"Judge," he said, "do you think, that, before we commence refreshing ourselves at the tables, it would be the proper thing to—crave a—to request Deacon Soper or some other elderly person—to ask a blessing?"

The Judge looked as grave as if he were about giving the opinion of the Court in the great India-rubber case.

"On the whole," he answered, after a pause, "I should think it might, perhaps, be dispensed with on this occasion. Young folks are noisy, and it is awkward to have talking and laughing going on while a blessing is being asked. Unless a clergyman is present and makes a point of it, I think it will hardly be expected."

The Colonel was infinitely relieved. "Judge, will you take Mrs. Sprowle in to supper?" And the Colonel returned the compliment by offering his arm to Mrs. Judge Thornton.

The door of the supper-room was now open, and the company, following the lead of the host and hostess, began to stream into it, until it was pretty well filled.

There was an awful kind of pause. Many were beginning to drop their heads and shut their eyes, in anticipation of the usual petition before a meal; some expected the music to strike up,—others, that an oration would now be delivered by the Colonel.

"Make yourselves at home, ladies and gentlemen," said the Colonel; "good things were made to eat, and you're welcome to all you see before you."

So saying, he attacked a huge turkey which stood at the head of the table; and his example being followed first by the bold, then by the doubtful, and lastly by the timid, the clatter soon made the circuit of the tables. Some were shocked, however, as the Colonel had feared they would be, at the want of the customary invocation. Widow Leech, a kind of relation, who had to be invited, and who came with her old, back-country-looking string of gold beads round her neck, seemed to feel very serious about it.

"If she'd ha' known that folks would begrutch cravin' a blessin' over sech a heap o' provisions, she'd rather have staid t' home. It was a bad sign, when folks wasn't grateful for the baounties of Providence."

The elder Miss Spinney, to whom she made this remark, assented to it, at the same time ogling a piece of frosted cake, which she presently appropriated with great refinement of manner,—taking it between her thumb and forefinger, keeping the others well spread and the little finger in extreme divergence, with a graceful undulation of the neck, and a queer little sound in her throat, as of an m that wanted to get out and perished in the attempt.

The tables now presented an animated spectacle. Young fellows of the more dashing sort, with high stand-up collars and voluminous bows to their neckerchiefs, distinguished themselves by cutting up fowls and offering portions thereof to the buxom girls these knowing ones had commonly selected.

"A bit of the wing, Roxy, or of the—under limb?"

The first laugh broke out at this, but it was premature, a sporadic laugh, as Dr. Kittredge would have said, which did not become epidemic. People were very solemn as yet, many of them being new to such splendid scenes, and crushed, as it were, in the presence of so much crockery and so many silver spoons, and such a variety of unusual viands and beverages. When the laugh rose around Roxy and her saucy beau, several looked in that direction with an anxious expression, as if something had happened,—a lady fainted, for instance, or a couple of lively fellows came to high words.

"Young folks will be young folks," said Deacon Soper. "No harm done. Least said soonest mended."

"Have some of these shell-oysters?" said the Colonel to Mrs. Trecothick.

A delicate emphasis on the word shell implied that the Colonel knew what was what. To the New England inland native, beyond the reach of the east winds, the oyster unconditioned, the oyster absolute, without a qualifying adjective, is the pickled oyster. Mrs. Trecothick, who knew very well that an oyster long out of his shell (as is apt to be the case with the rural bivalve) gets homesick and loses his sprightliness, replied, with the pleasantest smile in the world, that the chicken she had been helped to was too delicate to be given up even for the greater rarity. But the word "shell-oysters" had been overheard; and there was a perceptible crowding movement towards their newly discovered habitat, a large soup-tureen.

Silas Peckham had meantime fallen upon another locality of these recent mollusks. He said nothing, but helped himself freely, and made a sign to Mrs. Peckham.

"Lorindy," he whispered, "shell-oysters!"

And ladled them out to her largely, without betraying any emotion, just as if they had been the natural inland or pickled article.

After the more solid portion of the banquet had been duly honored, the cakes and sweet preparations of various kinds began to get their share of attention. There were great cakes and little cakes, cakes with raisins in them, cakes with currants, and cakes without either; there were brown cakes and yellow cakes, frosted cakes, glazed cakes, hearts and rounds, and jumbles, which playful youth slip over the forefinger before spoiling their annular outline. There were moulds of blo'monje, of the arrowroot variety,—that being undistinguishable from such as is made with Russia isinglass. There were jellies, that had been shaking, all the time the young folks were dancing in the next room, as if they were balancing to partners. There were built-up fabrics, called Charlottes, caky externally, pulpy within; there were also marangs, and likewise custards,—some of the indolent-fluid sort, others firm, in which every stroke of the teaspoon left a smooth, conchoidal surface like the fracture of chalcedony, with here and there a little eye like what one sees in cheeses. Nor was that most wonderful object of domestic art called trifle wanting, with its charming confusion of cream and cake and almonds and jam and jelly and wine and cinnamon and froth; nor yet the marvellous floating-island,—name suggestive of all that is romantic in the imaginations of youthful palates.

"It must have cost you a sight of work, to say nothin' of money, to get all this beautiful confectionery made for the party," said Mrs. Crane to Mrs. Sprowle.

"Well, it cost some consid'able labor, no doubt," said Mrs. Sprowle. "Matilda and our girls and I made 'most all the cake with our own hands, and we all feel some tired; but if folks get what suits 'em, we don't begrudge the time nor the work. But I do feel thirsty," said the poor lady, "and I think a glass of srub would do my throat good; it's dreadful dry. Mr. Peckham, would you be so polite as to pass me a glass of srub?"

Silas Peckham bowed with great alacrity, and took from the table a small glass cup, containing a fluid reddish in hue and subacid in taste. This was srub, a beverage in local repute, of questionable nature, but suspected of owing its color and sharpness to some kind of syrup derived from the maroon-colored fruit of the sumac. There were similar small cups on the table filled with lemonade, and here and there a decanter of Madeira wine, of the Marsala kind, which some prefer to, and many more cannot distinguish from, that which comes from the Atlantic island.

"Take a glass of wine, Judge," said the Colonel; "here is an article that I rather think 'll suit you."

The Judge knew something of wines, and could tell all the famous old Madeiras from each other,—"Eclipse," "Juno," the almost fabulously scarce and precious "White-top," and the rest. He struck the nativity of the Mediterranean Madeira before it had fairly moistened his lip.

"A sound wine, Colonel, and I should think of a genuine vintage. Your very good health."

"Deacon Soper," said the Colonel, "here is some Madary Judge Thornton recommends. Let me fill you a glass of it."

The Deacon's eyes glistened. He was one of those consistent Christians who stick firmly by the first miracle and Paul's advice to Timothy.

"A little good wine won't hurt anybody," said the Deacon. "Plenty,—plenty,—plenty. There!" He had not withdrawn his glass, while the Colonel was pouring, for fear it should spill; and now it was running over.

——It is very odd how all a man's philosophy and theology are at the mercy of a few drops of a fluid which the chemists say consists of nothing but C 4, O 2, H 6. The Deacon's theology fell off several points towards latitudinarianism in the course of the next ten minutes. He had a deep inward sense that everything was as it should be, human nature included. The little accidents of humanity, known collectively to moralists as sin, looked very venial to his growing sense of universal brotherhood and benevolence.

"It will all come right," the Deacon said to himself,—"I feel a joyful conviction that everything is for the best. I am favored with a blessed peace of mind, and a very precious season of good feelin' toward my fellow-creturs."

A lusty young fellow happened to make a quick step backward just at that instant, and put his heel, with his weight on top of it, upon the Deacon's toes.

"Aigh! What the d—d—didos are y' abaout with them great hoofs o' yourn?" said the Deacon, with an expression upon his features not exactly that of peace and good-will to man. The lusty young fellow apologized; but the Deacon's face did not come right, and his theology backed round several points in the direction of total depravity.

Some of the dashing young men in stand-up collars and extensive neck-ties, encouraged by Mr. Geordie, made quite free with the "Madary," and even induced some of the more stylish girls—not of the mansion-house set, but of the tip-top two-story families—to taste a little. Most of these young ladies made faces at it, and declared it was "perfectly horrid," with that aspect of veracity peculiar to their age and sex.

About this time a movement was made on the part of some of the mansion-house people to leave the supper-table. Miss Jane Trecothick had quietly hinted to her mother that she had had enough of it. Miss Arabella Thornton had whispered to her father that he had better adjourn this court to the next room. There were signs of migration,—a loosening of people in their places,—a looking about for arms to hitch on to.

The great folks saw that the play was not over yet, and that it was only polite to stay and see it out. The word "Ice-Cream" was no sooner whispered than it passed from one to another all down the tables. The effect was what might have been anticipated. Many of the guests had never seen this celebrated product of human skill, and to all the two-story population of Rockland it was the last expression of the art of pleasing and astonishing the human palate. Its appearance had been deferred for several reasons: first, because everybody would have attacked it, if it had come in with the other luxuries; secondly, because undue apprehensions were entertained (owing to want of experience) of its tendency to deliquesce and resolve itself with alarming rapidity into puddles of creamy fluid; and, thirdly, because the surprise would make a grand climax to finish off the banquet.

There is something so audacious in the conception of ice-cream, that it is not strange that a population undebauched by the luxury of great cities looks upon it with a kind of awe and speaks of it with a certain emotion. This defiance of the seasons, forcing Nature to do her work of congelation, in the face of her sultriest noon, might well inspire a timid mind with fear lest human art were revolting against the Higher Powers, and raise the same scruples which resisted the use of ether and chloroform in certain contingencies. Whatever may be the cause, it is well known that the announcement at any private rural entertainment that there is to be ice-cream produces an immediate and profound impression. It may be remarked, as aiding this impression, that exaggerated ideas are entertained as to the dangerous effects this congealed food may produce on persons not in the most robust health.

There was silence as the pyramids of ice were placed on the table, everybody looking on in admiration. The Colonel took a knife and assailed the one at the head of the table. When he tried to cut off a slice, it didn't seem to understand it, however, and only tipped, as if it wanted to upset. The Colonel attacked it on the other side and it tipped just as badly the other way. It was awkward for the Colonel. "Permit me," said the Judge,—and he took the knife and struck a sharp slanting stroke which, sliced off a piece just of the right size, and offered it to Mrs. Sprowle. This act of dexterity was much admired by the company.

The tables were all alive again.

"Lorindy, here's a plate of ice-cream," said Silas Peckham.

"Come, Mahaly," said a fresh-looking young fellow with a saucerful in each hand, "here's your ice-cream;—let's go in the corner and have a celebration, us two." And the old green de-laine, with the young curves under it to make it sit well, moved off as pleased apparently as if it had been silk velvet with thousand-dollar laces over it.

"Oh, now, Miss Green! do you think it's safe to put that cold stuff into your stomick?" said the Widow Leech to a young married lady, who, finding the air rather warm, thought a little ice would cool her down very nicely. "It's jest like eatin' snowballs. You don't look very rugged; and I should be dreadful afeard, if I was you"——

"Carrie," said old Dr. Kittredge, who had overheard this,—"how well you're looking this evening! But you must be tired and heated;—sit down here, and let me give you a good slice of ice-cream. How you young folks do grow up, to be sure! I don't feel quite certain whether it's you or your mother or your daughter, but I know it's somebody I call Carrie, and that I've known ever since"——

A sound something between a howl and an oath startled the company and broke off the Doctor's sentence. Everybody's eyes turned in the direction from which it came. A group instantly gathered round the person who had uttered it, who was no other than Deacon Soper.

"He's chokin'! he's chokin'!" was the first exclamation,—"slap him on the back!"

Several heavy fists beat such a tattoo on his spine that the Deacon felt as if at least one of his vertebrae would come up.

"He's black in the face," said Widow Leech,—"he's swallered somethin' the wrong way. Where's the Doctor?—let the Doctor get to him, can't ye?"

"If you will move, my good lady, perhaps I can," said Dr. Kittredge, in a calm tone of voice.—"He's not choking, my friends," the Doctor added immediately, when he got sight of him.

"It's apoplexy,—I told you so,—don't you see how red he is in the face?" said old Mrs. Peake, a famous woman for "nussin" sick folks,—determined to be a little ahead of the Doctor.

"It's not apoplexy," said Dr. Kittredge.

"What is it, Doctor? what is it? Will he die? Is he dead?—Here's his poor wife, the Widow Soper that is to be, if she a'n't a'ready."

"Do be quiet, my good woman," said Dr. Kittredge.—"Nothing serious, I think, Mrs. Soper.—Deacon!"

The sudden attack of Deacon Soper had begun with the extraordinary sound mentioned above. His features had immediately assumed an expression of intense pain, his eyes staring wildly, and, clapping his hands to his face, he had rocked his head backward and forward in speechless agony.

At the Doctor's sharp appeal the Deacon lifted his head.

"It's all right," said the Doctor, as soon as he saw his face. "The Deacon had a smart attack of neuralgic pain. That's all. Very severe, but not at all dangerous."

The Doctor kept his countenance, but his diaphragm was shaking the change in his waistcoat-pockets with subterranean laughter. He had looked through his spectacles and seen at once what had happened. The Deacon, not being in the habit of taking his nourishment in the congealed state, had treated the ice-cream as a pudding of a rare species, and, to make sure of doing himself justice in its distribution, had taken a large mouthful of it without the least precaution. The consequence was a sensation as if a dentist were killing the nerves of twenty-five teeth at once with hot irons, or cold ones, which would hurt rather worse.

The Deacon swallowed something with a spasmodic effort, and recovered pretty soon and received the congratulations of his friends. There were different versions of the expressions he had used at the onset of his complaint,—some of the reported exclamations involving a breach of propriety, to say the least,—but it was agreed that a man in an attack of neuralgy wasn't to be judged of by the rules that applied to other folks.

The company soon after this retired from the supper-room. The mansion-house gentry took their leave, and the two-story people soon followed. Mr. Bernard had staid an hour or two, and left soon after he found that Elsie Tenner and her father had disappeared. As he passed by the dormitory of the Institute, he saw a light glimmering from one of its upper rooms, where the lady teacher was still waking. His heart ached, when he remembered, that, through all these hours of gayety, or what was meant for it, the patient girl had been at work in her little chamber; and he looked up at the silent stars, as if to see that they were watching over her. The planet Mars was burning like a red coal; the northern constellation was slanting downward about its central point of flame; and while he looked, a falling star slid from the zenith and was lost.

He reached his chamber and was soon dreaming over the Event of the Season.



LOST BELIEFS.

One after one they left us; The sweet birds out of our breasts Went flying away in the morning: Will they come again to their nests?

Will they come again at nightfall, With God's breath in their song? Noon is fierce with the heats of summer, And summer days are long!

Oh, my Life! with thy upward liftings, Thy downward-striking roots, Ripening out of thy tender blossoms But hard and bitter fruits,—

In thy boughs there is no shelter For my birds to seek again! Ah! the desolate nest is broken And torn with storms and rain!



THE MEXICANS AND THEIR COUNTRY.

On the 21st of December, 1859, General Miramon, at the head of the forces of the Mexican Republic, met an army of Liberals at Colima, and overthrew it. The first accounts of the action represented the victory of the Conservatives to be complete, and as settling the fate of Mexico for the present, as between the parties headed respectively by Juarez and Miramon. Later accounts show that there was some exaggeration as to the details of the action, but the defeat of the Liberals is not denied. It would be rash to attach great importance to any Mexican battle; but the Liberal cause was so depressed before the action at Colima as to create the impression that it could not survive the result of that day. Whether the cause of which Miramon is the champion be popular in Mexico or the reverse, it is certain that at the close of 1859 that chief had succeeded in every undertaking in which he had personally engaged; and our own political history is too full of facts which show that a successful military man is sure to be a popular chief, whatever may be his opinions, to allow of our doubting the effect of victory on the minds of the Mexicans. The mere circumstance that Miramon is personally victorious, while the Liberals achieve occasional successes over their foes where he is not present, will be of much service to him. That "there is nothing so successful as success" is an idea as old as the day on which the Tempter of Man caused him to lose Paradise, and to the world's admission of it is to be attributed the decision of nearly every political contest which has distracted society. Miramon may have entered upon a career not unlike to that of Santa Aa, whose early victories enabled him to maintain his hold on the respect of his countrymen long after it should have been lost through his cruelties and his disregard of his word and his oath. All, indeed, that is necessary to complete the power of Miramon is, that some foreign nation should interfere in Mexican affairs in behalf of Juarez. Such interference, if made on a sufficiently large scale, might lead to his defeat and banishment, but it would cause him to reign in the hearts of the Mexicans; and he would be recalled, as we have seen Santa Aa recalled, as soon as circumstances should enable the people to act according to their own sense of right.

Before considering the probable effect of Miramon's success on the policy of the United States toward Mexico, there is one point that deserves some attention. Which party, the Liberal or the Conservative, is possessed of most power in Mexico? The assertions made on this subject are of a very contradictory character. President Buchanan, in his last Annual Message, says that the Constitutional government —meaning that of which Juarez is the head—"is supported by a a large majority of the people and the States, but there are important parts of the country where it can enforce no obedience. General Miramon maintains himself at the capital, and in some of the distant provinces there are military governors who pay little respect to the decrees of either government." On the other hand, a Mexican writer, a member of the Conservative party, who published his views on the condition of his country just one month before the President's Message appeared, declares that the five Provinces or States in which the authority of Miramon was then acknowledged contain a larger population than exists in the twenty-three States in which it was not acknowledged. Of the local authorities in these latter States he says,—"It is a great mistake to imagine that they obey the government of Juarez any more than they obey the government of General Miramon, or any further than it suits their own private interest to obey him. It would be curious to know, for instance, how much of the money collected by these 'local authorities' for taxes, or contributions, or forced loans, and chiefly at the seaport towns for custom-house duties, goes to the 'national treasury' under the Juarez government." In this case, as in many others of a like nature, the truth probably is, that but a very small number of the people feel much interest in the contest, while most of them are prepared to obey whichever chief shall succeed in it without foreign aid. Of the active men of the country, the majority are now with Miramon, or Juarez would not be shut up in a seaport, with his party forming the mere sea-coast fringe of the nation. All that is necessary to convert him into a national, patriotic ruler is, that a foreign army should be sent to the assistance of his rival: and that such assistance shall be sent to Juarez, President Buchanan has virtually pledged the United States by his words and his actions.

In his last Message to Congress, President Buchanan dwells with much unction upon the wrongs we have experienced from Mexico, and avers that we can obtain no redress from the Miramon government. "We may in vain apply to the Constitutional government at Vera Cruz," he says, "although it is well disposed to do us justice, for adequate redress. Whilst its authority is acknowledged in all the important ports and throughout the sea-coasts of the Republic, its power does not extend to the city of Mexico and the States in its vicinity, where nearly all the recent outrages have been committed on American citizens. We must penetrate into the interior before we can reach the offenders, and this can only be done by passing through the territory in the occupation of the Constitutional government. The most acceptable and least difficult mode of accomplishing the object will be to act in concert with that government." He then recommends that Congress should authorize him "to employ a sufficient military force to enter Mexico for the purpose of obtaining indemnity for the past and security for the future." And he expresses the opinion that justice would be done by the Constitutional government; but his faith is not quite so strong as we could wish it to be, as he carefully adds, "This might be secured in advance by a preliminary treaty."

Thus has the President pledged the country to help Juarez establish his authority over Mexico, in words sure to be read and heeded throughout America and Europe. His actions have been quite as much to the purpose. He placed himself in communication with Juarez in 1859, and recognized his government to be the only existing government of Mexico as early as April 7th, through our envoy, Mr. McLane. That envoy floats about, having a man-of-war for his home, and ready, it should seem, to receive the government to which he is accredited, in the event of its being forced to make a second sea-trip for the preservation of the lives of its members. As the sole refuge for unpopular European monarchs, at one time, was a British man-of-war, so are feeble Mexican chiefs now compelled to rely for safety upon our national ships.

To predict anything respecting Mexican affairs would be almost as idle as it would be to assume the part of a prophet concerning American politics; but, unless Miramon's good genius should leave him, his appearance in Vera Cruz may be looked for at no very distant day, and then we shall have the Juarez government entirely on our hands, to support or to neglect, as may be dictated by the exigencies of our affairs. That base of operations, upon the possession of which President Buchanan has so confidently calculated, would be lost, and could be regained only as the consequence of action as comprehensive and as costly as that which placed Vera Cruz in the hands of General Scott in 1847. If the policy laid down by President Buchanan should be adopted and pursued, war should follow between the United States and Mexico from the triumph of Miramon; and in that war, we should be a principal, and not the mere ally of one of those parties into which the Mexican people are divided. Logically, war is inevitable from Mr. Buchanan's arguments and General Miramon's victories; but, as circumstances, not logic, govern the actions of politicians, we may possibly behold all Mexico loyal to the young general, and yet not see an American army enter that country. The President declares that in Mexico's "fate and in her fortune, in her power to establish and maintain a settled government, we have a far deeper interest, socially, commercially, and politically, than any other nation." The truth of this will not be disputed; but suppose that Miramon should establish and maintain a settled government in Mexico, would it not be our duty, and in accordance "with our wise and settled policy," to acknowledge that government, and to seek from it redress of those wrongs concerning which Mr. Buchanan speaks with so much emphasis? Once in a responsible position, and desirous of having the world's approval of his countrymen's conduct, Miramon might be even more than willing to promise as much as Juarez has already promised, we may presume, in the way of satisfaction. That he would fulfil his promises, or that Juarez would fulfil those which he has made, it would be too much to assert; as neither of them would be able, judging from Mexico's past, to maintain himself long in power.

For the present, if not forever, Juarez may be left out of all American calculations concerning Mexico; and as to Miramon, though his prospects are apparently fair, the intelligent observer of Mexican politics cannot fail to have seen that the glare of the clerical eye is upon him, and that some faint indications on his part of a determination not to be the Church's vassal have already placed his supremacy in peril, and perhaps have caused conspiracies to be formed against him which shall prove more injurious to his fortunes than the operations of Liberal armies or the Messages of American Presidents. The Mexican Church, full-blooded and wealthy as it is, is the skeleton in the palace of every Mexican chief that spoils his sleep and threatens to destroy his power, as it has destroyed that of every one of his predecessors. The armies and banners of the Americans of the North cannot be half so terrible to Miramon, supposing him to be a reflecting man, as are the vestments of his clerical allies. Even those armies, too, may be called into Mexico by the Church, and those banners become the standards of a crusading host from among a people which of all that the world has ever seen is the least given to religious intolerance, and to whom the mere thought of an established religion is odious. Nor would there be anything strange in such a solution of the Mexican question, if we are to infer the character of the future from the character of the past and the present. A generation that has seen American democracy become the propagandists of slavery assuredly ought not to be astonished at the spectacle of American Protestantism upholding the State religion of Mexico, and that religion embodying the worst abuses of the system of Rome. It was, perhaps, because he foresaw the possibility of this, that "the gray-eyed man of destiny," William Walker himself, was reconciled last year to the ancient Church, and received into her bosom. As a Catholic, and as a convert to that faith from heresy, he might achieve those victories for which he longs, but which singularly avoid him as a man of the sword. It is the old story: Satan, being sick, turns saint for the time: only that it is heart-sickness in this instance; the hope of being able to plunder some weak, but wealthy country having been too long deferred for the patience even of an agent of Fate.

That our government means to persevere in its designs against Mexico, in spite of the misfortunes of the Liberals, is to be inferred: from all that we hear from Washington. The victories of Oajaca, Queretaro, and Colima, won by the Conservatives, have wrought no apparent change in the Presidential mind. So anxious, indeed, is Mr. Buchanan for the triumph of his plan, that he is ready to seek aid from his political opponents. Leading Republicans are to be consulted personally, and they are to be appealed to and asked patriotically to banish all party and "sectional" feelings from their minds, while discussing the best mode of helping "our neighbor" out of the Slough of Despond, so that she may be enabled to meet the demands we have upon her,—not in money, for that she has not, and we purpose giving her a round sum, but in land, of which she has a vast supply, and all of it susceptible of yielding good returns to servile industry. There is a necessity for this appeal to Opposition Senators, as the Juarez treaty cannot be ratified without the aid of some of their number. The ratification vote must consist of two-thirds of the Senators present and voting; and of the sixty-six men forming the Senate, but thirty-nine are Democrats, and two are "South Americans." The Republicans, who could muster but a dozen votes in the Senate when the present phase of the Slavery contest was begun, have doubled their strength, and have arrived at the honor of being sought by men who but yesterday regarded them as objects of scorn. Nor is it altogether a new thing for the administration to depend upon its enemies; and the practical adoption of the "one-term" principle in our Presidential contests, by virtually depriving all administrations of strict party support, has introduced into our politics a new element, the first faint workings of which are beginning to be seen, but which is destined to have grave effects, and not such, in all cases, as are to be desired.

But it is not from the ambition or the perverseness of the President that Mexico has much to fear. Were it not for other reasons, which proceed from the "Manifest Destiny" school, the country would laugh down the administration's Mexican programme, and it could hardly be expected to receive the grave consideration of the Senate. What Mexico has to fear is the rapid increase of the old American opinion, that we were appointed by Destiny to devour her, and that in spoiling her we are only fulfilling "our mission," discharging, as we may say, a high moral and religious duty. It is not that we have any animosity toward Mexico, but that we are the Heaven-appointed rulers of America, of which she happens to be no small part. By a happy ordination, and a wise direction of our skill as missionaries militant, we never waste our time and our valor on strong countries; and as wolves do not seek to make meals of lions, preferring mutton, so we have no taste for those very American countries which are inhabited by the English race, and in which exist those great political institutions of the enjoyment of which we are so proud. The obligation to take Mexico is admitted by most Americans, though some would proceed more rapidly in the work of acquisition than others; but no one hints that we ought to have Canada. Our government has repeatedly offered to purchase Cuba of Spain, which offer that country holds to be an insult; but it has not yet thought proper to seek possession of Jamaica. Destiny, in our case, is as judicious as it is imperative, and means that we shall find our account in doing her work. Had she favored some other nations as much as we are favored, they might have flourished till now, instead of becoming wrecks on the sandy shores of the Sea of Time.

The conviction that Mexico is to be ours is no new idea. It is as old, almost, as the American nation. We found Spain in our path very soon after she had behaved in so friendly a manner to us during the Revolution; and one of the earliest thoughts of the West was to get her out of the way. This was "inevitable," and "Manifest Destiny" was as actively at work in the days of Rodgers Clarke as in those of Walker, but with better reason; for the control that Spain exercised over the navigation of the Mississippi was contrary to common sense. In a few years, the acquisition of Louisiana (nominally from France, but really from Spain) removed the evil of which the West complained; but the idea of seizure remained, and was strengthened by the deed that was meant to extinguish it. That Louisiana had been obtained without the loss of a life, and for a sum of money that could be made to sound big only when reduced to francs was quite enough to cause the continuance of that system of agitation which had produced results so great with means so small. Enmity to Spain remained, after the immediate cause of it had ceased to exist. War with that country was expected in 1806, and the West anxiously desired it, meaning to invade Mexico. Hence the popularity of Aaron Burr in that part of the Union, and the favor with which his schemes were regarded by Western men. Burr was a generation in advance of his Atlantic contemporaries, but he was not in advance of the Ultramontanes, only abreast of them, and well adapted to be their leader, from his military skill and his high political rank; for his duel with Hamilton had not injured him in their estimation. His connection with the war party, however, proved fatal to it, and probably was the cause of the non-realization of its plans fifty years ago. President Jefferson hated Colonel Burr with all the intensity that philosophy can give to political rivalry; and so the whole force of the national government was brought to bear against the arch-plotter, who fell with a great ruin, and for the time Mexico was saved. Then came Napoleon's attack on Spain, which necessarily postponed all attempts on countries that might become subject to him; and before the Peninsular War had been decided, we were ourselves involved in war with England, which gave us work enough at home, without troubling "our neighbor." But the events of that war helped to increase the spirit of acquisition in the South and the Southwest, while they put an end forever to plans for the conquest of Canada. The "aid and comfort" which the Spaniards afforded to both Indians and Britons, from Florida, led to the seizure of Florida by our forces in time of peace with Spain, and to the purchase of that country. The same year that saw our title to Florida perfected saw the end of Spanish rule in Mexico. The first effect of this change was unfavorable to the extension of American dominion. Mexico became a republic, taking the United States for a model. Principle and vanity alike dictated forbearance on our side, and for some years the new republic was looked upon with warm regard by the American people; and had her experiment proved successful, our territory never could have been increased at her expense. But that experiment proved a total failure. Not even France herself could have done worse for republicanism than was done by Mexico. Internal wars, constant political changes, violations of faith, and utter disregard of the terms of the Constitution,—these things brought Mexico into contempt, and revived the idea that North America had been especially created for the use of the Anglo-Saxon race and the abuse of negroes. As a nation, too, Mexico had been guilty of many acts of violence toward the United States, which furnished themes for those politicians who were interested in bringing on a war between the two countries. The attempt to enforce Centralism on Texas, which contained many Americans, increased the ill-will toward Mexico. The end came in 1846, when we made war on that country, a war resulting in the acquisition of much Mexican territory,—Texas, Upper California, and New Mexico. It cannot be said we behaved illiberally in our treatment of Mexico, the position of the parties considered; for we might have taken twice as much of her land as we did take, and not have paid her a farthing: and we paid her $15,000,000, besides assuming the claims which Americans held against her, amounting to $3,250,000 more. The war "blooded" the American people, and made the idea of acquiring Mexico a national one; whereas before it had a sectional character. The question of absorbing that country was held to be merely one of time; and had it not been for the existence of slavery, much more of Mexico would have been acquired ere now, either by purchase or by war. There have been few men at the head of Mexican affairs, since the peace of 1848, who were not ready to sell us any portion of their country to which we might have laid claim, if we had tendered them the choice between our purse and our sword. We paid $10,000,000 for the Mesilla Valley, and for certain navigation privileges in the Colorado river and the Gulf of California,—a circumstance that shows how resolute is our determination to have Mexico, and also that we are not disposed to have the process of acquisition marked by shabby details.

The law that governs the course of conquest is of a plain and obvious character. Occasionally there may arise some conqueror, like Timour, who shall sweep over countries apparently for no other purpose but to play the part of the destroying angel, though it is not difficult to see that even such a man has his uses in the orderings of Providence for the government of the world. But the rule is, that conquest shall, quite as much as commerce, be a gainful business. Conquerors who proceed systematically go from bad lands to good lands, and from good lands to better ones. To get out of the desert into a land flowing with milk and honey is as much the object of modern and uncalled Gentiles as ever it was with ancient called and chosen Jews. Historians appear inclined to censure Darius, because, instead of invading Hellas, equally weak and fertile, he sought to conquer the poor Scythians, who conquered him. The Romans organized robbery, and had a wonderful skill in selecting peoples for enemies who were worth robbing. "The Brood of Winter," who overthrew the Roman Empire, poured down upon lands where grew the grape and the rose. The Saracens, who were carried forward, in the first instance, by fanaticism, had the streams of their conquests lengthened and broadened and deepened by the wealth and weakness of Greeks and Persians and Goths and Africans. Had those streams poured into deserts, by the deserts they would soon have been absorbed, and we should have known the Mahometan superstition only as we know twenty others of those forms of faith produced by the East,—as something sudden, strange, and short-lived. But it was fed by the riches which its votaries gained, the reward of their piety, and the cement of their religious edifice. The Normans, that most chivalrous of races, and, like all chivalrous races, endowed with a keen love of gain, did not seize upon poor countries, but upon the best lands they could take and hold,—the beautiful Neustria, the opulent Sicily, and the fertile England, so admirably situated to become the seat of empire. So, it will be found, have all conquering, absorbing races proceeded, not even excluding the Pilgrim Fathers, who, if they paid the Indians for their lands, generally contrived to get good measure for small disbursements, and to order things so that the lands purchased should be fat and fair in saintly eyes.

Tried by the standard of conquest, the course of the American people toward Mexico is the most natural in the world. Mexico possesses immense wealth, and incalculable capabilities in the way of increasing that wealth; and she is no more competent to defend herself against a powerful neighbor than Sicily was to maintain her independence against the Romans. We are her neighbor,—with a population abounding in adventurers domestic and imported, and with politicians who carve out states that shall make them senators and representatives and governors, and perhaps even presidents. As we get nearer to Mexico, the population is more lawless, less inclined to observe those rules upon faith in which the weak must depend for existence. The eagles are gathered about the carcase, and think that to forbid its division among them would be to perpetrate a great moral wrong. The climate of Mexico seems to invite the Northern adventurer to that country. "In general," says Mr. Butterfield, (who has just published a volume that might be called "The American Conqueror's Guide-Book in Mexico," and to which we take this occasion to express our obligations,)—"in general, the Republic, with the exception of the coast and a few other places, which from situation are extremely hot, enjoys an even and temperate climate, free from the extremes of heat and cold, in consequence of which the most of the hills in the cold regions are covered with trees, which never lose their foliage, and often remind the traveller of the beautiful scenery of the valleys of Switzerland. In Tierra Caliente we are struck by the groves of mimosas, liquid amber, palms, and other gigantic plants characteristic of tropical vegetation; and finally, in Tierra Templada, by the enormous haciendas, many of which are of such extent as to be lost to the sight in the horizon with which they blend." This picture is calculated to incite the armed apostles of American liberty, and to render them impatient until they shall have carried the blessings of civilization to Mexico, rewarding themselves for their active benevolence by the appropriation of lands so admirably adapted to the labors of the descendants of Ham, whom it would be impious in them to leave unprovided with the best fields to work out their mission,—which is, to produce the greatest possible crops with the least possible expenditure of capital and care, for the good of that superior race which kindly supplies the deficiencies of Heaven with respect to Africa,—a second Providence, as it were, and slightly tinged with selfishness.

We need not dwell upon the importance of second causes in the government of mankind. We find them at work in fixing the future of Mexico. The final cause of the absorption of Mexico by the United States will be the restless appropriating spirit of our people; but this might leave her a generation more of national life, were it not that her territory presents a splendid field for slave-labor, and that, both from pecuniary and from political motives, our slaveholders are seeking the increase of the number of Servile States. Mexico is capable of producing an unlimited amount of sugar and an enormous amount of cotton. There is a demand for both these articles,—a demand that is constantly increasing, and which is so great, and grows so rapidly, that the melancholy prospect of rum without sugar has presented itself to some minds, not to speak of only half-allowance to all the tea-tables of Christendom. Africa is beginning to wear shirts, and the stamp of more than one Yankee manufacturer has been indorsed on the backs of many African chiefs. Slave-labor, we are assured, can alone afford an adequate supply of cotton and sugar; for none but negroes can labor on the plantations where cane and cotton are raised, and they will labor only under compulsion, and compulsion can be had only under the system of slavery. The point seems to be as clearly established as reason can establish it, though the negroes might object to the process adopted and to the conclusion drawn; but they are interested parties, and not to be regarded therefore. We must add, that the quality of Mexican sugar is as good as the yield is enormous, and, were the cane-fields in our hands, it would be impious to doubt of there being a fall of a mill on the pound all the world over. Compared with such a gain to the consuming classes, what would it matter that the producers were "expended" every four or five years, thereby furnishing an argument in favor of the revival (we should say extension, for it appears to be lively enough) of the slave-trade between Africa and America? So is it with Mexican cotton, which propagates itself, and is not raised annually from the seed, as in our cotton-growing States. In the Hot Land of Mexico, the laborers in the cotton-fields merely keep these fields clear from weeds, as we should say,—no easy task, it may be assumed, with a soil so luxuriant, and where frost is unknown. Yet the amount of cotton produced annually in the Hot Land is shamefully small, not exceeding ten million pounds,—a mere bagatelle, which Manchester would devour in a week. Consider what an increase in cottons and calicoes, what a gain in shirts and sheets, would follow from the seizure of those fields by Americans from Mississippi and Alabama; and let no idle notions concerning national morality prevent the increase of those comforts which the poor now know, but which never came to the knowledge of Caesar Augustus, and which were unknown to Solomon in all his glory. Where would have been the great English nation, if the adventurous cut-throats who followed Norman William from Saint Valery to Hastings had been troubled with squeamish notions about the rights of the Saxons?

There are other articles, besides cotton and sugar, in the production of which slave-labor pays, and pays well, too; and all these articles Mexico is capable of yielding immensely. The world needs more rice; rice can be cultivated only by negroes, or people much like them; and rice can be raised in Mexico in incredible quantities, under a judicious system of industry, such as, we are constantly assured, slavery ever has been and ever will be. Tobacco is another Mexican article, and also one in producing which negroes can be profitably employed; and as tobacco is becoming scarce, while consumers of it are on the increase, it would seem to be our duty to prepare the fields of Tabasco for more extended cultivation,—since there, as well as in many other parts of Mexico, tobacco almost as good as the best that is grown in Cuba can be produced. Coffee, indigo, and hemp are Mexican articles, and can all be cultivated by slave-labor. Maize is grown in every part of the country, yielding three hundred fold in the Hot Land, and twice that rate in one district; and maize is a slave-grown article. Smaller articles there are, but valuable, in raising which slaves would be found useful,—among them cocoa, vanilla, and frijoles, the last being to the Mexicans what the potato is to the Irish, the common food of the common people. On the supposition that slaves could be made to labor well in wheat-fields,—and under a stringent system of slavery this would be far from impossible,—Mexico might afford profitable employment to myriads of Africans in the course of civilization and Christianization. Wheat returns sixty for one in the best valleys of the Temperate Region; and when we call to mind that flour is becoming a luxury to poor white people even in America, the propriety of having those valleys filled up with a black population of great industrial capability stands admitted; and as black people have an unaccountable aversion to working for others, the necessity of slavery is established by the high price of flour, and the capacity of the white races for consuming twice as much as is now produced in the whole world.

It would be no difficult matter to show that Mexico is the most productive of countries, whether we consider the variety of the articles there grown, or the capabilities of the land for increasing their quantity. To the manufacturer and the merchant she is as attractive as she is to the agriculturist; and her mineral wealth is apparently inexhaustible, and has passed into a proverb. During the thirteen generations since the Spanish Conquest, the value of the gold and silver exported is estimated at $4,640,204,889; and this is considered a very low estimate by those best qualified to judge of its correctness. Mr. Butterfield expresses the opinion that the annual export is now near $40,000,000, much of which is smuggled out of the country. The land is also rich in the common metals, the production of which, as well as of gold and silver, would be incalculably increased, should Mexico pass under the dominion of an energetic race, greedy of other men's wealth, if not profuse of its own.

We have said enough to show the capabilities of Mexico as a slaveholding country; and of the desire of American slaveholders to push their industrial system into countries adapted to it, there are, unfortunately, but too many proofs. They are prompted by the love of power and the love of wealth to obtain possession of Mexico, and the energy that is ever displayed by them when pursuing a favorite object will not allow us to doubt what the end of the contest upon which the United States are about to enter must be. We have then, to consider the character of the people upon whom slavery is to be forced, and the probable effect of their subjugation to American dominion. The subject is far from being agreeable, and the consideration of it gives rise to the most painful thoughts that can move the mind.

The exact number of people in Mexico it is not possible to state. Mr. Mayer estimated that in 1850 the proximate actual population was 7,626,831, classed as follows:—Whites, 1,100,000; Indians, 4,354,886; Mestizos, Zambos, Mulattoes, etc., 2,165,345; Negroes, 6,600. Only one-seventh of the population belongs to that class, or caste, to which, according to the common sentiment in the United States, dominion over the earth has been given. The other six-sevenths are, in American estimation, and would so become in fact, should Mexico own our rule, mere political Pariahs; and if they should escape personal slavery, it would be through their rapid extinction under the blasting effects of civilization. There are, at this time, it may be assumed, 7,000,000 human beings in Mexico to whom few Americans are capable of conceding the full rights of humanity. Of these, about one-third, the negroes and the mixed races, from the fact that they have African blood in their veins, would be outlawed by the mere conquest of Mexico by American arms, so far as relates to the higher conditions of life. As several of our States have already compelled free negroes to choose between slavery and banishment, and as the American settlers of Mexico would proceed principally from States in which the sentiment prevails that has led to the adoption of so illiberal a policy, a third of the native population would, it is likely, be reduced to a condition of chattel slavery within a very short time after the change of government had been effected. There is not an argument used in behalf of the rigid slave codes of several of our States which would not be applicable to the enslavement of the black and mixed Mexicans, all of whom would be of darker skins and less enlightened minds than the slaves that would be taken to the conquered land by the conquerors. How could the slaves thus taken there be allowed to see even their inferiors in the enjoyment of personal freedom? If the State of Arkansas can condescend to be afraid of a few hundred free negroes and mulattoes, and can illustrate its fear by turning them out of their homes in mid-winter, what might not be expected from a ruling caste in a new country, with two and a half millions of colored people to strike terror into the souls of those comprising it? Just or humane legislation could not be looked for at the hands of such men, who would be guilty of that cruelty which is born of injustice and terror. The white race of Mexico would join with the intrusive race to oppress the mixed races; and as the latter would be compelled to submit to the iron pressure that would be brought to bear upon them, more than two millions of slaves would be added to the servile population of America, and would become the basis of a score of Representatives in the national legislature, and of as many Presidential Electors; so that the practice of the grossest tyranny would give to the Slaveholding States, per saltum, as great an increase of political power as the Free States could expect to achieve through a long term of years illustrated by care and toil and the most liberal expenditure of capital.

The Indians would fare no better than the mixed races, though the mode of their degradation might differ from that which would be pursued toward the latter. The Indians of Mexico are a race quite different from the Indians whom we have exterminated or driven to the remote West. They are a sad, a superstitious, and an inert people, upon whom Spanish tyranny has done its perfect work. Nominally Christians, they are nearly as much devoted to paganism as were their ancestors of the age of the Conquistadores. They are the most finished conservatives on the face of the earth, and see ruin in change quite as readily as if they lived in New England and their opinions were worth quoting on State Street. The traveller can see in Mexican fields, to-day, the manner in which those fields were cultivated in the early days of the last Montezuma, before the Spaniard had entered the land,—as in Canada he can occasionally find men following the customs that were brought, more than two centuries ago, from Brittany or Normandy. The Indians are practically enslaved by two things: they are so attached to the soil on which they are born as to regard expulsion from it as the greatest of all punishments,—thus being much like those serfs who, in some other countries, are legally bound to the land, and are sold with it; and they are forever in debt, the consequence of reckless indulgence, and of that inability to think of the morrow which is the most prominent characteristic of the inferior races of men. This has caused the existence of the system of peonage, of which so much has been said in this country, in the attempts that have been made to show that slavery already prevails in Mexico. But American planters never would be content with peonage, which does not give to the employer any power over the Indians' offspring, or convey to him any of those rights of property in his fellow-men which form the most attractive feature of slavery as it exists in the United States. They would demand something more than that; and the system of repartimientos, under which the Indians of the time of Corts were divided among the conquerors, with the land, would not improbably follow the annexation of Mexico to the United States. The natives would be compelled to labor far more vigorously than they now labor, and their burdens would be increased in the same ratio in which the American is more energetic and exacting than the Mexican. Under such a system, the Indians would vanish as rapidly as they did from Hayti, when a similar system was adopted there, soon after the discovery of America. Then would arise a demand for the revival of the slave-trade with Africa, and on the same ground on which African slavery was introduced into America,—because the negro is better able than the Indian to meet the demands which the white man makes upon the weaker races who happen to be placed in his power. With such unlimited fields for the production of sugar and cotton, those leading agencies of Christianity and civilization, it would never do for the world to deny to the new school of planters a million of negroes, so necessary to the full development of the purpose of the American crusaders. Observe what a gain it would be to the shipping interest, could the seas become halcyonized through the conquest of prejudices by men who believe that God is just, and that He has made of one flesh and one blood all the nations of the earth!

Even if it should not be sought to enslave the Indians of Mexico, that race would not be the less doomed. There seems to be no chance for Indians in any country into which the Anglo-Saxon enters in force. A system of free labor would be as fatal to the Mexican Indians as a system of slave labor. The whites who would throng to Mexico, on its conquest by Americans, and on the supposition that slavery should not be established there, would regard the Indians with sentiments of strong aversion. They would hate them, not only because they were Indians,—which would be deemed reason enough,—but as competitors in industry, who could afford to work for low wages, their wants being few, and the cost of their maintenance small. It is charged against the Indians that they are not flesh-eaters; and white men prefer meat to any other description of food. Place a flesh-eating race in antagonism with a race that lives on vegetables, and the former will eat up the latter. The sentiment of the whites toward the Indians is not unlike that which has been expressed by an eminent American statesman, who says that the cause of the failure of Mexico to establish for herself a national position is to be sought and found in her acknowledgment of the political equality of her Indian population. He would have them degraded, if not absolutely enslaved; and degradation, situated as they are, implies their extinction. This is the opinion of one of the ablest men in the Democratic party, who, though a son of Massachusetts, is ready to go as far in behalf of slavery as any son of South Carolina.

Another eminent Democrat, no less a man, indeed, than President Buchanan, is committed to very different views. He is the patron of Juarez, whom he would support with all the power of the United States, and whose government he would carry to "the halls of the Montezumas" in the train of an American army. Now Juarez is a pure-blooded and full-blooded Indian. Not a drop of Castilian blood, blue or black, flows in his veins. He is a genuine Toltec, a member of that mysterious race which flourished in the Valley of Mexico ages before the arrival of the Aztecs, and the marvellous remains of whose works astonish the traveller in Yucatan and Guatemala. He is a native of Oajaca, one of the Pacific States, and the same that contained the vast estates bestowed upon Corts, to whom the Valley of Oajaca furnished his title of Marquis. A poor Indian boy, and a fruit-seller, Juarez found a patron, who saw his cleverness, and gave him an education, and so enabled him to play no common part in his country,—the independence of which he seems prepared to destroy, in the hope, perhaps, of securing for it a stable and well-ordered government.



REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.

Ludwig van Beethoven. Leben und Schaffen. Herausgegeben von Adolph Bernhard Marx, 2 vols. 8vo. Berlin, 1859. pp. 379, 339.

SECOND NOTICE

The English or American reader, whose only biography of Beethoven has been the translation of Schindler's work by Moscheles, will be pleased to find scattered through Marx's two volumes a number of interesting extracts from the "Conversation-Books." These are not always given exactly as in the originals, although the sense is preserved intact. For instance, (Vol. I. p. 341,) speaking of the original overture to "Leonore,"—afterwards printed as Op. 138,—Marx says, "It shows us, as in a mirror of past happiness, a view of that which is hereafter to reward Leonore and raise Florestan from his woe. Yes, Beethoven himself is in theory of this opinion. In his Conversation-Books we read the following:—

"Aristotle, in his 'Poetics,' remarks, 'Tragic heroes must at first live in great happiness and splendor.' This we see in Egmont. 'Wenn sie nun [so] recht glcklich sind, [so] kommt mit [auf] einem Mal das Schicksal und schlingt einen Knoten um ihr Haupt [ber ihren Haupte] den sie nicht mehr zu lsen vermgen. Muth und Trotz tritt an die Stelle [der Reue] und verwegen sehen sie dem Geschicke, [und sie sehen verwegen dem Geschicke,] ja, dem Tod in's Aug'.'"

The words in brackets show the variations from the original; they are slight, but will soon be seen to have significance.

Again, Marx says, (Vol. II. p. 214, note,) "In one of the Conversation-Books Schindler remarks, 'Ich bin sehr gespannt auf die Characterizirung [der Stze] der B dur Trio......Der erste Satz trumt von lauter Glckseligheit [Glck und Zufriedenheit]. Auch Muthwille, heiteres Tndeln und Eigensinn (mit Permission—Beethovenscher) ist darin.'" [Should be "und Eigensinn (Beethovenische) is darin, mit Permission."]

On page 217 of the same volume is part of a conversation between Beethoven and his friend Peters, dated 1819. The Conversation-Book from which it is taken is dated, in Beethoven's own hand, "March and April, 1820."

But enough for our purpose, which is to prove that Marx knows nothing of the Conversation-Books from personal inspection, although he always quotes them in such a manner as to impress the reader with the idea that the extracts made are his own. Now, 1st, all his extracts are in the second edition of Schindler's "Biography;" 2d, all the variations from the original are found word for word in Schindler's excerpts; 3d, the first of the above three examples, which Marx takes for an expression of Beethoven's views, was written by Schindler himself, for his master's perusal!

But though a biography give us nothing new in relation to the hero, still it may be of great interest and value from the manner in which well-known authorities are collected and digested, and the facts presented in a picturesque, fascinating, living narrative. Such a work is Irving's "Goldsmith." Such a work is not Marx's "Beethoven." It is neither one thing nor another,—neither a biography nor a critical examination of the master's works. It is a little of both,—an attempt to combine the two, and a very unsuccessful one. Biography and criticism are so strangely mixed up, jumbled together,—anecdotes of different periods so absurdly brought into juxtaposition,—chronology so oddly abused,—that one can obtain a far better idea of the man Beethoven by reading Marx's authorities than his digest of them; and as to his works, those upon which we want information, which we have no opportunity to hear, which have not been subjects of criticism and discussion for a whole generation,—on these he has little or nothing to say.

But the extreme carelessness with which Marx cites his authorities is worthy of notice; here are a few examples.

Vol. I. p. 13. Here we find the well-known anecdote of Beethoven's playing several variations upon Righini's air, "Vieni Amore," from memory, and improvising others, before the Abb Sterkel. Wegeler is the original authority for the anecdote, the point of which depends upon the fact that the printed variations were a composition by Beethoven. Marx here and elsewhere in his book attributes them to Sterkel!

Ib. p. 31. Speaking of the pleasure Van Swieten took in Beethoven's playing of Bach's fugues, and of the dislike of the latter to being urged to play, Marx quotes as follows: "He came then (relates Ries, who became his pupil in 1800) back to me with clouded brow and out of temper," etc. To me,—Ries,—a boy of sixteen,—and Beethoven already the composer all of whose works half a dozen publishers were ready to take at any prices he chose to fix!—Ries relates no such thing. Wegeler does, but of a period five years before Ries came to Vienna; moreover, he relates it in relation to Beethoven's dislike to being urged to play in mixed companies,—the fact having no relation whatever to Van Swieten's weekly music-parties.

Ib. p. 33. Beethoven is now twenty-five. "At this time, as it seems, there has been no talk of ill health." Directly against the statement of Wegeler.

Ib. p. 38. The Concerto for Pianoforte and Orchestra, Op. 15, "Probably composed in 1800, since it was offered to Hofmeister Jan. 5, 1801." He relates from Wegeler, that Beethoven wrote the finale when suffering violently from colic. How is it possible for a man to overlook the next line, "I helped him as much as I could with simple remedies," and not associate it with Wegeler's statement that he himself left Vienna "in the middle of 1796"? This fixes the date absolutely four or five years earlier than Marx's probability. He is equally unlucky in his reading of the letters of Hofmeister; for the Concerto offered him Jan. 5, 1801, was not this one, but that in B flat, Op. 19.

Ib. p. 186. The Sonata, Op. 22, "Out of the year 1802." If Marx will turn to the letters to Hofmeister again, he will find this Sonata offered for publication with the Concerto.

Ib. p. 341. "Schindler, who, however, first became acquainted with Beethoven in 1808, and first came into close connection with him in 1813." Compare Schindler, 2d ed. p. 95. "It was in the year 1814 that I first became personally acquainted with Beethoven." In 1808 Schindler was a boy of thirteen years, in a Gymnasium, and had not yet come to Vienna.

Vol. II. p. 86. Sonata, Op. 57. "The finale, as Ries relates, was begotten in a night of storm"; and on this text Marx discourses through a page or two. Ries relates no such thing.

Ib. p. 179. "Once more, relates Schindler, the two (Goethe and Beethoven) met each other," etc. For Schindler, read Lenz.

Ib. p. 191. "The Philharmonic Society in London presented to him.....a magnificent grand-piano forte of Broadwood's manufacture." Schindler says expressly, "Presented by Ferd. Ries, John Cramer, and Sir George Smart." Cannot Marx read German?

Ib. p. 329. We give one more instance of Marx's method of citing authorities,—a very curious one. It is an extract from a letter written to the Schotts in Mayence, signed A. Schindler, containing an account of Beethoven's last hours, and published in the "Ccilia," in full. Here is the passage;—

"When I came to him, on the morning of the 24th of March, (relates Anselm Httenbrenner, a musical friend and composer of Grtz, who had hastened thither to see Beethoven once more,) I found his whole countenance distorted, and him so weak, that, with the greatest exertions, he could bring out but two or three intelligible words." Anselm Httenbrenner!

Throughout those volumes we find a certain vagueness of statement in connection with the names of musicians with whom Beethoven came in contact, which raises the question, whether Marx has no biographical dictionary in his house, not even a copy of Schilling's Encyclopdia, for which he wrote so many biographies, and "indeed all the articles signed A. B. M."? At times, however, the statements are not so vague. For instance,—in the anecdote already referred to, Marx makes the two Rombergs and Franz Ries introduce the "fifteen-year-old virtuoso" to Sterkel,—that is, in 1785 or '86. At that date, (see Schilling,) Andreas Romberg was a boy of eighteen, Bernard a boy of fifteen; moreover, they did not come to Bonn until 1790, when Beethoven was nearly twenty years old. In 1793-4 Marx makes Schenck "the to him [Beethoven] well-known and valued composer of the 'Dorfbarbier,'" —which opera was not written until some years later. In 1815 died Beethoven's "friend and countryman, Salomon of Bonn, in London." It is possible that Beethoven may have occasionally seen Salomon at Bonn, but that violinist went to London at least as early as 1781, after having then been for several years in Prince Henry's chapel in Berlin.

These things may, perhaps, strike the reader as of minor importance, mere blemishes. So be it then; we will turn to a vexed question, which has a literary importance, and see what light Marx throws upon it. We refer to Bettine's letters to Goethe upon Beethoven, and the composer's letters to her, the authority of which has been strongly questioned. Marx gives them, Vol. II. pp. 121-135, and we turned eagerly to them, expecting to find, from one who has for thirty years or more lived in the same city with the authoress, the questio vexata fully put to rest Nothing of the kind. He quotes them from Schindler with Schindler's remarks upon them, to which he gives his assent. As to the letters of Beethoven to Bettine, he has not even done that lady the justice to give them as she has printed them, but rests satisfied with a copy confessedly taken from the English translation! Of these Marx says,—"These letters,—one has not the right, perhaps, to declare them outright creations of fancy; at all events, there is no judicial proof of this, no more than of their authenticity,—if they are not imagined, they are certainly translated... from Beethoven into the Bettine speech. Never—compare all the letters and writings of Beethoven which are known with these Bettine epistles—never did Beethoven so write..... If he wrote to Bettine, then she has poetized [berdichtet] his letters,—and she has not done even this well; we have in them Beethoven as seen in the mirror Bettine." He adds in a note, "In the highest degree girl-like and equally un-Beethovenlike are these constant repetitions: 'liebe, liebste,—liebe, liebe,—liebe, gute,—bald, bald'!"

What does Marx say to this beginning of a letter to Tiedge,—"Jeden Tag schwebte mir immer folgende Brief an Sie, Sie, Sie, immer vor"? Or to these repetitions from a series of notes written also from Tplitz in the summer of 1812? "Leben Sie wohl liebe, gute A." "Liebe, gute A., seit ich gestern," etc. "Scheint der Mond .... so sehen Sie den kleinsten, kleinsten aller Menschen bei sich," etc.

And so on this point Marx leaves us just as wise as we were before. There is a gentleman who can decide by a word as to the authenticity of these letters of Beethoven, since he originally furnished them for publication in the English translation of Schindler's "Biography." We refer to Mr. Chorley, of the "London Athenaeum." Meantime we venture to give Marx's opinion as much weight as we think it deserves, and continue to believe in the letters; more especially because, as published by Bettine herself in 1848, each is remarkable for certain peculiarly Beethoven-like abuses of punctuation, orthography, and capital letters, which carry more weight to our minds than the unsupported opinions of a dozen Professors Marx.

Justice requires that we pass from merely biographical topics, which are evidently not the forte of Professor Marx, to some of those upon which he has bestowed far more space, and doubtless far more labor and pains, and upon which, in this work, he doubtless also rests his claims to our applause.

On page 199 of Vol. I. begins a division of the work, entitled by the author "Chorische Werke." In previous chapters, Beethoven's pianoforte compositions-sonatas, trios, the quintett, etc., up to Op. 54, exclusive of the concertos for that instrument and orchestra-have been treated. In this we have a very pleasing account of the gradual progress of the composer from the concerto to the full splendor of the grand symphony.

"The composer Beethoven," says Marx, "was, as we have seen, also a virtuoso. No one can be both, without feeling himself drawn to the composition of concertos. These works then follow, and in close relation to the pianoforte compositions of Beethoven, with and without the accompaniment of solo instruments; and to them others, which may just here be best brought under one general head for notice. From them we look directly upward to orchestral and symphonic works. To all these we give the general name of 'choral' works, for want of a better,—a term which in fact belongs but to vocal music, and is exceedingly ill adapted to a part of the compositions now under consideration. The term, however, is used here as pointing at the significance of the orchestra to Beethoven."

Marx's theory of Beethoven's progress, taking continually bolder and loftier flights until he reaches the symphony, must necessarily be based upon the chronology of the works in question,—a basis which he adopts, but evidently, in the case of two or three of them, with some hesitation; yet the theory has too great a charm for him to be lightly thrown aside.

We will bring into a table the compositions which he is now considering, together with his dates of their composition, that we may obtain a clearer view of their bearings upon the point in question.

Concerto in C for Pianoforte and Orchestra, Op. 15. 1800. (See p. 38.) do. in B flat Op. 19. 1801. do. in C minor, Op. 37. Not dated. Six Quatuors for Bowed Instruments, Op. 18. Published in 1801-2, but "begun earlier." Quintett, Op. 29. 1802. Septett, Op. 20. Not dated. Prometheus, Ballet Op. 43. Performed March 28, 1801. Grand Symphony, Op. 21. 1799 or 1800. do. do. Op. 36. Performed 1800.

A glance at the dates in this table throws doubt upon the theory; the doubt is increased by the consideration that all these important works are, according to Marx, the labor of only three years! But let us turn back and collect into another table the pianoforte works which are also attributed to the same epoch.

Pianoforte Trio, Op. 11. 1799. Three Pianoforte Sonatas, Op. 10. 1799. Two do. do. Op. 14. 1799. Adelaide, Song, Op. 46. 1798 or '99. Sonata for Piano and Horn, Op. 17. 1800. do. Pathtique, Op. 13. 1800. Cliristus am Oolberg, Canta Op. 85. 1800. Quintett, Op. 16. 1801. Sonata, Op. 22. 1802. do Op. 26. 1802. do Op. 28. 1802.

From this list we have excluded works which Marx says were published (herausgegeben) during these years, selecting only those which he calls "aus dem Jahre,"—belonging to such a year.

Marx himself (Vol. I. p. 246 et seq.) shows us that the works above mentioned, dated 1802, belong to an earlier period; for in the "first months" of that year Beethoven fell into a dangerous illness, which unfitted him for labor throughout the season.

We have, then, as the labor of three years, three grand pianoforte concertos with orchestra, six string quartetts, a quintett, a septett, a grand ballet, and two symphonies, for great works; and for minor productions,—by-play,—nine pianoforte solo sonatas, one for pianoforte and horn, a pianoforte trio, a quintett, the "Adelaide," and the "Christ on the Mount of Olives,"—a productiveness (and such a productiveness!) not surpassed by Mozart or Handel in their best and most marvellous years.

But these twenty-eight works, in fact, belong only in part to those three years. The first concerto was finished before June, 1796; the second in Prague, 1798; the third was performed late in the autumn of 1800. A performance of the first symphony is recorded at least ten, of the second at least three, months before that of the ballet. As this—the "Prometheus"—was written expressly for Vigano, the arranger of the action, it is not to be supposed that any great lapse of time took place between the execution of the order for and the production of the music. In fact, Marx has no authorities, beyond Lenz's notices of the publication of the works in the above lists, for the dates which he has given to them; none whatever for placing the works of the first of our lists in that order; certainly none for placing Op. 37 before Op. 18, Op. 29 before Op. 20, and Op. 48 before Op. 21 and Op. 36. And yet, at the close of his remarks upon the septett, Op. 20, we read, "Each of the compositions here noticed" (namely, those in the first list down to the septett) "is a step away from the pianoforte to the orchestra. In the midst of them appears the first (!) orchestral work since the chivalrous ballet, to which the boy (?) Beethoven in former days gave being. It was again to be a ballet,—'Gli Uomini di Prometeo.'" Then follow remarks upon the ballet, closing thus:

"On the 'Prometheus' he had tried the strength of his pinions; in the first symphony, 'Grande Sinfonie,' Op. 21, he floated calmly upon them at those heights where the spirit of Mozart had rested."

No, Herr Professor Marx, your pretty fancy is without basis. Chronology, "the eye of History," makes sad work of your theory. Pity that in your "researches" you met not one of those lists of the members of the Electoral Chapel at Bonn, which would have shown you that the young Beethoven learned to wield the orchestra in that best of all schools, the orchestra itself!

Three chapters of Book Second (Vol. I. pp. 239-307) are entitled "Helden Weihe," (Consecration of the Hero,) "Die Sinfonie Eroica und die ideale Musik," (The Heroic Symphony and Ideal Music,) and "Die Zukunft vor dem Richterstuhl der Vergangenheit" (The Future before the Judgment-Seat of the Past). Save the first fourteen pages, which are given to Beethoven's sickness in 1802, the testament which he wrote at that time, and some remarks upon the "Christ on the Mount of Olives," these chapters are devoted to the "Heroic Symphony,"—its history, its explanation, and a polemical discourse directed against the views of Wagner, Berlioz, Oulibichef, and others.

The circumstances under which this remarkable work was written, the history of its origin and completion, are so clearly related by Ries and Schindler, that it seems hardly possible to make any great blunder in repeating them. Marx has, however, a very happy talent for getting out of the path, even when it lies directly before him.

"When, therefore, Bernadotte," says he, "at that time French Ambassador at Vienna, and sharer in the admiration which the Lichnowskis and others of high rank felt for Beethoven, proposed to him to pay his homage to the hero [Napoleon] in a grand instrumental work, he found the artist in the best disposition thereto; perhaps such thoughts had already occurred to his mind. In the year 1802, in autumn, he put his hand already to the work, began first in the following year earnestly to labor upon it, and, with many interruptions, and the production of various compositions in the mean time, completed it in 1804."

From this passage, and from remarks in connection with it, it is clear that Professor Marx supposes Bernadotte to have been in Vienna in 1802-3, and to have ordered this symphony of Beethoven. Schindler's words, when speaking of his conversation with the composer in 1823, on this topic, are,—"Beethoven erinnerte sich lebhaft, dass Bernadotte wirklich zuerst die Idee zur Sinfonie Eroica in ihm rege gemacht hat" (Beethoven remembered distinctly that it really was Bernadotte who first awakened in him the idea of the "Heroic Symphony"). On turning to the article on Bernadotte in the "Conversations-Lexicon," we find that the period of his embassy embraced but a few months of the year 1798.

It seems to us a very suggestive and important fact toward the comprehension of Beethoven's design in this work, that the conception of it had been floating before his mind and slowly assuming definite form during the space of four years, before he put hand to the composition. Six years passed from the date of its conception before it lay complete upon his table, with the single word "Bonaparte" in large letters at the top of the title-page, and "L. Beethoven" at the bottom, with nothing between. And what, according to Marx, is this product of so much study and labor? A musical description of a battle; a funeral march to the memory of the fallen; the gathering of the armies for their homeward march; a description of the blessings of peace. A most lame and impotent interpretation! Marx somewhere says, that Beethoven never wrought twice upon the same idea; hence the funeral march of the Symphony cannot have been originally intended in honor of a hero,—we agree with him so far,—for this task he had once already accomplished in the Sonata, Op. 26. But then, if the first movement of the Symphony be a battle-piece, how came its author to compose another, and one so entirely different, in 1812?

How any one—with the recollection of Beethoven's fondness for describing character in music, even in youth upon the pianoforte,—with the "Coriolanus Overture" before him, and the "Wellington's Victory at Vittoria" at hand,—and, above all, with any knowledge of the composer's love for the universal, the all-embracing, and his contempt for minute musical painting, as shown by his sarcasms upon passages in Haydn's "Creation"—can suppose the first movement of the "Heroic Symphony" to be in the main intended as a battle-picture, passes our comprehension. It may be so. It is but a matter of opinion. We have nothing from Beethoven himself upon the point, unless we may suppose, that, when, four years later, he printed upon the programme, at the first performance of the "Pastoral Symphony," "Rather the expression of feeling than musical painting," he was guarding against a mistake which had been made as to the intent of the "Eroica."

We have no space to waste in following Marx, either through his exposition of his battle theory, his explanations of the other movements of the Symphony, or his polemics against previous writers. His programme seems to us little, if at all, better than those which he controverts. Instead of this, we venture to offer our own to the reader's common sense, which, if it does not satisfy, at least shows that Marx has not put the question forever at rest.

"Rather the expression of feeling than musical painting" seems to us a key to the understanding of this, as well as of the "Pastoral Symphony." Mere musical painting, and the composition of works to order,—as is proved by the "Wellington's Victory," the "Coriolanus Overture," the music to "Prometheus," to the "Ruins of Athens," the "Glorreiche Augenblick," to say nothing of minor works, such as the First and Second Concertos, the Horn Sonata, etc.,—Beethoven could and did despatch with extreme rapidity; but works of a different order, for which he could take his own time, and which were to be the expression of the grand feelings of his own great heart,—the composition of these was no light holiday-task. He could "make music" with all ease and rapidity; and had this been his aim, the extreme productiveness of the first years in Vienna shows that he might, perhaps, have rivalled Father Haydn himself in the number of his instrumental compositions. His difficulty was not in writing music, but in mastering the poetic conception, and finding that tone-speech which should express in epic progress, yet in obedience to the laws of musical form, the emotions, feelings, sentiments to be depicted. Hence the great length of time during which many of his works were subjects of meditation and study. Hence the six years which elapsed between the conception and completion of the "Heroic Symphony."

Beethoven passed his youth near the borders of France, under a government which allowed a republican personal freedom to its subjects. He was himself a strong republican, and old enough, when the crushed people over the border at length arose in their terrible energy against the King, to sympathize with them in their woe, perhaps in their vengeance. What to us is the horrible history of those years was to him the exciting news of the day; and it is not difficult to imagine the changes of feeling with which he would follow the political changes in France, the hopes of humanity now apparently lost in the gloom of the Reign of Terror, and now the rising of the day-star, precursor of a glorious day of republican freedom, in the marvellous successes of the cool, determined, energetic, stoical young conqueror of Italy, living, when Bernadotte fired his imagination by his descriptions of him, with his wife, the widow of Beauharnais, in a small house in an obscure street of the capital.

To us, then, the first movement of the "Heroic Symphony" is a study of character. In the "Coriolanus Overture" we have one side of a hero depicted: here we see lain, in all his aspects; we behold him in sorrow and in joy, in weakness and in strength, in the struggle and in victory,—overcoming opposition, and reducing all elements of discord to harmony and order by the force of his energetic will. It may be either a description of Napoleon, as Beethoven at that time understood his character,—we are inclined to this opinion,—or it may be a more general picture of a hero, to which the career of Napoleon had furnished but the original conception. The second movement is to us the wail of a nation ground to the dust by the iron heel of despotism,—France under the old rgime,—France in the Reign of Terror,—France needing, as few nations have needed, the advent of a hero. The scherzo, with its trio, is not a form for minute painting of how the hero comes and saves; nor is this necessary; it has been sufficiently indicated in the first movement. We hear in it the awakening to new life, from the first whispers of hope, uttered mysteriously and with trembling lips, to the bright and cheering expression of a nation's joy,—not loudly and boisterously,—(Beethoven never gives such a language to the depths of happiness,)—in the exquisite passages for the horns in the trio. We agree with Marx in feeling the finale to be a picture of the blessings of that peace and quiet which the hero once more restores,—but peace and quiet where liberty and law, justice and order reign.

One fact in relation to the finale of this symphony has caused Professor Marx no little trouble. The movement is a theme and variations, with a fugue, and was also published by Beethoven as a "Theme and Variations for the Pianoforte," Op. 35, dedicated to Moritz Lichnowsky. The theme is from the finale of the "Prometheus." Now what could induce Beethoven to make this use of so important a work, as such a finale to such a symphony, is to our Professor a puzzle. It troubles him on page 70, (Vol. I.,) again on page 212, and finally on page 274. The same theme three times employed,—he may say four, for it is one of the six "Contredanses" by Beethoven, which appeared about that time,—and the third time so employed! Lenz happens to have overlooked the fact,—and so has Marx,—that the Variations for the Pianoforte, Op. 35, were advertised in the "Leipziger Musikalische Zeitung," already in November, 1803. How long Beethoven had kept them by him, how long it had taken them to make the then slow journey from Vienna to Leipzig, to be engraved, corrected, and made ready for sale, we are not informed. A very simple theory will account for all the phenomena in this case.

A very beautiful theme in the finale of "Prometheus" is admired. Beethoven composes variations upon it, and, to render it more worthy of his friend Lichnowsky, adds the fugue. The work becomes a favorite, and, the theme being originally descriptive of the happiness of man in a state of culture and refinement, he decides to arrange it for orchestra, and give it a place in the new symphony. How if Lichnowsky proposed it?

A large proportion of the three chapters under consideration, as, indeed, of many others, is directed against Oulibichef,— "Oulibichef-Thersites," as he names him in the Table of Contents. The very different manner in which he treats this gentleman, throughout his work, from that in which he speaks of Berlioz, Wagner, Lenz, is striking; but Oulibichef is dead, and cannot reply. Some of the Russian's contrapuntal objections to the "Heroic Symphony" are well answered; but, as we are satisfied with the poetic explanation of the work by neither, we must confess, that, after the crystalline clearness of Oulibichef, the muddy wordiness of Marx is not to edification.

We turn now to the chapters devoted to the opera "Leonore," afterwards "Fidelio,"—one of the most interesting topics in Beethoven's musical history. Here, at length, we do find something beyond what Ries and Schindler have recorded,—no longer the close coincidence in matters of fact with Lenz; indeed, the account of the changes made in transforming the three-act "Leonore" into the two-act "Fidelio" we consider the best piece of historic writing in the volumes,—the one which gives us the greatest number of new facts, and most clearly and chronologically arranged. It is really quite unfortunate for Professor Marx, that Professor Otto Jahn of Bonn gave us, some years since, in his preface to the Leipzig edition of "Leonore," precisely the same facts, from precisely the same sources, and in some cases, we had almost said, in precisely the same words. The "coincidence" here is striking,—as we cannot suppose Marx ever saw Jahn's publication, since he makes no reference to it. In the errors with which Marx spices his narrative occasionally, the coincidence ceases. Here are some instances. —According to Marx, one reason of the ill success of the opera at Vienna, in 1805-6, was the popularity of that upon the same subject by Paer. The Viennese first heard the latter in 1809.—Again, at the first production of the "Fidelio," in 1814, Marx says, the Leonore Overture No. 3 was played because that in E flat was not finished. Seyfried says expressly, the overture to the "Ruins of Athens,"—Marx speaks of the proposals made to Beethoven in 1823 to compose the "Melusine," and still another text,—and so speaks as to leave the impression, that, from the "fall of the opera" in 1806, the composer had purposely kept aloof from the stage. Does the Professor know nothing of Beethoven's application in 1807 to the Theater- Direktion of the imperial playhouses, to be employed as regular operatic composer?—of the opera "Romulus?"—of his correspondence with Koerner, Rellstab, and still others? It appears not.