instinctive knowledge of its own powers, and a ready perception of the pursuits best calculated for their display. Had Mr. Irving mistaken the bent of his own abilities so far as to devote his life to the acquirement of forensic eminence, or had he sought solely the fame of an orator or a statesman, it is more than probable that he would never have become greatly distinguished. As a mathematician he would not have disturbed the laurels of a La Place or La Grange; and in metaphysics, least of all, would he have edified or astounded mankind. He might, perhaps, have been a poet. Some of the highest elements of poetry are evidently his; yet we are bound to believe that there are wanting in the constitution of his mind other essentials indispensable to that great and much misconceived character. I say we are bound to believe this, because he has never once attempted an ascent into those lofty regions, where, like the bird of Jove, the Heaven-gifted bard wings his solitary flight, and seldom meets a rival or a peer. That the absence of all effort in this first department of genius is not owing to the want of a full appreciation of its importance, is proven by one of the most concise and brilliant eulogies both upon the art, and one of its two great English representatives, which ever mortal fingers penned, or mortal eyes perused. It has, doubtless, been owing rather to too just, or perhaps too great a conception of the enterprise, that he has forborne the attempt. Where others have rashly adventured, and soared, Icarus-like, with waxen wings toward the sun, he has gazed in awe, and declined the mighty trial. "He laid his hand upon his" harp; "he remembered the battle, and did no more."

If, therefore, Mr. Irving chose well the objects of his first intellectual efforts, it has been with a similar happy instinct that, in later years, his historical theses have been selected. There have been epochs in human history of strange and most fearful interest, and prolific of incidents to which even Fiction, tasked by the hand of Genius, can scarcely present a parallel. Such, as has been partly shown, was the discovery and early settlement of America, and such to some extent the era of the rise and early progress of that gigantic scheme of fraud and imposture originated by the false prophet of Mecca, and of the history of which, by the biographer of Columbus, the literary world are now in impatient expectation.

The life of Mohammed by Washington Irving! What visions of delight flood the mind at the thought! What stores of long-buried lore, rescued from the dust of ages by so experienced a literary delver, may we not reasonably hope to see!

A good history of the life and career of the founder of Islamism has long been a desideratum in literature. A religion which enlists under its banners so considerable a portion of the human race, however absurd it may be, cannot be considered insignificant. An authentic and reliable account of Mohammed himself, and of the spirit of his age and country, will go far to solve many of the mooted questions pertaining to his system. That the Meccan prophet, so far from being altogether an impostor, was at first rather the victim of blinding delusions, is far from improbable. Whether or not his religion can be considered, as has been believed, only a heresy from the Christian faith, diverging from its original at an angle unusually large, is a graver point, and one far more important to determine. The manifest and manifold plagiarisms of the Koran from holy writ; the acknowledgment by its author of the prophetic character and divine mission of Christ, and the precedence impliedly conceded to Him, in the nocturnal journey through the seven Heavens, may go far, in connection with the idea of mental hallucination on the part of Mohammed, towards establishing the affirmative of this proposition. It is not for us, with visions limited to so small a portion of the Divine operations, and understandings correspondingly minute, to decide upon

counsels guided by Infinite Wisdom, and having, perhaps, for their ultimate end, results that no stretch of human reason can grasp, and which no light of revelation has revealed. Whatever the follies and absurdities of the Moslem faith may be, it has been permitted of Heaven for a thousand years, and hundreds of millions have lived and died in the belief of its doctrines and the practice of its rites. It is no small consolation to the Christian to know, that they have believed also in Jesus Christ; not, perhaps, as a Divine Person, yet as the inspired messenger of Deity. They have followed Him, (like Peter at the crucifixion), "afar off;" and utterly repugnant to the spirit of our religion would it be, to doubt the efficacy of the Great Atonement for those of them who, with a pure heart and good conscience, "after the manner that we call heresy, have worshipped the God of their fathers." That the Old and New Testaments were inspired writings, although altered and impaired by profane hands; that Christ himself predicted the advent of Mohammed, in his memorable promise of the Comforter, and that at His future coming, He himself would embrace the religion of Mecca, appear to have been among the peculiar and striking features of the Moslem faith; and there are not wanting among its disciples at this day, those who acknowledge that next to their own, the Christian religion, and especially the Unitarian, is the best in the world. How these facts can be reconcileable with the spirit of hatred evinced among Mohammedans towards Christians, it is needless to inquire. Some latitude in absurdities may be allowed to the believers in a creed which teaches the doctrine of the Sharp-edged Bridge that leads to Paradise, long as the earth, and narrow as the lightest thread by which the spider dangles from the ceiling; celestial fowls, whose heads tower ten thousand miles above their bodies, and whose crowing wakes the universe; and angels, of dimensions so exceedingly ample, that their eyes are a million of miles asunder,-are not among the features of a faith so rational, that we may look for any remarkable consistency of conduct among its followers. And when Mohammed himself asserts that he saw in the seventh heaven a celestial being favored with seventy thousand heads, each of which contained seventy thousand mouths, while they in their turn possessed a similar complement of tongues, and the tongues of voices, we certainly need not consider the modern Muftis in any serious danger of transcending their original in extravagant teachings.

It has been said that Mohammed professed to believe himself foretold in Holy Writ. It is with a grave but striking irony that the Christian theologian admits his claim. He was foretold. Not indeed as a prophet of the Most High, but as that Anti-Christ "whose power should be mighty, who should destroy wonderfully, and who should stand up against the Prince of princes." It is believed that the same high authority, as well as the present religious and intellectual aspect of the world, indicate the approaching termination of this great delusion. There are many of course, to whom this subject, in its religious bearings, possesses but little interest. Yet as an important part of the annals of the world, fraught with instruction to the general student, and above all to the student of human nature, as illustrative of the spirit of an age in other particulars of momentous interest, we venture to predict that the forthcoming life of Mohammed will possess an interest unequalled in modern biography. At the era of the rise of Islamism, the world was entering into the penumbra of that great moral and intellectual eclipse which so soon afterwards became total; and upon such an age, "when darkness covered the land, and thick darkness the people," the light of history will rest with a peculiar brilliancy. For such a work it is unnecessary to bespeak attention, for a book must be indeed attractive, when its

subject is one which would be fascinating in the hands of any author, and its author one who is brilliant upon any subject.

In concluding this desultory article, the writer disclaims so idle an expectation as that of adding aught to the world-wide fame of Mr. Irving. The man who has been pronounced by the autocrat of English literature "the best living writer of English prose," stands in little need of additional eulogy. If we have uttered "bulky words of admiration vast," it has not been in the spirit of adulation, but with an honest enthusiasm of feeling, which, it is believed, while it represents the views of the present age, is but forestalling the first whisperings of that mighty voice with which posterity will speak. Nor need we be much solicitous of overrating the extent of our obligations to our distinguished countryman. If, as moralists say, no good action and no evil deed was ever without its imitators, with equal certainty may the same position be predicated of every successful effort of mind. Excellent himself, Mr. Irving has been the cause of excellence in others; and blind and unobservant indeed must he be, who cannot perceive the traces of a kindred and transmitted genius in one who has more recently stormed the "Himmalah of Fame," and who, even now, loitering on its lofty summit, sports with all the passions and feelings of mankind Charles Dickens is a

disciple of Washington Irving. Let those who will, believe that he has transcended the teachings of his tutor; it is enough for us to know what so many points of contiguity plainly proclaim, that the young English novelist must have started on his career deeply imbued with the intellectual spirit of Irving, and emulous of a similar fame. Thankless indeed would be the task to enkindle, on such a topic, a spirit of sectional jealousy; yet it becomes us to be faithful guardians of a reputation intimately connected with our national character. But, fortunately, we can concede to each the proper meed of admiration, without detracting from the merits of either, for Genius knows no country, and bounds her empire only by the stars.

FRENCH CRITICS AND YANKEE FOIBLES.

ALTHOUGH English writers, of a certain class, have lionized themselves greatly in attempting to portray American manners, and in so doing, have indulged a malicious pleasure in pointing out fancied defects in a people whose rising strength and glory are the more conspicuous amid the waning splendors of the British Empire-few continental travellers have followed their example. We have had, indeed, the philosophical work of De Tocque ville and the stately volume of Von Raumer; but few Europeans have followed the garrulous and conceited example of the English tourists. All these latter have sought to make game of American manners; but by a singular fatality, they have only pointed out peculiarities of which the middle classes of England afford the most marked examples. It has therefore been the case, that while affecting to deride the Americans, they have only exposed their own foibles, to the great amusement of the higher classes of their own countrymen. The impressions of a Parisian courtier are of necessity far different from those of the majority of English tourists, who, in their own aristocratic society, scarcely rise to the middle class. His conceptions are more just, being less warped by prejudice; his views more elevated and enlarged, and his opinions deserving of far more respect than the narrow and spiteful conceits of an Englishman.

Mr. Charles de Boigne, author of the sketches before us, is of one of the first families of France, and become distinguished for his talents as a writer. He visited America in the execution of a mission for the government of France, and in the course of his official business, collected the materials which he has given to the world in a series of most lively and spirited essays upon America. His impressions upon the whole seem to be correct, although at times he is somewhat disposed to exaggeration, or to make the most of an idea suggested by any novelty that may have presented itself. .That America, with its perfect equality of men and things, presenting no means of distinction among individuals other than wealth, should offer to the citizen of an aristocratic country much to criticise, is not singular. But there are also many peculiarities of manners growing out of the origin and nature of our institutions that strike the observer strangely, because he has been entirely unprepared for them as a consequence of our political organization. Perhaps he is most forcibly struck with the freedom from constraint, perfect self-possession, knowledge of the world, and self-reliance exhibited by the young ladies of America. In Europe, young ladies receive a reserved, secluded and conventual education, in accordance with the traditions of by-gone ages, and in their transition from girlhood to matrimony, display a timidity and ignorance never encountered under similar circumstances in the United States. In the former case, marriage is but an emancipation from constraint, and pleasure is seldom sacrificed for maternal duties. The young mother in the United States, on the other hand, ceases to find in the frivolities that have attracted her girlish attention, the true source of permanent happiness. She eagerly enters upon higher duties, not as a matter of submission and sacrifice, to make which, strong reasoning powers must be called to her aid, but from a noble desire to take part in the great business of life. She quits the frivolities of youth and enters upon the duties of mature age with the same eagerness that our young men put aside boyish amusements, and press into the business of life with its load of cares. It is this which astonishes not only the tourists of Europe, but her philosophers also. They cannot divest themselves of the ideas of the frivolous nature of women, which the corrupt atmosphere of aristocracy has firmly implanted; and they behold with amazement the independent bearing of American ladies, while they involuntarily give utterance to profound homage to their virtues. These impressions are conveyed in the following sketch of M. de Boigne, whose union with an American lady doubtless enables him justly to appreciate the high character of her countrywomen:

FLIRTATIONS.

Flirtation is an English word which can be explained, but not literally translated. Flirtation is the conduct of two young people of opposite sexes, who are pleased with each other; who seek each other's society; who exchange little attentions, little billets, little gallantries, without thinking of marriage, and yet without thinking of mischief. If the word flirtation is not French, it deserves to be so. We, who in reference to horses, have borrowed so many words from the English language, why should we not borrow one or two in reference to women? We have the words handicaper, stepper,-let us make, then, the word fleurter. Our French term coqueter seems somewhat harsh, while a woman who flirts appears to exercise the most legitimate and charming of her rights. With us, cachemires and flirtations belong to the married women-in America, on the contrary, they are the privileges of young girls. How delightful

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is the life of a young girl in this classic land of flirtation! All that is required of her is to be sufficiently pretty. Whether poor or rich, she receives the same homage, and as often as she pleases, finds opportunities for flirtation, in all honor and honesty, indeed, for to flirt does not mean to love, still less to admit improper intimacies. To protect themselves against an excess of liberty, the young girls have only the instinct of danger; yet the papas and mammas of America never meddle with the loves of their daughters.

Let us inquire into the life of a young girl, a fashionable, of Baltimore.. It is eight o'clock in the morning. Lucy enters the dining-room, throws her arms about her father's neck, kisses her mother, and takes her seat at the table amid the numerous companions whom heaven has given her, in the shape of brothers and sisters. Lucy is eighteen or twenty years of age; she is a pretty, blooming little creature; she has black hair, a slender hand, but a foot less distingué. Between her two cups of tea, a domestic hands her, respectfully, upon a silver salver, a little billet, too highly perfumed and too coquettish in its form, to come from a female friend. Lucy opens the billet, reads it and answers it; and neither the model of fathers, nor the phoenix of mothers, thinks of inquiring into the contents of the fragrant missive.

Breakfast over, Lucy ascends to her chamber; arranges her hair, changes her dress, and then, with a book in her band, descends to the parlour. Soon the door opens, and a young man of smiling mien advances to press the pretty hand which Lucy familiarly holds out to him. They take their seats upon the same sofa; they enter into conversation. The young man and the young girl are engaged in a regular flirtation, as they say, when they would express an intimacy which has lasted for a month, a week, or a day. In the very height of this interesting conversation, the father's face suddenly appears at the door; but scarcely has he cast his eyes upon the young couple, when he retires hastily, greatly ashamed at his indiscretion. Although disturbed in her conversation, Lucy, always amiable, runs after the author of her days, brings him back, and introduces him to her friend. Slight as is the restraint imposed by the presence of a Baltimorean father, the conversation soon languishes, and Lucy puts an end to the sitting, and with a graceful gesture of adieu to her father, disappears with her beau. During the day Lucy may or may not return beneath the paternal roof.

But it is on ball days that Lucy's triumph shines out in all its glory. From early morning bouquets are brought in succession to the house. Among them all Lucy must choose. For one happy man she will make What matters that? Lucy need not hesitate. The ten unhappy ones. indifferent bouquets will form a garland for her robe; as for the bouquet of the preferred-of the beau, who reigns for the moment upon the surface of her heart, it will flutter all the evening from her hand to her lips. A young girl who is engaged in a flirtation, has no time to amuse herself at a ball; she owes her entire self to her fleurteur. Lucy dances only with Robert, she talks only with Robert, she smiles only upon Robert. After Lucy's example, each young girl has ber Robert, an arrangement which renders a ball in America an assemblage of pairs, where they prattle, two and two, behind the curtains-where they sup almost from the same plate, after having for the whole evening, clasped the same waist, and pressed the same hand. Of course, the papas and mammas are rigidly excluded from these balls; they take care of the house, retire early, thinking of the triumphs of their dear child. The married women bow to the same sentence; they watch over the cradle of their latest born. What should they do at a ball? They are no longer allowed to flirt.