MISCELLANEOUS. son in a pleasing form. Several pourtray with fidelity American thought, feelings, and habits, and, as such, are extremely interesting. There is a very pleasing quaintness in many; while here and there we meet with touches of phraseology sufficiently indicative of the writer's transatlantic origin. We select from the variety before us, the history of Edith May, because it is a history A young lady, that might be told of many. endowed with all the usual peerless attractions of heroines, and possessing a devoted lover (Ainslie), has the misfortune, in an unlucky hour, to quarrel with him. It was only a lover's quarrel-a few hasty words-a formal parting between two hearts, that neither time nor distance could ever disunite; then a lifetime of misery! Out of pique, Edith marries Mr. Jefferson Jones, an ossified old bachelor, who had but one idea in his head, and that was, to make money. There was only one thing he understood equally well, and that was how to keep it. He was angular, prim, cold, and precise; mean, grovelling, contemptible, and cunning.' Mr. Jones becomes aware of Edith's prior attachment, and in order to ascertain whether it has been forgotten, thus accosts her : THE TRIAL. : "I'm thinking of taking a short journey, Edith," said he, seating himself by her side, and playing with the "As it is wholly silken cord and tassels about her waist. a business trip, it would hamper me to take you with me; Meanwhile, you know how to but you'll hear from me. amuse yourself, hey, Edith?" He looked searchingly in her face. There was no conscious blush, no change of expression, no tremor of the frame. He might as well have addressed a marble statue. Mr. Jefferson Jones was posed. Well, he bade her one of his characteristic adieus; and, when the door closed, Edith felt as if a mountain weight had been lifted off her heart. There was but one course for her to purShe sue. She knew it; she had already marked it out. would deny herself to all visitors; she would not go abroad till her husband's return. She was strong in her purpose. There should be no door left open for busy scandal to enter. Of Ainslie she knew nothing, save that a letter reached her from him after her marriage, which she had returned unopened. And so she wandered restlessly through those splendid rooms, and tried, by this self-inflicted penance, to atone for the defection of her heart. Did she take her guitar, old songs they had sung together came unbidden to her lips-that book, too, they had read. Oh, it was all misery, turn where she would! : Day after day passed by no letter from Mr. Jones! The time had already passed that was fixed upon for his return; and Edith, nervous from close confinement and the weary inward struggle, started like a frightened bird at every footfall. "He It came at last-the letter-sealed with black! had been accidentally drowned. His hat was found; all search for the body had been unavailing." Edith was no hypocrite. She could not mourn for him, save in the outward garb of woe; but now that he was dead, conscience did its office. She had not, in the eye of the world, been untrue; but there is an Eye that searches deeper that scans thoughts as well as actions. Ainslie was just starting for the Continent, by order of a physician, when the news reached him. A brief time They were sitting together one evening: Edith's head was upon his shoulder, and her face radiant as a seraph's. They were speaking of their future home. 66 Any spot on the wide earth but this, dear Ainslie. Take me away from these painful associations." "Say you so, pretty Edith?" said a well-known voice. "I but tried that faithful heart of yours, to prove it! Pity to turn such a pretty comedy into a tragedy: but I happen to be manager here, young man!" said Mr. Jones, turning fiercely toward the horror-struck Ainslie. The revulsion was too dreadful. Edith survived but a week. Ainslie became hopelessly insane. The story of a bright but brief life is touchingly told in the following simple but graphic lines, which we give, because none can fail to peruse them with pleasure. LITTLE MAY. "I wonder who made God! Mamma don't know. I know, because I asked him. I wonder do the angels know? thought mamma knew every thing. The minister don't I wonder shall I know when I go to heaven ?” Dear little May! She looked like an angel then, as she stood under the linden-tree, with her eyes fixed on the far-off sky, and the sunlight falling on that golden hair, till it shone like a glory round her head. You would have loved our little May-not because her face had such a pensive sweetness in it, or that her step was light as a fawn's, or her little limbs so gracefully moulded but because her heart was full of love for every living thing which God had made. One day I rambled with her in the wood. She had gathered her favourite flowersthe tiniest and most delicate; the air was full of music, and the breeze laden with fragrance; the little birds were Little May stood still; her large not happier than we. eyes grew moist with happy tears, and, dropping her little treasures of moss, leaves, and flowers, at my feet, she said, "Dear Fanny, let me pray." She knew that the good God scattered all this beauty so lavishly about us, and she could not enjoy it without thanking Him. Dear little May! we listen in vain for her voice of music now. "The churchyard hath an added stone, Our fair authoress is, we are assured, a young, "I CAN'T." Apollo!-what a face! Doleful as a hearse; folded hands; hollow chest; whining voice; the very picture of cowardly irresolution. Spring to your feet, hold up your head, set your teeth together, draw that fine form of yours up to the height that God made it; draw an immense long breath, and look about yoo. Whae do you see? Why, all creation taking care of number one:-pushing ahead like the car of Juggernaut over live victims. There it is; and you can't help it. Are you going to lie down and be crushed? 202 By all that is manly, no!-dash ahead! You have as good a right to mount the triumphal car as your neighbour. Snap your fingers at croakers. If you can't get round a stump, leap over it, high aud dry. Have nerves of steel, a will of iron. Never mind sideaches, or heartaches, or headaches;-dig away without stopping to breathe, or to notice envy or malice. Set your target in the clouds, and aim at it. If your arrow falls short of the mark, what of that? Pick it up and go at it again. If you should never reach it, you will shoot higher than if you only aimed at a bush. Don't whine if your friends fall off. At the first stroke of good luck, by Mammon! they will swarm around you like a hive of bees, till you are disgusted with human nature. "I can't!" Oh, pshaw! I throw my glove in your face, if I am a woman! You are a disgrace to corduroys. What a man lack courage? A man want independence? A man to be discouraged at obstacles? A man afraid to face any thing on earth, save his Maker? Why! I have the most unmitigated contempt for you, you little, pusillanimous pussy-cat! There is nothing manly about you, except your whiskers. Colt on Revolving Chambered-Breech Fire COLONEL COLT has now for some time enjoyed a world-wide reputation as the inventor of the most powerful and destructive weapon, of its class, that the ingenuity of man ever devised. We hail him cordially on that account, as a benefactor to mankind-as a true pacificator; for whatever is calculated to render wars more deadly, tends at the same time to prevent their recurrence. We have on former occasions expressed our candid opinion of the merits of these repeating-arms, and we have since then had further occasion to bear testimony to their tremendous efficiency. At a trial of one of Colonel Colt's pistols at the Rifle ground at Erith, not long since, we saw. thirty-two out of thirty-six shots strike within a circle seven feet in diameter, at a range of FOUR HUNDRED AND TEN YARDS! the most remarkable performance, in all probability, ever effected by a pistol; and that pistol had a barrel only Seven and a-half inches in length. The Pamphlet before us, which is remarkably well written, and intelligible to the dullest capacity, gives a perfect history of the progress of the invention up to the present improved manufacture of the perfect article, and of the beautiful machinery by which they are produced. Whether as a protection for his person while travelling, or for the defence of his house when at home, every sensible man ought to possess one of these matchless Revolvers; not the trashy vamped-up imitations of them, got up in Birmingham, which are much fitter to shoot at than to shoot with. Those who wish to satisfy themselves as to the reasons for the superiority of the Yankee article have only to peruse this capital little Treatise, and inspect the Diagrams by which it is illustrated. Scotland and the Scottish Church. By the Rev. HENRY CASWALL, M.A. John Henry Parker, Oxford, and 377 Strand. In this compendious little volume we have a clear, concise, and intelligible history of the Scottish Church, setting forth the real grounds on which Episcopacy is based, and pointing out at the same time the benefits and dangers of free synodical action. Little certainly is known of the state of this branch of the Church in the far North. Many are apt to consider Episcopacy as a schism, set up in unrighteous opposition to the Kirk, and sympathize altogether with the party which, owing to accidental circumstances, has obtained the advantages of a legal establishment." "To give an idea of the opinion enter. tained upon tution of Scotland, we may mention, that when, the Continent of the spiritual destia few years since, our most gracious Majesty visited Cologne, and contributed a handsome donation to the funds for the restoration of the cathedral there, a meeting of many influential inhabitants of that town was held, to discuss the propriety of thanking Queen Victoria for her gift, and to request her, with all due respect, to apply the fund to the INTRODUC TION OF CHRISTIANITY into that benighted portion of her dominions known by the name of Scotland! Not long since, too, we happened to be travelling in company with an Abbé, a man of great erudition and information, who, in the course of conversation, lamented, with much earnestness and distress of mind, the fact, that "So beautiful a country as Scotland, inhabited as she is by so fine a race, should have resisted with such determination all attempts at the introduction of the light of the gospel." We endeavoured in vain to persuade the worthy ecclesiastic that he was labouring under an erroneous impression. He had travelled through every part of the country, and, with the exception of Strathglass (the country of the Chisholm, and a Roman-Catholic dis trict), he assured us that the rest of the nation were as complete heathens ("païens"), as their ancestors were two thousand years ago: indeed he added, in no part of the world had he ever witnessed such debasing profligacy as in Edinburgh and Glasgow. Now, if this be the prevalent opinion, our Scotch friends cannot be too grateful to Mr. Caswall for the trouble he has taken in removing the stigma. The whole of Caledonia ought to unite in promoting the extensive cir culation of this book, and in expressing her gratitude to a man who has exerted himself so ably and so strenuously in her behalf. Mademoiselle de Cardonne. Par M. A. DE GONDRECOURT. Paris. 1853. THIS last work which M. de Gondrecourt has presented to the reading public, is a sketch, touched up by the pencillings of fiction, of the disturbed life led by the inhabitants of St. Domingo during the short reign of Toussaint l'Ouverture, the "Black Patriot of Hayti." We had almost imagined that the fever for writing on slave emancipation, if not extinct, had at least considerably abated ere this; yet we find many allusions to it in M. de Gondrecourt's new work. We cannot, however, complain of a total want of novelty in the subject, as a description of life in the WestIndian Islands is not yet a very hackneyed topic, and his opinions on slave liberation seem to differ very essentially from those of the authoress of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and her many disciples and imitators. An extract from the book will perhaps be the best means of demonstrating some of the author's views. Speaking of the evils attendant on slavery, he says Le mal était assez exorbitant par luimême, pour que des déclamateurs ignorants ou de mauvaise foi ne se crussent pas obligés de l'exagérer en outrageant la vérité. Que si l'on compare l'état matériel des nègres des colonies avant l'émancipation, à l'état des nègres libres dans leurs tribes sauvages en Afrique il est certain que l'asservissement leur donnent le bien être. J'irai plus loin; je dirai qu'en France le paysan pauvre, le journalier des campagnes Souffre beaucoup plus les tormens de sa misère que ne souffrait l'ésclave sur le domaine de son maitre des tourments de sa servitude; et, enfin, pour conduire mon assertion à sa limite extrême je ne craindrai pas d' affirmer que le nêgre maintenant affranchi doit regretter sinon pour son âme qu'enivre la liberté, au moins pour son corps torturé par l'indigence, les soins paternels, intéressés, secourables des maîtres dont il savait apprécier les bontés. * * * * * * Qu'on ne me prenne pas pour un adversaire aveugle et obstiné de l'émancipation. Je suis de mon temps, et mes instincts ne sont pas rétrogrades. La liberté des nègres était justice, par cela même que l'esclavage était d'origine inique; mais l'émancipation a été brutale et elle sera funeste; elle sera funeste parce qu'elle a du même coup, ruiné le maître, étourdi l'esclave; ruiné le ma.tre qui mourra de misère, étourdi l'esclave qui mourra du vertige. Certes le métropole a été généreuse car elle a indemnisé le colon. Indemnisé! ce mot ne proclame-t-il pas l'abus? quels cris ne jetteraient par les héritiers des acquéreurs de biens nationaux, si on venait leur arracher l'État? leurs domaines en les indemnisant par une concession Nearly at the commencement of the book we have a scene described with much dramatic power. It is a nocturnal meeting of the nègres marrons, who have assembled, headed by La Rémédios, a Capresse, hideous in body and diabolical in mind, to conspire against Toussaint I'Ouverture. La Rémédios predicts the advent of a French invasion, and promises her fellowconspirators that the Holy Spirit will send a chief; when, to the astonishment of all, herself La Rémédios respira; elle connaissait sa fille, elle prévoyait quelque ruse de son génie pervers. Ramener Smarth! et pourquoi demanda le Comte ? Pourquoi? répondit Juliette en traversant la chambre d'un pas précipité et se placant devant la porte de sortie, pourquoi? parce que vous avez, vous amiral, et vous, mam'zelle, commis un grand crime envers Dieu et cet honnête homme. Le comte bondit sur son siège et son visage s'éclaira d'une vive lumière. Smarth Smarth honnête homme! répéta-t-il à mots interrompus Vous avez osé accuser un innocent qui verserait pour vous la dernière goutte de son sang. Vous avez été ingrats et barbares . ... ce n'est pas Smarth qui empoisonnait les n gres des Tamarins et de St. Jean . . voilà, voilà l'empoisonneuse. L'amiral et Nancy poussèrent un cri d'épouvante; Juliette, le corps frémissant les lèvres pales, les yeux ardents tenait une main tendue vers la Rémédios et la désignait à l'horreur de ses maitres-Dans cette attitude dramatique et implacable, la jeune mulatresse était d'une ideale beauté; elle avait le geste que le peintre immortel donne à l'ange accusateur au jour du jugement dernier. La Rémédios se releva de toute sa hauteur en frissonant et s'appuya au mur, comme le serpent qui se ramasse et se dresse en sifflant prêt à s'élancer sur son ennemi. Rien de plus affreux que cet odieux visage terrifié par la colère. Jamais face de panthère prise au piège et furieuse, n'exprima par de plus horribles contractions, la rage féroce et la douleur-Le comte, d'abord stupifait et muet de stupéfactions, retrouva le premier la parole-Je m'en doutais! s'écria-t-il. je suis un misérable! Il n'en put dire davantage de grosses larmes sillonnaient ses joues. Nancy s'était instinctivement jetée dans les bras de son père. Tout son étre frémissait. La Rémédios is bound by strong cords, and the Compte himself remains to watch her. To aid Juliette in her plot of vengeance, she has Nancy taken prisoner, and confined at St. Marc, Dessaline's house. Her father is in despair at his daughter's capture, and as La Rémédios promises to obtain her release, he severs her bonds, and sets her free; but, traitress to the last, she immediately seeks Dessalines, and informs him that he is, on her suggestion, being made the Frenchman's jouet. Meynard, Nancy, Juliette, together with upwards of fifty white people, are taken to the Ravine aux Couleuvres to be slaughtered, whither she herself proceeds, to glut her vengeance and to revel in the horrid sight. La Rémédios courut à Mademoiselle de Cardonne et la secouant par un bras elle lui dit avec rage: C'est toi qui es cause de mon malheur, toi, ton père, ta famille, ton amant, tous ceux qui ont ta peau et ta couleur... Oh! je vais me baigner dans ton sang, je vais te déchirer de ces deux mains et te mettre en lambeaux. Mademoiselle de Cardonne leva sur le monstre un regard de pitié. Tu veux savoir ce que tu m'as fait, n'est-ce pas ? eh bien, écoute donc ce que je vais te dire : J'avais ton age, j'étais même plus jeune que toi, et assurément j'étais plus belle; j'habitais la contrée Espagnole, lorsqu'un homme, un Français qui portait ton nom, un frère de ton père, me fit croire qu'il m'aimait, et moi je devins folle de cet amour.... Cet homme ne voulait cependant satisfaire qu'un caprice... Il m'abandonna bientôt, il fit plus, il me vendit, car j'étais son esclave; il me vendit avec l'enfant que je nourrissais; cet enfant était pourtant sa fille, cette fille la voilà... c'est Juliette. . . . Ton oncle partit pour l'Europe, m'abandonnant à mon désespoir, aux larmes qui en peu de temps, flétrirent ma beauté. Il me laissa aux mains d'un nouveau maître et ce maître ne pouvant m'employer à aucun travail, parce que je n'avais force et courage que pour pleurer, fit chatier ce qu'il appelait ma paresse et ma lacheté... le fouet du commandeur a laissé sur mon corps des traces qui veulent du sang; car le sang peut seul les effacer. Cependant Dieu me donna la résignation; les caresses de mon enfant me ranimèrent, je me mis au travail et avec tant de zèle que je pus me racheter, m'affranchir. Libre, je courus après ton oncle... il était mort! Je changeai de nom et entrai au service de ton père... tu me devines, n'est ce pas ? J'ai pendant douze aus nourri ma haine de patience, j'ai attendu mon heure pour frapper à mon tour... sur toi, sur ton père, sur tous les tiens, sur tes amis, sur les blancs maudits, j'ai juré d'assouvir ma colère d'exercer ma vengeance... l'heure est venne, tu vas mourir; mais avant d'expirer tu auras assisté au supplice de ton beau fiancé. . . . Dessalines va venir, il te prendra dans ses bras. . . . Une cérémonie grossière, une cérémonie en usage au pays de Guinée, te mariera, toi si fière et hautaine an général Dessalines, ton ancien valet; tu seras sa femme; le capitaine que tu vois là-bas et qui semble vouloir deviner mes paroles aur mouvements de mes lèvres; le capitaine assistera à cette cérémonie et selon la loi de la guerre chez les peuplades de Guinée, il sera decapité sous tes yeux pour consacrer la victoire de son rival. Alors Dessalines fera de toi ce qu'il voudra. . . . Tu mourras donc, mais de honte et de douleur... . Quant à ces brigands étendus en troupeau mes pieds, ajouta la Capresse en levant la main sur les prisonniers, leurs cadavres apprendront aux Français, du haut de ces arbres, que nous leur faisons une guerre sans pitié. . . . Qu'ils viennent donc te délivrer, ces soldats tant vantés, qu'ils viennent! jamais ils ne sortiront assez vite de leurs vaisseaux pour t'arracher de mes mains avides, car... entends tu frémir ces broussailles ... c'est Dessalines ton galant, ton adorateur, ton. . . . Ah! malediction! trahison!... La Rémédios tournoya sur elle-même en poussant un cri terrible, et tomba la face contre terre; en vain elle se débattit pour se relever, elle ne put que se rouler dans une mare de sang. Un coup de feu avait retenti dans la ravine, et la mulâtresse venait d'être frappée d'une balle qui lui avait fracassé l'épaule droite." * * La Rémédios s'était trainée jusqu'aux pieds de la créole et là, pendant que Nancy occupée du combat et des actions de grace qu'elle rendait a Dieu, ne la voyait pas, elle s'était dressée sur ses genoux et s'efforçait d'atteindre Mademoiselle de Cardonne avec la main gauche. Elle allait y parvenir: deja ses doigts crispés effleuraient le visage de Nancy menaçant ses levres du poison qu'ils cachaient sous leur ongles, lorsque Smarth la saisit aux cheveux par derrière, et la renversa. -Tu m'appartiens! cria le matelot, reste là-Smarth mit un pied sur la poitrine de la Rémédios et contempla avec une sorte d'indifference le carnage que les prisonniers de St. Marc, délivrés parleurs sauveurs, faisaient des soldats de Dessalines. Le Comte de Cardonne reçut à la fois dans ses bras Nancy et son fiancé; il avait épuisé son énergie, il s'affaissa sur lui-même en disant; Ce n'est rien mes enfants, la joie m'étouffe... ah! Dieu est aussi bon qu'il est grand!... embrassez-moi. L'amiral, le capitaine, Nancy, et Smarth se penchèrent sur la capresse, dont le regard était fixe et vitreux, dont le visage était décomposé. La Rémédios s'était empoisonnée; les doigts de sa main gauche étaient engagés dans sa bouche et dans une crispation suprême, elle les avait serrés entre ses dents de manière a les broyer. - Tant mieux! dit Smarth je n'aurais jamais pu tuer une femme. . . . This is a novel possessing, unlike most French novels, a definite aim, and that aim is, to demonstrate, that, were the blacks emancipated, they would not only be in a condition of miserable poverty, but in a state of savage brutality. We are inclined to hold M. de Gondrecourt's opinions, so far as he adverts to a sudden transition from slavery to freedom; but if slavery cannot at once be totally abolished, its horrors might surely be greatly mitigated. He seems to forget that there are instances where the master, heeding not the well-being of his slaves so long as his estate flourishes, allows tyrannical and heartless overseers to lord it over them, and, without inquiry, adopts their opinion as to the amount of severity which the slaves deserve. The story is interesting, and generally well and powerfully told, though, perhaps, in parts it is rather too much spun out. The characters are all very decidedly marked; and to those unaccustomed to the wild passions of tropical climes, they may seem unnatural. We trust that even among the blacks there are few such specimens of concentrated and incarnate malice as La Rémédios's: we should have thought twelve years' patience would have sufficed to have cooled the ardour of the most implacable revenge. La Dame aux Perles. Par ALEXANDRE DUMAS, Fils. 3 vols. Paris. 1853. If we were to take our notions of French society from Paul de Kock, or his hopeful son Henri, or from the Marquis de Faudras, or from M. Dumas, fils, we should be far wider from the mark than a Frenchman, who should believe English society to be what he finds depicted in "Tom Jones," or imagined in "Almack's Revisited." "Tom Jones" is a work for all time; but it is no portraiture of English manners in the nineteenth century. "Almack's Revisited" is a work of no time at all, for it is but a reflex of the idea that servingmen have of their masters and mistresses. But the first is a reality which was, and the second is a feeble, namby-pamby caricature of what is. The modern French novel is neither a portrait nor a caricature: it is simply an imagination of what, in the minds of the authors, ought to be. If a juvenile English bagman were to write a description of the acts and fortunes of the people who meet at Devonshire or Stafford House, he would arrive at the same point of similitude which Henri, Alexander, and Faudras have attained when describing the salons of even contemporary Paris. very understated account of the ignorant, worthless, and conceited reality; but nevertheless this is the hero of modern French novels of the juvenile class. A modern French "Artiste"—a word which comprehends tenth-rate painters, small dramatists, composers of waltzes and polkas, justfledged journalists, and young romance-writers, is, even on the shewing of M. Dumas fils, an animal which a well-mannered French lady holds in horror-"an impossible man, an illbred individual, whose works she may, for a moment, regard with pleasure; but whom it would be out of the question to make her companion-a person who exhales a perennial odour of tobacco, who lives only with women of loose character, and whose talent, such as it is, is a thing apart from himself." This is a There The young artiste, it is true, is not universally received. When he puts his cigar, de régie et à deux sous, in his mouth, and his hands in the pockets of his plaited trowsers, or twirls his moustache with an abstracted air, and walks in the Champs Elysées, previously to diving into a cellar to dine sumptuously off viands of doubtful origin; when, by sequence to a visit to the Mont de Piété, he conducts his half-starved brodeuse to the Prado, the Chaumière, or the Salle Valentino, he is not quite the hero whom drawing-rooms would adore. But tant pis pour eux. are, in the higher currents of the social atmophere, souls that are above les convenances, ces pauvres femmes du monde," says our author, "restent pour la plupart, condamnées a ce qu'on apelle les hommes du monde :c'est triste." Very, very, sad! But, happily, according to this school of romance-writers, there are superior creatures among these "femmes du monde," who emancipate themselves from this sad necessity of wasting their affections upon well-bred gentlemen. These superior creatures are the heroines of the romancists of young France. What interest can be excited by such a school of novelists as this? A great deal. It is true that the hero is necessarily (for the author always draws his chief character before his lookingglass) a very vulgar dandy; but there is, as young Dumas says, in some of these men a talent apart from the horse-flesh-eating and dancing-shop-haunting individual. They describe woman well-woman in her charming |