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-nothing more loudly calling for missionary exertion to abolish it-than the practice of gashing the flesh with knives in the worship of idols; and we all remember John's ludicrous blunder between knives and kimes, with the inimitable ridicule which it provoked from Sydney Smith. But, lo! the practice which was lately regarded as about the worst of heathen abominations is actually held up to admiration as a mark of the most advanced Christianity! And no doubt the adoption of the knife (or kime) by the Passionists, from the ancient prophets of Baal and the modern idolaters of the South Sea Islands, will be in

troduced with great effect into the next edition of Mr. Newman's Essay, as an illustration of that process of development by which things originating without the Church come to be incorporated with the Catholic system.

But we must have done; for our article has exceeded its intended limits, although we have confined ourselves to the survey of certain works of religious fiction, without entering on any more general considerations, as to the merits of the class to which they belong. On that subject we may, perhaps, have something to say hereafter.-Fraser's Magazine.

AMYMONE.

Amymone. A Romance of the Days of Per- | is the nouveau riche who is most ostentatious icles. By the Author of "Azeth the Egyptian.' R. Bentley.

The admirers of Miss Lynn's former work, and they (we speak it advisedly) are very numerous, will be anxious to know something of this new romance, with its attractive title. Even those persons most indifferent to classic subjects, to whom as little Greek as possible is the most welcome quantity, cannot turn away from the name of Pericles, as if it were without interest for them. All things connected with those men who have given their name to an Age, must have somewhat of the prestige belonging to all greatness, and must excite our curiosity and admiration accordingly. "The Age of Pericles," "The Age of Napoleon," "The Homeric," and "Medician Eras," are mere phrases, indeed; but they are phrases which go far to prove that words are things, and things of a most potential kind; things which rouse up all the strongest feelings within man's nature. Man is a word-governed animal; and those who would gain influence over their fellows do well to learn how they may best use that magical power, which is a rod, a sceptre, or a magnet, to attract and repel. Miss Lynn seems to be well acquainted with this magical power, and in every page of "Amymone" she has exercised it. Words long consecrated to thoughts and things, of classic worth and beauty, are poured over her pages, "thick as the leaves in Vallambrosa." Perhaps the profusion with which they are used argues a want of real, long familiarity with them. It

of his wealth; but then it must also be remembered that it is the nouveau riche who most enjoys his magnificence, and who is most sincerely desirous that you, whom he invites to his feast, should do so too. Do not let it be supposed, from these words, that Miss Lynn is open to the charge of trying to storm her readers into admiration, by the direct discharge of a grand battery of ill-digested erudition. It is not so. She is not, we imagine, a very great Greek scholar, nor does she pretend to be one, but her intense love of everything Greek (perhaps we ought rather to say Ionian, for to that race alone does her admiration seem to be limited in "Amymone "), this love of the old classic race, has made her devote much patient labor to the investigation of their domestic habits, and their social and political constitution. This labor has produced much knowledge, and this knowledge she has used to adorn and strengthen her imagination (a very powerful and graceful one), in the production of the work before us. There may be errors of detail, and slight unconscious pedantrics here and there; but the whole work is full of evidence that the writer's heart and soul are in the subject, and that she has forgotten herself, and what may be said of her, in that subject. The result of this devotion to her task is, if not a purely artistic transcript of Hellenic life, something approaching much more nearly to it than half the dramas, and poems, and conver sations, and tales, which are put forth as reflections of the classical ages of Greece andRome. It may be asked how we can venture

to pronounce as to the truth of this or that representation of a form of life no living man has ever seen. To this we reply, without taking notice of the knowledge of the subject, which may be gained by acquaintance with the great classic authors of antiquity, that the most important fact about every man is that he is alive; now, this fact Miss Lynn does not forget; while so many of the authors to whom we allude do forget it. They may be more correct than she, in costume, technicalities, and phraseology; but her Athenians are real flesh and blood, and we are ready to greet them, every one, as "a man and a brother" (barring their Teuto-Hellenic names); while there are classic creations, highly praised ones too, that are no better than well-draped statues, and, for our own parts, we can no more fraternize with them than we can with "Frankenstein's" Monster, or the Commandant in 'Don Giovanni.”

We do not quite understand the principle of Miss Lynn's orthography of Greek proper names. Thirlwall, Arnold, Grote, and other English writers upon Grecian history, have the ories of their own, or of German origin, about the probable pronunciation of certain vowels and consonants in Greek, and they take great liberties with our old-fashioned ways of writing familiar Greek names in English. There is little doubt that the new ways are better than the old; but those who carry on a system of reform should be consistent in applying their principles: e. g., why, if Miss Lynn writes Kerameicos instead of Ceramicus, and Karites instead of Charites, does she not write Kephisus, Alkibiades, Kimon, Thukydides? This is of little importance in a romance, certainly, but why is it thus ?

Amymone, the heroine, is the illegitimate child of an Athenian citizen, and is married to Methion, the son of a Persian alien who settled in Attica. She is a woman of inordinate pride and ambition; she is endowed with extraordinary beauty and intellectual power, but is cold and heartless. She is bent upon obtaining that high position in society, as free and well-born, which is denied to her condition as a slave and the wife of an alien. Cleon, the celebrated demagogue, makes use of her in his schemes to bring down the power of Pericles, and to destroy him and Aspasia. He helps her to gain wealth and station, and to set up in Athens a sort of rival party to that of Aspasia. Amymone is a murderess, a despiser of the laws of gods and men, a sort of worse Lady Macbeth, and yet she is made to become the idol and model of virtuous Athenian matrons, on account of her strict observance of the conven6

VOL. III.

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tionalities of society. The character of Amymone is exaggerated, but in many particulars it is well worked out. The book is crowded with great people: Pericles, Aspasia, Anaxagoras, Socrates, Alcibiades, Pheidias, &c., are all part of the dramatis persona, and, without being very strongly brought out, they keep up their characters respectably. Aspasia is represented as the wife of Pericles, his former wife being divorced. Miss Lynn's view of the character of Aspasia is not that generally taken of it, even by the most liberal judges; but whether our authoress be correct or not, she has made a beautiful sketch of the fair Ionian in her novel. It would be easy to give a dozen brilliant extracts of scenes and conversations, but our space will not allow us so to do.

ASPASIA INSULTED IN THE THEATRE.

"The play! the play!' shouted the crowd, as the heavy curtains sweeping before the scene remained unmoved, the open orchestra untenanted, and they ungratified with any show or scene.

"Euripides is always so long! His clepsydra will run out before he is even ready!' cried Crates, sarcastically. Is he teaching Cephisophon his part for the first time to-day?'

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Or rating Polos for his mouthings!' said Hermippos, turning to the actor-poet. As thou, Crates, used to speak, before thou left Cratinos' troop of slaves to be his rival.'

"The mask may not fit!' laughed old Cratinos. Perhaps the slaves have brought a merry lee-song face, in lieu of the pale brow and tragic lips of the buskined hero. How I should laugh to see the prim Euripides reduced to such a strait. We should be forced to have our comedy again!'

"The comedy! the comedy! the merry leesong to Dionysos!' cried Crates and Hermippos, and others of the comic poets, who were all sitting together, railing loudly at Pericles and the archon Myrrichides, who had forbidden their further representation. If ye would have mirth,

ye

citizens of Athens,' they cried, rising, 'shout for the repeal of the archon's law! shout for the restoration of comedy!'

"Louder! louder!' cried old Cratinos, standing up and waving his hand above his satyr-like head; shout louder yet, my friends! Athens never did aught in quiet!'

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"Comedy! the comedy! give us back our ancient rights! give us back our ancient songs! Comedy! the lee-song! we will have the merry wine-song once again!' were the words which rose up in deafening clamor from the crowd.

"Down with Pericles and his tyrant laws!' Hyperbolos shouted.

Down with Pericles and his tyrant laws!' was repeated by isolated voices, from different parts of the theatre-Cleon's voice the loudest. "And the clapping of hands, hissing, and outcries, increased each moment.

"The most trifling cause can at any time turn the Athenian world against itself, like the brazen men of Iason,' said Crates: and the disappointment of an hour can make it forget the services of a lifetime!'

"Yet though this was a characteristic which led to so much misery and sin, it was also one of the principal causes of Athenian supremacy.

"Aspasia covered her head in her veil, rose to leave the theatre, as she heard her husband's name, and now and then her own, spoken in such menacing tones by the men for whom he was then perilling his life, his all, upon the Sa

mian shore.

"Hyperbolos had been watching her; and, when he saw her rise, he pointed her out to Hermippos, whispering in his ear, with a very fiend's expression on his face. The young poet's quick and bitter smile boded but little good for the glorious woman to whom his looks were turned; and Aspasia felt the blood grow cold about her heart, as she met the deadly gaze of those two men.

"Hermippos stood above them all, upon the bench where he had been sitting; and, in a voice that cut through the tumult, so clear and so cold in its bitter words, he exclaimed, Room, matrons of Athens! room for the frail hetaira; give place, ye daughters of the Eupatrids, to the base-born foreigner! and ye, senators and councillors, cast down the tablets of the law beneath your feet, for Aspasia has annulled each national decree, to govern Athens at her pleasure! Why need ye a written code, each word of which is a lie from ye to the gods, when the Milesian's smile or tear can move our courts and armies? Why need ye honored usages, when a piece of painted, worthless womanhood, is higher than Areiopagos or Sun-Court? Curse her, men of Athens! curse the corrupter of your wives, the seducer of your sons, the ruin of the city, and the blasphemer of the gods! Curse the heartless wanton, for whose revenge your country bleeds; for whose false dignity your religious rites are disregarded, and the sacred songs are mute; for whose fatal smile your ruler has forgotten religion, law, and morality; for whose thalamos the altars of the gods are left untended, and the temples all deserted!'

"The Milesian stood. She was fearfully pale, and her eyes were dusk as night, but not with terror. It was a woman's insulted dignity; a wife's outraged love; in her the dearer thing struck sorely hard; the place, honored by a nobler participation, polluted and disgraced; it was Pericles, and not herself, she defended, as she flung her veil back from her face and looked steadily into the eyes of her accusers.

"A yell went up; and that crowd, that thick dense mob of Athenian men, cursed the lonely woman, as the coward demagogue gave out.

"Alone she stood and heard that cry. Not a woman was by her side; they all had fled, and shrunk away; crowding round Amymone, who, towering above that frightened group, fronted the Milesian, the bitterest foe she had. A flush of blood-red dye, a gleam of burning exultation, almost agony, from excess, flashed over

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Amymone's haughty face, as the Athenian women gathered round her and left the Milesian alone before her judges and accusers. Aspasia paled, and the light, which had before been so steady, was dimmed and broken in her eyes.

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Only for an instant -a fleeting moment. Then drawing her form to its height, and crossing one arm over her breast, she stood, not meekly suffering, yet not repelling as by equal strength, nor braving as with a man's energetic passion, but casting off that storm of shame as rain-drops from the swan's white wings. She was too pure, too high, too noble, for such contamination!

"The mob was subdued; and a deep silence fell among them. Lysicles, disdaining all rules and laws, freed the barriers and flung himself before Aspasia, placing one arm as a bar between her and the threatening crowd.

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Shame! shame!' he cried; this to a woman, young, pure, and lovely! Shame! shame upon ye all! Is this an Athenian assembly? and do ye gather to the Dionysiac Theatre only to insult one gentle, lovely, feeble lady? Is this your homage to the Gentle God? Is this your gratitude for beauty upon earth? On your knees, ye base men of Athens, to bid her pardon ye for your cowardice! Ask pardon of the gods, if gods ye trust in, for a fouler wrong than this never stained the sky of Attica. If Pericles have failed, must she who stands beside him, as his better genius upon earth, must she, too, suffer for the misdeeds of her husband? Abuse Pericles as ye will; he is a man, and his truth or his unworthiness will be seen best in the trial; but leave ye Aspasia at peace within her dwelling.'

"There was something so heroic in the air and attitude of Lysicles, something so manly in his voice, so beautiful in his flushed and earnest face, such an expression of strength, and energy, and passion, while she was all gentleness and calmness from moral dignity, that, had it been for nothing save their beauty, that Athenian mob must have hailed them well.

"Hermippos would have spoken, and Cleon too, but the crowd commanded them to silence; and the rabdouxoi, or theatre-police, took advantage of the change, to enforce quiet and order. The Athenians caught at some pleasantry and the laughing crowd soon settled again into its usual mirth and glee, forgetful (save some who threw their garlands and chaplets to Aspasia) that a cloud had crossed the horizon of their joy."

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her powers. We conclude with the following costume of loosely fitting garments, the cap

account of

THE CHARIOT RACE AT OLYMPIA.

"The most splendid contest took place on the fourth day, when the four-horse chariot-race was determined. Of all which now stood upon the ground behind the barrier, none were so magnificent as the two which Amymone had sent. They were of bronze, finely worked, equal to any of Sicilian manufacture; the frame-work, somewhat resembling a nautilus in shape, was highly ornamented with scrolls, and volutes, and graceful patterns; the spokes of the wheels were adorned in the same way; the nave was fashioned into the shape of a lotus flower, and the tire, bound with brass, was embossed and adorned in the sunlight it glittered as if all of gold. The trappings were purpled, studded with brass and gold hammered fine, and the horses, koppamarked, were of purest white. They were the finest which the Eleian plains could give, or Eleian mares produce. Proudly they drew up their arching necks, as the charioteer, Teucer of Acharnai, a man of free birth, skill, and gentle station, reined them up tight, to show their pride and training. As he stood within the bend of the shell, his short white kiton reaching no farther than his knee, his well-formed feet and ancles clad in buskins of embossed leather, the Phrygian scarf about his breast of the richest Tyræan hue, embroidered with golden stars floating in the air, a narrow fillet of gold encompassing his dark locks, the people agreed that Amymone of Athens had sent the most splendidly-appointed equipage, with the best conductor, of all that came to the honor of the gods this

year.

"But I will outdo her!' muttered Alcibiades, as a vision of the future rose before him, when with seven chariots, a number unheard of before, he gained the four prizes from the grave Hellanodicai.

"The chariots drew up behind the aphesis, or barrier, which was in shape like a ship's prow or rostrum, the point turned towards the course, the base joining the portico of Agaptos. At the end of the rostrum was a bar, over which was a brazen dolphin; and in the centre of the rostrum was an altar of unbaked brick, whitened each successive Olympiad; and on this stood a brazen eagle, which rose with wings outspread, as a signal to begin, while the dolphin sank to the ground. The signs were reversed when the race was run. The cord which kept them in being gradually withdrawn, the chariots drew up in a line; and then a boy, who had not been seen before to converse with any since the games first began, asked eagerly Whose chariots were those, shell-shaped, which stood the first of the line?'

"When they told him 'Amymone of Athens,' he repeated his question, hanging on the answer with a rapture which could not escape the most unobservant. A pale and lovely boy was he; lovely as young Paris, or Demeter's darling, the mournful Attis; clothed in the Phrygian

pressed far upon his brows. He came near to the barrier, watching the horses as they pawed the ground and champed the bit, eager to be free; a glance of exultation came athwart his pallid face, a gleam of pride shot forth from his large bright eyes; his boy's slim stature seemed fuller and higher, as he stood among the crowd, his lip curved, and his nostril dilated, with a stormful passion of fevered expectation.

"The signal is given; the brazen eagle rises high; the cord is withdrawn, and away speed the cars! Over the plain, careering round the circle, onwards, so that the very wind might not overtake them, passing the mystic spot in the centre of the circus, where Taxolippos held his viewless place of terror, on, on they drove, until they came to the narrow pass between the pillars, known by the name of Thermopyla. And here the boy held his breath. One hand raised, his lips slightly parted, he stood watching the cars as they threaded the narrow way, as though his very life had hung upon the issue. But the pass was freed; and the chariots which Amymone had sent were again safely rushing round the hippodrome, while many, entangled in each other's wheels, the reins broken, the horses restive, were unfitted for further trial. The boy gave a deep sigh, as if relieved from some great burden of suspense.

"Thou takest interest in the games, my young Phrygian,' said a soft silky voice, and Antiphon the soothsayer looked into his face.

"I am a Greek, and at Olympia,' answered the boy, with a broad foreign accent; but Antiphon thought he knew the voice, stranger though it was, and the face was not so unfamiliar as it seemed.

"Cleon the tanner had his eyes upon them. He called to Antiphon to come to him, and they both conversed eagerly, the soothsayer whispering, and laughing, as he muttered, 'Faithless Phrygian! faithless Phrygian! the reproach of Laomedon's treachery clings even to thee! Heracles, Apollo, and Neptune, thou, too, wouldst deceive, as once did the king; faithless Phrygian, untrue and false !'

"On came the cars, onward, onward; the dust drove up in gathering clouds, the steam from the panting horses hung over them in a white mist, the drivers could hardly be seen, for the vapor and the dust about them. Onward! onward! till the narrow pass is again to be freed; again and again, until it has been passed these twelve times; and then panting, covered with sweat and foam, every vein starting, every muscle stretched and turgid, every nerve strung, the horses which Teucer of Acharnai drove came bounding on the first, Amymone's second car gaining the second prize.

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"Cleon made his way through the dense crowd to the Phrygian boy, who, inspired by some strange delight, stood upon the bench, higher than all around, and shouted out, Amymone! Amymone! Amymone of Athens is the victor!' as if earth and sky held only himself and the lady whose proud triumph he proclaimed."-Douglas Jerrold's Paper.

PEPE'S RECOLLECTIONS OF ITALY. Translated for the Daguerreotype.

Library of Select Memoirs from the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. Vol. V: Recollections of Italy, by William Pepe. Zurich. 1848.

The editors of the Library of Select Memoirs have assigned the fifth volume of their series to General William Pepe. This general was not one of the most celebrated captains of the nineteenth century; he earned neither the bâton of a marshal nor the épaulettes of a general under Napoleon; but he was nevertheless one of the really good officers of that army, who formed the basis of the mighty pyramid, and who in time would have become illustrious commanders. The volume before us describes an active soldier's life down to the year 1814; of subsequent events, and of his share in the disturbances of 1820 and 1821. Pepe himself has already published an independent account. But, in the importance of the contents, the volume now published is far superior to the former work, which relates the events of a sad period of the nineteenth century, and closes with the residence of the exiled author at Barcelona, Lisbon, Madrid, and London, where he wrote these recollections of his former adventures.

The chief interest of this book seems to us to consist in the fact, that the author is a thorough Italian, and desires to be nothing more; and that he draws a series of pictures from the history of his country, a country which amidst the tumult of great events was almost forgotten, and which, owing to the obstinate system of non-intercourse with foreigners, adopted by Italians, had for a long period withdrawn itself, as it were, from observation. Memoirs relating to the close of the last century are in Italy very scarce; those of Alfieri, and the more recent ones of Silvio Pellico, are the best known among them. But how little do we know of the domestic and foreign relations of Italy, if we compare those works with the literature of other European countries, not even excepting Russia and Poland. The memoirs which we are now considering supply many details which will, to a certain extent, remedy this defect.

General Pepe is, as we have already observed, thoroughly an Italian. The glory, the independence of his country, the hatred of foreign oppression, which at that time was principally directed against the French, and

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was only checked by great severity and mili tary power; the rage at seeing Naples governed by these invaders; all these feelings are constantly at work in his excitable nature. He was born in February 1783, the son of a wealthy land-owner in Calabria, and in his early youth the principles and events of the French revolution made a very lively impres sion upon him. "The youth of Naples," he writes of the year 1798, were burning with desire to establish in their own country institutions similar to those of the French republic. Such principles were almost universally prevalent, especially among those who had the welfare of their country at heart, and those who were languishing in the state-prisons. Our officers, above all, were animated by the most warlike desires, and by a profound contempt for the weak and miserable policy which governed the state. I had scarcely reached my fifteenth year, when my heart already beat with the most enthusiastic republican sentiments." In the following year, he hailed with delight the Parthenopean republic, founded by Championnet, and performed his first military services in the column of General Schipani, who was to secure the allegiance of Apulia to republican principles, in opposition to the army of Cardinal Ruffo. But the enterprise was unsuccessful, and Pepe's first military expedition ended in his being wounded in the battle of Vigliana, and carried to Naples as a prisoner. Here the most terrible scenes were enacted. The brutal hordes of Ruffo and the Lazzaroni dragged through the streets, amidst hideous cries and exclamations, men and women of all ranks, most of whom were streaming with blood, half dead, and with their clothing torn from them. Pepe was lying in a large prison among persons of all classes; the tumult in the streets was heard with frightful distinctness; blood and filth covered the floor; and it was not until the third day that a little bread and water was brought to the prisoners. After these sufferings had lasted two and twenty days, the prisoners were conveyed on board a corvette, and thence to another prison, each time amid the insults of the mob and the fear of immediate death. Their judge was the inhuman Speciale, one of those monsters whom the French revolutions produced. When Pepe was brought before him, covered with blood and filth, he said to him, "Why, you look like a brute, and not like

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