nouncing to you yesterday, the council has, deliberated on the reply of the cabinet of London, which you had been directed to transmit to us. My preceding despatches must have caused you to anticipate the decision of the government of the republic. France, in a spirit of kindness and peace, had decided to interpose her good offices, for the purpose of terminating, on honorable conditions, the difference which had arisen between Great Britain and Greece. It had been agreed that the coercive measures already employed by England should be suspended during the course of the mediation, and that if an arangement, deemed fit to be accepted by the French mediator, should be refused by the British mediator, the latter should refer the matter to London, before again having recourse to force. We had received, on this latter point, the most formal promises, which, however, have not been observed. This deplorable consequence has resulted therefrom, that at the moment when a convention, negociated directly, and definitely agreed to between the cabinets of Paris and London, was on the point of arriving at Athens, where already the essential basis of it were known, Greece, attacked afresh by the naval forces of Great Britain, in spite of the energetic representations made by the French envoy, was obliged to accept, without discussion, the clauses of an ultimatum infinitely more rigorous (bien autrement rigoureuses.) On learning the strange result of our mediation, we desired to see in it only the effect of a misunderstanding.

We had hoped that the cabinet of London, like us, considering as of no effect (non avenus) the facts so much to be regretted by every one, and which had taken place only in consequence of the violation of an engagement entered into with us, would maintain the convention which had been agreed to. You had been charged to apply to it to do so; and

that demand not having been acceded to, it has appeared to us that the prolongation of your sojourn is no longer compatible with the dignity of the republic.

The President has ordered me to direct you to return to France, after having accredited M. Mareschalchi as Charge d'Affaires. He has also directed me to express to you all the satisfaction which the government of the republic feel at the zeal, ability, spirit of conciliation, and firmness united, which you have always shown in the course of a negotiation, the non-success of which was not your fault. You will be pleased to communicate to Lord Palmerston the present dispatch.

(Signed)

LA HITTE.

(Loud cheers again burst out here as before.) Gentlemen (continued the Minister), I have laid on the table the documents connected with this negotiation. You will perceive, I am inclined to think, on perusing this voluminous collection, that the acts and intention of the government of the republic are not undeserving of your approbation. (Cheers.) I have to propose to you to order that the documents be printed.

The Assembly, being consulted, ordered the printing of the documents almost unanimously. Gen. Cavaignac, M. Gustave de Beaumont, and two or three other members of the tiers parti, stood up on the negative side of the vote.

When the Minister descended from the tribune, he was surrounded and complimented by a crowd of representatives, amongst whom were MM. Thiers, Admiral Dupetit-Thouars, General Changarnier, &c.

The sitting was then suspended for half an hour, amidst the utmost agitation; the members of the Right, assembling in the centre, discussing the communication made, whilst the Left remained impassive as before.

Ireland as I saw it, the character, condition, and prospects of the People: By WM. S. BALCH: New York: G. P. Putnam, 1850.

The writer of the above titled book informs us in his introductory epistle, that he "travelled neither as philosopher, sage, or poet, but simply as a plain republican, curious to see, and anxious to learn." That is a good beginning. The set-out smacks of modesty, and, therefore, presents to a common sense reader, a pathway not usually found 'laid down' in the guide books' and books of travel,' of the pseudo philosophic voyageurs, didactic city seers, feminine journal compilers or sonneteering mountain climbers of the present day. When we take up a book of travels, we do not ask the writer of it to lay down a new code of laws for the people he is talking about. We want a truthful delineation-a faithful record of what he sees; the people, their state, condition, and character; the cities, their situation, commerce, &c. The towns, their markets; the land, its agriculture, mines, and resources; the mountains and rivers, their scenery and power. With these set before a reader truthfully, he will be able to judge of the actual state and government of the land, and needs no speculative instruction to guide him to a just judgment of its faults, failures, misery, weakness, strength, past folly or future prospects. We want facts. Facts are suggestive. Falsehood, though favorable at best only dazzles at first, and ends in confounding.

Apart from the natural beauty of Ireland, it did not present a very interesting field for an American traveller, after a wasting famine for the immediate years previous and the distracted state of the country about the time of Mr. Balche's tour. He went " without prejudice" and saw "more to approve in the character of the people than he expected," at the same time he laments their condition and justly condemns the working of the aristocratic institutions. "There are those in England" says our author," who would tear the whole carcass in pieces at once and destroy it for ever; making the Emerald Isle a province, into which they might introduce colonies of their own wretched population. Such men seriously desire an occasion to justify a general onslaught and final extinction of the Irish nation, and talk seriously about it. But Heaven has reserved this country for some other end; if not for freedom and honor, to be, as at present, the manufactory of a race which is

spreading itself, like the old Teutons, among all nations of the earth, for some purpose which shall hereafter be made manifest."

We trust that Ireland's manifestation shall be that of Freedom and Glory. Nationality can be crushed out of Ireland no more than it will be made extinct in Hungary or France, or Rome, or the Affghan land. For upholding that nationality and preaching the creed of Freedom, chief after chief may glut the scaffold or pine in prison denchief after chief may fall-the martyrdom of Freedom's priesthood may be waged with Inquisitorial horrors, but Truth will prevail. The natural spring will force itself erect and pure through every obstacle. Despotism may smile graciously and affect ease but never can sleep without its armor:

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime;

And as the heroes of our day have received their inspiration from the Tells, Washingtons, and Emmetts of the by-gone, so shall the example and glory of the men of our era light some succeeding Kossuth, Mitchel, or Chere Singli, to the deliverance of their land. Hate to Tyranny cannot die out. The teachings of the "Young Ireland" will not be easily forgotten. In fact, its effect has had scarcely time to make itself manifest. Its oratory, enthusiasm and poetry cannot but fulfil its mission on a mind so susceptible, warm, and enthusiastic as the Irish. Mr. Balch and his travelling companions were in Dublin during the exciting movements in '48. The following reminiscence is interesting because it can be depended on. The author is in the court-yard of the castle" a sort of military palace, on a grand scale." He says:

"While gazing about, a young soldier came up to us, and commenced a conversation. Finding we were from America, he expressed himself very freely. He had not been long in the service, and was not well pleased with it, but necessity had compelled him to adopt the course to obtain a living.

He asked us what we had heard of Mitchel's trial, and what was the prospect of acquittal. We told him we had heard nothing in particular, only there was much excitement in the streets. He said he hoped he would get clear, for he believed him an honest man, and a true lover of his country. We proceeded gradually, and finally asked him what he should do if there should be a rising of the people. He said, after some hesitation, he supposed he must fight. I did not press

the inquiry farther, for I saw, by his appearance, what his answers would be; that his heart was for his country, which he loved, and, though compelled to it, he would reluctantly contend with his countrymen, and, therefore, he expressed an earnest hope that there would be no disturbance. He said the whole garrison was kept constantly in readiness for any emergency; that every part of the castle was crowded with soldiers, and hundreds were quartered in private dwellings. Observing some one who appeared to be listening to our conversation, he turned and left us."

Their hills and their bogs, their oppressors and their misries, have taught them to be free. Many distinguished men in America are from Ireland. Her patriotic sons have served in the battles of most of the armies of the civilized world, and have distinguished themselves by the most heroic valor. The field of Waterloo, the height of Quebec, the Badajos, the walls of Toulouse and Salamanca, and more recently Monterey, Cerro Gordo, and Chapultepec, with a thousand others, have been stained with the warm blood of Irishmen.

The author's recollections of Dublin city at this time, are particularly interesting, especially the trial of John Mitchell, which is given at length.

Mr. Balch is a very agreeable companion, and might be more so, if he were not so exceedingly fond of running into logical discussions and speculations. He is violently opposed to the papistical doctrines, and quotes Scripture freely. His book is written in pleasing narrative style. Some of his descriptions are admirable, and none dry. At times, he has shown himseif a clear thinker, and his conclusions have been almost prophetic, anticipating many succeeding events, while at others they have been extremely erroneous. His pictures of beautiful scenery and old castles, are as exhilarating as his recollections of the misery he saw are horrifying and heart-rending. Altogether, the book is readable and instructive-though we cannot endorse all the authors opinions-and the impression left, is that one would wish he were contemplating the valley of the " Sweet Liffey," strolling across the beautiful bridges or gazing at the "elegant and massive" buildings in the "fine old city" of Dublin-taking an excursion to Killarney-Glengariff or Mongarton. Walking up the Mardyke outside of Cork, kissing the Blarney stone, or examining the many old ruins and castles of the feudal times, which Mr. Balch describes with much grace and effect.

J. S.

Lays of Fatherland: By JOHN SAVAGE. New York: .. J. Redfield, Clinton Hall.

This little volume is by an enthusiastic young son of Erin, driven from that ill-fated country by the late troubles. Poets find their best stock in their sorrows, and the author wields his pen with skill and vigor against all kinds of oppression and ill-gotten power. To us, on this side of the Atlantic, such themes have only an ideal interest; tyrants and oppressors are known only in song, and our hatred of them, if we have any, is a kind of sentimentalism. But, to his countrymen, the author's verse will have a real living significance, and the book will commend itself to them by its

fund of patriotic feeling and indignation. The author is still a young man, and these productions are to be judged of with this qualification. They are full of the national spirit and liveliness.

Edi

The Sacred Poets of England and America. From the Earliest to the Present Time. ted by RUFUS W. GRISWOLD. Illustrated with fine Steel Engravings. A new improved edition. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1850.

The first thing that strikes one on opening this truly elegant volume is a splendid line engraving, by Phillabrown, of Biedemann's picture of the Lamentations of Israel. It is, to our view, a perfect piece of art, both in design, in feeling, and execution. The volume itself is a selection of poems from those authors in our tongue, who have written hymns, prayers, and mystical pieces in verse; an admirable design of the compiler, but defaced in the execution by some improprieties. Among the authors selected we find the name of Arthur Cleveland Coxe. Mr. Coxe may be a very good writer, but public opinion will not accord him a niche in the same temple with Milton and Spencer. Several other names, as it seems to us, might, with propriety, have been omitted.

Another ill feature in this work is the presence of several poems, which, professing to be religious are strictly amatory, and have no place in the sacred company in which we find them. We find, for example, the following from Spencer's "Heavenly Love":

Then shalt thou feel thy spirit so possest,

And ravished with devouring great desire
Of his dear self, that shall thy feeble breast

Inflame with love, and set thee all on fire,
With burning zeal through every part entire,
That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight
But in his sweet and amiable sight.

A poem of Drayton comes after in order. "Moses meeting the Daughters of Jethro," and the "Burning Bush,"-a pastoral, very strongly reminding the reader of Ovid:

Where the soft winds did mutually embrace

In the cool arbors nature there had made, Fanning their sweet breath gently in his face, Through the calm cincture of the amorous shade.

And again:

Whilst in the beauty of those godly dames, Wherein wise nature her own skill admires, He feels those secret and unpiercing flames,

Moved in fresh youth, and gotten in desires.

Carey, one of the most voluptuous of poets, figures in this collection, in his poem of " Pleasure," which begins with the line,

Bewitching Syren! Golden rottenness!

Even in the three pages devoted to the Rev. John Norris, "author of numerous theological works," the space is occupied by poems amatory and Ovidean. One in the strain of a repentant de

bauchee, and the other an address to a pretty mistress in heaven. Master Quarles, of quaint reputation, is here, among these amatory gentlemen. Witness the lines on the soul reconciled to God: Oh, then it lives involved

In secret raptures; pants to be dissolved:
The royal offspring of a second birth

Sets ope to Heaven, and shuts the door to earth.
If love-sick Jove commanded clouds should hap
To rain such showers as quickened Dana's lap;
Or dogs (far kinder than their purple master)
Should lick his sores, he laughs nor weeps the
faster.

Verses of the above character have no place in a selection of sacred poetry. If they were carelessly let in, the compiler has neglected a duty. If they were put in to sugar the volume he has committed a fault.

We confess to be very much amused at a deliberate attempt of Mr. Griswold to foist the once notorious, but, we thought, long extinguished, Sir Richard Blackmore upon us as a sacred classic. This old gentleman, absolutely the weakest scribbler of his day, carried the art of writing nonsense to its height. Witness the following selection, from Mr. Griswold's volume, from a paraphrase of the 114th Psalm :

"Terror, the mountains did constrain

To lift themselves from off their base

And on their rocky roots to dance about the
plain.

The little hills, astonished at the sight,
Flew to the mother mountains in a fright,
And did about them skip, as lambs

Run to and bleat about their trembling dams.
What ails thee, O, thou troubled sea,

That thou, with all thy watery troops, didst flee ?
What ailed the Jordan?

* * *

What did the lofty mountains ail?
That they their station could not keep.
But why do I demand a cause

Of your amazement, which deserves applause? The rhymes of Sir Richard are a kind of extempore fustian, written off at an easy canter of the pen. Frailty is tempting to imitators. Let us try our hand at this rub-a-dub thunder of the antiA line a minute is our stint.

muse.

Praiseworthy mountains, on your toes to stand,
And skip, gyrating, round the wondering land!
The wondering sea, it was astonished too,
And set its waves to imitating you.
Amazement seized them; all their foamy caps
Went up like ruffles, and, with thunderous raps,
They thumped the shore, and swashed up all the
sands,

Like thousand wash tubs, poured by thousand

hands;

sublime and studied style of verse, so here it comes, just at the wish]:

And from its shoulders 'gan waves, rocks and hills to throw,

Know yon, my cozey mountains, what it was
That brought your skiey noddles to this pass?
It was that necromancer Blackmoor, who
Gave cramps to nature, and gave "fits" to you.
'Twas he, who, dining first, with fell design

[Sir Richard dined first, in order to ensure a proper bathos in his lines.]

Sat down, and mangled David, line by line;
And, mangling David, mangled nature too:
So, in the good old time the Christian flayed the
Jew.

While our pen, heated with chase of syllable" hung trembling over the beginning of another cou plet, and Fancy, nodding on the edge of dreamland, had lost sight of her definitive goal, we felt or imagined we felt, a hearty slap on the back, and, turning with a start, brought our tender nose in contact with the big red one of a merry old friend, in whose twinkling eye shone the genius of satire. The ruby of the wine colored his cheek, and on his musky breath hung the savor of the last night's

carouse.

Not a word passed. The pen hung frisking above the page, until, bursting through a stutter, the rubicund lips dictated the following: Av-ast! you C-c-ritic; let Sir Richard in, 'Twere ill for us, if rhyming were a sin. Even I, the god of merriment and drinking, Blear-eyed Silenus, rhyme while I am winking. Jolly my cups, my muse a merry hussy, Her manners slack, her virtue not too fussy; Yet god Apollo, when a little blue,

Laughs at her nonsense, and applauds it too.
All the gods rhyme, as well as each for's soul

can,

From solemn Jupiter, to fustian Vulcan.

And swear I will, whate'er they be indicting,
They imitate Sir Richard in the writing.
Dan Jove, far-thundering in a phrensy fit,
By Cupid shafted, or by Hermes bit;
Tears up a forest, where, all pele mele,
Trees, rocks, wolves, elephants, and creatures
scaly,

Winds, spouts and tornadoes, all jammed together,
Make vast confusion, (and disastrous weather,)——
These are Jove's verses, (and reverses too,)
To shock the Fates, and turn the Pareac blue.
All good works perish,-even the rolling spheres
Have their grand periods,--their Saturnian years;
But Chaos is immortal, and her name
Outlasts the last faint trumpetings of fame.
Then live, Sir Richard; dullness' illustration,
Folly's own child, and Chaos' near relation.
Observe how rhyming in a mood div.ne,
He bangs the world to ruin in a line.
Gods, trees, rocks, monarch, armies, rats and hail,
Tornadoes, elephants, and coats of mail ;-
He mouths together, trope on trope he flings,
Turns upside down, and inside out, all things.

Grim Pluto is no bard, mayhap you'll think;
And yet even he makes verses in his drink:
Our grave Sir Richard, imitating then,
He sends ennui on all the tribes of men.

Tartarean fumes dispensing from his brain,-
All damned critics shake, and tortured poets
plaine,

Old Erebus rumbles to his thunderous verse,
While horror's heaped on horror, curse on curse.
Byronic heat the long drawn torment spins;
He writes a pestilence, and then he grins.
He writes a song,-that's legal prostitution ;-
A pastoral, that's family confusion;
A fiery ode, that's conflagration sore;
An epic,--that's an everlasting bore.
What ere he writes, (Sir Richard still the model,)
He but indites the hell that's in his noddle.
Poetry is passion; passion knows no rule;
Love is the poet's lord, and Love's a fool:
Your dunce for aye inspired, is aye inditing ;-
The love he writes from is the love of writing.
When watery Neptune sighs for Amphitrite,
To ease the mighty pain he too, must write,
The beach his paper, and the wave his quill,
A spumy stanza he throws off at will;
Foam follows foam along the yielding shore,
Each line obscures the line that went before.
(So, soft Sir Richard, rhyming best and worst,
The last line of each couplet drowns the first.)

The half sweet, half satirical voice of the rhymer ceased. I turned with a start, and there, instead of god Silenus, stood my good friend B. J., whose broad, red face I had mistaken, in the lapse of a reverie, for that of the god of mirth.

Iconographic Encyclopedia of Science, Literature and Art. Published by Rudolph Garrigue, No. 2 Barclay street, New York.

No. 8 of this celebrated work has been sent us by the publisher, and contains a series of valuable modern maps of European countries. German maps are the best in the world. Here are twentyfour highly finished maps for $1, certainly the cheapest atlas ever published. The letter-press is a treatise on Geology and Geognosy. No. 7 of the same work is a series of splendid anatomical plates, good for all practical purposes--twentyplates for $1. This is, beyond all question, the cheapest engraving ever executed, considering its quality.

Conquest of Canada. By the author of "Hochelaga." 2 vols. Harper & Brothers, 82 Cliff st., N. Y. 1850.

These two volumes were intended for a complete and elaborate account of Canada, from the time of its first settlement to that of its conquest by the British. We have had no leisure to make a minute examination of them, and can only say that they are written in a flowing and agreeable style, with every attention to accuracy and picturesque effect. They contain also a large and full detail of the Geography, Natural History, and general features of the two Canadas.

Macaulay's History of England. From the last London edition. New York: Harper & Broth

ers.

The Harpers have just issued a small octavo cheap edition of Macaulay's History of England.

We do not as yet observe any symptoms of decline in the popularity of this famous History.

Shakspeare's Dramatic Works.-Phillips, Samson & Co. are publishing a very splendid edition of Shakspeare's Dramatic Works, illustrated by ideal portraits of the Shakspeare Beauties, equal in effect and execution to the celebrated Byron Beauties of Finden. Notwithstanding the elegance of the executien the edition is a cheap one, only 25 cents the number, each number containing an entire play. This is the "Boston edition" proper, and is a complete library edition. A mere notice of the work is sufficient for the purpose; that is, of recommending it to readers of every class, as a complete and satisfactory edition. We have now fifteen of the numbers, and the publishers have undoubtedly succeded in the enterprise; at least they deserve to do so.

Latter Day Pamphets. Edited by THOMAS CARLYLE. New York: Harper & Brothers. Nos. 4 and 5. The new Downing Street, and the Stump Orator.

In "The New Downing Street," Mr. Carlyle makes his first appearance as a practical politician, and takes the field in favor of Sir Robert Peale to be the next Premier of England. Mr. Carlyle is neither reactionary nor radical. While he advocates reform, he nevertheless leans strongly toward the monarchy, and manifests but little faith in universal suffrage. In the pamphlet entitled "Stump Orator," he gives a great deal of general sound advice to the rising generation, and hurls his sarcasm against the peculiarly English trick of speechifying on all occasions. Had Mr. Carlyle been educated in America he could not have been more completely American than he is in his preference of active industry to every kind of merely literary or rhetorical industry indeed we have observed for some time that he is becoming not only Americanized in his views of life and things in general, but absolutely Yankeefied.

Milman's Gibbon's Rome. Boston: Phillips, Samson & Co. 1850.

We take occasion to notice a second time this valuable republication of the most elegant of all Histories. The publishers of this series seem to have undertaken to issue none but first rate works. Every thing that we have seen from the press of Phillips, Samson & Co. indicates the possession, on their part, not only of great skill and large capital, but of literary taste and judgment in selection.

Literature of the Slavic Nations, with a Sketch of Popular Poetry. By TALVI. With a Preface by Edward Robinson, D. D., L. L. D. New York: George P. Putnam, Broadway.

A History of Bohemain, Croation, Servian, Russian and Polish Literature, with very full extracts from the popular poetry of those nations. It is not probable that Professor Robinson would have issued any thing upon one of his favorite subjects that he did not esteem to be of the first order; and we accept this work from him, under the belief