T In an hour, my two friends and myself were seated together in a carriage. No. II. Paris, April 13, 1814. your debtor. Yourself and your friends | tone, perfect mastery of his instrument; will be my guests to-day. But to-mor- still, only a metallic brilliancy, not the row you must leave, as I resume my march, flash of a soul-revealing eye. Now Bailand your longer stay might yet produce lot commenced. The full, energetic sounds. serious results. Your passports to Hol- which he evoked, recalled my recollection land are prepared." powerfully to the past. A noble enthusiasm gave life to his execution. He swayed the tones like a monarch, but my captive ruled them like a god. At last Rode appeared. His fine, spiritual features, his delicate but noble countenance, prepossessed me strongly in his favor. He began. Yes, there is an affinity between them; he bears within his breast a presentiment of my former companion, which deeply moved me. His expression seemed, to my thoughts, like a noble marble statue, combining dignity and grace. Ardor and pathos; that subdued by the restraining measure, this strengthened and increased by the strong hold of power. At the moment when I first heard him, he seemed to me to surpass my mysterious friend, but my longing for the latter soon returned, and I felt the most eager desire that he could only be permitted to know all that I was now hearing from Rode. But his chainless spirit winged its flight to loftier heights, and penetrated to lower depths; he scorned the sway of earthly powers. He soared aloft to other spheres, and the wondrous melodies which there penetrated his deeply agitated soul, he gave back in tones everlastingly impressive. M. to-day wrote me the following note: "Your adventures with the virtuoso in prison, and your eager desire to meet him again, are romantic affairs; but, like all romance, only a distempered dream. I was speaking on the subject to Lafont; he laughed and said, 'I hope to be able to cure this hallucination, and to quench this unsatisfied desire, by playing at a violin concert in his presence.' I took him at his word. This evening he will fulfil his promise; and to ensure the result which he anticipates, I have also invited Baillot, Kreuzer, and Rode. Can you desire anything more? It is needless to add, that I expect you to be present." You may imagine how much this invitation interested me. For four years I had been to hear the violinists of every city, in which our troops had been quartered, yet without finding even the shadow of my ideal. Now, when the memorable but stormy time of the campaign was past, I was to listen to the four most celebrated masters in the world. I was almost sad for the fate of my ideal. With a beating heart, I entered the gorgeous saloon. But the elegant costumes of the gentlemen, the brilliant toilettes of the ladies, were soon forgotten; my dungeon in Milan rose clearly before me, as I thought of one tone that seemed to emanate from another world. The concert began. Lafont was the first performer. The most finished execution a clear, silvery tone-in andante as in allegro; grace itself; still only a beautiful miniature compared with the inexpressible charm of that romantic, strangely illumined picture which was present to my soul. Next Kreuzer played. Sparkling were his passages, like a wreath of diamonds; bold strength, full, clear Such were my feelings during the con cert. After its conclusion, M. introduced me to the celebrated performers. Common politeness required that I should praise their performances, and who could. have forborne to do so? I was silent respecting my captive companion. But Lafont, to whom M. had related the circumstance, began himself to interrogate me on the subject. I wished to evade and cut short his inquiries, but in vain. I therefore told the story, and they all, with the exception of Rode, at once began to smile; but when I narrated and described some technical difficulties of execution which I had heard, Lafont exclaimed, "Oh! you're jesting at us." In fine, they would not believe me. I became offended, took my hat, and left. Just as I reached the threshold, I remarked that some one immediately fol lowed me. It was Rode. "Sir," said | compelled me to leave the city. Since he, "is your narrative true, upon your honor?" I assured him that it was. "I believe you," said he, "I am convinced that there is but one man living who corresponds to the description of your captive. When I was a young man, dwelling in Genoa fifteen years ago, I was going home late one evening; I suddenly heard a violin, the enchanting tones of which filled me with astonishment. At first I could not tell whence this charming music proceeded, but I soon found that a young man, almost a boy indeed, who was standing on a low garden wall, with his face turned toward a dimly lighted window, was eliciting the heavenly melody from his instrument. I stood as if spell-bound to the spot. I well knew, at the time, that my own accomplishments as a musician were nothing, but here were mysteries unveiled, of which I had not before suspected the existence. Motionless, and concealed by the shadow of a willow, I listened to the prodigy. The moon just then emerged from the clouds that had obscured her, and shone full on the young violinist's form. The boy's features resembled those which you have described, only the milder graces of youth softened the expression of his remarkable countenance. His strains ceased; a female form appeared at the window, whence something was thrown down below. In an instant I heard a voice exclaim; "Traditore pol diavolo." At the sound of these words, the boy sprang quickly from the wall into the street, then darted down a by-path, and was out of sight before I could recover from my astonishment. Immediately afterwards, a head appeared above the wall, and long continued curses and imprecations followed. The light in the window was extinguished. That the whole was a love adventure, was too clear to admit of any doubt. After the lapse of a few minutes, I advanced from my hiding-place. As I was approaching the wall from which the boy had leaped so quickly, I trod upon something which I found to be the bow of a violin, that he must have lost in his descent. I have it yet; it is marked P. At that time I hoped, by means of it, to find out the young violinist; but on the very next day, the pressure of hostilities that period, I have heard nothing of this wonderful genius. But I am much obliged to you; for the sensation was indescribable, and I had endeavored to improve my style by imitating that heavenly melody. Yes, I am indebted, for the greater part of my fame, to this unknown, vanished genius." I stood in astonishment before the great artist who had thus spoken so modestly and so justly. I could not forbear telling him, that I had found, in his performance, some touches of that magical beauty with which the unfortunate prisoner had captivated my heart. Only it seemed to me that Rode had but heard the commencement, the first forebodings of that strange spirit, while I had seen his wings in full development. We parted. I have a hope. Every genius must make his power felt in the world. Unless a cruel destiny has shattered the precious frame in which this intellect was lodged, it must yet, at some future day, fill every heart with rapture. No. III. Berlin, March 30th, 1829. After a long sojourn in the North, I arrived here about half-past eight. "What is going on in the theatre to-night, waiter?" Nothing of interest; but you should go to the concert, sir. A violinist"-"I am tired of violinists." "But this is really a prodigy. The critic Rellstab has worn out his pen in writing his praises. Look at the Zeitung newspaper." "Very good; what is the name of this prodigy?" "His name is I shall remember it directly-an Italian"--"What? an Italian?" "Yes, it begins with P." "With P., I must go to the concert. Where can I obtain a ticket?" "Just go over the way; that is all you have to do." I went at once; the hall was so crowded that I found it impossible to enter; so, like many others, I was obliged to remain in the vestibule. The tutti of the last piece was ended; now commenced a solo, a Polacca. "It can be no other," I exclaimed. "How well do I remember those tones! They lie deep in my heart, beyond the power of oblivion. But what a wonderful performance! Are there two-three-playing? Never before did I hear anything like it. I can scarcely believe my own ears. Oh! that I could but catch a glimpse of him. But 'tis useless, a dense crowd is besieging the doorway. I will at least lose not a single sound." He ended-thunders of applause echoed through the hall. But I was unable to see the performer, as the whole company rose from their seats for the purpose of catching a sight of him. Could I have done so, my eager curiosity would then have been gratified, while of the crowds around me, not a single hearer could possibly experience emotions similar to mine. No one, certainly, could know the nature of my reminiscences. I wait ed with impatience the second appearance of the wonderful performer. At last "Now he plays on the G string," said some one near me. He began. Good God! is it possible? That melody I have. certainly once heard before. They are the self-same tones, which years ago, inspired, comforted, animated me, and, as if they descended from heaven, diffused a radiance through my darkened soul. As the company before me separated, I saw the pale, melancholy countenance, the deep sunken eyes, the long wild locks, the trembling, emaciated frame. It was he. Thus after the lapse of nineteen years, the man was enabled to solve the enigma which had filled the soul of the youth with strange, mysterious emotions, and which, like a shrouded figure, would have accompanied him forever, had he not been permitted to lift the veil. It was removed. I heard, I saw-Paganini. MEMOIRS OF MY YOUTH.* How frequently our taste in books, tiled roofs of the village. I said to mychanges! In boyhood, I was extremely self, I can never again journey by this fond of Byron, books of voyages and travels, Cook's, La Perouse, Riley's Narrative, Robinson Crusoe, The Arabian Nights; now, where I read one page of Byron, I read fifty of Cowper's; but I have not in many years met with a book so delightful, so suited to my taste as these recollections of my youth by Lamartine the sweet style and eloquence of which remind me strongly of Rousseau. It has all the elegance, facility, fluency, and golden cadence of poetry. His theme is as "fluent as the sea,' and from his mother he imbibed the habit of "Reviewing life's eventful page, And noting ere they fade away, The little lines of yesterday." After his mother's death it becomes necessary that Milly, the homestead of the family should be sold, and the proceeds divided into five shares. It was to pass into unknown hands, and here it was that Lamartine had hoped to end his day. He borrowed money and retained the property, but this was merely putting off the evil day, which came at last, when it was necessary to yield or sell. Lamartine says he attempted in vain to delay. "If time has wings, the interest of borrowed capital has the rapidity and weight of a locomotive." "I was overwhelmed with grief. I looked around me in my anguish; I made my decision; then I altered the resolution I had taken. I gazed from afar with despair at that little, gray spire on the slope of the hill, the roof of the house, the clump of linden trees, which are seen from the road, peeping above the road; I can never again turn my eyes there is a *Memoirs of my Youth. By A. DE LAMARTINE. New York: Harper & Brothers, 82 Cliff St. 1849. Les Confidences. Raphael, Pages de la Vingtième Année, par M. de Lamartine. New York: D. Appleton et Compagnie, 200 Broadway. Philadelphia: George S. Appleton. Les Confidences. Confidential Disclosures, by Alphonse de Lamartine. Translated from the French by Eugene Plunkett. New York: D. Appleton & Co, Philadelphia: George S. Appleton. 66 sweat of his brow." "Well," resumed the | sists upon it, and gives him three years valuator, "there is another which would to familiarize himself with the idea. Milly tempt purchasers of limited means, as is saved from sale. Lamartine's account being suited for grazing cattle." "Yes," of his childhood--his hard and simple returned I, but it cannot be. That is the fare-his pleasant life-his ancestors, his river, the meadow, and the orchard, where father and mother, are exquisitely describour mother took us to play, and bathe, in ed. He glories in the thought that he was our childhood, and where she reared with born in one of those favored families which so much care those apple trees, those are as it were the sanctuaries of piety; a. apricot trees, and those cherry trees for family not known to fame, but without a use. Let us look in some other direction." stain on their character, and placed in an Well, that hill behind the house?" intermediate rank of society--allied to "But it is that which serves as a boundary nobility, but living among the peasantry, to the garden, and is just opposite the with the same habits, and enduring the window of the family saloon. How could same toils; not high enough to excite we look on it now without tears rushing to envy, nor low enough to excite contempt. our eyes?" "That group of detached His mother was an excellent and extraorhouses, then, with those sloping vineyards dinary woman and to her, Lamaratine which descend to the valley?" "Oh, owes his mental and bodily culture. His those are the houses of the husband of my mother laid but little stress on what is sister's nurse, and of the old woman who usually called instruction-she desired to reared me with so much care and love. make her son happy, with a healthy tone We might as well purchase them two of mind, and a loving, confiding soul-a graves in the church-yard at once; for creature of God, and not a plaything for their grief at seeing themselves driven society. She mingled religion with all the from their roof trees and their vineyards pleasant events that occurred to her chilwould not be long in bringing them there." dren during the day, who, when they "Well, the principal mansion with the awakened in the morning, and the sun out-buildings, the garden, and the sur- shone in the windows, and the birds sang rounding inclosure?" "But I wish to die their there, in my father's bed. It is impossible; it would be to commit suicide on all our family affections." "What have you to say against that hollow which is not seen from your windows?" "Nothing; except that it contains the old buryingground, where, in my childhood, I saw my little brother laid, and a sister, whom I wept so bitterly after. Let us go elsewhere! We cannot stir here without mutilating some hallowed feeling or sentiment." We walked in vain; we found nothing that could be detached, without at the same time detaching a fragment of my heart. I returned home sorrowfully at evening. That night I never slept." The next day a packet of letters arrives, there is one from Paris, the address written in one of those clear, decided hands, announcing promptitude, precision, and firmness; it was from M. de Girardin, offering him whatever sum he wanted, provided he will furnish him with his early recollections. Lamartine refuses to publish the dusty relics of memory-without any interest for any one but himself, but Girardin in "Love-learned song The dewy leaves among," their mother entered the room, her features "radiant with kindness, tenderness, and joy," she embraced them in their beds, assisted them to dress, listened to their artless prattle, and said to them, "To whom do we owe the happiness which we are about to enjoy together? It is to our Heavenly Father. Without him this lovely sun would not have arisen; these trees would have lost their leaves; these gay and happy birds would have died of hunger and cold on the naked ground; and you, my poor children, would have had neither bed, nor house, nor garden, nor mother, to shelter and nourish you, or to gladden your hearts during the season of life. It is most just, therefore, to thank Him for all that He gives us on this day, and to pray to Him, that Ile will give us many other such days. She then knelt beside their bed, joined their little hands, frequently kissing them, and then repeated slowly, and in an under voice, a short prayer, |