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piercing, and the face I thought rather masculine. There was a likeness also of her daughter, the Duchesse de Broglie, who died six years since-pretty, but with a very sad expression, it having been taken soon after the death of a daughter aged fifteen. Another family portrait was that of her son, M. de Stael, whose widow, I understood my conductress to say, is now proprietor of the chateau, though Murray gives it to the Duc de Broglie. I was turning over the leaves of an edition of Byron's Works by Galignani, when on a fly-leaf I found appended an autograph letter, by Lord Byron to Galignani, begging him to contradict a report, to which he had given countenance, that the “ Vampire and a Sketch of a Residence in Mitylene" were written by him: the letter I do not give, as the public are already in possession of it. I was so absorbed by the interest which this incident awakened within me, that, instead of restoring the book to its place on the shelf, I tucked it under my arm, whilst I proceeded to take down another. “Qu'est ce que c'est, qu'est ce que c'est," said the old lady in a half-surprised, half-angry tone, and not till then was I aware of my unconscious delinquency, and of the very doubtful part I was playing in her eyes. Hence we passed into the salle of the present Madame de Stael. On the table was a Bible and a Commentary on the Psalms, and in the Bible was written, “ To M. de Stael, on his marriage with Mademoiselle Verney; presented by the Paris Bible Society, at the special vote of the Committee.” What individuality did this fact give to these new characters on the stage! Some sketches, too, which my guide gave me, brought them out with yet more clearness and distinctness, and confirmed the speculations which the inscription in the Bible had excited. Every morning, said she, when Madame is here, she assembles her household, explains a portion of the Scriptures and prays with them, or, when indisposed, she reads a portion of the Commentary. On the Sunday, a pastor comes from Geneva to perform religious service for herself and household.

Ah, Monsieur,” said the old woman, “Madame est tres pieuse.” The next room we entered was the library, I think, of Madame de Stael, the daughter, and on looking over the books it was easy to detect, from their peculiar religious vein, the character of mind which had dictated their choice. Amongst many English works, in the original or translations, were those of Mrs. Indian. The engravings, indeed, were of a mixed character, shewing that more than one hand had been engaged in the collection,-English Racers with their Jockeys, hung side by side of Lord Brougham as Chancellor, Lord Erskine (a great friend

of the house, said the old lady), Sir Samuel Romilly, Wilberforce, Francis Horner, L. Philippe giving Lessons on the Globes, General Lafayette, a View of the Presentation of the American Act of Independence, and Le Serment du Jeu de Paume. I note these particulars (which under ordinary circumstances would be of little interest) as important, inasmuch as they illustrate a character and a name which may be said to belong to the world. Besides these, there were family portraits of Madame de Stael and her daughter-in-law, now forty years of age, Madame de Broglie, the Duc de Broglie, and Madame de Stael Necker. Here again I sate on a sofa where Madame de Stael had “ cosé.” The very word cosé, homely and familiar as it was, seemed to bring her down from the heights to which her genius had exalted her, and place her “as one of us" in the midst of a social circle. There was not the

slightest memorial of Napoleon visible in any part of the house. In the last room I visited, the sleeping apartment of the Duchesse de Broglie, was a portrait of her mother, Madame de Stael. The arm, said Î, is too long, and the head and neck too small for the bust. You are right, Sir, observed the old woman; I have often dressed Madame de Stael; she had a beautiful neck; and then she went on to say that she had lived with the family nearly forty years, and had travelled with Madame de Stael in Italy, England and Sweden. This was, indeed, like a familiar renewal of times long gone by. From worshiping at the shrine of her genius, I was come to gossip with her tire-woman, and, introduced to the secrets of the toilet, lost some portion of that awe with which her talent had inspired me. I had now explored every apartment, and having no longer any excuse for farther delay,—not omitting, indeed, the douceur, which was by no means unwillingly received by even the femme de chambre of Madame de Stael,-prepared to leave. Crossing the road, you enter a kind of park, and in one corner you will see a bosquet surrounded by a wall. Here reposes Corinne. I walked round and round without being able to effect an entrance; contenting myself, however, with the belief that there was nothing more to be seen than what I had already seen. Retracing now my steps, I was descending to the Lake, when, seated on a coping-stone close by the road which leads to Geneva, I saw my tormentor, my would be companion of the morning. God knows what great sin I had committed to deserve this infliction; yet there he sate, and how to escape him I was puzzled. Shortly before I came up he rose and walked on, smiling, I could almost fancy, and saying to himself, I have him now! But I was determined he should not, if I could help it. So I stopped at intervals and dodged about, hoping to exhaust his patience—all to no purpose - till at length, become desperate, I changed my pace gradually into a rapid walk, which grew shortly into a sharp run, at which I passed him, and kept on till I was quite out of breath and quite in safety. Now, however ridiculous as the whole incident may at first sight appear to be, I feel certain of receiving the sympathy of all those who are somewhat sensitive, inasmuch as this man is but one of a class of tormentors well and generally known. One species of the genus are the button-holders, who thus grasp you that you may not escape from their inanities. Another variety are those who, under colour of communicating some great secret, push their noses into your face, and though you may maintain yourself as stiff and erect as a raw recruit at a first drill, still push home-onwards, their motto—till they bear you backwards and almost throw you off your balance. Others there are who, under the impression of being very cosmopolitish, or very sociable, or great searchers after information, seek every opportunity of making your acquaintance and destroying a quiet moment: they frequent cafés and trattorias, are to be met with in diligences and steam-boats-oh, how well I know their tactics! Let it be a café—there is one of them three tables off, with a newspaper lying unread before him; poco a poco he draws near, till at length he sidles up quite close, presents the newspaper with a remarkably obliging smile—and his meshes are around you! of this class was that London pedagogue I met on board the steamer on the Lake of Geneva ; and of the same class, too, was that persecuting sinner who for upwards of two long hours had persecuted me from Nyon to Coppet. But I have left him far behind, and am now more tranquilly pursuing my walk.

I was evidently drawing near to Geneva. On either side the road was adorned by villas, each with its pretty garden arranged in the best Swiss style, and that is praise enough. There was a quaintness, too, about some of the external circumstances of these quiet, tasteful retreats which interested me much. On the parapet of one house recently built was carved, “ Lorsque nous etions que pecheurs Christ est mort pour nous,” Ep. au Rom. v. 8. What this had to do with a new house or a country retreat I could not exactly decide; but there it was. Over the doorway was another inscription, which had at least the merit of being appropriate, “ La paix soit sur cette maison,” Luc. x. 5; and on the porter's lodge was inscribed or cut, “ Veillez car vous ne savez a quelle heure le Seigneur doit venir,” Matt. xxiv. 42. Now my own particular taste would have rejected such an application of Holy Scripture to common purposes, deeming that the more it is withdrawn from rude contact with the world, the greater will be its sanctity and its influence when called upon to exercise it; in this particular instance, too, there was something almost revolting to me in the implied comparison between the Lord Jesus Christ and a Genevese watchmaker, even though he was retired from trade and had an obese porter to watch for him. Passing by, however, this offence against taste, these inscriptions interested me from the very associations that they awakened. I was carried back to those times of rigid severity and poetico-religious enthusiasm, when the social intercourses of life were conducted in scripture language, when a Praise-God Barebones was a shining light, and when a Christian and a Faithful wandered from house to house, seeking to improve every incident on the road, and being vastly edified with every inscription they found on a parapet wall. This is one side of the contrast which, as I observed, Geneva presents us with on the Sunday; for I had not long passed by these brick-and-mortar divines, before I came upon a bowling-green, where scripture phraseology was not exclusively used. Some were eating and some were drinking, all of course were smoking, and at intervals shouting, so that on opposite sides there were two different states of things,-two moral worlds in fact,—and I had the same unpleasant sensation as before mentioned, which is always produced by the want of harmony in circumstances as in sounds. After my quiet morning's walk, it was like being restored to life once more to return to Geneva; it was the busy, animated time, just one hour before dinner,—that is, of the town's people,-when, by the common transition from devotion to gossip, people have rushed out of the churches to mingle on the promenade, and criticize sermons and bonnets and fine reading and fine dresses in most admired confusion. Tired, however, and dusty, I made the best of my way to my inn, and with dinner and an evening stroll finished my third Sunday in Geneva.

The pictures which I have drawn of Swiss sabbaths are widely different from those which a Swiss would draw of English sabbaths. Whether that difference be morally in favour of England, I will not presume to decide; I cannot, however, but think that the severity which checks the joyous impulses of the heart, is favourable neither to morality nor religion, and that God is not so well served when he is represented as balking us at every step, as when he is represented as mixing with

and sanctifying our enjoyments,—as taking the poor, wearied, brokenspirited mechanic from his often cheerless home, and the pale and sickly sempstress from her close chamber, and accompanying them into the beautiful scenes of Nature, there to see his power and goodness, and learn that they have indeed a God who is their Father in heaven. Ah, what happiness have I witnessed on the Sunday! and as I have watched the helots of the social system rushing forth from houses associated with want and toil and heart-burnings, how has my bosom heaved with emotion at the thought of the inexpressible delight they were to experience! Like birds escaped from the net, they exulted in their recovered liberty, and, in the very wantonness of their joy, seemed to me, on these three Sundays I passed in Geneva, unable to fix on any definite object; the lake, the mountain, the village, the green meadow, every scene and spot was embraced by their desires; and looked on delighted, and was never more disposed to admit the utility and benevolence of the institution of the sabbath. Easy is it, said I, for the rich rector or the lordly legislator to denounce such occupations as a violation of the sabbath; the former lives in one of those lovely retreats with which England abounds; his eyes ever feast on beauty, and his ears are continually saluted by Nature's sweetest sounds; in the morning he is awakened by the cawing of his rookery, and on his sleek, well-fed steed ambles through many a pretty country lane, and returns to find, without one anxious thought, all the elegancies and accommodations of an English house awaiting him. My lord luxuriates in a princely palace; wellwooded and well-stocked parks continually invite him forth; the voice of music is ever ready to soothe him, and the slightest inquietude is anticipated by those attentions which wealth and rank always meet with. What need have they of the recreations which the mechanic seeks ? If they sell nuts on the sabbath to make an honest penny for a family, imprison them; if they play bowls, put them in the stocks. But change their position, be it for only one month; take the one from his rectory and his rookery and his pretty lanes and his plentiful table, and the other from his palaces and parks, and place them in the purlieus of St. Giles; let them toil from break of day till evening, and still eat the scanty and bitter bread of poverty, and look anxiously on a pining family, and will they then say that it is a crime to earn a morsel for a starving wife or child, or escape into the open country to draw one breath of fresh air, or indulge in the relaxation of some amusement. Cui bono, too, I may ask, is all this severity? Public gardens and institutions may be shut up; but the apparent gain is a real substantial loss. There is a certain sacrifice of social sincerity and comfort; there is a sacrifice of public health, to say nothing of refined and pure tastes. Public-houses are filled to overflowing; for the artificer, after the labour of a week, will seek for some relaxation, which, if it be denied him in legitimate channels, he will find in illegitimate. Now I saw in Switzerland but little drunkenness, no offences against public decency, no dog-fights or boxing-matches, but I saw much happiness and innocent enjoyment; and as I looked on delighted, I could not but think that he who is Lord of the Sabbath regarded this happiness as a sanctification of the day.

HENRY W

MEMOIR OF THE LATE REV. ROBERT ASPLAND.

CHAPTER XIX. NOTWITHSTANDING discouragements sufficient to dishearten many men, Mr. Aspland entered on the conduct of the Unitarian Academy with energy, and presided over it during its brief existence in a manner to give perfect satisfaction to its supporters. During the first year, he undertook the entire instruction (excepting Hebrew) of the young men. In the years 1814 and 1815, the Mathematical department was undertaken by the Rev. Jeremiah Joyce. The engagement of Mr. Joyce as his colleague gave him much satisfaction. He was pleased to be united with a man whom in his youth he had looked up to with pity and veneration as a possible martyr to English liberty, and whom in after years he admired for his various attainments and loved for his social worth. The events of Mr. Joyce's life and his various publications are recorded in a Memoir of him which Mr. Aspland published in the Monthly Repository (Vol. XII. 697—704). He closes it by expressing the satisfaction which its publication gave him, as connecting his name with that of Mr. Joyce. Thus did he draw the character of his “ever-lamented friend :”—“His character may be summed up in a few words—probity, industry, simplicity, fortitude, benevolence and rational piety. A remarkable plainness of appearance and straightforwardness and perhaps bluntness of manner, which characterized Mr. Joyce, sometimes led superficial and distant observers to form an erroneous notion of his temper. On a nearer acquaintance they discovered that, under a somewhat rough exterior, there lay all the amiable and virtuous dispositions which qualify a man for friendship and social and domestic happiness. In company Mr. Joyce was unobtrusive and even retiring, yet not so as to abstract himself from his companions, much less to appear to watch their discourse : his countenance shewed that he took an interest in whatever was the subject of discourse, and he was not backward to take his share in conversation when he could communi. cate pertinent information, or bear testimony to what he considered to be truth. The ordinary state of Mr. Joyce's mind was calm and equable, but he was sometimes excited to considerable warmth of feeling and to a correspondent strength of expression. He displayed this earnestness chiefly when exposing the misrepresentations of sophists and the calumnies of bigots. He was tolerant and indulgent to all but baseness and hypocrisy."

Mr. Joyce's connection with the Unitarian Academy was terminated by his accepting an invitation to superintend the education of the younger branches of a noble family. His performance of his duties as Mathematical Tutor, though brief in duration, had gained for him the esteem and gratitude of his pupils and the friends of the Academy,

A Classical Tutor was for a short time found in the person of the Rev. Thomas Biggin Broadbent. This excellent young man, the son of the Rev. William Broadbent, of Warrington, was born March 17, 1793. After passing through a course of elementary instruction, first under his father and then under a clergyman of Manchester, he entered in 1809 the University of Glasgow. His academic course was distinguished by industry and success; he gained prizes in all his classes in which they were given; in the Greek class he carried off the first. He

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