subject. Sir Walter's is entitled 'Helvellyn,' and is curious to the critic, as a specimen of bad verse upon a good subject, by the foremost man in literature of all his time. The first and last stanzas may suffice:

"I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide;

All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling,

And starting around me, the echoes replied. On the right, Striden Edge round the Red Tarn was bending,

And Catchedicam its left verge was defending; One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending,

Where I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died.

"But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,

To lay down thy head, like the meek mountain lamb,

When, wilder'd, he drops from some cliff, huge in stature,

And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying,

Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying, With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam.'

"Mr. Wordsworth's poem is of a different character to [from?] this; and is too well known to need repetition, except, perhaps, for the sake of the contrast, for which the two following stanzas will suffice. It is entitled,FIDELITY':

"A barking sound the shepherd hearsA cry as of a dog or fox.

He halts and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks.

And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake or fern;
And instantly a dog is seen
Glancing through that covered green.

"Yes, proof was plain that since the day
When this ill-fated traveller died,
The dog had watched about the spot,
Or by his master's side.

How nourished here through such long time,
He knows, who gave that love sublime,
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate.

We must pass stone and Furness; and omitting_all intervening places, we take up Dr. Mackay at Keswick. We give a long extract; but it comprises the most interesting passage in the book :

"unvisited" Ulver

"Keswick is a small neat town, close to the port of Derwentwater, and, next to Ambleside, is the most convenient starting point and home of the tourist who desires to view at his leisure the beauties of this beautiful land. The whole place now is, and ever will be, sacred to the memory of Robert Southey. It was, to use his own words, in an Epistle to Allan Cunningham

"The dwelling-place

Where he had passed the whole mid-stage of life, Not idly, certes-not unworthily.'

And immediately on descending from the coach, my companion and myself, having seen our small luggage safely housed, and having inquired the way from our host of the Royal Oak, proceeded to view Greta Hall, where he had lived and died. The walk was not a long one. It led us through the High street of the town, and over the bridge of the Greta, a small stream, formed by the junction of two smaller streams, rejoicing in the sonorous names of the Glenderamaken and the Glenderaterra. The house, which we soon came in sight of, is named from the river, Greta Hall, and is situated on a gentle eminence, at a considerable distance from the road. The entrance is a rustic wicket gate, on opening which we found ourselves in a narrow avenue of trees, at the extremity of which we saw the house. We walked up to it leisurely, devising, as we went, how we should procure admission, and whether we should content ourselves with an outside view of a place so celebrated. On arriving at the door, we found neither bell nor knocker. Some of the shutters were shut, and all were newly painted; and on looking through one of the windows, we saw a newly painted and papered room without furniture, and as if it had been but a moment before evacuated by painters and carpenters. This gave us hope that we could procure admission without disturbing any one, or appearing guilty of intrusiveness or incivility, of which there would have been some risk if the house had been inhabited. As, however, we were not certain that there was any one inside, all our efforts to procure admission by knocking with our hands on the door and windows having failed, we walked through the garden at the back of the house, reflecting reverently that we stood on hallowed ground.

"The reflection was mournful. The garden was neglected; it showed that he, and she also the amiable hostess who had loved to tend it, had departed. It was uncropped, and going into the rank luxuriance of weeds, and showed, at every turn, the want of the hand of its former mistress. In the midst of our stroll amid its deserted walks, we saw a workman, with a key in his hand, coming up the avenue; and, proceeding to meet him, we asked whether we could procure admission. He replied in the affirmative, and offered to conduct us over the house, which, he informed us, was to be let. As he seemed to think that we had come on business, and had a desire of looking at the house for the purpose of hiring it, we undeceived him

in this particular, and told him that curiosity alone, and respect for the memory of its late illustrious occupant, had in. duced us to trouble him. The man was intelligent, and very obliging; and though but a journeyman painter, seemed as fully impressed as we were, with the greatness of the claim that Robert Southey had upon the affectionate reverence of posterity. He told us that very many persons visited the house solely on this account, and that there was, he thought, scarcely a tourist to the Lake district, who did not make a point of coming into the garden at least though most of them lacked courage to demand admission into the house. The garden, he said, had suffered severely, from the reverence of travellers-and the ladies, especially, carried away flowers, and leaves of shrubs, to preserve as mementos; so that he feared, if the house were not let, in a year or two there would not be a shrub or flower left. This worthy fellow led us over the building, which was large and commodious-showed us the kitchen, the wine-cellar, the diningroom, the drawing-room, and the study; each of which recalled painfully to our minds at least they did so to minethe bodily absence of one whose spirit yet spoke to mankind, and exerted an influence upon their thoughts. The room that had been the library was especially painful to reflect upon. The marks on the walls, where the shelves had been fitted, were still uneffaced by the painter's brush; but the beloved books which it had been the pleasure of his life to collect, were all dispersed; and not one, or [nor?] a shred of one, was left behind, of the many thousands that had formerly made the spot a living temple of literature. It would have been worth preserving these for Keswick; and I thought, and still think, that if the town had been rich enough to make the purchase of the whole property, it would have conferred upon itself, not only honour, but advantage. We were afterwards led into several smaller apartments, and, among others, into a room of a very peculiar shape-a long, narrow parallelogram, with a door in one corner, and a solitary window looking into the garden at the other, and allowing, from the thickness of the foliage outside, but little light to penetrate into the interior. I asked for what purpose this room had been used, and was told that it had been a bed-room. He died there exactly where you are standing,' said the painter. I felt my cheeks tingle as he spoke. I drew back, involuntarily, from the spot, with a feeling of awe; and as involuntarily for I did not know or think at the time what I was doingtook off my hat. The painter, moved

Southey's life and labours form a chapter of English literature, which we hope yet to find worthily given us. Himself the able biographer of others, his memoirs will inherently possess a degree of interest hardly surpassed by those of Scott, and our fond desire would be, that they may fall into equally capable hands. The poet, historian, critic, will need not alone the appreciating friend, who can paint for us the less noticed phases of his soul; but the masterly genius who, from a fellowship in endowments, will be enabled to traverse the heights and depths through which his thoughts could wander. Comparatively easy it may be to trace his growth in mental stature, from the youthful errors of "Wat Tyler" and "Joan of Arc," to the grandeur of "Thalaba," or his fulness of strength in the "Curse of Kehama." But we shall require something more than the mere delineation of progress, and naturally ask "how these things were?" in the hope that some "alter ego" may be found to give an adequate reply. The mighty Master, who has so recently been taken from us, has left the impress of his genius on our country's literature, which, unlike himself, cannot pass away; and now we claim, in the discharge of a holy duty, the declaration of his intellectual history, that contemporaneous chroniclers can alone record. We have no fears but that it will be attempted; perhaps experience would suggest far different apprehensions, lest it be overdone. Silence about those who have occupied high positions in the public eye, is not usual, nor can it be accounted desirable; but the delicacy of reserve is not always shown in these things, and feelings of indignant sorrow we have often experienced in reading portions of biography that never should have been written. Letters and other transcripts of secret feeling, are unblushingly set forth by resurrectionist editors, who dare not employ similar treachery against their living acquaintance and things, which common charity, if not common propriety,

would have consigned to everlasting silence, are ransacked for the gratification of a morbid public appetite. Such revelations may, perhaps, be justifiable in the instance of a Byron, whose Letters and Journals were almost avowedly written for after-publication; but what had the world to do with the private epistles of a Nelson, that made known the Delilah of our Samson, and proved the demi-god a frail, sinful man?* We trust Southey's friends will use their own discretion, and not sin against the Departed by violating the confidence his trusting heart placed in them. Not that one so unblamable in word and deed as he was, has need to shrink from the severest scrutiny, but that the "little tendernesses" of home and hearth should be held sacred, and being such, should be delicately handled, and distantly spoken about. The whole course of a biography may be gone through without infringing propriety, even as the most life-like statue can be raised without omitting the loosely-falling robes, that are as ornamental as they are necessary.

From Keswick we follow our author to Derwentwater and its poetsung islets; thence to Lodore Waterfall and Borrodale, of whose yew-trees Wordsworth has largely written. We tread his footsteps to Egremont, famed for its castle, the horn of which none could sound, save the rightful ownera circumstance, which detected in bygone days an usurping lord, as we find written by the same bard; on to St. Bees (founded in the seventh century by St. Bega, a holy lady of Ireland, the friend and contemporary of the great Columbanus), where is now a flourishing college for the education of ministers for the Church of England. Again, we proceed in his company, mentally, if not physically, to Buttermere: visit Scale Force and the Druids' Circle; at Cockermouth we call to mind that it is the Rydal poet's birthplace, and by a yet ten

derer tie the burial-place of his dead; we ascend Blencathra and Skiddaw, and at last pause with him at "bonnie Carlisle," the point of his exit, as Lancaster had been of his entrance upon his "summer ramble."

Carlisle affords a very readable concluding chapter, in which Dr. Mackay combines the poetical city of King Arthur and his Round-Table knights with the historical burgh of many a bloody feud, and toughly-fought siege. He quotes largely from the old Border ballads, in illustration of the former's knightly deeds, and describes at some length, the sufferings of the inhabitants during the wars of the Roses, and two centuries after, when the Young Chevalier made his impotent invasion of England, and the town was taken and retaken within six weeks. But here we pause, commending the book to the courteous consideration of our readers, and thanking the writer for his pleasing addition to our library. Once or twice we have detected him at war with the Queen's English, a fault we cannot pardon in any, whether friend or foe; nor let our author deem us fastidious, or that the imperfection is immaterial, for we can assure him neither is the case. The work is copiously illustrated, and the engravings are uniformly excellent ; a few, however, have been "reduced" so much, that they lose considerably, as well in effect as in clearness, and are almost painful to the eye to contemplate. We would suggest to Dr. Mackay, in the event of a second edition being called for, that he remedy the foregoing blemishes, and make an addition of a travelling map, for the tourist's benefit. He will find also, that a little research will discover many more poetical illustrations; and that a further study of Wordsworth will enable him to identify several of the poet's less obvious local descriptions with localities, which are now, doubtless, familiar to his eye and memory.

little calculated to reassure those who had hastily committed themselves to the Restoration.

The commissioners of the Emperor presented themselves to Alexander. He addressed this act of abdication to the allies, without alluding either to the senate or the legislative body, or to any of the constituted authorities. The anxiety of Talleyrand, who stood so deeply and irretrievably committed, during this interview, can easily be conceived. He intercepted the Marshals in the ante-room before they communicated with the Czar, and showed them how many persons would be compromised if they succeeded in their mission. "You will ruin," said he, all those who have entered this salon. Remember that Louis XVIII. is a principle, and everything else is only an intrigue." He produced, however, no effect. The Marshals were faithful to their mission, and unanimous for a Regency.

It was one in the morning when the deputation was received by Alexander. Marshal M'Donald opened the conference. "We have full powers, so far as regards the army, the regency, and France," said he. "The Emperor Napoleon has expressly orbidden us to stipulate for himself personally." "That does not surprise me," replied Alexander, pensively, and with a countenance full of admiration for the fallen greatness alluded to.

"Your majesty," continued M'Donald, "will not forget your old friendship for Napoleon. The military glory of France also merits some consideration. It would be baseness in us to abandon the race of him who has so often led us to victory. Your majesty will not forget the declaration of the allies, that they did not invade France with the intention of imposing a government upon her." Marshal Ney and M. Caulaincourt supported the proposals of M'Donald, and the latter especially availed himself of the confidence which he had formerly enjoyed with the Czar, to urge the interests of the family of Napoleon.

The eloquence and military frankness of the Marshals had shaken Alexander, who had besides a lingering spark of his old regard for Napoleon still unextinguished. Talleyrand had arranged that General Dessolle should take up the other side of the question. "Your majesty," said he,

"must consider how many persons, relying upon your word, have already been compromised in this matter. The pledge given by your majesty, to treat henceforward neither with Napoleon nor any of his family, has operated upon them, and governed their conduct. Your majesty ought to remember that the Regency will be only the reign of Napoleon continued." The embarrassment of the Czar was extreme, and he only escaped from it by the subterfuge, that he was not acting alone, and must consult the King of Prussia. He told the deputation that in a few hours they should receive his

answer.

The Marshals left the Czar, and waited in the antechamber, where they entered into a lively altercation with the supporters of the provisional government, accompanied by loud words. Talleyrand, who had remained with Alexander, came out and said—

"Messieurs, if you wish to dispute, pray descend to my apartment; you are in the antechamber of the Emperor of Russia."

"That will be useless," replied M'Donald; "my comrades and I are determined not to acknowledge the provisional government."

M. Talleyrand and other members of the provisional government then returned to Alexander, and resorted to every means of persuasion to decide him against the propositions of the deputation.

In fine, a reply was given, through Talleyrand, to the envoys of Napoleon, that nothing would be accepted by the allies but unconditional abdication, and the well-known treaty of Fontainbleau was signed on the 11th April by Marshal Ney and M. Caulaincourt on the part of Napoleon, and MM. de Metternich, Stadion, Nesselrode, and Castlereagh, on behalf of the allied powers. Napoleon thus be. came sovereign of Elba, whither he was accompanied by four hundred men of his guard.

In all the proceedings taken by Talleyrand to produce the recall of the Bourbons to the throne of France his great object was to couple their return with conditions which should secure to the nation a liberal constitution. Of this he never for a moment lost sight. In his negotiations with the allied sovereigns and their agents, in his discussions with the leading