his work reads like a regular treatise upon these various subjects, written by one who speaks with authority. It describes the origin of our solar system; the formation of the original earth; the gradual deposition of the geological stratæ; the successive development of the mineral, vegetable, and animal kingdoms; the advent of man; his primitive condition in Eden; the progress of his race; its distribution over the face of the earth; the mythologies of the different peoples; their moral and social characteristics; the sources of the Bible and other sacred writings; the writers of the several books of the Old and New Testaments; the nature of prophets and prophecy; the birth, life, and character of Jesus; the doctrines of his religion, death, and the future life; with particular details of the occupations, joys and societies of the seven heavenly spheres, through which man passes in his heavenly progress towards the great spiritual sun of the universe. You will then perceive that the scope of this part is immense; yet the whole is treated with great seriousness and occasional profundity. The most superficial portions, as it seems to me, are those which relate to the Bible and man's religious history, and will give great offence to the whole circle of orthodox christians. The scientific parts resemble in tone and result the "Vestiges of Creation," which made so much noise some time back. It carries out the doctrine of progressive development, into all spheres, with the most rigid and unflinching logic; and as a mere work of speculation, to consider it in no other light, is full of the highest interest. It could at any rate only have been written by a man of extensive scientific acquirements, and the most vivid and vigorous imagination. But if we suppose it to be what it purports to be-the spontaneous utterings of a Clairvoyant-it becomes one of the most extraordinary works that was ever published: of this however, more in the sequel. The third part of the book relates to the application of these discoveries and revealments: and here the author assumes most positively and energetically the ground that the whole object of his previous enquiries was to conduct him to the great law of ASSOCIATION, or the pervading law of the universe, which must be applied in the reorganisation of human society. He avers that he has been especially prepared and commissioned to announce this truth, and that the great burden and mission of this Age of Humanity is to introduce principles of universal unity with the industrial and civil relations of all men. All past history has but tended to this consummation, which will be the beginning of the millennial day, of the advent of the New Heavens and the New Earth. The author traces all the miseries and diseases that have afflicted mankind to the disunity and isolation which prevails in human society, and declares it to have been the single object of Jesus Christ to restore mankind to perfect social unity, for which the fulness of time has now come. He gives instructions for the formation of rudimentary unions, and then bursts into an extatic description of the peace, prosperity, goodwill, and happiness which will suffuse the whole world when true co-operation shall have been established among all the classes of society. It is to him only a vision of superabounding glory. Such is a brief outline of this extraordinary work-extraordinary in every light in which we may regard it; for whether it be what it purports to be or not, it displays an astonishing, almost prodigious power of generalisation. But if it be the work of Davis, who is known in his normal state, to be a young man of only ordinary acqui sition and power of mind, then it opens up one of the most singular and wonderful chapters in all literary history; and that it is the unaided production of Davis there are hundreds of the most respectable and sound-minded men in this city most profoundly convinced, after a deliberate enquiry into all the circumstances of the case. Let the decision, however, of this particular question be what it may, is it not time, I ask professedly scientific men to look dispassionately into this whole subject of Clairvoyance, not to dismiss it with a jeer or a scoff, but to examine it as they would any other important and distinct phenomena? It seems to me that the facts relating to the subject are too many now, and too well substantiated, to allow them to be passed over with indifference, when we consider the wonderful experience of Swedenborg, of Behmen, of the seers of Provost, of Werner's recent patient, of this Davis, and a thousand other professed seers, scattered over all the nations of the earth, and substantially agreeing in all their external characteristics and their inward announcements, there is something sure in the coincidence which entitles it to a calm and serious attention. It cannot be that all these men and women, who testify so clearly and so positively to the existence of a higher mental power in man than he ordinarily uses, are deluded; they are for the most part sincere and worthy people, whose interests are not on the side of deception, and whose averments on other subjects would not for one moment be called in question. What then is to be made of this curious spectacle? How are we to account for the general uniformity of the phenomena ? Above all, how are we to explain the unquestionable anticipation of future events, which many of these clairvoyants have announced? I will not myself attempt to answer the questions now, although I have a very consistent theory of the subject. In the meantime let your readers peruse Davis's book, and see what they can make of it: it will richly repay the cost of it-and more. Yours truly, PARKE GODWIN. A VILLAGE COLLOQUY. BY SYDNEY YENDYS. "Good neighbour, do you mind that this same day "Ah, neighbour, when And love her so, that I am half afraid "Well, neighbour, well: 'tis strange that you and I, MADELEINE. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF M. JULES SANDEAU. (Continued from Page 112.) VI. Maurice was indeed about to take a long journey as he had announced; so long, that of those who depart, none had ever returned, and the boldest were chilled at the mere thought of it. All his preparations were made, and he had only to say Adieu" to this world. At this condition Maurice had arrived by insensible but sure gradations; and his history is not an uncommon one. After a youth of peacefulness amid the charms of nature, and with examples around him of all that is virtuous and pious, he was thrown into the world at an age when passion requires a firmer rein, a higher guide, than mere goodness of feeling. Accustomed to affection in his family, he sought it in the world, and found its base semblance. Deceived in this, he took refuge in that philosophy which scoffs at the existence of right principle; considering all which does not directly tend to personal enjoyment as a vain chimera; a philosophy which teaches men to despise enthusiasm and poetry, heroism and affection, country and liberty, as mere words, worthy only of contempt and derision, the fancies of weak minds. Maurice became a fervant disciple of this scoffing scepticism, and his descent was rapid. There are hearts of such a nature as to become purified even by the blood of their own wounds; there are others to whom this brings but a deeper corruption—and such was Maurice. What appeared a jest at first, soon ceased to be so; and his moral sense degraded, his principles undermined, he became in reality that which he had desired to be thought to be. Still he turned occasionally to Valtravers; but too strong a mesh confined him. His father's letters irritated him: the tender remonstrances of the good Marchioness excited alternately contempt and anger; and proud of his assumed independence he threw himself headlong into the gulf of profligacy; into which he was carried every day lower by the listlessness and ennui which succeed the whirlwind of passion. His duels, his horses, his debts, and his irregularities, became the theme of open reprobation. In the midst of these disorders he was surprised by his father's last letter. It was a touching one-free from useless anger and empty declamation: and while reading it, Maurice felt all his better nature awaken under the pang of remorse. With burning tears he resolved to tear himself away from his disgraceful entanglements; he would go at once. He did set off-and was met by the intelligence of his father's death. Fever and delirium were the consequences of this dreadful blow. Under pretence of consolation, his friends gathered round his pillow; and that blow which had appeared likely to break his evil chains only drew them tighter. Besides, what could he do at Valtravers? After useless endeavours to obtain the mastery over himself, he found it easier to yield to the circumstances which surrounded him. Meanwhile his embarrassments multiplied, and he was obliged to sell the domain of his ancestors, the roof under which he first drew breath, to appease his creditors; in short, he insensibly sank into one of those profligates who are to be seen in large cities, without income, without occupation, and without home; playing deeply, living at a great expence, ruining the honest folks whom they despise, and who in turn despise them. However a person may try to avoid it, the hour of retribution must come one day. Man has been called the plaything of chance, but there is no logic more close and inflexible than that of human life; all is entwined together; and for him who is able to disentangle the premises and patiently await the conclusion, it is the most correct of syllogisms. He who sows the whirlwind must reap the storm. Thus what must happen to Maurice did happen; he was at last in a condition from which there was no exit but suicide or disgrace. Maurice's was a perverted, but not a perverse mind. Even in the wildest moments of his profligacy the nobility of his natural disposition manifested itself. In a state of society where intellectual poverty struts under the garb of physical luxury, he had retained somewhat of self respect; and with a mistaken idea of what was due to his dignity, he did not hesitate as to his course. His moral suicide had long been acomplished; and his gloomy satiety, the disgust which he felt towards himself even more than towards all around him, was but too likely to lead him to this end. Too proud even in his degradation to quit life like a debtor flying from his creditors, as soon as he had taken his resolution he sold the farm of Coudray, which he had hithertoo left untouched solely for Madeleine's sake; for although retaining but a faint remembrance of his cousin in his heart, he had foreseen that she might one day be in poverty. In the certainty that Madeleine was now legal proprietor of Valtravers he disposed of the last remnant of his heritage to pay his remaining debts; then, actuated by feelings which not even vice can wholly extinguish, he desired to behold once more before he died the spot where he was born. But far from reviving the pure spirit of his youth, as perhaps he had hoped, this visit only exhibited to him in all its nakedness the apathy of his soul. Scarcely could he trace the paths where he had so frequently wandered with the Marchioness and the Chevalier; he looked without emotion upon the landscape which he had once so much admired not a tear fell from his burning eyelid as he stepped across the threshold of the room in which his father had drawn his last breath. It was a just punishment that after having outraged all that is respectable and holy, he should find even that his home, the source of all pure emotions refused to yield its refreshing waters, tendering to him dust only. Still less could the society of Madeleine renew good feeling in this wretched young man; he could not appreciate her moral loveliness; and after examining her face, as he would have done that of a statue or picture, he decided that his cousin wanted character. A vague constraint and uneasiness was all that he felt towards her; and the tender melancholy of bidding adieu having been long since deadened within him, he departed as abruptly as he had come, without notice to any one. On his return to Paris he hastened to arrange his affairs. He had already relinquished his house, dismissed his servants, and sold his carriages; with the price of Coudray he paid his remaining debts, and found himself left with a thousand crowns; sufficient for his future wants, as he had determined to pass the few days that remained to him in solitude. If he had lived shamelessly, he would at least die with propriety-that is, with dignity; for he believed in nothing: and the wretched one cared no more for God than for man. His last moments were not disturbed even by the image of Madeleine; not once did he find himself thinking of her sweet and mournful countenance. In his cowardly selfishness he did not for a moment recollect that his cousin's whole fortune was placed in jeopardy by the lawsuit. The hour approached for his departure; and if he still lingered, it was not through fear or hesitation; he merely wished after the endurance of so much bustle and agitation to acquire that calmness which the soul enjoys when its task is accomplished, and there is nothing more to be done here below. This apparently gained, all was ready for his end. He had written a farewell letter to Madeleine; his pistols were loaded; and there remained but to destroy all the vestiges of his past life, his papers, and thus leave only a corpse to the gossippings of curiosity. VII. After having wandered all day in the country, Maurice returned to Paris in the evening. Never had life appeared so burthensome to him; never had he so deeply felt the vacuity of his heart, the exhaustion of his faculties. He opened a casket which contained a number of memorials of his better days-family letters, amatory epistles, withered flowers, faded ribbons, tresses of hair there lay all the poetry of his youthful life; and as he carelessly and coldly raised the lid, the thought of happy days passed by arose like the breath of spring, bringing with it feelings to which he had long been a stranger, and making him shudder under their power. Among some letters which he intended to look over before he consigned them to the flames, his eye caught that written by Madeleine without the Chevalier's knowledge, and to which no reply had been given. He now read it through for the first time, smiling occasionally at its artless beauty; and gave it to the flames. He next drew forth a miniature, shuddering at its very touch as at that of a viper; and on looking at it, he trembled from head to foot, his brow became more contracted, his eyes flashed: it was the portrait of the first, the only woman he had really loved. The face was handsome, but of a scornful beauty; it was that of a sphynx proposing the enigma of her heart to the passers by, and devouring the fools who endeavoured to unravel it. After sternly gazing for a few minutes, Maurice threw it from him violently in angry hatred; and the delicate ivory lay shivered into atoms on the hearth. Exhausted by the effort, he threw him At self on the sofa, where, with his face buried in his hands, he remained for nearly an hour. length he raised himself, and beheld Madeleine standing before him, gazing on him with a melancholy smile. At first he thought this a vision of his overtasked mind; then for a moment he fancied that the angel of death was come to summon him; but he was not the person to give way long to these poetical ideas. "You! is it you, Madeleine? What do you want? What would you have? What whim or interest brings you here? This is certainly no place for you.' "Yes, cousin, it is me;" replied the young girl, showing neither vexation nor surprise at these words, the tone of which was angry and almost brutal. "It is I; or rather it is we," she added, "for your sister Ursula is here in your antechamber. I could not persuade the excellent creature to leave me; perhaps you will not object to seeing her honest and worthy face now and then.' " "What notion led you to quit your nest?" asked the young man, hastily. "What are you seeking in this infamous city? You are not aware that the air which is inhaled here is infected; you know not that people die here of disgust, sadness, weariness. Ursula and you at Paris! Poor innocents! Go away instantly; return to Valtravers, and live peacefully among your forest shades." "It is very easy for you to advise this, cousin," replied Madeleine, gently. "But you have not heard that I lost the suit which I was so near gaining; that Valtravers belongs to me no longer; and that I am now precisely in the same condition as I was when you found me in the depths of that forest where you advise me to shelter myself." "You have lost your suit! Valtravers is no longer yours!" cried Maurice, with a feeling of dread. 'My children will want nothing, and it is of no importance to me," replied Maurice, in a still more angry and abrupt tone. "Why did you not accept the farm of Coudray which I offered you? Why did you suffer me to sell it? Why not have said then that you might be one day penniless? That day has arrived; and what will become of you?" 66 Do not blame me, cousin. You see I do not doubt your kindness, since it is to you that I appeal. I assure you I did not hesitate for a moment. I said to myself My cousin is now my only hope of support in this world. He knows how tenderly I loved his aged father, and that altogether I am a good girl, perhaps worthy of his care. I know that he is generous, I will place myself under his protection, and I am certain he will not repulse me.' So I made up my little bundle, as when I left Munich; and after having knelt down upon the threshold which had received me so hospitably-after having bade a long sorrowful farewell to the mansion in which I had grown up, to those dear spots which I may never behold again-I set off, and here I am, Maurice. Have I not acted rightly? Could I have done otherwise?" Maurice made no reply. Seated upon the sofa opposite to Madeleine, he fixed his eyes upon her in sullen stupor, like a man who knows not whether he be awake or asleep. It was easy to read what was passing within him, but Madeleine gave no symptom of doing so, while she added, with gentle dignity-"Above all, do not fear, cousin, lest I should be much trouble to you. I will not interfere with your habits or actions. My own habits are simple, and my poverty shall be no burthen to your fortune. I only ask you to defer, for some time at least, your intended journey. You surely would not abandon me without guardianship in this great city, which you acknowledge to be so dangerous. You will remain, you shall not go away. Your generous father, the beloved Marchioness, asks this of you through me; it was thus that my blessed mother, before she died, confided me to the son of her sister. Recollect the letter which she gave me on her death-bed as my sole portion. If you have forgotten it, here it is, Maurice; read it." The fact is, that Maurice had never read this letter. The orphan had requested the Chevalier to return it to her, the day after her arrival at Valtravers, as the only relic of her mother; and it is not extraordinary that, in the midst of his amusements and employments, the young man should not have troubled himself to ascertain the truth of Madeleine's identity, nor to find out how his aunt wrote French. His father had said"This is your cousin," and Maurice embraced the stranger without inquiring further. Now, rather from embarrassment than curiosity, he mechanically received the paper, opened it carelessly, and began to run his eye over it. to close it: he told all. But with secret complacency Maurice pictured himself as a disenchanted hero, as a poetic victim to the realities of existence; so great is the pride of human weakness! He then ran over the theories which represent profligacy as merely the outbreak of ardent minds; he accused earth, heaven; in short, in his reprobation of all the world and mankind, he spared himself alone. Madeleine listened sadly and compassionately; long after he had finished speaking she remained silent, in an attitude of deep thoughtfulness. At length she said suddenly, in a cheerful tone, and raising her beautiful eyes towards him— "It is a strange tale; and I must confess, cousin, that unfortunately I do not understand much of it. It seems above the comprehension of a poor girl just come from the country, where she has lived entirely among persons who are benevolent and contented. They never taught me such strange ideas; and notwithstanding all its disasters, I have hitherto considered life as a lovely gift from a benevolent God. The plainest part of what you have just related is, that you have spent your patrimony, and possess as little as I do. There is no cause for despair in this; but in your turn what is to become of you? What are you about to do? To kill yourself? You cannot do it. I did not come to partake of your fortune only; I reckoned less upon your gold than on your affection; and although you may be ruined and as poor as myself, you are not the less my right guardian, my natural protector. Judge for Whatever others might suppose, and whatever yourself. Our mothers were sisters; they are both he himself might think, his heart was not entirely looking down on us, and listening to us. Your hardened; for beneath the crust of worldliness father opened his arms to me, and called me his there lay some feelings not wholly paralysed, beloved daughter, as soon as I appeared on his which might yet respond to a strong touch; and threshold. It was I who filled your place by his his imagination was not wholly destroyed. As he side; it was I who made his old age smile; I read the words, blotted by tears and kisses, upon smoothed his deathbed, and my hand closed his which the eyes of his father had formerly rested, eyes. Now, an orphan for the second time, behold Maurice recalled by degrees all the incidents of me alone, without resources, without any other that autumnal evening when he first beheld Made- protection than yours, in a world of dangers of leine. The shady forest rose up before his mind's which I am ignorant. Maurice, answer me; do eye, the glade bathed in the beams of the setting you think that your life belongs to yourself sun, the gate of the park, and upon the terrace alone?" which the young German girl was slowly ascending, he saw the Chevalier and Marchioness rising from their seats to greet the stranger. He was touched with the picture which his memory presented; a scanty thread of water burst from the barren rock; but at the last lines, addressed to himself alone, at these words-" And thou whom I know not, but whom I love to unite with my daughter in my tender solicitude, son of my sister, if thou resemblest thy mother in heart, thou wilt be a kind brother to my beloved Madeleine"-the rock gave way, and the spring, so long confined, burst violently forth. While Maurice hid his sobs in the cushions of the sofa, Madeleine remained standing still, gazing silently upon him; her hands crossed on her bosom, and her countenance sorrowful, like a young mother by the cradle of her sick infant. "Maurice! my friend, my brother, what ails you?" she cried, at length, in a caressing tone. Making her sit down by his side, he took her hand in his; and then, still trembling with the effects of his emotion, he related all of his life which he could relate without shocking too vio. lently the innocent heart which hung upon his words. He told of his early dreams; of the disorders into which disappointment and lassitude had thrown him; of his wanderings; of his total of his disgust at life; of his firm resolution ruin; Crushed under the weight of duties fallen suddenly upon him like a thunderbolt, as horrorstruck at the obligation of living, as in happier days he would have been at the necessity of dying; bound to existence like a galley slave who, when expecting to see his chains fall off, finds them more firmly rivetted than ever, Maurice replied only by a burst of despair. What could he, who could do nothing for himself, do for his cousin? What assistance could he give her,—he who sank under the burden of his own lot? 66 Begone! go, leave me!" cried he passionately. "Respect my misery; forbear to insult my distress. From the shore on which you stand, do not call on a drowning wretch to assist you; ask not support from a reed broken down by the tempest. 66 Friend," replied Madeline, "let us lean on each other, and we shall be able to resist tempests and adverse winds. Let us extend a helping hand to each other, and together we may escape the wave which threatens to overwhelm us; by a combined effort we shall attain the shore where, whatever you may choose to think, I no longer stand. See, Maurice; take courage. Instead of weeping and hiding your face, rise up. Death is but a poor resource; live, be a man at last. Truth alone is lovely; but we must understand it to be able to pursue it. We are poor; but is the health, the (To be continued.) strength, the understanding, which we have re- | lid, "sleep, faithful friends, till the hour of deceived from heaven, nothing? We will do what liverance, when I shall awaken you once more. so many of our equals have done, cousin; as the Marchioness and Chevalier formerly acted; we will labour like two children of a beneficent God." This prospect did not seem to please Maurice, who made a violent gesture betraying both disdain and anger. "I am to make bilboquets, then, am I?" he demanded, shrugging his shoulders. "Why not, cousin? Your father made them, and he was as much a gentleman as you are, I imagine." Maurice rose, walked twice round the room, and stopped abruptly opposite Madeline. Come, Maurice, a good movement!" cried the fair gentle girl in a resolute tone. 66 Well, cousin! be easy," he replied politely, but coldly. "I will do for you what I certainly would not have done for myself; I will live." Thanks, cousin!" said Madeline, with a faltering voice. You are kind: I was certain you would not reject me!" she added, taking one of his hands, and pressing it to her heart. "I will pray night and morning that God may bestow his blessing upon you.' "Well, well!" replied Maurice, drawing away his hand awkwardly. "That is not worth your troubling yourself about. I will live, but on condition that when your comfort is secured, I shall be free again, and my own master.' "That will be all right. My plans are already formed; we will talk them over together, and I am certain you will approve them. With the help of Heaven and you, I ask only two years to place myself comfortably in life." "Two years! you require two years!" cried the young man, with an astonishment and dissatisfaction which he did not attempt to disguise. "Is this expecting too much of you? Be assured, my friend, that I shall neglect no means of shortening the time of trial," said Madeleine, smiling sadly. Maurice put an end to the conversation by a sign of heroic resignation, when Ursula, unable to control herself longer, burst into the room, and then threw herself on her young master's neck, who disengaged himself pettishly from her noisy tenderness. Standing in the recess of a window, pale, immovable, with clasped hands, he looked alternately at the two women; he felt that they were both entirely dependent upon him, and he trembled with anger and hatred. PALACE LIGHTS, CLUB Cards, and BY ONE WHO CAN'T MAKE THEM OUT. A CAPITAL article might be written on "Things one can't make out." How many enigmas stare one in the face every day in the ordinary routine matters of life? Among other things that I can't make out, is her Majesty's dreadful extravagance in the matter of wax candles. Not a chandler's can one pass without seeing piles of spermacetties ticketted" Palace Candles;" their wicks just singed, to give them a second-handish look. One naturally asks, what can be the meaning of this? Is Prince Albert practising Herr Dobler's trick of blowing out a couple of hundred lights at a time with a percussion cap; or has the Master of the Household the perquisite of the grease-pot? The number of ships her Majesty has at sea, doubtless justifies a pretty liberal illumination at the palace; but how comes it that so many of them find their way to Mr. Sperm's, and others in the chandlery line? Another thing that I can't make out is, where all the Club Cards come from? Order as many hundred dozen as you like, and the supply never appears to get lower. It is insinuated that they are the rejected packs of club gamblers, never having been used but once for fear of fraud; but all the hells in London, if they were to try for it, could not supply as many as you could obtain in the next street. The cardmakers, I suspect, must have a workshop for their manufacture in some concealed den, where the artizans, dressed as gentlemen of fashion, play furiously away for enormous imaginary stakes, until they sit up to their knees in rejected packs, which are then taken away, as having undergone the due ordeal previous to sale. I have heard people of imaginative turns of mind, sometimes when they have been gently gliding out the deal with one of these packs, paint a picture of the estate that has been lost, perhaps by its very pips, and of the ruined man rushing from the hell, with frenzy, to Waterloo-bridge, and a great deal more of the like fancy-work, that the maker would have grinned to have listened to. Bank Pens, again, are called upon to explain themselves. Where do they come from in such quantities? Are we to believe, as the stationers It was getting late; they deferred till the next would have us, that they are the discarded quills day conversing on their future plans; and Mau- of Threadneedle or Lombard Street? It certainly rice reconducted Madeleine to the door of the gives us a vast idea of the profuseness of Bank little inn where the travellers had alighted. During stationary. Merciful clerks, no doubt, like not the walk he was obliged to endure the country to exhaust the willing pen, by "carrying forward" questions and silly astonishment of Ursula, who, such heavy sums from page to page, and so have taking the lighting of the streets for a sign of pub-many relays for the work. Be that as it may, lic rejoicing, and being acquainted with all the saints in the calendar, asked, in her ignorance, whether the city was illuminated in honour of St. Babolein. These childish speeches, which would have diverted Maurice under other circumstances, now exasperated him. He returned along the deserted quays, casting occasionally a jealous glance into the dark stream, which appeared to entice him into its waters. On regaining his apartment, he went straight to his box of pistols, which he opened, and, after contemplating the contents for some minutes with a burning but melancholy glance, 66 Sleep," said he at length, slowly closing the Bank Pens always seem to have been oppressed with too much calculating, for they manage to split right up in the head by themselves, after the slightest exertion. Inspecting a bundle of them that now lies before me, I find that they are all dipped into the ink exactly the same depth, so that the clerk who last used them must, in some momentary phrenzy, have gone to work with the whole quarter of a hundred. These three things are a puzzle to me as great as the Chinese nest of balls. I have turned them over and over in my mind without even hitting upon their rationale, and so I shall go on per plexed, I fear, to my grave. +1 |