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EDINBURGH WEEKLY MAGAZINE.

CONDUCTED BY JOHN JOHNSTONE.

THE SCHOOLMASTER IS ABROAD.-LORD BROUGHAM.

No. 5.-VOL. I. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1832. PRICE THREE-Halfpence.

YOUNG NAPOLEON.

THE true story of the younger NAPOLEON, the Duke de Reichstadt, is more wonderful than any romance extant. But it is romance inverted. The brilliant fortune is all crowded into the opening scenes; and the King in his cradle, whose playthings were crowns and sceptres, and whose lacqueys were princes, runs his brief career, a deserted orphan; and closes it, a secluded, jealously-watched dependant,—without having tasted either the in. nocent delights of a happy childhood, or the free pleasures of a joyous youth. The history is full of instruction. Never did retribution more visibly follow the heels of error, than in the fortunes of the father of this young victim of abortive ambition.

NAPOLEON the elder, the greatest soldier of the last thousand years, at an early period of his career, married JOSEPHINE, the widow of Count Beauharnois, an amiable woman, to whom he long remained fondly and even passionately attached. She possessed the entire confidence of her husband, shared his sorrows with his successes, and more than repaid his affection. With his own hand he crowned the faithful companion of his fortunes, Empress of France. Up to this period, and for ten more years, the history of Josephine reads like a fairy tale, or the wildest romance; but in her case also it was romance inverted. Let us see her fortune at its highest flow :

with foliage of diamonds, the workmanship of which equalled the materials; in front were several brilliants, the largest weighing one hundred and forty-nine grains. The ceinture was of gold so pure as to be quite elastic, enriched with thirty-nine rose-coloured diamonds. What a change from the time of her first marriage, when, as Josephine, with her wonted simplicity, used to relate, she carried the for several days in the large pockets which ladies were then few trinkets presented by Beauharnois (her first husband) accustomed to wear, shewing them to every acquaintance, and hearing them pronounced the wonder of all eyes!

"On the throne, hung with crimson velvet, under a canopy of the same, appeared Napoleon, with Josephine on his left, attended by the princesses of the empire, and, on his right, his two brothers, with the arch-chancellor and archtreasurer. The religious ceremony continued nearly four hours, enlivened by music composed for the occasion chiefly by Paesiello, and sung by upwards of three hundred performers. Napoleon took the crown destined for the Empress, and first putting it for an instant on his own, placed it upon his consort's brow, as she knelt before him on the platform of the throne. The appearance of Josephine was at this moment most touching. Even then she had not forgot that she was once an obscure woman;' tears of deep emotion fell from her eyes; she remained for a space kneeling, with hands crossed upon her bosom, then, slowly and gracefully rising, fixed upon her husband a look of gratitude and tenderness. Napoleon returned the glance. It was a silent but conscious interchange of the hopes, the promises, and the memories of years."

Vain hopes! faithless promises! bitter memories! The conqueror of Europe pressed forward in his extraordinary career, till, every other obstacle overcome, the wife of his youth appeared in his perverted sight, the only remaining barrier between his selfish ambition, and the consummation of his "On the 2d of December," says her affectionate histo- unchastised and mad desire to transmit the crown rian, "all was stir in Paris and the Tuileries, from an of France to his offspring. The sacrifice was soon early hour. On this morning, which was to witness the resolved on; but the slave of ambition and headcompletion of her greatness, Josephine rose about eight long will was not altogether a monster; and it o'clock, and immediately commenced the weighty concerns cost him some pangs to plant an Austrian princess of the toilet. The body drapery of the Empress was of white satin, beautifully embroidered in gold, and on the on the throne he had raised for Josephine; and breast ornamented with diamonds. The mantle was of to give to one to whom he was a stranger, and crimson velvet, lined with white satin and ermine, studded with golden bees, and confined by an aigrette of diamonds. The coronation jewels consisted of a crown, a diadem, and a ceinture. The first, used for the actual crowning, and worn only on state occasions, consisted of eight branches, four wrought in palm, and four in myrtle leaves of gold incrusted with diamonds; round the circle ran a conded fillet, set with eight very large emeralds; and the handeau which immediately enclosed the head, shone with resplendent amethysts. The diadem worn before the coronation, and on the more ordinary state occasions, was composed of four rows of pearls of the finest water, interlaced

indifferent, the place she had held in his heart for twenty-three years. The cruel resolution once taken, was not long concealed.

"On returning," says Bourrienne, his schoolfellow, secretary, and afterwards his memorialist, "from the last Austrian campaign, Napoleon, as already mentioned, stopped at Fontainbleau, and Josephine there joined him. For the first time, the communication which had previously united his own with his wife's apartments was shut up, by his order. While I lived as one of the household, their domestic arrangements had been still more direct; Bona

parte's bed-chamber, as the reader knows, having been only an apartment of ceremony. Josephine did not deceive herself as to the fatal prognostics to be deduced from this conjugal separation. Duroc having been sent for one day, found her alone, and in tears-' I am undone,' said she, in a tone, the recollection of which still moved Duroc; I am undone! all is now over with me! How hide my shame? You, Duroc, you have always been my friend,—you and Rapp: it is neither of you who has advised him to separate from me my enemies have done this,-Savary, Junot, and others: alas! they are still more his enemies than mine. And, my poor Eugene! what will become of him when he knows I am repudiated by an ingrate? Yes, Duroc, ungrateful he is. My God! my God! what shall we do ?' Josephine sobbed convulsively, while speaking thus to Duroc; and I myself witnessed the tears which she still wept over the separation.

Bourrienne, who had lived many years in the family of Bonaparte, and who sincerely loved and esteemed her whom he ever names "the excellent Josephine," thus describes her melancholy condition:

"On entering, Josephine held out her hand to me, pronouncing only these words, Well, my friend!' But the tone was one of such profound emotion, that, to this moment, the sounds vibrate upon my heart: tears prevented her saying more. Seating herself on an ottoman, placed on the left of the fire, she motioned me to take my scat beside her; and I saw Hortense still standing, leaning against the mantel-piece, vainly endeavouring to hide her tears.

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"Josephine had taken one of my hands, which she held pressed between both her own, and for a long time wept in silence, unable to utter a single word; at length recovering a little empire over herself, she said, My good Bourrienne, I have suffered the full extent of my misfortune. He has cast me off-abandoned me: the empty title of Empress conferred by him has only rendered my disgrace the more public. Ah! how truly did we estimate him! I never deluded myself as to my fate; for whom would he not sacrifice to his ambition? You, my good Bourrienne, were for years a witness of what passed between us-you saw all, knew all, heard all; you are aware that I never had a secret from you, but confided to you my sad forebodings. He accomplished his resolution, too, with a cruelty of which you can form no idea. I have now played, to its end, my part of wife, in this world. I have endured all-and am resigned.' At these words, one of these melancholy smiles wandered across Josephine's countenance, which tell only of woman's suffering, and are so inexpres sibly affecting. In what self-constraint did I pass those days in which, though no longer his wife, I was obliged to appear so to all eyes! what looks, my friend, are those which courtiers allow to fall upon a divorced wife! what stupor, in what uncertainty, more cruel than death, did I live, from that period to the fatal day in which he avowed to me the thoughts I had so long read in his countenance it was the 30th of November. What an expres sion he wore that day; and how many sinister things appeared in his looks! We dined together as usual; I struggled with my tears, which, despite of my efforts, overflowed from my eyes. I uttered not a single word during that sorrowful meal, and he broke silence but once, to ask one of the attendants about the weather. My sunshine saw had passed away; the storm was coming-and it burst quickly. Immediately after coffee, Bonaparte dismissed every one, and I remained alone with him. expression, Bourrienne! what a look he had! I beheld in the alteration of his features the struggle which was in his soul; but at length I saw that my hour had come. His whole frame trembled; and I felt a shuddering horror come over mine. He approached, took my hand, placed it on his heart, gazed upon me for a moment, without speaking, then at last let fall these dreadful words: Josephine! my excellent Josephine! thou knowest if I have loved thee! To thee to thee alone do I owe the only moments of

What an

happiness which I have enjoyed in this world. Josephine! my destiny overmasters my will. My dearest affections must be silent before the interests of France.' 'Say no more,' I had still strength sufficient to reply; I was prepared for this; I understand you; but the blow is not the less mortal. More I could not utter,' pursued Josephine; I cannot tell what passed within me; I believe my screams were loud; I thought reason had fled; I remained unconscious of every thing; and, on returning to my senses, found I had been carried to my chamber. Your friend, Corvisart, will tell you, better than I can, what afterwards occurred; for, on recovering, I perceived that he and my poor daughter were with me. Bonaparte returned to visit me in the evening. No, Bourrienne, you cannot imagine the horror with which the sight of him, at that moment, inspired me; even the interest which he affected to take in my sufferings, seemed to me additional cruelty. Oh! my God! how justly had I reason to dread ever becoming an Empress !'"

The account given of these painful events by Dr. Memes is fuller, and somewhat different. The scene is so deeply tragic, that it would be injurious to give it, but in his own language:—

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Formerly, in their days of happiness, their intercourse had thus been free even amid the restraints of a court; Napoleon would surprise Josephine in her boudoir, and she steal upon his moments of relaxation in his cabinet. But all was now reversed; the former never entered, but knocked when he would speak to the latter, who hardly dared to obey the signal, the sound of which caused such violent palpitations of the heart, that she had to support herself by leaning against the walls or furniture, as she tottered towards the little door, on the other side of which Napoleon waited her approach. From these conferences, Josephine returned so exhausted, and with eyes so swollen with weeping, as to give ground for the belief that her lord used violence to constrain her consent to their separation. Her own words also, He accomplished his resolution with a cruelty of which no idea can be formed,' might at first seem to countenance this supposition. But justice is to be done; the violence and the cruelty, great as they both were, consisted solely in the act itself, and in coldly withstanding all claims of affection, and of gentle entreaty, urged by the being who had loved him so well, and at length tendered a voluntary sacrifice of her love and happiness. During their private conferences, previous to the direct announcement of his determination, Napoleon endeavoured to persuade Josephine of the political necessity and advantages of a separation, at first rather hinting at than disclosing the measure. true object was, as much to effect his wish with the least possible pain to the Empress, as to lead her to a resignation of her state; for though she could not have successfully resisted a despotic enactment, the deed would thereby have been rendered doubly odious to all France. This, indeed, was but too obviously a preparation for an event, though future, yet certain; and Josephine, regarding it as such, defended her claims sometimes with a strength of argument which it was difficult to answer, and, at others, by tears, supplications, and appeals, or by the calm resignation of self-devotedness to his will, against which the heart of Napoleon, had he possessed the feelings of a man, ought never to have been proof. Meanwhile, in what stupor,' the words are Josephine's own, in what uncertainty, more cruel than death, did I live during these discussions, until the fatal day in which he avowed the resolution which I had so long read in his countenance.' Sometimes, however, rallying amid her sorrows and resignation, she assumed a commanding attitude, on those mysterious principles, by which he deemed his career to be regulated, that for a space awed even the spirit of Napoleon. One night, Josephine, in tears and silence, had listened for some time to these overtures and discussions, when, with a sudden energy, she started up, drew Napoleon to the window, and, point.

His

ally beat his refractory wife. It is amusing to be so gravely told that the Emperor did not fact.

ing to the heavens, whose lights seemed in placid sweetness to look down upon her distress, with a firm yet melancholy tone, said, Bonaparte, behold that bright star; it is mine! And remember, to mine, not to thine, has sovereignty been promised; separate, then, our fates, and your star fades!"

cruelty. Oh, my God! how justly had I reason to dread becoming an Empress !

"The following is a letter addressed by Josephine to her husband, a few days after these events, less in the hope of withdrawing him from his resolution, than with the intention of proving her resignation to an arrangement proceeding from him:

"My presentments are realized. You have pronounced the word which separates us; the rest is only a formality. Such is the reward, I will not say of so many sacrifices, (they were sweet because made for you,) but of an attachment unbounded on my part, and of the most solemn oaths on yours. But the state, whose interests you put forward as a motive, will, it is said, indemnify me, by justifying you! These interests, however, to which you feign to immolate me, are but a pretext; your ill-dissembled ambition, as it has been, so it will ever continue, the guide of your life; a guide which has led you to victories and to a throne, and which now urges you to disasters and to ruin. "You speak of an alliance to contract-of an heir to be given to your empire-of a dynasty to be founded! But with whom do you contract that alliance? With the natural enemy of France-that insidious house of Austria, which detests our country from feeling, system, and necessity.'

"But the fatal day' was not to be averted. The 30th of November arrived, which Napoleon appears to have destined for declaring his final determination to Josephine. She had wept all day; they were to dine together as usual, and, to conceal her tears, the Empress wore a large white hat, fastened under the chin, which, with its deep front, shaded the whole of the upper part of the face. Napoleon, also, had shown marks of the strongest agitation; he scarcely spoke to any one, but, with arms folded, continued, at intervals, to pace his library alone; from time to time a convulsive movement, attended with a hectic flush, passed for an instant across his features, and at table, when he raised his eye, it was only to look by stealth upon the Empress, with an expression of the deepest regret. The dinner was removed untouched; neither tasted a morsel, and the only use to which Napoleon turned his knife was to strike mechanically upon the edge of his glass, which he appeared to do unconsciously, and like one whose thoughts were painfully pre-occupied. Every thing during this sad repast seemed to presage the impending catastrophe. "The fatal day' at length arrived. On the 15th of DeThe officers of the court, even, who were in attendance, cember, the imperial council of state was convened, and, for stood in motionless expectancy, like men who look the first time, officially informed of the intended separation. upon a sight they feel portends evil, though what they On the morrow, the whole of the imperial family assembled know not; not a sound was heard beyond the noise of in the grand saloon at the Tuileries. All were in grand placing and removing the untasted viands, and the mono- costume. Napoleon's was the only countenance which be tonous tinkling already noticed; for the Emperor spoke trayed emotion, but ill concealed by the drooping plumes only once to ask a question, without giving any attention of his hat of ceremony. He stood motionless as a statue, to the reply. We dined together as usual,' says his arms crossed upon his breast, without uttering a single Josephine; I struggled with my tears, which, notwith- word. The members of his family were seated around, standing every effort, overflowed from my eyes; I utter- shewing, in their expression, less of sympathy with so pained not a single word during that sorrowful meal, and he ful a scene, than of satisfaction that one was to be removed broke silence but once, to ask an attendant about the who had so long held influence, gently exerted as it had weather. My sunshine, I saw, had passed away; the been, over their brother. In the centre of the apartment storm burst quickly. Directly after coffee, Bonaparte dis- was placed an arm chair, and before it a small table, with missed everyone, and I remained alone with him. We a writing apparatus of gold. All eyes were directed to that have already described the manner of Napoleon's taking spot, when a door opened, and Josephine, pale, but calm, coffee after dinner; the change which on this day first appeared, leaning on the arm of her daughter, whose fast took place seemed to indicate to Josephine that her cares falling tears shewed that she had not attained the resignawere no longer indispensable to the happiness of her hus- tion of her mother. Both were dressed in the simplest manband. She had risen as usual from table with Napoleon, ner. Josephine's dress of white muslin, exhibited not a whom she slowly followed into the saloon, and with a hand-single ornament. All rose on her entrance. She moved kerchief pressed upon her mouth, to restrain the sobbing, which, though inaudible, shook her whole frame. Recovering, by an effort, her self-command, Josephine prepared to pour out the coffee, when Napoleon, advancing to the page, performed the office for himself, casting upon her a regard, remarked even by the attendants, and which seemed to fall with stunning import, for she remained as if stupified. The Emperor having drunk, returned the cup to the page, and, by a sign, indicated his wish to be alone, shut-between her and greatness, and bitterer still, between affecfing, with his own hand, the door of the saloon. In the dining-room, separated by this door, there remained only the Count de Beaumont, chief chamberlain, who continued to walk about in silence, and the favourite personal attendant of the Emperor, both expecting some terrible event, -an apprehension which was but too speedily confirmed by loud screams from the saloon.

"When Josephine thus fainted, Napeleon hastily opened the door of the saloon, and called to the two individuals who remained in the dining-room. The opening of the door allowed them to see the Empress on the floor, insensible, yet still speaking in broken murmurs-"Oh, no! you cannot surely do it!-you would not kill me!" M. de Beaumont entered on a sign from his master, and lifted in his arms the hapless Josephine, now perfectly unconscious of all that was passing.

slowly, and with wonted grace, to the seat prepared for her, and, her head supported on her hand, with the elbow resting on the table, listened to the reading of the act of separation. Behind her chair stood Hortense, whose sobs were audible, and a little farther on, towards Napoleon, Eugene, trembling, as if incapable of supporting himself. Josephine heard, in composure, but with tears coursing each other down her checks, the words that placed an eternal barrier

tion and its object. This painful duty over, the Empress appeared to acquire a degree of resolution from the very effort to resign with dignity the realities of title for ever. Pressing for an instant the handkerchief to her eyes, she rose; and with a voice which, but for a slight tremor, might have been called firm, pronounced the oath of acceptance; then, sitting down, she took the pen from the hand of Count St. Jean-d'Angely, and signed. The mother and daughter now retired as they had entered, followed immediately by Eugene, who appears to have suffered most severely of the three; for he had no sooner gained the space between the folding doors, which opened into the private cabinet, than he fell lifeless on the floor, and was recovered, not without difficulty, by the attentions of the usher of the cabinet, and his own aides-de-camp.

"The sad interests of the day had not yet been exhaust"On recovering,' says Josephine, I perceived that ed. Josephine had remained unseen, sorrowing in her Corvisart was in attendance, and my poor daughter weep-chamber, till Napoleon's usual hour of retiring to rest. ing over me. No, no! I cannot describe the horror of my situation during that night. Even the interest which he affected to take in my sufferings, seemed to me additional

He had just placed himself in bed, silent and melancholy, while his favourite attendant waited only to receive orders, when suddenly the private door opened, and

the Empress appeared, her hair in disorder, and her face worshipped" King of the Romans" was well out of swollen with weeping. Advancing with a tottering step, leading-strings. How can one ever forget the ecstasy she stood, as if irresolute, about a pace from the bed, of the French nation when the King of Rome cut clasped her hands, and burst into an agony of tears. Delicacy-a feeling as if she had now no right to be his first tooth! Among those most eager to there seemed at first to have arrested her progress; but congratulate the Emperor on the event which forgetting every thing in the fulness of her grief, she crowned his prosperity, was Josephine; nor is there threw herself on the bed, clasped her husband's neck, and room to doubt of the sincerity of her sentiments, sobbed as if her heart had been breaking. Napoleon also wept, while he endeavoured to console her, and they reso exalted was the nature of her attachment to mained for some time locked in each other's arms, silently her ungrateful husband, now that her personal feelmingled their tears together, until the Emperor, perceiving ings were subdued, and the bitterness of her saConstant in waiting, dismissed him to the anti-chamber. crifice past. Bonaparte had still sufficient generosity After an interview of about an hour, Josephine parted of character to estimate the genuine feelings of for ever with the man whom she had so long and so tenderly loved." the woman he had so cruelly wronged. When her You are going to see your mother; tell her that son, Eugene, went to visit the Ex-Empress, he said, I am sure she will rejoice more than any one at my good fortune. This evening I will write to Josephine."

Such were the cruel scenes which paved the way for the second nuptials of Napoleon; such the sin and sorrow which preceded that final small event, scarce claiming a passing sigh, which adds a new heap of dust to the funeral vault of the Austrian princes, and reads a solemn lesson to ambition. Brief as is the space, how much has intervened since Napoleon thus laid the foundation of his subsequent misfortunes. A few more years were still to be added to his measured term of prosperity. A few more drops were yet to be poured into the cup, ere it was tasted, and found to be only mingled blood and ashes.

Bourrienne still frequently visited the Ex-Empress at Malmaison.

"Although more than a year had passed since the separation, sorrow was ever new in Josephine's heart, for every thing contributed to augment it. Think, my friend,' she would often say, of all the tortures which I must have endured since that fatal day; I cannot conceive how I have not sunk under them. Can you imagine punishment greater than for me every where to see descriptions of fetes for his marriage! And the first time he came to see me, after having wedded another,-what an interview! How many tears did it cause me to shed! Still, the days when he comes here are, to me, days of suffering, for he has no regard to my feelings, or, if you will, weaknesses. With what cruelty does he converse about the child he is to have! You

can understand, Bourrienne, how all that afflicts me.

Far

better be exiled a thousand leagues from hence. Yet, (as if her kindly heart reproached her) yet some friends have remained faithful to me: those are now my only con

solation."

her husband. The "King of Rome," stripped of Josephine did not long outlive the downfall of his mock title, went, by the grace of the Allied Powers, to Vienna with his mother.-The Empress Maria Louise, become Archduchess of Parma, separated by state policy, and soon by inclination, from her husband, obtained the reputation of being the mistress of her Chamberlain, the Count all the marriage a Princess of Germany may conde Neippberg; and, in 1825, confessed with him tract with a subject. Her imputed indifference to and desertion of her son, would be a fault less pardonable; and now that we hear of her sorrow for his death, nature and charity bid us believe the tale, though a tardy display of maternal feeling cannot soften the fate of Young Napoleon.

From his fourth year, the boy lived a hostage of the Holy Alliance; and as he advanced in life, almost as a state prisoner. His education was retarded, and his mind moulded to the objects of Metternich. It is alleged that he was kept ignorant of all recent history, and that the school-boy in Europe, who, for good or for evil, knew least of Bonaparte, the artillery officer who became Emperor of France, was his own son. This is scarcely possible. The birds of the air would have carried to him the story of his father's exploits.

Young Napoleon, when seen by strangers at the theatre and other public places, became an object of eager and melancholy scrutiny. He inherited something of the Italian beauty, and classic delicacy of feature which distinguished all his father's family; and those who rested the forlorn hope of Italian liberty upon him, and were kept aloof by a jealous policy, sought to read his character in his countenance. One of the latest of those observers remarks, "from the varying expression of his face during the representation of some of Schiller's spirit-stirring plays,

And now behold the most ambitious hopes of Napoleon fulfilled by the birth of the poor boy whose death has just closed a joyless life. The birth of the King of Rome was proclaimed to all expectant France, by the voice of cannon, and welcomed by the Continental Sovereigns, with the most hypocritical and courtly felicitations. It had been previously settled that a certain number of cannon shots were to announce the birth of a female child. When they were given, Paris hung in breathless suspense on the next sound. There was a pause, as if by sound or silence a world was about to be created, or annihilated. And when the shot came !-Well may it be said, " Vain capital!of Tell, for instance, and Wallenstein, I could Vain people!" "Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw." With humiliation, and almost contempt, one looks back to the rapturous wel come given to the heir of that dynasty which the same people had repudiated, before this

not help feeling persuaded that young Napoleon would have made but an indifferent cardinal-a vocation to which he is said to have been formerly devoted. So gay and animated is his real disposition, that he is sent for whenever his illustrious

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grandsire becomes tired of feeding his pigeons and scraping his violoncello, in order to dispel the ennui, the evil spirit, of the imperial Saul !"

It is reported that Young Napoleon made a will which he endeavoured to transmit to his cousin, the son of the Duchess St. Leu. This young man was lately involved in the insurrection in Italy; and with him, it is said, the son of Napoleon maintained a constant secret correspondence; a thing not very probable, considering how he had been educated, and how he was surrounded. To this gallant cousin he bequeathed his father's sword. From the humble tomb of Josephine in the village church of Ruel,-the willows that shadow Napoleon's grave in St. Helena,-the newly tenanted burial vault of the young Duke de Reichstadt,—what lessons may be read !—

"We are such stuff as dreams are made onAnd our little life is rounded by a sleep."

ROBERT BURNS.

BORN 1758-DIED 1796.
(Continued from page 61.)

be mingled with pain and indignation; but in passing to his works all is nearly unmixed pleasure. He has produced a few poems of equivocal tendency, and some of a trivial wit; but they are comparatively few; and so rich was the ore of his vein, that even in the rubbish thrown carelessly out, the pure metal is continually glancing forth. If Burns has not reached the highest heaven of invention, it may have been because he has never aimed his flight thither; for whatever he fairly attempted he has done better than any other man. His songs, the species of composition to which he gave most attention, are, taken as a whole, the finest in the world-in spirit-in nationality-in beauty-in simplicity-and in the most exquisite tenderness. It has become fashionable of late, even in Scotland, to compare Burns with more polished lyrists: all such comparison is as senseless as invidious. In the wide dominion of imagination and poetry there is room for all adventurers, and even for a few squatters, with questionable charter; nor need they with such ample verge encroach on the domains of each other; or,

THE social eloquence of Burns-his conversa-like the petty German principalities, contend which tional talents, and power over the feelings of those shall be paramount. A singer, with a nicelywith whom he associated-have often been de- cultivated ear and fine taste, must occasionally scribed as more astonishing than even the written use a little ungraceful force in drilling the rerecords of his genius; and this appears to have fractory syllables of Burns and Sir Walter Scott, been true. He obtained an influence for the time and in bending their stubborn sense to certain which we hear of nothing resembling, save some musical pauses and cadences; but we can have no few moments of the life of Rousseau, when Pari- unmixed good, and this fault most frequently arises sian saloons were deluged with genuine tears. when the verse, as it were, o'er-informs the music, One of the most eminent of his critics attributes and the sound has not body sufficient to sustain the bold development of the genius of Burns to the sentiment; like richly-freighted vessels which the lowness of his origin. However this may be, draw too much water, and lag ungracefully, where it is fair to suppose, that a young man, trained in the little, airy, nicely-trimmed bark will swim like the frigid circles of persiflage and civil sneer, how-a halcyon. Besides, many of those polished strains ever great his genius and vehement his natural which go so "softly, sweetly" to the music. are sensibility, would have been scared from the be- in fact, in reading, more rugged to the ear than trayal of his feelings, where the rustic gave his the worst adapted lines of Burns. In the modern impetuous impulses unbounded sway, with conse-popular lyrics, the music and the verse reflect and quences which startle belief.

support each other; they mutually perform, as it were, a waltz to the ear, dancing on together, gracefully intertwined, throughout their light and airy, or languid and voluptuous movements. With the harsher and worse accented strains of our national bard, the music may lag and lose in expres. sion, but the tears gush forth—the touched heart murmurs it low under-song.

"It was in female circles," says a generous admirer and excellent judge, “that his powers of expression displayed their utmost fascination. In such, where the respect demanded by rank was readily paid as due to beauty or accomplishment, where he could resent no insult, and vindicate no claim of superiority, his conversation lost all its harshness, and often became so energetic and impressive, as to dissolve the whole circle into tears. The traits of sensibility which, told of another, would sound like instances of gross affectation, were so native to the soul of The love-verses of Burns, by those who bring this extraordinary man, and burst from him so involun- no objection to their lack of musical smoothness, tarily, that they not only obtained full credence as the ge- are charged with the want of that tone of gallanmine feelings of his own heart, but melted into unthoughtof sympathy all who witnessed them. In such a mood try which distinguishes the productions of higherthey were often called forth by the slightest and most tri-born men. It is certain that his manly mind knew fling occurrences; an ordinary engraving, the wild turn of nothing of feelings merely factitious, however elea simple Scottish air, a line in an old ballad, were, like vated; and it does not appear to have been his the field mouse's nest,' and the uprooted daisy,' suffi- hard fortune ever to encounter " stony-hearted cient to excite the sympathetic feelings of Burns. And it maidens." He never dreamt of extolling the was wonderful to see those, who, left to themselves, would have passed over such trivial circumstances without a mo- charms of his mistress from vain-glory in their ment's reflection, sob over the picture, when its outline had brilliancy. He poured forth the praises of the fair been filled up by the magic art of his eloquence." idols of his fancy from the exuberant delight with Reflections on the life and fortunes of this ex-which their real or ideal charms enraptured his traordinary man, must, for a long while to come, own spirit. Like Julie's lover, the fair being he

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