harm. It is a great mistake to suppose even that we can be benefited in the long-run by only consulting our own interests: a much greater mistake is it to suppose that we can, as a rule, derive good from what does harm to our neighbours. All our highest gratifications are found in the efforts we make to give happiness to others: it is a thing which requires to come, either originally or by reflection, from a fellow-creature; it has no spontaneous fount in ourselves. A nation, therefore, on the outlook for happiness to itself, would need to promote the benefit of its neighbours: it should seek to form friendly relations with them, to promote an interchange of benefits by commerce and other means; to do them, in short, all the good in its power. By these, but by no other means, can nations experience benefit from each other's neighbourhood. It is to be lamented that this principle has not as yet been much acted upon; but wherever it has in any degree been put in practice, it has succeeded. As yet, we see governments for the most part disposed to take precautionary measures against each other, as more fearing each other as enemies, than disposed to trust each other as capable of being made friends. And thus a policy of suspicion, attended with immense expense, is established amongst states. France keeps up an army and navy, lest Britain should some day fall upon her. Britain does the same, dreading some outbreak on the part of France. Forts are raised beside harbours, to protect shipping from these imaginary hostilities. Half the men who are at the prime of life are obliged to go into discipline as soldiers for a month per annum, that they may be ready to repel any assault from their neighbours, who are drilling under the same terror for them. Thus money is misexpended, and human labour misapplied, to an enormous amount, from a mere sentiment of jealousy-a fear which actually engenders its own assailants. How strange that no people have ever yet been found capable of the gallantry of saying to a neighbour, "We arm not, for we mean no harm, and wish to apprehend none: here we offer you love instead of hostility: you are too magnanimous, in such circumstances, to refuse the one or offer the other!" No nation, civilised to the degree of those in western Europe, could withstand a communication of this nature. It would, like Orlando, blush and hide its sword. There is nothing Quixotic in this doctrine. It proceeds upon the most familiar principles in human nature; namely, that an honest good-will generates the same in the bosoms to which it is addressed. Would governments but try the relaxation of an import duty instead of the putting a war-vessel into commission, would they but hold out a friendly hand in any case of exigency-such as occurred when Hamburgh was burnt-instead of raising up jealous forts and martello towers, they would find how much better it was to do good than to threaten or presume evil, and how truly

LOVE IS POWER.

LEXANDER ANDRAYNE was a young Frenchman, who, by the sudden fall of Napoleon in 1815, was thrown out of employment; and being now exposed to various contaminating influences, he heedlessly plunged into a course of Parisian dissipation. From this discreditable condition he, by a vigorous effort, succeeded in extricating himself, and voluntarily exchanged the follies of Paris for a course of persevering and selfdenying study at Geneva. Here his disbursements for a whole year scarcely exceeded a fortnight's previous idle expenditure in the French capital. Besides being economical, Andrayne acquired a great love for literary pursuits, in comparison with which he felt that all former pleasures were worthless. With such sentiments, and with habits of diligence, a career of usefulness would doubtless have gradually unfolded itself to him, but for one false step which he unfortunately took. volent and liberal in his feelings, he was not sufficiently aware that, without a reasonable degree of prudence, no man can expect to go through the world without being exposed to almost certain misery.

Bene

While resident in Geneva, he contracted an acquaintanceship with several Italians, who had fled from Italy in consequence of political causes. That these men had struggled nobly for the emancipation of their native country from the iron rule of Austria, is extremely probable; nor was their condition as exiles in all likelihood unworthy of kindly commiseration. It is one thing, however, to pity, and another to assist in the plans of such

persons. Andrayne, fresh from the study of ancient history, and fired with a love of liberty, not only sympathised with his Italian acquaintances, but most imprudently allowed himself to become entangled in their designs. Having signified to them his intention of making a journey through Italy, for the sake of improvement, they induced him, with little persuasion, to take charge of certain papers, which had for their object the stirring up of a movement against the Austrian dominion in Lombardy. There was something like cruelty in thus involving a young and unsuspicious foreigner in their plans. The correspondence to be committed to his care was of a highly dangerous nature, and was calculated not only to compromise its bearer, but some of the noblest men of the unhappy country which its restless exiles vainly strove to liberate. A moment's reflection might have suggested to the mind of Andrayne that there was scarcely a possibility of his escaping detection. Austria is known to have spies in Switzerland and France, who report all they see or hear respecting the movements of the Italian exiles and their associates; and therefore any young enthusiast, like our unfortunate hero, was almost certain to be watched.

a

Blind to the dangers which menaced him, and in spite of the intreaties of several friends, particularly his sister, Andrayne set out on his journey from Switzerland into Italy on the 18th of December 1822. At this inclement season he encountered great difficulties in crossing the Alpine passes. The snow was so deep on the road, that four guides had the greatest difficulty to open path for the sledge which carried his luggage. More than once did the traveller owe his life to the intrepid dexterity of these courageous mountaineers: they also exerted themselves, on several occasions, to prevent his luggage from being lost in the ravines which bordered on the path. At one time, when his writing-case was precipitated over the rocks, and was caught on a thorn, a guide insisted on being suspended over an abyss by a rope tied round his body, and thus was able to recover what might otherwise have been given up as lost.

After a toilsome journey, the mountains were passed, and the open plains of Lombardy made their appearance. Without encountering any impediment, Andrayne arrived in Milan, where he took up his residence at a hotel. Here he had an interview with several persons connected with the exiles at Geneva, and the more he heard and saw, the more was he assured of the hopelessness of the projected movement. A sense of his own danger now appears to have for the first time affected him, and he became exceedingly anxious to get rid of the obnoxious packet. In a state of feverish alarm, he called several times at the house of a person whom he wished to carry back the papers to Geneva; but this intended messenger was on each occasion absent, and he was left to find some other method of disposing of them. On looking over the packet, he found that certain docu

ments compromised individuals in Milan from whom he had received a kind reception; and these he considerately burnt. The others, he was informed, would be called for by the proposed messenger next morning at nine or ten o'clock. The destruction of some, and the expectation of being speedily relieved of all the others, set his mind at ease, and he went in the evening to La Scala, one of the most magnificent theatres in Italy. At this place of amusement he saw Lablache, the celebrated singer, whom he invited to visit him in the morning, with the view of having his advice on the subject of taking instructions in music in different parts of Italy. What ensued may best be described in his own words.*

MY ARREST.

After seeing and speaking to Lablache at the theatre, I retired home to the hotel, anticipating in imagination the happy days I was going to enjoy in the fair and genial south. The life of Alfieri, which I had for some days been reading with increasing interest, had in no small degree contributed to hasten my determination. I took it up. The example of a man who at seven-and-twenty hardly knew his native tongue, and at forty was the first dramatist of Italy, revived all my longing after literary fame. I thought that if I was not possessed of his genius, I had a tenacity of purpose, a craving to rise above mediocrity, and a confidence of success, not at all inferior to his own. As I fell asleep, my last thought-I still remember itwas, that, being only twenty-four years of age, I had before me a long futurity of studies and hopes; and the dreams I had in my sleep were dreams of happiness and glory.

When I awoke on the 18th of January, it was late; later than it appeared by the light; for it snowed, and the weather was wintry and gloomy. I eagerly spread the map of Italy before I found out Florence and Naples. I thought of the delightful days I should pass there-of the rambles, the excursions I should make in Tuscany, the Papal states, Sicily, and Calabria.

me.

A clock in the neighbourhood struck nine; the person who was to come for the papers might be expected every moment; I therefore hurriedly drew the parcel from its hiding-place, and put it under one of the cushions of my sofa, ready to my hand when my friend came. The door-bell rang. ""Tis he!" said I to myself. It was only a servant from an acquaintance to know if I should be at home at noon. Shortly after, the bell was rung again. "If this is not he, surely it must be Lablache, with his rich voice and hearty merriment." No; it was not Lablache, but a gentleman in a brown coat, of a sinister and cadaverous

What follows is a translation from the original narrative of Andrayne. We have, however, found it necessary to abridge many passages.

visage, followed by several gendarmes. I shuddered; a thought struck me like a thunderbolt, "It is all over with me!"-a moment of intense agony, which, however, I mastered sufficiently to assume a polite and unconcerned air, and ask to what I owed the honour of his visit.

"Excuse me," he replied;

for contraband goods."

"I am not a merchant; the customs ought to be aware of that."

"I trust you will pardon me, but it is my duty,” and so saying, he and his myrmidons entered the room. A sudden thought, a glimpse of safety, shot through my mind. The fire was blazing in the chimney: to throw my papers into it, whilst I confused these pretended custom-house officers by engaging them in a scuffle, was worth attempting. I rapidly strode two or three steps towards the sofa; but I found I had to do with a man who was no novice. Two of his alguazils had immediately stationed themselves in front of the fireplace. I should, however, have proceeded in my design, relying on my own strength, but that it occurred to me the papers were contained in a leathern case, and would not therefore at once catch fire.

A last resource struck me: to gain possession of the writingcase, and hurl it on the roofs of the neighbouring houses, then covered with snow; whilst, profiting by the surprise of my visitors, I should throw myself out into the streets. It was a desperate measure, which would have availed me nothing, and which the next moment rendered impracticable. Several of the police were already, in the course of their search, arrived at the sofa, towards which, as if by instinct, the commissary, Count Bolza, an old bloodhound, well-versed in the art and mystery of arrests, all at once advanced. The first cushion he lifted discovered the case; he eagerly clutched it, and held it up. A mortal chill ran through my veins; I felt that my fate was about to be decided!

The evil was without remedy; and I had now only to brace myself for whatever might happen, and bear it with becoming fortitude. With this view I preserved an air of perfect assurance and politeness towards the agents of police, which prevented their losing for an instant the respect due to me. On leaving the room with Bolza, who loaded me with marks of deference, the staircase, the court, and the door, at which a coach was in waiting, were all guarded by soldiers, placed ready to prevent any attempt at escape.

"I have taken every precaution, you see," said the prudent commissary with a self-satisfied air. "I knew with whom I had to deal; and, to tell the truth, I would not have undertaken your arrest if they had not given me a strong force."

"I see you understand your business," answered I.

In a few minutes we arrived at the head office of police, where