pointed servant, to whom might and power over thee are given, I bid thee begone, thou unclean spirit!' He stood for a minute's space with out-stretched arm, then laid his hand, in act of benediction, on the pa tient's head, and said, 'thou art relieved!' whereupon he solemnly with drew. It may be said that the dramatist here helped the pastor, and it may be so; but the relief was effectual. The sufferer had a fever; after his recovery from which, no trace of monomania remained."

It is not for us to inquire how far the treatment for the fever might add to the efficacy of the psychological remedy.

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In 1800, Lafontaine, to please his wife, who was of a retired disposition, gave up his chaplaincy, bought a villa near Halle, and resided there, trusting for their future support to his pen. And well might he do so; for at this epoch he was the most popular living novelist, not in Germany only, but throughout Europe, into almost all the languages of which his tales, as fast as they appeared, were translated. And here a few words touching the grounds of a popularity, not many years since so great and now well nigh forgotten, may not be unsuitable,

Lafontaine himself considered a novel not as a prose work,

but as

"A creation of poetry, that fairer sister of truth, and her interpreter."

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His own novels were nevertheless essentially prose. He had none of the loftier qualities of poetic genius. There was neither ideality nor elevation, scarcely even romance in his lively imagination. He copied nature faithfully, painted men and women as they are, with all their petty weaknesses, and did not even indulge our propensity to believe in the lasting constancy of first love. He drew from personal experience, and meant to give an exact representation of life, often saying, that novels ought to supply women with that experience which men gather in the real world. The soundness of these views we shall not here discuss; but merely observe, that he makes his characters so simply: good, battling so honestly against their faults, and repenting them so deeply that his pictures of domestic happiness are so sweetthat a morality so pure, a benevolence so genuine, a piety so heartfelt, shine through the whole, as the reflection of the author's own soul, that whilst reading we forget the absence of the poetic dignity belonging to a work of art. Perhaps, too, part of the charm which we confess to have felt in many of these novels may, unknown to us, have lain in the degree to which the author, as we now learn, identified himself with his personages, whilst writing." "When he came to the conduct of his characters, out of which their fortunes were to grow, he lived with them, so transforming himself into them that he felt their sorrows and joys, not as a friend, but as his own. Cold-blooded he could not remain; but laughed heartily over his comic

scenes, and wrote the pathetic parts with tears in his eyes.

...

The fire with which he wrote, and his deep sympathy with his own creations, often hurried him beyond what he had intended, and produced situations that he had not contemplated. This brought no thought of alteration; he would rather laugh, and say, 'I wonder how I am to get my people out of this scrape.' . The only person who could induce him to make any alteration, was his wife, to whom alone, indeed, he communicated any part of a work prior to its completion. When he read to her the newly-written sheets of an unfinished novel, she would sometimes say, if misfortune seemed to threaten a character that had won her affection, 'but, Lafontaine, you are not going to make her miserable?' If the thing was irremediable, he answered-Yes: I myself am very sorry for her, but really cannot save her. I had rather make people happy than unhappy; but what God himself cannot do, still less can I. And even in a novel all things are not possible.' But if he saw a glimmering of hope, a possibility of escape, he invariably replied, well Fiekchen (the German affectionate abbreviation of Sophia), we will see;' and he then exerted every power of invention to save her favourite."

Such were the charms of Lafontaine's writings; but they gradually lost their power over the public mind. For this there might be many reasons. The manners he painted grew oldfashioned, some of the characters obsolete, whilst others became too much repetitions of their predecessors; but more than all, perhaps, Walter Scott arose-a higher, a more poetical species of novel appeared, and Lafontaine was first felt to be tame, then forgotten.

But we must hasten to conclude. The wane of his popularity probably joined with the abundance of his productions to weary his inventive faculties; for Lafontaine's latter years were devoted to a task, which we should never have anticipated his undertaking, that of a critical editor. He assiduously laboured to correct the errors and solve the difficulties that impede the comprehension of Eschylus, upon a new principle of his own, to our mind somewhat of the boldest. In 1821 he published an edition of the Agamemnon and the Choëphora, thus amended.

In 1822 he lost his wife, after many years of a perfectly happy, though childless marriage. He survived her nine years, and gradually recovered his cheerfulness, but became more and more absorbed in Eschylus, and other old Greek writers. He sold his villa, returned to Halle, and there, in classico-critical pursuits, and the society of a circle of attached and admiring friends, he passed his time, until, age stealing on, he gradually sank; and on the 20th of April, 1831, at the age of 73, expired almost without illness.

ART. VIII.1. Sketches of Turkey. By an American, New York,

2. Précis historique de la destruction du corps des Janissaires par le Sultan Mahmoud en 1826. Traduit du Turc par A/P Caussin de Perceval, Paris, 1833. 8vo.

3. Traité de la Guerre contre les Turcs, par le General de Valentini. Traduit de l'Allemand par M. Blesson, Berlin, 1830.

8vo.

MUCH has been written lately on the probability of the regeneration of Turkey, and hopes, which we think ill founded, have been entertained on the subject, especially since the publication of Mr. Urquhart's book.* Every thing manifestly depends upon the present Sultan. All that has been done in the way of reform has been effected by him, and in spite of the opinions of his people, to this day as hostile as ever to all change. He is therefore of first importance in considering the subject. We are far from wishing to underrate his character. In estimating it, we admit that there has been too much inclination to judge by the results of his reign. The question, however, ought to be decided by considering the difficulties he has had to encounter, and the efforts he has made to overcome them. He has been upon the throne twenty-five years, and during no one year of that period has he enjoyed peace and tranquillity, or been exempt from foreign aggression or domestic revolt. He has had to contend, within his own dominions, with some of the greatest chieftains that Turkey has ever produced, and who, after matured preparations, have severally thrown off their allegiance. We may mention, among others, Tschappan Oglou, of Widdin-Ali, Pasha of Yannina-Abdoullah, Pasha of Acre-Daoud, Pasha of Bagdad—and finally, Mehemet Ali, and Ibrahim of Egypt. These are a few names; but there is not a single province of his great empire that has not, at one time' or another during his reign, been in a state of revolt. His Christian subjects have added their quota to his troubles: among them the Servians, under their prince Milosch-a name far less known among us than it deserves; and the Greeks, who, during five years of their revolution, waged a not unequal contest with their bader

f

Turkey and its Resources. We cannot mention this work without a passing tribute to its merits. It is one of the very few really useful and practical works on Turkey, being written with much higher objects and much sounder views than any other we have met with. The author has not

face, but has examined and explored and content with rambling the sur

into the subject. If it be true

that our Government has sent this gentleman upon a new expedition, to ascertain the practicability of his schemes for extending our commerce in those countries, we hail the event with pleasure, not only from our high opinion of him, but as a proof of awakened attention to our interests in that direction.

VOL, XIII. NO, XXV.

M

sovereign. In pursuing, also, with the fixed determination that marks his character, such reforms as he has attempted, he has had to remove the various impediments to them; first, by getting rid of the feudal chieftains-the unwieldy lumber of the state; and next, while organizing a regular army, to repress and keep down the Janissaries, who had murdered his cousin for the same attempt, and finally to destroy them. He has had wars with Persia and wars against the power of Russia concentrated against him. He has followed the advice of three friendly powers, interested in his welfare, of France, of Austria, and of England; all of whom, we lament to say, have at one time or another deceived or betrayed him. What with the rebellion of his subjects, the aggression of his enemies, and the intervention of his friends, it must be allowed that his has been no easy task; that he has kept his throne for a quarter of a century (a long reign for a Turkish Sultan), is of itself evidence that he is no ordinary man.

Making every allowance, however, for the dangers and difficulties which he has had to combat, we must add, that most of them might have been foreseen and provided against, and many of them ought to have been prevented. To go no further than the last Russian war, it cannot be denied that it originated entirely in his own imprudence, and his unprincipled avowal of insincerity and bad faith.

The first and principal change which he has effected-and which, perhaps, with the state of opinion in his country, was necessary to carry into execution all others-has been the new organization of his army. In this he cannot be said to have been as yet successful. The next, and we acknowledge it with pleasure as the best and wisest, is the improved condition of his Christian subjects, and the respect shown for their rights and liberties. He has (though but lately) become sensible of the importance of cultivating their good-will, and of endeavouring to obtain their support. In pursuing, however, his intentions, such as they are, in regard to the Christians, he has been far from consistent; many of his acts towards them might be mentioned as indicating, at least, some infirmity of purpose. Amongst others, there is one which has been often brought against him, viz. the banishment from the capital of the Catholic Armenians, at the instigation of their schismatic brethren. This, however, was not an instance of Mussulman oppression of Christians, as such. It was suggested and planned by Armenians of one church against Armenians of another two parties who hate each other, as none but sectarians can hate; and though authorised and executed by the power of the Sultan, it was in virtue of that principle which (as Mr. Urquhart has elaborately proved) has ever been recognized by the

Mussulman conquerors, in regard to the Christians, of leaving to the conquered the administration and arrangement of their own civil and religious interests. We fear we must also add, that the wealthy Armenians knew too well, and found too readily, that there was a bye way into the sanctuary of justice. The sentence

of banishment, however, has long been reversed, and the Armenians returned on the instant from their native land, where they were aliens, to resume in the city of their ful and industrious employments.

conquerors their peace

But, however numerous the exceptions may be, there can be no doubt that, upon the whole, something has been done of late years to improve the condition of the Christian population, espe cially of European Turkey; and we are ready to give the Sultan credit for good intentions as to all his reforms. He has, however, we fear, as yet shown himself most active and expert in the work of destruction. Ascending the throne with the murder of his predecessor before him, he had perhaps no other course to pursue, and he has pursued it heartily. Destruction has always meant with him annihilation: he has not merely displaced, but swept away the obstacles to his plans; opposition has, in all cases, been atoned for by blood. No artifice, and no mode of violence known in the history of Turkish treachery and cruelty, have been left unresorted to for the accomplishment of his purposes. It is another and a higher order of mind which can reunite the scattered materials thus forcibly separated, and reconstruct the social edifice on a new and more perfect model. This he has shown no signs of possessing. He felt from the first that he was engaged in a mortal struggle with the Janissaries, in which one or the other must perish. He also felt that his irregular and undisciplined hordes were wholly unequal to cope with European armies, and therefore he attempted to form his own army on their model. It would, indeed, have been wonderful if, uneducated but in the vices of the seraglio, without communication (which he has never sought) with enlightened foreigners, and without instruction from any book but the Koran, he should have been able to understand and estimate, at their real value, the social institutions of Europe. He has done what it was more probable he would do: feeling the necessity of some change, from the consciousness of increasing weakness, he has adopted a few of the accidents of European civilization, and some of its frivolities and vices, which, while they serve to show that he is himself devoid of all religious principle, in fact tend to disgust the scrupulous and right-minded among his subjects with the notion of all change. It is not by drinking champagne, or letting his hair grow, or wearing the dress of a hussar, or listening to Italian music, or sitting once a month for