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Lafayette is absent; one must either wait for him, or name some other.' 'Well, then, name directly, and do it yourself.'

“At length the Electors agreed to proceed to judgment; Foulon was again brought in. The foremost part of the crowd joined hands, and formed a chain several ranks deep, in the middle of which he was received. At this moment M. Lafayette came in; went and took his place at the board among the electors, and then addressed to the people a discourse, of which the Ami du Roi and the Records of the Town-hall, the two authorities we borrow from here, give different reports."

Lafayette's speech, according to both versions, is to the effect that Foulon is guilty: but that he doubtless has accomplices; that he must be taken to the Abbaye prison, and investigated there. "Yes, yes, to prison! Off with him, off!" cried the crowd. The Deux Amis add another not insignificant circumstance, that poor Foulon himself, hearing this conclusion of Lafayette's, clapped hands; whereupon the crowd said, "See! they are both in a story!" Our editors continue and conclude:

"At this moment there rose a great clamour in the square. It is the Palais Royal coming,' said one; 'It is the Faubourg Saint Antoine,' said another. Then a well dressed person (homme bien mis) advanced towards the board, and said, Vouz vous moquez: what is the use of judging a man who has been judged these thirty years? At this word, Foulon was clutched; hurled out to the square; and finally tied to the fatal rope, which hung from the Lanterne at the corner of the Rue de la Vannerie. The rope was afterwards cut; the head was put on a pike, and paraded," with "grass" in the mouth of it, they might have added!-Vol. ii. p. 148. From the "Revolution de France et de Brabant," Camille Desmoulin's newspaper furnishes numerous extracts, in the earlier volumes; always of a remarkable kind. This Procureur Général de la Lanterne has a place of his own in the history of the Revolution; there are not many notabler persons in it than he. A light, harmless creature, as he says of himself; "a man born to write verses," but whom destiny had directed to overthrow bastilles, and go to the guillotine for doing that. How such a man will comport himself in a French Revolution, as he from time to time turns up there, is worth seeing. Of loose, headlong character; a man stuttering in speech; stuttering, infirm, in conduct too, till one huge idea laid hold of him: a man for whom art, fortune, or himself, would never do much, but to whom Nature had been very kind! One meets him always with a sort of forgiveness, almost of underhand love, as for a prodigal son. He has good gifts, and even acquirements elegant law-scholarship, quick sense, the freest joyful heart: a fellow of endless wit, clearness, soft lambent brilliancy; on any subject you can listen to him, if without approving, yet without yawning. As a writer, in fact, there is nothing French that we have heard of superior or equal to him for these fifty years. Probably some French editor, some day or other, will sift that journalistic

rubbish and produce out of it, in small neat compass, a "Life and Remains" of this poor Camille. We pick up three light fractions, illustrative of him and of the things he moved in; they relate to the famous Fifth of October, (1789,) when the women rose in insurrection The Palais Royal and Marquis Saint-Huruge have been busy on the King's veto, and Lally Tollendall's proposal of an upper house :

"Was the Palais Royal so far wrong," says Camille, "to cry out against such things? I know that the Palais Royal promenade is strangely miscellaneous; that pickpockets frequently employ the liberty of the press there, and many a zealous patriot has lost his handkerchief in the fire of debate. But for all that I must bear honourable testimony to the promenaders in this Lyceum and Stoa. The Palais Royal garden is the focus of patriotism: there do the chosen patriots rendezvous, who have left their hearths and their provinces to witness this magnificent spectacle of the Revolution of 1789, and not to witness without aiding in it. They are Frenchmen; they have an interest in the Constitution, and a right to concur in it. How many Parisians too, instead of going to their Districts, find it shorter to come at once to the Palais Royal. Here you have no need to ask a President if you may speak, and wait two hours till your turn comes. You propose your motion; if it find supporters, they set you on a chair: if you are applauded, you proceed to the redaction: if you are hissed, you go your ways. It is very much the mode the Romans followed; their Forum and our Palais Royal resemble one another."-Vol. ii. p. 414.

Then a few days further on-the celebrated military dinner at Versailles, with the white cockades, black cockades, and “ O Richard! O mon Roi!" having been transacted:

Paris, Sunday, 4th October. The king's wife had been so gratified with it, that this brotherly repast of Thursday must needs be repeated. It was so on the Saturday, and with aggravations. Our patience was worn out: you may suppose whatever patriot observers there were at Versailles hastened to Paris with the news, or at least sent off despatches containing them. That same day (Saturday evening) all Paris set itself astir. It was a lady, first, who, seeing that her husband was not listened to at his District, came to the bar of the Cafe de Foi, to denounce the anti-national cockades. M. Marat flies to Versailles; returns like lightning; makes a noise like the four blasts of doom, crying to us-Awake, ye Dead ! Danton, on his side, sounds the alarm in the Cordeliers. On Sunday this immortal Cordeliers' District posts its manifesto and that very day they would have gone t Versailles, had not M. Crevecœur, their commandant, stood in the way. People seek out their arms however; sally out to the streets in chase of anti-national cockades. The law of reprisals is in force; these cockades are torn off, trampled under foot, with menace of the Lanterne in case of relapse. A military gentleman, picking up his cockade, is for fastening it on again; a hundred canes start into the air, saying veto. The whole Sunday passes in hunting down

think it reasonablest to open a passage; and, like waters through a broken dike, the floods of the multitude inundate the Hotel de Vilie.

.he white and the black cockades; in holding | Guards, already getting saluted with stones, council at the Palais Royal, over the Faubourg Saint Antoine, at the end of bridges, on the quais. At the doors of the coffee houses there arise free conferences between the Upper "It is a picture interesting to paint, and one House, of the coats that are within, and the of the greatest in the Revolution, this same Lower House, of jackets and wool-caps, as- army of ten thousand Judiths setting forth to sembled extra muros. It is agreed upon that cut off the head of Holofernes; forcing the the audacity of the aristocrats increases ra- | Hotel de Ville; arming themselves with whatpidly; that Madame Villepatour and the queen's ever they can lay hands on; some tying ropes women are distributing enormous white cock- to the cannon-trains, arresting carts, loading ades to all comers in the Eil-de-Bouf; that them with artillery, with powder and balls for M. Lecointre, having refused to take one from the Versailles National Guard, which is left their hands, has all but been assassinated. It without ammunition; others driving on the is agreed upon that we have not a moment to horses, or seated on cannon, holding the relose; that the boat which used to bring us doubtable match; seeking for their generalisfiour from Corbeil, morning and evening, simo, not aristocrats with epaulettes, but Connow comes only once in two days:-do they plan querors of the Bastille !"-Vol. iii. p. 110. to make their attack at the moment when they So far Camille on veto, scarcity, and the have kept us for eight-and-forty hours in a Insurrection of Women, in the end of 1789. fasting state? It is agreed upon," &c.-Vol. We terminate with a scene of a very difiii. p. 63. ferent complexion, being some three years farther on, that is to say, in September, 1792 ! Félémhesi, (anagram for Méhée Fils,) in his Vérité toute entière," a pamphlet really more veracious than most, thus testifies, after a good deal of-preambling :—

We hasten to the catastrophe, which arrives on the morrow. It is related elsewhere, in another leading article :—

"At break of day the women rush towards the Hotel de Ville. All the way, they recruit fresh hands, among their own sex, to march with them; as sailors are recruited at London: there is an active press of women. The Quai de la Ferraille is covered with female crimps. The robust kitchen-maid, the slim mantuamaker, all must go to swell the phalanx; the ancient devotee, tripping to mass in the dawn, sees herself for the first time carried off, and shrieks help! whilst more than one of the younger sort secretly is not so sorry at going without mother or mistress to Versailles to pay her respects to the august Assembly. At the same time, for the accuracy of this narrative, I must remark that these women, at least the battalion of them which encamped that night in the Assembly Hall, and had marched under the flag of M. Maillard, had among themselves a Presidentess and Staff; and that every woman, on being borrowed from her mother or husband, was presented to the Presidentess or some of her aids-de-camp, who engaged to watch over her morality, and insure her honour for this day.

Once arrived on the Place de Grêve, these women piously begin letting down the Lanterne; as, in great calamities, you let down the shrine of Saint Genevieve. Next they are for mounting into the Hotel de Ville. The Commandant had been forewarned of this movement: he knew that all insurrections have begun by women, whose maternal bosom the bayonet of the satellites of despotism respects. Four thousand soldiers presented a front bristling with bayonets; kept them back from the step: but behind these women there rose and grew every moment a nucleus of men, armed with pikes, axes, bills; blood is about to flow on the place; the presence of these Sabine women hindered it. The National Guard, which is not purely a machine, as the Minister of War would have the soldier be, makes use of its reason. It discerns that these women, now for Versailles, are going to the root of the mischief. The four thousand

"I was going to my post about half past two," (Sunday, the 2d of September, tocsins all ringing, and Brunswick just at hand;) “I was passing along the Rue Dauphine; suddenly I hear hisses. I look, I observe four hackney-coaches, coming in a train, escorted by the Fédéré's of the departments.

"Each of these coaches contained four persons: they were individuals" (priests) "arrested in the preceding domiciliary visits. Billaud-Varennes, Procureur-Substitute of the Commune, had just been interrogating them at the Hotel de Ville; and now they were proceeding towards the Abbaye, to be provisionally detained there. A crowd is gathering; the cries and hisses redouble: one of the prisoners, doubtless out of his senses, takes fire at these murmurs, puts his arm over the coachdoor, gives one of the Fédéré's a stroke over the head with his cane. The Fédéré, in a rage, draws his sabre, springs on the carriagesteps, and plunges it thrice over into the heart of his aggressor. I saw the blood come out in great jets. Kill every one of them; they are scoundrels, aristocrats!' cry the people. The Fédéré's all draw their sabres, and instantly kill the three companions of the one who had just perished. I saw, at this moment, a young man in a white nightgown stretch himself out of that same carriage: his countenance, expressive, but pale and worn, indicated that he was very sick; he had gathered his staggering strength, and, though already wounded, was crying still, Grace, grace, pardon !' but in vain -a mortal stroke united him to the lot of the others.

"This coach, which was the hindmost, now held nothing but corses; it had not stopped during the carnage, which lasted about the space of two minutes. The crowd increases, crescit eundo; the yells redouble. The coaches are at the Abbaye. The corpses are hurled into the court; the twelve living prisoners dismount to enter the committee-room. Two

are sacrificed on alighting; ten succeed in entering. The committee had not had time to put the slightest question, when a multitude, armed with pikes, sabres, swords, and bayonets, dashes in; seizes the accused, and kills them. One prisoner, already much wounded, kept hanging by the skirts of a Committee-member, and still struggled against death.

"Three yet remained; one of whom was the Abbé Sicard, teacher of the deaf and dumb. The sabres were already over his head, when Monnot, the watchmaker, flung himself before them, crying, 'Kill me rather, and not this man, who is useful to our country! These words, uttered with the fire and impetuosity of a generous soul, suspended death. Profiting by this moment of calm, Abbé Sicard and the other two were got conveyed into the back part of the room.

the villains in this prison, whom other villains outside will open the doors to, shall go and kill my wife and children in the meanwhile! I have three boys, who I hope will be usefuller to their country one day than these rascals you want to save. Any way you have but to send them out; we will give them arms, and fight them number for number. Die here or die on the frontiers, I am sure enough to be killed by these villains, but I mean to sell them my life; and, be it I, be it others, the prison shall be purged of these sacres gueux la.' 'He is right!' responds the general cry."-And so the frightful "purgation" proceeds.

"At five in the afternoon, Billaud Varennes, Procureur-Substitut, arrives; he had on his sash, and the small puce coat and black wig we are used to see on him: walking over carcasses, he makes a short harangue to the people, and ends thus: People, thou art sacrificing thy enemies; thou art in thy duty.' This cannibal speech lends them new animation. The killers blaze up, cry louder than ever for new victims:-how to staunch this new thirst of blood? A voice speaks from beside Billaud; it was Maillard's voice: There is nothing more to do here; let us to the Carmes! They

Abbé Sicard, as is well known, survived; and the narrative which he also published exists-sufficient to prove, among other things, that "Félémhesi" had but two eyes, and his own share of sagacity and heart; that he has mis-seen, miscounted, and, knowingly or unknowingly, misstated not a little,-as one poor man, in these circumstances, might. Félémhesi continues,—we only inverting his arrange-run thither: in five minutes more I saw them ment somewhat:

trailing corpses by the heels. A killer, (I cannot say a man,) in very coarse clothes, had, as it would seem, been specially commissioned to dispatch the Abbé Lenfant; for, apprehensive lest the prey might be missed, he takes water, flings it on the corpses, washes their blood-smeared faces, turns them over, and seems at last to ascertain that the Abbé Lenfant is among them.”—Vol. xviii. p. 169.

This is the September massacre, the last scene we can give as a specimen. Thus, in these curious records of the "Histoire Parlementaire," as in some Ezekiel vision become real, does scene after scene disclose itself, now in rose-light, now in sulphurous black, and grow ever more fitful, dream-like,―till the Vendémiaire scene come, and Napoleon blow forth his grape-shot, and Sansculottism be no more!

"Twelve scoundrels, presided by Maillard, with whom they had probably combined this project beforehand, find themselves 'by chance' among the crowd; and now, being well-known one to another, they unite themselves 'in the name of the sovereign people,' whether it were of their own private audacity, or that they had secretly received superior orders. They lay hold of the prison registers, and turn them over; the turnkeys fall a-trembling; the jailer's wife and the jailer faint; the prison is surrounded by furious men; there is shouting, clamouring: the door is assaulted, like to be forced; when one of the Committee-members presents himself at the outer gate, and begs audience: his signs obtain a moment's silence; the doors open, he advances, gets a chair, mounts on it, and speaks:- Comrades, friends,' said he, 'you are good patriots; your resent- Touching the political and metaphysical ment is just. Open war to the enemies of the speculations of our two editors, we shall say common good; neither truce nor mercy; it is little. They are of the sort we lamented in a war to the death! I feel like you that they Mignet, and generally in Frenchmen of this must all perish; and yet, if you are good citi-day-a jingling of formulas; unfruitful as zens, you must love justice. There is not one of you but would shudder at the notion of shedding innocent blood."' 'Yes, yes!' reply the people. Well, then, I ask of you if, without inquiry or investigation, you fling yourselves like mad tigers on your fellow-men- -?' Here the speaker was interrupted by one of the crowd, who, with a bloody sabre in his hand, his eyes glancing with rage, cleaves the press, and refutes him in these terms: 'Tell us, Monsieur le Citoyen, explain to us then, would the sacres gueux of Prussians and Austrians, if they were at Paris, investigate for the guilty? Would they not cut right and left, as the Swiss on the Tenth of August did? Well, I am no speaker, I can stuff the ears of no one; but I tell you I have a wife and five children, whom I leave with my section here while I go and fight the enemy: but it is not my bargain that

that Kalmuck prayer! Perhaps the strangestlooking particular doctrine we have noticed is this: that the French Revolution was at bottom an attempt to realize Christianity, and fairly put it in action, in our world. For eighteen centuries (it is not denied) men had been doing more or less that way; but they set their shoulder rightly to the wheel, and gave a dead-lift, for the first time then. Good M. Roux! and yet the good Roux does mean something by this; and even something true. But a marginal annotator has written on our copy-" For the love of Heaven, Messieurs, humez vos formules:" make away with your formulas; take off your facetted spectacles; open your eyes a little and look! There is, indeed, here and there, considerable rumbling of the rotatory calabash, which rattles and rumbles concerning Progress of the Species, Dei

trine du Progrès, Exploitations, le Crist, the | space he takes is small. Whoever wants to Verbe, and what not; written in a vein of deep, form for himself an image of the actual state even of intense seriousness; but profitable, of French Meditation, and under what surone would think, to no man or woman. In this prising shackles a French thinking man of style M. Roux (for it is he, we understand) these days finds himself gyved, and mechanpainfully composes a preface to each volume, ized, and reduced to the verge of zero, may and has even given a whole introductory his- open M. Roux's Prefaces, and see it as in an tory of France: we read some seven or eight expressive summary. of his first prefaces, hoping always to get some nourishment; but seldom or never cut him open now. Fighting in that way, behind cover, he is comparatively harmless; merely wasting vou so many pence per number: happily the

We wish our two French friends all speed in their business; and do again honestly recommend this "Histoire Parlementaire” to any and all of our English friends who take interest in that subject.

MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE OF SCOTT.*

[LONDON AND WESTMINSTER REVIEW, 1838.]

AMERICAN Cooper asserts, in one of his books, that there is "an instinctive tendency in men to look at any man who has become distinguished." True, surely; as all observation and survey of mankind, from China to Peru, from Nebuchadnezzar to Old Hickory, will testify! Why do men crowd towards the improved drop at Newgate, eager to catch a sight? The man about to be hanged is in a distinguished situation. Men crowd to such extent, that Greenacre's is not the only life choked out there. Again, ask of these leathern vehicles, cabriolets, neat-flies, with blue men and women in them, that scour all thoroughfares, Whither so fast? To see dear Mrs. Rigmarole, the distinguished female! Great Mr. Rigmarole, the distinguished male. Or, consider the crowning phenomenon, and summary of modern civilization, a soirée of lions. Glittering are the rooms, well-lighted, thronged; bright flows their undulatory flood of blonde gowns and dress-coats, a soft smile dwelling on all faces; for behold there also flow the lions, hovering distinguished: oracles of the age, of one sort or another. Oracles really pleasant to see; whom it is worth while to go and see: look at them, but inquire not of them, depart rather and be thankful. For your lionsoirée admits not of speech; there lies the speciality of it. A meeting together of human creatures; and yet (so high has civilization gone) the primary aim of human meeting, that soul might in some articulate utterance unfold itself to soul, can be dispensed with in it. Utterance there is not: nay, there is a certain grinning play of tongue-fence, and make-believe of utterance, considerably worse than none. For which reason it has been suggested, with an eye to sincerity and silence in such lion-soirées, Might not each lion be, for example, ticketed, as wine-decanters are? Let him carry, slung round him, in such ornamental manner as seemed good, his silver label with name engraved; you lift his label, and read it, with

* Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott, Baronet. Vol. i.-vi. Cadell. Edinburgh, 1837.

what farther ocular survey you find useful, and speech is not needed at all. O Fenimore Cooper, it is most true there is "an instinctive tendency in men to look at at any man that has become distinguished;" and, moreover, an instinctive desire in men to become distinguished and be looked at!

For the rest, we will call it a most valuable tendency this; indispensable to mankind. Without it where were star-and-garter, and significance of rank; where were all ambition, money-getting, respectability of gig or no gig; and, in a word, the main impetus by which society moves, the main force by which it hangs together? A tendency, we say, of manifold results: of manifold origin, not ridiculous only, but sublime;-which some incline to deduce from the mere gregarious purblind nature of man, prompting him to run, "as dimeyed animals do, towards any glittering object, were it but a scoured tankard, and mistake it for a solar luminary," or even, "sheep-like, to run and crowd because many have already run!" It is, indeed, curious to consider how men do make the gods that themselves worship. For the most famed man, round whom all the world rapturously huzzahs, and venerates as if his like were not, is the same man whom all the world was wont to jostle into the kennels; not a changed man, but in every fibre of him the same man. Foolish world, what went ye out to see? A tankard scoured bright; and do there not lie, of the self-same pewter, whole barrowfuls of tankards, though by worse fortune all still in the dim state?

And yet, at bottom, it is not merely our gre garious sheep-like quality, but something better, and indeed best; what has been called "the perpetual fact of hero-worship;" our inborn sincere love of great men ! Not the gilt farthing, for its own sake, do even fools covet, but the gold guinea which they mistake it for. Veneration of great men is perennial in the nature of man; this, in all times, especially in these, is one of the blessedest facts predicable of him. In all times, even in these seemingly so disobedient times, "it remains a blessed

fact, so cunningly has nature ordered it, that
whatsoever man ought to obey he cannot but obey.
Show the dullest clodpole, show the haughtiest
seatherhead, that a soul higher than himself is
actually here; were his knees stiffened into
brass, he must down and worship." So it has
been written; and may be cited and repeated
till known to all. Understand it well, this of
"hero-worship" was the primary creed, and has
intrinsically been the secondary and ternary,
and will be the ultimate and final creed of man-
kind; indestructible, changing in shape, but in
essence unchangeable; whereon politics, re-
ligions, loyalties, and all highest human inte-
rests have been and can be built, as on a rock
that will endure while man endures. Such is
hero-worship; so much lies in that our inborn
sincere love of great men !-In favour of which
unspeakable benefits of the reality, what can
we do but cheerfully pardon the multiplex
ineptitudes of the semblance,-cheerfully wish
even lion-soirées, with labels for their lions or
without that improvement, all manner of pros-
perity?
Let hero-worship flourish, say we;
and the more and more assiduous chase after
gilt farthings while guineas are not yet forth-
coming. Herein, at lowest, is proof that
guineas exist, that they are believed to exist,
and valued. Find great men if you can; if you
cannot, still quit not the search; in defect of
great men, let there be noted men, men, in
such number, to such degree of intensity as the
public appetite can tolerate.

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evil or to do no evil; will depend not on the multitude, but on himself. One thing he did decidedly wish; at least to wait till the work were finished: for the six promised volumes, as the world knows, have flowed over into a seventh, which will not for some weeks yet see the light. But the editorial powers, wearied with waiting, have become peremptory; and declare that, finished or not finished, they will have their hands washed of it at this opening of the year. Perhaps it is best. The physiognomy of Scott will not be much altered for us by the seventh volume; the prior six have altered it but little ;-as, indeed, a man who has written some two hundred volumes of his own, and lived for thirty years. amid the universal speech of friends, must have already left some likeness of himself. Be it as the peremptory editorial powers require.

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First, therefore, a word on the "Life" itself. Mr. Lockhart's known powers justify strict requisition in his case. Our verdict in general would be, that he has accomplished the work he schemed for himself in a creditable workmanlike manner. It is true, his notion of what the work was does not seem to have been very elevated. To picture forth the life of Scott according to any rules of art or composition, so that a reader, on adequately examining it, might say to himself, "There is Scott, there is the physiognomy and meaning of Scott's appearance and transit on this earth; such was he by nature, so did the world act on him, so he on the world, with such result and significance for himself and us:" this was by no manner of means Mr. Lockhart's plan. A plan which, it is rashly said, should preside over every biography! It might have been fulfilled with all degrees of perfection from that of the "Odyssey" down to "Thomas Ellwood" or lower. For there is no heroic poem in the world but is at bottom a biography, the life of a man: also, it may be said, there is no life of a man, faithfully recorded, but is a heroic poem of its sort, rhymed or unrhymed. It is a plan one would prefer, did it otherwise suit; which it does not in these days. Seven volumes sell so much dearer than one; are so much easier to write than one. The "Odyssey," for instance, what were the value of the "Odyssey," sold per sheet? One paper of "Pickwick;" or say, the inconsiderable fraction of one. This, in commercial algebra, were the equation: "Odyssey" equal to "Pickwick" divided by an unknown integer.

Whether Sir Walter Scott was a great man, is still a question with some; but there can be no question with any one that he was a most noted and even notable man. In this generation there was no literary man with such a popularity in any country; there have only been a few with such, taking in all generations and all countries. Nay, it is farther to be admitted that Sir Walter Scott's popularity was of a select sort rather; not a popularity of the populace. His admirers were at one time almost all the intelligent of civilised countries; and to the last, included and do still include a great portion of that sort. Such fortune he had, and has continued to maintain for a space of some twenty or thirty years. So long the observed of all observers; a great man, or only a considerable man; here surely, if ever, is a singularly circumstanced, is a "distinguished" man! In regard to whom, therefore, the "instinctive tendency" on other men's part cannot be wanting. Let men look, where the There is a great discovery still to be made world has already so long looked. And now, in literature, that of paying literary men by while the new, earnestly expected "Life by his the quantity they do not write. Nay, in sober Son-in-law and literary executor" again sum-truth, is not this actually the rule in all writing; mons the whole world's attention round him, and, moreover, in all conduct and acting? Not probably for the last time it will ever be so what stands above ground, but what lies unsummoned; and men are in some sort taking seen under it, as the root and subterrene element leave of a notability, and about to go their way, it sprang from and emblemed forth, determines and commit him to his fortune on the flood of value. Under all speech that is good for any things,-why should not this periodical publi- thing there lies a silence that is better. Silence cation likewise publish its thought about him? is deep as eternity; speech is shallow as time. Readers of miscellaneous aspect, of unknown Paradoxical does it seem? Wo for the age, quantity and quality, are waiting to hear it wo for the man, quack-ridden, bespeeched, bedone. With small inward vocation, but cheer-spouted, blown about like barren Sahara, to fully obedient to destiny and necessity, the present reviewer will follow a multitude to do

whom this world-old truth were altogether strange !-Such we say is the rule, acted on or

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