become a young lady's instructor. The great malady. It was not difficult to ascertain it. His man's tuition had always one effect upon his pu- indifference and public scandal, which spoke pils. Before Miss Vanhomrigh had made much freely of their unaccountable connexion, were progress in her studies she was over head and alone to blame for her sufferings. It was enough ears in love, and, to the astonishment of her for Swift. He had passed the age at which he master, she one day declared the passionate and had resolved to marry, but he was ready to wed undying character of her attachment. Swift Stella provided the marriage were kept secret met the confession with a weapon far more po- and she was content to live apart. Poor Stella tent when opposed to a political foe, than when was more than content, but she over-estimated her directed against the weak heart of a doting wo-strength. The marriage took place, and immeman. He had recourse to raillery, but, finding diately afterwards the husband withdrew himself his banter of no avail, endeavor to appease the in a fit of madness, which threw him into gloom unhappy girl by "an offer of devoted and ever- and misery for days. What the motives may have lasting friendship, founded on the basis of virtu- been for the inexplicable stipulations of this wayous esteem." He might with equal success have ward man it is impossible to ascertain. That attempted to put out a conflagration with a they were the motives of a diseased, and at times bucket of cold water. There was no help for utterly irresponsible, judgment, we think cannot the miserable man. He returned to his dean be questioned. Of love as a tender passion, ery at the death of Queen Anne with two love Swift had no conception. His writings prove it. affairs upon his hands, but with the stern resolu-The coarseness that pervades his compositions tion of encouraging neither, and overcoming both. has nothing in common with the susceptibility Before quitting England he wrote to Esther that shrinks from disgusting and loathsome imaVauhomrigh, or Vanessa, as he styles her in his ges in which Swift revelled. In all his prose and correspondence, intimating his intention to forget poetical addresses to his mistresses, there is not everything in England and to write to her as sel- one expression to prove the weakness of his heart. dom as possible. So far the claims of Vanessa He writes as a guardian-he writes as a friend — were disposed of. As soon as he reached his he writes as a father, but not a syllable escapes deanery, he secured lodgings for Stella and her him that can be attributed to the pangs and decompanion, and reiterated his determination to lights of the lover. pursue his intercourse with the young lady upon Married to Stella, Swift proved himself more the prudent terms originally established. So far eager than ever to give to his intercourse with his mind was set at rest in respect of Stella. Vanessa the character of mere friendship. He But Swift had scarcely time to congratulate him- went so far as to endeavor to engage her affecself upon his plans before Vanessa presented her- tions for another man, but his attempts were reself in Dublin, and made known to the Dean her jected with indignation and scorn. In the Auresolution to take up her abode permanently in gust of the year 1717 Vanessa retired from DubIreland. Her mother was dead, so were her two lin to her house and property near Cellbridge. brothers; she and her sister were alone in the Swift exhorted her to leave Ireland altogether, world, and they had a small property near Dub- but she was not to be persuaded. In 1720 it lin, to which it suited them to retire. Swift, would appear that the Dean frequently visited alarmed by the proceeding, remonstrated, threat-the recluse in her retirement, and upon such ocened, denounced-all in vain. Vanessa met his casions Vanessa would plant a laurel or two in reproaches with complaints of cruelty and neg-honour of her guest, who passed his time with lect, and warned him of the consequences of the lady reading and writing verses in a rural leaving her without the solace of his friendship bower built in a sequestered part of her garden. and presence. Perplexed and distressed, the Some of the verses composed by Vanessa have Dean had no other resource than to leave events been preserved. They breathe the fond ardour to their own development. He trusted that time of the suffering maid, and testify to the imperwould mitigate and show the hopelessness of turbable coldness of the man. Of the innocence Vanessa's passion, and in the meanwhile he of their intercourse there cannot be a doubt. In sought, by occasional communication with her, 1720 Vanessa lost her last remaining relativeThrown back upon to prevent any catastrophe that might result from her sister died in her arms. actual despair. But his thoughts for Vanessa's herself by this bereavement, the intensity of her safety were inimical to Stella's repose. She love for the Dean became insupportable. Jealpined and gradually sank under the alteration ous and suspicious, and eager to put an end to a that had taken place in Swift's deportment to- terror that possessed her, she resolved to address wards her since his acquaintance with Vanessa. herself to Stella, and to ascertain from her own Swift, really anxious for the safety of his ward, lips the exact nature of her relations with her requested a friend to ascertain the cause of her so-called guardian. The momentous question was asked in a letter, to which Stella calmly re- was doomed to find his Stella upon the verge of plied by informing her interrogator that she was the grave. Till the last moment he continued at the Dean's wife. Vanessa's letter was forwarded her bedside, evincing the tenderest consideration, by Stella to Swift himself, and it roused him to and performing what consolatory tasks he might fury. He rode off at once to Cellbridge, enter- in the sick chamber. Shortly before her death, ed the apartment in which Vanessa was seated, part of a conversation between the melancholy and glared upon her like a tiger. The trembling pair was overheard. “Well, my dear," said the creature asked her visitor to sit down. He an-Dean, "if you wish it, it shall be owned." Stelswered the invitation by flinging a packet on the la's reply was given in fewer words. “It is too table, and riding instantly away. The packet|late." "On the 28th of January," writes one of was opened; it contained nothing but Vanessa's the biographers of Swift," Mrs. Johnson closed letter to Stella. Her doom was pronounced. her weary pilgrimage, and passed to that land The fond heart snapped. In a few weeks the where they neither marry nor are given in marhopeless, desolate Vanessa was in her grave. riage," the second victim of one and the same Swift, agonized, rushed from the world. For hopeless and consuming passion. two months subsequently to the death of Vanessa. Swift stood alone in the world, and for his his place of abode was unknown. But at the punishment was doomed to endure the crushing end of that period he returned to Dublin calmer solitude for the space of 17 years. The interval for the conflict he had undergone. He devoted was gloomy indeed. From his youth the Dean himself industriously again to affairs of State. had been subject to painful fits of giddiness and His pen had now a nobler office than to sustain deafness. From 1736 these fits became more unworthy men in unmerited power. We can but frequent and severe. In 1740 he went raving indicate the course of his labours. Ireland, the mad, aud frenzy ceased only to leave him a more country not of his love, but of his birth and adop- pitiable idiot. During the space of three years tion, treated as a conquered province, owed her the poor creature was unconscious of all that rescue from absolute thraldom to Swift's great passed around him, and spoke but twice. Upon and unconquerable exertions on her behalf. He the 19th of October, 1745, God mercifully reresisted the English Government with his single moved the terrible spectacle from the sight of hand, and overcame them in the fight. His pop-man, and released the sufferer from his misery, ularity in Ireland was unparalleled even in that degradation and shame. excited and generous-hearted land. Rewards were offered to betray him, but a million lives would have been sacrificed in his place, before one would have profited by the patriot's downfall. He was worshipped, and every hair of his head was precious and sacred to the people who adored him. The volumes whose title is found below, and which have given occasion to these remarks, are a singular comment upon a singular history. It is the work of a Frenchman, who has ventured to deduce a theory from the data we have submitted to the reader's notice. With that theory we cannot agree it may be reconcilable to the In 1726 Swift revisited England, for the first romance which M. de Wailly has invented, but time since the death of Queen Anne, and pub-it is altogether opposed to veritable records that lished, anonymously as usual, the famous satire cannot be impugned, M. de Wailly would have of Gulliver's Travels. Its immediate success it that Swift's marriage with Stella was a delibheralded the universal fame that masterly and erate and rational sacrifice of love to principle, singular work has since achieved. Swift min- and that Swift compensated his sacrificed love gled once more with his literary friends, and by granting his principle no human indulgences; lived almost entirely with Pope. Yet courted that his love for Vanessa, in fact, was sincere and on all sides he was doomed again to bitter ardent, and that his duty to Stella alone preventNews reached him that Stella was ed a union with Vanessa. To prove his case M. ill. Alarmed and full of self-reproaches, he has de Wailly widely departs from history, and makes tened home to be received by the people of Ire-his hypothesis of no value whatever, except to land in triumph, and to meet-and he was grate the novel reader. As a romance, written by a ful for the sight-the improved and welcoming Frenchman. Stella and Vanessa is worthy of looks of the woman for whose dissolution he great commendation. It indicates a familiar had been prepared. In March, 1727, Stella being knowledge of English manners and character, sufficiently recovered, the Dean ventured once and never betrays, except here and there in the more to England, but soon to be resummoned to construction of the plot, the hand of a foreigner, the hapless couch of his exhausted and most It is quite free from exaggeration, and inasmuch miserable wife. Afflicted in body and soul, as it exhibits no glaring anachronism or absurd Swift suddenly quitted Pope, with whom he was caricature, is a literary curiosity. We accept it residing at Twickenham, and reaching his home, as such, though bound to reject its higher claims. sorrow. ter's guidance, (until I had learned the way,) I passed to my Roman home. I was a long time learning the way. The mystery of Swift's amours has yet to be cleared up. We explain his otherwise uuaccountable behaviour by attributing his cruelty to prevailing insanity. The career of Swift was My chamber looked out upon the Corso, and brilliant, but not less wild than dazzling. The I could catch from it a glimpse of the top of the sickly hue of a distempered brain gave a colour to his acts in all the relations of life. The storm was brewing from his childhood; it burst forth terribly in his age, and only a moment before all was wreck and devastation, the half distracted man sat down and made a will, by which he left the whole of his worldly possessions for the foun-looking out, and they can almost read the title dation of a lunatic asylum. A ROMAN GIRL. BY IK MARVEL. -I remember the very words" non parlo, Francesce, Signore,-I do not speak French, Signor" said the stout lady,but my daughter. perhaps, will understand you.” tall columu of Antoninus, and of a fragment of the palace of the Governor. My parlor, which was separated from the apartments of the family by a narrow corridor, looked upon a small court, hung around with balconies. From the upper one, a couple of black-eyed girls are occasionally of my book, when I sit by the window. Below are three or four blooming ragazze, who are darkeyed, and have Roman luxuriance of hair. The youngest is a friend of our Enrica, and is of course frequently looking up, with all the innocence in the world, to see if Eurica may be looking out. Night after night, a bright blaze glows upon my hearth, of the alder faggots which they bring from the Albanian hills. Night after night too, the family come in. to aid my blundering speech, and to enjoy the rich sparkling of my faggot fire. Little Cesare, a dark-faced Italian boy, takes up his position with pencil and slate, and draws by the light of the blaze genii and castles. The old one-eyed teacher of Enrica, lays his snuff And she called—“ Enrica!—Enrica! venite, box upon the table, and his handkerchief across subito! c'è un forestiere.” his lap, and with his spectacles upon his nose, And the daughter came, her light brown hair and his big fingers on the lesson, runs through falling carelessly over her shoulders, her rich hazel the French tenses of the verb amare. The father eye twinkling and full of life, the colour coming a sallow-faced, keen-eyed man with true Italian and going upon her transparent cheek, and her visage, sits with his arms upon the elbows of his bosom heaving with her quick step. With one chair, and talks of the Pope, or of the weather. hand she put back the scattered locks that had | A spruce count from the Marches of Ancona, fallen over her forehead, while she laid the other wears a heavy watch seal, and reads Dante with gently, upon the arm of her mother, and asked in that sweet music of the south-" cosa volete, mamma?" It was the prettiest picture I had seen in many a day; and this, notwithstanding I was in Rome, and had come that very morning from the Palace of Borghese. furore. The mother, with arms akimbo, looks proudly upon her daughter, and counts her, as well she may, a gem among the Romau beauties. The table was round, with the fire blazing on one side; there was scarce room for but three upon the other. Signor il maestro was onethen Eurica, and next, how well I remember it— The stout lady was my hostess, and Enrica-came myself. For I could sometimes help Enso fair, so young, so unlike in her beauty, to other rica to a word of French; and far oftener, she Italian beauties, was my landlady's daughter. could help me to a word of Italian. Her face The house was one of those tall houses-very. was rich and full of feeling; I used greatly to very old, which stand along the eastern side of love to watch the puzzled expressions that passed the Corso, looking out upon the Piazzo di Co-over her forehead, as the sense of some hard louna. The staircases were very tall, and dirty. | phrase escaped her;-and better still, to see the and they were narrow and dark. Four flights of happy smile, as she caught at a glance, the stone steps led up to the corridor where they thought of some old scholastic Frenchman, and lived. A little trap was in the door; and there transferred it into the liquid melody of her speech. was a bell rope, at the least touch of which, I She had seen just sixteen summers, and only was almost sure to hear tripping feet run along that very autumn was escaped from the thraldom the stone floor within, and then to see the trap of a couvent, upon the skirts of Rome. She thrown slyly back, and those deep hazle eyes knew nothing of life, but the life of feeling; and looking out upon me; and then the door would all thoughts of happiness, lay as yet in her childopen, and along the corridor, under the daugh-ish hopes. It was pleasant to look upon her face; and it was still more pleasant to listen to ruffle of her cap-you wish she were always a that sweet Roman voice. What a rich flow of nun. But the wish vanishes, when you see her superlatives, and endearing diminutives from in a pure white muslin, with a wreath of orange those vermillion lips! Who would not have blossoms about her forehead, and a single white loved the study, and who would not have loved-rose-bud in her bosom. without meaning it-the teacher? Upon the little balcony Enrica keeps a pot or two of flowers, which bloom all winter long: and each morning. I find upon my table a fresh rose-bud; each night, I bear back for thank-offering, the prettiest bouquet that can be found in the Via Condotti. The quiet fire-side evenings come back,—in which my hand seeks its wonted place upon her book; and my other, will creep around upon the back of Eurica's chair, and Enrica will look indignant,—and then all forgiveness. In those days, I did not linger long at the tables of lame Pietro in the Via Condotti; but would hurry back to my little Roman parlor the fire was so pleasant! And it was so pleasant to greet Enrica with her mother, even before the one-eyed maestro had come in; and it was pleasant to unfold the book between us, and to lay my hand upon the page-a small page-where hers lay already. And when she pointed wrong, it was pleasant to correct her-over and over;insisting, that her hand should be here, and not One day I received a large pacquet of letters:there, and lifting those little fingers from one ah, what luxury to lie back in my big arm-chair, page, and putting them down upon the other. there before the crackling faggots, with the pleaAnd sometimes, half provoked with my fault-sant rustle of that silken dress beside me, and finding, she would pat my hand smartly with run over a second, and a third time, those mute hers; but when I looked in her face to know what that could mean, she would meet my eye with such a kind submission, and half earnest regret, as made me not only pardon the offence, but tempt me to provoke it again. Through all the days of Carnival, when I rode pelted with confetti, and pelting back, my eyes used to wander up, from a long way off, to that tall house upon the Corso, where I was sure to meet, again and again, those forgiving eyes, aud that soft brown hair, all gathered under the little brown sombrero, set off with one pure white plume. And her hand full of bon-bons, she would shake at me threateningly; and laugh-a musical laugh-as I bowed my head to the assault, and recovering from the shower of missiles, would turu to throw my stoutest bouquet at her balcony. At night, I would bear home to the Roman parlor, my best trophy of the day, as a guerdon for Eurica; and Eurica would be sure to render in acknowledgment, some carefully hidden flowers, the prettiest that her beauty had won. Sometimes upon those Carnival nights, she arrays herself in the costume of the Albanian water-carriers; and nothing, one would think could be prettier, than the laced crimson jacket, and the strange head gear with its trinkets, and the short skirts leaving to view as delicate an ankle as could be found in Rome. Upon another night, she glides into my little parlor, as we sit by the blaze, in a close velvet boddice, and with a Swiss hat caught up by a looplet of silver, and adorned with a full blown rose-nothing you think could be prettier than this. Again, in one of her girlish freaks, she robes herself like a nun; and with the heavy black surge, for dress, and the funereal veil,—relieved only by the plain white paper missives, which bore to me over so many niles of water, the words of greeting, and of love! It would be worth travelling to the shores of the Egean, to find one's heart quickened into such life as the ocean letters will make. Enrica threw down her book, and wondered what could be in them?-and snatched one from my hand, and looked with sad, but vain intensity over that strange scrawl.-What can it be?-said she; and she lay her finger upon the little half line"Dear Paul.” I told her it was "Caro mio." Enrica lay it upon her lap, and looked in my "From your sister?" said she. "Il vostro fratello, dunque ?" "Nemmeno," said I-" not from a brother either." She handed me the letter, and took up her book; and presently she laid it down again; and looked at the letter, and then at me; and went out. She did not come in again that evening; in the morning, there was no rose-bud on my table. And when I came at night, with a bouquet from Pietro's at the corner, she asked me-" who had written my letter?" “A very dear friend,” said I. 66 Keep this bouquet for her," said she, and put it in my hands. "But. Enrica, she has plenty of flowers; she lives among them, and each morning her children gather them by scores to make garlands of," Eurica put her fingers within my hand to take again the bouquet; and for a moment I held both spring was coming. The old man drummed with fingers and flowers. The flowers slipped out first. I had a friend at Rome in that time, who afterward died between Ancona and Corinth: we were sitting one day upon a block of tufa in the middle of the Coliseum, looking up at the shadows which the waving shrubs upon the southern wall cast upon the ruined arcades within, and listening to the chirping sparrows that lived upon the wreck, when he said to me suddenly 64 ‘Paul, you love the Italian girl.” "She is very beautiful,” said I. his fingers on the table, and shrugged his shoulders again, but said nothing. My landlady said I could not ride. Cesare said it would be hard walking. Enrica asked papa, if there would be any danger? And again the old man shrugged his shoulders. Again I asked him, if he knew a man who would serve us as a guide among the Appenines; and finding me determined, he shrugged his shoulders, and said he would find one on the next day. As I passed out at evening, on my way to the Piazzo near the Monte Citorio, where stand the "I think she is beginning to love you," said carriages that go out to Tivoli, Enrica glided up he, soberly. to me and whispered-"ah, mi dispiace tanto "She has a very warm heart, I believe," said I. tanto, Signor !" "Aye," said he. "But her feelings are those of a girl," continued I. "They are not," said my friend; and he laid his hand upon my knee, and left off drawing diagrams with his cane." I have seen, Paul, more than you of this southern nature. The Italian girl of fifteen is a woman; an impassioned, sensitive, tender creature-yet still a woman: you are loving-if you love-a full-grown heart; she loving-if she loves-as a ripe heart should." I was pondering for an answer, when he went on:-"It is better so: love as you might, that southern nature with all its passion, is not the material to build domestic happiness upon; nor is your northern habit-whatever you may think at your time of life, the one to cherish always those passionate sympathies which are bred by this atmosphere, and their scenes." One moment my thought ran to my little parlor, and to that fairy figure, and to that sweet, angel face; and then, like lightning it traversed oceans, and fed upon the old ideal of home, and brought images to my eye of lost, dead ones, who seemed to be stirring on heavenly wings, in that soft Roman atmosphere, with grecting, and with beckoning. "I will go with you," said I. The father shrugged his shoulders, when I told him I was going to the mountains and wanted a guide. His wife said it would be cold upon the hills, for the winter was not ended. Eurica said it would be warm in the valleys, for the HYMN. FROM THE PRAIRIES. BY J. CLEMENT. I've felt thy presence, oh my God! I've felt thy presence on the heights Of hills, sky-cleaving and sublime, I've felt thy presence mid the swell Of billows leaping to the sky, But gorges deep and mountains grand, The hand that smoothed the boundless plains, This holy hush at noontide hour, Amid this sea-like field of gloom, Amid thy solemn fields below, Permit me, Lord, to often rove, |