ment followed, but the whole was immediately interpreted, and the air was rent with cries of Long live the queen! Long live the general !' from the same fickle and cruel populace, that only two hours before had embrued their hands in the blood of the guards who defended the life of this same queen.

The attempt to rescue Lafayette from the prison at Olmütz is so interesting in itself, and so beautifully described, we can hardly forbear quoting it entire. But we have only room to say, what most of our readers probably knew before, the attempt proved unsuccessful, and both Lafayette and his romantic deliverers were soon retaken, and all confined in prison, where they suffered the more severely from the increased vigilance of their keepers. After five years' imprisonment at Olmütz, Lafayette was liberated, and returned again to France. He lived in retirement till those critical times came on, which resulted in the abdication of Bonaparte, after the battle of Waterloo. He then took part again in the public counsels. There are periods in the history of every nation, when its destinies seem to be suspended in a trembling balance. A word, a look, or a gesture, at such times, may decide the fate of nations. Of these perilous and portentous moments, France has witnessed more than any other nation for the last fifty years. We insert a description of one, in which Lafayette was conspicuous, and in which, considering the time, the place, the occasion,-and the consequences that were to follow from one or another decision, there is a moral sublimity hardly surpassed by any thing in history. The time was when Bonaparte returned from Waterloo, "a defeated and desperate man;" the place was the Chamber of Representatives of thirty millions of French people; the occasion was a resolution offered by Lafayette, declaring the chamber to be in permanent session, and all attempts to dissolve it, high treason; and also calling for the four principal ministers to come to the chamber, and explain the state of affairs; the consequences involved, were the existence of the French nation, and the happiness of the French people.

As soon, therefore, as the session was opened, Lafayette, with the same clear courage and in the same spirit of self-devotion, with which he had stood at the bar of the National Assembly in 1792, immediately ascended the Tribune for the first time for twenty years, and said these few words, which assuredly would have been his death warrant, if he had not been supported in them by the assembly he addressed: When, after an interval of many years, I raise a voice which the friends of free institutions will still recognise, I feel myself called upon to speak

to you only of the dangers of the country, which you alone have now the power to save. Sinister intimations have been heard; they are unfortunately confirmed. This, therefore, is the moment for us to gather round the ancient tricolored standard; the standard of '89; the standard of freedom, of equal rights, and of public order. Permit then, gentlemen, a veteran in this sacred cause, one who has always been a stranger to the spirit of faction, to offer you a few preparatory resolutions, whose absolute necessity, I trust, you will feel, as I do.'

The resolutions were adopted. Lucien Bonaparte came to the chamber, and attempted to explain "the state of affairs; but at length appealed to the feelings of the members.

'It is not Napoleon,' he cried,' that is attacked, it is the French people. And a proposition is now made to this people, to abandon their Emperor; to expose the French nation, before the tribunal of the world, to a severe judgment on its levity and inconstancy. No, sir, the honour of this nation shall never be so compromised!' On hearing these words, Lafayette rose. He did not go to the tribune; but spoke, contrary to rule and custom, from his place. His manner was perfectly calm, but marked with the very spirit of rebuke; and he addressed himself, not to the President, but directly to Lucien. The assertion, which has just been uttered, is a calumny. Who shall dare to accuse the French nation of inconstancy to the Emperor Napoleon? That nation has followed his bloody footsteps through the sands of Egypt and through the wastes of Russia; over fifty fields of battle; in disaster as faithful as in victory; and it is for having thus devotedly followed him, that we now mourn the blood of three millions of Frenchmen.' These few words made an impression on the Assembly, which could not be mistaken or resisted; and, as Lafayette ended, Lucien himself bowed respectfully to him, and, without resuming his speech, sat down.

The memoir of Lafayette, from which we have already made such copious extracts, closes with a passage, in which the principal events in his life are again alluded to, in a manner expressing the feelings of this whole people. Those events could not have been alluded to, and the feelings of the nation expressed in connexion with them, more happily than in the following passage.

This is the distinguished personage, who, after an absence of eight and thirty years, is now come to visit the nation, for whose independence and freedom he hazarded whatever is most valued in human estimation, almost half a century ago. He comes, too, at the express invitation of the entire people; he is literally the Guest of the Nation;' but the guest, it should be remembered, of another generation, than the one he originally came to serve. We rejoice at it. We rejoice, in common with the thousands who throng his steps wherever he passes, that we are permitted to offer this tribute of a gratitude and veneration, which cannot be misinterpreted, to one, who suffered with our fathers for our sake; but we rejoice yet more for the moral effect it cannot fail to produce on us, both as individuals and as a people. For it is no com

mon spectacle, which is now placed before each of us for our instruction. We are permitted to see one, who, by the mere force of principle, by plain and resolved integrity, has passed with perfect consistency, through more remarkable extremes of fortune, than any man now alive, or, perhaps any man on record. We are permitted to see one who has borne a leading and controlling part in two hemispheres, and in the two most important revolutions the world has yet seen, and has come forth from both of them without the touch of dishonour. We are permitted to see that man, who first put in jeopardy his rank and fortune at home, in order to serve as a volunteer in the cause of Free Institutions in America, and afterwards hazarded his life at the bar of the National Assembly, to arrest the same cause when it was tending to excess and violence. We are permitted to see the man, who, after three years of unbroken political triumph, stood in the midst of half a million of his countrymen, comprehending whatever was great, wise, and powerful in the nation, with the oriflamme of the monarchy at his feet, and the confidence of all France following his words, as he swore in their behalf to a free constitution; and yet remained undazzled and unseduced by his vast, his irresistible popularity. We are permitted to see the man, who, for the sake of the same principles to which he had thus sworn, and in less than three years afterwards, was condemned to such obscure sufferings, that his very existence became doubtful to the world, and the place of his confinement was effectually hidden from the inquiries of his friends, who sent emissaries over half Europe to discover it; and yet remained unshaken and undismayed, constantly refusing all appearance of compromise with his persecutors and oppressors. We are, in short, permitted to see a man, who has professed, amidst glory and suffering, in triumph and in disgrace, the same principles of political freedom on both sides of the Atlantic; who has maintained the same tone, the same air, the same open confidence, amidst the ruins of the Bastille, in the Champ de Mars, under the despotism of Bonaparte, and in the dungeons of Olmütz.

We rejoice, too, no less in the effect which this visit of General Lafayette is producing upon us as a nation. It is doing much to unite us. It has brought those together, who have been separated by long lives of political animosity. It helps to break down the great boundaries and landmarks of party. It makes a holiday of kind and generous feelings in the hearts of the multitudes that throng his way, as he moves in triumphal procession from city to city. It turns this whole people from the bustle and divisions of our wearisome elections, the contests of the senatehouse, and the troubles and bitterness of our manifold political dissensions; and instead of all this, carries us back to that great period in our history, about which opinions have long been tranquil and settled. It offers to us, as it were, with the very costume and air appropriate to the times, one of the great actors, from this most solemn passage in our national destinies; and thus enables us to transmit yet one generation further onward, a sensible impression of the times of our fathers; since we are not only permitted to witness ourselves one of their foremost leaders and champions, but can show him to our children, and thus leave in their young hearts an impression, which will grow old there with their deepest and purest feelings. It brings, in fact, our revolution nearer to us, with all the highminded patriotism and selfdenying

virtues of our forefathers; and therefore naturally turns our thoughts more towards our posterity, and makes us more anxious to do for them what we are so sensibly reminded was done with such perilous sacrifices for us.

All the events in this interesting memoir, are described in a chaste and elegant style. Mr. Ticknor has told the story of the life of Lafayette with a simplicity of manner, which leaves the reader his whole mind to contemplate the character of a great man, and his whole heart to admire the virtues of a good man. And we are sure, he will always receive the thanks of his readers, for not attempting to divert their attention, or share their admiration. General Lafayette has passed a long life of trials and of sufferings. He has been tried, and has suffered the full measure which human nature can bear. But if a good man ever enjoys his reward this side of Heaven, Lafayette has now that reward in a most eminent degree, in the gratitude of a numerous, enlightened, and free people.

John Bull in America; or the New Munchausen. New York, 1825. 12mo. pp. 226.

In our remarks upon this work, we propose to depart from our usual custom of instructing and delighting our readers with a preliminary disquisition on the subject in general. We shall rather let the author take precedence of the critic, and without further circumlocution, allow him to speak for himself as follows.

On the fifth day of August, 1824, a rather genteel looking stranger arrived at the Mansion Hotel in the city of Washington, where he inquired for a retired room, and expressed his intention of staying some time. He was dressed in a blue frock, striped vest, and gray pantaloons; was about five feet ten, as is supposed, and had a nose like a potato. The evening of the following day there arrived in the stage from Baltimore, a little mahogany-faced foreigner, a Frenchman as it would seem, with gold rings in his ears, and a pair of dimity breeches. The little man in dimity breeches expressed great pleasure at meeting the stranger, with whom he seemed to be well acquainted; but the stranger appeared much agitated at the rencontre, and displayed nothing like satisfaction on the occasion. With the evident intention of avoiding the little dark-complexioned man, he, in a few minutes, desired the waiter to show him into his room, to which he retired without bidding the other good night.

It appears from the testimony of the waiter, that on going into his chamber, and observing a portmanteau, which had been placed there in his absence, the stranger inquired to whom it belonged. The waiter replied: To the French gentleman. As you seemed to be old acquaintance, I thought you would like to be together, sir." This information seemed to cause great agitation in the mind of the stranger, who exclaimed, as if unconscious of the presence of the waiter, "I am a lost man!" which the waiter thought rather particular. The stranger, after a few moments' apparent perplexity, ordered the waiter to bring him pen, ink, paper, and sealing-wax and then desired to be left alone. It is recollected that the dark-complexioned foreigner retired about ten, requesting to be called up at four o'clock, as he was going on in the stage to the south. This is the last that was seen, either of the stranger, or the dark-complexioned foreigner. On knocking at the door precisely at four o'clock the next morning, and no answer being given, the waiter made bold to enter the room, which to his surprise he found entirely empty. Neither trunks, nor stranger, nor dark-complexioned foreigner, were to be found. Had the stranger and his friend previously run up a long score at the Mansion Hotel, their disappearance would not have excited any extraordinary degree of surprise. But the stranger was indebted but for two days' board and lodging, and the darkcomplexioned foreigner had paid his bill over night. A person who slept in the next room, recollected hearing a stir in that of the stranger, as he thinks, about three o'clock, but supposing it to be some one going off in the mail, it excited no particular observation."

The reader needs no ghost to tell him, that the gentleman in the blue frock &c. left a manuscript. This turns out to be an account of travels in America, by an Englishman, whom the author, or according to the courtesy of Utopia, the editor, imagines to be one of the writers in the Quarterly. He favors the public with sundry weighty reasons for supposing him to be the reviewer of the "Memorable Days of Wiliam Faux," the gentleman from Somersham. From the style of this preface, we formed high expectations of the work. We expected to find in it, a lively representation of Mr. Bull, as he occasionally appears among us with his London broadcloth, Brummagem dignity, and talent for silence. We anticipated great amusement from a full length picture of him, as he marches through our republic, listening, with the gravity of a hogshead, to all the queer inventions, which the waggish natives are pleased to palm upon him, mentally comparing the contemptible tinkle of every village cow-bell with the sounding honours of Bow, and growling inarticulate indignation at beef-steaks which have no relish of sulphur.

The writer of this book has taken a course a little different, having contented himself with a kind of parody of the romances of Faux, Fearon, and others, who have come over