out of the window, and fell on the pavement, bruised, mutilated, and insensible. His terror, consternation, and self-reproach, may be imagined. All in the house were in bed. The watchmen, as was their wont, were asleep in their boxes; and there was Moore

standing appalled and helpless by the bleeding body of his love in the silent, solitary street on that memorable summer's morn. At length he succeeded in rousing up the old woman-servant of the house, and, consigning the young lady to her charge, he ran off for his friend Crampton. The rest of the story is easily told. Moore was captivated by the heroic conduct of his virtuous Bessy, and the blind passion which he had conceived for her was converted into profoundest admiration. He made her an honest, heart-felt, earnest proposal of marriage, to which at last she yielded with good grace.

MODELS, AND ARTIST-LIFE IN ROME.

the Italians have been politicians and URING the last quarter of a century

soldiers rather than artists. In 1848 their country was largely mediæval, at the fag-end of European nations in modern respects; at that date, having resolutely decided to tear off their motley wear, they had to form and fashion themselves in the ways and means of the nineteenth century. From the outset sensibly giving themselves quite up to the task, they have really achieved that of which they may be proud; to-day Italy is united, prospering materially and developing intel

The following is an extract from his jour- | lectually, after twenty centuries of division, nal when at Hampton Court in 1831:

Theodore Hook dined at General Moore's, and as usual was the life and soul of the party. His wit and humor, his sayings and doings, his pranks and his practical jokes, his hoaxes and political squibs, are so well known that I am almost afraid to reproduce any of them, lest I should be accused of bringing stale goods to market. However, I do not think the two following stories, which he told us yesterday, have ever been in print: Not long since, he went by stage-coach to Sudbourne, to stay with Lord Hertford. Inside the coach he had but one companion, a brownfaced, melancholy-looking man, with an expression of great querulousness, quite in character with the tone of his conversation, which was one of ceaseless complaining. "Sir," said he, "you may have known unfortunate men, possibly, in your day-you may, for aught I know, be an unfortunate man yourself -but I do not believe there is such another unfortunate man as I am in the whole world. No man ever had more brilliant prospects than I have had in my time, and every one of them, on the very eve of fulfillment, has been blighted. 'Twas but the other day that I thought I would buy a ticket in the lottery. I did so, stupid ass that I was, and took a sixteenth. Sir, I had no sooner bought it than I repented of my folly, and, feeling convinced that it would be a blank, I got rid of it to a friend, who I knew would thank me for the favor, and at the same time save me from another disappointment. By Jove! sir, would you believe it?-I know you won't; but it is true-it turned up thirty thousand pounds."

"Heaven and earth!" said Hook, "it is incredible. If it had happened to me, I should certainly have cut my throat."

"Well," said he, "of course you would, and so did I;" and, baring his neck, he exposed to Hook's horror-stricken gaze a freshly-healed cicatrix from ear to ear.

On his return from his visit by the same coach, there were but two inside passengers -a very pretty but very delicate-looking young lady, attended by a very homely-looking maid. The coach stopped for twenty

minutes to allow of dinner. Hook returned first to his place; the maid next. During the absence of her young mistress, Hook said to her, in a tone of great sympathy:

"Your young lady seems very unwell."
"Yes, sir; she suffers sadly."
Consumption, I should fear?"

"No, sir; I am sorry to say it is the heart."
"Dear me! Aneurism???

ruin, and decay, resulting from foreign barbaric invasion and tyranny. During this recent transitive and constructive stage, they had neither time nor money to spend on luxuries, and accordingly art was confined to the shelf. True, side by side with the busy workers, there were a few self-styled artists; but, without encouragement, these wasted and pined away into nothingness, after eking out a few pennies by copying for foreigners the masterpieces in the great galleries. This laying aside of art - effort was a subject of general regret, but it was confessed there was no help for it; under the circumstances, the gun and the pen excluded the brush and the chisel. Italian palaces, houses, and galleries, are stocked with the masterpieces of painting and sculpture to a degree that would constitute satiety in other lands not so addicted to them. Even under more favoring circumstances than those consequent upon their national resurrection, it is not likely that the Italians will ever again give the same encouragement and patronage to art which they gave to it in the past, although there is every reason to believe that in this line they will eventually recover some of their lost ground. The modernization of the peninsula which has taken place, and which is going on at rapid rate, may certainly lessen its charms and advantages in art, but cannot possibly obliterate them. The old costumes and customs will not have wholly faded away for some time to come, and Rome and Florence will hold their own for the brush and the chisel, whatever betides.

Over all the great centres of the peninsula, Rome predominates as the inexhaustible treasury of art, and the ever-fascinating, cherished home of the artist. Florence is bright and pleasing, and offers many attractions both to painter and sculptor; but, as affording them the greater spiritual advantages and material facilities, Rome bears the palm. No other city is so rich and well supplied as Rome is in "models," of both sexes, reaching from infancy to extreme old age, trained, or capable of being trained, to adapt themselves to the designs and fancies of the sculptor and painter.

In the Roman studio very frequently dozens of models are employed by an artist for a single picture or statue, for it is next to im

Oh, no, sir! it is only a lieutenant in the possible to find in one alone all the desired perfections—thus working somewhat after

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navy."

the fashion of the old Greeks, who, more fortunate, however, were liberally supplied with models by their amiable authorities at the cost of the state treasury. For the best of models there is great rivalry between the occupants of the studios, persuasive and pecuniary means being both freely applied to secure fine eyes, handsome faces, well-turned limbs. A model may have the run for profile, bust, eye, nose, mouth, chin, forehead, hair, hand, foot, leg, complexion, size, agefor any one or several of these points; and any single one, carried from studio to studio and copied in clay or on canvas at so much a sitting, may fetch in a comfortable livelihood to the owner.

Models are generally engaged by the hour, whether to sit one day or more; but at times they may be monopolized and kept, so to say, under lock and key, until the job for which they may have been engaged be completed. Prices in this line, as in most others since the Italian occupation of the city, have had an upward tendency, although the highest rate-when rivalry among competitors does not run up the bidding-paid at present is not over one scudo, or one dollar, per day. The patience, skill, and taste, exhibited by most of the Roman models are remarkable, and of inestimable aid in the studios. Their ready adaptability to whatever is required of them is something to be seen before it can be fully appreciated, or even conceived of. Little children, acting, for instance, in the capacities of young John and the Infant Jesus, will stand immovably throughout the attitude allotted to them with the most smiling and interested countenances, though the fatigue incurred may be any thing but light for their youthful frames. In their eyes, it is incumbent upon them to help in the execution of a beautiful design; and surely, if never any modern art-wonders are turned out. in the Eternal City, it is not because suitable models are lacking there.

Most of the valued confraternity are professionals, but there are of them who combine the profession with some other and less distinguished calling. Sewing and scarfweaving girls and clerks hire themselves out for modeling purposes when out of work or during leisure hours. Their profession has its fixed and accepted rank; it is an honorable one, inasmuch as models are simply classed as the necessary attendants on art. One still meets them as of yore, flitting to and fro in the Babuino, Corso, Condotti, and Piazza di Spagna, wearing the picturesque dress and accoutrements of long-faded epochs, and presenting quite a contrast with the plain, modern cut of clothes which wellnigh everybody wears, even in those thoroughfares until recently given up to unusual and fanciful costumes. Their principal headquarters are yet on the stairway of the Trinità dei Monti and in Via Sistina, where they congregate with a few relics of the most famous band of beggars that ever infested a city-the pope's own-sung in poetry and prose from Byron to Hawthorne. During the closing ten days of the carnival season they are up to all kinds of sport, and are particularly fond of performing the old-fashioned peasant-dances, tarantella, etc., to the sound of merry tam

bourines and admiration of gazing Pulcinellas and Columbines of such modern build as to be without much salt or flavor. Lovers of the antique and of novelty are always on hand to witness their antics, and the passing artist, recognizing the favorites of his studio, never fails to accord them a nod, a word of encouragement, or perhaps promises. They are, in a manner, members of his own homecircle-sometimes very precious and intimate ones, occupying the best seats in the castles of his imagination.

One of the peculiar sights of Roman streets is entire model families, children attired in gaudily-matching colors, and led by papa and mamma as brigand and brigandess, shepherd and shepherdess, grouped on the pavement on their way to and from the studio. One family may be able to supply several studios at once, and then, of course, to the greater glory and revenue of that particular household, and the rivalry and envy of others less fortunate. Vendettas among them are not frequent, however, and on the whole they are a peaceful set in the community, softened and tamed down by ingenuas artes. The elders bring the young ones up, verily, in the ways they should walk; and all modern ideas, ways, and bits of dress especially, are spurned and kept out of their reach as constituting the plague. No modern gewgaws and gimcracks for them-the simple sandals and sheepskin garments of the original and time-honored fathers amply suffice.

Many of the professional models are of rustic origin, wandering peasants who dwell on the Campagna or on their Sabine farms, when at home. The migrating peasants pass under the sobriquet of ciocciari, or those who wear cioccie, thick pieces of leather upon which the feet are placed as upon soles, and which are turned up over the toes and tied with strings or bands around the ankle, in rough imitation of the genuine old sandal. The tiny, circularly-built villages perched on the hill-sides between Albano, Velletri, and Monte Cassino, on the line of rail from Rome to Naples, are inexhaustible sources whence models are evolved. Their peasant-costumes, though immutable, and not made for wear and tear, are often very pleasing, and always productive of effect-articles of luxury rather to be looked at than used.

In autumn, winter, and spring, they lead an entirely out-door life in the streets of the capital, basking in the warm sunshine, or playing games while unengaged on their sittings in the studios. During summer, when malaria or fear of fever drives foreigners northward, the model crowd also proceeds to the country to summer on their native patches and slopes, to eat figs and soothe cares with wine after the Horatian pattern, if not degree. Their little home-hamlets are always dearer to them than the great city, and are affectionately called la patria. The villages of Saracenesca, Subiaco, Olevano, etc., are all in all to the inhabitants thereof; and each village is jealous of the other. If the villagers even know the meaning of the word Italy, it weighs nothing beside la patria. Such intense specimens of local attachment and steeple-love could scarcely be found outside of the old States of the Church. Withal,

these same Saracenescans, Subiacians, and Olevanites, have been transmitted in marble and canvas into the luxurious and splendid abodes of all Europe.

is no denying. The native virtuosi are shedding sorrowful tears because, as they allege, foreigners are doing their utmost to spoil those indigenous beauties which they would heartily like to see preserved. The model folks themselves are conscious of the immense decline in toggery, and of being left gradually high and dry on the sands while so many are imitating Paris.

Nowhere else as in Rome is artist-life so free and easy, and uninterrupted by the whims and exactions of fashionable society. Until the four years and a half just passed, only two callings might have been said to exist in the city, viz., religion and art-the ar tist standing next to the pope and his cardinals. They dress and live very much after their own fancy, whether at work in their stu

The flower-girls who formerly served as models are on the wane; even in the selling of bouquets they have been replaced by floriste from Florence, once so charming and attractive, but now fallen on a level with the lowest types of Parisian lorettes. Those of the Roman flower-girls still left over migrate in summer to the neighboring villages in company with the models, and return in autumn to sell bouquets to strangers. Few of the latter who visited Rome within the past decade can have forgotten the manifold importunities and sonorous beseechings with which they were plied by the youthful floriste, chiefly gathered around the doors of the jewelry-dios, at home in their apartments, loitering shops in Via Condotti. A famous little band, composed of three comely girls and a little boy, dressed in the gayest of mountain-styles, continue to besiege all lunchers and loungers at Spillman's, Nazzari's, Café Greco. Agatha, Santa, Maria, Giovanni, are as universally petted under the royal rule as they were under the papal régime-perhaps more, for now their competitors have fallen away. In their capacity of celebrities the members of this little band reap a rich harvest of pennies by selling their own photographs equally with the violets and roses out of their baskets. The money made by all young flower-girls and models is, to the last soldo, handed over to their parents, and they are severely punished if, during the day's operations, they make the least outlay without permission. When at home at night, in the wretched dwellings around the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore, they are subjected to the strictest discipline, fed on the coarsest, scantiest food. Their sale of roses yields them no bed of

roses.

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in fashionable circles, or peering after their wants in the labyrinth of dingy, narrow, crooked vicole, corners, and dens which form that portion of the city known as "Old Rome," lying between the Corso and the Tiber. Surrounded, as in the past, on all sides by the precious relics and monuments of classic and madiæval art, sculptor and painter find in them a continual incentive to put forth all the effort of which they may be capable: for recreation or study they have only to step into the most famous and well-filled galleries and museums, kept constantly at their disposition by the state and the historical families.

One of the most availed of delights for artists residing at Rome consists in frequent excursions to the neighboring country, in the lovely environs just outside the walls, or over the majestic, solitary plain of the Campagna into the Sabine and Alban slopes of the Apennine chain. These short excursions are generally made on Sundays or other festive days when workmen abandon the studios; and an impromptu jaunt extra muros at any time is always hugely enjoyed. On these festive and sketching trips material for work and fun is secured from every and any thing encountered, not omitting the very donkeys bestraddled. The old crumbling aqueducts, standing, after two thousand years have passed over them, as monuments of the rule of consuls and emperors, are climbed over and sketched from every point; old ruins in process of excavation, as the villa of Hadrian near Tivoli, and the buried seaport town of Ostia, are examined, when perhaps coins, medals, statuettes are picked up, pocketed, and borne off as prizes to ornament the studio; rare nooks and out-of-the-way grottoes and chapels are visited, and the day's performance is liberally interlarded with omelets, sausage, cheese, black bread, and white wine-vino sincero- under humble but ex

In these days of travel and casy access a loud and bitter wail arises from among the cultivators of art in the peninsula over the vast and increasing crowds of clegantly and fashionably equipped tourists who throng in its renowned and quiet temples and retreats "to do" the wonders of sculpture and paint ing. No art curiosity is held sacred or free from the wayward inspection and clatter of the fashionable gentry, who, it is not to be denied, do contrast frightfully with the surroundings. The ribbons and curls of modern attire now flaunted on Italy's pavements do seriously interfere with the tasteful and well-designed costumes handed down from the tunic - toga era of the Cæsars, as also from the fanciful days of Raphael and Titian. Art decrees the beggar, street-child, old man or woman, though ragged in the few remnants of the unadulterated but fast-fad-tremely picturesque roofs and reed-thatched ing national garments, to be infinitely above the overdressed travelers turned out of bandboxes by Paris tailors and modistes. There is truly a stunning difference presented, even to profane optics, by the two types, as seen side-by-side in the dingy gondolas of Venice, the shady Cascine of Florence, the palace-girt Corso, the crowded Toledo of Naples. The frocks, swallow-tails, and trousers of Poole, and the traceries and fretwork of Worth, will not stand up in the studio-of this there

stands by the wayside. Excursions of this kind require only a single day, the points aimed at being Albano, or Tivoli, or Subiaco, or Frascati, or Monte Cava, or Tusculum (celebrated for Cicero's villa and orationswith very little of these lying around, although the villa's foundations are pointed out), or Ostia, or Civita Vecchia, or Velletri, or Monte Rotundo, or, nearest to the city, Ponte Molle. Traffic or signs of business in the highways or paths leading to these places

are not to be seen; they are either quite de- { serted or dotted over with excursionists, mounted on troops of donkeys, attended by their drivers, and sundry field-peasants leisurely wending their way to or from "town." Sometimes many days or weeks are consumed in these charming trips; and there be artists who flee to the villages and mountains in order to "bury themselves alive." In the summer season extended voyages are made to Venice, Perugia, Urbino, Siena, Capri, Pæstum; but those who thus stray far off are very glad to get back to their studios in Via Margutta, Via Babuino, Via Sistina, Piazza Barberini, etc., and the November day of their return is one of jubilee not only for themselves, but for the workmen, flower-girls, models, cabmen, and boot-blacks, as trade then revives and business grows brisk apace. One of the first cares of the returned holidaytakers is to revisit the art bric-a-brac market on the old open square called Piazza d'Erbe, which formerly served as a vegetable-market. The treasures of antiquity and curious relics spread out on benches and tables, and on the ground, in beautiful disorder-so dear to the heart of the artist-on this famous piazza twice every week, present an odd, unique array. The artists ransack these collections unsparingly, and generally find something to suit their fancy, if not precisely what they

started out in search of.

Such inestimable facilities, familiar haunts, fascinating scenes, and solid advantages, fasten with hooks of steel the resident native and foreign artists to old Rome.

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EDITOR'S TABLE.

"IT

T is the jealousy," remarks an English writer upon American affairs, " of a democracy against culture and character, and all kinds of personal and hereditary superiority, which has wrested power from the hands of the natural leaders of society, and ostracized wealth and intellect, and hereditary influence." This sort of thing is said so often, not only by foreign critics but by many of our own people, that it ought to contain some measure of truth. But while the iteration and reiteration of a falsehood may give it credence with the multitude, they never can affect its character with those who look into things clearly and think for themselves. Now, it is true that the tendency of affairs here is to withdraw power from the "natural leaders of society," but the reason of this does not arise from "the jealousy of a democracy against culture and character, and all kinds of personal and hereditary superiority." There is undoubtedly a jealousy of "hereditary superiority," that is of power and position derived wholly from hereditary names and influence; democracy believes that every man should stand on his own and not on his ancestors' merits; but we deny that there is with the mass of the people any prejudice against "personal superiority," or any "jealousy against culture and character." majority do not appreciate culture as highly as they ought in all instances, no doubt; they have a not altogether misplaced confidence in the superiority of common-sense and character above the over-refinements of dilettanteism; but in truth the reverence for education in America amounts almost to a superstition-often, indisputably, an ignorant reverence, with a disposition to unduly exalt the practical above the æsthetic; but, nevertheless, a reverence that would never dream of jealousy against any of the attainments of study.

The

How, then, it will be asked, is it that the better class of our people are not found in politics? The responsibility for this much-tobe-regretted fact largely lies with these "better people" themselves, who permit demagogues to usurp the place they should fill. There are not a few good reasons for their doing this: nothing comes save from due and adequate cause; but the fact remains that the withdrawal from politics of our best men is wholly voluntary. They are not driven out by a "jealous democracy;" they are not "ostracized; " they are simply deserters. They have deserted because they dislike the fire and heat and disorder of the battle-field. Politics in America is too rough and fierce for their sensitive natures; there is too much acerbity, scandal, reckless lying, and rude

denunciation, to render a political career specially inviting. Moreover, the rewards for all these disagreeable experiences are not very brilliant, unless the aspirant has the "itching palm." The professions or commerce have greater promise, and those who follow them are secure from unfounded suspicion and all the heart-burnings that pertain to a struggle for political place or leadership. So generally are these facts recognized that the last thing a father would think of selecting for his son would be a career in politics. Every young man is warned against politics; distrust is always excited if a young lawyer or a young merchant evinces a too eager interest in political campaigns. How in the world can we hope to see "power in the hands of the natural leaders of society," when within the circle of this class it is never the example of statesmanship, but the warning against politics, that is made the precept? If our better class of men would enter into politics, they would do much not only to redeem many of the evils of the state, but their presence and influence would go far toward stopping a good deal of the dirt- throwing which the lower politicians have encouraged in their partisans. As for the people as a whole, they are not probably very fastidious nor always accurate judges, but we may confidently believe that they would rather see in high places men of character than men of buncombe.

IN his book "On Actors and the Art of Acting," just from the London press, Mr. George Henry Lewes gives the opinion" that there is a vast and hungry public ready to welcome and reward any good dramatist or fine actor; but, in default of these, willing to be amused by spectacles and sensation pieces." In this brief sentence there is condensed a truthful and complete response to all the wordy clamor about the decadence of public taste with which ignorant and unobservant critics assail our ears. A great deal of this talk, whether literature or art is concerned, arises from the notion that the public is a unit. There are, of course, many publics: a sensual public finding delight in gross spectacles, and a cultured public gathering to applaud chaste plays and intellectual acting. But there is also, no doubt, a large body of people who, in the absence of high dramatic art, are willing to be amused by trifles; who even prefer good spectacles and strong sensation plays to bad renditions of what is called the legitimate drama. There is, however, no instance in recent periodsif any can, indeed, be found at all-when a really good actor in the higher drama has been neglected because of the attractions of spectacle or sensational pieces. In these things public taste is not cultivated to a very

high point, perhaps, but really good dramatic art has that within it which makes the whole world kin; and it compels the suffrages of even those who have only sensibilities of average keenness, or tastes of no more than ordinary culture. There is, in fact, always a public for first-rate execution in any of the arts.

So far, indeed, from there being a decline of taste in regard to the drama, there is now a great revival-a revival more noticeable in England, perhaps, than here, but we are not without certain profound stirrings in the matter. Mr. Irving recently gave, in London, his two-hundredth consecutive performance of Hamlet, an achievement unparalleled in the history of the stage; and not only unparalleled as a popular success, but very rarely has any performance caused so much elaborate criticism and such wide discussion. Tennyson's "Queen Mary," it appears, is to be acted; and this announcement is exciting the English literary and dramatic world intensely. Well it may, for the accession of a poet like Tennyson to the ranks of the dramatic writers is something very noteworthy and significant. If "Queen Mary" prove a success as an acting play, there is not a poet anywhere that will not be tempted into the same field. There is no success so fascinating nor so substantial in its rewards as a dramatic one; and hence, under this Tenny. son example, we may yet see Swinburne, Buchanan, and Morris, in England, and Longfellow and Lowell here, employing the stage and the actors as their media for reaching the public. In England new plays are continually appearing; here very little is done in this way, and those who do this little would render a service to the community if they withheld their hand. Our national poverty in this particular, however, would soon be followed by a happy harvest, we may hope, should our men of literary mark coquet a little with the dramatic muse. Why should not Holmes and Aldrich give us each a comedy? Why should not Lowell, or Longfellow, or Stedman, or Stoddard, consult with Booth and Barrett in regard to a tragedy? If our poets do make an essay in this direction let them be governed by Bulwer's wise example and take into their confidence some experienced actor whose professional knowledge may serve them in the stage-requisites of the play. These poets would not fail in the fire, the passion, the wit, the poetry; if they should succeed in wedding these to good construction all would be safe. There is, as Mr. Lewes says, a hungry public for good plays and fine acting; the public waits, the theatres are ready, the actors are eager-let the poets now come forward and lift our dramatic art, in which there is now so much awakened interest, to a level of that of any other land.

"You are aware, sir, that a grateful nation granted, through Parliament, half a million to build the Palace of Blenheim for the great

duke whose services were thus rewarded. What services have the present duke and duchess rendered to the state that they should enjoy this property? Yet they do enjoy it; and nobody grudges them its enjoyment; but if the descendants or representatives of John Bunyan were to claim property in his bookswhich would probably, if it were granted, cause the cheapest edition of the Pilgrim's Progress' to be published at half a crown, to the extinction of the little rag that is now sold in the streets for a penny-we should have a pretty noise over it. Why, you dolts and asses,' says one (and really, sir, this is pretty much how they address us; but we don't mind it, for the reviewers have accustomed us to it), 'don't you know the difference between corporeal and incorporeal property; between property that is visible and tangible, and property that is merely an ideal right, existing only by virtue of the law? The land exists; it is there and tangible; it must have an owner. Copyright does not exist at all except merely as the creation of the law.' But then, sir, I thought they told us that all property was the creation of the law? The land exists, certainly; do not 'Hamlet' and 'Ye Mariners of England' exist also? The land must have an owner, certainly; but there would be no difficulty in finding owners if the state were to seize it and sell it sixteen years after the present proprietors' death. The ownership of land, which the law guarantees forever, is in reality just as much an incorporeal hereditament as the ownership in a book, which the law guarantees for a few years. It is quite as intangible and invisible a creation of law as copyright is. It has nothing to do with the occupation of the land, as many folks seem to consider; many ladies and gentlemen enjoy the ownership of land which they never saw-at Nice or Mentone they carry about with them the invisible but highly-valuable ownership of land in the Hebrides. The occupier and tiller of land, the farmer, is in relation to its ownership precisely as the publisher is in relation to the temporary ownership in a book-with this difference, that the farmer does not find that, after a certain number of years, he or anybody else can work the land without paying any thing for it, whereas the publisher, after a certain number of years, finds that he or anybody else can deal with the book as he pleases."

This is really very convincing. It is claimed that, inasmuch as the state guarantees and protects rights in literary property, it is permitted to give that guarantee under such conditions as it may see fit to impose. But in truth the state does no more for this kind of property than for any other. The peculiar nature of literary property is such that the common law of property cannot protect

it, and hence a special statute is necessary in order to secure the writer or holder against infringements. But this special statute in no wise alters the attitude of the government toward this kind of proprietorship; it is simply an enabling act, whereby the authority and protection of government may be extended over a class of things which in its ordinary operations it cannot reach. And inasmuch as the sole legitimate purpose of government is for the protection of its citizens, it is rather extraordinary to see it making terms, in special instances, and imposing conditions for the protection that it guaran

tees.

We cannot attempt to touch upon all the arguments that are advanced in favor of the present system. The theory that the public welfare is advanced by confiscating literary property is a presumptuous one; it would be just as fair to confiscate lands for public parks as to seize upon an author's writings for the public benefit. It is fully as incumbent upon people collectively to pay for what they use as it is upon individuals to do So. It is, moreover, a mistake to assume that an author's copyright would have more than a very slight influence upon price. Books are cheap or dear according to demand. We find popular, low-priced editions of Tennyson in England, and of Longfellow here, notwithstanding that these are copyright works. It is very clear, we think, that literary proprietorship should be as lasting as all other kinds of proprietorship. Assuredly an author's descendants have as much moral right to enjoy the fruits of his labor as the descendants of a cotton-spinner have those of his.

The "Puzzled Novelist" from whom we

have been quoting says: "About the year 1840, if I am not mistaken, Wordsworth told a friend of mine that all the money he had ever got for his poems did not exceed three hundred pounds; I should say that if the copyright of these poems existed at the present moment it would be worth two thousand pounds a year." Here we find an author wholly inadequately paid for his productions during his life, and by the time his books become of any decided monetary value they are confiscated for the public use. If this is not rank injustice, what is injustice?

MACAULAY'S (or rather Mrs. Barbauld's) New-Zealander, who is some day to sit akimbo on London Bridge and moralize over the ruins of London, will perhaps listen with incredulity to the legend that this nation which abolished slavery in her colonies, and put down the slave-trade, also forced opium upon a vast people by sheer force of arms. We who are nearer the events of fourteen years ago, however, know that it is but too

true that the disastrous drug made from the Indian poppy was prohibited by the "heathen Chinee," only to be again foisted upon them through the cannon's mouth by the Christian Englishman. There was a debate in Parliament the other day on this subject. An inconvenient Scotchman, supposably verdant in the House, ventured to hint that the opium-trade between India and China is a moral abomination. He could not see that what was morally wrong could be politically right; and he had an odd notion that it illbecomes a nation so ostentatious in its philanthropy to forcibly besot a whole empire for paltry gain!

One would imagine that there was not much to be said in reply to this. But official ingenuity is equal to any emergency, and can afford to be especially acute when a revenue of six millions sterling is involved. So young Lord George Hamilton, son of a duke, and a rising Tory hope, proceeded to apprise the importunate Scot that opium is really a blessing to the Chinese. It appears that it is virtuous, not vicious, to cram it into their throats nolens volens. Why, opium is just the thing for the Celestial constitution; were it withdrawn, "one-third of the Chinese nation would die." The Chinese take opium as the Scotch take whiskey and the English beer; and so Lord George would not perhaps object to see the Scotch compelled to have whiskey, and the English beer, whether they would or not.

Another utterly false argument was that the Chinese would have opium, and, if they did not get it from India, they would from somewhere else. Every rum-seller in the world may thus make of his trade a virtue. The opium trade is a scandalous blot on English morality, and no official, self-hoodwinking, or attempts to hoodwink others, can wipe it out. It would be bad enough for the most benevolent of nations to raise it and sell it; but to keep the Chinese bound down by stringent treaties, backed by war-fleets, to receive and consume it, is a masterpiece of the inconsistency which is not less characteristic of nations than of individuals. The effort to prove opium not only harmless, but actually a tonic and necessary stimulant, would be amusing, were it not for the hypocrisy of the excuse and the sordidness of its object.

it seems enough to know that he who has for generations given so much delight to thousands, whose wit and skill have been so long employed to inspire kindly smiles and joyous laughter, is really poor. Who is not familiar with bis inimitable and always recognizable style, his combination of a certain quaint exaggeration, which seems oldfashioned and yet not old, with a perfectly exquisite humor? Cruikshank has been at work these fifty years. You may find his illustrations in German and Italian fairy books, his original etchings in Continental collections, eulogies of his works in elaborate Spanish essays; everybody knows how much more vivid, real, imperishable he made Dickens's stories; he created fun for the million year after year in the comic almanacs and the funny squibs of the best English humorists. Thackeray, himself a humorous artist, used to acknowledge Cruikshank to be at the summit of that branch of art; and Ruskin said of his etchings that "they are the finest things, next to Rembrandt's, that have been done since etching was invented." The proposal is to purchase a collection of his works, of which there are eleven hundred disposable, comprising oils, water-colors, and proof-etchings, to be acquired by the nation, and placed either at South Kensington or in the National Gallery. It is to be hoped that the American admirers of Cruikshank will have an opportunity to contribute to this object, which at best will scarcely yield the genial old artist more than fifteen or twenty thousand dollars; and his deserts are all the greater as he has refused to accept an outand-out money "testimonial," thus declining to incur the bitter gratitude of absolute mendicancy.

THE recent assault upon a woman in the compartment of an English railway-carriage prompts many people to inquire why the plan of the American car is not adopted abroad. We imagine that the dangers pertaining to the English system must increase greatly before travelers there will abandon their quiet and comfortable carriages for our dusty, cramped, and wholly disagreeable cars. These "outrages," of which so much is said, are after all only occasional in view of the immense number of trains always coming and going, their percentage is low enough to warrant a tolerable confidence with each traveler that he is going to escape them. But, if the English do change the construction of their carriages, they will find better models in Switzerland than with us, where a car is used with rear and front platforms and central passage-way through, as ours are, but with the vehicle divided into compartments, just as in England. By this method there is every necessary seclusion, without

entire isolation from other parts of the carriage. These Swiss railways may be studied to advantage in more particulars than one. They have in use on some of the lines a carriage that should be seen by those into whose hands the approaching rapid-transit road in this city is to fall. It is a double-tier or two-story car, the upper section being covered, but open at the sides. This upper tier is in no wise rudely or roughly constructed; the seats are very comfortable, and the arrangement very good; and a most charming eyrie does the position afford for the traveler who is desirous of plenty of fresh air, or is seeking for good views of the country through which the train is passing. Cars like these would prove to be a most agreeable feature of our trains when the elevated railway comes; they might, indeed, be introduced on our city roads to the great comfort of the now muchcrowded and much-oppressed passengers.

THE English republicans have been trying to get up a breeze of popular indignation against the grant to pay the expenses of the Prince of Wales in India. But the English refuse to be agitated in hot weather; besides, there is such a general condition of apathy in British politics of late, that for the time at least the resources of popular indignation are exhausted. It is true enough that a million sterling, at least, which the princely tour will cost, is a heavy sum to pay for a royal pageant which is to take place at the antipodes; but then, as long as the English have a royal family, and cleave to it, such things must be, and an expenditure of this sort is not inconsistent. Still, the radicals who wish to do away with royalty are right to make a fuss every time fancy sums of this sort are voted; for while the English may properly think that royalty should be maintained with becoming state as long as it exists, these incidents are so many arguments against doing away with it altogether. Meanwhile the prince's visit to Hindostan may have political results well worth the money.

IF

Literary.

criticism is either a science or an art, it is singular that as yet no progress has been made in formulating its laws or classifying its results. For a century or more literary criticism has been practised by some of the leading minds in England and Germany, and during Sainte- Beuve's lifetime, at least, it overtopped every other department of French literature; and yet its definitions are even now so meagre that every trivial story and commonplace poem has to be either analyzed, elucidated, and described, as if it were an entirely new type in letters, or simply handed over to the reader with a dogmat