R.-The IDES OF MARCH is noted in Roman history as the day of the assassination of Julius Cæsar. Shakspeare makes a soothsayer bid the Dictator "beware the ides of March." The Romans divided their months into three parts, of which the ides was the middle, from iduare, to divide. Cæsar was slain on the 15th of March, that day being the ides. "A YOUNG STUDENT," Newcastle on Tyne, wishes "to study some books which contain the fundamental parts of English poetry," and requests us to assist him to do so. The question is not very lucidly put, since the essential qualities of poetry are the same in all languages, and the ornaments of rhythm, rhyme, and metre are but outward graces, rendering intellectual loveliness more attractive through an earthly medium, "the charmed ear." Our correspondent informs us that (among others) he has read great part of the works of Milton and Wordsworth. Had he not informed us of this, we should have at once referred him to those poets, as a full satisfaction to his desire; and even now we can but recommend a careful study of both for a fulfilment of his wishes. We cannot, in the literature of any age or country, point out two, more fully imbued with the fine spirit of true poetry. The diction of both is masteriy, although Wordsworth has sometimes disfigured his works by an adherence to a fantastic theory. Milton, in his unrivalled blank verse, fettered himself by no rules; his ear was his faithful guide. We have somewhere seen his magnificent rhythm compared to the grand tones of an organ. It was a poetic mind that prompted the simile. The poets of antiquity must not be omitted by a student of the art; but they cannot be read by him with advantage except in the original, or without a very thorough knowledge of the languages they wrote in. We half suspect, from the tone of his letter, that our correspondent is himself an aspirant to poetic honours. There are few, who have read much when young, who have not adventured to tag a rhyme; and too, by far too many, have been deluded by a facility in versifying into a belief that they were poets. We earnestly warn our correspondent against this danger. Supposing even that he be really possessed of true poetical powers, yet let him remember in time that no man eper did, or ever can, distinguish himself as a poet, without possessing an intimate knowledge of men as they are; and that such knowledge is not to be gained otherwise than by studying them in the world, and not in the closet; and that, consequently, he cannot gratify his highest aspirations otherwise than by toiing in the station in which he is placed in life, be it high or low. Let him not forget that Milton was for years a schoolmaster, and that his finest works were the product of his riper years. If the poetic fire be genuine, it will not be extinguished. If it be false, it is well to have refrained from following a deceitful ignis fatuus. It may perhaps gratify the "Young Student," and some others of our correspondents, to learn that we purpose very shortly commencing a series of papers on the British poets, interspersed with specimens illustrative of their peculiar excellences. "A CONSTANT READER," DUNFERMLINE, referring to Milton's description of Chaos, inquires the meaning of Demogorgon, in the passage "And by them stood Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name Of Demogorgon." "Is it," says our correspondent, "a Greek compound created for the emergency, to convey some awful image of the brain which he could not express in English, save by a periphrasis?-or has it any mythic allusion to the great whirlpool of the Atlantic, the Gulf Stream; an interpretation which I have seen tantalisingly hinted at in an article on Poetry in an Edinburgh Review?" We cannot perceive any, even the remotest, allusion to the Gulf Stream, or the perils of an Atlantic voyage, in the description of Satan's flight from hell. Milton compares his course to the voyages of Jason and Ulysses, but does not use any expression which can warrant the supposition that he had the perils of Columbus, or any of the succeeding American adventurers, in his mind when he dictated the second Book of Paradise Lost. The whole imagery is drawn from the classic mythology. Demogorgon was the chief, or rather the most terrible, of the terrestrial divinities; his companions were Eternity and Chaos. To him the creation of the Heavens and the Sun, which he gave in marriage to the Earth, is ascribed. DemoFrom this marriage, Tartarus, Night, and other children, proceeded. gorgon is fabled to have had many children:-first Discord, then Pan his second son; the Fates, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos; Heaven, Pethos, the Earth, and Erebus. Demogorgon was regarded as an awful mystery; and it appears that, in the fables of his children and their offspring, the history of the creation is shadowed forth. Sacrifices were offered to him, especially in Arcadia. The name is derived from the two Greek words, Daimon, which properly means a spiritual essence or intelligence-a being intermediate between the gods and men, and Gorgon, a being terrible to behold. Hence Milton's fine poetical expression, "the dreaded name of Demogorgon "-something too awful for the imagination to embody. Orcus is generally by the poets taken for Pluto, as Ades for any dark place. These terms are of a very vague signification, and are employed by the poets accordingly. Milton has personified them, and put them in the court of Chaos. A SUBSCRIBER, COLCHESTER, puts the following question: "Whether the talents of an individual are of an equal degree, and whether the proficiency to which any such individual attains in a science, or any other branch of learning, is dependent upon taste or other acting principles, and not upon a supposed genius for such science?" Without referring to the minute division of the various mental faculties made by phrenologists, we must admit that the power of the mind, as exercised through the medium of the body-the only state in which we can form a judgment of its nature,-is divisible into separate parts, distinct from each other. For instance, we recognise the power of imagination, of calculation, and of memory; and we believe it to be very rare indeed for each of these faculties to be possessed in an equal degree by one individual. We do not pretend to say what may be the predisposing cause, but we are perfectly satisfied of the fact. It is most satisfactorily proved by the examination of children, and we never yet met with any who had been accustomed to their society, as instructors or otherwise, who doubted it. It is not unusual to meet with a boy who is a good arithmetician, and yet has a bad memory; or one with a good memory, who is dull at "cyphering." Our correspondent, who appears to advocate the equality of mental powers-at least until a bias has been given to the mind, and a “taste" for a particular study infused,-quotes the case of Kirke White, who succeeded in every study to which he gave his attention; and alludes (we think not very happily) to the multifarious knowledge of Lord Brougham. Such instances prove nothing. It may be very possible for a man of a powerful mind to attain a knowledge of any subject he chooses to turn his attention to; but we do not believe that he will in every case do so with equal facility. We will quote one passage from Kirke White's Diary, which we think our correspondent must have overlooked, and will then take leave of the subject. "I will labour diligently in my mathematical studies, because I half suspect myself of a dislike to them." Why should he, who by dint of these very studies had just received the highest collegiate honours attainable, dislike them, had they not proved more toilsome than other studies as arduous but more congenial? We could multiply instances of this kind, but our limits restrain us. We have received several letters on the subject of the Camphor Experiment referred to in the Letter-Boxes of Nos. 61 and 65. With deference to our correspondents who have taken the trouble to write (two of them very intelligently), we rather think the subject not of sufficient importance to our readers, to advert further to it. One of the letters, however, a rambling but very amusing one, dated from "the foot of the Grampians "--states that the writer, after trying the experiment successfully and unsuccessfully, thinks that "if there be the least dust or grease, the experiment will be a failure; but if otherwise, that it will succeed." In this our friend Norval, "on the Grampian Hills," is quite right. We tried the experiment with precaution, and though the camphor did not whirl at the rate of "ten knots an hour," as we were told it would, it did, nevertheless, whirl very rapidly; and the drop of oil stayed its rotary motion. Samuel Haughton, of Carlow, may therefore, try the experiment once more. Rapid evaporation is probably the cause of the rotary motion. All Letters intended to be answered in the LITERARY LETTER-Box are to be addressed to "THE EDITOR of the LONDON SATURDAY JOURNAL," and delivered FREE, at 113, Fleet-street. The VOLUMES of the LONDON SATURDAY JOURNAL may be had as follows:VOLUME I., containing Nos. 1 to 26, price 5s. 6d. in cloth. VOLUME II., containing Nos. 27 to 52, price 58. 6d. in cloth. VOLUMES I. and II. bound together, containing the Numbers for 1839, price 10s. 6d. in cloth. BACK NUMBERS and PARTS, to complete Sets, may always be obtained. London: WILLIAM SMITH, 113, Fleet Street. Edinburgh: FRASER and Co. Dublin: CURRY and Co.-Printed and Stereotyped by Bradbury and Evans, Whitefriars. LONDON SATURDAY JOURNAL. No. 72.] PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM SMITH, 113, FLEET STREET. SATURDAY, MAY 16, 1840. MEMOIRS OF A PRISONER OF STATE.* THE character of Francis I., the late Emperor of Austria, (father-in-law of Napoleon,) who died in 1835, in his sixtyseventh year, and was succeeded by his son Ferdinand, the present emperor, has been much discussed. One party has represented him to have been a cold, formal, exact, precise, unfeeling man, whose notions of government were, that all his subjects should be living automatons, performing the duties of life with mechanical routine, and who punished with unrelenting severity any attempts of anybody in his dominions to think and act for themselves, Another party has praised him as a mild and paternal sovereign, regular in his habits, attentive to the wants of his people, easily accessible to the meanest of his subjects, and whose anxiety to maintain peace and good order, to diffuse happiness and content, As was rewarded by a wide-spread popularity in Austria. usual, in such estimates of character, the truth lies somewhere between. He was certainly a man who had no mean idea of the "divine right" of power, and who considered that if monarchs took the trouble of ruling, the people should find their pleasure in obedience. He hated, with a cordial hatred, the idea of popular rights and constitutional governments; and it is said of him, that, when very ill, he sharply rebuked his physician, for giving him hopes that the strength of "his Majesty's constitution" would enable him to rally-the word "constitution suggesting an idea abhorrent to the royal ears. But then he had causes for much of his aversion and for much of his despotism. His uncle, Joseph II., under whose care he had been brought up, had introduced many well-meant reforms into his dominions; but the arbitrary way in which he had introduced them, as well as the indigested methods of proceeding, had offended instead of gratifying his subjects. When Francis came to the throne, he found himself surrounded with difficulties; while the breaking-out of the French revolution, followed by the military despotism of Napoleon, and the continental war under which Austria suffered much, all tended to deepen his natural prejudices, and make him detest the very thought of popular movements, or even of popular complaint. That the Emperor Francis did much for the material comfort of his subjects, there can be no question; and that he was, on the whole, popular amongst his people, there seems as little reason to doubt. "The ruling principles of his administration were love of order, minuteness of detail, economy, and strict subordination. These principles, which agreed pretty well with the character of his German subjects, clashed with the temper of the people of Italy, whose activity, love of pleasure, military ambition, and national spirit, had been stimulated during twenty years of French dominion. The people of Lombardy, especially the educated classes, felt dissatisfied at being reduced to the condition of an Austrian dependency. Conspiracies were hatched, which all failed, and only served to render the Austrian government suspi *Memoirs of a Prisoner of State, in the Fortress of Spielberg; by Alexander Andryane, Fellow-Captive of Count Confalonieri; with an Appendix by Maroncelli, the Companion of Silvio Pellico. Translated by Fortunato Prandi. Complete in two Volumes.-8vo. Saunders and Otley. 1840. VOL. II. [PRICE TWOPENCE. cious and severe. Of the persons implicated, some escaped, others were tried and condemned to death, which sentence the emperor commuted to imprisonment for various periods in several fortresses, but mostly in the castle of Spielberg, in Moravia." Respecting these events, Fortunato Prandi, the able translator of the book before us, says, "Few works have in these times excited a deeper or more extensive interest than Silvio Pellico's account of his imprisonment. It was in fact impossible that his great virtues and piety, combined with so much suffering, should not at once gain the admiration and sympathy of his readers. Some of his statements concerning the miseries he had to endure appeared at first so incredible, that doubts were even entertained as to his veracity. It was then, however, but little known that the first edition of his 'Prigioni' had been printed at Turin, where a watchful censorship, wholly subservient to Austria, was more likely to have suppressed many obnoxious truths, than to have allowed any groundless charge But those who were well acquainted with the against that power. politics of Italy considered Pellico's narrative greatly deficient, and expected with impatience that some of his fellow-prisoners would give to the world a more complete description of the atrocities perpetrated by the Austrian government upon its Italian subjects. "A few years afterwards, a Frenchman, who had also been released from the dungeons of Spielberg, announced his intention to prepare for the press a relation of his own captivity. Independent of Austria, possessed of considerable talent and acquirements, and widely esteemed for his integrity, Monsieur Andryane was believed to unite all the qualifications required for the task. The expectations he raised were high, especially as he had been confined in the same cell with Confalonieri, the hero of modern Italy." Alexander Andryane, a Frenchman, of a good family, served a short time in the army of Napoleon, when the peace of 1815 made him relinquish the military profession. He then became a man of fashion in Paris, and pursued an idle and a worthless life, until, reclaimed by the wise counsels of a sister, who acted towards him as a mother, he quitted Paris, and resolved to become a student at Geneva. Here he became acquainted with some Italian refugees, ardent republicans, who, in the excess of their enthusiasm, overlooked all the difficulties that lay in the road to independence and republicanism. Accordingly, when M. Andryane had resolved to spend a year or two in Italy, these men resolved to make use of him, in opening up a communication with their countrymen; and succeeded in persuading him to be the bearer of a number of letters and documents, by which he would be introduced to the members of secret societies. Andryane set out for Italy on December 18th, 1822, and arrived at Milan at the beginning of | 1823. At this period, the Austrian police was exceedingly active; many arrests had taken place; and those of the republicans who ventured to speak confidentially to Andryane were so discouraged and fearful, that he saw the hopelessness of his mission, and resolved to destroy the dangerous documents with which he was entrusted. A sense of honour made him hesitate; he wrote to Geneva, announcing his intention of abandoning his mission; and his ardent friend, Buonarotti, the person who induced him to Bradbury and Evans, Printers, Whitefriars. X undertake it, ignorant of, or underrating, the danger which sur-myself for whatever might happen, and bear it with becoming forrounded the young man, wrote back to reproach and encourage❘ titude. With this view I preserved an air of perfect assurance him. Still Andryane was determined to get quit of his dangerous and politeness towards the agents of police, which prevented their Without the least charge but instead of destroying the papers, he sought out one losing for an instant the respect due to me. appearance of uneasiness, and with as much tranquillity as if I of the Italians to whom he had been introduced, who promised to were going to call on an intimate friend, I left my room with come for them next day. On the morning of that day the bell at Bolza, who loaded me with marks of deference and respect. The the door of his lodging was rung, and there entered into his room staircase, the court, the door, at which a coach was in waiting, "a gentleman in a brown coat, of a sinister and cadaverous visage, were all guarded by soldiers, placed ready to prevent any attempt followed by several gendarmes. I shuddered; a thought struck at escape. me like a thunderbolt-' It is all over with me!'-a moment of intense agony, which however I mastered sufficiently to assume a polite and unconcerned air, and ask the personage in the brown coat to what I owed the honour of his visit ? "Excuse me,' he replied; I am sent by the Customs to search whether you have not contraband goods in your possession.' "I am not a merchant: the Customs ought to be aware of that.' “' I trust you will pardon me, but it is my duty :' and so saying, he and his myrmidons entered my room. "A thought, a glimmer of safety, shot through my mind. The fire was blazing in the chimney; to throw my papers into it whilst I confused these pretended custom-officers by engaging them in a scuffle, was worth attempting. I rapidly strode two or three "I had taken every precaution, you see,' said the prudent commissary, with a self-satisfied air: I knew with whom I had to deal; and, to tell the truth, I would not have undertaken your arrest if they had not given me a strong force.' "I see you understand your business,' I answered. "In a few minutes we arrived at the head-office of the police, where, under a good escort, and guarded by Bolza, I was introduced into the cabinet of the director without delay. The sealed case was handed over to him; he took it, tore off the envelope, opened it, and having turned over the papers, begged me to be seated; then desiring Bolza to examine its contents, and make a list of them, he sat himself down again to his desk, and continued his employment. "The silence which prevailed in the room, only broken by the rustling of the parchments as the commissary drew them from the steps toward the sofa; but I found I had to do with a man who was no novice in such expeditions. Two of his alguazils had case, and the scratching of the pen of the director as he wrote, left me entirely to myself, and I began more clearly to see the abyss immediately stationed themselves in front of the fire-place. into which I had fallen. No chance of saving myself occurred to I should, however, have proceeded in my design, relying on my my mind. I am in the power of the Austrians-I am lost-I see own strength, but that it occurred to me the papers were inclosed it-I feel it! These were my only thoughts. Tired of this anxicus in the cursed leather case, and would not therefore immediately state of suspense, I asked leave of the director of police to take a catch fire. My situation was desperate, my means of escape none. book from his library; a request which he accorded very graciIf I had had arms, I should certainly have made an attempt, how-ously. I opened the book, turned over the pages; I even read ever hazardous; but I had nothing but a cane. several of them mechanically, for I found it vain to attempt to interest my mind in the subject; and my eyes kept wandering every now and then to catch a furtive glance of what was going on around. "Taken by surprise, I was obliged to conceal my feelings, and put on a good face, while the agents of the police examined one by one the drawers of my wardrobe and desk. All my movementsmy very looks-were strictly watched by the eye of their leader, who expected perhaps by this means to gain a hint as to where the objects of search were concealed, or perhaps feared that by some means or other I should spirit them away. To put off the evil moment for a time, I drew near them as they examined the papers of my desk; I even joked with them on some passages in my travelling journal, out of which I read several sentences to the head officer--such as the letter of Buonarotti, of which, it seems, he could not decipher the writing. But all these feints served little to lead the Signor Conte Bolza off the scent, an old blood-world, who feels, and never forgets, that no circumstances give us hound of the police, and well versed in the art and mystery of arrests. "A last resource struck me, to gain possession of the writingcase, and hurl it on the roofs of the neighbouring houses, then covered with snow; whilst, profiting by the surprise of my visitors, I should throw myself out into the street. It was a desperate measure, which would have availed me nothing, and which the next moment rendered impracticable. Several of the police were already arrived in the course of their search at the sofa; towards which, as if by instinct, the commissary Bolza all at once advanced. The first cushion he lifted discovered the case; he eagerly clutched it, and held it up. A mortal chill ran through my veins-I felt that my fate was about to be decided! "Transported with his lucky seizure, of which he already suspected the importance, Bolza, fixing his cold and serpent-like eyes upon me, began to open the case. I strongly protested against this, and required him on his responsibility to inclose it in an envelope, and place a seal upon it immediately. Take me,' I said to him, 'take me before the director-general of police; he alone should examine these papers.' To this he acceded, and carefully sealed the packet in my presence; his gendarmes still continuing a minute search throughout the chamber. "Sometimes a glimmer of hope enlivened my spirits, and I said to myself, After all, what have I done to warrant my arrest? -they can only send me with a good escort to the frontier.' Already I had traversed the Alps-I had gained Switzerland-I was at Geneva !-a momentary illusion, which the director of the police very soon dispelled, by requesting that I would myself draw up, and cheque with Bolza, a list of the papers in the case: not a word, not a gesture, however, betrayed his intentions towards me. Polite, though reserved, he had the manners of a man of the a right to be less attentive or less civil to one whom misfortunes have stricken. I really felt grateful to him; and after his telling me that he was sorry it was his duty to place me in confinement, and before my leaving the room, I stopped and thanked him for his attention and politeness. Had his manners been rough and overbearing, I should certainly have felt the horror of my situation much more keenly. "On being conducted into another chamber, they undressed me from head to foot; the first operation of my jailer, and the first of the long series of annoyances which were continued to the last moment of my captivity. After undergoing the scrutiny of this talented personage, who was so little satisfied at finding nothing that he was almost ready to peer under my eyelids for concealed despatches, they conducted me into a lower apartment, where I found Bolza, who immediately led me to the prisons of the police. To reach them, it was necessary to pass through a large kitchen, where two or three cooks in white jackets were busied, as my guide informed me, in preparing dinner for the numerous prisoners of the commission. You see his Majesty takes care that you should live well here,' added he, pointing out the shelves fur nished with pans; and moreover we have here the first cook of Milan, the famous Cisalpino;-you will find yourself very well "The evil was without remedy, and I now had only to brace off.' 'Really,' said I, looking at the dainty morsels hung around, 'I did not know the emperor treated his prisoners so well.' "When a man has on a stone-jacket, what has he better to amuse himself with than eating?' cried a burly man with a horselaugh, whom Bolza introduced to me as the head jailer. "You will not find it very comfortable to-day,' said the commissary; but in a day or two-Is all ready?' he said hastily to a turnkey who came up at the moment. " "Yes, sir.' "Then let us be gone,' I said: and he led me into the same building where Silvio Pellico had been confined three years before: but its female inmates had been removed, and their chambers, changed into prisons, were now occupied by the unfortunate patriots whom the commission had torn from the bosom of their families. Passing through a low and dark corridor, which looked out upon a small court surrounded by a high wall, the jailer opened a little door studded with iron, on which my eyes had been from the first presagingly fixed. 66 6 May I trouble you to enter?' said Bolza. I entered-the door closed behind me with a hollow sound. May God recompense one day or other the intense anguish which fell upon my heart at that moment!" Thus, at the age of twenty-four, did Alexander Andryane commence his dreary captivity. The night previously he had been at the magnificent theatre La Scala; on that very morning he had been preparing for a tour of Italy: from that night, ten years passed over his head, during which bitterly did he eat "the bread and water of affliction!" Even amid the exaggeration and French sentimentalism of Andryane's narrative, in reading it one's gorge is perpetually rising at the abominable, the atrocious, yet petty, contemptible, and needless treatment which the Frenchman endured. A secret inquisitorial commission for the investigation and trial of political offences was sitting at Milan, the most active of which was one Salvotti, a cunning, overbearing man, whose great object was to make himself acceptable to the emperor, by the importance and extent of his discoveries. It was immediately concluded, from the fatal papers, that Andryane was a great prize; and that, if they could but get him to confess, and reveal the extensive information which they concluded he possessed of the designs of secret societies, a full harvest of arrests might be reaped, and doubtless thereafter a shower of honours from the grateful emperor. Again and again was Andryane brought before this secret tribunal; coaxed, teased, urged, and bullied; he was visited in his cell, and tempting inducements held out-his youth, his family, the hope of immediate liberty, &c., &c.—but all in vain. Here is a speci men of the style of his repeated examinations. How can you maintain,' cried Salvotti with anger, that you do not know the names of those who have written these docu without your admissions. The thing is clear enough. It will be a bitter day to him if he falls into our hands. Here is another of your letters coming from him; it proves that' "I had given up all idea, all projects against the Austrian government; and that it would be unjust to punish an intention no sooner formed than abandoned.' "Oh, you think so, do you? Is that all you know of criminal jurisprudence? You will soon find out that you have a great deal to learn in that science.' "In France-' "Pshaw! must we tell you every day that you are not in France, but in Austria, which has the power, and is determined to keep down the disaffected? I am in the confidence of the Emperor, and I will prove myself worthy of it by committing all his enemies to the rigour of the law.' "But, sir, I am no more the enemy of the Emperor of Austria than I am his subject. I have done nothing against him.' "Nothing! Oh, then you call it nothing to enter his dominions with revolutionary projects-to incite his subjects to revolt?' "That remains to be proved.' "Oh, we shall prove it in good time-we shall do more, we shall make you confess it yourself.' "Never.' "Ah, well, no matter-you will not the less be hung; and those for whose safety you make yourself such a fool will laugh at your expense. You may now return to prison, and pray God to have mercy on you, while you have time for it. There, you may go." One of the commission, M. Minghini, was a man of humanity had a mind and a heart; and to his oft-repeated interferences Andryane was indebted for many kindnesses, which alleviated his misery. Andryane's sister, with her husband and child, had come from Paris to Milan, in the hope of being able to do something for him; but it was with great difficulty, and only through Minghini, who took a strong interest in them, that the friends were permitted to have a hurried interview. This is the style in which Salvotti talks to him, when galled by not obtaining the important disclosures he expected. "Your obstinacy shall not overmaster the law; you shall speak-you shall divulge your secrets.' "But for that, sir, it would be requisite to have them.' "Just see what impudence!' cried Salvotti, showing the two judges the oft-mentioned papers. "Impudence!' replied I; 'no, sir, no.' "Those who thus make a sport of truth,' continued Salvotti, to see your friends-they shall be ordered to quit Milan immedi⚫ deserve not the slightest consideration. You shall not be allowed ately. You shall no longer be permitted to write, and your books shall be taken from you. No indulgence to hardened culprits ;such is the will of his Majesty, whose clemency it will henceforth be vain for you to entreat.' "I had hoped, sir,' said I to Salvotti,' that, my examination once concluded, I should be permitted to see my relations.' 666 Ay, but we will not bring it to a close yet-I can, if I choose, protract it for two years longer. But be not alarmed,' added he, with the bitterest irony, you shall have your desert before that; the gallows will be ready for you quite soon enough."" At last, when Salvotti found he could not worry nor weary out the prisoner, the examinations were closed. Salvotti even permitted him to draw up a defence, promising to transmit it to the emperor. "The next day Minghini came to see me. I have read your defence,' said he; it is ably written-very; perhaps too much so, for unfortunately at will only do you injury with the emperor.' "And how should it have been, then?' demanded I. "How?-more humble, more submissive,' Cringing, say rather.' Count's door. I implore you, if you speak again with him, be "Minghini shook my hand at parting, and showed signs of brief; I am on thorns all the time.' genuine pity.' As the prisoners were prevented from making any noise, or speaking loudly, in their cells, one of their recreations was to endeavour to open a communication with adjoining cells, by gently tapping on the walls. One tap served for the letter a, two for b, three for c, and so on. Tedious as this was, and requiring excessive labour and patience, it yet alleviated the horrors of imprisonment, when the prisoner in the adjoining cell happened to comprehend the mural alphabet. "This agitation kills me,' said I one day to Rinaldini. I tapped at the wall, and listened ;-no answer. I tried again, and the last tap was immediately followed by a slight response. 'Who are you?' I asked. He replied the first letter was a c, the second an o, then an n, then an f, followed by an a. My attention was redoubled; after the a, I heard an 7, an o, an n. I became breathless; all my nerves were on the stretch. I then articulated the letters i, e, r, i, and exclaimed 'It is he !' "Who?' asked my companion eagerly. "It is he! it is he!' I repeated with joy; 'it is Confalonieri.' "On my informing him of my name, he said, 'I know who you are, at what time you were arrested, and also how you have behaved during your imprisonment: I pity and esteem you.' "Who could express the comfort these words administered! How proud I felt to be so favourably greeted by this man, whose misfortunes and noble character had so frequently aroused my sympathies, and spoken so forcibly to my imagination! I regarded this unexpected meeting as the work of Providence, confirming my presentiments that I should share his fate, "I know you too,' I answered, with such a transport of joy as prevented me from accurately beating the letters: your exiled friends, whom I met in Switzerland, and whom I have loved, spoke of you, and told me how dear you were to Italy and to themselves. Some faithful patriots of Milan, who lament your fate, have also recounted with enthusiasm your acts and sufferings in your country's cause. And in prison, the best of men, the good Monpiani, has made me acquainted with your generous sentiments. I esteem and admire you, I reverence you, and I thank God for having brought me near you.' 1 "He gave the signal that he understood me, but did not answer immediately. I listened anxiously, and with tears in my eyes. 'Excuse my silence,' said he a few moments after; 'I am so weak that the least effort fatigues me. I assure you I am delighted at our meeting-we will speak of our friends, of France.' "I remained some time with my ear against the wall, in the hope that he would continue; and I was about to tap again, when Rinaldini warned me by a slight cough. I turned towards him; he was at the door, with his finger on his lips, giving signs of alarm. What is the matter?' said I, impatiently. He pointed to the corridor. "There they are,' whispered he. "Such was the happy chance, or rather the will of Providence, which brought me into connexion, for the first time, with him whose captivity I was doomed to share for many years." Here we pause; but shall resume the narrative in our next Number. EFFECTS OF EDUCATION. Ar an annual meeting of the British and Foreign School Society, Mr. Fowell Buxton once related the following anecdote :-It had been his misfortune, when very young, to live with a gentleman whose prejudices against the improvement of the poor were numerous and inveterate. There were, in that gentleman's opinion, three great causes of the demoralisation of the poor-reading, writing, and arithmetic; and whenever a quarrel took place in his neighbourhood, he was in the habit of saying, "That is the effect of education." If a theft or murder were committed, "There," he would say, "is another test of the bad effects of education." In speaking of his own steward, this hater of human improvement would say, "That man-to his credit be it spoken-is not able to read a word or to write a figure; and yet he is, perhaps, the best accountant in the county." It was natural enough to inquire by what process of memory the steward kept his accounts. This was shown. A drawer was produced: in one compartment there was a parcel of beans, in another a parcel of peas, and in the remaining divisions there were various descriptions of grain. These were the symbols of various debts and payments, which, with the aid of a strong memory, the steward kept with great exactness; until one night a rat broke into his account-box, and down went the account of what was due from various tenants, and all was thrown into the wildest confusion and doubt. From that moment he (Mr. Buxton) had been a convert to the superiority of written or printed symbols. THE REGULAR TORN-DOWNER. AMONGST the various classes of unfortunates whose external appearance bespeaks the misery of their condition, which the streets of every city and town exhibit, there is one in particular which has long had a large share of our especial attention. This class consists of a certain description of individuals in the last stage of shabbiness as to apparei, and who yet have about them something of the appearance of having been once in better circumstances. At first, from having noticed only two or three unfortunates of the kind alluded to, we set them down as mere varieties of a species; but a little further observation, by discovering to us that they were pretty numerous, satisfied us that they formed a class-a distinct and separate class. As such, then, we are now to consider them. By what accident, or combination of accidents, the torn-downer has been reduced to the unhappy state in which we find him, who but himself can tell? His is a curious history, full of odd circumstances and incidents, and unlucky chances, with (this is invaria "I advanced towards him, saying aloud, to aid his retreat, bly the case) a certain groundwork of dissipation, which has had 'Will you read to me?' "Willingly,' said he, leaning forward, to prevent those who were listening from suspecting that he was so near the door. "Then, as he did not stir, I understood that it was necessary I should make some noise to enable him to withdraw. I therefore moved the chairs, and by means of this stratagem he advanced on tiptoe to the place where I stood. There he regained his courage and his voice, and we began to recite verses, to speak of poets, until we hoped that our spy had decamped. Then Rinaldini taking me aside, repeated significantly, They were there! I heard them breathe.' "Do you suppose they heard me?' "I am afraid they did. When Salvotti finds that we have spoken with Confalonieri, woe unto us! Heaven knows what punishment may await us. They are continually watching the --although the unfortunate himself does not see, or will not own it-the effect of lessening the benefits of all his advantages, and of aggravating the evils of all his misfortunes. The torn-downer, then, is dissipated; he is desperately so. He will go through fire and water for drink-he will submit to any privation for drink ;—he will do anything for drink. "Back and side go bare, go bare, Both foot and hand go cold, But belly, God send thee good ale enough, Is now his creed; and in the spirit of devotion to the tankard expressed in the above lines, does he heart and soul concur. The torn-downer does nothing now-nothing whatever; for nobody will have anything to do with him; so, finding himself |