Gerard, Gros, Le Thier, Picot, on the one side :

Delacroix, Sigalon, Decamps, Boulanger on the other.

The first spoke always of antiquity. The others always of the renaissance. These who had no longer the paintings of Timanthes, Apelles, and Zeuxis as models, imitated what remained of antiquity-the statues.

The others, who had beneath their eyes the master pieces of Leonardo De Vinci, of Titian, of Paul Veronese, of Vandyke, and of Velasquez, extolled colouring and shape.

Well, permit me to say-we replied to the men who made painted statues, by trying to make written Leonard De Vincis, Titians, Veroneses, Vandykes, and Velasquez.

Never did the axiom Ut pictura poesis receive a more perfect verification than at this epoch.

Antony, with his black surtout, his chamois pantaloons, his white cravat was an exception.

But an exception which proved the rule.

Under this modern costume, beat the heart of a man of the middle age.

We were young-we had the future before us-we conquered.

There was nothing astonishing in that— we had as allies old age and death.

These struck while we wrote.

By degrees, society was changed. Hugo alone remained faithful to the velvet doublets and the brocade mantles.

I was less severe. I wrote Teresa, Richard D'Arlington, Angèle, Kean.

But, as you observe, always describing passions.

Manners, customs, the epoch, were only the frame.

The passions were the picture.

Souliè was doing at the same time the same thing.

The two great disenchanters of an epoch came in their turn.

Alfred de Musset and de Balzac. Alfred de Musset produced the Caprice, the Chandelier, Louison.

Balzac produced Vautrin, the Maratre, Mercadet.

They are between Alexandre and myself-these transition men who were wanting in 1828, between the Armaults, the Le Merciers, the de Jouys, and us.

Alexandre starts from the Dame aux Camelias, which is of the class of Angèlehe passes to L'Argent, which is of the class of Mercadet-then he arrives at the Fils Naturel, which, after the twentyseven years, is the counterpart of Antony, and which is as successful in realism as Antony was in idealism.

VI.

Now laying aside all paternal tenderness, the Fils Naturel is a beautiful work, and indicates great progress not only in art generally, but also in the talent of the author. The piece as a piece, is faultlessly executed-and never have dramatic logic and deduction gone farther.

But what I consider especially happy, is the comic part-it is comic not only in words and detail, but also in its arrangement.

The piece being by Alexandre, I say that it is one of the best comedies in point of costume which have been written for twenty years.

If it were not by Alexandre, I should say that it was the best.

ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

The subject of Female Education has been discussed very freely in this magazine, but we do not recollect that any writer upon it, either in the Messenger or elsewhere, has yet advanced the views presented by our correspondent whose letter we subjoin. He is certainly entitled to the credit of originality, however the reader may dissent from his propositions. We have a certain suspicion that he has touched the true cause of the domestic troubles of Mr. Dickens, and the hint would be sufficient to elicit some comments thereupon, were we not unwilling to detain the reader from the perusal of so racy a communication. We therefore introduce it without farther preliminary—

Mr. Thos. Teetotal Teetotum's proposal for reform in the present system of Female Education.

It has long been my intention to astonish the public with a series of severe essays upon the present system of female education.

This system I know to be a decided failure, for the reasons I shall now proceed to lay before the public. I have been a sufferer, sir, so have Messrs. Dickens, Bulwer & Co.-from incompatibility of tastes in a wife. I was always fond of sociability; of the wine table; of a game of cards, or billiards; of my pipe; of horse racing; in a word, of all those innocent amusements which characterize the man of taste. I was never a ladies' man, because I never found ladies at all companionable. How

I came to address one is still a mystery to me. I was induced to drive a mum, demure little thing-a cousin of mine-one evening in a buggy. We had been thrown together a great deal in our lives; for when deprived of the society of my friends, I found myself often compelled to take to hers.

On these occasions she would invariably set herself up to lecture me on what she was pleased to term my dissipation, which amounted to nothing more nor less than the enjoyment, in the society of friends, of the sports mentioned above. Strange that she who scarce opened her mouth in the company of strangers, would talk, when she got upon this subject, as if her tongue were oiled. I would invariably stop these lectures by kissing her heartily in the mouth and spinning out of the room. But we took that buggy drive-I must have been intoxicated-I am certain I was, she became Mrs. T. T. Teetotum. "The course of true love never did run smooth." Of the truth of this remark I am not a competent judge, but I know that married life never can run smooth where there is no love at all, and where the man and woman have different tastes. This last consideration is what I wish to get at. Give a couple the same tastes and the love will follow. Let the rising generation of females be so educated that they make good companions, and consequently good wives, for the rising generation of males. Let girls be taught to smoke, drink, swear, and play all the games that we men are fond of, and there will be

fewer divorces than at present. No doubt my own case is a common one in this age and country, and many a broken-hearted man will recognize his own situation in the following account.

The coldest winter nights I am expelled pipe and all from the parlor, and if I smoke at all it must be in the most uncomfortable room in the house. Oh, that my wife were a slave to the pipe! Then would I not be expelled from the parlor, nor have disagreeable remarks made about my breath.

One night after having attended a supper with my friends, I came home, and had a fight-my wife had no reason to complain-with my own reflection in a lookingglass. I smashed the glass with my cane, and she complained of it.

When I come home at one o'clock at night, and, on account of the darkness, am unable to find the key hole, she accuses me of being drunk and keeping late hours.

She makes war upon my pets. On one occasion Flora, my favorite pointer, entered the house, followed by a troop of admirers close at her heels, snapping and snarling at each other in the most diverting manner. One of these, a long waisted, yellow dog, with cropped ears, a perpendicular stump tail, and large, muddy feet, so far forgot himself as to seize his rival, a thick-set, blear-eyed bull terrier by the neck, and the two had a furious fight in the parlor, in which all the troop joined, tearing the carpet and scratching the furniture, but altogether affording me high amusement, from my position on the piano. My sport was put an end to by the entrance

There are many who will be glad to learn that Mr. Charles Campbell of Petersburg, proposes to publish at an early day, a new and enlarged Edition of his "History of Virginia." In announcing this fact, it is not necessary that we should say a word as to the value of the work or of the eminent qualifications of Mr. Campbell as a historian. These are well known. But we may express our gratification that the admirable outline of our Virginian story which was drawn for us with so much strength and fidelity by this gentleman some years ago, has been filled up since, and made to assume proportions more acceptable. In avoiding a redundancy of style and illustration, Mr. Campbell's original draft was somewhat hard and cold; he has only done justice to himself and to his subject in giving more of warmth and colour to the narrative, by the introduction of new material gathered from the stores of his wide and laborious research. We trust that Mr. Campbell will be abundantly encouraged to bring out his new volume in a form worthy of its merits, and we would appeal to all our readers who feel a proper interest in the matter, to write at once to Mr. Campbell at Petersburg, Va., and give him their names as subscribers. The author desires to be apprised by private letter, in advance, of the name and post-office of every gentleman who wishes to obtain a copy of the work, which will be sold by subscription. Let the members of the Historical Society of Virginia, and all literary men within and without the State, forward their subscriptions to Mr. Campbell immediately. The price of the new volume will be $2 50.

The departure of Mr. G. P. R. James for his new abode in Venice was so sudden a thing, that no opportunity was afforded his many friends in our city of meeting him, as they had wished, at the festive board. An invitation for a Farewell Dinner was indeed extended him, but his numerous and pressing engagements, preparatory to leaving, compelled him to decline it. A few gentlemen, uniting in a desire to present him with some testimonial of their regard, caused a handsome piece of silver to be prepared and handed to him, with these inscriptions;-on one side "Old Dominion Julep Bowl," on the reverse

To G. P. R. JAMES,

From a few of his friends in Virginia.

May their names,

Familiar to his ears as household words, Be in this flowing cup freshly remembered.

At an informal social meeting on the occasion of the presentation, the following lines were read, and they are here printed in accordance with the wishes of the parties. In giving them, the Editor of the Messenger feebly expresses his feelings in parting with a most amiable gentleman whose literary friendship he has for seve ral years most highly valued.

Good bye! they say the time is up

The "solitary horseman" leaves us, We'd like to take a "stirrup cup," Though much indeed the parting grieves

us;

We'd like to hear the glasses clink

Around a board where none were tipsy, And with a hearty greeting drink

This toast-The Author of the Gipsy!

The maidens fair of many a clime

Have blubbered o'er his tearful pages, The Ariosto of his time,

Romancist of the Middle Ages: In fiction's realm a shining star, (We own ourselves his grateful debtors) Who would not call our G. P. R.

"H. B. M C."-a Man of Letters?

But not with us his pen avails

To win our hearts-this English scion, Though there are not so many tales To every roaring British Lion

For he has yet a prouder claim

To praise, than dukes and lords inherit, Or wealth can give or lettered fameHis honest heart and modest merit.

An Englishman, whose sense of right
Comes down from glorious Magna Charta,
He loves, and loves with all his might,
His home, his Queen, Pale Ale, the Gar-

ter:

This last embraces much, 'tis best

To comprehend just what is statedFor Honi Soit-you know the rest

And need not have the French translated.

O! empty bauble of renown,

So quickly lost and won so dearly, Our Consul wears the Muses' crown,

We love him for his virtues merely: A Prince, he's ours as much as Fame's, And reigns in friendship kindly o'er us, Then call him George Prince Regent James, And let his country swell the chorus.

His country! we would gladly pledge
Its living greatness and its glory-
In Peace admired, and "on the edge
Of battle" terrible in story:
A little isle, its cliffs it rears

'Gainst winds and waves in wrath united, And nobly for a thousand years

Has kept the fire of freedom lighted.

A glowing spark in time there came, Like sunrise, o'er the angry water, And here is fed, an altar-flame,

By Britain's democratic daughterFrom land to land a kindred fire.

Beneath the billow now is burning, O may it thrill the magic wire

With only love, and love returning!

But since we cannot meet again

Where wine and wit are freely flowing, Old friend! this measure take and drain A brimming health to us in going: And far beneath Italia's sky,

Where sunsets glow with hues prismatic, Bring out the bowl when you are dry, And pledge us by the Adriatic!

JNO. R. THOMPSON.

Richmond, Va., 20 Sept., 1858.