4

696 The Spirit of an Infant to his Mother.-A Night amid the Sea-Ward Hills.

THE SPIRIT OF AN INFANT TO HIS Then, education, must thy task begin.

MOTHER, I've lain upon thy lulling breast,
And felt thy gentle breathing on my brow;
My little frame is in the earth at rest,

But my young spirit hovers near thee now.
Thou who would'st murmur to me till I crept
Into thy blameless bosom where I slept.

There is my little cot-no tenant now

Presses its pillow-all is still as death; The night-light gleams like moonbeams on her brow,

Her lips apart are rosy with her breath;
Moveless is that white arm on which I've lain,]
And veil'd that bosom where I us'd to rest;
See, see a tear from the fair lid has stray'd:
Mother! sweet mother! thy young boy is
blest,

He lies no longer near thy beating heart,
But thou and he will ne'er be far apart.

From the New Monthly Magazine.

immortal writings of the age! what guessers at the difference between a straight line and a curve, deON THE ANONYMOUS IN PERIODICALS. ciding upon the highest questions of art! what stopwatch gazers lecturing on the drama! what disapWHETHER it be from the obtuseness of our under-pointed novelists, writhing poets, saleless historians, anding or the inveteracy of our prejudice, we senseless essayists, wreaking their wrath on a lucky onfess we are not yet converts to Mr. Bulwer's arrival! What Damons heaping impartial eulogia on iments against preserving the anonymous in their scribbling Pythias! what presumption! what eriodicals. It appears to us that he confounds the falsehood! what ignorance! what deceit ! what uses of the thing with the thing itself, and that, malice in censure! what dishonesty in praise! Such ter his admissions, his objections may be easily a revelation would be worthy a Quevedo to deeutralized, if not refuted. We think that the scribe!" We humbly conceive that it is better for onymous, as it more especially regards periodical the public to be without such a revelation, because, iticism, ought to be the rule, and affixing the name in our opinion, it would be extremely partial and unthe writer to any particular article the exception; just. For even Mr. Bulwer, in another part of his nay, we advance a step farther, and, notwith-second volume, tells us that the reason we have no inding recent and splendid examples to the con- great works, though we abound in great writers, is ry, we maintain that the editorial function itself that they have devoted so much of their talents to ould be sustained anonymously, at least, that the periodical miscellanies, and chiefly, as it appears, me of the editor, if known at all, should be rather to periodical criticism. "It is in these journals," he derstood than avowed; and though at present observes, "that the most eminent of our recent men e cannot enter into the question at large, we shall of letters have chiefly obtained their renown. It is ign a few reasons in support of the views we en- here that we find the sparkling and sarcastic Jeffrey; tain upon the subject. the incomparable humour and transparent logic of Of course, when we speak of periodical criticisin, Sydney Smith; the rich and glowing criticism of › must be understood to mean those reviews and Wilson, the nervous vigour and brilliant imagination rary notices which regard books, and not men,- of Macaulay (who, if he had not been among the ich point out fairly and fearlessly the excellencies greatest of English orators, would have been among d faults of writers, the good or evil principles, the the most commanding of English authors); it is in ture and tendency of their works,-without med periodicals (that is, in reviews) that many of the ng with their private history, or referring to them most beautiful evidences of Southey's rich taste and any other light than as they are exhibited in antique stateliness of mind are to be sought.". The ir productions; and thus our attention is confined whole case therefore is not so bad as Mr. Bulwer's olly to the advantage of the anonymous in first enunciation might lead us to apprehend; and rary criticism;" and to that advantage chiefly as perhaps the public will suffer no very serious inconffects the public. Far be it from us to advocate venience if they be left to imagine, when they are itive deception under any of its forms; but there dissatisfied with a critical article, that it is the proillusions which are entirely exempt from mis- duction of some insignificant underling of the craft: evous intention.-which are allied to good rather and when they are instructed and delighted, that n to evil,-which are "shadows of beauty and they are receiving the lessons of wisdom and the dows of power." One of these happily pervades decisions of taste from the first savans of the age. public mind on the subject of periodical criticism. Why dissolve the illusion? for, after all, talent will leading reviews are supposed to be the united find its own level, whether with or without a name. rts of some of the greatest names in our litera- Anonymous opinion on literary subjects, unsup hence the influence they exert over the ported by the requisite qualifications which entitle ions, tastes, and pursuits of so large a portion of it to respect, gocs for very little with the thinking countrymen. We may ask-would they be part of the community, and a responsible name er conducted, or would the articles be better would add nothing to its weight or importance. A tten, if Mr. Bulwer's suggestion were adopted? well-written article will make its own way on the h the anonymous, too, the illusion would vanish. strength of its intrinsic value, as "good wine needs icism, by unveiling its mysteries, would sacri- no bush;" while the fact of the writer being units power over others, and would itself degene- known will be so far an advantage, that every into feebleness; the decisions of the imaginary reader who admires it will ascribe it to his favourite pagus would be exchanged for the unsupported author. Thus, to one it will come recommended ings of individual opinion; all the jealousies and with all the interest attached to the genius of Camputies, the partialities and sycophancies, which bell, while another will imagine himself to be now concealed behind "the curtain of periodi- charmed with the wit of Bulwer or the eloquence criticism," would then be revealed to the public of Macaulay.

; the literary profession would become odious We question whether the great writers, whose contemptible; authors would flatter critics,-names Mr. Bulwer thus associates with our periodies would return the compliment with interest; cal criticism, would have attained that renown he bitterness of malice between contending which it has conferred upon them, if they had been ls, which now flows in an under-current, and compelled to affix their signatures to their respective ch is scarcely known to exist but to the parties contributions. Had this been the case, we are perselves, would then rise up to the surface, and suaded that the works in which those contributions me the object of universal disgust. Mr. Bulwer appeared would have materially suffered, both in tains that "nearly all criticism at this day is circulation and influence. The anonymous threw public effect of private acquaintance." We them just so far into the distance as to render them ely know how to reconcile this assertion with a constellation, each contributing to the splendour of t he says in the very next page. It is an odd each, forming to appearance one grand luminary in aintanceship which gives such proofs of affec- the literary heavens. Though anonymous, they "Were a sudden revelation of the mysteries were not unknown;-there were those who could e craft now to be made, what, oh! what would discern and call them all by their names; there was e rage, the astonishment of the public! What enough of mystery and revelation to awaken curiosity of straw in the rostra, pronouncing fiats on the and to satisfy inquiry. This has long been the charm of our periodical literature, and we wish not to have the illusion destroyed.

"De

England and the English. By Edward Lytton
ver, Esq. M. P., Author of " Pelham,"
ux," and "Eugene Aram." 2 vols. London.
Museum.-Vol. XXIII.

But were it practicable to abolish the anonymous in this department of letters, what benefit would it No. 138-3 P

confer upon the public? and what would be its ef-sumes the morrow-the month advances—the day fect upon the literary profession?

of publication presses upon him with alar celerity-he is totally unprepared-he sits down write; but he must produce something worthy his fame-something that will justify the high e pectations of the public. In this he either fails succeeds according as he is in or out of the vein. li fact, a great name does little in advancing the real and substantial interests of a periodical. The anonymous might, in this view, therefore, be pro ferred.

We should no longer have articles, but treatises. This is an abuse to which the present system has lent considerable aid. Our best writers, aware that their connexion with any given review is no secret, have been ambitious of establishing their own fame, and often at the expense of the works which have furnished them with their materials, and which they have scarcely deigned to notice. Thus, the true end of criticism is defeated, and great injustice is done to authors and to the public. If this has We have devoted so much space to the considers been the result of partially withdrawing the veil tion of a point on which Mr. Bulwer lays consider between the critic and his readers, would not its en-able stress, and which forms an appropriate intro tire removal increase the evil a thousand fold? But duction to the first Number of a work which 20 the worst consequence to be apprehended from such longer under his auspices, and which will now a change would be the establishment of a critical conducted in opposition to one of his favourite oligarchy. Publishers must then purchase names principles, that we must defer till our next Number as well as articles; names would be the strongest a separate examination of the entire performance reasons-none but authors of a commanding reputa- which illustrates his genius, develops his resources. tion would be privileged to exercise the functions and exhibits him as one of the first writers of the of a reviewer, and a few therefore would soon usurp age-in the meantime, heartily wishing him sucres the entire censorship of the press. On the literary in the high career of social improvement which he profession the change contemplated would produce has marked out for himself and his illustrious com the most injurious effects; we have already hinted patriots. at a few. Authors reviewing authors (as such) must place themselves in no very enviable relative position. Where their literary importance is nearly equal, they will fear and flatter each other; and where there is in this respect any very marked disparity, there will be creeping obsequiousness on MALIBRAN.-Three songs of Malibran now fla the one hand, and an ill-suppressed insolence, or a house, and would probably, well managed and dy condescending air of patronage on the other. The changed, make the fortune of a theatre. Her fane anonymous system, as far as the public and the pro- is not merely European, it is of the deur mondis fession are concerned, is certainly not liable to Her genius is universally acknowledged, and abuses of this kind. The tone of criticism, which versal hands are never weary of applauding be is that of a judge, and not of an advocate, is like- and the press takes up the note of praise and r wise ill suited to the courtesy and modesty with echoes it from one end of its dominion to the o which one individual writer ought to treat the Amateurs in listening to her forget to be critical, works of a contemporary. The anonymous, and the judges can find no fault. She is surrounded by mysteriousness attached to the plural unit We, seem private worshippers, who, when she but affects best adapted to the chair of criticism. The individual nod, fly to attend to her slightest wishes. The is merged in the court which he represents, and he means of life are too abundant with her to be made speaks not in his own name, but ex cathedra. Who a subject of calculation: who measures or thinks does not feel conscious of this when he takes up the the quantity of the air he breathes? Genius bod judgments which are pronounced in our monthly delights in its own exercise, and revels in the a and quarterly periodicals? the decisions are oracu-miration it excites in others. Malibran enjoys lar. What a totally different air would they as- perpetual triumph of both kinds. It is usual te cas sume, and how soon would they dwindle into the insignificance of mere individual opinion, if the name of the writer of each article were appended at the end!

From the same.

up his

the professional actor or singer somewhat low in the scale of society: but is there any other position the looking to the human being itself, its passions, objects, its desires, relatively placed so high ab The worst abuses of the anonymous may, accord- all the points of comparison that are ever present ing to Mr. Bulwer's own showing, be corrected to its mind, as that of the individual on whose breath without resorting to the very questionable expedient nightly hangs the rapture of thousands? Oratory which he recommends. The authors of these abuses not a high art when we analyse the character of are as well known to those who have the power of productions, and examine into the faculties which exposing and punishing them, as they would be if go to make up its triumphs, but estimate it by their names and offences were published in the power over mankind. What matters it that the "Hue and Cry, or the Rogues Gazette." The electric vase is cold and powerless after it has c anonymous does not screen a libeller from detection municated its shock? The orator takes and chastisement. A name with all the responsi- thousands in the palm of his hand, and wields the bility attached to it is no security against the coarsest at his pleasure;-they rise, they fall, at his violations of the decencies of society. mand-now they are still as death;-now they We shall treat very briefly the delicate point of tumultuously like an ocean after the settling d anonymous editorship; we are convinced that this, storm. Look into the causes: it is perhaps an eve too, has advantages, which its opposite cannot that electrifies,-a voice which thrills through counterbalance. If a name is to give importance to frame and swells into a diapason that strikes the editorial dignity, it must, of course, be one of con- nervous mass of a multitude with illimitable, inc siderable note. The individual so ostensibly sus-culable undulations of physical exquisiteness. taining an office that, if well discharged, must em- then, originality or profundity of ideas go for lit ploy the greatest portion of his time, must neverthe-in oratory, when it is looked into, the singer and less feel that he has to take care of his reputation as orator, it will be seen, use very similar means, an author, advance his fortunes, and attend to the indeed, the effects most closely resemble each othe public and private avocations which his celebrity Conceive such an instrument as Malibran, used. has opened to him. These exhaust his energies. choosing to act for herself, in any great agitatin He thinks occasionally of his duties as an editor the masses, who could calculate the effects! W procrastinates-to-morrow will give more leisure-if, during some epoch of some revolution, in st an unexpected and indispensable engagement con- the guillotine is not the only argument, a Malit

were to announce a scene of song,-well selected. the laws of matter; it does not decay, it disappears or original, at any rate as original as Mirabeau, that and leaves its place vacant. "Il ne faut qu'un leger s to say, the work of a few other minds given only accident, qu'un atome deplace pour te faire perir, o supply materials,—could not she so play upon the pour te ravir cette intelligence, dont tu parais si Feelings of a multitude as to bring back very forcibly fier." One of the best works that has lately apo the experience of the people the lyric times of peared in Europe on the awful subject of mental old? Could she not dismiss her audience ripe for disease is that of Dr. Uwins; he gives himself up action? And what can oratory do more? Let us, not to theories little less wild than the hallucinahen, reform our classification; let us not class genius tions of his patients, but to observing and recording ike Malibran's with common arts. She is a Demos- the phenomena that present themselves in the cases henes in her way; and perhaps the only name to that come before him. Can anything be more eloDe mentioned with hers is Sappho, who had the quent than this description of a state of active nuluck to live in the time of lyric opportunity. We lity, a volition dead, and a power of thought spinare remote admirers of Malibran, or we would do ning away without balance, weights, or guide? "I our best to induce her to try a fine, but altogether have asked patients sometimes their motives for renovel, occasion for ascertaining the power of oratori- fusing to speak, and the answers I receive are al song. Many causes at this moment conspire to various. In one instance I was struck with the ill the public heart with sympathy for the cause of affecting account a patient gave of his feelings. It Poland; let Malibran give half-a-dozen evenings to seemed, he told me As if I could and could not, or he reconstruction of a nation. Suppose that, with as if I would and would not, in such a strange way, few assistants, she got up a night or two of patriotic that though silence was the result of the conflict, I yricism. Moore, and Campbell, and Procter, would felt in a manner guilt connect itself with my siid her, if she wanted aid: something like interlude lence.' Well may we exclaim with Hamlet, 'What night easily be got up by the Poles themselves to a piece of work is man!'" ive her relief; but neither on poets, nor musicians, or coadjutors, would we have her depend. Divine usic, and the true voice which always raises superuman feelings in the human heart, are enough: beral teaching would go by lightning. We would sk no charity the gift is to be done by sympathy. nd not by money;-and perhaps we are less inerested in the particular success of the Polish ause than in the universal triumph of genius, of which this would be the proof and the example. Malibran we recollect on her coming out was oldly received, almost contemned; generally termed n imitator,—the only sign of approbation arose from e supposed nearness of the imitation of Pasta. 'his was at the King's Theatre, when we remember her first character she introduced an extraneous ong; for this crime she was nearly thrown back. t the little Haymarket Theatre her one or two ngs, introduced without reference to anything on arth, fill the house and serve London for talk. ow is this? Who is changed? Malibran or the blic? Mademoiselle, at that time, was only venteen, and may be supposed to have improved; it the public is an old and an incorrigible jade e fear there is but little good in her.

From the same.

DE BOURRIENNE'S Madness.-They who read e Memoirs of Bourrienne with interest, and in is country that number was not small, will learn ith regret that a late visit to one of the lunatic stitutions of France revealed the melancholy form the poor ex-secretary of the mighty ex-emperor. 'hat a termination to a tortuous career! What a ystery is the brain! Read the Memoirs of Bourenne, and say who appeared to have a cooler ad, a more worldly view of life, a more exact apeciation of character and of events than the thor; and yet all of a sudden the mental structure ters and down it comes with a crash, involving it reaches in eternal confusion, irremediable ruin. › Bourrienne is only one of very many whose inlects have sunk under the intensity of the Napoon era. But the remarkable feature of mental sease of this character is, that the cord snaps on e instant. Compare Bourrienne's Memoirs, just ished previous to this melancholy event, from d to end, the close is as collected as the beginng; there is neither flagging in vigour of thought rin fulness of information, and yet no sooner was e work done than the machine stopped. The ain is material, but the intellect follows none of

The insanity of the great men of France is not of the suicidal character; suicide is more common in France than in England, but it is far less mad. Intensity of occupation and anxiety in France may be abruptly stopped at the gate of the Maison des Fous, but it is rarely terminated by the razor. In that country they have their Junots and their De Bourriennes, in this we have our Castlereaghs and our Romillys. Looking at the tragical fates of so many of the prime movers in events during the last fifty years of European politics, the moralist may be tempted to say, the paths of glory lead but to the premature grave, or to a still darker abode, the cell of the lunatic. But let no mistake be made, the deaths of the illustrious obscure make no noise. Perhaps more men have fallen victims to the foxchase than have thrown themselves into the Curtian gulf of politics. While Whitbread was sacrificing himself to his Majesty's opposition, his Majesty' brother, the Duke of Kent, was catching his death of cold in snipe-shooting. Lord Althorp will survive the tremendous labours of the last session, while news comes that the wealthy Sir Harry Goodricke has just died of otter-hunting.

From Tait's Edinburgh Magazine.

THE DEEP BLUE SEA.

THE deep blue Sea! how fair it seems,
When gleaming in the morning beams,
And silver clouds, like sunny dreams,

Glide o'er its placid breast.
The breeze sighs softly o'er the wave,
As silent as the banks they lave,
For every wind sleeps in its cave,

Each billow is at rest!

The dark blue Sea! how pure and bright,
When resting in the hush of night,
Bathed in the radiance of moonlight,

So fair and yet so cold.

The twinkling stars, far downward peep,
Reflected in the tranquil deep,
Whose bosom glows in quiet sleep,

Like mantle decked with gold!

The proud blue Sea! when winds are high,
And darkness gathers o'er the sky,
And the frail bark unconsciously

Is swiftly onward borne;
Then like a lion roused, at length
It shakes its mane in pride of strength,