believe there is no country in the world, unless it be Great Britain, where it is so great a misfortune to be poor as in these United States. Poverty is looked upon here as a disgrace, and treated as a crime. Every year, too, matters are growing worse with us, and the silly boasts over other nations, that we are too ready to make, should be very materially moderated. Considering the new world we have at our disposal, the rich virgin soil inviting our cultivation, the high and advanced civilization our first colonists brought with them, and the free scope we have for our intelligence, our virtue, and our energy, it is doubtful whether we have the right to hold up our head in presence of a single European nation. We have done and are doing, not the best, but the worst in our power. It is nonsense to boast of the success of our experiment of freedom; and, if it has not proved an absolute failure, we owe it to the conservative institution of slavery, an institution that contradicts every principle of freedom the American people glory in asserting. We believe the experiment will succeed; we have hope in the future of our country; but as yet the experiment has not succeeded, and as a people we are below what we were in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, in substantial freedom, in loyalty of principle, in stern integrity, in manly energy. We have undergone a fearful moral deterioration; we are even deteriorating physically, and there are practices rife amongst us, which if not soon checked, will tell fearfully on the physique as well as the morale of the future generations. That is not true patriotism that shuts the eyes to these facts, and goes on boasting of our prosperity. True patriotism looks the evil full in the face, owns it, and exerts itself to find a remedy, and a remedy that will reach the children of the immigrants as well as of the older inhabitants of the country.

The portions of Madame Le Vert's volumes which have interested us the most, are those devoted to Cuba and Spain. She is a Liberal and sympathizes with Kossuth, and the Liberal party throughout Europe. She cannot hate, but she comes as near hating Austria and the King of the Two Sicilies as is in her nature. She is a strong American and a strong republican. Moreover, she lives in Mobile, where the desire to annex Cuba to the Union is stronger than in any other city we have visited, yet this is the way she speaks of the Cubans:

"After leaving the Plaza de Toros, we drove around the paseos which were exceedingly thronged. In every volante the prettiest and youngest woman sits slightly in front of the other two, and is always called la nina bonita, (the beautiful child.) The CaptainGeneral and his Guard were out amid the crowd. He rides in regal style. Oh! lovely was the view of hundreds of volantes filled with gracefully-dressed girls, smiling and waving their fans as they passed along. They certainly seem a most happy and contented people, and really appear to feel compassion for those whose lot is cast far from Cuba. What a pity it would be to make them Americans! Soon then would they learn to strive to drive-to struggle -to labor to be rich. To them the delicious climate would have no charms, unless they had wealth at command.' It was pleasant to look upon the contentment visible in every face. Agreeable thoughts filled the mind, as when one gazes upon a charming picture; and it was absolutely refreshing to the spirit, to see no more the stir, the rush, the effort of Anglo-Saxon life. An enjoyable quietude pervades the earth and air, and all objects present a novel aspect. "Beautiful Cuba! Beautiful Cuba! It is not strange to me now that the followers of Columbus knelt upon the ground where first they landed, and thanked the good God for the gift of such a glorious country."

6

No pen could write a severer satire on our countrymen, on American energy, American life, yet nothing more true. American energy, American enterprise, if rightly directed, would be a glorious thing, but as it is, it is sad and saddening. For what is all our hurry and bustle? For what do we toil early and late, giving ourselves rarely a single holiday? For what do we traverse sea and land, forego all the sweets of society, all the pleasures of life, reckless of man's law and of God's law, the rights of nations or the rights of individuals? To amass wealth, which we never enjoy, which slips from our grasp in our old age, or which at best we can only leave for our children to squander. Never was Thrift so unthrifty as the American, never did so little good come of such immense labors as we perform. Yet we would annex all nations to us; yet we hold ourselves up as the model for all nations to copy. Let Cuba be annexed, and Cuban life is gone, and the American life of toil, drudgery, gloom, and speculation takes its place.

Here is a paragraph or two on old Spain, which we commend to the traducers of the noble Spanish people :

"During our sojourn in Madrid, we made the acquaintance of many of the members of Las Cortes. We found them charming in

conversation, intellectual, and exceedingly well informed. They gave us much information concerning Spain, and freely discussed her present position. Many of the people are eager for a republic, and all are anxious for some improvement in the government. The Cortes is now occupied with a new Constitution, which they are striving to make acceptable to all parties.

"The eloquent eulogist of our country we soon discovered was the Marquis de Alviarde, leader of the 'Progresistas,' the party who are strong advocates for progress. He is a man of noble talent and chivalric impulses-enthusiastic in debate and feared by his enemies. Only a few years ago all his possessions were confiscated, but have since been restored to him. He seemed just the man to be the idol of the people, warm, frank, and sympathetic. It was really a delight to listen to his impassioned words, when he spoke of his country, of its past grandeur, and its present agitated and reckless existence.

"It is nearly thirty years since the civil war began, soon after the death of Ferdinand the Seventh, and during that long period fearful and frightful has been the desolation of homes and hearts. Kindred blood shed by kindred hands has deluged the land. Parties and fierce factions have risen up, each contending for power while the wretched country was tossed from one to the other as though it were a football. Yet with all this demoralizing strife, and its attendant evils of poverty, rapine, and murder, the loyalty and chivalry of the Spanish character have never been extinguished. It still possesses the noble bearing, the love of independence, and generous ardor of those ancient days, when Spain was first among the nations of Europe; and though dimmed by its surroundings of discord and internal warfare, its elements of greatness and true dignity still live in many and many a heart. Spain is really a wonderful country; for none other could have so long sustained itself under such trials and difficulties. Often is my admiration called forth by the firm faith with which its people look forward to the future, always picturing it as bright and prosperous, and saying,' After the storm comes the sunshine; and though constantly disappointed, they are ever hopeful. Never has any country been more calumniated by the false impressions which have gone abroad of its inhabitants. Before we came to Spain, persons were frequently warning us of the rough and terrible roads; of the dangers of the mountain-passes, where wild and fearless banditti held supreme control; of the miserable inns and lawless peasants. of these stories have proved utterly false, and absolutely a myth. The roads are good, the inns excellent, the mountain-passes well protected by the Guardia Civil, and the people most instinctively polite and cordial to strangers. Spain is the land of romance and of beautiful legends. Then it is truly rich in the memories of the past. In all our wanderings we have never heard an uncivil word or seen a

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rude action. Amid all classes of persons, from the nobility to the poor peasant, we have received the kindest and most genial attentions."

This is simple justice, and we are glad to find Madame Le Vert has the courage to write and publish it in the face of our Anglo-Saxon world. England finds it for her interest to calumniate Spain, which she has done her best to ruin, and which shows a vitality and love of independence that annoy her. The mass of our American writers are but the feeble echoes of their English masters, and rarely dare have on any subject an opinion of their own. Our sycophancy in literature and opinion to England is disgusting, and proves that we have not yet thrown off from our souls the badge of colonial dependence. English and American scribblers have grossly misrepresented and calumniated Spain, the Spanish Queen and Court, the Spanish grandees and nobles, and the Spanish people. The Spaniards are the most noble, chivalric, hospitable, and courteous people in Europe, where, except, perhaps, in Ireland, the stranger is sure of the most hearty welcome, and to be made to feel himself the most at home. In spite of English materialism, in spite of French philosophy and infidelity, the Spanish people are substantially a Catholic people, with the pure and gentle manners, the courteous bearing, and the warm hearts the Catholic religion is so well adapted to foster. Thirty years of revolution and civil war have not yet destroyed the Spanish nature or Spanish manners, and the nation has in itself a recuperative energy to be found in no other people. Not all the O'Donnells and Esparteros, backed by all the power of England and English creditors, will prove able to prevent her from recovering from her present fallen state, and holding her proper rank among the nations of Europe.

Madame Le Vert spent much time in Rome and Italy. While in Rome she was permitted to visit the Pope, Pius the Ninth, now gloriously reigning. We copy the account of her visit in her own words in a letter addressed to her mother:

"ROME, ITALY, April 19th, 1855. "I cannot sleep to-night, precious Mamma, until I have written and told you the delight we experienced in being presented to the Pope of Rome, and of the affectionate and captivating kindness with which he received us. A cordial letter from our excellent Bishop

Portier introduced us to Monsignore Barnabo, to whom we are indebted for the favor of this private audience.

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Yesterday morning a charming note came from Count Borromeo, informing me that his Holiness would gladly receive a visit from us at four o'clock this afternoon. Hence at that hour we drove to the Vatican (the winter residence of the Pope), attired, according to the etiquette of the court, in deep black, with long black veils thrown over our heads. Passing a group of Swiss Guards at the foot of the marble stairway, we were conducted by an officer along corridors, and through great apartments, to the ante-chamber. The walls of this room were glowing with the radiant pictures of Raphael, of Murillo, Titian, and Guido. As we stood admiring these masterpieces of painting, Monsignore Talbot (an English Bishop) joined us, and we then proceeded to the reception room, which was a long saloon with exquisitely frescoed ceiling, but no adornment of furni

ture.

"Near a table, at one end of the room, his Holiness was seated. He arose when we entered. Monsignore Talbot presented us and immediately retired. As we approached him, he held out his hands, and in a sweet voice said, 'Welcome to Rome, my friends.' I knelt before him and kissed his hand, with the earnest reverence I would feel for an honored parent. At once we glided into conversation, and were soon completely charmed by his genial manner so honest and truthful. He is an exceedingly handsome man, about sixty years old, we were told, although he appears much younger. His features are fine and his eyes beautiful. The expression of his mouth is indescribably sweet, and his smile possesses a magnetic charm which draws to him all hearts. Every word and look revealed the generous and sympathetic nature which, were it within his power, would gladly shield every human creature from sin, suffering, or sorrow.

"He spoke of our country, and its onward progress, with deep and warm interest, calling it the noble land of Washington.' The New World, he remarked, had always been very dear to him, for the early days of his life as a priest had been passed in Buenos Ayres, South America. Its vast pampas he had traversed, and crossed over the Andes to the Pacific shore of the continent. During his residence in Chili Pope Gregory had recalled him to Italy, and soon after named him Bishop of Imola. Oh! Mamma, it was a perfect enjoyment to listen to his description of those far-away lands, and of the sublime scenery of the lofty mountains whose summits are nearest heaven.

"We conversed at first in French and Spanish (English, the Pope said, he could never learn ;) but fearing it might be some effort to his Holiness to speak them, I begged he would address me in Italian, which, although not so familiar to me as the other lan- . guages, I could understand exceedingly well. How glad I was afterwards this thought came to me, for his utterance of the Italian was