Impressions: while collectively, or as modifying each other in sentences, they may still, in their aggregate import, be made to signify particular objects or perceptions. There is thus in words, even after they have been stripped of their particular signification, a double force : their separate force, which is derived from the understanding; and their united force, by which, in combination, they may be made to signify particular things or perceptions. In accordance with this theory, the author endeavours to account for the formation of the successive parts of speech. This chapter is by far the most important of the whole treatise. It contains the developement and proof of the principles whence the author's theory of rhetoric and logic is attempted to be deduced as a corollary or particular application. Several things there are, and these, too, lying at the very foundation of his hypothesis, which we would dispute with him strenuously; that is, if he adhere rigidly to the letter of his treatise as we understand it whilst, on the other hand, if he should claim for his words some latitude of interpretation, we think that we could, without much difficulty, propose an explanation by which the whole theory might come to be, at bottom, not very far removed, after all, from the common ideas on this subject. Our limits, however, would not admit of such discussion. The chapter on Rhetoric does not strike us as containing any thing remarkable; nor that on Logic, in which, however, the reader will meet with some views relative to the use of language in reasoning equally simple and ingenious. It is characterised by two peculiarities, 1st, by a great want of respect for the Aristotelian syllogism; with his remarks on the nature of which, how ever, we cannot coincide: and 2dly, by the notion that reasoning consists in a comparison of similar things, and the recording of the result of the comparison in a sign, which is thus representative of the common points of agreement, and may itself be now carried forward for comparison with some third thing, whence will arise a new sign expressive of what is common to them all, and so on ad infinitum. We will allow the writer himself to state the design and pretensions of his work as they are recapitulated towards the conclusion of the volume: "To conclude;-the theory which, in this treatise, we have endeavoured to establish is this,-that we come at all our knowledge by the use of media, which media are, chiefly, words; and that as the words procure the notions, the notions exist not antecedently to language:-that when, by these means, we have gained knowledge, and try, by similar means, to communicate it to others, we do not, while the process is going on, represent our own thoughts, but we set their minds a-thinking in a particular train ; that our own thought is represented by nothing short of the completely formed woRD, whose parts, if any or all of them are separately dwelt upon, are not parts of our thought, but signs of knowledge which we and our hearers possess in common, and which, by bringing their minds into a particular attitude, enables them to conceive our thought, when the whole woRD, that expresses it, is formed: -that if, before this woRD is formed, there are parts by which something is communicated not known before, yet, being communicated, it is still but a part of the means toward knowing something not yet communicated, and still, therefore, the principle holds good, that we are adding part to part of the whole WORD which is to express something not yet communicated; which word, even though it extend to an oration, a treatise, a poem, &c., is as completely indivisible with respect to the meaning conveyed by it as a whole, as is a word which consists only of a single syllable, or a single sound. If this doctrine truly describes the nature of the connexion between thought and language, we claim for it the merit of a discovery, because the common theory, that is, the theory which men are presumed to act upon, and to which all preceptive works are adapted,-not the theory which, unawares, they really act upon,-exhibits that connexion in a very different light. And, as a discovery, we are the more disposed to urge attention to it, because our soundest metaphysicians have expressed them selves as if there was something to be discovered as regards the connexion we speak of, before a system of Logic could be established on a just foundation." And again, "The doctrine of the whole work may receive some light from the following way of stating it :-Man, in common with other animals, derives immediately from nature the power to express his immediate, or, as they are commonly called, his natural wants and feelings. But he also possesses the power of inventing or learning a language which nature does not teach; and it is solely by the exertion of this power, which we call reason, that he raises himself above the level of other animals. By media such as artificial language consists of, and only by such media, he acquires the knowledge which distinguishes him from other creatures; and each advance being but the step to another, he is a But if words are the means being indefinitely improvable. of knowledge, it is an error to describe or consider them in any other light; and we accordingly deem them not as, strictly speaking, the signs of thought, but as the means by which we think, and set others a-thinking. This principle being admitted, renders unnecessary Locke's doctrine of ideas; and SEMATOLOGY stands opposed to, and takes the place of, what the French call IDEALOGY." Part Whatever opinion may be entertained respecting the accuracy of the writer's views on this very intricate subject, we must at least allow him the praise of close thinking, and no ordinary ingenuity. So much, indeed, is the former a characteristic of this performance, that it requires a powerfully concentrated and perseveringly sustained effort of attention, such as few minds are capable of exerting, to put one's self fully in possession of the author's views; and it is not until after frequent retrospects and comparisons of passage with passage, and more than one perusal of the first twenty sections, that one begins rightly to understand the drift of the whole speculation. of this labour might have been spared by a full and clear, yet concisely-expressed table of contents prefixed to each chapter. At a time when the literature of Great Britain seems to be recovering somewhat of its pristine vigour, it were no insignificant symptom of returning strength, if publications distinguished by intellectual power, by pertinacious and penetrating thought, on whatever subject, in support of whatever philosophical doctrines, excited among the few who are capable of judging in such matters, that interest which it is scarcely less creditable to feel than to have awakened. Men of letters are the only proper patrons of one another; and, to the man of re-. fined pursuits and tranquil thought, this the elevating sympathy and admiration of his compeers-is the only patronage, the desire of which implies no taint of servility, the reception of which subjects to no feeling of degradation. Three Discourses. On Opinion: the Connexion between Knowledge and Virtue and the Press as an Engine for the Diffusion of Knowledge. By Henry Sewell Stokes. 8vo. Pp. 191. London. Hurst, Chance, and Co. 1831. THE object of the first of these discourses is to analyze the nature of opinion, to consider its innocency, and to estimate its force; in other words, to prove that man is not responsible for his belief, and that the power of public opinion is resistless. The latter proposition we admit, the former we deny. Man is responsible for his belief. The individual who refuses to search for an object placed within his reach, and thereupon declares that he cannot find it, is answerable for all the consequences of his obstinacy; and, in the same manner, he who will not bend his faculties to the consideration of the evidence by which any fact is established, is responsible for his erroneous The laws of evidence are unalterable. opinious. The act of attending to proof is voluntary. As we may or may not search carefully in a particular place for a particular article, so we may or may not bestow due and deliberate attention on particular facts. These facts origi Castle," together with two good ones;-" Dunstafnage," and "Jorvaulx Abbey." In the first mentioned, the management of the light, as it falls upon the ship, and the little boat beside it, is excellent-so is the glassy look of the sea, (although this latter is mainly attributable to the engraver's dexterity,) but the thin, feeble, and misty look of the tower, hills, and sky, is positively too bad. Kenilworth has nothing to recommend it as a drawing, and is far from being executed in a workman-like style. The other two, particularly the last-mentioned, are extremely pleasing pictures. In the tenth number, we have a fine view of "The Tower of London in 1670," illus nate opinions: and, as the giving or withholding of attention is voluntary, and therefore the ground of moral approbation or blame, so, for the conclusions which depend on their attention, man must be deemed responsible. -The second discourse treats of the connexion between knowledge and virtue. We will spare our readers the infliction of analyzing it; only observing, that intellectual cultivation in itself has no tendency to improve the heart, or to increase the virtue of a man; if previously disposed to do that which is right, it better enables him to do so; if not so disposed, it only enlarges his capacity i for evil.-The third and last of these discourses is on the press, viewed as an engine for the diffusion of knowledge.trative of Peveril of the Peak. The deep shade upon the The author's views are not new, neither is there any novelty in his method of treating the subject. On the whole, we have seldom read a work of more pompous pretension and more deficient execution. The style is turgid and bombastic, sometimes bordering on vulgarity, and ever deficient in that strength which condensation alone can bestow. We recommend to the author to recollect that assertion is not demonstration, and that declamation is not powerful writing. A Popular Description of the Indigenous Plants of Lanarkshire, with an Introduction to Botany, and a Glossary of Botanical Terms. By the Rev. William Pa trick. 12mo. Pp. 399. Edinburgh: Lizars. Glasgow: M'Phun and Lottimer. 1831. Traitor's Gate, and the gloom of the marble mottled sky, form a fine setting for the dazzling whiteness of the Tower; and the effect of the whole harmonizes with our associations. There is much sentiment in this view. The view of "Linlithgow" is very poor; that of "Lochleven" has an open breezy look, and no striking defect but the figure in the foreground. "Inch Cailleach" is a reminiscence of Turner, by one incapable of comprehending him. The eleventh number consists of " Fast Castle" an indifferent painting, badly engraved; at first sight, we mistook the water for brushwood: "Bothwell Bridge"-nothing: "York"-ditto: "Castle Rushin" -a well-arranged picture, with a fine disposition of light, and plenty of atmosphere. We We have, on a former occasion, spoken in terms of decided approbation of The English School, and rejoice to find the two numbers now before us not unworthy of their predecessors. They contain outline engravings of some of the best works of Wilkie, West, and Landseer. regret that the outlines of the works of sculptors are Much more deliscarcely equal to the rest of the work. cate drawing is required to do them justice. The fine spirit of Flaxman has disappeared entirely under the MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE. THIS is an extremely interesting work, of very modest pretensions. Local Floras are at once important to the botanist as serving to extend and correct his notions of the geography of plants; to the non-botanist-as being a manual to which he may refer when struck by the beauties or peculiarities of the vegetable creation which enlivens his leisure walks. Mr Patrick's descriptions are simple and graphic, aud interspersed with useful and in-hands of " Normand fils." teresting notices of the properties of the most important plants. The preface contains interesting discussions on some collateral topics. We almost suspect, however, that the catalogue of plants must be defective. Only 604 species are enumerated, which, even when we make allowance for the absence of marine and alpine plants in Lanarkshire, appears to us very few. Surely the recesses of the numerous streamlets which reticulate the county must afford more. This is, however, a mere conjecture on our part, based upon one or two very hasty exploratory tours: and the talent and industry evinced in this little volume are strongly in its author's favour. We have expressed our doubts merely with a view to sharpening his attention. The "Indigenous Plants of Lanarkshire," is, we believe, the first book that has been printed in Hamilton; and does credit to its typographer. Landscape Illustrations of the Waverley Novels. From William and Edward Finden. Nos. IX. X. and A STORY OF THE SOUTH. By J. S. Memes, LL.D. Che lo Spirito lasso, Non poría mai 'n piú reposato porto, PETRARCHA. THE outward aspect of even the most unmarked grave, wears a strange mysteriousness of meaning, which speaks as if to some principle of instinctive knowledge in the consciousness of the beholder, linking our imaginings to the few feet of soil that wraps a brother, with an informed and thrilling sympathy. That it was a grave, therefore, upon which my eye now rested, I felt no doubt; but why in such a situation? The evening sun lighted up, in farewell sweetness, with a radiance calm and beautiful as innocence in death, the spot itself; but elsewhere all defences of the ancient Agrigentum, though remote from was desolate. Above, a precipice, once included in the left stretched a ravine, encumbered with rocky fragments, the modern city, rose on the immediate right; to the The British School; a Series of the most approved Pro- over which, here and there, an olive spread its hoar ductions in Painting and Sculpture. foliage, or a pine hung from the higher steeps. Executed by English Artists, from the days of Hogarth to the pre- the uncouth forms of the prickly pear, and the swordlong since carefully weeded away, but now encroaching, sent time. With Descriptive Notices by H. Hamilton. Engraved in outline upon steel. Nos. X. and XI. pointed leaves of the wild aloe, ranged in a tangled screen round the heaving turf, where Spring's dewy finger had already sprinkled the blue and purple flowers of the anemone. The lengthening shadows stole upon my meditations, and I left the spot with less reluctance that, in the evening party, some information might be obtained. XI. London: Charles Tilt. Edinburgh: Thomas Ireland. 1831. London. Charles Tilt. 1831. We are still of opinion that the Landscape Illustrations of the Waverley Novels are, take them all in all, the most worthy of the works that have called them forth that have appeared. They are unequal, as all works of the kind necessarily must be; but they contain much that is really good. The uinth number contains two rather indifferent engravings;—" Kirkwall," and "Kenilworth As if Accordingly, in answer to my enquiries, our worthy host referred me to another of his guests, the superior of a neighbouring monastery. "My son," answered the venerable Anselmo, "I experience the more pleasure in complying with your request, that, from the narrative connected with the lowly resting-place by the rock, may be established this rule of conduct, That our best vir tues, when not regulated by the sober dictates of practical duty, become no less dangerous to our peace than their opposite vices.'n 5 d. was Basso desir non è ch'ivi si senta; Ma d'onor, di virtute. It can hardly detract from the friendship of Novelli, that he found in the conversation of the excellent Francesca, an additional motive for visiting her brother in their common affliction. Meanwhile, it was but too Giacomo di Sannaro, the only son on of an an eminent art- evident that the grief of the latter rather increased than ist, after 'distinguishing himself above all his youthful diminished with time. Novelli, rightly conjecturing companions in the schools of Girgenti, his native city, that something more than his recent loss preyed upon entered, in his 18th year, the University of Palermo. the mind of his friend, pressed him to remove for a few Here he quickly obtained a like superiority as in the days to his uncle's seat, and there wrung from him the initiatory studies. Attending the same classes, and of secret of his despondency. The elder Sannaro had lived equal age, the young Pietro di Novelli alone showed him- with a degree of splendour suited to his high talents, self a worthy competitor for the honours of genius. This and supported by an income, which, though large, fell rivalry, however, not only without enmity, but be- with himself. The consequence had been, that, on his came a bond of union between these two individuals, death, there remained only a small reversion, barely sufwhom, though they came from a near neighbourhood, ficient to maintaip, his wife and daughter in a frugal incircumstances had hitherto kept apart. Pietro was the dependence. His son possessed too noble a spirit to think nephew, and had previously been educated as the pre- of diminishing or even of risking this little fund in the sumptive heir of his uncle, the Count di Novell, whose venture of his own fortunes, and had resolved on reresidence lay at a short distance from Girgenti. The in-turning to Palermo no more. "Not return to the unitimacy which existed between Sannaro and Novelli, as versity!" exclaimed his friend-" and with such prosrival and distinguished students, was cemented into the pects?"" No, I am now considering how I may soonest most cordial friendship, in consequence of the generous attain to some useful employment"—“ And that will intrepidity of the former in bearing to land the exhausted be," interrupted Novelli," by resuming your studies.”— Novelli, when their pleasure-skiff had been upset on the Granting that," answered Sannaro, "how is it posdangerous teefs of Monte Pellegrino, which overlooks the sible to move even one step in that career without drawing Bay of Palermo. uture Isoqque als n' i on the slender resources of my mother and sister?"Henceforth the two youths were inseparable in their "But why not borrow on your own credit ?"-" Borrow! studies, and in such pleasurable relaxations as were and on what security, save by pledging the very means strictly within the means and leisure of Sannaro.'' He which I hold so sacred; and then play the gentleman and had too much judgment not to appreciate their different scholar on a borrowed purse? No, sooner""Softly, my resources and prospects, too keen a sense of honour to good friend," said Novelli, playfully laying a hand on his incur an obligation, and too high a sense of duty to urge mouth; "no altitudes, I beseech thee. I have told thee unjust claims on paternal aid. This manly and upright thou art no better than a visionary on some points; view conduct served only to elevate Sannaro more highly in the affair as a piece of business. I will obtain the money Novelli's esteem, and theirs furnished a rare instance of from my uncle, as if for my own use, but will treat with friendship between unequals in fortune, without syco-you as would a very Jew. You give me your bond for phancy on the one hand, or dangerous example on the other. Four years thus rolled rapidly away. Sannaro sternly giving himself to exertion, like one who knows that he must owe, and is determined to owe, all to his own endeavours alone Novelli, gay, fond of pleasure, yet stirred by honourable ambition of that literary distinction, of which he was otherwise independent. In another year, Giacomo, with the highest academical honours, would gain also the first vacant Salario, corresponding to our Fellowship, except that it is attached to certain professional studies, and thus enter upon the real business of life with independent means of success. Under these circumstances, he beheld himself summoned away by the alarming illness of his father. Novelli, who was to have left the University in a few weeks, being called home by a fond unele, resolved to anticipate terms," and accompany his friend. They separated only within sight of their respective homes—the one, agreeably to surprise by his early arrival the other, to receive the last blessing of a dying parent. Could external consolation have been ministered under the immediate pressure of such a loss, Sannaro would have found comfort in the respect shown by his fellowcitizens, and in the unshaken attachment of his friend, from whom not a day passed without a visit. A source of tender and unalloyed satisfaction, however, he enjoyed in the society of an only sister, whom he had left little more than an amiable child, but whom he now recovered, beautiful and accomplished, in the dawn of womanhood. Francesca, to beauty and elegance, united those intellectual attainments, which refine admiration into respect, while an exquisite and gentle modesty breathed over her whole character that sacred tenderness which exalts respect into a more ardent, yet not less holy sentiment. In the language of her own favourite bard: L'aer percossa da' suoi dolci rai S' infiamma d' onestate principal and interest at the highest rate; and thus I serve my friend, and have the pleasure of disposing my money advantageously. Say no more. So be it." Sannaro acquiesced; but, though looking coldly upon the measure itself, he was neither ungrateful to, nor mute in praise of, the contriver. Francesca listened to these commendations with a pleasure which perhaps she rightly attributed to an interest felt in her brother's friend, but with a throb that, to one more experienced in the mysteries of the heart, would have disclosed a nearer sympathy already nascent there. On departing for Palermo, Sannaro solemnly and affectionately recommended to the attention of Novelli the solitude of his mother and sister. Months passed with equal rapidity, but with different occupation, over the actors in our little narrative. Sannaro, wholly devoted to study, prepared for the last arduous trials with a diligence which flagged not, because of the general anticipations of his success. The beloved members of the paternal home had recovered that tranquil resignation, by which sorrow is sweetened and sanctified. Their only pleasures were letters from Palermo, and the society of Novelli, whose visits had long become a constituent of their daily happiness. His devoted attachment to Francesca he sought not to conceal from himself, though, from various motives, he desired his affection might remain a secret to all besides. These motives he perhaps could not have satisfactorily explained; yet, that nothing questionable mingled in his sentiments, appears from the wish to cover his passion from its object also. As for Francesca, her sensibilities were so gentle, her mind so pure, that, knowing herself happy in the society of Novelli, or, during the intervals of his absence, in such pursuits and studies as he had praised, she neither knew nor sought to know more. In a soul so mildly constituted, the most insidious of all passions may long repose like air in the mind, till some unforeseen explosion lays the whole fabric of happiness in ruins. In this manner were disclosed to Francesca the nature and depth of her feelings. She had been carefully instructed by her father, and painted with exquisite delicacy and taste. Why not turn this accomplishment to use, and procure for her mother some of those enjoyments which were now denied? The pious wish was no sooner formed than realized; but though her morning labours were concealed from her mother, they could not long escape the keen eye of Novelli. He discovered that an ancient domestic had been charged with negotiating the sale of the pictures, and became the purchaser under a feigned name, and at greatly advanced prices. Indiscreet management on the part of his agent disclosed the whole to Francesca. How describe the succeeding interview, which ended in a confession of mutual attachment!" Leave me !" exclaimed at length the weeping Francesca; "Oh, leave me, No--but no persuasion could induce him to accept more than velli! The inequality of our conditions forbids our union, while I tremble to think on the state of my own feelings, and the advantages which your own merits, your generosity to my brother and myself, give to you over my heart."—"Leave you! my Francesca; rather take back your love, and restore to me your friendship. This hour would I claim your hand in face of the world, but that, in so doing, I should bring ruin on both. You know I am wholly dependent on my uncle; he cannot, in the course of nature, long survive." In this Novelli spoke neither falsely nor in guile. the misfortune to fall into the power of a detachment to which Sannaro belonged. The outlaws were irritated by finding less booty than they expected; the old man was threatened, and the chief offered violence to the lady. Sannaro buried his dagger in the ruffian's side, and stood to the defence of his prisoners. Their leader, however, had been unpopular with the marauders, who were therefore the more readily induced to forgive his death, and released the prisoners on a promise of ransom, which Sannaro undertook to receive. "Young man," said the duke, on parting with Sannaro, "you were not destined for your present trade; here is an equal sum, which I beg you to accept as an expression of my private gratitude to yourself. Could you be persuaded to quit a life unworthy of you, count on me as a friend." Sannaro's pulse beat high-he had now the virtuous means of obtaining wealth A year had passed away since the death of his father, and Sannaro had triumphantly achieved the highest honours of the academical career. The goal of independence was almost in sight, and every thing promised final success. While thus happy in his new prospects, a letter, with the post-mark of his native city, was placed in his hands. Without observing the different writing, he tore it open, for every such letter had yet spoken either of friendship or affection-and read-" Thy friend is false-Thy name dishonoured.-Retrieve, or avenge." the exact sum with interest, which he owed to Novelli. Returning to the freebooters, he faithfully restored the stipulated ransom, made his escape the same night, and the shortest possible time beheld him at Novelli's gate. Here, had not his mind been pre-occupied, he might have observed a strange note of mourning and of joyous preparation. To his enquiries-a domestic replied that the young count his master was at home. Sannaro was eager to rush upon his victim. Judge of his surprise, and, in the supposed circumstances, indignation, on entering the apartment, to find Francesca and the count there alone. A tear was in her eye-but not of grief. She would have thrown herself upon her brother's neck, but was repulsed. "Off!" cried he, "my Francesca was pure-thou!" and he pointed scornfully to Novelli. "Leave us alone, my love," whispered the count, "all will yet be well." The poor girl hid her face in her hands and retired weeping. violently on the face. 66 Sannaro continued with his eyes fixed upon his sister till she had disappeared; then turning round, he threw a purse of gold with violence upon the table, "Sir Count, To regain his peace of mind was impossible; next I am no longer your debtor-my bond.""It is here," dawn beheld Sannaro on his homeward and melancholy said Novelli, offering a parchment. Nay, read it," way. "I do not ask," said he to Novelli, extending the added he, with a smile, observing that Sannaro prepared letter, "whether such reports be true, but such reports to fold it up. "What needs it? I presume all is right, beare, and I look to you to retrieve, or-avenge I cannot, for cause you say so,"--the last words ironically pronounced— my hand is palsied by obligation." Novelli, in that har- and tearing the document, he threw it into the tripod of dened state of mind which indicates dissatisfaction with burning charcoal which stood on the hearth. A cloud our own conduct, but a desire to fix our quarrel upon passed over the youthful brow of the count, and he evianother, replied, "What have I to do with vulgar ru- dently laboured to restrain his resentment. "Now," mour-you know your redress.”—“ I do—and the redress exclaimed Sannaro, advancing and drawing his sword, I ask is justice to my sister."-"What," cried Novelli, "now for my pledge at last parting."-" Hear me,” cried "must I wive me at your bidding ?"-" Coward!" ex- Novelli, retreating;" I am"- "A coward and seducer," claimed Sannaro, "to betray me under the mask of friend-shouted his adversary, and springing forward, struck him ship."-" Coward!" and Novelli, striking him a dreadful blow, drew his sword. Sannaro laid his hand upon his own-a convulsive shiver passed across his countenance -he slowly withdrew his hand from the weapon. "Yes, Novelli, I am a coward-I dare not fight the man to whom I owe an unrequited obligation; but beware❞— repeating each word with slow and solemn utterance"when next we meet, it will be to part only in death.” Sannaro rushed from the house and from Girgenti without seeing any one. His intention was to gain Messina, and thence pass over into Italy; but, pursuing the most unfrequented paths, he was taken by robbers. With these outlaws he was constrained by an oath to join, | under the penalty of death; and, strange to say, he che- Sannaro heard his mother's address as if he heard it rished life to repay his debt and avenge his dishonour! He not; but when she had ceased speaking, roused, as if from had remained nearly three months with his new compa-insensibility, he sprung from the hall, and was seen nions, and by intrepidity and conduct gained an ascendency sweeping with fearful rapidity along the brow of the over their rude minds. Hoards of uncounted gold were precipice, as if seeking by the shortest route to regain the confided to his keeping, whence unchallenged he might fastnesses of the interior. Suddenly, whether by accihave abstracted the sum which he so eagerly desired to dent or design it is impossible to know, he was beheld to He shrunk, however, from appropriating the plunge forwards and disappear. His mangled body was wages of crime to what he deemed a sacred cause. So found where his lonely tomb marks the spot. The hand inconsistent is man! One day, an aged nobleman, the yet grasped the bloody sword, shivered in the fall, and the Duke of Terra Nova, accompanied by his daughter, had fragments of the weapon that had served its wearer possess. Novelli's passion was up. He drew-they closed, struggled, thrust-the count in a few seconds fell, mortally wounded, and expired almost instantly. The noise alarmed all within hearing. Among the first, Sannaro beheld his mother and sister rush into the apartment. Francesca fell senseless on the dead body of the count. His mother, turning slowly to Sannaro, gazed upon him for a moment. "Son, I do not, cannot curse thee; but let this be thy curse, thou art the murderer of thy sister's husband!" It was even so. morning the nuptials had been performed, and the parchment which the count so gayly placed in the hands of his ancient friend, was the marriage contract. That very but too faithfully were buried with him in the same grave. MILITARY MEMORANDA. THE GRAND BLUNDER. WE have both read in books, and heard in conversation, many criticisms on the subject of Napoleon's "grand error" at Waterloo. He made no account of the force of inert resistance possessed by British infantry;-he ordered his cavalry to charge too soon ;-his attacks wanted the necessary vigour and ensemble;-he was no longer the same man except in obstinacy, which proved the cause of his overthrow ;-the battle was lost by treachery on the part of some French officers:-these are some of the reasons usually assigned for the extraordinary and unexpected result of that ever-memorable and decisive combat. The real cause of the complete overthrow of the French army appears to us to lie much deeper than is commonly suspected. | A very was almost indifferent which, in a position so completely résserrée. It is a rule in tactics, that the decisive effort ought never to be made against the centre of a line, unless one or both the wings are separated from it by some natural obstacle, as a river or a mountain, which cannot be surmounted in time to reinforce the point attacked. Ac cordingly, when Napoleon himself attacked the centre of the Austrians, under Alvinzi, at Rivoli, the left, under Davidowich, was separated from the centre by the river Adige and a mountain so steep and precipitous as to be nearly impassable; while the right was so disseminated in the mountains as to be capable of rendering little or no assistance at the critical moment when the centre was assailed by a greatly superior force. But it must be obvious that an attack upon the centre of a position, like that of the British at Waterloo, could have had none of these advantages; since even if it had for a moment succeeded, and the assailants had established themselves on the point they had forced, the reinforcements simultaneously drawn from both extremities would promptly arrive, and attacking them on both flanks at once, soon restore the combat. And this was, accordingly, what actually occurred. The French Napoleon had opened the campaign in his usual mansucceeded in establishing themselves on the key of the nner, and with his usual success. Suddenly concentraposition at La Haye Sainte; but, so far from being able ting his masses, and assuming the initiative in moveto turn this advantage to any account, they found it imment, of which he well knew the advantages, he executed possible to maintain the ground they had so hardly gained, a marche dérobée of many miles, before it was known or and were soon driven from it with great loss. suspected that he had stirred from his cantonments; and different result might, however, have followed a combined his advanced guard was aux prises with that of the Prus- effort directed against one or other of the extremities. sians, when it was believed at head-quarters that it was As it was, the comparatively partial and feeble attack upon still on the Sambre. The battle of Ligny followed: Bluthe Chateau of Hougomont had very nearly succeeded: cher was totally defeated, and driven from the ground: had it been made with greater energy and force, it the British position was uncovered; and the surprise was would, in all probability, have prevailed, and the French complete at all points. So far, then, the plan of the would have gained the Duke of Wellington's communiFrench Emperor had fully answered his expectations. It cations with Brussels, and established themselves in force had been conceived with the greatest ability, and the ex- at right angles to, and in rear of, the right of the British ecution had hitherto corresponded with the design. But line, before sufficient reinforcements could have been advantage was not taken of the surprise which had been withdrawn from the centre and left to offer any effectual produced not a moment was to be lost and had Napo- resistance, or attempt to dislodge them; just as Marshal leon, after gaining the battle of Ligny, instantly pushed Daun, at the battle of Hohenkirch, succeeded in esta forward against the British with the whole of his dispo-blishing his army athwart and in rear of the Prussian sable force, and assailed them with his overwhelming masses, before they had time to assemble in force, the result could scarcely have been doubtful. Instead of this, however, he violated his own maxim, the observance of which had rendered him so often victorious, and divided his force; sending a corps d'armée, instead of a single division, to watch the Prussians, while the force detached under Ney had proved insufficient to make head against the British, and overpower them in the act of assembling. This was a fatal error. Ney met with the most determined resistance, where he expected an easy victory; and, operating without vigour or ensemble, the British gained time to concentrate, under cover of the gallant battalions who were devotedly pouring out their best blood at Quatre Bras. The decisive moment was thus lost, and an irretrievable error committed. Had Napoleon himself, conformably to his usual principles and conduct, urged forward the mass of his army, and brought the whole of his force to bear upon the British regiments which had been so grievously maltraités in the affair of Quatre Bras, the immediate result would have been certain; while, by pressing onward, he might have gained the grand strategic point of the position at Waterloo, before the British were in a condition to offer any effectual resistance, and thus determined the fate of the campaign. As it happened, however, the Duke of Wellington was enabled to concentrate his forces at Waterloo, and to await the final and decisive attack. And here, again, we discover another error on the part of the French Emperor, which, with an enemy like the British to deal with, could scarcely miss proving fatal. Contrary to the most certain and demonstrable principles of tactics, he directed his main attack against the centre of the British line, instead of one or other of the extremities-it right, and, in spite of every effort which Frederick, with all his genius and gallantry, could make, maintained his ground, and gained a complete victory. "grand error" That he threw Such appears to us to have been the committed by Napoleon in this battle. away his superb cavalry too soon in the day, is certain. But this was a consequence of the "error" we have mentioned, not the immediate cause of the loss of the battle. He attacked upon a false principle; and every movement which he directed in conformity with it was necessarily an error. But it is to the principle alone that, in reasoning scientifically on the plan of attack, we are to ascribe its failure; more especially as the officers and soldiers of the French army never displayed more heroic courage, more devoted gallantry, or more determined resolution, than on this ever memorable day. THE BROKEN RING. By one of the Authors of the " Odd Volume." "HOUT, lassie," said the wily Dame Seton to her daughter, "dinna blear your een wi' greeting. What would honest Maister Binks say, if he were to come in the now and see you looking baith dull and dour ? Dight your een, my bairn, and snood back your hairI'se warrant you'll make a bonnier bride than ony o' your sisters."-" I carena whether I look bonny or no, since Willie winna see me," said Mary, while her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, mother, ye have been ower hasty in this matter; I canna help thinking he will come hame yet, and make me his wife. It's borne in on my mind that Willie is no dead."" Put awa such thoughts out o' your head, lassie," answered her mother; "naebody |
