dr. Parr's want of thewes and In conditions so indispensable for enacting the part of St Johnson, much more, and with better reason, were now petrified with his voice, utterance, gestures, and meansur. Conceive, reader, by way of counterpoise the fine enunciation of Dr. Johnson, an infantine lisp— worst we ever heard—from the lips of a man above six and accompanied with all sorts of ridiculous grimaces a little stage gesticulations. As he sat in his chair, turni alternately to the right and to the left, that he might c pease his edification in equal proportions amongst us seemed the very image of a little French gossiping abb Passages from the Diary of a late Pt sician" bear frequent marks of power and c scriptive ability, but are both too highly-wroug' at least to convey an idea of reality. The wri, is too ambitious of exciting—what our ingenio city correspondent is so fond of calling—" a set tion." He should trust more to nature and to art. NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Appended to this number is an admire engraving of Sir W. Scott's bust, by Chan faithful—so we are told—as a resemblance, indubitably excellent as a work of art. Accc pitying this bust is a literary sketch—full freshness and feeling, and a certain cord quaint, vigorous, and even affectionate earne ness—of the great novelist, by Allan Cunning!! —the most natural of modern ballad writ, It is impossible to read this slight sketch w out being struck with the fine tone of enth siasm that pervades it. The record of one a thor by another—especially when the two k pen to be poets—are seldom very sincere agreeable ; but this one is an exception, to pror which we shall subjoin an extract : I was present one evening when Coleridge, in a lon, and eloquent harangue, accused the author of Waverle of treason against Nature, in not drawing his character after the fashion of Shakspeare, but in a manner of id own. This, without being meant, was the highest praisa that Scott could well receive. Perhaps the finest COrn. plitnent ever paid him was at the time of the late corona tion, I think. The streets were crowded so densely tha he could not make his way from Charing-cross down tt Rose's, in Abingdon-street, though he elbowed ever sc stoutly. He applied for help to a sergeant of the Scotcl Greys, whose regiment lined the streets. Countryman, said the soldier, ' I am sorry I cannot help you,' and made no exertion. Scott whispered his name—the blood rushed to the soldier's brow—he raised his bridle•hand, and ex• claimed—' Then, by G—d, Sir, you shall go down— Corporal Gordon, here—see this gentleman safely to Abingdon-street, come what will !' It is needless to say how well the order was obeyed. I have relate.' how I travelled to Edinburgh to sec Scott, and how curiously my wishes were fulfilled ; years rolled on, and when he came to London to be knighted, I was not so undistinguished as to he unknown to him by name, or to be thought un worthy of his acquaintance. I was given to understand, from what his own Ailie Gourley calls a sure hand, that a call from me was expected, and that I would be well received. I went to his lodgings in Piccadilly with much of the same palpitation ef heart which Boswell experienced when introduced to Johnson. I was welcomed with both hands, and such kind and even complimentary words, that confusion and fear alike forsook tne. When I saw him in Edinburgh, he was in the very pith and flush of life—even in my opinion a thought more fat than bard beseeins ; when I looked on hint now, thirteen years had not passed over him and left no mark behind ; his hair was growing thin and grey ; the stamp of years and study was on his brow; be told me he had suffered much lately from ill-health and that he once doubted of recovery. His eldest son, a tall handsome youth—now a Major in the army—was with him. From that time, till he left London, I was frequently in his company. He spoke of my pnrsuita and prospects in life with interest and with feeling—of nay little attempts in verse and prose with a knowledge that be had read them carefully—offered to help me to such information as I should require, and even mentioned a subject in which he thought I could appear to advantage. If you try your hand on a story,' he observed, I would advise you to prepare a kind of skeleton, and when you have pleased yourself with the line of narrative, you may then leisurely clothe it with flesh and blood.' Some years afterwards I reminded him of this advice. Did you follow it ?' he inquired. I tried,' I said ; 'but I had not gone far on the read till some confounded Will o'-Wisp came in and dazzled my sight, so, that I deviated from the path and never found it again.'—' It is the same way with myself,' said he, smiling; I form my plan, and then I deviate.'—' Ay, ay,' I replied, ' I understand—we both deviate—but you deviate into excellence, anel I into absur dity.' " I have seen many distinguished poets, Burns, Byron, Southey, Wordsworth, Campbell, Rogers, Wilson, Crabbe, and Coles idge ; but, with the exception of Burns, Scott, for personal vigour, surpasses them all. Burns was, indeed, a powerful man, and Wilson is celebrated for feats of strength and agility ; I think, however, the stalworth frame, the long nervous arm, and well •knit joints of Scott are worthy of the best days of the Border, and would have gained hint distinction at the foray which fol lowed the feast of spurs. On one occasion he talked of his ancestry, Sir Thomas Lawrence, I think, was present. One of his forefathers, if my memory is just, aided with the Parliament in the Civil War, and the family estate suffered curtailment in consequence. To make amends, however, his son, resolving not to commit the error of his father, joined the Pretender, and with his brother was engaged in that unfortunate adventure which ended in a skirmish and captivity at Preston in 1715." " Mr. Brougham"—we still cleave, and so does the essayist before us, to the Mister in preference to the Lord—is a correct but some• what feeble and common-place sketch of this great man, first as a lawyer ; second, as a States man. " Legacy of a Late Poet," judging frot the style, we should pronounce to be Bart Cornwall's. The verses have all the manneris► of his earliest and most successful poetic efforts. " Conversations with an Ambitious Stu dent in 11l Health," possess not a little metaphy sical acumen, mixed with an occasional foppery of thought and manner, which is however rather diverting than otherwise, like the praises by Dr. Johnson of his own beauty ; and Goldsmith's admiration of his " peach-coloured" dress• coat. " I'll Pack my Portmanteau," is a whim sical account of the miseries of early rising—to which we far from being insensible. The de tails of the towel standing bolt upright, like Lot's wife, in a state of petrifaction ; of the shaving-soap cemented to the box, and the brush to ditto of the water in the bason frozen to such a degree, that a herd of nightmares might trot with perfect safety over its surface ;—these are things not to be thought of without a shudder, as the almost invariable adjuncts to early rising in winter. They are well-wrought up and made the most of, in Mr. Poole's sprightly extravaganza before us. Camp bell of Spernies' Three Wives" (mercy on us— or rather o❑ him !) is distressing, as its title im ports—luckily it is short, for it would be impossible for a Benedict of ordinary sensibilities to endure I Pik t 1 ;•1