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when it is suddenly plunged into the bitter | The paper is allowed to dry in the dark, and it is misanthropy of the English, or the dreamy fit for use; it can be preserved in a portfolio, and mysticism of the Germans? It may indeed at any time employed in the camera. This paper be a moment for a fashion to make itself is a pure white, and it retains its color, which is a dreamy and melancholy; but this will never great advantage. At present, I find it necessary be more than an affectation. It is in vain that to expose this prepared paper in the camera obit would fill the eyes with tears, the breast scura for periods varying with the quantity of with sobs; it is in vain that it wears long hair sunshine, from two to eight minutes, although, from some results which I have obtained, I am and a pale face; all that is but for the theatre satisfied that, by a nice adjustment of the proporand a few boudoirs. But the French esprit tions of the materials, a much shorter exposure pierces through all their grimaces of sadness: will suffice. When the paper is removed from I feel that the weepers only repeat a lesson the camera, no trace of a picture is visible. We they have learned; there is in their very have then to mix together one drachm of a sagroans irony, which is far from being bitter. turated solution of sulphate of iron, and two or "One more remark. The corruption of the three drachms of mucilage of gum arabic. A wide intelligence has not always the bad effects flat brush saturated with this solution is now which one might dread: thanks to the incon-swept over the face of the paper rapidly and sequence of man, he acts better than he thinks evenly. In a few seconds the dormant images or speaks. We must not, however, delude are seen to develope themselves, and with great ourselves as to the immorality of literature. rapidity a pleasing negative photographic picture The bravado of vice is often innocent for the is produced. The iron solution is to be washed boaster, but pernicious to his neighbors. It off as soon as the best effect appears, this being done with a soft sponge and clean water. The hurts by example. By degrees the good sen- drawing is then soaked for a short time in water, timents become altered on continually hearing and may be permanently fixed, by being washed the bad ones lauded; aad it is too great a over with aminonia-or perhaps better, with a sotemptation to human weakness to always af-lution of the hyposulphite of soda, care being ford it an excuse-what do I say! an eulogium for every fault."

taken that the salt is afterwards well washed out of the paper. From the pictures thus produced, any number of others correct in position, and in light and shadow, may be produced, by using the same succinated papers in the ordinary way; from five to ten minutes in sunshine producing the desired effect.

The advantages which this process possesses over every other, must be, I think, apparent. The papers are prepared in the most simple manner, and may be kept ready by the tourist until required for use: they require no preparation previously to their being placed in the camera, and they can be preserved until a convenient opportunity offers for bringing out the picture, which is done in the most simple manner, with a material which can be any where procured.

ENERGIATYPE, A NEW PHOTOGRAPHIC PROCESS. -While pursuing some investigations, with a view to determine the influence of the solar rays upon precipitation, I have been led to the discovery of a new photographic agent which can Anxious to give the public the advantage of be employed in the preparation of paper, with a this process during the beautiful weather of the facility which no other sensitive process possess present season, I have not waited to perfect the es. Being desirous of affording all the informa-manipulatory details which are necessary for the tion I possibly can to those who are anxious to production of portraits. It is sufficient, however, avail themselves of the advantages offered by to say, that experiment has satisfied me of its apPhotography, I solicit a little space in your col- plicability for this purpose. umns for the purpose of publishing the particulars of this new process. All the photographic processes with which we are at present acquainted, sufficiently sensitive for the fixation of the images of the camera obscura, require the most careful and precise manipulation; consequently, those who are not accustomed to the niceties of experimental pursuits, are frequently annoyed by failures. The following statement will at once show the exceeding simplicity of the new dis


Good letter-paper is first washed over with the following solution.

A saturated solution of succinic acid 2 drachms.
Mucilage of gum arabic

When the paper is dry, it is washed over once with
an argentine solution, consisting of one drachm
of nitrate of silver to one ounce of distilled water.

Prismatic examination has proved that the rays effecting this chemical change are those which I have elsewhere shown to be perfectly independent of solar light or heat. I therefore propose to distinguish this process by a name which has a general rather than a particular application. Regarding all photographic phenomena as due to the principal ENERGIA, I would nevertheless wish to distinguish this very interesting process as the ENERGIATYPE.

I enclose you a few specimens of the results already obtained. The exceeding sensibility of the Energiatype is best shown by an attempt to copy engravings or leaves by it. The three specimens I enclose were produced by an exposure of con siderably less than one second.


I am, &c.,
Falmouth, May 27, 1844.

CONINGSBY; OR, THE NEW GENERATION. member for one of his own boroughs, a

From the New Monthly Magazine.

cleverish speaker, and a writer of" slashing articles" in the Quarterly. Next to Rig

Coningsby; or, the New Generation. By by in the confidence of this virtuous noble

B. D'Israeli, M. P. 3 vols.

We were fairly startled amidst the monotonous routine of conventional Fiction, by the appearance of this remarkable work. It is admirable in many points of view-for the fulness of its lore-for its profound development of our social system-the richness of its illustrations, drawn from far-scattered lands and literatures-its beauty and high finish as a work of art. But it is in none of these aspects it will most surprise the reader. It is something more than a novel-wider in reach, more serious in aim, and, above all, subtler in spirit. It is the confession of Faith of Young England. The shape of this Confession harmonizes felicitously with the elements of which it is composed-a passionate romance reared on a philosophical basis.

man, is one Villebecque, a sort of Swiss valet, who renders himself so useful to his master, that he at last takes the foot of his table, when his lordship entertains French actresses and bon vivants. This group is perfect in its kind, and fits closely in every articulation to that gross and sensual régime which was broken up but a few years since, and which still quivers with life in its fragments.

Coningsby is an orphan, dependent on this heartless, sagacious grandfather. He is sent to Eton, and from Eton to CambridgeLord Monmouth keeping him in reserve for the moment when he may be useful to him in his political schemes. In the mean while the Reform Bill is passing, and the clouds are clearing off men's minds on a variety of subjects hitherto seen only through a mist; and young men at Eton The thought of putting the political and Cambridge, bred in the Conservative creed of the Young Blood of England into interest, are beginning to rub their eyes, the disguise of a story, which should at the and wonder what has become of the ansame time lay bare the vices of the creed of cient immutability of Toryism. They see the Old Blood, was a happy one. Ab- the Conservatives giving way before the stract principles and formulæ of all kinds pressure of a popular demand, and then, have had their day. People want to see having conceded all that was demanded, or theories put into action-dramatized-be- won, stamping bravely, and throwing themfore they will listen to them. The same selves into an attitude, exclaiming, "We amount of intellect—and it is great-which are Conservatives!" The young men at has been bestowed on the volumes before Eton, perplexed and disappointed, raise us, would have been absolutely wasted on a grave declaration of opinions. But these volumes will be read every where, and the opinions they contain will be diffused through every point of the compass. Even where they fail to hit, or where they are indignantly rejected, they will still make a disturbance of certain fixed ideas. The slightest shock imparted to the old system is a clear gain to the new.

their eyes, and ask, "What is it you conserve?" This question-thus springing up amongst the youth of Eton, and expanding itself in maturer years into an elaborate catechism-is the key to the whole work. The disciples of Young England visibly, openly, manfully, separate themselves from the Conservative party, because it is a Profession without a Faith The impossibility of the Conservative party The actual plot of Coningsby, apart from consists in the impossibility of answering this the episodical incidents which cluster question-"What do you propose to conround its progress, is exceedingly simple. serve?" This question thus put to the The interest springs rather from the truth-country, will vibrate to its core. And the fulness than the variety or novelty of the details all of which lie within our daily experience. Coningsby is the grandson of Lord Monmouth, a nobleman of great wealth, voluptuous habits, and considerable political influence. Lord Monmouth- -a genuine Tory of the very old school-lives constantly out of England, leaving his parliamentary and private affairs in the hands of his creature, Mr. Rigby, a crafty partisan,

answer from hill and valley, from borough and city, from riding and shire, will beNOTHING! The distinct charge is, that the Conservative party have no principles.

These considerations sink deeply into the minds of Coningsby and a few more earnest spirits, Henry Sydney, the son of a duke, Oswald Millbank, the son of a Lancashire manufacturer, and others-all portraits, and representatives of classes. They

become satisfied of the importance of mea- by Edith's father, after she has "told her suring carefully their first steps, and of love"-we come to the event out of which keeping aloof from party for the present, his future and final destinies are to be resolving not to run the risk, ignominiously evolved. fatal in so many instances! of adopting hereditary opinions, until they shall have first sounded their depths.

Mr. Millbank, the great Lancashire manufacturer, is member for Darlford, a little borough lying in the very lap of Lord MonThe course of inquiry and independence mouth's property. At the last election he thus marked out, carries us into an exten- beat Rigby, Lord Monmouth's nominee. sive field of observation. Coningsby's so- This was one of the causes of his lordship's cial education is admirably calculated to hatred of him. A new election is now prepare him for the gradual formation of a likely to take place. The whig ministry political creed. He visits the great manu- have resolved on a dissolution, although facturing districts, where the power and in- they command a majority-a shaking one telligence of the productive order are for to be sure-in the house. In the interval the the first time practically expounded to him. Tories have worked at the "registration," The next phase of his experience is at and hug themselves in a sort of wild deBeaumanoir, the princely mansion of the lirious hope that they may yet carry the Sydneys. Here he sees the aristocracy in day. Lord Monmouth sends for Coningsits most refined and captivating aspect- by, desires him to go down instantly to large intellect, dignified ambition, repose, Darlford, that every thing is prepared for charity, grace, beauty. But this is the fa- his reception, to spare no expense, that the vorable side of the picture; the magnifi- finest jockeying will be necessary, and not cent castle of Lord Monmouth presents the to give a point. Never was conservative reverse. Here is a prodigal expenditure skill so skilfully displayed, as in these upon troops of foreigners, diplomatists, brief, rapid, but pregnant instructions. princesses, dancers, and singers-confusion, riot, grandeur, pomp without order, luxury without taste, passion without love. The soul of Coningsby quickens through these experiences, and the plot of the new party which is to vindicate the destinies of England, to purge it of its sensualities, and achieve its freedom upon intelligible principles, ripens in his brain.

All I want now is to see you in Parliament.

A man should be in Parliament early. There what may be his talents, who enters Parliament is a sort of stiffness about every man, no matter late in life; and now, fortunately, the occasion offers. You will go down on Friday; feed the notabilities well; speak out; praise Peel; abuse O'Connell and the ladies of the bedchamber; anathematize all waverers; say a good deal about Ireland; stick to the Irish Registration Bill-that's a good card; and above all, my dear Harry, don't spare that fellow, Millbank.

Paris is visited next, and a new world opens upon the dreamer-new manners, new notions of society, he is nearer than ever to the solution of the great problem. But something is wanted to supply this The profound sagacity of these hints restless spirit with a motive. There must makes less impression upon Coningsby than be something to love--if all the political their total freedom from all responsibility in constitutions in the world were to crumble the way of principle. Then to oppose to their base. And Coningsby loves with all the fervor and poetry of his youth. The object of his devotion is Edith Millbank, the sister of his Eton friend, the daughter of Lord Monmouth's great political and personal enemy. Here is a dilemma for love to start upon his course with. But it is a fitting thing that love should have such dilemmas to work through; and especially in this case, where it helps the hero to test the sincerity of his principles by a grand martyrdom. Passing over the minor incidents which impede his progress-the supposed rivalry of Sidonia, the great financier of the age, a character drawn with extraordinary power-the prohibition of his suit

Milbank, the father of Edith! Young love, as well as Young England, revolts at so monstrous a proposition: he can neither oppose the father of her he loves, nor pledge himself to a party he despises. Coningsby declines to accede to his lordship's wishes, temperately and even argumentatively, but with firmness. From this moment his doom is sealed. But it is a salutary trial that sets the seal of purity on our faith, whatever it be !

The sequel may be briefly dismissed. After a time Lord Monmouth dies. Every body expects that Coningsby will be his heir; but to every body's amazement large. sums are left to Rigby and Villebecque,

and the residue of the immense fortune to names of living statesmen, as influencing an illegitimate daughter, who has hitherto the political circumstances through which passed as the child of Villebecque. Co- the fictitious characters move, will call forth ningsby is pennyless, subsisting on the in-discreet astonishment in some quarters. terest of a paltry ten thousand pounds. To people of a certain quality of imaginaBut his spirit is strong, and he resolves to tion, a work of fiction must be a work of go to the bar. He carries out this resolu- fiction-out and out. They will have it tion valiantly; and while he is still plod- speak by the card, and cannot understand ding on at a special pleader's in the temple, it otherwise. There were people who he discovers one day that he has been put never could recognize Mr. Kemble out of into nomination for Darlford by old Mr. black. But works of this calibre are not Millbank, who is about to retire from the written to square with sinall canons, or to representation. The next morning he is drop all at once into the open mouth of whirled down, beats Rigby hollow, and is popular credulity. They step out of the chaired through the borough to the delight traditional track, and set up their own of all parties. This is the moral of the standards. The objection we have anticibook. At the opening, Rigby, the genius pated seems to us to indicate the distincof electioneering politics, and of the old tive and most impressive merit of "CoTory rotten-borough hocus-pocus system, ningsby." It is emphatically a novel of our is in the ascendant, and Coningsby a boy, own times-of our own day-of the great trembling under his keen eyes and vulgar political cycle, beginning with the Reform effrontery. In the end, this boy, profiting by these despicable examples, and seeing how little reliance is to be placed upon the frauds of party, and how much upon truth, knowledge, and intelligence, rejects every attempt to corrupt him as he advances, dares to think and reason for himself, and finally defeats this very Rigby, the grisly champion of bigotry and intolerance, upon his own ground, and with his own cheval de bataille. It is the first manifestation of Young England-its first fair stand-up fight with Old Corruption-its first victory, the herald of endless triumphs over Falsehood and Hypocrisy.

Bill, and ending, as far as we can see at present, with Young England. How many novels are there full of wit, and gayety, and knowledge of the world, and of our English society in particular, the scenes of which are laid under our eyes in Arlington-street and St. James's Square-yet which might be put back half a century, without the slightest risk of an anachronism of costume. Now there is no mistaking "Coningsby." The life of its century is breathed into it. You feel in its scenes the strong palpitation of movements which have not yet fulfilled their mission-the tone of the people is that of our actual exThe issue of the love story is not so satis-perience-it is every where colored by exfactory. Coningsby and Edith are mar-isting influences, rife with matter pertinent ried of course; but as Coningsby has no to the time, and animated by a spirit of fortune, Millbank is obliged to provide him prophecy which takes its stand upon the with one. The feeling is not agreeable; present hour. To the future explorer of but fortunately the obligation does not our institutions, who desires to investigate last long. Lord Monmouth's daughter the real condition of the highest circles of dies, and bequeaths to Coningsby the for- society during the volcanic period compretune she had so innocently intercepted; hended within the compass of "Conings leaving the happy young couple standing on by," we know no book-certainly no histhe threshold of that public life, through torical book-in which that strange history which, it is to be hoped, they will conduct will be found depicted with such pictur themselves with purity and honor. esque fidelity, vigor, and fearlessness.

We suppose some objection will be taken to this work on account of its strong characterization of men and parties-Rigby, Monmouth, Lucian Gay, Henry Sidney, Buckhurst, Millbank, Sidonia, Tadpole, and Taper, the electioneering agents, ladies of ton, fashionable and political cliques, and those groups of unmistakable individuals who flutter with such airy reality round its brilliant pages. The introduction of the

It teems with characters, drawn by the hand of a great master: some of them palpable likenesses to living men, but all idealized into representative spirits of the time. Monmouth, profligate and mean, sumptuous in his pleasures, cowardly in his selfishness, heartless in his resentments; Rigby, cool, cringing, base, clever, and audacious; Sidonia, the marvel of all the courts of Europe, familiar with their languages,

histories, and wants, and embracing in the wide range of his intellectual acquisitions the policies, sciences, and philosophies of the ancient and the modern world; Millbank, judicious, earnest, blunt, and honest; Henry Sydney, the enthusiast who would regenerate the "peasantry," and restore England to her halcyon feudality;-these, and many more who stand out prominently, will be recognized at once by the reader, who will require no hint to guide him to what is meant by, them. But nestling in obscure places and shadowy corners are touches of character no less valuable as illustrative memoranda of the age. We have noted numerous scraps of this kind. The sketch of Mr. Jawster Sharp, who, under the Reform Bill, represented one of the new boroughs, is the natural history of a genius spawned within the last fifteen


which, in point of variety, fancy, and fashion,
never was surpassed. Morning and evening,
every day, a new dress equally striking; and
a riding-habit that was the talk and wonder of
the whole neighborhood. * * * At first
the ladies never noticed her, or only stared at
her over their shoulders; every where sound-
ed, in suppressed whispers, the fatal question,
"Who is she?" After dinner they always
formed into polite groups, from which Mrs.
Guy Flouncey was invariably excluded.*
few days for Mrs. Guy Flouncey, especially
It was indeed rather difficult work the first
immediately after dinner. It is not soothing
to one's self-love sitting alone, pretending to
look at prints in a fine drawing-room full of
fine people, who don't speak to you.


But Mrs. Guy was not to be put out. She was sure of an ally the moment the gentlemen appeared. She went on inventing a thousand things for the amusement of the guests.

In a country house the suggestive mind is
Some how or other, before a

The borough was a manufacturing town, and returning only one member; it had hith- inestimable. erto sent up to Westminster a radical shop-week was past, Mrs. Guy Flouncey seemed the keeper, one Mr. Jawster Sharp, who had tak- soul of every thing, was always surrounded by en what is called a "leading part" in the town a cluster of admirers, and with what are callon every "crisis" that had occurred since ed "the best men," ever ready to fall at her 1830; one of those zealous patriots who had feet. The fine ladies found it absolutely neset up penny subscriptions for gold cups to cessary to thaw; they began to ask her quesLord Gray; cries for the bill, the whole bill, tions after dinner. Mrs. Guy Flouncey only and nothing but the bill; and public dinners wanted an opening. She was an adroit flatwhere the victual was devoured before grace terer, with a temper imperturbable, and gifted was said; a worthy, who makes speeches, with a ceaseless energy of conferring slight passes resolutions, votes addresses, goes up obligations. She lent them patterns for new with deputations, has at all times the necessa- fashions, in all which mysteries she was very ry quantity of confidence in the necessary indi- versant; and what with some gentle glozing, vidual; confidence in Lord Gray; confidence and some gay gossip, sugar for their tongues in Lord Durham; confidence in Lord Mel- and salt for their tails, she contrived pretty bourne; and can also, if necessary, give three well to catch them all. cheers for the king, or three groans for the queen.

But it is not merely in political sketches Mr. D'Israeli shows his strength. His portraits of mere drawing-room people, distinguished from each other by almost imperceptible tints, and expending all their faculties upon the finesse of fashionable intercourse, are equally shrewd and piquant. Mr. and Mrs. Guy Flouncey, "picked up" by Lord Monmouth during a Roman winter, and now on a visit at his castle, amongst a crowd of grand people who do not know them, are capital. We must afford the reader a few glimpses of the lady through sundry loops in the description.

Mrs. Guy Flouncey was very pretty, and dressed in a style of ultra fashion. However, she could sing, dance, act, ride, and talk. and all well and was mistress of the art of flirtation She came with a wardrobe

* *

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The more grave women are no less successfully delineated. Lady Wallinger is a bit of true nature; and the Colonnas are full of force and dark energy. Beauty and spirituality in Mr. D'Israeli's hands become wonderfully luminous and intellectual. Edith is the beauty of one's dreams, with a womanly heart capable of great sacrifices and small resentments. The two French actresses at Richmond are like flashes of sunshine.

There are descriptive "bits," too, of great merit. Such for instance, as the interior at Beaumanoir.

There was not a country house in England that had so completely the air of habitual residence as Beaumanoir. It is a charming trait, and very rare. In many great mansions every thing is as stiff, formal, and tedious, as if your host were a Spanish grandee in the days of the Inquisition. No ease, no resources;

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