For that love which never came; Woe, the heart betrayed to fame." "Some," said Young, "are willing to wed virtue for her personal charms, others for the sake of her expected dowry;" so enthusiasm, by adding an imaginary value to our pursuits, lures us (like an enchantress, with ideal sights and sounds) onward: and should we fail after all our application, still, "the light that led us astray, was light from heaven," for our delusions have doubtless solaced and cheered many weary hours of "malignant fortune." This passion, which inspires to virtuous deeds the modest and unknown, is the same with that which glowed in the heart of a Washington, urging him on, in the face of surrounding and almost insuperable discouragements, to the rescue of his country-that instigated the youth in classic times to thrust his arm into the burning crucible-actuated the wretch who precipitated Horace into the Tiber-and impelled Curtius to cast himself into the yawning chasm. Leading, as it does, to deeds of heroism, and eliciting the dormant energies and excellences of our nature, it nevertheless will occasionally reveal itself in manner very name. outré, and no less annoying. The instance we are about to cite, will explain our meaning; it properly refers, however, to a love of notoriety, not fame. On a certain occasion, the Emperor Charles V. was on a visit to the "eternal city," and inspecting the magnificent monuments of its early glory, he was induced to ascend to the top of the Rotunda. A citizen accompanied him, for the purpose of pointing out its numerous beauties. On retiring from the summit, the guide remarked, that he had felt a strange desire to seize his majesty in his arms, and by dashing both to atoms on the pavement below, win for himself an imperishable The emperor, of course, appreciated the man's intentions so well, that he had him removed to a place where his temptations and longings might be subjected to proper limitations. The destruction of so beautiful a work of art as the Temple of Diana, was considered a national calamity, and to show the horror and detestation of the people towards the incendiary, it was enacted that his name should never more be heard; yet so subtile is fame, that the execrations of posterity are unsparingly bestowed upon the simple peasant Erastus, who furnishes the moral to many a story, of the sad effects of insane and misguided ambition. Napoleon was talkative when travelling, says his biographer, Count Bourienne. "When passing through Burgundy, on our return to Paris, after the battle of Marengo, he said exultingly, 'Well, a few more events like this campaign, and I may go down to posterity.' 'I think,' replied I, 'that you have already done enough to secure great and lasting fame.' 'Yes,' replied he, 'I have done enough, that is true; in less than two years I have won Cairo, Paris, and Milan; but for all that, my dear fellow, were I to die to-morrow, I should not, at the end of ten centuries, occupy half a page of general history."" He was right. Many ages pass before the eye in the course of half an hour's reading, and the duration of a reign of life is but the affair of a moment. In a historical summary, a page suffices to describe all the conquests of Alexander and Cæsar, and all the devastations of Timour and Genghis Khan. We are indeed acquainted with only the least portion of past events. Is it worth while to desolate the world for so slight a memorial? Old Jeremy Collier quaintly says: "After all your magnifying of Fame, I am afraid 'twill not hold up to your standard. 'Tis a rich soil, I grant you; but oftener covered with weeds than grain. You say it produces heroes; so much the worse. 'Twere well if there were fewer of them; for I scarcely ever heard of any, excepting Hercules, but did more mischief than good. Those overgrown mortals commonly use their will with their right hand, and their reason with their left. Their pride is their title, and their power puts them in possession. Their pomp is furnished from rapine, and their scarlet dyed with human blood. To drive justice, and peace, and plenty before them, is a noble victory; and the progress of violence goes for extent of empire. "And as for Alexander, what extent of country did he ravage, and how many thousands were sacrificed to his caprice? What famine, what inundations, what plague could keep pace with him? the capital of an empire in a frolic? Did he not burn If his power had been equal to his ambition, Providence could scarcely have made the world faster than he would have destroyed it. If wrecks, and ruins, and desolations of kingdoms, are marks of greatness, why do not we worship a tempest, and erect a statue for the plague ?" We close our subject in the expressive lines of Young: "The love of praise, howe'er concealed by art, THE MAGIC OF MUSIC. Whence art thou—from what causes dost thou spring, THE “HE natural history of music is full of wonders. Its origin is a profound mystery. "Wherever we look into its inherent elements we are met by signs of precautionary care. It is as if the Giver of all good gifts had presided over the construction of this one with especial love, fencing it round with every possible natural security for its safe development, and planting them among those instincts we have least power to pervert. "We ask the question in vain, as we must ever do when we would follow paths which lose themselves in the depths of our being. We only know and only can know of music that its science is an instinct of our nature-its subjects the emotions of our hearts—that at every step we advance in its fundamental laws we are but deciphering what is written within us, not transscribing anything from without. We know that the law which requires that after three whole notes a half note must succeed, is part of ourselves--a necessity in 362 |