could never be forgotten. Her slight foreign accent gave a piquancy to her simplest words-in short, she was altogether a most attractive little

creature.

Mrs. Garlov and Theodore Ancker were the only persons who did not seem quite captivated by the fascinations of the fair Aurora; every one else was enchanted with her, Francisca most of all. Theodore insisted that the glances of her bright eyes had, when she thought she was not observed, something sinister in them that caused involuntary mistrust; he accused her of being coquettish, cold, and heartless, notwithstanding her affectation of feeling. In fact, he evinced a strange repugnance to her society, and much annoyance that the arrival of other guests had thrown a sort of barrier between himself and Francisca, with whom he could no longer be frequently alone, and more than once he expressed a wish that he had gone when first he proposed doing so. He was at all times a little given to variations of temper, but now he appeared to be always out of humour, and when he was compelled to show any attention to Aurora, he did it with a very bad grace, and looked as awkward as a dancing bear.

Aurora herself never appeared to observe anything odd in his manners, but the rest of the party could not fail to be surprised at him.

One evening, after Theodore had been all day looking quite cross because he had not been able to have some private chat with Francisca, though his own bad humour had made him neglect more than one opportunity that had presented itself, the little party were assembled in the music-room which opened on the garden. Aurora was singing and accompanying herself on the harp. Theodore seemed annoyed at the praise bestowed upon her, and she had scarcely finished her song when he began vehemently to press Francisca to sing. She declined, though she really sang very nicely, and her admirer was so vexed that he was leaving the room, when she called him back, that he might hear Aurora sing Clärchen's Lied from Goethe's "Egmont," which was then quite new. After preluding for a moment or two, with a sweet smile Aurora commenced the romance, and the expression of her countenance changed suddenly to sadness as she sang,

Freudvoll
Und leidvoll
Gedankenvoll seyn;

while she seemed powerfully affected by the two last lines:

Glücklich allein

Ist die Seele, die liebt;

for her voice sank almost to a whisper, and her eyes filled with tears. At that moment her glance met that of Theodore, and she coloured deeply, while he in vain strove to look indifferent. Mrs. Garlov entered on a disquisition touching the tragedy of "Egmont" and the character of Clärchen, while Aurora sought to conceal her annoyance by speaking of the song.

"I do not know any song that has prettier words than these. Do you not agree with me, Mr. Ancker ?"

"I think," replied Theodore, "that Clärchen's mother pronounced a

very proper judgment on the words when she said, 'Ah, it is the same eternal nonsense." "

"And I will answer you in Clärchen's own words," said Aurora, goodhumouredly: "Nay, do not abuse it; 'tis a song of marvellous virtue. Many a time I have lulled a grown child to sleep with it.'"

This reply in her own language-the German-came so prettily from Aurora's coral lips, that Theodore did violence to his own feelings when he answered:

"Yes, schlafen wiegen,' that was perhaps Clärchen's art. Probably you admire Clärchen's character. I would swear that you did."

"Yes, I admire it; it is a faithful and pleasing sketch of the female character."

"Of one female character, say rather. God be praised, not of all," replied Theodore. "Clärchen is capricious, coquettish, inconsiderate, heartless. She makes a mere tool of the man who wishes to marry her—a mere hack and errand-boy-and she repays the poor fellow's services by the coquetry which holds him in her chains. Does she not say herself, Often, without a thought, I return the gentle loving pressure of his hand? I reproach myself that I am deceiving him—that I am nourishing in his heart a vain hope.'

Aurora listened to him with a smile, complimented him on his admirable pronunciation of German (a compliment which evidently pleased him), and then went on to defend Clärchen, quoting sentences from the drama itself, and wound up by assuring him that men could not understand love -at least not such deep, all-absorbing love as a Clärchen could feel.

Mr. Garlov remarked that the fair damsel was very severe upon their sex, and Theodore shrugged his shoulders in silence.

Again Aurora spoke. "Clärchen," she said, "was placed, as it were, between Life's cold prose and Eternity's warm poetry. It was the battle between these that consumed her, as it had consumed many another heart. You have no conception of that struggle: and may you never feel it. May you never have to say, like Clärchen, I am in a strange position.'

Aurora rose, put away her harp, and hurried into the garden. The other ladies followed her, and Theodore was left alone with Mr. Garlov, who said,

"You have got into a scrape, my good friend. One must be very guarded in speaking to these German ladies, they are so deucedly sensitive. I can't conceive, though, what made fall upon you her as you did; it was really an unwarrantable attack."

CHIEFS OF PARTIES.*

Ir is an important question yet to be decided whether party and its spirit be or not advantageous in a free country. We are certainly not inclined to sanction to the full extent the maxim of Swift, that "party is the madness of many for the gain of a few." We should rather inquire whether principle or no principle should be the guide of public men. It has been held in times not so pregnant as the present with novelty in handling topics political or religious, or while examining subjects of science and art, that principles are everything, and that these, once fixed and avowed by experience, and acted upon and eulogised as beneficial by an individual, are not to be changed by the same individual, as the wind changes its direction, upon every show of public or private advantage. A Tory or a Liberal may, no doubt, from conviction-a conviction that too often shows upon what a slight examination the primary choice of a party is made-chance to change honestly, and there can be no impeachment except as to the first principles being too hastily adopted; but this is not the point. The change under the expectation of advantage of some kind, again and again repeated, marks the changeling with indelible disgrace; it is that which is to be reprobated, and to which the distinction of party lends the excuse, that "not being a party man I am not necessitated to adhere to any principle." Hence proceeds political profligacy, which germinates in the hotbed of interest. We are of opinion that party has important views when it is not carried to an extreme. We do not, with the author of the present work, argue about its use in the first instance. We cannot consent to such an inquiry until the more important point of its honesty and legality is settled. If party be morally wrong, we should decide against it without admitting further discussion, or caring a rush about its utility. That great parliamentary questions are simplified in being laid before the public by their adherents, in the face of the objections made by opponents, there can be no question. It contributes greatly to convenience and to discussion by the public, just as a jury having heard the arguments of counsel, often exaggerated on both sides, but still contributive to the right understanding of the case, is enabled to decide with greater facility.

Upon the other hand, let there be a dozen adherents to certain opinions on the same particular question, each showing only a trifling difference from the other, and let those differences be made the cheval de bataille by each, and it would be difficult to say how the business of any government is to be satisfactorily carried on." We cannot be Americanised into doing impossibilities, despite Mr. Bright. We are not of those who bow absolutely to the dictum of public opinion, because it will depend in a great measure upon the influence exercised by certain latent causes whether it be right or not; public opinion may be biased if it cannot be bought. In matters of feeling it is more correct than in those of reason; but as going with the multitude to do evil is proverbial, so

Chiefs of Parties, Past and Present; with Original Anecdotes. By D. O. Maddyn, Esq., of the Inner Temple. Two Vols. Skeet. 1859.

thinking with the multitude is just as likely to produce wrong-the vox populi, vox Dei," notwithstanding. We have never found the congregated wisdom of the many approach that of the highly-endowed and cultivated individual mind, reckon them by hundreds or by millions. The tendency of the present day is to bury in the mediocrity of the many the genius and talent of the few, thus to equalise the stock, and to have no more individuality, which is looked upon with jealousy as a sort of privilege. Great talents and natural genius are to be thrown into the scale for the general benefit. The envy of mental distinction with the many is exerted to lower it, and lessen the public admiration for it. The little in almost all seems to rule-"Les Infiniment Petits" of Beranger. Science alone, of all things the least dependent upon the masses, continues to work its marvels, because the comprehension of the masses is too narrow to break it on their wheel. It is much more hard now to be distinguished in the world than it used to be, because our fathers were candid: they examined and admired; we vainly imitate, and then depress, through envy, whatever is superior to ourselves.

We think that party confined to the tenure of certain great leading principles is favourable to civil freedom, and upon that ground we agree with the present writer. We find he appeals in the support of the doctrine to those who have made use of it-great names certainly, but we must justify our opinions by morality and reason rather than by names, however imposing.

The aim of the author is to touch upon chiefs and parties, and historically he is correct; but, perhaps, there was never a more corrupt system of government, not wholly monarchical, than that which prevailed in this country for the thirty years which preceded the decease of Castlereagh. The details of this corruption are too carefully concealed in history, but they are yet available of proof. Nor does the author seem to be aware of the whole bearing of the case, nor of all the complications which ensued after the suicide of that minister, down to the time of the Reform Act. This is a subject which, without going into it at considerable length, we cannot touch upon; in fact, it demands an essay of a different nature from that in the work which we are noticing.

The Day with Charles Fox" exhibits no inconsiderable skill in literary portraiture. We know not whether the author was, as we were, a contemporary of that singularly-gifted man. It was at a much later period than the present writer dates his sketch that we remember Fox, but we are bound to say the sketch he gives us is to the life, the details well imagined; but what does the author mean by the steam-engine not being invented at the end of the eighteenth century? Watt's great improvement of it was verging towards its decline soon after the present century commenced: it was then in its glory. It should, perhaps, be "steam-worked spinning machines." Fox was certainly a singular man. We saw him fading into death soon after his distinguished rival" Black Charley," as the mob called him. All the leading points of his character are seized, and they were salient enough, but the statesman might have been carried to St. Anne's Hill, after a week of debate and dissipation, and been shown, with a gardener's apron on, nailing up his fruit-trees. His absence of pretension was a remarkable trait of character, as well as his extraordinary mildness of temperament. The art of literary portrait

painting is not easily acquired, and we here must let the author speak for himself. This portraiture is excellent:

"The day is wearing on, and he (Fox) saunters out to Brookes's. Every hand is put out to welcome him, and he is evidently the favourite of the club. Around him are clustered the Fitzroys, the Keppels, and the St. Johns. How pleased he is to see George Byng, and with wha warmth he greets that delicate, slender young man, the new member for Northumberland, a speaker of brilliant promise, Charles Grey! Every one is glad to see him, and he has a word for all. He is the king of his company, until a new arrival comes, and with courteous eagerness the great party leader acknowledges the presence of George, Prince of Wales. They were early this morning in each other's company before, and the prince's face betrays what Fox's countenance does not showthat a night of joy had been succeeded by the headache of repentance. And now the prince and Fox retire to a private room, where we must not intrude on the secret plottings in which the vanity of court life and the passions of a political chieftain are commingled. But soon the secret council is at an end, and, after a fresh ambuscade has been plotted against Pitt, the prince and Fox emerge in high spirits, and the prince gaily challenges Lord Derby to a game at billiards, while Fox mounts his horse, and goes to the Park. How the crowd look after him! How all the idlers regard his well-known face! See him beside the chariot yonder! Who could think that this was a man deep in state affairs, while he eagerly talks gossip, and prattles badinage to the delighted ears of those lovely sisters the Duchess of Devonshire and Lady Duncannon? Yes, he has made them happy! He certainly will join the coalition water-party up to Richmond. What a gay, joyous scene it is to-day; and what a blaze of fashion is in the Park! All eyes look towards the Duchess of Devonshire's chariot. See how admiring groups of pro vincials are gazing with admiration at the great lion of the day! They scrutinise his careless, easy dress, and note his blue and buff costume. They see his face unclouded with care, and hear his laugh, while he tells light, gay anecdotes to the brilliant occupants of the chariot. comes Lady Lade, and her eternal ponies; and the duchess looks grave, and Fox bites his lips. And next comes the Countess of Clermont, along with Lady William Gordon, telling of life in Paris, and MarieAntoinette. There is a gentleman riding near, and as he salutes Charles Fox, the Duchess of Devonshire, with her sprightly vivacity, quotes the line of the Rolliad,

The comely Villiers, with his flaxen locks.

Here

Here follows the gallant Colonel St. Leger, a star of fashion, and idol of the fair. He is welcomed with the sweetest smiles by the Duchess of Devonshire. But the smile vanishes as St. Leger announces that the Duchess of Rutland, the brightest ornament of the Pittite female aristocracy, is driving hither in her pony-carriage. There they are, the two rival beauties of the day-Devonshire excelling in fascination, and Rutland unrivalled in grace-the first a daughter of the house of Spencer, and inheriting much of the versatile talent of her race; the second, a Somerset, with the blood of the Plantagenets in her veins both equal in the amount of admiration which followed them, but Devon