of the greatest men before my eyes here: they too go tumbling even so on the great sea of Existence, mounting, sinking, swallowed up. From of old all men have seemed to me like spring blossoms, which the wind blows off and whirls; none knows where they fall, and the fewest come to fruit." Poor Rahel! The Frenchnian said above she was an artist and apostle, yet had not ceased to be a child and woman. But we must stop short. One other little scene, a scene from her death-bed by Varnhagen, must end the tragedy: * felt herself easier than for long before, and expressed an irresistible desire to be new dressed. As she could not be persuaded from it, this was done, though with the utmost precaution. She herself was busily helpful in it, and signified great contentment that she had got it accomplished. She felt so well she expected to sleep. She wished me good-night, and bade me also go and sleep. Even the maid, Dora, was to go and sleep; however, she did not. "It might be about midnight, and I was still awake, when Dora called me: 'I was to come, she was much worse.' Instead of sleep, RaShe said to me one morning, after a hel had found only suffering, one distress added dreadful night, with the penetrating tone of that to another; and now all had combined into lovely voice of hers: 'O, I am still happy; I decided spasm of the breast. I found her in a am God's creature still; He knows of me; I state little short of that she had passed six days shall come to see how it was good and needful ago. The medicines left for such an occurfor me to suffer: of a surety I had something|rence (regarded as possible, not probable) were to learn by it. And am I not already happy tried; but this time with little effect. The in this trust, and in all the love that I feel and frightful struggle continued; and the beloved meet with?" sufferer, writhing in Dora's arms, cried, several "In this manner she spoke, one day, among times, 'This pressure against her breast was other things, with joyful heartiness, of a dream not to be borne, was pushing her heart out:' which always from childhood she had remem- the breathing, too, was painfully difficult. She bered and taken comfort from. In my seventh complained that 'it was getting into her head year,' said she, 'I dreamt that I saw God quite now, that she felt like a cloud there; she leannear me; he stood expanded above me, and ed back with that. A deceptive hope of some anded his mantle was the whole sky; on a corner of alleviation gleamed on us for a moment, and this mantle I had leave to rest, and lay there then went out for ever; the eyes were dimmed, in peaceable felicity till I awoke. Ever since, the mouth distorted, the limbs lamed! In this through my whole life, this dream has return-state the doctors found her; their remedies ed on me, and in the worst times was present were all bootless. An unconscious hour and also in my waking moments, and a heavenly half, during which the breast still occasionally comfort to me. I had leave to throw myself struggled in spasmodic efforts-and this noble at God's feet, on a corner of his mantle, and life breathed out its last. The look I got then, he screened me from all sorrow there: He per-kneeling almost lifeless at her bed, stamped mitted it.' * * * The following words, itself, glowing, for ever into my heart." which I felt called to write down exactly as she spoke them on the 2d of March, are also remarkable: 'What a history!' cried she with deep emotion: A fugitive from Egypt and Palestine am I here; and find help, love, and kind care among you. To thee, dear August, was I sent by this guiding of God, and thou to me; from afar, from the old times, of Jacob and the Patriarchs! With a sacred joy I think of this my origin, of all this wide web of prearrangement. How the oldest remembrances of mankind are united with the newest reality of things, and the most distant times and places are brought together. What for so long a period of my life I considered as the worst ignominy, the sorest sorrow and misfortune, that I was born a Jewess, this I would not part with now for any price. Will it not be even so with these pains of sickness? Shalf not one day mount joyfully aloft on them, too; feel that I could not want them for any price? O August, this is just, this is true; we will try to go on thus! Thereupon she said, with many tears, Dear August, my heart is refreshed to its inmost; I have thought of Jesus, and wept over his sorrows; I have felt, for the first time felt, that he is my Brother. And Mary, what must she have suffered! She saw her beloved Son in agony, and did not sink; she stood at the Cross. That I could not have done; I am not strong enough for that. Forgive me, God, I confess how weak I am.' * * "At nightfall, on the 6th of March, Rahel 69 . in So died Rahel Varnhagen von Ense, born Levin, a singular biographic phenomenon of this century; a woman of genius, of true depth and worth, whose secluded life, as one cannot but see, had in it a greatness far beyond what has many times fixed the public admiration of the whole world; a woman equal to the highest thoughts of her century; whom it was not arrogance, we do believe, but a just self-consciousness, to feel that "the highest philosopher, or poet, or artist was not above her, but of a like element and rank with her." That such a woman should have lived unknown and, as it were, silent to the world, is peculiar in this time. We say not that she was equal to De Staël, nor the contrary; neither that she might have written De Staël's books, nor even that she might not have written far better books. She has ideas unequalled in De Staël; a sincerity, a pure tenderness and genuineness which that celebrated person had not, or had lost. But what then? The subjunctive, the optative are vague moods: there is no tense one can found on but the preterite of the indicative. Enough for us, Rahel did not write. She sat imprisoned, or it might be sheltered and fosteringly embowered, in those circumstances of hers; she "was not appointed to write or to act, but only to live." Call her not unhappy on that account, call her not useless; nay, perhaps, call her happier and usefuller. Blessed are the humble, are they that are not known. It is written, "Seek2 z 2 : est thou great things, seek them not;" live where thou art, only live wisely, live diligently. Rahel's life was not an idle one for herself or for others: how many souls may "the sparkles showering from that light-fountain" have kindled and illuminated; whose new virtue goes on propagating itself, increasing itself, under incalculable combinations, and will be found in far places, after many days! She left no stamp of herself on paper; but in other ways, doubt it not, the virtue of her working in this world will survive all paper. For the working of the good and brave, seen or unseen, endures literally for ever, and cannot die. Is a thing nothing because the morning papers have not mentioned it? Or can a nothing be made some thing, by ever so much babbling of it there? Far better, probably, that no morning or evening paper mentioned it; that the right hand knew not what the left was doing! Rahel might have written books, celebrated books. And yet, what of books? Hast thou not already a bible to write, and publish in print, that is eternal; namely, a Life to lead? Silence, too, is great; there should be great silent ones, too. Beautiful it is to see and understand that no worth, known or unknown, can die even in this earth. The work an unknown good man has done is like a vein of water flowing hidden under ground, secretly making the ground green; it flows and flows, it joins itself with other veins and veinlets; one day it will start forth as a visible perennial well. Ten dumb centuries had made the speaking Dante; a well he of many veinlets. William Burnes, or Burns, was a poor peasant; could not prosper in his "seven acres of nursery-ground," nor any enterprise of trade and toil; had to “thole a factor's snash," and read attorney letters, in his poor hut, "which threw us all into tears;" a man of no money-capital at all, of no account at all; yet a brave man, a wise and just, in evil fortune faithful, unconquerable to the death. And there wept withal among the others a boy named Robert, with a heart of melting pity, of greatness and fiery wrath; and his voice, fashioned here by this poor father, does it not already reach, like a great elegy, like a stern prophecy, to the ends of the world? "Let me make the songs, and you shall make the laws!" What chancellor, king, senator, begirt with never such sumptuosity, dyed velvet, blaring, and celebrity, could you have named in England that was so momentous as that William Burns? Courage!— We take leave of Varnhagen with true goodwill, and heartily thank him for the pleasure and instruction he has given us. PETITION ON THE COPY-RIGHT BILL. [THE (LONDON) EXAMINER, 1839.] To the Honourable the Commons of England in Parliament assembled, the Petition of Thomas Carlyle, a Writer of Books, Humbly showeth, say what recompense in money this labour of his may deserve; whether it deserve any recompense in money, or whether money in any quantity could hire him to do the like. That this his labour has found hitherto, in That your petitioner has written certain books, being incited thereto by various inno-money or money's worth, small recompense or cent or laudable considerations, chiefly by the thought that said books might in the end be found to be worth something. That your petitioner had not the happiness to receive from Mr. Thomas Tegg, or any Publisher, Republisher, Printer, Bookseller, Bookbuyer, or other the like man or body of men, any encouragement or countenance in writing of said books, or to discern any chance of receiving such; but wrote them by effort of his own and the favour of Heaven. none; that he is by no means sure of its ever finding recompense, but thinks, that, if so, it will be at a distant time, when he, the laborer, will probably no longer be in need of money, and those dear to him will still be in need of it. That the law does at least protect all persons in selling the production of their labour at what they can get for it, in all market places, to all lengths of time. Much more than this the law does to many, but so much it does to all, and less than this to none. That all useful labour is worthy of recompense; that all honest labour is worthy of the That your petitioner cannot discover himchance of recompense; that the giving and self to have done unlawfully in this his said assuring to each man what recompense his labour of writing books, or to have become labour has actually merited, may be said to be criminal, or have forfeited the law's protection the business of all Legislation, Polity, Govern- thereby. Contrariwise your petitioner believes ment, and Social Arrangement whatsoever firmly that he is innocent in said labour; that among men ;-a business indispensable to at- if he be found in the long run to have written tempt, impossible to accomplish accurately, a genuine enduring book, his merit therein, difficult to accomplish without inaccuracies and desert towards England and English and that become enormous, unsupportable, and the other men, will be considerable, not easily estiparent of Social Confusions which never alto-mable in money; that on the other hand, if his gether end. book prove false and ephemeral, he and it will That your petitioner does not undertake to be abolished and forgotten, and no harm done, ་ That, in this manner, your petitioner plays no unfair game against the world; his stake being life itself, so to speak,. (for the penalty is death by starvation,) and the world's stake nothing till once it see the dice thrown; so that in any case the world cannot lose. That in the happy and long-doubtful event of the game's going in his favour, your petitioner submits that the small winnings thereof do belong to him or his, and that no other mortal has justly either part or lot in them at all, now, henceforth, or for ever. May it therefore please your Honourable And your petitioner will ever pray. DR. FRANCIA.* [FOREIGN QUARTERLY REVIEW.] THE confused South American revolution, | his fame. Melancholy lithographs represent and set of revolutions, like the South American to us a long-faced, square-browed man; of continent itself, is doubtless a great confused stern, considerate, consciously considerate aspect, phenomenon; worthy of better knowledge than mildly aquiline form of nose; with terrible men yet have of it. Several books, of which angularity of jaw; and dark deep eyes, somewe here name a few known to us, have been what too close together, (for which latter cirwritten on the subject; but bad books mostly, cumstance we earnestly hope the lithograph and productive of almost no effect. The heroes alone is to blame :) this is Liberator Bolivar--of South America have not yet succeeded in a man of much hard fighting, hard riding, of picturing any image of themselves, much less manifold achievements, distresses, heroisms any true image of themselves, in the Cis-Atlan- and histrionisms in this world; a many-countic mind or memory. selled, much-enduring man; now dead and Iturbide, "the Napoleon of Mexico," a great | gone :-of whom, except that melancholy litho man in that narrow country, who was he? He graph, the cultivated European public knows made the thrice-celebrated “Plan of Iguala:" as good as nothing. Yet did he not fly hither a constitution of no continuance. He became and thither, often in the most desperate manEmperor of Mexico, most serene " Augustin ner, with wild cavalry clad in blankets, with I.:" was deposed, banished to Leghorn, to Lon- War of Liberation, "to the death?" Clad in don; decided on returning;-landed on the blankets, ponchos the South Americans call shore at Tampico, and was there met, and shot: them it is a square blanket, with a short slit this, in a vague sort, is what the world knows in the centre, which you draw over your head, of the Napoleon of Mexico, most serene Au- and so leave hanging: many a liberative cavagustin the First, most unfortunate Augustin lier has ridden, in those hot climates, without the Last. He did himself publish memoirs or further dress at all; and fought handsomely memorials, but few can read them. Oblivion, too, wrapping the blanket round his arm, when and the deserts of Panama, have swallowed it came to the charge. this brave Don Augustin: vate caruit sacro. And Bolivar, "the Washington of Columbia," Liberator Bolivar, he too is gone without With such cavalry, and artillery and infantry to match, Bolivar has ridden, fighting all the way, through torrid deserts, hot mud swamps, through ice-chasms beyond the curve of per * 1. Funeral Discourse delivered on occasion of celebrat-petual frost, more miles than Ulysses ever ing the obsequies of his late Excellency the Perpetual Dictator of the Republic of Paraguay, the Citizen Dr. José Gaspar Francia, by Citizen the Rev. Manuel Antonia Perez, of the Church of the Incarnation, on the 20th of October, 1840. In the "British Packet and Argentine News," No. 813. Buenos Ayres: March 19, 1842. 2. Essai Historique sur la Révolution de Paraguay, et le Gouvernement Dictatorial du Docteur Francia. Par MM. Rengger et Longchamp. 2de édition. Paris, 1827. 3. Letters on Paraguay. By J. P. and W. P. Robertson. 2 vols. Second edition. London, 1839. 4. Francia's Reign of Terror. By the same. don, 1829. Lon 5. Letters on South America. By the same. 3 vols. London, 1843. 6. Travels in Chile and La Plata. By John Miers. 2 vols. London, 1826. sailed: let the coming Homers take note of it. He has marched over the Andes more than once; a feat analogous to Hannibal's; and seemed to think little of it. Often beaten, banished from the firm land, he always returned again, truculently fought again. He gained in the Cumana regions the "immortal victory" of Carababo and several others; under him was gained the finishing "immortal victory" of Ayacucho in Peru, where Old Spain, for the last time, burnt powder in those latitudes, and then fled without return. He was Dicta 7. Memoirs of General Miller, in the Service of the Re-tor, Liberator, almost emperor, if he had lived. public of Peru. 2 vols. 2d edition. London, 1829. + A Statement of some of the principal Events in the Public Life of Augustin de Iturbide: written by Himself. London, 1843. Some three times over did he, in solemn Columbian parliament, lay down his Dictator ship with Washington eloquence; and as often, on pressing request, take it up again, being a | the esplanade there. The ceremonies and deman indispensable. Thrice, or at least twice, liberations, as described by General Miller, are did he, in different places, painfully construct somewhat surprising; still more the concluda Free Constitution; consisting of "two cham- ing civic feast, which lasts for three days, which bers, and a supreme governor for life with consists of horses' flesh for the solid part, and liberty to name his successor," the reasonablest horses' blood with ardent spirits ad libitum for democratic constitution you could well con- the liquid, consumed with such alacrity, with struct; and twice, or at least once, did the such results as one may fancy. However, the people, on trial, declare it disagreeable. He women had prudently removed all the arms was of old, well known in Paris; in the disso- beforehand; nay, "five or six of these poor lute, the philosophico-political and other cir- women, taking it by turns, were always found cles there. He has shone in many a gay in a sober state, watching over the rest;" so Parisian soirée, this Simon Bolivar; and he, that comparatively little mischief was done, in his later years, in autumn, 1825, rode and only "one or two" deaths by quarrel took triumphant into Potosi and the fabulous Inca place. Cities, with clouds of feathered Indians somer- The Pehuenches having drunk their ardentsetting and warwhopping round him*—and water and horses' blood in this manner, and as the famed Cerro, metalliferous Mountain, sworn eternal friendship to San Martin, went came in sight, the bells all pealed out, and home, and-communicated to his enemies, there was a thunder of artillery," says General across the Andes, the road he meant to take. Miller! If this is not a Ulysses, Polytlas and This was what San Martin had foreseen and Polymetis, a much enduring and many coun- meant, the knowing man! He hastened his selled man; where was there one? Truly a preparations, got his artillery slung on poles, Ulysses whose history were worth its ink,-This men equipt with knapsacks and haversacks, had the Homer that could do it, made his ap-his mules in readiness; and, in all stillness, pearance! 66 . Few set forth from Mendoza by another road. Of General San Martin, too, there will be something to be said. General San Martin, when we last saw him, twenty years ago or more, through the organs of the authentic steadfast Mr. Miers, had a handsome house in Mendoza, and "his own portrait, as I remarked, hung up between those of Napoleon and the Duke of Wellington." In Mendoza, cheerful, mudbuilt, whitewashed Town, seated at the eastern base of the Andes, "with its shady public walk well paved and swept;" looking out pleasantly, on this hand, over wide horizons of Pampa wilderness; pleasantly on that, to the Rocky-chain, Cordillera they call it, of the sky-piercing Mountains, capt in snow, or with volcanic fumes issuing from them: there dwelt General Ex-Generalissimo San Martin, ruminating past adventures over half the world; and had his portrait hung up between Napoleon's and the Duke of Welling-need no second; in the gloomy jaws of the ton's. Did the reader ever hear of San Martin's march over the Andes in Chile? It is a feat worth looking at; comparable, most likely, to Hannibal's march over the Alps, while there was yet no Simplon or Mont-Cénis highway; and it transacted itself in the year 1817. South American armies think little of picking their way through the gullies of the Andes; so the Buenos-Ayres people, having driven out their own Spaniards, and established the reign of freedom, though in a precarious manner, thought it were now good to drive the Spaniards out of Chile, and establish the reign of freedom there also instead: whereupon San Martin, commander at Mendoza, was appointed to do it. By way of preparation, for he began from afar, San Martin, while an army is getting ready at Mendoza, assembles "at the fort of San Carlos by the Aguanda river," some days' journey to the south, all attainable tribes of the Pehuenche Indians, to a solemn Palaver, so they name it, and civic entertainment, on * Memoirs of General Miller. abyss you vanish, and the spectral winds howl requiem. Somewhat better are the suspension bridges, made of bamboo and leather, though they swing like see-saws: men are stationed with lassos, to gin you dexterously, and fish you up from the torrent, if you trip there. Through this kind of country did San Martin march; straight towards San Iago, to fight the Spaniards and deliver Chile. For ammunition wagons he had sorras, sledges, canoeshaped boxes, made of dried bull's-hide. His cannons were carried on the back of mules, each cannon on two mules judiciously harnessed: on the packsaddle of your foremost mule, there rested with firm girths a long strong pole; the other end of which (forked end, we suppose) rested, with like girths, on the packsaddle of the hindmost mule; your cannon was slung with leathern straps on this pole, and so travelled, swaying and dangling, yet moderately secure. In the knapsack of each soldier was eight days' provender, dried beef ground into snuff-powder, with a modicum of pepper, and a slight seasoning of biscuit or maizemeal; "store of onions, of garlic," was not wanting: Paraguay tea could be boiled at eventide, by fire of scrub-bushes, or almost of rock-lichens or dried mule-dung. No further baggage was permitted: each soldier lay, at night, wrapt in his poncho, with his knapsack for pillow, under the canopy of heaven; lullabied by hard travail: and sank soon enough into steady nose-melody, into the foolishest rough colt-dance of unimaginable Dreams. Had he not left much behind him in the Pampas, mother, mistress, what not; and was like to find somewhat, if he ever got across to Chile living? What an entity, one of those night-leaguers of San Martin; all steadily snoring there, in the heart of the Andes, under the eternal stars! Wayworn sentries with difficulty keep themselves awake: tired mules chew barley rations, or doze on three legs; the feeble watchfire will hardly kindle a cigar; Canopus and the Southern Cross glitter down; and all snores steadily, begirt by granite deserts, looked on by the constellations in that manner! San Martin's improvident soldiers ate out their week's rations almost in half the time; and for the last three days, had to rush on, spurred by hunger: this also the knowing San Martin had foreseen; and knew that they could bear it, these rugged Guachos of his; nay, that they would march all the faster for it. On the eighth day, hungry as wolves, swift and sudden as a torrent from the mountains, they disembogued; straight towards San Iago, to the astonishment of men;-struck the doubly astonished Spaniards into dire misgivings; and then, in pitched fight, after due manœuvres, into total defeat on the "Plains of Maypo,' "and again, positively for the last time, on the Plains or Heights of "Chacabuco;" and completed the "deliverance of Chile," as was thought, for ever and a day. Alas, the "deliverance of Chile was but commenced; very far from completed. Chile, after many more deliverances, up to this hour, is always but "delivered," from one set of evil doers to another set! San Martin's Manœuvres to liberate Peru, to unite Peru and Chile, and become some Washington-Napoleon of the same, did not prosper so well. The suspicion of mankind had to rouse itself; Liberator Bolivar had to be called in; and some revolution or two to take place in the interim. San Martin sees himself peremptorily, though with courtesy, complimented over the Andes again; and in due leisure, at Mendoza, hangs his portrait between Napoleon's and Wellington's. Mr. Miers considered him a fairspoken, obliging, if somewhat artful man. Might not the Chilenos as well have taken him for their Napoleon? They have gone farther, and, as yet, fared little better! The world-famous General O'Higgins, for example, he, after some revolution or two, became Director of Chile; but so terribly hampered by " class-legislation," and the like, what could he make of it? Almost nothing! O'Higgins is clearly of Irish breed; and, though a Chileno born, and "natural son of Don Ambrosio O'Higgins, formerly the Spanish Viceroy of Chile," carries his Hibernianism in his very face. A most cheery, jovial, buxom countenance, radiant with pepticity, Had you seen this road before it was made, It affects one with real pain to hear from Mr. Miers, that the war of liberty has half ruined these O'Higgins casuchas. Patriot soldiers, in want of more warmth than the charcoal box could yield, have not scrupled to tear down the door, doorcase, or whatever wooden thing could be come at, and burn it, on the spur of the moment. The storm-stayed traveller, who sometimes, in threatening weather, has to linger here for days, "for fifteen days together," does not lift both his hands, and bless the Patriot soldier! Nay, it appears, the O'Higgins roads, even in the plain country, have not, of late years, been repaired, or in the least attended to, so distressed was the finance department; and are now fast verging towards impassability and the condition of mule-tracks again. What a set of animals are men and Chilenos! If an O'Higgins did not now and then appear among them, what would become of the unfortunates? Can you wonder that an O'Higgins sometimes loses temper with them; shuts the persuasive outspread hand, clutching some sharpest hidewhip, some terrible sword of justice or gallows * Miers. |