for their in-door happiness, and out-of-door behaviour, it is not for us to determine. It may be, that they will get so fat in course of time, by the force of laughing at the periodicals, that they will insensibly become better conducted in the streets, and in all public places, owing to the abatement of that corporeal agility to which so many of the freaks and misdemeanours, that at present occupy the attention of all public magistrates, may be attributed. But, if this should be the case, then the cultivation of fun will only tend to make the people serious, foiling itself in the end, and converting its own rabble rout into a train of respectable disciples. This result, to be sure, is perfectly consistent with scientific principles for action and re-action are equal and contrary-and, if the lively public will insist upon being uproarious, they must be content to abide the sedative consequences.

There is no doubt that this sudden taste for crowding upon the sunny side of the road, was originally generated by a facetious gentleman who, for some months, escaped detection under the name of "Boz." The etymology of the name puzzled the pundits. By some, it was thought to be a corruption of "Fusbos;" others maintained that it was a mistake in the print, and ought to be "Boss," which means a protuberance, or knob, which they said was a just definition of one who had suddenly started out from the dead level of literature, and made himself all at once so prominent; not a few considered that it was a direct induction from “Buzz,” in the which they were the more confirmed by the incessant vivacity of his writings which, like a humming sound, filled every corner of the subjects they entered; again it was asserted, that it was intended as a point-blank sarcasm upon "Pos," the initial title of the dictatorial and sentitious school; while the multitude at large believed that it was neither more nor less than an immediate descendant from the immortal "Bozzy." But the truth could not be long concealed; and after conjecture had wearied itself in vain speculations, it was discovered that "Boz" young gentleman, rejoicing in the name of Charles Dickens, Esq. When this was found out, every body exclaimed, "The dickens is in him!"

was a

With the sketches of "Boz," we take it for granted, that all classes of our public, gentle and simple, are intimately acquainted.

We, this month, give our readers an opportunity of looking upon the face of that rare coger,” taken in a mood of inward contemplation; his spirit at the moment communing, doubtless, with Sam Weller, the choicest specimen extant of undepraved nature; or, perhaps, cogitating upon the grievances of Oliver Twist, or the sublime series of surprises that are developing monthly in the philosophical enquiries of Mr. Pickwick. There he is to the lifedoes he look like one who had investigated the clamorous labyrinths of St. Giles's, or penetrated the dry arches of Waterloo Bridge? Has he a single trace of ubiquitous satire in his countenance? Has he an eye that appears to measure the living habitudes that surround him? Does he betray the scrutinising spirit of a Hogarth in that placid glance? No; it is the province of genius to work unseen; to reveal itself only at its own high will and pleasure, and to put the rest of the world at its ease by hiding its superiority under a mien of generous equality.

Whatever may be said or thought of the style or spirit of " Boz's" productions, their verisimilitude is undisputable. They reflect the manners to which they are addressed with a felicity that is inseparable from truth. Read one of those papers, and your imagination instantly transports you to the spot the figures he describes are before you

their voices are in your ears the very turn of their grimace, their attitudes, their peculiarities, are present to you. What picture of real life can be more faithful, more irresistibly ludicrous, and quiet withal, than the Sunday scene in St. Giles's, where the lounging population are painted smoking and leaning against the posts in the streets? He catches the essential and striking feature at once, and embodies it in a few touches that will survive the races they describe. The vraisemblable is not "Boz's" line of art; the vrai is with him all in all. What he gives you is literally true, but like a consummate artist, he does not give it to you literally. It is not enough that a portrait should be a good likeness, it must bear a certain air and grace beyond the likeness to constitute excellence-and in this "Boz" is perfect. His dialogues, without straining for puns or mere surface effects, are excerpta from veritable life, or such as might have been veritable, or would have been so under the circumstances described, height

ened of course, to make their full impression. Then his minute details exhibit an almost instinctive knowledge of human character in the classes he depicts, and of the accessories of small and every-day events. For example, his description of the surgeon waiting for the poor woman's hour of release in the workhouse, and "sitting with his face turned towards the fire, giving the palms of his hands a warm, and a rub, alternately: "-of Sam Weller preparing to write his love-letter, when, "looking carefully at the pen to see that there were no hairs in it, and dusting down the table, so that there should be no crumbs of bread under the paper, Sam tucked up the cuffs of his coat, squared his elbows, and composed himself to write ; of the preliminaries to the proceedings of the Temperance Society, when "the secretary having sneezed in a very impressive manner, and the cough which always seizes an assembly, when any thing particular is going to be done, having been duly performed, the following document was read, &c. ;" and the meeting of the opposite counsel in the court on the morning of Mr. Pickwick's trial (the whole of which is inimitable), nodding in a friendly manner to each other, and observing, to the horror of the defendant, that "it was a fine morning" are such exact representations of trivial things, as, however inconsequential in themselves, afford at once a test of the author's skill, and a clue to his unprecedented success. The character of Sam Weller is rich in originality, and it is sus

tained throughout with such likelihood that we never feel as if there was one fraction of his individuality with which we could dispense, or as if there were any thing wanted to complete the delineation. But we need not multiply instances. They are all as familiar to the public as they are intelligible at first sight. The genius of "Boz" is not dramatic. If it were, it could not be so faithful to actual experience. It is in the intermixture of description and dialogue-of the language and tournure-the modes and costumes of his characters—that his merits and his triumph consist. And it may be observed as a curious and remarkable trait in these whimsical outlines of low and middle life, that while "Boz" brings before you with a graphic pen, the express image of the poorest and most ignorant orders, he never descends into vulgarity. The ordinary conversations of the loose and ribald multitude are faithfully reported, but by an adroit process of moral alchemy, all their offensive coarseness is imperceptibly extracted. He gives you the spirit, but not the letter of slang; you are never repelled by abasing pruriences, and you are permitted in his pictures to enjoy the broad drollery, released from all its repulsive associations. This is a peculiarity in the writings of "Boz," that reflects unbounded credit upon his taste. The subjects he selects are passed through the alembic of his mind, and come, if we may say so, purified before the public.

WHILE tears are starting,
And grief is smarting,
At first sad parting
With early friends :
Each scene I treasure
Of youthful pleasure,
But youth's wild measure
Of joy now ends.
To meet tho' never,
Farewell for ever,
No change can sever
Our faithful hearts.

There while remaining,
The goblet draining,
No more complaining

From him who parts.

But grief is fitting,
The final flitting,
Our fond home quitting,
And native land.
Isle of the ocean,
While pulse has motion,
My heart's devotion

Is to thy strand.

No more fond dreaming Of bright hopes beaming, With pleasures teeming,

And love's first spell : The dream is over, The hapless lover Must play the rover, And say farewell.

R. R. M.

THEIR Majesties and the royal suite arrived at Windsor in excellent health, on the 27th February. His Majesty held Levees on the 1st, 8th, 15th, and 22nd of March, which were attended by all the foreign ambassadors and fashionables in town.

A report was in circulation about the middle of the month, that the Duchess of Northumberland had resigned the appointment her Grace has so long held, of Governess to the Princess Victoria; but we can assure our readers that there was not the slightest foundation for the statement.

The Duke and Duchess of Sutherland are expected to return from Paris the beginning of the present month.

Prince Esterhazy will continue Ambassador at the Court of St. James's for the next three years. His Highness is expected to pay a short visit to Vienna.

ALMACK'S.-The Ladies Patronesses have appointed their first ball for the present season, to take place on Wednesday the 19th of April. The Ladies Patronesses consist of the same distinguished ladies as last season, with the addition of the Countess of Lichfield. The ball-room, tea, and refreshment rooms, retiring-100ms, &c., which were all newly ornamented throughout, at the commencement of last season, have undergone reembellishment, and present a very elegant appear

ance.

The Marquess and Marchioness of Anglesea, and the Ladies Mary and Adelaide Paget, are expected at Uxbridge House, from Paris, the beginning of the present month.

The Earl of Winchilsea has taken one of the new mansions in Wilton Crescent.

The Earl of Yarborough is building a new schooner yacht, the Hestler, which is to be launched in May.

A petition has been presented to his Majesty from Francis Horne, Esq., Captain on half-pay of the 18th Regiment of Foot, claiming the title and dignity of Earl of Marchmont, which has been presented to the House of Lords, who have directed it to be considered by a committee of privileges.

Viscount Rochfoucalt, who is about to lead Miss Coutts Trotter to the altar, is a nephew of Prince Talleyrand.

Lady Ashburton left Bath House, Piccadilly, on the 21st, for Hastings, to try the efficacy of the warm baths of that celebrated place.

Lord Haddo, the eldest son of the Earl of Aberdeen, has taken his departure for the continent. His Lordship will make the tour of France, Italy, Germany, Portugal, &c., previously to his return to England.

The present Lord Scarsdale, who recently succeeded to the title, is co-heir with the Dowager Lady Byron, of the Barony of Wentworth, now in abeyance.

Lord Canterbury's two daughters, the Misses Marguerite and Ellen Home Purves, have been among the leading belles at the Court balls at the Tuileries, and were distinguished by the Dukes of Orleans and Nemours, who paid them much attention.

It is announced in letters from Naples, that the beautiful and accomplished Lady Moncrief was about to be united to Colonel Crokatt, the parties being at present sojourning in that city.

Sir William Gossett has appointed his son, Captain Gossett, Deputy-Assistant Serjeant-atArms to the House of Commons.

Major-General Sir James Douglas is expected to assume the Lieutenant-Governorship of Guernsey in May, vice Major-General Ross. Sir James has arrived in town from Limerick.

The new Spanish Minister, Don Manuel D'Aguilar, has taken a mansion in Wimpole-Street. The Naval Commander-in-chief, on the North American station, Sir Peter Halkett, has just succeeded to the Baronetcy of his brother, Sir Charles Halkett, Baronet.

The Duke of Devonshire has presented to his niece, Mrs. D'Harcourt (late Miss Cavendish), a valuable bracelet and suite of brilliants, on the occasion of her late marriage.

A meeting of Baronets was held on the 11th, at Sir Robert Fitzwygram's, in Connaught-Place, Sir Francis Schuckburgh in the chair; where it was agreed that the petition to be presented to the King should solicit only the privilege of wearing the Ulster Badge, similar to that granted to and worn by the Nova Scotia Baronets.

Paynell, or the Disappointed Man. By Miles Stapleton, Esq., 2 vols. London: Richardson, 1837.

THIS is a novel of the morbid class, written with more talent than the disagreeable subject to which it is dedicated deserved. Paynell is a nobleman born with refined taste, but tormented by that restless longing after the unattainable, which is probably natural to men who inherit prosperity, and who, unfortunately, possess quite enough of genius, without occasion to call it into exercise, to make their whole lives miserable. The picture of

this unsettled character is well drawn, but it is not sustained. In the end, Paynell degenerates into a common-place person-endeavours, when it is too late, to make atonement for his errors, which is the last thing such a man would attempt-and after he has broken the heart that he seduced, and that trusted in him to the wreck of its own happiness, is consigned, not to poetical justice, but to the verdict of the reader, who is left to imagine a catastrophe that will suit his own sense of retribution.

We believe there are many Paynells, such as we find in the opening of this story; but we have a stronger reliance upon the influence of intermixture with the world, not to trust that there are few who would carry their inordinate passions with such headlong force to the destruction of the object they profess to love. Our hero falls in love with one lady, and just as he is on the point of being married to her, he transfers his affections to another-the wife of his friend. After an interval of separation, voluntarily entered upon, they meet again, and Paynell succeeds, in a moment of womanly weakness, in carrying off the lady. An action and a divorce follow, and Paynell marries his victim. But he is miserable notwithstanding -shoots his friend in a duel arising out of a false suspicion of his wife's honour-is cast into prison, and released just in time to receive her last words. There is much improbability in the narrative, but that might be forgiven. Its erroneous philosophy

It has

and immoral tendency are graver offences. an unhealthy tone that is calculated to make sensitive minds despair of repose :-assuredly, that is not the proper province of fiction.

The Lives and Exploits of Banditti and Robbers in all Parts of the World. By C. M'Farlane, Esq., author of "Constantinople in 1829," &c. Family Library, No. LXII. London: Tegg and Co., 1837.

ROMANCE appropriates as its own the lives of the banditti, whose exploits are usually heightened in the relation to give them the necessary piquancy.

But romance is very much at fault with truth: and the Sicilian marauder, pouring down grape shot into a narrow ravine where some bridal party perhaps is wending its way to the nearest taverna to spend the happiest day of the young hearts then and there bound together, is by no means attractive an individual as Mrs. Ratcliffe, in her Italian landscapes, or Mr. Dimond in his melodramas, would have us believe. Yet there is, after all, a fine, healthy, picturesque air about those

SO

mountain robbers; and if but one half of the stories which we hear of their magnanimity, their generosity, and their heroism, were true, the interest

we take in them would not be wholly thrown away. But the fact is, that they are objects of interest only in the caves of Salvator Rosa, or the pages of writers like Manzoni, who possess the art of employing such materials to the best advantage. Of all classes of men in the world, those very banditti are unquestionably the most depraved they do not exhibit a single virtue, not even one of those savage virtues which take a shape of grandeur in barbarous life; they are merciless, faithless even to each other, destitute of all principles of honour, living by prey, like the wild animals of the forest; and having entered into a league against their fellows, they are utterly indifferent to all those social obligations which bind and control the rest of mankind. The stories about their levies upon the rich to contribute to the wants of the poor are mere inventions; they never help the poor except in those districts where the people, oppressed by the government, are glad to receive assistance from any quarter, and willing to accept bribes from the banditti to keep their secrets. Hence it is, that in some parts of Germany, in divided and subjugated Italy, and in the mountainous parts of Spain, a confederacy exists between the free troops that live by plunder, and the peasantry who share their profits indirectly. It is to such combinations that so many thrilling circumstances are to be attributed, which modern invention has converted into dramas :-the dark

hut, the mysterious woodman, and his beldame wife; the suspicious looks and mutterings of the two or three grim fellows who lurk in the chimney corner; the rising horrors of the traveller as he glances at the starved room in which he is placed for the night; the voices under the window-the whistle outside-the lantern, poniard, and sack. That the peasants are in many remote quarters linked with the robbers, is unfortunately too true; but it is still more deplorable that some of the continental governments, instead of suppressing by the strong hand of the law those daring revolutions against the peace and security of the people, have on numberless occasions entered into treaties with the freebooters. Why is it that the road from Naples

to Rome is infested, even in the daylight, by roving banditti? Surely, if safety were to be found any where in the Papal states, it would be in a spot so close to the seat of authority, and actually within the immediate jurisdiction of the Holy See. The Pope's bull penetrates to the most distant points, and is religiously obeyed. Why is not his Holiness's secular power equally influential? A union of the sacred office with the desolating functions of the robber is by no means a novelty; one of the most remarkable of the Italian brigands was an abbot-a fellow who used to say his prayers with regularity, and who employed with scrupulous propriety the most solemn apostrophes to his faith during the acts of spoliation, and sometimes of murder. When this atrocious hypocrite was at at last apprehended, he had the impudence to remonstrate against the sin of laying rough hands upon a minister of the church!

It is a received and generally admitted axiom in political science, that despotisms, however injurious they may be in other respects, are invariably productive of subordination in the body of the people. Indeed, they would seem, a priori, to render such subordination a matter of absolute necessity. In Italy, however, under the domination of Austria, as well as under the still more repulsive sway of Napoleon, the arbitrary principle certainly did not produce, and is not likely ever to produce, such results. Then the absence of sympathy on the part of the rulers has been seized upon as a convenient excuse for the worst excesses on the part of the discontented multitude. Fear evidently never enters into their calculations; abandoning society upon the first provocation which they receive, and which usually springs from some wanton crime of their own, (the murder of a rival in a love affair is the favourite apology for taking up arms against society at large,) they surrender themselves unhesitatingly to a course of criminalities in which neither sex nor condition, nor the ties of blood, nor the common obligations of humanity, restrain their desperate proceedings. Having once yielded themselves up to this, a life of pillage, they rarely return to tranquil and honest occupations; partly, no doubt, because they have lost the confidence of their own order, but chiefly because they have lost their zest for virtue. It is clear, therefore, that despotic institutions are fruitful of other evils besides the reduction of popular rights, and that crime flourishes under them in more rank luxuriance than in any other political atmosphere. If the government of Spain were not distracted by internal feuds-if it were a government founded upon the affections of Spaniards, the prowling assassins who live in its mountain retreats would have been long since extirpated; and but that Italy, ever since the extinction of her proud republics, has been the victim of a succession of invasions, there is no reason to doubt that the ancient spirit of chivalry which still lingers on her soil must have expelled her Vardarellis and her Marco Sciarras from her bosom. Mr. M'Far

lane attempts to explain the existence of banditti in particular countries by a reference to the facilities which their geographical circumstances present for retreat and shelter. Thus the Abruzzi, with its vast ranges, its gloomy valleys, and impenetrable forests, is a tempting region for men who live by unlawful exactions upon life and property, one half of whose lives is spent in the toil of escaping from the consequences of the villanies committed in the other half. But this theory, however ingenious, will not hold good. Switzerland, crowning the stormy Alps, full of deep gorges and Cimmerian woods, rocks, cataracts, caverns, and tortuous passages, is almost wholly free from such confederations. Then Mr. M'Farlane suggests that frontier lines are a favourite resort for marauders, because while the authorities are on the alert on one side, the pursued have but to cross over to the other, and so maintain a constant evasion of offended justice. But why do we not find this suggestion realised in France, iu Prussia, in Austria Proper, in Holland, and in Belgium? Because, simply, the governments of those countries are too powerful for the alienated masses, who are consequently compelled, for their own sakes, to observe laws that are strengthened by the allegiance of the great body of the people.

The whole subject is well worthy of inquiry, and will yet afford a much more luminous and learned work than this anecdotical volume. Mr. M'Farlane limits himself almost exclusively to Italy, with which he is best acquainted although he professes to include all parts of the world. His accounts of the American buccaneers, of the robber associations of the East, of the German freebooters, and even of the Spanish and Portuguese banditti, are exceedingly brief and unsatisfactory. Nor is his history-if it can be so called-of the craft in Italy distinguished by the research which we had a right to expect. It is chiefly confined to our own times, and to such facts as he gathered on the spot himself. There is very little tradition, scarcely any review of the origin and growth of the plundering fraternities, and, indeed, little more than sketches, such as are to be found every day in our periodicals. Nor is the book well written; the style is bald and unfinished, and without attaining the gravity of an historical narrative, it has not even the qualities of a romance. We should perhaps have been induced to have entered more into details, but that the work is a reprint from a book published five years ago; indeed, one of the tales was originally printed in this magazine.