caresses, and seemed to have a sober resolve to watch over her safety, and to secure it even at the cost of their lives. I confess that I was disappointed at this, having anticipated that the litter of dogs would have disturbed the equanimity of the wife, and thus provoked reprisals from the husband. The friend and neighbour led her back to her husband. The gentle look of affectionate sympathy which he gave her as he placed her arm within his, and drew her towards him, that she might lean on his manly strength, showed me my mistake. The mother had suffered, but the affection, nay, the happiness of the wife was complete. Could a mother be happy returning from the yet unsodded grave of her only child? The It was not long before some event-I think it was the ordinary result of "security," the miserable pride of trying to make one's self considerable in jeoparding the peace and comfort of a family by going security" for a man, in whom others could not have had confidence, or they would not have asked security -that swept from the husband a considerablement of deepest anguish he had hushed his portion of the property which had made his condition better than the wife's before marriage. "And here," said I, "it will cease to last." I hope that my feelings were of the right kind; I think now that they were only those of curiosity. Some people seem to desire an evil that they have foretold-I think I only desired to know how the loss of property was to affect the wife. Death had softened her heart, and fitted it for the ministrations of new affection. father had suffered in the death of the boy as well and as much as she, and yet at the mo own grief that he might sustain her in her sorrow. The mother mourned, but the wife rejoiced. How beautiful and beautifying for the moment had sorrow become. It seemed to me as if affection had never before possessed such charms; it needed affliction to make it apparent, as the sunlight pouring through crevices into a darkened chamber becomes visible only by the floating particles Her husband was the first to tell her of the that reflect the ingushing rays. misfortune. "I am sorry, my dear," said the quiet wife, "sorry indeed. It will compel you to do much of the work which you have hitherto hired others to perform. Do not let the loss of your property mortify you, nor suffer yourself to dwell on the error, if it was an error, of the act by which the loss occurred." "But you-you, my dear wife-" "It will not," said she, "essentially affect me; it will not add to my labours or anxiety. I must look after the household affairs whether we have one farm or two." The wife shed no tears. She was sorry that her husband should lose the social distinction consequent upon some property more than others possessed; but it was a pardonable feeling in her, that the loss of property placed her more upon his level, and removed something of the appearance of difference between them. This then was not much of a grief. "It lasted yet." The sudden death of the first-born child, a beautiful boy, was the next disturbing cause. I was not in the house during the short sickness of the child, but I attended the funeral, and followed the body from the antique house of mourning to the churchyard. When the clods fell upon the coffin I thought the heart of the mother would have burst. She leaned over to look down into the resting-place of her child, and the arm of a friend seemed necessary to prevent her from "going unto him." And I said, "It lasts no longer." The affairs of the couple were not so prosperous as the virtues, the industry, the economy, and the womanly excellence of the wife seemed to deserve, yet she never repined. I think one or two instances of excess on the part of the husband drew largely upon the forbearance of the wife, but as even the excess was accompanied with expressions of affection-they, though rather maudlin, seemed to compensate. The feeling then was rather slight apprehension for the future than grief for the present-sorrow and deep mortification might have been felt. But these few instances, joined with some unaccountable decay of means, did not disturb the happiness of the wife, a happiness which seemed to me like a perpetual joy. Was the woman apathetic? Had she no sensitiveness? Was she made to go through life with a gentle laugh, and drop into the grave with a smile? Her anguish at the death of her son proved the contrary. The loss of property, to one who had been poor before, seemed to produce no grief; and let the reader remember, or if he has not known the fact let him now learn it, that the loss of property is more bitterly felt by those who have from poverty risen to possessions, than it is by those who from infancy to the disaster had always been rich. The loss of property produced no grief. The death of her child led to a new affection for and an enlarged joy in the husband. His unfrequent but still obvious departure from sobriety, long unattended with rudeness or neglect, did not offend the pride of the wife. "It will last always," said I. "I must moan as a mother," thought she, "I must abate a portion of my social state, and I may, once in a long time, be mortified by some low indulgence in my husband, but fixed, deep, permanent grief as a wife it is probable I am to be spared, as a comparison of my own constitution with that of my husband shows that in the course of nature I shall be spared the misery of mourning for his death, and be saved from the solitary woes of widowhood." The loss of property rendered necessary more labour on the part of the husband, and that labour kept him more from his home than formerly; but the gentle welcome of the wife cheered the toil-worn husband, and her delicate caress changed the gloom settling on his brow into smiles of satisfaction. There was perhaps more pleasure in the efforts which she was making, to produce the evidence of gratification in her husband, than there was in the mere exchanges of smiles of welcome and thanks. The wife grew proud of her influence to bring him back to enjoyment; she felt a new consequence when she found that she could not only reciprocate smiles but dispel frowns, not only share in the pleasures of home but dismiss the pains. How holy is the office of a good wife, and how pure must be her sentiments, to derive the highest gratification by producing the happiness of another. course. It was late in a summer afternoon, and by appointment the husband ought to have returned two or three hours before. The noise of revelry had for a long time disturbed the outer edge of the village in which the dwelling was situated-some vulgar frolic, hitherto kept in a distant part of the county, had been adjourned to that neighbourhood-but the way of the husband on his return did not lie in that The wife had gone out frequently to watch for his approach, and to meet him with a smile of welcome-that smile which makes home delightful, which attracts and retains. She looked anxiously to the left, and stretched her eyes along the road in hope that some token of his approach would be presented; there was none. Even the dogs that had followed her out failed to give notice of his coming. She leaned over the railing with distrustless hope-he would come soon, and would repay her for all her anxiety by extraordinary evidence of affection. She summoned up for her consolation the thousand kindnesses of her husband, his constant, changeless love, his resistance of those errors that marred the domestic happiness of so many families; and like a true wife, she suffered the lustre of her own purity, excellence, and affection, to gild the character and conduct of her husband. She was startled from her revery of delight and charity by an unusual outbreak of noisy debauchery from the wretched drinking-house below. She leaned forward, and stood fixed in horror at the sight. Her husband was in the midst of the riotous host, in sickening, disgusting familiarity with an abandoned one of her own sex. She stepped back until an angle of her own house concealed from her the painful scene. A thousand previous matters that had scarcely excited a thought became then of importance, in the explanation which was given in what she had seen. She raised her apron to her eyes, but there were no tears; her hands dropped on the fence before her; a feeling came over her heart such as she had not before experienced. She had felt as a woman regret for the loss of property-the mother had mourned the death of her child-and anxiety had been felt for some slight errors in her husband; but property could be regained by labour, or relinquished without effort-every dream of the mother gave back to her heart her beloved child and refreshed with a spiritual intercourse; and every waking thought that turned towards the dead one, was lustrous with the sense of his heavenly intercourse, and consoling in the promise of a future union-the errors of a husband, that do not imply dishonour, nor exhibit themselves as evidences of waning affection, may be mended or endured; but when the heart is suddenly overwhelmed with the evidence of shame, insult, dishonour; when all the purity of woman's thoughts is outraged with the proofs of guilt, and all the years of her charity and enduring love are dishonoured by the unerring tokens of ingratitude and infamy, and the confiding, the consoling, the truthful wife becomes the witness of the destruction of her domestic peace, despair sweeps over the heart, like the blastings of the simoom; and then, all the unmentioned sufferings of the woman, all the cherished sorrows of the daughter, all the poignant anguish of the mother are lost, in the overwhelming torrent of-"The Wife's First Grief." NAPOLEON AND PRINCE LOUIS. BY REYNELL COATES, M. D. (See Engraving.) On the evening of his departure for Waterloo, the Emperor was sitting with one of his marshals, when the young Prince Louis Napoleon entered, weeping, and knelt before him. "Oh, my dear uncle," he exclaimed, "go not to the war; those wicked allies will kill you. Let me go with you!" Poor child! He had a presentiment that this was his last adieu! THE age of hero-worship is rapidly passing | future-how would the earth's conqueror pale, away. Men are beginning to learn that a to hear the general shout in honour of the people may win nobler and more lofty fame highland peasant-himself scarce noted in the than that which flows from national aggran- crowd! Instead of weeping that there were dizement that individual distinction may be no more worlds to conquer, more rational tears founded on a broader and a firmer basis than would flow at thought of the littleness of all mere military renown-that courage, energy, those purposes in life that rendered him SO and transcendent talent, may be devoted to like a robber." better purpose than the destruction of the species, and the expansion of empire, even by those who, stimulated by "low ambition and the pride of kings," are struggling for the meed of popular applause. Probably there never was a period when moral greatness was left entirely without reward; but for every Greek who lauded the high-souled civic purity of Aristides, marking his name upon the shell which aided to condemn him to exile, for the mere reason that he was styled the just, a thousand shouted pæans to the invulnerable butcher Achilles, or the cunning sage of Ithaca;-where one Roman bosom swelled with emotion on witnessing the self-immolation of Regulus upon the altar of Truth, where one Roman eye was moistened at the tale of Cincinnatus, quitting the dictatorial sceptre for the plough, ten thousand voices gave forth the praise of Julius leading his Roman legions to the overthrow of liberty. But now, thank Heaven, in all countries where absolutism, and the blasphemous doctrine of "the divine right of kings" have failed in brutalizing the general mind, the purpose must sanctify the appeal to arms, and the moral virtues must be superadded to military genius, before the conqueror's claim to greatness is acknowledged without reservation even by the masses. As surely as oppression begets oppression, hero-worship is the proper vice of slaves. But now, over two-thirds of the civilized world, the masses are struggling to be free-blindly, it may be, but earnestly; and could we summon from the vast unknown, the shades of Alexander and of Tell, could we place them before the assembled multitudes for whose good opinion ambition is ever ready to sacrifice faith, principle, and the domestic ties, all that really ennobles the present, and gilds the dark gulf that separates us from the The These thoughts have been called forth by the accompanying plate, which represents the modern Alexander on the eve of his last desperate cast for universal empire. Whether the little incident which the artist has endeavoured to portray, did actually occur, or whether it be a dream, the offspring of a fertile imagination, we need not pause to inquire; the moral is equally valuable in either case. foot of the conqueror tramples upon human hearts, and final Justice sets her heel upon his own. Let us hope, if hope we dare, amid the shouts of "Vive l'empereur!" still heard among the mercurial and enthusiastic French, even under the banner of the Republic,-let us hope that his race may yet outlive the curse which visits the sins of the parent, sometimes not only on the children, but on the house, even to the third and fourth generation! But wherefore, it may well be asked, should we attempt a lecture on this text here, in a land where the moral element of military greatness culminated in General Washington-the father of his country, whose deathless and unrivalled fame reposes, not upon what he wonan empire far more vast than that of Romebut upon what he yielded-a power which, in the hands of Cæsar or Napoleon, perverted to a selfish purpose, would but have added yet another chapter to the long record of silly pomp and miserable slavery that fills the pages of past history. Alas! even here are many deprived by social misfortunes or an ill-directed education, of that nobility of reason which is the proper inheritance of the species, who are still led away by the false glory of power, and worship, as true greatness, the ability to ruin and oppress. It is for the benefit of these, that an American, a citizen of "the commonwealth of kings," would vindicate the dignity of his class, and the true nobility of God's noblest work-a man!-would strip from the shoulders of "the hero of the age" the imperial purple that hides the littleness of the great man. Look at that picture. The object of a life hangs on a cast of the die. What wonder that sorrow clouds his brow! A little child would exorcise the demon of a low ambition by which he stands possessed a little child of his own haughty race. The memory of the mountain echoes of Corsica, tossing in airy play the cadence of the goatherd or the vine-dresser-the chimes of Brienne, that thrilled him with a holy awe, while a mere schoolboy, "ere yet a fool to fame," comes over him with soul-subduing softness-will he yield? Forbid it, Goddess of Victory! Forbid it, ye spirits of Chivalry and Pride! Did he not put away the wife of his bosom, to link himself with old legitimacy, and shall he listen to the soft pleadings of a mere manly boy? Fool! after having been the leader of the people, to graft himself upon an ulcerated bough of the fast-fading tree of tyranny-to sink from the emperor of the people, into the emperor of a dynasty! But the destinies of the world are hanging on the hour. Shall the chosen favourite of fortune flinch now on the threshold of a final conquest? Conquest!-Of what?-For whom? Is it for France that the magnanimous hero sighs? Already her firesides are shadowed with gloom-her fields untilled-her people four times decimated in his wars; and how has he repaid her? "With glory!" "Whose glory?" 66 His own!" Magnanimous hero! And France was proud to have produced this man-sole trophy of all her blood and slaughter! Let us unmask the idol. When Cæsar died, there was dignity, at least, if not true glory, in the fall. When a true patriot's arm arrested his ambition, and, by death, saved him from himself, he drew his cloak about him, and went to his repose without complaint. Not so the modern Alexander. He essayed the conquest of the world, and fell. -What followed? A treaty! and the world's master cried, "Give me a little earth for charity!" The emperor of kingdoms became, on sufferance, the emperor of acres. His mighty mind amused itself at Elba with all the idle ceremonies of his little court,-the baubles, not the substance of imperial sway, sufficed for his diminished greatness. Noble ambition! But let me not prove unjust. Hope was not then extinct, and perhaps he trifled with these toys for the amusement of the faithful few,-marshals and generals, dukes, counts, and states men, who had been the tools of his ambition, the humble imitators of his thirst for glory. Thus we have seen a parent condescend to teach his unfledged offspring how to curb the restiveness of grandfather's cane, as the bold urchin on his legless steed careers around the parlour. It is well to train the budding instincts early to their duty; and hope still whispered that the wheel of fortune might yet exchange this baby empire for the wider sphere in which he once had played "fantastic tricks in the face of the high heavens." The wheel did turn. Again he stood a monarch in his capital. Expectant thousands waited to be led again to slaughter. Myriads of added victims were moving onward in "Battle's magnificently stern array. A world was lost once more. Even hope was dead. And then, how fared the great man? Did he not fold his cloak around him, and while Religion thrust aside the dagger that Despair stood ready to present to the fallen hero, quietly retire with manly dignity to muse upon the heaven-stayed whirlwind of his selfish passion? Ah, no! Now even the empire of acres had departed; yet on a desert ocean rock, warded and watched, the gewgaws and the tinsel trappings of his power still flitted before his vision. Within his little villa, the forms of state were mimicked, and the titles of social distinction were contended for with childish pertinacity. The Emperor Napoleon could not brook the courtesies so freely offered to the General Bonaparte, and while maintaining in haughty solitude, the exclusiveness, and exacting from his followers the homage due a monarch, he querulously disputed with his jailor the quality of wines and the service of his table! "Give me some drink, Titinius, As a sick girl." Such is the character of the mere hero, drawn from the noblest specimen in modern times; and well it is for us that the heroic age is passing rapidly away. May the poor boy who pleads in vain in the picture that supplies our text, learn wisdom from the past. Wielding now the destinies of France, may no mere childish accompaniments of power entice him to resist the current of the age, which swept his uncle to destruction. 66 'Why should they use me thus?" said Napoleon at St. Helena; "when I disposed of thrones for years, I was their equal." Had he but understood the genuine elements of greatness, he had been their superior. He was a conqueror and an emperor; he should have been that loftier thing, -a man! We shall begin our essay on an exciting | arouse the curiosity and quicken the wits of a topic, by stating the dimensions of the field we very dull man. We have no account of any mean to survey, lest some African traveller, or true lion-hunter earlier. Somewhat later, Miss some admirer of Pringle's poems, should ex- Hannah More was not a little fond of basking pect to find on our peaceful pages a breath- in the light of eminent people; but she did not shortening experience in jungle-beating, or seek literary celebrities in particular. Early plan of operations by means of which the in her career, she indeed expressed a warm highly respectable monarch of the woods-a desire to see "a live author," and Dr. Johnson worthy legitimate, who laughs at all question of all others; but she afterwards saw someof the morals of bloodshed-might, could, thing far more attractive in a bishop. While would, or should be taken, and put out of the the fancy lasted, it affords some rich touches way of exercising his rights at the expense of of the lion-hunting spirit. Miss Reynolds others any more. We aim at no such ambitious ordered the coach to take us to Dr. Johnson's utterances. Our object is purely domestic; very own house. Yes! Abyssinia's Johnson! our suggestions point only at the parlour. Our Dictionary Johnson! Rambler's, Idler's, Irene's intent is humane, and has reference to waste of Johnson! Can you picture to yourselves the life; but it regards the waste, not of blood, but palpitation of our hearts as we approached his of time. We may offer advice to the traveller, mansion?" The good lady soon became a lion but our counsel will relate to caged animals herself, and saw the matter from within. No only, whom to "poke up" is sometimes dan- raptures after that. Speaking of a select party, gerous, while to inspect them at feeding-time she says, coolly, "Most of the company were may safely be pronounced indecorous, at least. either wits or worthy people;" and this company We may find ourselves on quaking ground, included Johnson, the Burneys, Mrs. Chapone, perhaps; rendered insecure on one side by pre- Mrs. Thrale, and other literary lions, the glory cipices of ignorance, and on the other by un- all rubbed off by familiar contact. The "worthy suspected sloughs of covert egotism; but we people" stood at least as high as the " wits," intend to be very wary, very modest, very with whom they were contrasted. candid, and very practical; giving our humble opinion in a low tone, and seizing upon all lanterns, crutches, and umbrellas of authority, wherever we can find them. It were curious to inquire how and when such peaceful creatures as authors,-sheepish rather than fierce, generally,-acquired the ridiculously inapt sobriquet of "lions." Perhaps it was quasi lucus, etc., as we sometimes call the petticoated nursery-youth, who runs away from the cat, a hero. If not so, then must the name date from the period when it first became customary to make a show of whomsoever had written a book; and this looks back no great step into the past. May we not thank ferreting Boswell for putting the world upon the scent? As one man, stopping in the street and gazing intently at nothing, on the roof of an opposite house, soon becomes the centre of a crowd, all gazing at nothing like himself, but persuaded there is something, if they could but see it; so the strange passion of Boswell for celebrities, and the record he left of his success in that pursuit, set multitudes agog to ascertain what it was that could vo The propensity to ascertain the personal traits of those whose writings have interested us, seems then not to be exactly natural, but rather akin to that furore which leads people to pay a shilling apiece to look at the chaise in which a murdered man had been riding, or the cord with which he was strangled. It is an effort to connect the sensible and the abstract, very commendable when the object in view is worth the pains, but certainly futile in most cases of lion-hunting. Youthful curiosity sometimes prompts the delighted observer of last night's drama to rush eagerly behind the scenes this morning; but after he has seen the timbers, the pulleys, the ropes, and the tallowcandles which brought about the dear illusion, what becomes of the fascination? The machinery is wholly uninteresting, though very proper in its place; mechanics and managers can allow for its roughness, but those to whom it is to give pleasure, should shun its disenchanting reality. An author necessarily lives much in the world of thought; and it is his business to introduce his readers into that world, and to |