ciferous, but silence and neglect, that sink an author's works into oblivion. Those reviewers, therefore, who were most hostile to his sentiments and perverted genius, by continually attempting to decry and degravate him with reiterated obloquy, only became the ministers to his lofty pride, filling with augmented blasts the trumpet of his immortal fame. The fact is, that a great portion of the reading world, seldom judging for itself, but pinning its faith on the professional critic's sleeve, to use a simple but expressive metaphor, in all matters that appertain to literature, set up a gigantic idol of gold, and iron, and clay, to be worshipped with reverence and admiration on the flowery plains of Parnassus. It was universally believed that this lofty and magnificent image was animated and inspired with immortal fire, brought by Apollo from Heaven; and his worshippers were ready to cast any one into the midst of a burning furnace, heated seven times, who would not fall down at the sound of their fame spreading sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and harp, and pay implicit homage and adoration to the idol which they had

set up.

But it came to pass, when a certain period had elapsed, that the fire which animated this god of poesy was discovered to be fearfully mingled with those lurid flames that issue from beneath the Satanic throne,* in the dismal halls of eternal darkness. And it was also perceived that certain bards who, refusing to fall down and offer incense, were cast into the seven-times heated furnace of malignant satire, which was kept burning before the image by pride and revenge -into which flattery flung the richest perfumes and spices, gathered in the Aonian groves-that these bards came forth unhurt from the devouring flames, like the three Hebrews of old, and shone with increasing lustre in the day of their

renown.

At length the fire which animated the idol became extinguished, and expired in thick smoke amid the tempest which the insulted genii of Christianity awoke. The giant deity was hurled from its lofty pedestal-it fell-and was shivered into fragments, while far and wide its worshippers were scattered by the storm. Many of those whose tongues had been clamorous in his praise, and had sung the loudest songs of adulation to the sackbut, dulcimer, and harp-O glorious stability of popular applause!

* Vide Southey.

now grossly reviled him, and heaped execrations on his head when laid low in the dust. Alas! his vast remainswherein the purest gold will ever shine refulgent amid the rubbish of corroding iron and vile clay-lie extended on the flowery plains of poetry and romance, a colossean monument of wonder and disgust-of admiration and contempt!

And that proud monument shall exist when the stupendous fragments of gigantic Thebes have crumbled into dust,when the last column of the Acropolis, that long shall echo to the Grecian lyre with his praise, lies broken on the ground, and overgrown with moss; and the pyramids themselves are a desolate and hideous wreck,-while the pilgrim bard of ages and climes remote, shall visit his remains with a purer veneration, and a nobler respect, than the most zealous worshipper possessed who bowed before the shrine of this British Apollo when he proudly stood on high in the splendour of his exaltation, in the glory of his early renown!

Rogvald Cottage, April 20, 1836.

J. F. PENNIE.

QUEEN MARY'S (OF SCOTS) PORTRAIT. THE picture in posession of the Hamilton family is perhaps the only original now extant, of Mary when she was the wife of Francis the Second. It is finely painted, but seems never to have been retouched, and had been set with diamonds when presented to the duke of Chatelerault.

The idea of the head is so different from that called Queen Mary at Chiswick, that it renders the genuineness of the latter very questionable; though some pictures of the same princess during her imprisonment in England, after she turned fat and unwieldy, and her eyes sunk, are undoubted originals. As to the head in black velvet tipped with ermine, the real story of it is as follows. A life of Mary being to be published in French, the author applied to a Scotchgentleman at Paris (the Chevalier Ramsay we believe), to write to Scotland for a drawing of Queen Mary. None of the Duke of Hamilton's family being on the spot, the housekeeper did not think he was at liberty to suffer the picture to be copied; and the painter to whom the commission was sent (given?) rather than disappoint either himself, or his correspondent, took the drawing for the plate from a jolly black girl, a baker's daughter in the neighbourhood.

A short distance ere the traveller from Paris reaches the steep and winding town of Pontoise, he perceives on his right hand the ruins of the once rich and celebrated Abbey of Maubuisson, founded in 1246, by the Queen Blanche, mother of Louis the Saint, whose desire it was to be interred therein.

The revolution has with its hands of violence thrown down the antique and holy house, and scattered to the wind the ashes of the pious queen who erected it. For the last forty years all around has worn a widely changed aspect in those secluded retreats, that during five centuries, time had ever found the same. To the silent tranquillity of the convent, the noise and activity of an unceasing industry have succeeded; the park, with its sad and sombre trees, has become a smiling vineyard; a ruined arch and shaft still suspend their tottering but

chapel's locality; the lower part of the cloisters here and there sustained by a single pillar the foundations of the abbey and the vaults wherein these poor religieuses were deposited on passing from one death to another;-such are the sole remains of that ancient and sacred edifice. One exception however, I have forgotten to make, in gentle hospitality.

I was at Maubuisson in the autumn of last year, and one morning being present at the breakfast of the labourers, I happened to inquire what was the day of the month.

"We are at the thirteenth of October," replied one of them.

Is it the thirteenth ?" anxiously rejoined the gardener ;-" then we shall soon see the lady with the louis d'or."

remains for a considerable length of time. On taking her departure, she always gives us a louis d'or. But if she were not to come this year, it would not surprise me, for when we last saw her she had the appearance of being exceedingly ill. Francois was obliged to help the domestic to almost carry her through the ruins, and when she returned from the correction she was well nigh senseless."

The correction is a little vault of some three feet square, and a little deeper than the ordinary stature of a woman, Dug at ten feet beneath the foundations of the abbey, neither light nor air could have penetrated therein. You formerly descended to it from the apartment of the Abbess, by a narrow flight of steps, some vestiges of which may still be seen. It was there that the religieuses submitted to her all-powerful authority, were sent to expiate the fault of having spoken in the refectory, of not having risen at the first toll of the bell, and for many other crimes unpardonable in the eyes of Heaven, and more especially of Saint Bernard, whose rule they followed. I had paid little attention to the words of the gardener; but when I returned from my customary walk, a splendid carriage with richly emblazoned panels stood in the court-yard. I proceeded to the garden, and passed before the wicket through which now the descent to the correction is effected. When upon the sill of the first flight, I perceived a lady dressed in deep mourning garments. She was of tall stature, noble features, with a countenance far less deteriorated in its beauty from age, than by the expression of lively and recent grief. As she walked very unsteadily and with great difficulty, I offered her my arm; a moment afterwards she fainted. and I had much trouble in carrying her back to the house. When she had recovered her senses. I insisted that she should pass the rest of the day and the night at Maubuisson; to which she ultimately consented.

,

The next day, walking with her in the vineyard:- Monsieur," said she to me, "I have to thank you for your great at. tention to me; in what way that may be agreeable to you can I return the obligation ?"

"I have only, Madame, an indiscreet question to ask you, and yet I fear to do so."

"An indiscreet question, Monsieur? The motive which brings me here? It is a history that my children alone are acquainted with; and it

is one that I like not to relate. But you have shewn such solicitude for me-an old woman!—a very great kindness on your part; therefore since you wish it, listen.

"I was born at Beauvais, in 1770. My mother died in giving me birth; my father, a wealthy country gentleman, married again within a very short period after her death. My mother-in-law occupied herself a good deal at first with the care of me; but after a while, when she had children of her own, bestowed the whole of her time upon them and her amusements.

I was eight years old when my father was appointed guardian to one of his nephews who in the space of a few months had experienced the loss of both father and mother. My cousin became an inmate of our house. The similarity of our tastes, a species of melancholy which was common to us, the confused instinct of our isolated position in the world, had soon united us in that lively friendship peculiar to childhood. We passed together every hour unoccupied by our education, otherwise very much neglected. That innocent attachment gave no uneasiness whatever to my parents, even at an age when it might have been likely to change itself into another sentiment. It had been agreed between them that we should soon be separated and for ever.

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'My cousin consequently had hardly entered upon his eighteenth year, when my father one day summoned him to his presence for the purpose of announcing that he was engaged as a volunteer, in a regiment on the point of embarking for the Indies, and that he must hold himself in readiness to set out on the following day. My cousin ran immediately to acquaint me with this fatal news. we had long and bitterly wept in seeking to console one another, he embraced me and made me swear upon my prayerbook, that I would not espouse another, at least until his return. I swore it to him, and the next day he took his departure.

After

"My turn soon arrived. My stepmother entered my chamber one morning, which she scarcely ever did; she discoursed long and eloquently to me upon the limited fortune of my father, of the numerous expenses of his household; and added, that not having a dowry to bestow upon me, the profession of a religieuse was the sole one befitting my birth; that she was acquainted with the Abbess of Maubuisson, by whom I should be

well received, that in fine such were the orders of my father. To this argument it was vain for me to make reply, and eight days after I was at the Abbey of Maubuisson.

"It was the custom then in every convent, when a girl presented herself with the intention of taking the veil, to attach another religieuse to her on some sort of capacity during her noviciate. She was a friend and a companion incessantly at her side, charged with the task of painting in glowing colours to her the peace and happiness of a conventual life, of which at the same time she was careful to dissimulate the wearing austerities. The associate, the friend they appointed to fulfil this office for me, was named en religion sister Rose de la Miséricorde. No one better than herself, and that without willing it, could have been fitted for this species of seduction. With her, every practice of the conventual rules seemed easy, so agreeably did she accomplish them. Charming girl, for whom my heart will never cease to cherish the tenderest affection so long as it beats! Born of an illustrious family, poverty had induced her to the vocation which my father's will had devoted me. But that docility of character soon familiarised itself to the duties imposed. Her angelic features, her lovely blue eyes, the repose of manner, all, even to the melody of her voice, were in keeping with her gentle and ingenuous mind. Had one ever so much detested the cloister, that in which one dwelt with her could not fail to have its peculiar charms.

"She speedily engrossed my entire affection and confidence, and in return bestowed upon me the sincerest friendship.

We were scarcely ever apart. When separated from her I thought of my cousin; but what had become of him? Should I ever see him again? Then the will of my father came to interpose itself between us both as an insurmountable obstacle. So that I contemplated the arrival, not certainly without regret, but with little terror, of the day upon which I was to pronounce my vow. This I did three months after my domiciliation.

"One evening, in the month of June, on entering my cell, I found a letter on my bed. I hesitated at first whether I should not carry it to the superior; but on examining the address, I no longer hesitated. I recognised the hand writing of my cousin. He informed me that he had returned to France in order to claim a very considerable property that had

been bequeathed him by his maternal uncle; that on arriving at Beauvais he had learned the destiny they were preparing for me, and which threw him into the utmost despair. At the same time he bade me remember my oaths, and conjured me not to abandon him. Every thing was provided for. By the influence of money he had gained over several persons belonging to the convent. If I so willed it, on the following Thursday, I had only to station myself in that turret you see there still standing to the north, and he would manage the rest; we would then quit France together. If I came not, he would blow out his brains.

"Such a menace must be ever terrifying to a young female; it was doubly so to me, who knew too well the character of my cousin. Never did man, under a calm and reflecting exterior, conceal more violent passions. Irresolute in trifling circumstances, he possessed an inflexible determination in great ones. Had he ever decided upon killing himself, he would have arranged the details appertaining to his death as any other affair of daily occurrence; and death, at the appointed hour, would have found him exact to his appointment.

"That letter threw me into a state of mental agitation impossible to be conceived. I passed a most horrible night, a strong fever consuming me. At the same time the state of my heart fully revealed itself. It was no longer the affection of a sister that I entertained for him; it was love, and love the most ardent. I equally execrated the cloister and the barbarity of my father. I could have willingly dashed out my brains against the bars of my window.

"The next day Rose readily perceived my trouble; she inquired the cause. I shewed her my cousin's letter, which she tore, that it might not compromise any one; then she opposed me with the precepts of religion, the grief of my father, the dangers I should run in following abroad a man who was not my husband. To all of which I replied, that I would never be a nun, that they wished to sacrifice me, that I loved my cousin, that he would destroy himself, and then I should become mad myself, or more probably die of grief. Then we said our prayers together, and wept long in each other's arms.

In this manner we passed three days; upon the fourth Rose came to me with a more tranquil air. My poor friend,' said she to me, I see that the commands