Moorish power never recovered the tremendous slaughter and overthrow of that memorable day. Mahomed fled to Africa; Andalusia was filled with anarchy; and a few years later Ferdinand III. of Castile erected the Cross on the cupolas of Cordova and Seville. About the same time James I. of Aragon wrested the Balearic Isles, Valencia, and Murcia, from the Infidels; and before the middle of the thirteenth century, the Moorish power was confined and concentrated in the province of Granada.

The third and concluding part of M. DE MARLÈS's work is devoted to the history of the kingdom which was now formed around Granada, to contain the still magnificent relics of Arabic-Spanish greatness. That the victorious powers of Castile and Aragon should have suffered this kingdom of Granada to exist for two centuries and a half longer, and almost by its reviving splendor to eclipse the memory of the glories of Cordova, is among the unsolved problems of history. Mohamed-benAlhamar, the prince who became by election the first king of the new dynasty of Granada, was in the outset so feeble, that he was reduced to serve Ferdinand III. of Castile as his vassal. Yet he was permitted to consolidate his power at Gra nada: he rendered that city a brilliant capital; and the beautiful palace of the Alhambra is a monument of the wealth and grandeur of his throne. But of the subsequent internal annals of the Moorish kingdom for above two hundred years we know little clearly, and shall probably never know more. This concluding part of M. DE MARLÈS's book is more meagre than the rest; and we have searched it in vain to add any thing to our previous knowlege of the conquest of Granada by Ferdinand and Isabella, or to illustrate the final expulsion of the Moors from the shores of the Peninsula.

ART. XI. Ouvres inédites de J. J. Rousseau, suivies d'un Supplément à l'Histoire de sa Vie et de ses Ouvrages. Par V. D. MUSSET-PATHAY. 2 Tomes. 8vo. Paris. Dupont. 1825. THE remains of J. J. Rousseau, hitherto unpublished, which

nearly fill the first of these two bulky volumes, consist of a considerable number of letters and some notes on a botanical work. Of all the "Remains" which it has been our fortune to encounter, these are the most insignificant and the most uninteresting. Well might Jean Jaques, if he were living, exclaim to his present editor, as he did to the Abbé de la Porte and to Duchesne, when they consulted him on their intended publication of some of his private epistles, "If you be capable

of

of this extravagance, I shall send you my butcher's and washerwoman's bills, to increase your collection."

Most of the letters are addressed to Duchesne, the bookseller who published "Emile," and who, doubtless, would not have allowed them to remain in his bureau, if he had not felt that they were utterly unworthy of public attention. They were written to him entirely on matters of business, such as the correction of proofs and engravings; and the only new fact we derive from the whole mass is, that, through fear of the Jansenists, the second volume of "Emile" was printed before the first-a fact which the editor considers to be of great importance.

The supplement to Rousseau's history, given at the end of the first volume, is also equally destitute of interest. It fur nishes no new incident in the life of that eccentric being; it developes no new feature in his character. It seems to have been compiled solely for the purpose of occupying a hundred and twenty pages, in order to swell out the book to a portly size. The second volume contains an account of several interviews which a certain M. Eymar had with Rousseau in the latter part of his life, an examination and analysis of the "Nouvelle Héloise," "L'Emile," the "Contrat Social," and a review of the different judgments which have been within the last few years passed on those works. It is impossible, therefore, not to admire the modesty of M. MUSSET-PATHAY, who has given to these two volumes the general title of The unpublished Remains of J. J. Rousseau.'

În M. Eymar's memoir, which extends to about fifty pages, we have, however, found a few details which may not prove uninteresting. They exhibit Jean Jaques in his obscure lodg ings in Paris, towards the close of his life (1774), occupied in copying music for his sustenance, at a time when his fame as a writer was spread through every part of Europe. The picture is drawn from nature, and therefore of some value. M. Eymar, it appears, is a merchant of Marseilles, who, in the early part of his life, abandoned the counting-house for the more engaging pursuits of literature, until he met with the "Emile." This work effected a wonderful reform in his ideas: he resumed his business with an ardor which he never felt before; and became so enthusiastic in his admiration of the author to whom he was so much indebted, that he proceeded from Marseilles to Paris, for the sole purpose of cultivating Rousseau's acquaintance. But how was this to be done? He was advised to introduce himself to the philosopher by offering him a piece of music to copy; a scheme which he adopted with perfect success. With a duet in his pocket, he ascended M m 2

to

to the fourth floor of a house in the Rue Plâtrière, opposite the Hôtel des Postes, and rapped at the door of the great

man.'

પ

It was opened to me by his wife, who, keeping the door only half open, abruptly asked me what I wanted. I answered, that I wished to see M. Rousseau, and give him a piece of music to copy. At these words she invited me to walk in, and she ran to announce me to her husband, who speedily rose on my approaching him, and desired me to take a chair opposite to him at a table, on which were several sheets of music-paper. "What is it?"-" A duet, which I wish to have copied in separate parts." He took my loose sheets, and looked over all the pages; and he was so long examining them, that I had full time to set down in my memory every feature of his countenance, and to observe every thing around me. Having perceived that the part for the violoncello was noted in different keys, he asked me if I wished that he should follow the same method. "As you please," said I: "the musicians at present perform in one or the other key indifferently.""Well, then, I shall copy it for you carefully: but are you in a hurry for it?". "Not at all, though I should wish to have it in a week or so, if possible.". "In a week! I have too much to do to promise that you must not expect it so soon." ." Well, Sir, shall we say a fortnight ?"-" It is a very short time (looking again at the duet): there is a great deal to do. Then be it so: return for it in a fortnight. (Taking a pencil, and preparing to write at the top of the leaf,) Your name, if you please?"-"Eymar.”—“With an a? Would you have the goodness to dictate each letter?" I did so. "What day of the month is this?"—"The 2d of May, I believe." "It shall certainly be finished by the 17th." Here our dialogue and my first visit were concluded; and, though I remonstrated against it, Rousseau himself politely saw me to the staircase.'

He was in his neglige, dressed in a simple and becoming manner. He wore a robe de chambre of Indian blue, and a cotton night-cap. His countenance appeared to me not at all like any of the portraits which were then given of him. What a difference in the expression and fire of his looks! I was dazzled by the first glance of his eye which he cast on me. His voice was firm and sonorous: but the moment he opened his mouth, I recognized his Genevese accent.'

The visitor then proceeds to describe Rousseau's apartments with a minuteness which will doubtless raise a smile at the expence of his enthusiasm.

'His lodgings consisted of two rooms, one of which, a little dark, and opening to the staircase, was used as a kitchen in summer, and a lumber-room in winter. In the other, having two windows looking to the Rue Plâtriére, were placed two beds of equal size, separated from each other by the door. Beside the fire-place was a table covered with a green cloth, on which were the sheets

of music-paper already mentioned, and a small note-book, open, filled with writing in a slender, delicate hand. It was at this table that Rousseau sat copying music, and from time to time he interrupted his labours by skimming a pot which was boiling on the fire. His chamber in no way resembled that of a literary man'; no books, except a few thin volumes in folio, which seemed to be collections either of music or maps. Near the mirror, over the fire-place, were suspended several medallions in plaister, representing the figure of a philosopher, and round the frame were stuck numerous billets and printed cards, which appeared to have been placed there some time.'

There was another piece of furniture in the room, which did not escape the inquisitive eye of the stranger - Madame Rousseau.

'She was neither beautiful nor young, but I found her courteous and polite, dressed with becoming simplicity, and having every appearance of a good housekeeper. She worked at her

needle, near the window, and very seldom spoke, (a rare accomplishment in the sex). I observed, however, that whenever she addressed Rousseau, or spoke of him, she always emphatically called him her husband.'

This visit had such an effect on M. Eymar's mind, that he looked forward to the ensuing fourteen days as so many centuries. He however beguiled the time, and soothed his impatience, by posting himself every day, about two or three o'clock, at the Café de la Regence, by which Rousseau seldom failed to pass, when going to take his favourite walk in the Champs-Elysées. On these occasions the Genevese philosopher usually wore a round wig, with three rows of buckles, a long cane in his hand, and a coat, waistcoat, and culotte of grey cloth. Thus we have every particular of the author of "Emile" painted to the life.

:

The 17th of May came at last, and I proceeded to Rousseau's lodgings, at ten o'clock precisely. My music was copied he returned it to me, accompanying it with a small memorandum in pencil, in which the sum of nine livres and a half was set down as the price of the copy, being at the rate of half a livre, or ten sous a page. I paid him immediately, and not without feeling astonished at the apologies which he made for the amount of his charge. He said that he found it impossible to do such work at a less price, as it cost him a great deal of time; and as he piqued himself on the greatest accuracy, he was obliged to have the scraping knife constantly in his hand, in order to correct his errors; a necessity, he added, that was not felt by other copyists, less distracted and more expeditious than himself, on which account their terms were more moderate.'

By the aid of fresh pieces of music, M. Eymar obtained several interviews with Rousseau, in consequence of which they soon became on familiar terms. The philosopher's copies were distinguished for their neatness and accuracy. The notes, the words, and signs, were written so clearly, that they seemed to be the work rather of the graver than the pen. The first page after the title was decorated with a vignette, or a series of elegant flourishes; the name of the piece was written in beautiful red ink; the words were written under the music on a ruled line; the divisions were carefully marked; the num▾ ber of the measures was summed up in the last page; and the whole was concluded with a cypher, or his signature, in initials, thus; J. R. cop.

For Rousseau's political or moral principles we feel no degree of reverence. It is but justice, however, to observe, that there is a simplicity about his manner of life, after he ceased to be an author, which, if not fascinating, was at least blameless. If we may credit his own account of it, as reported by M. Eymar, it was also the happiest period of his existence.

"I am no longer capable," he observed one day, "of paying any attention to literature. The thing is impossible: my organs refuse to assist me. I cannot even think. It would have been infinitely better for my happiness and health if I had never known any other condition! During the last ten years that I have lived in this mental inertness, I have enjoyed quite a different existence. I must have some pursuit which shall occupy my hands and not my mind; such, for instance, as this in which you see me constantly engaged. If I yield for a moment to meditation, my blood boils and rushes to my head: the least exertion of my mental faculties almost kills me.I cannot describe to you the torture which I experienced, when I endeavoured with my heated imagination to rouse into action my intellectual faculties, rusted as they were by previous disuse. Those who have seen me so employed can still attest it; my cheek became livid; my body no longer fulfilled its functions; my mind was troubled and agitated; I could neither eat nor sleep. This inconvenience, which has attended me from my birth, did not visit me in its greatest severity, until the period when I was engaged in the most difficult of my works; it left me the moment I suspended them. I felt that I was not born for intellectual exertion, and would to God that I had listened to this salutary suggestion of nature. But, led on by irresistible circumstances, and actuated by an ardent desire to benefit my fellow-creatures, I have not attended to its voice until it was too late. Now that experience has made me prudent, and that I neither read nor reflect, I have no longer a sense of my past misfortunes. I perceive only that my memory is almost gone; I feel the greatest difficulty in connecting two sentences together at one reading: when I go on to the second, I have already forgotten the first; I have always to begin