political life, for it was the deadness in that which compelled talent, and wit, and worth to seek what breathing place they could for literature and art. After all this, I should not be surprised if you would say that things are worse now than they were then, as far as literature is concerned, when I tell you what I have learnt on that matter from a German. "We have floods of lyric rhyme," he says; "we have enough and to spare of maudlin romance; no novels of real life and manners, amusing and instructing us, as your modern English ones amuse and instruct you. We are even worse than you of the present day with regard to the drama, and we have no Shakspeare, no Molière from whom to take example, or on whom to rest as all-sufficient." So he said sorrowfully. But with all that, things are much better than they were because of the great spread of education in this country, though it may be this, too, which makes so many paltry writers. Still, it is good that all men should know how to read and write; we are coming to a time when it will be absolutely necessary that they should know that at least, and should have in that the means of knowing more if they choose. More than one German, however, has said to me, when I spoke of the great want of education in England: "Oh yes! but your freedom is much better than our education." "That may be," remarked Mr. N., "if we now begin to keep pace with you in education, and prevent our ignorance from dealing some fatal blow to our freedom. France may make us tremble for what ignorance has been led to do against freedom in these last few years." We hear that the prudent princes-klug is the German word for them-prudent princes of Coburg keep a court in which the tone of Wicmar pride and pedantry is mauvais ton, and society is more agreeable there. But we have neither time nor inclination to try whether this be the case or not. We think only now of visiting the most interesting place in this neighbourhood, the Warteburg, and perhaps after that one or two German towns on our way back before winter to the land of good coal fires and no stoves of many other things comfortable to us, but far from being so to other nations. You are well, I hope, and able to enjoy the fine weather under your tree, if you are not to be tempted by summer and fine weather to anything further from your home. If you have written to me I shall get your letter wherever we may be. Expecting it, then, I say good-bye! THE MARSEILLAISE. (FROM THE FRENCH OF ROUGET de lisle.) BY CHARLES KENT. I. ON, sons of France, with roll of drum Their blood-stained banner have unfurled. Your wives and children to destroy! Arm! March! to their storming, battalions swift forming! Till our soil drink the foul blood their dastard hearts warming II. What mean these hordes of villain slaves, For whom prepared, these pitfall graves? Ah! taunts so base What transports of disdain inspire! 'Tis you they dare to cross in ire, And spurn as some old slavish race! III. What! these rude foreign cohorts, these, IV. Nay, tremble tyrants! tremble you, Your recreant hands, receive your price! Why France new hearts to life will call, V. Frenchmen, like warrior chieftains true, Slay all, yea, rend them limb from limb! VI. O sacred love of fatherland, VII. (VERSE SUNG BY CHILDREN.) We, too, will tread our paths in life, Our elders having passed away; And of their virtues, proved through strife, Find traces in their glorious clay! Less eager to survive their doom Than to partake their funeral chime, Το avenge or follow to the tomb! Arm! March! to their storming, battalions swift forming! THE DREAM PAINTER. BY DR. J. E. CARPENTER. Book I. ARRIVALS AND DEPARTURES. VERY adroitly had Madame Werner contrived to hurry on the marriage of her daughter with the baron, a marriage anxiously looked forward to on his side, and tacitly consented to on that of Geraldine, or rather, we should say by Bertha Werner, for Bertha being her first baptismal name, she had to drop the one by which she was generally called when the marriage ceremony was per formed. The chief reason that Madame Werner assigned was the absolute necessity that existed for Werner's leaving Bonn at an early date. Urgent private affairs have covered many a dishonourable retreat, and they were made to serve the turn of the Werners. Thus, at the château of the baron there was a rush of upholsterers, and painters, and decorators, while at the temporary home of Geraldine's parents there was a constant passing in and out of milliners and dressmakers, and an intercourse with certain tradesmen of the town who had not previously been honoured by Werner's patronage. Very vigilant was the watch that Madame Werner kept on her daughter; she was at once taken from the school, as we have seen, but she was not suffered to go out; not that she was told she was to consider herself a prisoner-on the contrary, her mother appeared kinder to her than ever, she lavished upon her all her endearments, she endeavoured to keep her constantly excited by talking to her about the grandeur that awaited her, but an excuse was never wanting for keeping her within doors. As to the name of the young artist, it was never once mentioned. At last the day was appointed, and it was arranged that the baron should take his young bride to Carlsruhe and afterwards to Baden. This was to occupy them several weeks, by which time all would be in readiness for the reception of the youthful baroness in her new home. The wedding breakfast given by Werner was a grand affair; for when it became known among the tradespeople that his daugh ter was about to marry the wealthy Baron Rosenthal, the credit that he was enabled to obtain was unlimited. As to the wedding itself, Geraldine was carried, rather than walked, half fainting to the altar, and the ceremony was performed on her part as if she were in a dream. The baron appeared vexed and surprised, but Madame Werner reassured him "it was nothing but an overwhelming sense of the honour that had fallen upon her, the unexpected novelty of the situation in which she found herself placed, that had unstrung her nerves and completely overwhelmed her. But she would soon be herself again, he might rest assured of that." The bridesmaids, two daughters of a neighbouring proprietor, were much shocked; they thought that, in Geraldine's situation, they should have acted very differently. Then the party returned, and Geraldine, having been taken by her mother to her dressing-room, was forced to swallow some restoratives or stimulants. The worst was over; she had now before her only the inevitable future, and when she returned to the drawing-room arrayed in her travelling costume, she was more calm and collected. The carriage of the Baron and Baroness Rosenthal was at length announced, and then the parting took place, with mingled expressions of regret and congratulation on the part of Madame Werner, with some real feeling on the part of her husband. The baron's man and Geraldine's new maid occupied the rumble of the carriage. They saw the little pantomime of Leopold, but they attributed it to some frantic student who had imbibed something stronger than lager beer or Rhine wine. When the last guest had rolled away in the last carriage it was getting on towards the evening. There was no mention of play at the Werner's that day; none of the pigeons were asked to remain; everything had been conducted with the etiquette proper to the occasion, and once more the Werners were alone. "Now," said Madame Werner, when all the servants had left the room, "he is at liberty to come as soon as he likes, for Geraldine is safe." "Charlotte, you have managed everything admirably. I hope," added her husband, in a tone of half regret, "that Geraldine will feel the advantages of her position, that she will see it was all for her good." "Why should she not?" replied his wife; "wild and imaginative as she is, her position will afford her a thousand opportunities of gratifying her little whims. I have remarked in her a growing restlessness, an impatience of control, that would have given us much trouble with her a few years later." |