Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

Such being Franklin’s own practice, and such his own description
of it as to public worship, it seems worthy of note that it was he
who in the American Convention brought forward a motion for daily
prayers. "I have lived, Sir," said he, "a long time, and the
longer I live the more convincing proofs I see of this truth, that
God governs in the affairs of men. And if a sparrow cannot fall to
the ground without his notice, is it probable that an empire can
rise without his aid?" But in spite of this most earnest appeal
the motion was rejected, since, as we are told, "the Convention,
except three or four persons, thought prayers unnecessary."

The accomplished American biographer, by whom this last incident
is recorded, expresses in the same passage deep regret that Dr.
Franklin did not bestow more attention than he seems to have done
on the evidences of Christianity. And indeed there are several
indications that he was less well acquainted with points of
Christian faith and discipline than with almost any other subject.
One of these indications, and surely a most strange one, occurs in
the Private Diary which he kept at Passy during part of 1784. It
appears that two young American gentlemen had come over to London
with the view of entering Holy Orders, but that the Archbishop of
Canterbury refused them Ordination unless they would take the Oath
of Allegiance. In this dilemma Franklin actually applied to the
Pope’s Nuncio at Paris to ascertain whether a Roman Catholic
Bishop in America might not perform the ceremony for them as
Protestants, and he transcribes as remarkable the natural reply:
"The Nuncio says the thing is impossible unless the gentlemen
become Roman Catholics."

The religious scepticism or indifference of Franklin, which his
present biographers justly lament, was, however, in his own day, a
recommendation and a merit with the French philosophists. On the
other hand, his hostility to England endeared him to the French
politicians. On both these grounds, as well as from his high
scientific attainments, he found himself during his residence of
several years at Paris in no common measure courted, flattered,
and caressed. A fine verse, one of the noblest which modern
Latinity can boast, describes him as having plucked the lightning
from Heaven and the sceptre from tyrants.

Descending from such lofty flights to the regions of sober
reality, we may observe that Franklin in his later years, and
especially in France, adopted to a great extent the Quaker garb.
He laid aside the huge wig which he used to wear in England, and
allowed his long white hair to flow down nearly to his shoulders.
His clothes were of the plainest cut and of the dunnest color. The
Parisians of that period, ever swayed by external impressions,
were greatly struck with, and in their writings frequently refer
to, his venerable aspect, and they compared him by turns to all
the sages of antiquity. It is also probable that his Quaker-like
attire may have tended to invest him in their estimation with the
other attributes which they assigned to the ideal Quaker
character, as simplicity, guilelessness, inviolable truth.

LA FAYETTE.

It so chanced that in the summer of 1776, La Fayette, still in his
teens, and serving as a subaltern with the French army, was
stationed with his regiment at Metz. It happened also that in the
course of a foreign tour their Royal Highnesses of Gloucester
passed a few days in that town. The principal officers entertained
the Duke at dinner, when the conversation turned to the last news
from Philadelphia and the new Declaration of Independence. Being
at that period offended with his Court, from its neglect of the
Duchess, the Duke indulged in Opposition topics, and, in some
degree at least, took the part of the Americans. The details were
new to La Fayette. He listened with eagerness, and prolonged the
conversation by asking questions of the Royal guest. The cause of
the colonies that had risen against England seemed to him just and
noble, even on the showing of one of the English princes; and
before he left the table, the thought came into his head that he
would go to America, and offer the Americans his services. He
determined to return to Paris, and make further inquiries. His
inquiries being mainly addressed to Silas Deane and other zealous
friends of the insurgents, could not fail to confirm him in his
first impressions. He became fired with an ardent zeal for
Republican principles and the American cause. That zeal continued
ever afterwards—for well nigh sixty years—the polar star of his
course. That zeal, favored as it was by fortune, adapted to the
times that came upon him, and urged forward by great personal
vanity, laid the foundations of his fame far more, as I conceive,
than any strength of mind or talents of his own. Few men have ever
been so conspicuous from afar with so little, when closely viewed,
of real weight or dimension. As a general, it can scarcely be
pretended that his exploits were either many or considerable. As
an orator, we look in vain for any high powers of debate. As a
statesman, we find only an undistinguishing eagerness to apply the
Transatlantic examples and to act the part of Washington, without
duly estimating either the immense superiority of Washington’s
character above his own, or the manifold points of difference
between America and Europe.

It was said by Napoleon at St. Helena, that "La Fayette was a man
of no ability, either in civil or military life; his understanding
was confined to narrow bounds; his character was full of
dissimulation, and swayed by vague ideas of liberty, which, in
him, were undefined and ill-digested." No doubt there is some
exaggeration in these words. No doubt the late Emperor, at that
period, was stirred by personal resentment at the hostile conduct
of the General in 1815; yet it will perhaps be found more easy by
any admirer of La Fayette to impugn the good faith of the
draughtsman than the general accuracy of the portrait.

The fortune of La Fayette was ample, his yearly income being
little short of two hundred thousand livres; and his connexions,
as we have seen, were among the first at Court. Under such
circumstances, Silas Deane felt the vast importance of securing
him. An agreement was concluded between them, by the intervention
of one Mr. Carmichael (for as yet La Fayette spoke no English, and
Deane little French), according to the terms of which the Marquis
de La Fayette was to join the American service, and to receive
from Congress the rank of Major-General—no slight temptation to a
stripling of nineteen! La Fayette was to be accompanied, or rather
attended, by the Baron de Kalb and eleven other officers of lower
rank, seeking service in America. He sent, in secret, an agent to
Bordeaux, there to purchase and prepare a vessel for their voyage.
Meanwhile he made an excursion of three weeks to London, where his
kinsman, the Marquis de Noailles, was ambassador. He was presented
to the King, and graciously received. He saw at the opera General
Clinton, who had come home on a winter leave of absence, and who
was next to meet him on a field of battle in America. But, mindful
of his own hostile designs, he deemed it proper to forbear from
prying into the military forces of the kingdom, and declined an
invitation to visit the naval armament at Portsmouth.

On his return to France, La Fayette bade farewell to his young
wife, leaving her four months gone with child, and set out for
Bordeaux. Thus far all had prospered according to his wishes. But
at Bordeaux he found that his preparations had been discovered and
complained of by Lord Stormont, and that a LETTRE DE CACHET for
his arrest was already issued. Nevertheless, he did not relinquish
his design. He crossed the Spanish frontier in the disguise of a
courier, found his vessel at Pasages, and there embarked with his
companions. Towards the middle of June he landed on the coast of
Carolina; and after a few days’ rest, pursued his route to
Philadelphia. His reception by the Congress was not at first a
warm one; but La Fayette declared that he would accept no pay, and
was willing to serve as a volunteer; and under these
circumstances, the Assembly fulfilled the terms of the secret
agreement, and bestowed on him the rank of Major-General.

At Philadelphia La Fayette saw the American troops for the first
time, and, according to his own account, was struck with their
grotesque appearance—with green boughs fastened to their
hats—coarse hunting-shirts instead of uniforms—and muskets, many
wanting bayonets, and all of unequal make and size. But he soon
learnt to think more favorably of these raw levies, when,
notwithstanding all their disadvantages, he observed their conduct
in the field. With regard to their commander, his early
impressions never changed. It was also at Philadelphia, and at a
dinner-table, comprising several members of the Congress, that La
Fayette was introduced to Washington. The boy-general found
himself warmly welcomed by the chief whom he had long admired.
"When you come to the army," said Washington, "I shall be pleased
if you will make my quarters your home, and consider yourself as
one of my family." The invitation thus frankly tendered was no
less frankly accepted. Thus did a cordial intimacy arise between
them, Washington at all times treating La Fayette with fatherly
kindness, and La Fayette looking up to Washington with filial
regard.

La Fayette had already begun to speak a little English, and by
degrees acquired more. But to the last the difficulties of the
language were a main obstacle, not only to himself, but to every
other foreigner who served with, or under, the United States. Thus
there are still preserved some of the ill-spelled and scarcely
intelligible notes of Count Pulasky, during the short time that he
served as general of cavalry. Still worse was the case of Baron
Steuben, a veteran of the school of Frederick the Second, who
joined the Americans a few months later than La Fayette, and who
greatly aided them in the establishment of discipline. The Baron,
it appears, could not teach and drill, nor even swear and curse,
but by means of an interpreter! He was, therefore, most fortunate
in securing as his aid-de-camp Captain Walker of New-York—most
fortunate, if, as his American biographer assures us, "there was
not, perhaps, another officer in the army, unless Hamilton be
excepted, who could speak French and English so as to be well
understood in both."

La Fayette did not always confine himself to the bounds of his own
profession; sometimes, and, perhaps, not greatly to his credit, he
stepped beyond them. Here is one case recorded with much
satisfaction by himself. He states, that soon after his arrival in
America, and while attending on Sunday the service of the Church
of England, he was displeased with the clergyman, because in his
sermon he had said nothing at all of politics. "I charged him to
his face," says La Fayette, "with preaching only about Heaven!...
But next Sunday," continues the keen young officer, "I heard him
again, when his loud invectives against ’the execrable House of
Hanover,’ showed that he was ready and willing to take my good
advice."

JOHN HORNE TOOKE.

His abilities were ill fitted for the profession of a clergyman,
which indeed he at last renounced, but they highly qualified him
for his favorite occupation as a demagogue. Between him and Wilkes
there now arose a violent animosity and a keen altercation carried
on in newspapers. Descending to the lowest and most selfish
details, they were not ashamed thus publicly to wrangle respecting
a Welsh pony and a hamper of claret! Even before the close of 1770
might be discerned the growing discord and weakness of Wilkes and
his city friends. At a meeting which they convened to consider
their course of action, some proposed a new Remonstrance to the
King, while others urged an impeachment of Lord North in the House
of Commons. "What is the use of a new Remonstrance?" cried Wilkes.
"It would only serve to make another paper kite for His Royal
Highness the Prince of Wales!"—"What is the use of an
impeachment?" cried Sawbridge. "Lord North is quite sure of the
Bishops and the Scotch Peers in the Upper House, and could not
fail to be acquitted!" But although these ardent patriots might
differ a little as to the means, they were bent on one and the
same end; and the Remonstrance which was at last agreed upon,
appears to have been framed by their united wisdom. As thus drawn
up it teemed with silly vagaries fit only to please the lowest
order of intellects. Thus it prayed that His Majesty would for
ever remove from his presence and councils all his Ministers and
Secretaries of State, especially Lord Mansfield (who by the way
was not one of them), and that His Majesty would not again admit
any Scotchman into the administration!

THE CHARACTER OF WILKES.

He was born in 1727, the son of a rich distiller. Early in life he
set up a brewery for himself, but soon relinquished the wearisome
business. Early in life also he improved his fortune by his
marriage with the daughter and heiress of the celebrated Dr. Mead,
the author of the "Treatise on Poisons." But this lady, being of
maturer age than himself, and of slight personal attractions, was
speedily slighted, and he left her with as much disgust as he had
his brewery. In 1757 he was elected Member of Parliament for
Aylesbury, but never obtained any success as an orator, his
speeches being, though flippant, yet feeble. In truth he had no
great ability of any kind, but dauntless courage and high animal
spirits. Nor should we deny him another much rarer praise,—a vein
of good humor and kindliness, which did not forsake him through
all his long career, amidst the riot of debauchery or the rancor
of faction. So agreeable and insinuating was his conversation,
that more than one fair dame as she listened found herself forget
his sinister squint and his ill-favored countenance. He used to
say of himself in a laughing strain, that though he was the
ugliest man in England, he wanted nothing to make him even with
the handsomest but half an hour at starting! Politics indeed
seemed at first wholly alien from Wilkes’s sphere; gayety and
gallantry were his peculiar objects. For some time he reigned the
oracle of green-rooms and the delight of taverns. In conjunction
with other kindred spirits, as Paul Whitehead and Sir Francis
Dashwood, amounting in all to twelve, he rented Medmenham Abbey,
near Marlow. It is a secluded and beautiful spot on the banks of
the Thames, with hanging woods that slope down to the crystal
stream, a grove of venerable elms, and meadows of the softest
green. In days of old it had been a convent of Cistercian monks,
but the new brotherhood took the title of Franciscans in
compliment to Sir Francis Dashwood, whom they called their Father
Abbot. On the portal, now again in ruins, and once more resigned
to its former solitude and silence, I could still a few years
since read the inscription placed there by Wilkes and his friends:
fay çe que voudras. Other French and Latin inscriptions, now with
good reason effaced, then appeared in other parts of the grounds,
some of them remarkable for wit, but all for either profaneness or
obscenity, and many the more highly applauded as combining both.
In this retreat the new Franciscans used often to meet for summer
pastimes, and varied the round of their debauchery by a mock
celebration of the principal Roman Catholic rites.

WILKES’S ESSAY ON WOMAN.

It appears that Wilkes had, several years before, and in some of
his looser hours, composed a parody of Pope’s "Essay on Man." In
this undertaking, which, according to his own account, cost him a
great deal of pains and time, he was, it is said, assisted by
Thomas Potter, second son of the late Archbishop of Canterbury,
who had been Secretary of Frederick Prince of Wales, and had since
shown ability and gained office in the House of Commons, but was
(as well became one of Wilkes’s friends) of lax morals in his
private life. The result of their joint authorship, however, has
little wit or talent to make any amends for the blasphemy and
lewdness with which it abounds. As the original had been inscribed
by Pope to Lord Bolingbroke, so was the parody by Wilkes to Lord
Sandwich; thus it began, "Awake my Sandwich!" instead of "Awake my
St. John!" Thus also, in ridicule of Warburton’s well-known
commentary, some burlesque notes were appended in the name of the
Right Reverend the Bishop of Gloucester.

This worthless poem had remained in manuscript, and lain in
Wilkes’s desk, until in the previous spring he had occasion to set
up a press at his own house, and was tempted to print fourteen
copies only as presents to his boon companions. Of one of these
copies the Government obtained possession, through a subordinate
agent, and by not very creditable means, and Lord Sandwich holding
it forth in his hand with the air of injured innocence, denounced
it as not only scandalous and impious, but also as a breach of
Privilege against the Bishop as a Peer of Parliament. He likewise
complained of another profane parody, written by the same hand,
and printed on the same occasion; this last was entitled, "The
VENI CREATOR paraphrased." The most offensive passages of both
were now by Lord Sandwich’s order read aloud to the House, until
Lord Lyttleton with a groan entreated that they might hear no
more!

In the discussion which ensured, Bishop Warburton, forgetting that
such ribaldries could not really tarnish his character, showed a
heat which little became it. He exclaimed that the blackest fiends
in Hell would disdain to keep company with Wilkes,—and then asked
pardon of Satan for comparing them together! Both the Earl and
Bishop in their passion would have readily over-leaped the common
forms of justice. The former, after producing evidence at the Bar
as to the authorship of Wilkes, wished the House to take measures
for his prosecution, without the least delay. But the Peers,
although readily agreeing to vote the two parodies blasphemous and
breaches of Privilege, resolved, on the motion of Lord Mansfield,
to adjourn all further questions until the day after the next, so
as to give Wilkes the opportunity, if he desired it, of alleging
any matter in denial or defence.

LORD THURLOW.

With all his faults and shortcomings there was that in Thurlow
which overawed and daunted his contemporaries, and of which the
impression is not wholly lost even on posterity. It was a saying
of Mr. Fox, that no man ever yet was so wise as Thurlow looked.
His countenance was fraught with sense; his aspect stately and
commanding; his brow broad, massy, and armed with terrors like
that of the Olympian Jove, to which indeed it was often compared.
His voice loud, sonorous, and as rolling thunder in the distance,
augmented the effect of his fierce and terrible invective. Few
indeed were they who did not quail before his frown; fewer still
who would abide his onset in debate. Perhaps no modern English
statesman, in the House of Lords at least, was ever so much
dreaded. In parliament, as at the bar, his speeches were home
thrusts, conveying the strongest arguments or keenest reproofs in
the plainest and clearest words. His enemies might accuse his
style of being coarse, and sometimes even ungrammatical, but they
could never deny its energy or its effect. In private life Thurlow
was remarkable for his thorough knowledge of the Greek and Latin
writers; and no less for his skill in argument and brilliant
powers of conversation. While yet at the bar, Dr. Johnson said of
him to Boswell: "I honor Thurlow, sir; Thurlow is a fine fellow;
he fairly puts his mind to yours." And after he became Chancellor,
the same high authority added: "I would prepare myself for no man
in England but Lord Thurlow. When I am to meet him, I should wish
to know a day before." Unless with ladies, his manner was always
uncouth, and his voice a constant growl. But beneath that rugged
rind there appears to have lurked much warmth of affection and
kindliness of heart. Many acts of generous aid and unsolicited
bounty are recorded of him. Men of learning and merit seldom
needed any other recommendation to his favor. Thus, on reading
Horsley’s "Letters to Dr. Priestly," he at once obtained for the
author a stall at Gloucester, saying—what I earnestly wish all
other Chancellors had borne in mind—"that those who supported the
Church should be supported by it." Nevertheless his temper, even
when in some measure sobered down by age, was always liable to
violent and unreasonable starts of passion. It is related by a
gentleman who dined with him at Brighton only a few months before
his death—for I must ever hold that great characters are best
portrayed by little circumstances—that a plateful of peaches being
brought in, the ex-Chancellor, incensed at their ill appearance,
ordered the window to be opened, and not only the peaches but the
whole desert to be thrown out!

EDMUND BURKE.

In pamphlets, however, and political essays—and even speeches,
when revised and sent forth singly, may be comprehended in that
class,—the personal disadvantages of Burke could no longer apply;
and as regards that class of writings, it may be doubted whether
he has ever, in any age, or in any country, been excelled. The
philosophy and deep thought of his reflections—the vigor and
variety of his style—his rich flow of either panegyric or
invective—his fine touches of irony—the glowing abundance and
beauty of his metaphors—all these might separately claim applause;
how much more, then, when all blended into one glorious whole! To
give examples of these merits would be to transcribe half his
works. Yet still if one single and short instance from his maxims
be allowed me, I will observe that the generous ardor and activity
of mind called forth by competition has formed a theme of
philosophic comment from a very early age. It is touched both by
Cicero and Quintilian; it has not been neglected either by Bacon
or Montaigne. Yet still, as handled by Burke, this trite topic
beams forth, not only with the hues of eloquence, but even with
the bloom of novelty. He invites us to "an amicable conflict with
difficulty. Difficulty is a severe instructor set over us by the
supreme ordinance of a parental guardian and legislator, who knows
us better than we know ourselves, as he loves us better too. He
that wrestles with us strengthens our nerves and sharpens our
skill. Our antagonist is our helper!" If amidst so much of
eloquence and feeling as Burke’s writings display we are desired
to seek for faults, we shall find them, not in the want, but only
in the exuberance and overflow of beauties. The palate becomes
cloyed by so much richness, the eye dazzled by so much glare. His
metaphors, fraught with fancy though they be, are often bold; they
seem both too numerous and strained too far; they sometimes cease
to please, and occasionally border even on the ludicrous and low.
Of this defect, as of his excellences, a single instance shall
suffice me. In the "Letter to a Noble Lord," in 1796, Burk
compares the Duke of Bedford to a lamb already marked for
slaughter by the Marats and Robespierres of France, but still
unconscious of his doom, "pleased to the last," and who "licks the
hand just raised to shed his blood." Thus far the simile is
conducted with admirable force and humor. But not satisfied with
his success, Burke goes further; he insists on leading us into the
shambles, and makes the revolutionary butchers inquire as to their
ducal victim, "how he cuts up? how he tallows in the caul or on
the kidneys?" Apart from the beauty of the style, the value, as I
conceive, of Burke’s writings, is subject to one not unimportant
deduction. For most lofty and far-sighted views in politics they
will never be consulted in vain. On the other hand, let no man
expect to find in them just or accurate, or even consistent,
delineations of contemporary character. Where eternal principles
are at stake, Burke was inaccessible to favor or to fear. Where
only persons are concerned, he was often misled by resentments or
by partialities, and allowed his fancy full play. The rich stores
of Burke’s memory and the rare powers of his mind were not
reserved solely for his speeches or his writings; they appeared to
no less advantage in his familiar conversation. Even the most
trivial topics could elicit, even the most ignorant hearers could
discern, his genius. "Sir," said Dr. Johnson, "if Burke were to go
into a stable to see his horse dressed, the hostler would say, We
have had an extraordinary man here!" On other occasions, also, the
author of "Rasselas" extols him as "never unwilling to begin
conversation, never at a loss to carry it on, never in haste to
leave it off." His attempts at wit, indeed, were not always
successful, and he might be accused of an inordinate affection for
quibbles and puns. His favorite niece, and latterly his guest, was
sometimes provoked into a—"Really, uncle, that is very poor." But
upon the whole it may be asserted, that in social converse Burke
was equalled by none of his contemporaries and his countrymen,
except only Dr. Johnson himself and perhaps Lord Thurlow.

We have no more room for further extracts; those we have made illustrate the temper and the style of the work, and will commend it to the favorable consideration of American readers. Among subjects treated most elaborately is that of the authorship of Junius; but Lord Mahon has no new facts for the vindication of his judgment, that Sir Philip Francis was unquestionably the writer of the famous letters under that name.

There is an appendix to each volume; and in the appendix of one, and in the notes of both, are some curious illustrations of the worthlessness of Mr. Sparks’s editions of the writings of Washington and Franklin. We first called attention to this subject some five years ago, and after the changes, &c. of Mr. Sparks had been pointed out in _The International_, a series of carefully prepared criticisms appeared in the _Evening Post_, in which the discrepancies between the original letters of Washington were exhibited to a degree that at once and for ever destroyed the good reputation of Mr. Sparks in this department. He chose not to take any notice of the disclosures to which we refer, but it may be that Lord Mahon’s criticism will secure his attention, and an attempt, at least, for his vindication. Besides his comparisons of MS. and printed letters in the appendix, Lord Mahon has several allusions to the subject, of which we quote specimens:

"Some samples of the manner in which that gentleman (Mr. Sparks)
has thought himself at liberty to tamper with the original MSS.,
will be found," &c.

"Mr. Sparks has printed no part of the correspondence precisely as
Washington wrote it, but has greatly altered, and as he thinks,
corrected and embellished it. Such a liberty with the writings of
such a man might be justifiable, nay, even in some respects
necessary, if Washington and his principal contemporaries had been
still alive; but the date of this publication, the year (1838),
leaves, as I conceive, no adequate vindication for _tampering with
the truth of history_."

"Washington, however, in his public letter to Congress (unless Mr.
Jared Sparks has _improved_ this passage), says," &c.

"I know not whether my readers will concur with me in liking
Washington’s own and though home-spun, excellent cloth, much
better than the ’Cobweb schemes and gauze coverings’ which have,
it seems, been manufactured in its place."

A complete errata to Mr. Sparks’s editions of Washington, Franklin, and Gouverneur Morris, would occupy several volumes; and we do not remember one instance in which his alterations were justifiable, or in which they were really an improvement in point of style. The reprobation with which Mr. Sparks has been visited by the learned and judicious of his own country and England will be a warning to future laborers in the same field. The works edited by Mr. Sparks are no longer, we believe, regarded by historical students as of the slightest value as authorities, and no faithfulness or excellence which may be displayed in future works from his hand will retrieve his lost reputation.

These volumes will be reprinted immediately by the Appletons.

FAUST OF WITTENBERG AND FUST OF MENTZ.

It were well if writers on the origin of typography would obey the injunction of Sir Thomas Browne, who thought it not inexpedient for those who seek to enlighten mankind on any particular subject, first to acquire some knowledge thereof themselves, so that the labor of readers should not so generally be profitless. In an article by Bishop McIlvaine, and another in Frazer’s Magazine, by an anonymous contributor, the exercise of _necromancy_ is imputed to Fust, the inventor or supposed inventor of printing. Nine of every ten persons who write any thing on the subject fall into the same error; they have something always to say of Fust and the devil; curious anecdotes to rehearse of the multiplication of copies of the Scriptures in Paris and elsewhere; spells and incantations by the inventor of the "black" art to describe, &c. But this is all induced by ignorance of the facts. John Fust, the putative inventor of printing, was a shrewd silversmith, and we suspect a knavish one, for without having any thing to do with the _invention_ of the "art preservative of arts," he managed to rob another of the credit and profit of it. He was, however, never in Paris; he was never in his lifetime accused of the exercise of magical arts; he simply endeavored to make as much money as he could in Germany by underselling the copyists in the book market. All stories in which necromancy is attributed to him or to any other printer; all accounts of the opposition of the priests to typography as an infernal invention; in fine, the whole popular idea of Faust and the devil, is a modern contrivance, and originated in this manner: Some bookmaker, about the year 1580, undertook to write a history of printing; he had an indistinct recollection of Professor Faustus of the University of Wittenberg, and in his book blended as many of his adventures as he could remember with the memoirs of John Fust the printer; and from that day a succession of ignorant chroniclers have considered two men, of totally different characters, living at different times, as one individual.

Faust, the necromancer, was born in the duchy of Weimer in 1491, twenty-five years after the printer is understood to have died. He is mentioned by Melancthon, Wierus, and many other cotemporary writers, and was probably in his time not less distinguished as a magician than Agrippa or Albertus Magnus. It is related of him by Godwin, that he was in his youth adopted by an uncle, dwelling in the city of Wittenberg, who had no children. Here he was sent to college, and was soon distinguished by the greatness of his talents, and the rapid progress he made in every species of learning that was put before him. He was destined by his relative to the profession of theology. But he is said ungraciously to have set at naught his uncle’s pious intentions. He went through his examinations with applause, and carried off all the first prizes among sixteen competitors; he therefore obtained the degree of doctor in divinity; but his success only made him proud and headstrong. He disdained his theological eminence, and sighed for distinction as a man of the world. He took his degree as a doctor of medicine, and aspired to celebrity as a practitioner of physic. About the same time he fell in with certain cotemporaries, of tastes similar to his own, and associated with them in the study of Chaldean, Greek, and Arabic science, of strange incantations and supernatural influences, in short, of all the arts of a sorcerer.

Having made such progress as he could by dint of study and intense application, he at length resolved to prosecute his purposes still further by actually raising the devil. He happened one evening to walk in a thick, dark wood, within a short distance from Wittenberg, when it occurred to him that that was a fit place for executing his design. He stopped at a solitary spot where four roads met, and made use of his wand to mark out a large circle, and then two small ones within the larger. In one of these he fixed himself, appropriating the other for the use of his expected visitor. He went over the precise range of charms and incantations, omitting nothing. It was now dark night, between the ninth and tenth hours. The devil manifested himself by the usual signs of his appearance. "Wherefore am I called?" said he, "and what is it that you demand?" "I require," rejoined Faustus, "that you should sedulously attend unto me, answer my inquiries, and fulfil my behests."

Immediately upon Faustus pronouncing these words, there followed a tumult overhead, as if heaven and earth were coming together. The trees in their topmost branches bended to their very roots. It seemed as if the whole forest were peopled with devils, making a crash like a thousand wagons, hurrying to the right and left, before and behind, in every possible direction, with thunder and lightning, and the continual discharge of great cannon. Hell appeared to have emptied itself to have furnished the din. There succeeded the most charming music from all sorts of instruments, and sounds of hilarity and dancing. Next came a report as of a tournament, and the clashing of innumerable lances. This lasted so long, that Faustus was many times about to rush out of the circle in which he had inclosed himself, and to abandon his preparations. His courage and resolution, however, got the better; and he remained immovable. He pursued his incantations without intermission. Then came to the very edge of the circle a griffin first, and next a dragon, which in the midst of his enchantments grinned at him horribly with his teeth, but finally fell down at his feet, and extended his length to many a rood. Faustus persisted. Then succeeded a sort of fireworks, a pillar of fire, and a man on fire at the top, who leaped down; and there immediately appeared a number of globes here and there red-hot, while the man on fire went and came to every part of the circle for a quarter of an hour. At length the devil came forward in the shape of a gray monk, and asked Faustus what he wanted. Faustus adjourned their further conference, and appointed the devil to comes to him at his lodging.

He in the mean time busied himself in the necessary preparations. He entered his study at the appointed time, and found the devil waiting for him. Faustus told him that he had prepared certain articles, to which it was necessary that the demon should fully accord,—that he should attend him at all times, when required, for all the days of his life; that he should bring him every thing he wanted; that he should come to him in any shape that Faustus required, or be invisible, and Faustus should be invisible too whenever he desired it; that he should deny him nothing, and answer him with perfect veracity to every thing he demanded. To some of these requisitions the spirit could not consent, without authority from his master, the chief of devils. At length all these concessions were adjusted. The devil on his part also prescribed his conditions. That Faustus should abjure the Christian religion and all reverence for the supreme God; that he should enjoy the entire command of his attendant demon for a certain term of years; and that at the end of that period the devil should dispose of him, body and soul, at his pleasure [the term was fixed for twenty-four years]; that he should at all times steadfastly refuse to listen to any one who should desire to convert him, or convince him of the error of his ways, and lead him to repentance; that Faustus should draw up a writing containing these particulars, and sign it with his blood; that he should deliver this writing to the devil, and keep a duplicate of it himself, that so there might be no misunderstanding. It was further appointed by Faustus, that the devil should usually attend him in the habit of a cordelier, with a pleasing countenance and an insinuating demeanor. Faustus also asked the devil his name, who answered that he was usually called Mephistophiles.

Numerous adventures of Faustus are related in the German histories. It is said that the emperor Charles V. was at Inspruck, at a time when Faustus also resided there. His courtiers informed the emperor that Faustus was in the town, and Charles expressed a desire to see him. He was introduced. Charles asked him whether he could really perform such wondrous feats as were reported of him. Faustus modestly replied, inviting the emperor to make trial of his skill. "Then," said Charles, "of all the eminent personages I have ever read of, Alexander the Great is the man who most excites my curiosity, and whom it would most gratify my wishes to see in the very form in which he lived." Faustus rejoined that it was out of his power truly to raise the dead, but that he had spirits at his command who had often seen that great conqueror, and that Faustus would willingly place him before the emperor as he required. He conditioned that Charles should not speak to him, nor attempt to touch him. The emperor promised compliance. After a few ceremonies, therefore, Faustus opened a door, and brought in Alexander exactly in the form in which he had lived, with the same garments, and every circumstance corresponding. Alexander made his obeisance to the emperor, and walked several times round him. The queen of Alexander was then introduced in the same manner. Charles just then recollected he had read that Alexander had a wart on the nape of his neck; and with proper precautions Faustus allowed the emperor to examine the apparition by this test. Alexander then vanished.

As Faustus was approaching the last year of his term, he seemed resolved to pamper his appetite with every species of luxury. He carefully accumulated all the materials of voluptuousness and magnificence. He was particularly anxious in the selection of women who should serve for his pleasures. He had one Englishwoman, one Hungarian, one French, two of Germany, and two from different parts of Italy, all of them eminent for the perfections which characterized their different countries.

At length he arrived at the end of the term for which he had contracted with the devil. For two or three years before it expired his character gradually altered. He became subject to fits of despondency, was no longer susceptible of mirth and amusement, and reflected with bitter agony on the close in which the whole must terminate. He assembled his friends together at a grand entertainment, and when it was over, addressed them, telling them that this was the last day of his life, reminding them of the wonders with which he had frequently astonished them, and informing them of the condition upon which he had held this power. They, one and all, expressed the deepest sorrow at the intelligence. They had had the idea of something unlawful in his proceedings; but their notions had been very far from coming up to the truth. They regretted exceedingly that he had not been unreserved in his communications at an earlier period. They would have had recourse in his behalf, to the means of religion, and have applied to pious men, desiring them to employ their power to intercede with Heaven in his favor. Prayer and penitence might have done much for him; and the mercy of Heaven was unbounded. They advised him to still call upon God, and endeavor to secure an interest in the merits of the Saviour.

Faustus assured them that it was all in vain, and that his tragical fate was inevitable. He led them to their sleeping apartment, and recommended to them to pass the night as they could, but by no means, whatever they might happen to hear, to come out of it; as their interference could in no way be beneficial to him, and might be attended with the most serious injury to themselves. They lay still, therefore, as he had enjoined them; but not one of them could close his eyes. Between twelve and one in the night they heard first a furious storm of wind round all sides of the house, as if it would have torn away the walls from their foundations. This no sooner somewhat abated, than a noise was heard of discordant and violent hissing, as if the house was full of all sorts of venomous reptiles, but which plainly proceeded from Faustus’s chamber. Next they heard the doctor’s room-door vehemently burst open, and cries for help uttered with dreadful agony, but in a half-suppressed voice, which presently grew fainter and fainter. Then every thing became still, as if the everlasting motion of the world was suspended.

When at length it became broad day, the students went in a body to the doctor’s apartment. But he was nowhere to be seen. Only the walls were found smeared with his blood, and marks as if his brains had been dashed out. His body was finally discovered at some distance from the house, his limbs dismembered, and marks of great violence about the features of his face. The students gathered up the mutilated parts of his body, and afforded them private burial at the temple of Mars, in the village where he died.

SOME SMALL POEMS.

WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

BY R. H. STODDARD.

A PROLOGUE.

Without, the winds of Winter blow;
Without, the Winter sifts its snow:
Within, the hearths are warm and bright,
And all the chambers full of light,
And we again are gathered here,
To greet the advent of the year.

Pile on the wood, and stir the fires,
And in our souls the sweet desires;
And let us frame a mingled rhyme,
To suit the singers and the time;
With different stops, and keys of art,
In quaint old measures, got by heart.

BY THE SEA.

By the rolling waves I roam,
And look along the sea,
And dream of the day and the gleaming sail,
That bore my love from me.

His bark now sails the Indian seas,
Far down the summer zone:
But his thoughts, like swallows, fly to me
By the Northern waves alone.

Nor will he delay, when winds are fair,
To waft him back to me;
But haste, my love! or my grave will be made
By the sad and moaning sea!

WHEAT AND SHEAVES.

Before me now the village stands,
Its cottages embowered in bloom;
Behind me lies the burying ground,
Its sepulchres in cypress gloom.

The bells before me ring aloud,
A pæan for the live and bold;
The bells behind are tolling low,
A requiem for the dead and cold.

The crowd before me tramp away,
And shout until the winds are stirred;
The crowd behind no longer move,
And never breathe a single word.

Before me many moan, and weep:
Behind, there is not one who grieves;
For blight but wastes the standing wheat.
It cannot touch the garnered sheaves!

FRAGMENT.

The gray old Earth goes on
At its ancient pace,
Lifting its thunder voice
In the choir of Space;
And the Years, as they go,
Are singing slow,
Solemn dirges, full of woe!

Tears are shed, and hearts are broken,
And many bitter words are spoken,
And many left unsaid;
And many are with the living,
That were better—better dead!

Tyrants sit upon their thrones,
And will not hear the people’s moans,
Nor hear their clanking chains;
Or if they do, they add thereto,
And mock, not ease, their pains;
But little liberty remains—
There is but little room for thee,
In this wide world, O Liberty!
But where thou hast once set thy foot,
Thou wilt remain, though oft unseen;
And grow like thought, and move like wind,
Upon the troubled sea of Mind,
No longer now serene.
Thy life and strength thou dost retain,
Despite the cell, the rack, the pain,
And all the battles won—in vain!
And even now thou seest the hour
That lays in dust the tyrant’s power,
When man shall once again be free,
And Earth renewed, and young like thee,
O Liberty! O Liberty!

CERTAIN MERRY STANZAS.

I often wish that I could know
The life in store for me,
The measure of the joy and woe
Of my futurity.
I do not fear to meet the worst
The gathering years can give;
My life has been a life accurst
From youth, and yet I live;
The Future may be overcast,
But never darker than the Past!

My mind will grow, as years depart
With all the wingéd hours;
And all my buried seeds of Art
Will bloom again in flowers;
But buried hopes no more will bloom,
As in the days of old;
My youth is lying in its tomb,
My heart is dead and cold!
And certain sad, but nameless cares
Have flecked my locks with silver hairs!

No bitter feeling clouds my grief,
No angry thoughts of thee;
For thou art now a faded leaf
Upon a fading tree.
From day to day I sea thee sink,
From deep to deep in shame;
I sigh, but dare not bid thee think
Upon thine ancient fame—
For oh! the thought of what thou art
Must be a hell within thy heart!

My life is full of care and pain—
My heart of old desires;
But living embers yet remain
Below its dying fires;
Nor do I fear what all the years
May have in store for me,
For I have washed away with tears
The blots of Memory:
But thou—despite the love on high—
What is there left thee but to die!

MR. JUSTICE STORY, WITH SOME REMINISCENT REFLECTIONS.(4)

WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE.

BY A. OAKEY HALL.

The hurrying pedestrian in Wall-street, or in some of its bisecting avenues of commercial bustle, if he have time to glance over his shoulder, is sure to observe a freshly-painted piece of tin (its brief rhetoric revelling in the pride and pomp of gold leaf alphabetically shaped), denominated by lawyers "a shingle"—setting forth that some sanguine gentleman has then and there established himself as an Attorney and Counsellor at Law.

The sign is by the front door, shining with self-conceit at the passers by; and its owner is up some weary stairway, yawning over "twice told tales" of legal lore, copying precedents for the sake of practice, or keeping hope alive upon the back benches of the court-rooms in listening to the eloquence of his seniors while _he_ is waiting for clients.

Heaven help many a young attorney in this "babel" of money-getting. The race should be prayed for in churches: and it should meet with a consideration as nearly divine as mortals can call up from crowded heart-chambers.

Well: the sign keeps nailed up: and by and by the sun blisters it, and dries out the pomp of the gilded letters, and perhaps the owner yawns over his one case, or sitting upon a front bench in the court-room while case number thirty is being heard, waits for case nine hundred and thirty, against which on the calendar that is reposing by the side of the complaisant clerk in the corner, his name is placed as counsel—shining there like a pebble on a wide and extended beach.

The Physiology of the Medical Student from facetious pens was reached to us over the Atlantic by friendly booksellers some years ago; and we should have had by this time "the Physiology of the young Attorney." He is a good subject for dissection; there’s plenty of venous humor in his composition; and oh! a deal of nerve!

Talk of exploring expeditions to the Arctic regions as offering specimens of courage and prowess; or of scientific excursions into the wilds of Africa to the same purport! These instances are trivial compared to the courage and prowess yearly displayed by hundreds of attorneys who plunge into the ocean of litigation in order to swim towards the distant buoys which the sun of prosperity always cheers with enlivening beams.

Don’t waste sympathy in this connection for the young Sawbones. _His_ thirst for action can be slaked at pauper fountains. For _him_ the emigrant’s chamber, the cabin of the arriving ship, the dispensary, the asylums, the hospitals, and the poor-houses, are always open; and if his "soul be in arms," there are (Heaven knows) "frays" in this city numerous enough for any ambitious surgical eagerness.

But for the aspiring attorney where are the avenues open for gratuitous action? Do merchants nail up promissory notes upon awning posts for attorneys to seize and put in suit? What "old nobs" of Wall-street are willing to put themselves "in chancery" to oblige Hopper Tape, Esq., your humble attendant upon the Where are the courts possessing suits without counsel?

We may be told of unfortunate wretches who murder in drunken fits to whom counsel are assigned. But what are ten crusts of bread per annum among a thousand hungry dogs?

Thou must face the truth, young college boy, who now and then dost stroll into court-rooms, or who dost lounge away an hour in a friend’s law office admiring his books and piles of papers—thinking the while of the time when thou wilt have graduated and obtained permission to hang up thy pomp-gilded "shingle:" _thou must face the truth_! The counsel who so attracts thy admiration, in thy court-room lounging, has fought weary years with myriad obstacles; there are the ashes of many nights and days of toil and struggle sprinkled upon his hair; he has fought his way (from where thou sittest a listener to where he stands a speaker), as if through an Indian gauntlet file. There were a hundred mouths waiting for the first crumbs which came to his impatient legal digestion; and a hundred envious heads and hearts to worry him if possible into a dyspepsia over those crumbs. He has began with an office in a fifth story, and _climbed down_ towards the street. He commenced to hive his honey near the roof! While out of his office he climbed a professional ladder, the holding on to which tasked all his powers of physical, mental, and pecuniary endurance. Face the truth!

Reach me yonder diary and legal register. Two thousand practising lawyers in the city of New-York! Out of these one hundred are "notables;" fifty are "distinguished;" twenty-five are eminent.

A large body of them are "conveyancers" growing thin in person and thinner in mind over deeds and titles; a larger body "attorneys"—getters up and supervisors of suits—providers of ammunition for "distinguished counsel" to discharge with loud reports (the said counsel brilliant by the flash: the attorney obscured in the smoke); many, very many, chained to "larcenies" at the Sessions, "landlord dispossessions" at the Marine Court, suits on butcher’s bills at Ward Courts, or "malicious prosecutions" in the Common Pleas.

Yet there are hundreds of coral reefs and pearls for persevering divers in this ocean of litigation. Three thousand pending cases every month are three thousand nutshells where the meat is often fresh and oily, even with the weary keeping on the calendar for months and years. There are _some_ counsel who pocket fees and costs to the tune of twenty thousand a year. We know many a Quirk, Gammon and Snap, who realize an undoubted "ten thousand a year," with no Tittlebat Titmouse for a standing annoyance. And we can taper off on the finger many who do not realize five hundred a year, and work like negro slaves at that: they are continually rough hewing, but no divinity shapes their ends.

Five years of "starvation," and five more years of toil and trouble, constitute the depth of a lawyer’s slough of despond in New-York; to say nothing of the giants’ castles to storm upon the way, or the fights with the Apolyons of Envy. Obviously so!