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to the human race, from some principle within, and should not, therefore, abate our efforts for the opposition, the rancour, or the ingratitude that we experience without. It will be enough reward for Peter I. if bereafter, when (in that circulation of knowledge throughout the world which I can compare to nothing better than the circulation of the blood in the human body) the glory of Russia shall rest, not upon the extent of her dominions, but that of civilization--not upon the number of inhabitants, embruted and besotted, but the number of enlightened, of prosperous, and of free men ; it will be enough for him, if he be considered to have laid the first stone of that great change—if his labours be fairly weighed against the obstacles which opposed them—if, for his honest and unceasing endeavour to improve millions, he is not too severely judged for offences in a more limited circle--and, if in consideration of having fought the great battle against custom, circumstances, and opposing nature, he be sometimes forgiven for not having invariably conquered himself.'

“ As the stranger broke off abruptly, I could not but feel a little impressed by his words and the energy with which they were spoken. We were uow in sight of my lodging. I asked my guide to enter it; but the change in our conversation seemed to have unfitted him a little for my companionship.

"No,' said he; 'I have business now; we shall meet again; what's your name.'

" Certainly,' thought I, no man ever scrupled so little to ask plain questions;' however, I answered him truly and freely.

“Devereux!' said he, as if surprised : “Ha!-well--we shall meet again. Good-day.'” Vol. ii. pp. 74–76.

After Devereux is conducted through the most eventful scenes on the Continent, the author brings him to England to consummate a high purpose. On his arrival, he visits his old friend Bolingbroke, for whom the tories had propitiated the clemency of the king, who had permitted his return. At his beautiful retreat at Dawley, he was enjoying a philosophic calm, well-suited to the mild evening of a troubled life, solaced by the affection of his charming lady, (the niece of Madame de Maintenon) the correspondence of Swift, and the society of Pope. To those who are familiar with the letters which passed between these remarkable men, we think the following account will be highly interesting :

“When my carriage stopped at the statesman's door, I was informed that Lord Bolingbroke was at his farm. Farm! how oddly did that word sound in my ear, coupled as it was with the name of one so brilliant and so restless. I asked the servant to direct me where I should find him, and following the directions, I proceeded to the search alone. It was a day towards the close of autumn, bright, soft, clear, and calm as the decline of a vigorous and genial age. I walked slowly through a field robbed of its golden grain, and as I entered another, I saw the object of VOL. IV.NO. 8.

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my search. He bad, seemingly, just given some orders to a person in a labourer's dress, who was quitting him, and with duwncast eyes, he was approaching towards me. I noted how slow and even was the pace which once stately, yet rapid and irregular, had betrayed the haughty but wild character of bis mind. He paused often, as if in thought, and I observed that once he stopped longer than usual, and seemed to gaze wistfully on the ground. Afterward (when I had joined him) we passed that spot, and I remarked, with a secret smile, that it contained one of those little mounds in which that busy and berded tribe of the insect race, which have been held out to man's social state at once as a mockery and a model, held their populous home. There seemed a latent moral in the pause and watch of the disappointed statesman by that mound, which afforded a clue to the nature of his reflections.

“ He did not see me till I was close before him, and had called him by his name, nor did be at first recognize me, for my garb was foreign, and my upper lip unshaven; and, as I said before, years had strangely altered me. But when he did, he testified all the cordiality I had anticipated. I livked my arm in his, and we walked to and fro for hours, talking of all that had passed since and before our parting, and feeling our hearts warm to each other as we talked

“The last time I saw you,' said he, - how widely did our hopes and objects differ: yours from my own-you seemingly bad the vantage ground, but it was an artificial eminence, and my level state, though it appeared less tempting, was more secure I had just been disgraced by a misguided and ungrateful prince. I had already gone into a retirement, where my only honours were proportioned to my fortitude in bearing condemnation--and my only flatterer was the hope of finding a companion and a Mentor in myself. You, my friend, parted, with life before you ; and you only relinquished the pursuit of Fortune at one court, to meet her advances at another. Nearly ten years bave flown since that time-my situation is but little changed—I am returned, it is true, to my native soil, but not to a soil more indulgent to ambition and exertion than the scene of my exile. My sphere of action is still shut from me-my mind is still banished. You return young in years, but full of successes. Have they brought you happiness, Devereux? or have you yet a temper to envy my content ?'

66. Alas!' said I, who can bear too close a search beneath the mask and robe. Talk not of me now. It is ungracious for the fortunate to repine-and I reserve whatever may disquiet me within, for your

future consolation and advice. At present speak to me of yourself-you are happy then ?'

"I am !' said Bolingbroke, emphatically.— Life seems to me to possess two treasures —one glittering and precarious, the other of less rich a show, but of a more solid value. The one is Power, the other Virtue ; and there is this main difference between the two-Power is intrusted to us as a loan ever required again, and with a terrible arrear of interest- Virtue obtained by us as a boon which we can only lose through our own folly, when once it is acquired. In my youth I was caught by the former-hence my errors and my misfortunes! In my declining years I have sought the latter; hence my palliatives and my

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consolation. But you have not seen my home and all its attractions,' added Bolingbroke with a smile, which reminded me of his former self.

I will show thein to you! And we turned our steps to the house. "As we walked thither, I wondered to find how little melancholy was the change Bolingbroke had undergone. Ten years, which bring man from his prime to his decay, had indeed left a potent trace upon his staleiy form, and the still unrivalled beauty of his noble features; but the inanner gained all that the form had lost. In his days of more noisy greatness, there had been something artificial and unquiet in the sparkliny alterations he had loved to assume. He had been too fond of changing wisdown by a quick turn into wit—too fond of the affectation of bordering the serious with the gay—the business with the pleasure. If this had not taken from the polish of his manner, it had diminished its digmty, and given it the air of being assumed and insincere. Now all was quiet, earnest and impresive; there was tenderness even in what was melancholy: and if there yet lingered the affectation of blending the classic character with his own, the character was more noble, and the affectation more unseen. But this manner was only the faint mirror of a mind which, retaining much of its former mould, had been embellished and exalted by adversity, and which, if it banished not its former frailties, had acquired a thousaud new virtues to redeem them.” Vol. ii. pp. 170–172.

With Boliwgbroke, Devereux visits Pope, "a man who," as Bolingbroke reinarks, " is wise, reflective, generous and affectionate; add these qualities to a dazzling wit and a genius deep, if not sublime, and what wonder that we forget something of vanity and something of fretfulness-effects rather of the frame than of the mind; the wonder is that with a body the victim of every disease, crippled and imbecile from the cradle his frailties should not be more numerous." We extract from this brilliant interview the subjoined sketch.

" • Pope, who is always flattered by an allusion to his negligence of fame, smiled sligbtly and answered, “What man, alas, ever profits by the lessons of his friends? How many exact rules bas our good Dean of St. Patrick's laid down for both of us—how angrily still does he chide us for our want of prudence and our love of good living. I intend, in answer to his charges on the latter score, though I vouch, as I well may, for our temperance, to give him the reply of the sage to the foolish courtier " What was that ?' asked Bolingbroke.

Why, the courtier saw the sage picking out the best dishes at table, “How' said he, with a sneer, 'are sages such epicures ?'— Do you think, Sir, replied the wise man, reaching over the table to help himself,

do you think, Sir, that God Almighty made the good things of this world only for fools ?'

“ How the Dean will pish and pull his wig, when he reads your illustration,' said Bolingbroke, laughing. We shall never agree in our reasonings on that part of philosophy. Swift loves to go out of his

way to find privation or distress, and has no potion of Epicurean wisdom; for my part, I think the use of knowledge is to make us happier. I would compare the mind to the beautiful statue of love by Praxiteleswhen its eyes were bandaged, the countenance seemed grave and sad, but the moment you removed the bandage, the most serene and enchanting shuile diffused itself over the whole face.'

"To passed the morning, till the hour of dinner, and this repast was served with an elegance and luxury which les fils d'Apollon seldom command. As the evening closed, our conversation féll upon friendship, and the increasing disposition towards it which comes with increasing years. While my mind,' said Bolingbroke, 'shrinks more and more from the world, and feels in its independence less yearning to external objects, the ideas of friendship return oftener, they busy me, they warm me more. Is it that we grow more tender as the moment of our great separation approches ? or is it that they who are to live together in another state (for friendship exists not but for the good)begin'to feel more strongly that divine sympathy which is to be the great bond of their future society.'

“While Bolingbroke was thus speaking, and Pope listened with all the love and reverence which be evidently bore to his friend, stamped upon his worn but expressive conntenance, I inly said, Sure, the love between minds like these should live and last without the changes that ordinary affection feel! Who would not mourn for the strength of all human ties, if hereafter these are broken, and asperity succeed to friendship, or aversion to 'esteem? 1, a wanderer, without heir to my memory and wealth, shall pass away, and my hasty and unmellowed fame will moulder with my clay; but will the names of those whom I now behold ever fall languidly on the ears of a future race, and will not there forever be some sympathy with their friendship, softer and warmer than admiration for their fame.' " Vol. ii. pp. 178–179.

Although the extracts we have already made from this work bave been exceedingly copious, we are, nevertheless, tempted by the fine exerution of several other passages to continue them, from such portions of the Novel, as both in character, as well as incident, are purely fictitious.

The author is distinguished by no trait more remarkable than the fine glow with which he describes the material world, and the philosophic movings awakened in his mind by its beautjes--take for example the following :

“I rejoice to have found thee, my gentle brother,' said I, throwing myself on the green turf by his side; ' in truth you have chosen a fitting and fair place for study.'

“I have chosen,' said Aubrey, 'a place meet for the peculiar study I am engrossed in; for where can we better read of the power and benevolence of God, than among the living testimonies of both. Beautiful!-how very beautiful - is this happy world; but I fear,' added Aubrey, and the glow of his countenance died away,– 1 fear that we enjoy it too much.

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"• We hold different interpretations of our creed, then,' said I, “ for I esteem enjoyment the best proof of gratitude ; vor do I think we can pay a more acceptable duty to the Father of all Goodness, than by showing ourselves sensible of the favours he bestows upon us.'

Aubrey shook bis head gently, but replied not. “Yes,' resumed I, after a pause--"yes, it is indeed a glorious and fair world which we have for our inheritance. Look, how the sunlight sleeps yonder upon fields covered with golden corn, and seems, like the divine benevolence of which you spoke, to smile upon the luxuriance which its power created. This carpet at our feet, covered with flowers that breathe, sweet as good deeds, to Heaven-the stream that breaks through that distant copse, laughing in the light of noon, and sending its voice through the hill and woodland, like a messenger of glad tidings, - the green boughs over our head, vocal with a thousand songs, all inspirations of a joy too exquisite for silence,—the very leaves, which seem to dance and quiver with delight,-think you, Aubrey, that these are so sullen as not to return thanks for the happiness they imbibe with heing ;-what are those thanks but the incense of their joy? The flowers send it up to Heaven in fragrance-the air and the wave in music. Shall the heart of man be the only part of His creation that shall dishonour His worship with lamentation and gloom ? When the inspired writers call upon us to praise our Creator, do they not say to us,— Be joyful in your God?'

“How can we be joyful with the judgment-day ever before us ?' said Aubrey-how can we be joyful,' (and here a dark shade crossed his countena ce, and his lip trembled with emotion,' while the deadly passions of this world plead and rankle at the heart. Oh, none but they who have knowo the full blessedness of a commune with Heaven, can dream of the whole anguish and agony of the conscience, when it feels itself sullied by the mire and crushed by the load of earth!' Aubrey paused, and his words—his tone-his look-made upon me a powerful impression. I was about to auswer, when, interrupting me, he said, 'Let us talk not of these matters,--speak to me on more worldly topics. Voli. pp. 71-72.

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It was the misfortune of Devereux to be the aversion of a mother, whom he himself loved with a perfect idolatry-how passionate and thrilling is this aposthrophe of filial love.

“ Yes! how fondly, how tenderly I loved her! What tears-secret, but deep-bitter, but unreproachiny-have I retired to shed, when I caught her cold and unatfectionate glance. How (unnoticed and uncared for) have I watched, and prayed, and wept, without her door, when a transitory sickness or suffering detained her within ; and how, when stretched myself upon the feverish bed, to which my early weakness of frame often condemned me, how eagerly have I counted the moments to her punctilious and brief visit, and started as I caught her footstep, and felt my heart leap within me as she approached; and then, as I heard her cold tone, and looked upon her unmoved face, how bitterly have I turned away with all that repressed and crushed affection

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