women of her day; but long as the revocation of the Edict of Nantes shall darken the pages of history, so long will her participation in that nefarious act cause her memory to be execrated, not by the descendants of the persecuted Huguenots only, but by the whole Christian world.

The character of Louis XIV. is to this day a matter of disagreement among historians. To some he seems to be a clear- | sighted, wary and sagacious ruler, loving his people, perfecting his plans of government, and seeking the highest good of the throne and the nation; to others, ignorant, weak-minded, and unprincipled, a dupe to his egotism, a slave to his passions, and a traitor to his promises. Both of these views of his character are to a certain extent correct, but both are alike extreme in the conclusions to which they come. Like rulers and statesmen of all ages, Louis possessed two characters, his public character and his private; and though each ever bears upon and influences the other, by neither one, separated and examined alone, ought he to be judged. The ruling principle of both was undoubtedly pure selfishness, breaking down in the one case all barriers of morals, social order, and rectitude, in order to gratify his unbridled licentiousness; building up in the other a wall of ceremony, state pride, and integrity, which, while it exalted the throne and elevated its possessor to a height, rarely witnessed, of human honor, at the same time extended a beneficial sway over the mass of the people. Though the character of Louis held within itself the elements of greatness, the combination of those elements failed in making him a great man. Possessed of a natural dignity, which everywhere commanded respect, he could sometimes stoop to the buffoon for the excitement of ap

plause; keen in his sense of honor, to a nicety which would suffer no infringement upon his most factitious rules, his transactions oftentimes partook of a character closely allied to knavery; rigid in his interpretation of justice between man and man, to accomplish his own ends he often claimed a latitude never witnessed beyond the war-talk of a tribe of savages; quick in his appreciation of true merit whether it appeared in high or low degree, and liberal in encouraging it, he allowed Arnaud, Corneille and Lafontaine-three great literary lights of his reign-to languish in obscurity; aspiring for friendship, with which to solace his leisure from the cares of state, he infracted every bond which binds man in amity with his fellow-man; earnest for greatness, he spent his life in pursuing bubbles; zealous for religion, he rendered his last days accursed, by persecuting the church of God. Sixty-four years of a reign so spent were too brief for the human happiness he had made the object of pursuit; it was more than threescore years too long for the glory of his reign, the good of the nation, or the happiness of mankind. At first a libertine, then an enthusiast, at last a bigot, and always a tyrant, he died, childless of all legitimate issue, forsaken by his wife, and hated by the people; and at no time in the history of France have the sympathies of the nation been more fully expressed, than they were by the symbolic custom performed as he breathed his last. Hastening to the window, the usher raised his truncheon above his head, broke it in two, and exclaimed, "The King is dead;" then seizing another, and waving it in the air, he cried, air, he cried, "Long live the King."

N. S. D.

AMONG the pupils of Albert Durer, in Nuremberg, was one whom he had received out of charity, discerning in him traces of talent, which he considered worth cultivation. This cultivation was not hopeless, under the eye of the master, even in one who had passed the age of forty, who was poor, even to indigence, and who had hitherto contrived to gain a scanty subsistence by painting signs, or the coarsest sort of tapestry, at that time much used in Germany. The name of this man, on whom fortune seemed to have wreaked her utmost spite, was Samuel Duhobret. He was short in stature, crooked, and ugly to a proverb, and withal had an imperfection in his speech that rendered his enunciation difficult, and at times unintelligible. He was in consequence the butt of his fellow-pupils; and they were continually breaking jokes upon him, which he bore in patient silence. Still harder to endure were the unfeeling taunts of Madame Durer, who occasionally visited the studio, and always had something harsh to say about the pupil who brought her husband no recompense for his trouble. In short, poor Duhobret's existence was joyless enough; and it would have been a burthen intolerable, with his crust of brown bread, when he had it, at home, and his lonely life abroad, but that he sometimes found himself able to escape from toil and humiliation into the country. There, under the free sky, with the smiling landscape around him, with the sound of streams and the song of birds in his ears, the heart of the desolate artist would expand. He amused himself with sketching some of the beautiful country-seats in the neighborhood of Nuremberg. In this pleasing occupation, and with no one near to laugh and jeer at him, Samuel was no longer the same man. The abject and melancholy expression disappeared from

his face, which lightened and glowed with the strange happiness he felt, as drooping plants revive and brighten in color under the influence of sunshine.

Choosing some quiet and sheltered spot, Duhobret was accustomed to pass many hours of the day, seated on the turf, with his portfolio on his lap. It was then that he produced those happy touches which gave himself confidence to undertake labors of more importance, and energy to shrink from no toil or privation. When he returned to the city, he carefully put aside the unfinished pieces, not daring even to show his best sketches; for he knew they would bring upon him a double portion of scorn and derision. He applied himself quietly to his daily tasks in the studio; and while he improved in the mechanical part of his art, nourished conceptions that gave him a world of his own creation.

Every day, as a general rule, Samuel came early to the studio of Durer, and remained until evening. Then he retired to the comfortless cell in which he lodged and worked in the silent hours of night, to transfer to his canvas the dreams of beauty he had brought from the country. He submitted to incredible privations to obtain the means of procuring pencils, colors, etc.: nay, so ardent was his longing for progress without obstacle, that he is said, by the historian of his life, to have been only withheld by stern principle, from stealing those indispensable articles from his companions.

Thus passed three years; and during that time neither Albert Durer, nor any of his pupils, knew of the nocturnal labors of Duhobret. How the powers of his physical nature were sustained under this incessant tasking of its energies, it is impossible to imagine.

But nature at last gave way. The painter was seized with a fever, which rap

idly reduced the little strength that remained to him. No one came to see what had become of poor Samuel, though for a week he had not appeared at the studio. No one had the humanity to supply his wants, though he had not in many days tasted food, merely moistening his lips with water that stood in a stone pitcher by his bedside. As the fever abated, the wild dreams of delirium vanished, and Samuel thought himself near to death. For the first time, a bitterness entered his soul. He felt a desire to preserve the life which seemed so worthless to all the world. He must procure food, and adopted a desperate resolution.

wind is really stirring the foliage of those trees, and that the leaves bend as they glitter in the sun! How pure and crystalline is the water; what life breathes in the animals come to drink at that stream; and the Abbey of Newbourg, with its fine buildings, and the village in the distance, etc."

"Twenty-five thalers," said a dry, weak voice, and the sound startled Duhobret from the stupor of despair. He raised himself on his feet to see whose lips had uttered the blessed words. It was the picture-vender to whom he had first thought of offering his work.

Fifty thalers!" cried another sonorous voice. The speaker was a large man dressed in black.

"A hundred!" responded the picture

As he dragged himself with difficulty along the street, he passed a house in front of which a crowd was assembled. On inquiring the cause, Duhobret learned that a great sale was to take place. Various works of art, collected during thirty years, by an amateur, whose gallery was the admiration of all Nuremberg, were to be sold at public auction, the death of the owner having occurred.

Struck with the hope of finding here a market for his painting, Samuel pressed through the crowd to the salesman, and by dint of entreaties, and the feelings of compassion awakened by his wretched aspect, prevailed on him to allow the piece to be offered at auction. The price at which he estimated its worth was three thalers. "Let it go," said the artist to himself; "the money will procure me bread for a weekif a purchaser can be found."

The picture was examined and criticised by many persons. The exhausted and anxious artist stood apart. At last it was set up for sale. The monotonous voice of the auctioneer repeated, "At three thalers -who will buy? At three thalers!" There was no response.

The stricken Samuel groaned, and buried his face in his hands. It was his best work! The salesman called attention to its beauties. "Does it not seem," he said, "that the

VOL. II. No. v. NEW SERIES.

There was silence among the spectators, and the crowd pressed eagerly around the opposing bidders, who, like two combatants, stood in the centre.

The countenance of the picture-dealer showed his agitation, in spite of his forced calmness. After a moment's hesitation he cried, "Two thousand thalers!"

"Ten thousand!" responded the tall man quickly, while his face glowed with anger.

"Twenty thousand!" The picture-dealer grew pale as death, and clenched his hands violently. The tall man, in increased excitement, bid forty thousand. The look of triumph he cast upon his adversary was too much for the picture-dealer; and his eyes flashing with rage, he bid fifty thousand.

How was it, meanwhile, with poor Samuel! He thought all that passed a dream, and strove to awaken himself, rubbing his eyes and pressing his hand to his forehead, while the contest for his picture went on.

"One hundred thousand!" sounded a voice in accents of desperation.

"One hundred and twenty thousand! and the devil take thee, dog of a picturedealer!"

The discomfited bidder disappeared in 33

THE

NEW

By the recently concluded treaty with Mexico, we have had brought within the jurisdiction of the United States a vast extent of territory, comprising nearly the whole of New Mexico, and by far the larger portion of Upper California. The greater part of this vast accession is an arid, uninhabitable desert, sparsely peopled by a few squalid Indians, who find a scanty subsistence in grasshoppers, the larvæ of the ants, and in the withered roots of their desolate abodes. The only habitable portions of the territory are the valley of the Sacramento, on the Pacific, which has

a mild climate and fertile soil; a part of the narrow valley of the Colorado of California; and the valley of the Gila. The latter is in many places quite broad and very fertile, but requires irrigation to be in any degree productive. A portion of the valley of the Rio Grande del Norte, emptying into the Gulf of Mexico, and, at present, constituting the south-western boundary of the United States, is also capable of supporting a considerable population; but is not comparable, in any respect, to the valleys of the various tributaries of the Mississippi, and will hardly be regarded of