of the greatest men before my eyes here: they go tumbling even so on the great sea of Exis.ace, 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 Frenchman 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:

She said to me one morning, after a dreadful night, with the penetrating tone of that lovely voice of hers: 'O, I am still happy; I am God's creature still; He knows of me; I shall come to see how it was good and needful for me to suffer: of a surety I had something to learn by it. And am I not already happy in this trust, and in all the love that I feel and Beet with?'

"In this manner she spoke, one day, among other things, with joyful heartiness, of a dream which always from childhood she had remembered and taken comfort from. In my seventh year,' said she, 'I dreamt that I saw God quite near me; he stood expanded above me, and his mantle was the whole sky; on a corner of this mantle I had leave to rest, and lay there in peaceable felicity till I awoke. Ever since, through my whole life, this dream has returned on me, and in the worst times was present also in my waking moments, and a heavenly comfort to me. I had leave to throw myself at God's feet, on a corner of his mantle, and he screened me from all sorrow there: He permitted it.' • The following words, 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 ind 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? Shall I 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 n agony, and did not sink; she stood at the Cross. That I could not have done; I am not Itrong enough for that. Forgive me, God, I confess how weak I am.'

"At nightfall, on the 6th of March, Rahel

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 precau tion. 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 stil! awake, when Dora called me: I was to come, she was much worse.' Instead of sleep, Rahel had found only suffering, one distress added to another; and now all had combined into decided spasm of the breast. I found her in a state little short of that she had passed six days ago. The medicines left for such an occur. rence (regarded as possible, not probable) were tried; but this time with little effect. The frightful struggle continued; and the beloved sufferer, writhing in Dora's arms, cried, several times, This pressure against her breast was not to be borne, was pushing her heart out: the breathing, too, was painfully difficult. She complained that it was getting into her head now, that she felt like a cloud there;' she leaned back with that. A deceptive hope of some alleviation gleamed on us for a moment, and then went out for ever; the eyes were dimmed, the mouth distorted, the limbs lamed! In this state the doctors found her; their remedies were all bootless. An unconscious hour and half, during which the breast still occasionally struggled in spasmodic efforts-and this noble life breathed out its last. The look I got then, kneeling almost lifeless at her bed, stamped itself, glowing, for ever into my heart."

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 be yond what has many times fixed the public admiration of the whole world; a woman equal to the highest thoughts of her century; in 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 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. "Seek

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 "thele 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

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 even-his voice, fashioned here by this poor father, ing 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

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 vel vet, 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 good. will, 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 Engand in Parliament assembled, the Petition of Thomas Carlyle, a Writer of Books,

Humbly showeth,

That your petitioner has written certain books, being incited thereto by various innocent 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.

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 money or money's worth, small recompense or 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 al lengths of time. Much more than this the law does to many, but so much it does to all, and

That all useful labour is worthy of recom-less than this to none. pense; that all honest labour is worthy of the chance of recompense; that the giving and assuring to each man what recompense his labour has actually merited, may be said to be the business of all Legislation, Polity, Government, and Social Arrangement whatsoever mong men;-a business indispensable to atempt, impossible to accomplish accurately, difficult to accomplish without inaccuracies that become enormous, unsupportable, and the parent of Social Confusions which never altogether end.

That your petitioner does not undertake to

That your petitioner cannot discover him. self to have done unlawfully in this his said labour of writing books, or to have become criminal, or have forfeited the law's protection thereby. Contrariwise your petitioner believes firmly that he is innocent in said labour; that if he be found in the long run to have writted a genuine enduring book, his merit therein, and desert towards England and English and other men, will be considerable, not easily esti mable in money; that on the other hand, this book prove false and ephemeral, he and it will be abolished and forgotten, and no harm door

ihat, 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 House to protect him in said happy and long. doubtful event; and (by passing your Copy Right Bill) forbid all Thomas Teggs and other extraneous persons, entirely unconcerned in this adventure of his, to steal from him his small winnings, for a space of sixty years at the shortest. After sixty years, unless your Honourable House provide otherwise, they may begin to steal.

And your petitioner will ever pray.
THOMAS CARLYLE.

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-counic mind or memory. selled, much-enduring man; now dead and Iturbide," the Napoleon of Mexico," a great gone :-of whom, except that melancholy lithoman 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 L:" 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 Augustinlier has ridden, in those hot climates, without the Last. He did himself publish memoirs or memorials, but few can read them. Oblivion, and the deserts of Panama, have swallowed this brave Don Augustin: vale caruit sacro. And Bolivar, "the Washington of Columbia," Liberator Bolivar, he too is gone without

further dress at all; and fought handsomely too, wrapping the blanket round his arm, when it came to the charge.

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 ing the obsequies of his late Excellency the Perpetual Die tator 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. Fasai 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,

I 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 vols. London, 1826.

Miers.

7. Memoirs of General Miller, in the Service of the Republic 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.

frost,-more miles than Ulysses ever 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 Comana 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 Dictator, Liberator, almost emperor, if he had lived. 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 de man indispensable. Thrice, or at least twice, liberations, as described by General Miller, ar did he, in different places, painfully construct somewhat surprising; still more the conclud a 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 hibitum 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 somersetting and warwhopping round him*-and "as the famed Cerro, metalliferous Mountain, came in sight, the bells all pealed out, and there was a thunder of artillery," says General Miller! If this is not a Ulysses, Polytlas and Polymetis, a much enduring and many counselled man; where was there one? Truly a Ulysses whose history were worth its ink,had the Homer that could do it, made his appearance!

Of General San Martin, too, there will be something to be said. General San Martin, when we last saw him, twenty years ago or inore, through the organs of the authentic swamast 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;" 1ooking 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 Wellington'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 ufar, San Martin, while an army is getting ready at Mendoza, assembles "at the fort of Ban 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.

The Pehuenches having drunk their ardentwater and horses' blood in this manner, and sworn eternal friendship to San Martin, went home, and-communicated to his enemies, across the Andes, the road he meant to take. This was what Sau Martin had foreseen, and meant, the knowing man! He hastened his preparations, got his artillery slung on poles, his men equipt with knapsacks and haversacks, his mules in readiness; and, in all stillness, set forth from Mendoza by anothe road. Few things in late war, according to Geral Mil ler, have been more noteworthy that this march. The long straggling line of soldiers, six thousand and odd, with their quadrupeds and baggage, winding through the heart of the Andes, breaking for a brief moment the old abysmal solitudes!-For you farre along, on some narrow roadway, through stony laby. rinths; huge rock-mountains hanging over your head, on this hand; and under your feet, on that, the roar of mountain-cataracts, horror of bottomless chasms;-the very winds and echoes howling on you in an almost preternatural manner. Towering rock-barriers rise sky-high before you, and behind you, and around you; intricate the outgate! The roadway is narrow; footing none of the best. Sharp turns there are, where it will behove you to mind your paces; one false step, and you will need no second; in the gloomy jaws of the abyss you vanish, and the spectral winds howl requiem. Somewhat better are the sus pension 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 Mar tin march; straight towards San lago, to fight the Spaniards and deliver Chile. For an munition wagons he had sorras, sledges, canoe shaped boxes, made of dried bull's-hide. His cannons were carried on the back of mules. each cannon on two mules judiciously harness ed: on the packsaddle of your foremost mule, there rested with firm girths a long strong pole; the other end of which (forked end, wo suppose) rested, with like girths, on the pack saddle 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 af pepper, and a slight seasoning of biscuit >