I announce this intelligence to all my relations, friends, and well-wishers. Berlin, 18th Nov. 1828. "A. HIRSCHWALD." “We hereby announce, with great regard, to our sympathizing friends and relations, the celebration of our marriage, which took place on the 29th ult. Stet tin, 1st October, 1828. " HENRY BAUDOUIN. "THERESA BAUDOUIN, born Senstius." "On the 27th instant, at seven in the morning, died, after a long and painful illness, my good and beloved wife, born L, in the 51st year of her active life. Eleven children, to whom she was a loving caretul mother, in the full sense of the word, bewail with me this irreparable loss, which I hereby with great regard announce to my sympathizing friends and relations, wishing it to be understood at the same time, that I shall dispense with all assurances of condolence. "AULIC COUNSELLOR, B*** ̧” "Rebecca W. and Herrman S. have the honor of informing their friends and relations, that they are betrothed. Berlin, 29th Sept. 1828." It is also usual in parts of Germany to have cards printed and sent about, on occasions such as the above. Some of these which are now lying before us, are precisely in the same style as the advertisements just cited; one announces the birth of a stout boy, and another, a betrothal. The last mentioned announcement, so contrary to the feelings in these kingdoms, where an engagement is generally kept as secret as possible till the marriage is just about to take place, will be better understood after reading a passage from Mr. Laing's Journal relative to the nature of betrothal, in countries that are of the Lutheran Church. We have only to add, that in the same open and matter-of-course manner in which the said betrothal is announced, does the bridegroom pay his court to the bride. We say bridegroom and bride, for such are the terms by which the betrothed pair are designated; and they cease to be so styled, just when they commence here, on their wedding day. We shall never forget the complaints of a bashful young Englishman, whom we had the pleasure of knowing in Germany, that he often did not know which way to look when the gentleman who was betrothed to one of the young ladies of the family with whom he was on a visit, used to embrace her fondly on entering the room in which she was, though he and other friends were standing by. "November, 1834.-The family I lodge with went to a wedding some days ago. The feasting will continue the whole week. The same custom of expensive weddings and funerals, among country people, prevailed formerly very much in Scotland; and was discountenanced, perhaps not very wisely, by the clergy. It is in fact beneficial for society when, either to be married or buried with respectability, some considerable expense must be incurred, and, consequently, a certain previous saving and industry must be exerted. It is true that a young couple, who spend on their marriage day what might have kept their house for twelve months, do what people in a higher station consider very imprudent; but in acquiring what they then spend, they have acquired what they cannot spend-the habit of saving for a distant object, and not living from day to day. By this one festivity, too, they form a bond of connection with the married people of respectability in their own station, and which those of good disposition and intentions retain through life. They are transferred out of the class of the young and thoughtless, into the higher class of the steady and careful. The penny or subscription weddings, common in the south of Scotland, deserved much greater reprobation. Among the secondary checks upon improvident marriages in this nation, the most powerful is that in the Lutheran Church, marriage includes two distinct ceremonies; the betrothal, and the final ceremony. The one precedes the other generally for one, two, and often for several years. The betrothed parties have, in the eye of law, a distinct and acknowledged status, that a custom, so beneficial to society, as well as in society. It is to be regretted should have fallen into disuse in the It English Church. It interposes a season- We now take our leave of Mr. Laing, with feelings of respect for the sensible and manly mind displayed in his journal, and of gratitude for the amusement and instruction it has afforded us. The reader, however, to be fully sensibly of our obligation in this respect, must peruse the work itself; and we may venture to assure him, that the time so occupied will not be thrown away ANSTER'S XENIOLA.* WE chanced to recollect, as we sat down the other day with this little volume before us, that Mr. Locke's idea of writing an essay on the understanding was suggested by his suspecting that most human mistakes arose from the want of having a fixed and definite meaning attached to words. Now, as we are disposed fully to concur with the learned Mr. Locke on this point, we resolved to institute a strict scru tiny into our own vocabulary; and, accordingly set to work upon our first sentence, intending to go through all to the end; but the very first word led us into such a labyrinth of thought, and suggested such a multitude of doubts, reflections and speculations, that we soon found that the inquiry would stretch beyond the limits of our capacity -perhaps of our life. WE; how do we define we ?what do we mean when we use this pregnant monosyllable every moment? Alas, we do not understand ourselves!-we, who assume so much over others-who convince so many that we understand them better than they do themselves, when we come to look within, are puzzledconfounded. We do not even comprehend the elements of our own constitution, much less our authority, duties, immunities, privileges, and sphere of action. Are we the aggregate of many intellects, or the manysided wholeness of one? Do we come before the public as a criticizing multitude, rendered formidable by our numbers? or, do we derive our title from a delegation of literary authority, and claim for Dignity the respect and the appellation due to numerical force? Us is an accusative used only by divinity, royalty, and the press. We pass by the first case; but halt at the second. Why is his majesty of England we? Why should he be more of a pluralist than any one of his subjects? Does "we" mean himself and his privy councillors, himself and his ministers, or does it simply imply that the king himself, in his own proper person, represents a variety of offices, authorities and dignities, sufficient to multiply him out of the reach of the singular number? We incline to the latter interpretation. In fact, the first might occasionally be productive of awkward consequences. How would the Howards, Hamiltons, Percys and Cavendishes, for instance, relish the royal address of "our trusty and wellbeloved cousin," if Messrs. Wolfe and Co. were to step forward and claim relationship on the highest authority? Would it not be at least embarrassing if, in his majesty's endearments towards his royal consort, his ministers were supposed to be sharers ? and would not the awkwardness amount to something alarming, if the epithet "our rightful heir" were held to imply a participation of paternity? No: we cannot take this singular plural as extending itself an inch beyond the royal person, which we look upon as a corporation-sole, the collected majesty of Great Britain, the first estate of the realm, the generallissimo of our armies, the fountain of honour, the defender of the faith, that comprehensive ONE, in short, too great to be squeezed into the singular number, too vast to be circumscribed by that laconic particle, I. In like manner we, the editor, are one. We repudiate contributors-we thrust them all from under our wing— we respect their talents, it is true, and accept their favours with gratitude— we gladly receive them to our pages— to our confidence-but peremptorily exclude them from ourselves. We cannot take them within the veil of the unapproachable we. They are near, but not of, us. We stand alone in the majesty of intellect, receiving the homage of public approbation, without allowing deduction, and ready to stand by the words we have spoken, for good or for evil, without shrinking for a moment behind the vagueness of our i-or rather, we-dentity. Let it not be supposed that these observations savour of vanity. While we repel partnership on the one hand, we speak not of ourselves, merely as ourselves, on the other; and herein an editor differs from a king. The metaphysical plural we, consists of an editor and a thing edited—a workman and his work-body and spirit-steamengine and boiler. Apart from our 66 * Xeniola. Poems, including Translations from Schiller and De La Motte Fouqué, by John Anster, L. L. D. Barrister at Law, author of Faustus, a Dramatic Mystery," from Goethe. Dublin Milliken and Son. 1837. magazine we are simply I-nothing, inning, that he is by no means responsishort. With it, we are everything. ble; and, indeed, even as it is, we feel We are twin-born, co-equal and co- the necessity of putting our pen under eval with it. We are the Chang to restraint, lest we should be suspected, our literary Eng; or, more classically, by him, of flattering when we only criour importance and authority stand in ticise, and of bestowing that meed of the same relation to our publication praise as a gift, which is only due in that the Hamadryad does to its oak. the strictest justice to his literary The blow that fells the one, dismisses merits. the attendant spirit to the winds. Having thus examined the first word we had written, and satisfied the shade of Mr. Locke, we think our readers will dispense with the continuance of a scrutiny, which, at the rate hitherto pursued, would carry us but slowly to Dr. Anster. Indeed, some of them may perhaps be inclined to ask what we mean by talking so much about ourselves at all; forgetting that it is always better to leave these matters to the judgment of the writer, who will seldom, as we hope, be found to want just motives for whatever he says. In the first place, to begin with a digression has all the charm of novelty; and this alone ought to recommend it to a large portion of the public. But besides, it gives importance to what is to follow, thus to execute an ad libitum passage by way of prelude, and usher the reader into the presence of the subject with as many Hourishes, &c. as in a marriage settlement he has to struggle through to get at the mysterious blackletter of This Endenture." 46 But, after all, there may be a few captious persons who are still dissatisfied with us, and unreasonable enough to long for Xeniola. Now, what if we were to shew that we have all this time had a design in our egotism? Yet even so it is. We set, in the first instance, about throwing our arms clear of that coil of contributors and others, who cling to our name as close as the snake to Laocoon, in order that, among the rest, we might cast off the author of Xeniola himself, and leave ourselves at liberty to praise him as he deserves, without his being considered directly or indirectly to praise himself. Dr. Anster, as our readers very well know, is connected with our pages by frequent communications; and for the commendations which admiration and justice unite in obliging us to lavish on him, we hastened to say, in the very begin We confess we looked with nervousness at the little volume before us, ere we opened it. We feared to have those illusions dispelled which had been thrown around the name of Anster by that most successful effort of industry and imagination, Faustus: we dreaded it as we should dread breaking the seal of a will in which we expected a legacy. However, a few hasty glances were sufficient to reassure us; and we formed almost at once that favourable judgment which a more attentive perusal has only authorised us to confirm. We shall produce passages which rise to sublimity, and melt into the truest pathos; and, although there is some unevenness in the compositions, we have met with nothing certainly below mediocrity; and this is more than can be said for most volumes of miscel laneous poetry published in this or any other country. As we strung this additional gem on the carcanet of our memory, we could not help reflecting what a choice collection could be made, culled from among the minor poems of our countrymen. Casting all the flowers of their care and culture aside, how sweethow fragrant a garland might be woven out of the mere wild and spontaneous Goldsmith, Sheridan, Moore, Wolfe, growth of their untasked genius!— Maturin, Anster, immediately occur to us, who could each contribute many a wild flower. But we think it high time to present to our readers the gratification our title promised them, and accordingly we open the volume before us, which takes its name, we suppose, from its comprising productions which have been from time to time offered at the shrine of hospitality or friendship.* The dates subjoined to these would tell even if the preface did notthat they have been most of them lying by the author for many years; and two of them have already ap Since this passage was written, we have found a note to Anster's Faustus, (p. 300), in which the meaning and application of the words Xenia and Xeniola are given. By it we learn that they were used pretty much in the sense our book-makers now affix to the terms "Gifts," and "Presents." Oh breathe not-breathe not-sure 'twas something holy- And now again the wind-harp's frame hath felt These sounds to me Bear record of strange feelings. It was evening.— In my bowered window lay this talisman, That the sighing breezes there might visit it;- Like this soft harp, the play-thing of each impulse, Were mingling with my thoughts-I thought of one, I rushed away-I mingled with the mirth I sported hours away, and yet there came At times wild feelings-words will not express them— Yet I was mirthful. I lay down to sleep I did not sleep-I could not choose but listen, For o'er the wind-harp's strings the spirit came With that same sweet low voice. Yes! thou mayest smile, But I must think, my friend, as then I thought, That the voice was her's, whose early death I mourned, I lay Wakeful, the prey of many feverish feelings, "Till now I knew not Death was terrible, Shedding a tender twilight pensiveness ! "This is an idle song!-I cannot tell What charms were her's who died-I cannot tell And made the stranger sigh, with friends would wake With which she spoke of death, gave birth to thought Oh, was there not even then a lingering hope, Fast fluttering o'er their desolated nest? "Mourn not for her who died!-she lived as saints Might pray to live-she died as Christians die ;There was no earthward struggle of the heart, No shuddering terror-no reluctant sigh. They, who beheld her dying, fear not Death! Silently--silently the spoiler came, As sleep steals o'er the senses, unperceived, And the last thoughts, that soothed the waking soul, Mingle with our sweet dreams.-Mourn not for her! 66 Oh, who art thou, that, with weak words of comfort, Would'st bid the mourner not to weep?-would'st win The cheek of sorrow to a languid smile? Thou dost not know with what a pious love Grief dwells upon the dead!—thou dost not know All that recalls the past!-when the dim eye What forms are floating o'er the mourner's soul !— |