10m Taking a ragged protege on each arm, he

marches straight up to the bench of

his Honor the judge, in full

court, and be gins a remark able speech as follows:

'Your Honor, and gentlemen: we are

very sick and hungry, and

helpless and wretched. If some body does not do something for us, we shall die; and that will be hard, considering how far we have come, and how hard it was to get here, and how short a time we have been here, and that we have not had a fair chance.' He finally concludes a speech as pathetic as it was droll, by himself heading the subscription with fifty dollars, for what he terms 'our own relief.' He passes over the liberal sum thus obtained to the judge for disposition, and this was the first step toward the founding of a city hospital.

Having thus identified himself with paupers, he next displayed his universal genius by identifying himself with a crazy man an Irishman, who had aspired to the post of contractor, and whose mind had run away with him as he was pursuing his magnificent contemplations. He sat down by the poor fellow, and began to talk of splendid contracts, expenditures of millions, picks and barrows for grading whole streets. The e man's ey eye at length brightened, and he answered decidedly in a whisper: I'll do it.' Then Mr. Krafft took his patient into the street, where the police saved them from interruption, and began to dig away with the madman, who had flung off his coat and hat, and gone to work with wild eyes and set teeth. Thus reflected the most sane man of the two on his experiment: Beautiful! we are a trifle crack-brained, to be sure, but for digging we are worth a dozen philosophers yet.... When this is through with, we shall be hungry,

and then we shall eat; after that, we shall feel congenial, and then we shall talk, shall talk ourselves to sleep, shall dream, and have memories soothing and saving-shall awake the sanest fellows in town, and never fash ourselves again about the devils that are cast out.'

The plan of the benevolent Mr. Krafft was doubtless a good one; but its execution should have been intrusted to some body who was not a genius, to some body who would have saved the witless Irishman from falling beneath a sun-stroke.

We must skip the diverting heroisms of Mr. Krafft, till at length he returns to business, and plunges stupidly into speculations. The demon had got possession of him, and hardly again did he do a kind or wise thing. Desperate vices, followed by terrible avengements, make up the story of his life, till the taunt of a former friend became intolerable to him, and the romantic and mystic German was found in his chamber, the victim of his own pistol.

The age of cabalism is past. We are losing the consciousness of the mysterious relations of things, the mysterious meanings of every object. The world of divine symbols, which has been elaborated by so many thinkers, is almost unknown to us. The arts and sciences are

no longer magical in our eyes. We are not surprised, therefore, that

the artist who illustrates this work, should have nearly failed in an attempt to produce a hieroglyph of California life: we are rather surprised that he should have attempted it at all.

The bottle, the glass, the spade, the pestle, the spurs, the dice, the cards, the mask, the slipper, the pistols, and the dirk, are all there; but so plainly, that the artist could not himself have believed in the mystery of his design, and in such isolation and unsuggestive juxtaposition, that it is not impressed upon us that we are looking at the very elements which rioted on the shore of the Pacific, until the wild,

many-colored sprite of adventure was slowly confined in the bands of laws and institutions to obey the necessities of organized society. Would that the artist had availed himself of the opportunity to produce a more effective symbol of a run-away society, which in its relations suggests a topsy-turvy universe.

The latter part of the 'Romantic Aspects' passes from the new to the old, from California to India. Some of the finest specimens of composition in the volume, such as the kaleidoscopic vision of 'Mamoul,' are in this portion. Though we acknowledge the skill of the antithetic jugglery by which Dr. Palmer has bound the two parts of his book together, and recognize the fact that, in the realm of romance no law forbids an author to jump over a fly-leaf, and become the antipode of his former self; yet we conclude rather to admire than imitate the feat, and leave the very interesting and highly-finished sketches of Oriental scenery and character with only a commendation of them to the reader.

TEN years ago it seemed as if the set time of GOD to favor the nations had come. The spring of that memorable year was hailed as the dawn of universal liberty. The revolution in Paris was the morning gun that startled Europe, but even that hardly caused such astonishment as when an echo came back from Vienna. Then the people of Milan rose upon the Austrian troops. They fought from house to house, and from street to street, and even on the roof of the Cathedral, till the popular fury prevailed over a disciplined soldiery, and Radetzky, with his whole army, defiled out of the citygates by night, and retreated across the plains of Lombardy. Then, indeed, it seemed that the great battle was won. ITALY WAS FREE, and the joy of the people knew no bounds. With exultant hearts they thronged to the Cathedral to give solemn thanks to GOD for their victory.

To swell the general triumph, hardly had Radetzky fled from Milan, before Charles Albert crossed the frontier with a Sardinian army in hot pursuit. At every step numbers were added to the invading host. The revolutionary enthusiasm had spread throughout the Peninsula. The watch-fires were blazing along the Apennines, and Tuscans and Romans and Neapolitans marched to join the glorious army of liberty. At the same time the Italian regiments in the Austrian army deserted their flag. Thus weakened in numbers, and dispirited by defeat, Radetzky withdrew his shattered troops within the walls of Mantua, while the King of Sardinia mustered an array of nearly a hundred thousand men, in all the confidence of victory. Little did he think that, in a few weeks, that magnificen: army would be scattered like the autumn-leaves !

At that moment it seemed to human eye as if the power of Austria in Italy was broken forever. Indeed, the Cabinet of Vienna itself felt that the battle was lost, and sought, in terms almost abject and humiliating, to make peace w th the victorious people. A commissioner from the Emperor appeared with a formal proposition to Charles Albert to give up the whole of Lombardy, if she would but assume her portion of the public debt. Austria offered to divide the territory of Northern Italy by the line of the Adige, surrendering Lombardy to Sardinia, while she retained only the Venetian territory. The King, who knew the hazards of battle, was strongly inclined to accept these terms; but the fiery Italians denounced the proposal as a betrayal of Venice. They would have all of Italy or none. And so, finally, they

had none.

All this while the veteran Radetzky kept behind the walls of Mantua and Verona, biding his time. Charles Albert, distracted by these

negotiations, and not knowing very well how to conduct a vigorous campaign, sat down before the walls of Mantua. Now a siege of Mantua is about as hopeless an undertaking as would be a siege of Gibraltar. It is surrounded by a net-work of streams, and can only be approached over bridges. Here the Austrian chief, secure behind. his bastions, calmly awaited the arrival of reinforcements. In a few weeks the Austrian bugles were heard in the passes of the Tyrol, and their long columns came winding down into the plains of Italy. The arrival of these fresh battalions put the Austrians in condition to take the field; and Radetzky, though an old man, well stricken in years, did not lose a moment. Issuing from his stronghold, he completely outgeneralled Charles Albert, turned his flank, and, attacked him in the rear. In a fortnight he fought half-a-dozen battles, and was victorious in every one, driving the Piedmontese army before him from Mantua to Milan, and across the frontier into Sardinia. Thus, in a few short days, the glorious prize of Italian liberty was lost, and that beautiful territory again consigned to years of foreign dominion.

These are bitter memories. Never had a people such an opportunity to be free. The juncture was one which might not recur again. in a century. Yet all was lost through the divisions of the people and the weakness and irresolution of their leader. Charles Albert was neither a traitor nor a coward. He was personally brave, as he showed in every battle, and afterward on the fatal field of Novara; but he lacked the promptness and energy, the quickness of perception and rapidity of execution, which are decisive in war. Had he possessed the skill not of Napoleon, but of a good French general, like Changarnier or Lamoricière probably the Austrians would have lost Italy forever.

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Reflecting on these great disasters, and surveying the field of battle, where the fate of Italy has been decided once, and may be decided again, it has seemed to me that what Italy needs to fight successfully a war of liberty, is a great military genius to organize and direct her wild enthusiasm and her wasted strength.

But the blame of that disastrous campaign does not belong to Charles Albert alone, but to the people by whom he was feebly supported. In the first flush of revolution the people fought with astonishing bravery; but that first success spoiled them. They felt that the battle was gained, and began to dispute about the spoils of war before they had made sure of the victory. They were talking when they ought to have been fighting. It was time enough to decide upon the form of government when the battle of liberty was gained. But the mercurial Italians gabbled politics till the Austrian cannon were thundering at their. gates. Heaven grant that they may learn wisdom from this bitter experience!