He

travels which he had performed. had not hastily passed through the countries which he described, but had remained in them six years. His descriptions were not of that trifling personal nature, which in a few years it might be difficult to confirm or confute, but, with mathematical instruments in his hands, he professed to have determined the latitude and longitude of every place of importance which he visited, thus offering to men of science of all future ages, data to condemn him, if he should deserve condemnation; and yet in the meanwhile, these data were of a description which afforded the general reader no pleasure or amusement. The work was not a hasty production; on the contrary, it appeared seventeen years after the travels which it described had been ended. It did not proceed from a man basking in the vain sunshine of public favour, but it was the evidence of one who, by the public, had been most unjustly hustled from the witness-box to the dock, and there condemned before he had been heard.

the

The scenes which Bruce witnessedthe real dangers which he encountered -the hardships he underwent fatigue he endured, required no exaggeration; and as he was lying prostrate in the desert, fainting under the simoom, he could have had no feeling more just, than that it was out of his power to make any one feel by description the sensation under which he was suffering. However, though his drawing was imperfect, and its scale very diminutive, yet when he brought his picture to the civilized country, people all cried out that it was too large! But the real truth was, that it was not as large as life; but that the mind of his enemy, like the Vicar of Wakefield's fusty room, was too small to contain the picture-and as the Arabs who inhabit villages have a mortal hatred towards those wandering tribes who live in tents, so did the garret critics of the day feel jealous of the man whose tether was so much longer than their own: and as soon as Bruce's work was published, he experienced most severely how completely party spirit, whether in religion, politics, or science, destroys both the heart and the head.

His enemies, with pens in their hands, had impatiently waited for his book, like Shylock whetting his knife; and it was no sooner published, than Bruce was deprived of what was actually nearest to his heart-his honour and his reputation.

It was useless to stand against the

storm which assailed him; it was impossible to resist the torrent which overwhelmed him. His volumes were universally disbelieved; and yet it may be most confidently stated, that Bruce's Travels do not contain one single statement which, according to our present knowledge of the world, can even be termed improbable.

Bruce's great object in travelling to such remote countries had been honestly to raise himself and his family in the estimation of the world. This reward, to which he was so justly entitled, was not only withheld from him, but he found himself absolutely lowered in society, as a man guilty of exaggeration and falsehood. Under such cruel treatment, nothing could be more dignified than his behaviour. He treated his country with the silent contempt which it deserved-he disdained to make any reply to the publications which impeached his veracity; and when his friends earnestly entreated him to alter, to modify, to explain, the accounts which he had given, he sternly replied, in the words of his preface-"What I have written, I have written!"

To his daughter alone, his favourite child, he opened his heart: although she was scarcely twelve years of age when he published his Travels, she was his constant companion; and he used to teach her the proper mode of pronouncing the Abyssinian words, "that he might leave," as he said, "some one behind him who could pronounce them correctly." He repeatedly said to her, with feelings highly excited, "I shall not live to see it, but you probably will, and you will then see the truth of all I have written thoroughly confirmed."

But, although his life at Kinnaird was apparently tranquil, his wounded feelings, respecting his travels, occasionally betrayed themselves. One day, while he was at the house of a relation in East Lothian, a gentleman present bluntly observed, that it was impossible that the natives of Abyssinia could eat raw meat! Bruce said not a word; but, leaving the room, he shortly returned from the kitchen with a piece of raw beef steak, peppered and salted in the Abyssinian fashion. "You will eat that, sir, or fight me!" he said. When the gentleman had eaten up the raw flesh, (most willingly would he have eaten his words instead), Bruce calmly observed, "Now, sir, you will never again say it is impossible!"

This, and other trifling anecdotes, sufficiently shew how justly sensitive Bruce was to the insult that had been offered to him. For twenty years, which had elapsed since his return to Europe, he had endured treatment which it was totally out of his power to repel. It is true, he had been complimented by Dr. Blair, and a few other people, on the valuable information which he had revealed; but the public voice still accused him of falsehood, or what is equally culpable, of wilful exaggeration; and against the gross public an individual can do nothing. Bruce's career of happiness was at an end-he had survived his reputation, and the only remedy left him, was that which a noble Roman is supposed to have prescribed for his own son. "What could he do," he was asked, "against so many?" he answered"Die!" and this catastrophe-this "consummation devoutly to be wished," we have now the pleasure to relate.

The last act of Bruce's life was one of gentlemanlike, refined, and polite attention. A large party had dined at Kinnaird; and while they were about to depart, Bruce was gaily talking to a young lady in the drawing-room, when, suddenly observing that her aged mother was proceeding to her carriage unattended, he hurried from the drawingroom to the great staircase. In this effort, the foot which had safely carried him through all his dangers happened to fail him; he fell down several of the steps-broke some of his fingers-pitched on his head-and never spoke again!

For several hours every effort was made to restore him to the world; all that is usual, customary, and useless in such cases was performed.

There was the bustle, the hurry, the confusion, the grief unspeakable, the village leech, his lancet, his phial, and his little pill; but the lamp was outthe book was closed-the lease was up -the game was won-the daring, restless, injured spirit had burst from the covert, and was-" away!"

JOURNAL. BY FRANCES ANNE BUTLER.

MRS. Butler, "late Miss Fanny Kemble," as the recent puffing advertisements in all the literary journals inform us, has just published a work entitled her "Journal," or some one has made a very unwarrantable use of her name. The book is such a farrago of vulgarity, that we really are inclined, for the honour of the sex, to doubt its being her performance.

Everybody knows that, not long ago, Miss Fanny Kemble "came out," as it is termed, at one of the great theatres in London; not, however, before every species of puff had been called into aid to give éclat to her appearance. All the hireling scribes with whom our great city abounds, were feed to write articles

about this scion of a house which their biographer, Thomas Campbell, says, has the presumption to talk of their being descended from the Kembles of Widhill, an ancient Wiltshire family. But all these efforts proved abortive; and after a short time, "a beggarly account of empty boxes" clearly shewed that the English public can sometimes judge for themselves; nevertheless, a good sum was obtained by the Kembles. Then came out a Tragedy, and a pretty affair it was! and this young lady was said to be the author. Here again we hope for her sake she did not write that "Tragedy" (!)-because, as a very sensible friend of ours observes, there are in it passages which betray a knowledge which a very young lady is not supposed to possess. This wretched composition was be-puffed and be-praised until every sensible and thinking person was disgusted, and then the puffing ceased; since which it has been entirely forgotten, and in all probability the remaining copies have been assigned by Mr. Murray

to

some philanthropic trunk-maker. We are truly sorry to be compelled to speak thus of any one, but particularly when that one is of a sex for whose superiority (not in mental acquirements, for these are seldom associated with the virtuous and the good) we have often contended. Miss Kemble was, we believe, a clever girl, and she may be a clever woman, but she has greatly over-rated her abilities. And who has she to thank for this?-her father. It is one of the important duties of a parent to check by timely intervention, by reason and argument, the budding vanity of his children. Vanity is inherent in all human creatures, and it extends to animals, ay, even to reptiles, if we may credit Christopher North. It is, as the poet truly observes, "the source of all our good, and all our ill." Now, Mr. Kemble watered and cultivated the weed, instead of applying the hoe to it, and lo! it has grown rank, and tall, and offensive even to the eyes of those who once admired it. Having thus given vent to our indignation, we shall proceed to lay before our readers a few extracts from "the Journal of Mrs. Butler, late Miss Fanny

Kemble." Here the lady, speaking of her situation on board, says:"On my back all day; mercy, how it ached too! the ship reeled about like a drunken thing. lay down and began reading Byron's life.

"Afterwards sat working and stifling in the round-house till near ten, and then, being no longer able to endure the heat, came down, undressed, and sat luxuriously on the ground in my dressing-gown, drinking lemonade. At twelve went to bed; the men kept up a horrible row on deck half the night; singing, dancing, whooping, and running over our heads.

"Lay all day on my back, most wretched, the ship heaving like any earthquake; in fact, there is something irresistibly funny in the way in which people seem dispossessed of their power of volition by this motion, rushing hither and thither in all directions but the one they purpose going, and making as many angles, fetches, and sidelong deviations from the point they aim at, as if the devil had tied a string to their legs, and jerked it every now and then in spite.

"Heard something funny that wish to remember at a Methodist meeting the singer who led the Psalm tune, finding that his concluding word, which was Jacob, had not syllables enough to fill up the music adequately, ended thus Ja-a-a-a-Ja-a-a-a- fol de-riddle

cob!

"One of the curses of living at an inn in this unceremonious land:-Dr.walked in this evening, accompanied by a gentleman, whom he forthwith introduced to us.

"Poor good ship, I wish to Heaven my feet were on her deck, and her prow turned to the east. I would not care if the devil himself drove a hurricane at our backs.

"My dresses were very beautiful; but oh, the musquitoes had made dreadful havoc with my arms, which were covered with hills as large and red as Vesuvius in an eruption."

Here is another specimen:

"We left the table soon; came and wrote journal. When the gentlemen joined us, they were all more or less 'how com'd you so indeed?' Mr. and Mr. particularly.

"Went to the theatre: the house was full, and dreadfully hot. My father acted Romeo beautifully: I looked very nice, and the people applauded my gown abundantly. At the end of the play I was half dead with heat and fatigue:

came home and supped, lay down on the floor in absolute meltiness away, and then came to bed.

"Oh, bugs, fleas, flies, ants, and musquitoes, great is the misery you inflict upon me! I sit slapping my own face all day, and lie thumping my pillow all night.

"After rehearsal, walked into a shop to buy some gauze: the shopman called me by my name, entered into conversation with us; and one of them, after shewing me a variety of things which I did not want, said, that they were most anxious to shew me every attention, and render my stay in this country agreeable. A christian, I suppose, would have met these benevolent advances with an infinitude of thankfulness, and an out-pouring of grateful pleasure; but for my own part, though I had the grace to smile and say, Thank you,' I longed to add, 'but be so good as to measure your ribands, and hold your tongue.' I have no idea of holding parley with clerks behind a counter, still less of their doing so with me. So much for my first impression of the courtesy of this land of liberty."

We just stop to ask, what clerk would not be ashamed to own a wife or a sister who could write in this vulgar strain? It is truly laughable to hear an actress, descended from a family of the same profession, talk contemptuously of a decent shopman, who for aught she knew, might be a lineal descendant of one of those stout hearts and cool heads, that left their country and affluence, in disgust at the licentious atrocities of the Stuarts; fah! A little further on we

meet with a fine scene.

"When I went on, I was all but tumbling down at the sight of my Jaffier, who looked like the apothecary in Romeo and Juliet, with the addition of some devilish red slashes along his thighs and

arms.

"In the parting scene,--oh what a scene it was!-instead of going away from me when he said 'farewell for ever,' he stuck to my skirts, though in the same breath that I abjured him, in the words of my part, not to leave me, I added, aside, Get away from me, oh do!' When I exclaimed, Not one kiss at parting?' he kept embracing and kissing me like mad; and when I ought to have been pursuing him, and calling after him,

Leave thy dagger with me,' he hung himself up against the wing, and remained dangling there for five minutes. I was half crazy! and the good people

sat and swallowed it all: they deserved it, by my troth, they did. I prompted him constantly, and once, after struggling in vain to free myself from him, was obliged, in the middle of my part, to exclaim, 'You hurt me dreadfully, Mr. Keppel!' He clung to me, cramped me, crumpled me,-dreadful!

"At the end of the play, the clever New Yorkians actually called for Mr. Keppel! and this most worthless clapping of hands, most worthlessly bestowed upon such a worthless object, is what, by the nature of my craft, I am bound to care for; I spit at it from the bottom of my soul!

"Rose late: when I came in to breakfast, found Colonel sitting in the parlour. He remained for a long time, and we had sundry discussions on topics manifold. It seems that the blessed people here were shocked at my having to hear the coarseness of Farquhar's Inconstant-humbug!”

One more scene, and we have done with Mrs. Butler.

*

*

"Yesterday was evacuation day; but as yesterday was the Lord's day also, the American militia army postponed their yearly exhibition. *To-day, however, we have had firing of pop-guns, waving of star-spangled banners (some of them rather the worse for wear), in. fantry marching through the streets, cavalry (oh Lord, what delicious objects they were!) and artillery prancing along them, to the infinite ecstasy and peril of a dense mob. O, pomp and circumstance of glorious war! They were certainly not quite so bad as Falstaff's men of ragged memory; for, for aught I know to the contrary, they perhaps all of them had shirts to their backs. But some had gloves, and some had none; some carried their guns one way, and some another; some had caps of one fashion, and some of another; some had no caps at all, but shocking bad hats,' with feathers in them. The infantry were, however, comparatively respectable troops. They did not march many degrees out of the straight line, or stoop too much, or turn their heads too often. * But the cavalry! oh, the cavalry! what gems without price they were! Apparently extremely frightened at the shambling tituppy chargers upon whose backs they clung, straggling in all directions. * If anything ever might be properly called wondrous, they, their riders and accoutrements, deserve the title. Some wore boots, and some wore shoes, and one independent hero had got

*

*

on grey stockings and slippers! Some had bright yellow feathers, and some red and black feathers. *The bands of these worthies were worthy of them; half a dozen fifers and drummers playing old English jig tunes.

"After breakfast, put out clothes for to-night. When I came down, found in the drawing-room with my father: paid him his bill, and pottered an immensity."

"Another lady, rather more civil, and particularly considerate, asked me to do her the favour of lending her the other volume. I said, by all manner of means, wished her at the devil, and turned round to sleep once more."

"Handsome is that handsome does,' is verity; and, therefore, pretty as was my steed, I wished its good looks and itself at the devil, before I was half way down Chestnut Street."

We are not sorry to find that the reviewers have treated this impudent production as it merits. For vulgarity and bad temper, it is unrivalled; and the ungrateful treatment of the Yankees, is worse than all. Our countrywomen have been noted for their courtesy to strangers in a foreign country, for their willingness to pass over what may be strange and un-English; but this lady vents her spleen in every page; and in return for the cordial reception which the Americans gave her, neglects no opportunity of holding them up to contempt and derision.

CARDINAL PETRALIA.

CHAPTER II.

THE CELL.

ABSORBED by the extraordinary recital of the cardinal, Anselm retired to his own home to meditate upon it. So solemn an exordium, so unlimited a confidence, threw him into strange perplexity. Had the cardinal penetrated into the secret of his double office? Did he think to make a weapon or a stepping-stone of the Carbonari? In short, what was it he wanted with him? This was the insoluble question, always and by every route, to which he returned.

Anselm was true to his appointment. The Angelus was ringing when he crossed the threshold of the Trastenerın cloister: the cardinal was alone in his cell.

"I thank you for coming," he said;

"I expected you." And entering at once upon his subject, "you know the proverb," he continued, "where there is a will, there is a way; and it is to compass the end I will, that I am a Sanfédist. I have made a party for myself in the courts of Italy. You will doubtless deem this a frail support; but undeceive yourself. Its strength consists in its nullity. Though held in contempt as a European power, proximity, connexions of commerce, language and climate, the thousand ties of friendship, almost of family, assure them an unsuspected authority in the Conclave. Now I am persuaded that they will have a mutual understanding about me: I trust not either to their principles or their promises, but I trust to their self-interest. The Ghibelline worm is gnawing at the throne of each, and at this moment a Pope decidedly Guelph is their only hope. The occult but tried champion of their independence, I am at once their patron and their client; and they can only invest their patron with strength and authority, by raising their client to the chair of Saint Peter. "And when at length you are there, what shall you do, my lord?

"Wait! we are not come to that part yet, we are only on the eve, not the morning after. Sure of the Italian courts, I have farther, the word of the Czar a heretic prince, he has but an indirect influence in the Conclave. Now that is for me, the strongest-the only one I desire."

"What!" interrupted Anselm with vivacity, "you trust to the Czar ! and see not that he aspires to the same ascendancy over us with Cæsar! Eagle for eagle, yoke for yoke. I will have none of them. Away with them beyond the bounds of Italy! Whilst they wrangle about the bloody corpse, do you yourself resuscitate that Italy that lies in her coffin; snatch her from the shroud of death-belie the poet, let her once at length fight with a sword that is her own; let her fight for herself! let her as an avenging phantom rise up and descend into the arena to reign. It is a grand part, my lord, and worthy of you. Listen," he continued, with impetuosity, seizing an open volume of Machiavel from the desk of the cardinal, "listen to what the great Florentine wrote three centuries ago to a Medici: This opportunity must not be allowed to pass by, to the end that Italy may see her Saviour appear; I cannot speak the love, the thirst of revenge, the obstinate faith, the pity, the tears with which he would be

received in all the provinces that have suffered so much from foreign invasions. What Italian would refuse him allegiance? Let your illustrious house once take this resolution, with the courage and the hope that every righteous enterprise inspire, that your country may be ennobled beneath your banners. What the Medici did not do," continued Anselm, closing the book, "do you do, my lord. It would be grand for the son of the people to accomplish what the prince dared not attempt. That which was true three centuries ago, is still more true to-day, and the opportunity is equally happy. You have your hand on the tiara, and the voice of a pope who should say to Italy 'be free!' that voice would resound like thunder, and make of every man a soldier!"

And who has told you that this cry will not resound from the Vatican, as that of equality erst sounded from Calvary? Who has told you that from the mute belfries shall not peal, as in the middle ages, the tocsin of independence and the Italian vespers ? Who has told you that churches will not be converted into forums, and pulpits into tribunes? that the cry of Julius the Second will not be heard from Etna to the Alps? that his helmet will sit ill upon the white hairs of the new pontiff? Go, young man ! the thoughts of God are not as our thoughts, nor his ways as our ways. John Procida was a Sicilian; let the tiara to-day bind the brows of the bastard of Sicily, and to-morrow Italy will have her redeemer!"

"The unity of Italy is then your end?”

"I wish Italy strong, and unity is allpowerful."

"My lord," said Anselm, with calmness and dignity, "if it be true that you also dream of Italian unity; that it is your aim to reunite in a single body the scattered members of the Peninsula of grief, swear upon the crucifix that once pope, it shall be your only thought."

"I swear it!" said the cardinal, stretching out his hand over the body of the crucified; "it shall be my only thought!"

"Since it is thus," resumed Anselm, putting one knee to the ground, "I swear to devote myself to your fortune, and to make for you, if need be, a steppingstone of my body towards the tiara."

"Your youthful ardour has outstripped me. I accept your offer, but not your oath, until you have heard me. Listen. I told you yesterday, on the