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been enslaved and duped by the vanities of the world, and had learned that no one ought to be despised. A woman of simple faith, unblinded by false knowledge, capable of confounding the wise, by proving to them that she had been instructed in the most profound secrets, only in loving God, and in weeping at the foot of the Cross. There needed, in short, a woman of courage, who having enjoyed every thing this world can give, could proclaim even in the presence of kings, that all is nothing; unmasking the enchantments and idols of drawing-rooms, while she blushes for herself that she had once desired to shine among them by means of some despicable talents and a little worthless wit."
There is no small vanity in these avowals; Madame de Krudner thinks, apparently, that her wanderings had rendered her so much the more proper for the fulfilment of her mission; and one may infer from what she says, that, according to her opinion, a sinner is of much more use to society than a virtuous woman. This necessity of a return to virtue, or as it pleases some enthusiasts to term it, "the miraculous conversion," is more or less experienced by every feeling heart, which, having been drawn aside by violent passions, is become sensible of its errors, and seeks at length to expiate them by repentance and good works; but that conversion cannot be complete if man exalts it as an object of pomp and vanity.
Madame de Krudner, obliged to quit the Duchy of Baden, retired to Courland, without obtaining permission to enter Berlin, or proceed to Petersburgh. She lives at present on one of her estates near Riga, appearing to be still more and more united with the Methodists and Moravians; Empeytas the Genevese, and Keller, were not permitted to follow her into Russia. During her route she was visited by many celebrated men; and at Leipsic, she gained a young Theologian, named Liedner, who wrote a book called "Macbenac," in favour of her opinion; she had likewise many interviews with the professor Krug, who published his conversations with her.
How unfortunate, that a being, gifted with so much genius as Madame de Krudner, should have employed it so ill! Her life has been hitherto a series of disorders of every description, and her pretended miraculous conversion is more dangerous than the sins of her youth, inasmuch as the latter were only detrimental to herself. Like the Methodists of Basle, she may be considered the cause of the crimes committed at Zurich by fanaticism and superstition.
It would be unjust to finish this article, without speaking of the good qualities of Madame de Krudner. She is very generous, her sentiments are noble, and it must not be denied that her disposition has a tendency to religion; but her intellectual faculties, though very brilliant, want that harmony, that agreement amongst themselves, which genius alone can never furnish, and which can only exist through the union of morality and reason. A. D. T.
CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER.
The body of Henry the Second lay in state in the Abbey-church of Fontevraud, where it was visited by Richard Cœur de Lion, who, on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and reproached himself bitterly for that rebellious conduct which had been the means of bringing his Father to an untimely grave.
THE ILLUSTRIOUS DEFUNCT.*
"Nought but a blank remains, a dead void space,
NAPOLEON has now sent us back from the grave sufficient echoes of his living renown: the twilight of posthumous fame has lingered long enough over the spot where the sun of his glory set, and his name must at length repose in the silence, if not in the darkness of night. In this busy and evanescent scene, other spirits of the age are rapidly snatched away, claiming our undivided sympathies and regrets, until in turn they yield to some newer and more absorbing grief. Another name is now added to the list of the mighty departed, a name whose influence upon the hopes and fears, the fates and fortunes of our countrymen, has rivalled, and perhaps eclipsed that of the defunct" child and champion of Jacobinism," while it is associated with all the sanctions of legitimate government, all the sacred authorities of social order and our most holy religion. We speak of one, indeed, under whose warrant heavy and incessant contributions were imposed upon our fellow-citizens, but who exacted nothing without the signet and the sign manual of most devout Chancellors of the Exchequer. Not to dally longer with the sympathies of our readers, we think it right to premonish them that we are composing an epicedium upon no less distinguished a personage than the Lottery, whose last breath, after many penultimate puffs, has been sobbed forth by sorrowing contractors, as if the world itself were about to be converted into a blank. There is a fashion of eulogy, as well as of vituperation; and though the Lottery stood for some time in the latter predicament, we hesitate not to assert that "multis ille bonis flebilis occidit." Never have we joined in the senseless clamour which condemned the only tax whereto we became voluntary contributors, the only resource which gave the stimulus without the danger or infatuation of gambling, the only alembic which in these plodding days sublimised our imaginations, and filled them with more delicious dreams than ever flitted athwart the sensorium of Alnaschar.
Never can the writer forget when, as a child, he was hoisted upon a servant's shoulder in Guildhall, and looked down upon the installed and solemn pomp of the then drawing Lottery. The two awful cabinets of iron, upon whose massy and mysterious portals, the royal initials were gorgeously emblazoned, as if after having deposited the unfulfilled prophecies within, the King himself had turned the lock and still retained the key in his pocket ;-the blue-coat boy, with his naked arm, first converting the invisible wheel, and then diving into the dark recess for a ticket;-the grave and reverend faces of the commissioners eyeing the announced number ;-the scribes below calmly committing it to their huge books;-the anxious countenances of the surrounding populace, while the giant figures of Gog and Magog, like presiding deities, looked down with a grim silence upon the whole proceeding,— constituted altogether a scene, which combined with the sudden wealth
*Since writing this article, we have been informed that the object of our funeral oration is not definitively dead, but only moribund. So much the better; we shall have an opportunity of granting the request made to Walter by one of the children in the wood, and "kill him two times." The Abbé de Vertot having a siege to write, and not receiving the materials in time, composed the whole from his invention: shortly after its completion, the expected documents arrived, when he threw them aside, exclaiming-" You are of no use to me now; I have carried the town"
supposed to be lavished from those inscrutable wheels, was well calculated to impress the imagination of a boy with reverence and amazement. Jupiter, seated between the two fatal urns of good and evil, the blind Goddess with her cornucopia, the Parca wielding the distaff, the thread of life, and the abhorred shears, seemed but dim and shadowy abstractions of mythology, when I had gazed upon an assemblage exercising, as I dreamt, a not less eventful power, and all presented to me in palpable and living operation. Reason and experience, ever at their old spiteful work of catching and destroying the bubbles which youth delighted to follow, have indeed dissipated much of this illusion, but my mind so far retained the influence of that early impression, that I have ever since continued to deposit my humble offerings at its shrine whenever the ministers of the Lottery went forth with type and trumpet to announce its periodical dispensations; and though nothing has been doled out to me from its undiscerning coffers but blanks, or those more vexatious tantalizers of the spirit, denominated small prizes, yet do I hold myself largely indebted to this most generous diffuser of universal happiness. Ingrates that we are! are we to be thankful for no benefits that are not palpable to sense, to recognise no favours that are not of marketable value, to acknowledge no wealth unless it can be counted with the five fingers? If we admit the mind to be the sole depositary of genuine joy, where is the bosom that has not been elevated into a temporary elysium by the magic of the Lottery? Which of us has not converted his ticket, or even his sixteenth share of one, into a nest-egg of Hope, upon which he has sate brooding in the secret roosting-places of his heart, and hatched it into a thousand fantastical apparitions?
What a startling revelation of the passions if all the aspirations engendered by the Lottery could be made manifest! Many an impecuniary epicure has gloated over his locked-up warrant for future wealth, as a means of realising the dream of his namesake in the Alchemist,—
"My meat shall all come in in Indian shells,
With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths and rubies;
And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber,
My footboy shall eat pheasants, calvered salmons,
Dress'd with an exquisite and poignant sauce,
Many a doating lover has kissed the scrap of paper whose promissory shower of gold was to give up to him his otherwise unattainable Danaë: Nimrods have transformed the same narrow symbol into a saddle, by which they have been enabled to bestride the backs of peerless hunters; while nymphs have metamorphosed its Protean form into
"Rings, gaudes, conceits,
"Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats,"
and all the braveries of dress, to say nothing of the obsequious hus