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Pope Julius, then, the second of the name,

Before his brow was girt with triple crown, Lived a poor monk, almost unknown to fame;

Years and austerity had bow'd him down;
The hollow cough, that all incessant came

From wasting lungs, seem'd as a trumpet blown
Before his feeble steps, along the road
That led him to the narrow cold abode.
Pope Alexander, like a woodcock caught

In his own springe, had draind the poison'd bowl, By which, with impious joy, he vainly thought

To speed to heaven or hell his foeman's soul. All Rome breathed light. Even gentle mothers brought

Their babes, to glad their eyes without control Upon the huge and bloated serpent's fall, Whose folds they late had fear'd would twine round all. There was caballing 'mong the Cardinals,

More than beseem'd men of such reverend station; Indeed, it much the virtuous soul appals

To see how power, both in the church and nation, Still to the low intriguer's portion falls,

Whilst virtue seems to lose all estimation;
I am determined, when the world I sway,
To alter quite this strange and naughty way.
Nevertheless, queer tricks were play'd at Rome

In great abundance, at the time I write of;
Each hoary priest evinced himself at home

In the soft courtier's supple arts, in spite of
The musty rules of each ascetic tome,
And deep-pledged vows, which they could not shake

quite off-
Yet wore so light, 'twas doubtful were they meant
For their restraint, or some quaint ornament.
And when the worthies in full conclave met,

So well each ancient sinner play'd his part,
No man, for fear of 'countering a defeat,

Before he saw his neighbour's game, dared start; Dimness was in each eye, big drops of sweat

At every pore, quick throbs in every heart; Before them stood the vacant papal chair, But what-oh! what the plan to mount up there? Meanwhile, there issued, from a neighbouring cell,

Long and deep sighs of ill-suppressed pain ; Cough followed cough, with low monotonous knell,

And then came groans, then voice of low complain ; The notes of sickness multiply and swell,

Nor can the assembled conclave long refrain
To ask, what miserable child of sin
Was marching from this world with such a din?
“ Poor brother Julius nighs his latter end ;"-

And tears were shed for his unhappy case ;
Just then some power did to Trivulcio send,

While yet fresh sorrows glitter'd on his face, The bright idea that his hopes might mend,

Could he gain time, ere starting on the raceWhispering, “ Make Julius Pope ; he'll not live long, And, ere he die, your party will be strong." Rising at once, in accents bland and low,

He chid himself to have so long forgot
The virtues, and the talents, and the woe,

That had distinguish'd the terrestrial lot
Of the dear saint whose moanings they heard flow,

Inspiring grief to all upon the spot.
“ None like good Julius to the church was dear ;
None but good Julius her rich crown should wear!"
Each slyboots saw the wily speaker's aim,

But each a like hope cherish'd in his mind;
And, as the views of all were much the same,

The plan did ready acquiescence find;
With one consent they shout out Julius' name,

And with a will that kept pace with the wind,

How slow soe'er their heavy bodies moved,
Four priests sped forth to fetch the well-beloved.
Anon the ruddy couriers back return,

Bearing a feeble creature them among,
Whose bloodshot eyes with fever's frenzy burn-

Whose body is emaciate and long-
Whose tottering feet the pavement idly spurn-

Whose back is like a hoop, and not so strong ;
Gravely they place him in the envied chair,
And with the triple crown they deck him there.
Awhile he idly sat where they had placed him,

As if unconscious who he was or where; At last, as if some sudden thought had braced him,

He started up, and with majestic air, As if he wish'd the astonish'd crowd who faced him

Should of his new-found strength be made aware “ I go,” he said, “ to greet my subjects' eyes, Up! where those lofty battlements arise." With stupid wonderment they follow after,

Much marvelling at his steady length of stride ; And one there was, who with deep-smother'd laughter

View'd the blank faces moving by his side. On went Pope Julius ;—now his soul had quaffd her

Long wish'd-for draught of deep-enduring pride, And on St Angelo's high-banner'd wall He stopp'd triumphant, looking down on all. Along the Tiber's bridge, before the gate,

At every window, and on every roof, In sordid rags, or glittering robe of state,

Mix'd with the throng, or standing proud aloof, Gallant or abject, downcast or elate,

The Romans, anxious who should weave the woof Of their land's destiny, since morn had waited To hear the Conclave's grave resolve narrated. And when the stately senior strode before them,

When heralds call'd aloud Pope Julius' name, And the key'd banner proudly rustled o'er him,

At once from out the multitude there came As on their knees they fell down to adore him

A shout so loud, as if.the central flame Had burst the thick crust of the unclosing world, And roaring upwards, all in fragments hurl'd. His eye flash'd proudly, and his breast swell'd high,

And his long arms, in act of benediction, He stretch'd forth o'er his people gracefully,

As they perform’d their noisy genuflection ; Then turning to the Cardinality,

Said, when he saw how pallid their complexion“ Fools! does my vigorous bearing thus astound them? I stoop'd to seek the keys, but now I've found them!"

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ON THE LITERARY CHARACTER OF CHARLES

JAMES FOX. Gibbon records with delight, that in 1788, the “ Man of the People” escaped from the tumult of the Westminster Election to the lakes and mountains of Switzerland, and visited him at Lausanne. “ I have ate and drank, and conversed, and sat up all night with Mr Fox in England,” says the gratified historian, “but it never bas happened that I should enjoy him as I did that day, alone, from ten in the morning till ten at night. Our conversation never flagged for a moment, and he seemed thoroughly pleased with the place and with his company. We had little of politics, though he gave me, in a few words, such a character of Pitt, as one great man should give of another, his rival. Much of my books, on which he flattered me very pleasantly, to Homer and the Arabian Nights ; much about the country, my garden—which he understands far better than I do; and, upon the whole

, I think he envies me, and would do were he minister."

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Gibbon was right. Fox's natural element was the Dryden. This was to set up a turnpike at every step of his pure air of the country—silvan occupations, lettered progress—to forget the end in the means. The writer of leisure, and gentle refined society. He was not inclined, this was informed by an aged nobleman, the Earl of Carysthough wondrously adapted, for the stir and turmoil of fort, who knew Mr Fox long and intimately, that he would St Stephens. He excelled, as it were, in spite of himself. sometimes write half-a-dozen copies of a common invitaHis gigantic mind, like the “ lithe proboscis” of the ele- tion card before he hit off one to satisfy himself. The first phant, accommodated itself to any task, however vast or was too cold and distant—the second, perhaps, too famiminute. As leader of the Whigs, his ambition was gra- liar—the third too long—and so on through the vagaries tified—his patriotism, learning, and talents, were called of a restless fastidious fancy, or the sensibilities of a nature into play—and his oratory or eloquence was but the na- tremblingly afraid of wounding, even in the slightest tural outpouring of his mind. Fox was educated for the point, the feelings of another. Lord Holland has given senate, and once within the Circean toils and blandish- a brief but happy sketch of his noble relatives habits of ments of high office and unbounded popularity, who could composition. “ His habit was seldom or ever to be alone tear himself away from the witchery of the scene? The when employed in composition. He was accustomed to troubled grandeur of the debates on the American War-write on covers of letters or scraps of paper, sentences the excitement of the Regency Question—the India Bill which he, in all probability, had turned in his mind, and, and Warren Hastings' impeachment—the first wildly | in some degree, formed, in the course of his walks, or beautiful prospects of the French Revolution, which during his hours of leisure. These he read over to Mrs promised to renovate the youth of civil society, and the Fox; she wrote them out in a fair hand in the book; and, orator's ceaseless objurgations of war, in the spirit of before he destroyed the original paper, he examined and Tully,

approved of the copy. In the course of thus dictating " Iniquissimam pacem justissimo bello antefero,"- from his own writing, he often altered the language, and are splendid incidents in his chequered dream of public even the construction of the sentence.” life. Others, perhaps, are of a darker shade. The coali- The historical work, thus carefully and anxiously protion with Lord North was an unlucky conjunction_ceeded in, was, alas ! left to posterity in an incomplete, unmade under an evil star; Mr Fox, too, stuck rather long finished state. There are few historical fragments, howby the frantic French reformers; and it is melancholy ever, from which the student of our constitutional history to think, that he whose sagacity was in general so pro- will derive more instruction or delight, than the Introducfound, and whose spirit was so salient, generous, and tory Chapter to the Reign of James II. The author's phimanly, should by his devotion to the gaming-table have losophical reflections on the rise and progress of the Civil been compelled to accept of the pecuniary bounty of his War-his prophetic sagacity in forecasting the prospects admiring friends. Well has the poet said,

of society—and the truly English spirit of his love of free

dom, and hatred of tyranny, are visible in every page. In “ The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make whips to scourge us.”

such a work, the style and diction are but subordinate

considerations ; but even here Fox is impeccable. He Fox must have felt this in all the bitterness of his soul had too great a horror of any invasion of the King's when his annuity was doled out to him. But the clo- English, to sanction for a moment, by his example, that sing scene of his life had something in it of his former Babylonish unnatural idiom which began to prevail in glory. He was again in office,—again surrounded by his his day. His definition of the duty of an historian was noble and faithful friends: he had set the sign and seal of “ to tell the story of the times”

'-a simple, forcible exgovernment to that great work of substantial justice, the pression, to which his language was strictly conformed. Abolition of the Slave Trade. “ He died,” said Sheri- The Eulogy on the Duke of Bedford, the only one of his dan,“ in the spirit of peace, struggling to extend it to the speeches which Fox revised for the press, is characterised world.” The sentiment is as just as it is beautiful. by the same nervous and elegant simplicity. There is

As an orator, Fox has had few equals, either in ancient or something extremely touching in the manner in which he modern times. The overpowering force of his arguments, recalls the virtues of his departed friend, and of the house -the variety, appositeness, and richness of his illustra- | of Russell—the partial veneration which we feel for the tions-his enthusiasm, artlessness, and elegance—all con- principles of the ancestors from whom we are descended spired to render him the very beau ideal of a perfect Bri- -biasses which, in Athens and Rome, were considered tish orator. He was what Byron says of Moore, the de- favourable to the cause of patriotism and public virtue. light of all parties—the idol of his own. His very faults “ It is not, however," adds the orator,

“ for the purpose were in consonance with the British character. Against of performing the pious office of friendship, by fondly Fox the statesman, numerous and bold were the invectives strewing flowers upon his tomb, that I have drawn your that were uttered; but against Fox the man, not a word attention to the character of the Duke of Bedford : the was breathed. His gentlemanly courtesy and frank po- motive that actuates me, is one more suitable to what were pular bearing won the affections of the people, and, to his views. It is, that this great character may be strongly travesty the words of Milton, smoothed the raven wing of impressed upon the minds of all who hear me—that they Party till it smiled.

may see it—that they may feel it—that they may discourse It is an anomalous circumstance in the history of the of it in their domestic circles—that they may speak of it human mind, that the man who was never at a loss in to their children, and hold it up to the imitation of posdebate—who seemed to have wit and words at will—who terity. If he could now be sensible to what passes here scattered the careless felicities and inimitable graces of below, sure I am, that nothing could give him so much his genius as freely as the gorgeous East “ showers her satisfaction, as to find that we are endeavouring to make barbaric pearl and gold,” should yet bave been one of the his memory and example—as he took care his life should most tardy, unready, and laborious of writers.

be-useful to mankind.” Esto perpetua. thors would submit to the drudgery which Fox, by his Mr Fox was all his life attached to poetry. His letters, own fastidiousness, entailed upon himself.

we are told by Lord Holland, are filled with complaints of lous attention to all the niceties of language was carried the annoyances which arose from politics, while he speaks almost to the verge of the ridiculous. Like Rousseau, he with delight and complacency of whole days devoted to laboured night and day to attain simplicity—to master that | Euripides and Virgil. In the midst of his stormy poligreat difficulty in writing, the art of concealing art. It is tical contentions, it is delightful to find him writing to scarcely possible to refrain from smiling at the idea of the Mr, now Lord, Grey, a long letter in defence of his opigreat Charles James Fox sitting down to compose an elabo- nion, that the note of the nightingale was a merry, and rate historical work, with the resolution of admitting no not a melancholy note. Theocritus, Sophocles, Chaucer, word into his book for which he had not the authority of and Dryden, are all pressed into the argument; ani

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leader of the Opposition concludes with admirable frank- century, and which is so inseparably associated in the ness and simplicity,-"I am afraid I like these researches mind of a modern with ideas of full-bottomed perukes, as much better than those which relate to Shaftesbury, | long-backed coats, gold-buckled shoes, and tall walkingSunderland, &c., as I do those better than attending the

Mr Pitt's tax, which had so strong an effect upon House of Commons.” Mr Fox himself wrote verses. the heads of the British public, did not perhaps unsettle They are of a higher cast than proceed from “ the mob one grain of truly Jacobite powder ; nor is it bypothetiof gentlemen who write with ease,” but do not exceed cal to suppose, that the general abandonment of snuffwhat the French call vers de société. He was an elegant, taking by the ladies, which happened rather before that accomplished versifier, but nothing more. He had no period, wrenched a single box from the fingers of any anvisions of surpassing grandeur or beauty-none of the cient dame, whose mind had been made up upon politics, “ fine frenzy” which glances from earth to heaven. The as her taste had been upon black rappee, before the year conclusion of his verses to Mrs Crewe has more of ima- of God 1745. gination than any other of his occasional effusions :

In proportion as the world at large ceased to regard the Beauty alone but imperfectly charms,

claims of the House of Stewart, and as old age advanced For though brightness may dazzle, 'tis kindness that

upon those who still cherished them, the spirit of Jacobi

tism, once so lofty and so chivalrous, assimilated more As on suns in the winter with pleasure we gaze,

and more with the mere imbecility of dotage. What it But feel not their warmth, though their splendour we

thus lost, however, in extensive application, it gained in praise,

virulence; and it perhaps never burned in any bosoms So beauty our just admiration may claim,

with so much fervour, as in those few which last retained But love, and love only, our hearts can inflame.”

it. True, the generosity which characterized it in earlier It would be uncandid and unjust to estimate the lite- humour, like good wine turned into vinegar. Yet, if an

and better times, had now degenerated into a sort of acrid rary character of Mr Fox by the standard applied to ordinary authors. Literature was to him a pastime rather example were wanting of the true inveterate Jacobite, it than a pursuit; and if we consider the engrossing and

could not be found any where in such perfection as amongst harassing nature of the public duties, in the discharge of ried the spirit unscathed and unquenched through three

the few who survived till recent times, and who had carwhich he was nearly all his life actively engaged, our wonder that he has done so little will be abated, if not

quarters of a century of every other description of politi

cal sentiment. wholly removed. Dr Johnson, in estimating the merits of Dryden, remembered, in extenuation, that he had to

As no general description can present a very vivid porprovide for the day that was passing over him : Mr Fox, traiture to the mind, it may be proper here to condescend in meeting the calls of his political engagements, had a

upon the features of the party, by giving a sketch of an

individual Jacobite who was characterized in the manner task even more arduous to perform. His anxiety must have been great, for his responsibility was heavy: the alluded to, and who might be considered a fair specimen bare sacrifice, or rather devotion, of his time was im- might be styled the Last of the Jacobites ; for, at the pe

of his brethren. The person meant to be described, mense ; and he no doubt found that, in politics, cient for the day was the evil thereof." He can only be riod of his death in 1825, there was not known to exist, considered, in a literary point of view, as affording one of refused to acknowledge the reigning family. His name

at least in Edinburgh, any person besides himself, who the few examples of British statesmen, who have cultivated literature with a success proportioned to their exer

was Alexander Halket. He had been, in early life, a tions. Burke was perhaps of a higher order, and Chat- merchant at the remote town of Fraserburgh, on the ham might have been still more transcendent. But the

Moray Frith ; but had retired for many years before his fame of Fox is secure. England already numbers him

death, to live upon a small annuity in Edinburgh. The among the greatest of her patriots ; and his taste and ge- the rest of his party, to regard the antiquities of his na

propensity which characterized him, in common with all nius–the simple magnanimity and unconscious nobleness tive land with reverence, joined with the narrowness of of his nature will ever endear his name to the lover of his fortune in inducing him to take up his abode in the letters and virtue.

Old Town. He lodged in one of those old stately botels

near the palace of Holyroodhouse, which bad formerly THE LAST OF THE JACOBITES.

been occupied by the noblemen attendant upon the ScotBy the Author of the Histories of the Scottish Rebellions. tish court, but which have latterly become so completely I had occasion to mention, at the conclusion of my

overrun by the lower class of citizens. Let it not be History of the Insurrection of 1745, that, after that pe- supposed that he possessed the whole of one of these mag. riod, the spirit of Jacobitism became a very different thing nificent hotels. He only occupied two rooms in one of from what it had formerly been—that, acquiring no fresh the floors or flats into which all such buildings in Edinadherents among the young subsequent to that disastrous burgh are divided; and these he possessed only in the year, it grew old, and decayed with the individuals who character of a lodger, not as a tenant at first hand. He had witnessed its better days_and that, in the end, it was, nevertheless, as comfortably domiciled as most old became altogether dependent upon the existence of a few gentlemen who happen to have survived the period of aged enthusiasts, more generally of the female than the matrimony. His room—for one of them was so styled male sex.

par excellence—was cased round with white-painted paThese relics of the party—for they could be called no nelling, and hung with a number of portraits representing thing else—soon became isolated in the midst of general the latter members of the House of Stuart, among

whom society; and, latterly, were looked upon, by modern po- the Old and Young Chevaliers were not forgotten. His liticians, with a feeling similar to that with which the

Some rascally picture-dealer had imposed upon him a noned. antediluvian patriarchs must have been regarded in the script daub of the female face divine as a likeness of the beautiful New World, after they had survived several generations bably he was acquainted with Mr Halkets ardent devotion to the of their shortlived descendants. As their glory lay all cause of the House of Stuart at every period of its history, and in the past, they took an especial pride in retaining every availed himself of this knowledge to palin the wretched portrait upon description of manners and dress which could be consi- said portrait was hung in the place of honour-over the mantel piese dered old-fashioned, much upon the principle which in- -in Mr Halket's apartment, and was, on state occasions, exhibited duced Will Honeycomb to continue wearing the wig in

to his guests with no small complacency. Many of his friends were, which he had once gained a young lady's heart.

like himself, too blindly attached to every thing that carried a show

Their of antiquity to suspect the cheat; and others were too gooxl-natured manners were eutirely of that stately and formal sort to disturb a harmless delusion, from the indulgence of which he de which obtained at the commencement of the eighteenth ) unhappy

spicit of connoisseurship, was guilty of the cruelty of ande

Certain it is, that the

windows bad a prospect on the one hand of the quiet, Mr Halket belonged, as a matter of course, to the priand cloistered precincts of Chessels' Court, and on the mitive apostolical church, whose history has been so inother to the gilded spires and grey time-honoured tur- timately and so fatally associated with that of the House rets of Holyroodhouse. Twice a-year, when he held a of Stuart. He used to attend an obscure chapel in the card party, with three candles on the table, and the old Old Town; one of those unostentatious places of worjoke about the number which adorn that of the Laird of ship to which the Episcopalian clergy had retired, when Grant, was he duly gratified with compliments upon the dispossessed of their legitimate fanes at the Revolution, comfortable nature of his room, by the ancient Jacobite and where they have since performed the duties of relispinsters and dowagers, who, in silk mantles and pattens, gion, rather, it may be said, to a family, or at most a came from the Abbeyhill and New Street, to honour him circle of acquaintance, than to a congregation. He was with their venerable company.

one of the old-fashioned sort of Episcopalians, who alHalket was an old man of dignified appearance, and ways used to pronounce the responses aloud ; and, during generally wore a dress of the antique fashion above alluded the whole of the Liturgy, he held up one of his hands in an to. On Sundays and holidays, he always exbibited a sort attitude of devotion. One portion alone of that formula of court-dress, and walked with a cane of more than or- did he abstain from assenting to—the prayer for the Royal dinary stateliness. He also assumed this dignified attire Family. At that place, he always blew his nose, as a on occasions of peculiar ceremony. It was his custom, token of contempt. In order that even his eye might not for instance, on a particular day every year, to pay a visit be offended by the names of the Hanoverian family, as he to the deserted court of Holyrood, in this dress, which he called them, he used a prayer-book which had been printconsidered alone suitable to an affair of so much import- ed before the Revolution, and which still prayed for King ance. On the morning of the particular day which he Charles, the Duke of York, and the Princess Anne. He was thus wont keep holy, he always dressed himself was excessively accurate in all the forms of the Episcopawith extreme care, got his hair put into order by a pro- lian mode of worship; and indeed acted as a sort of fuglefessional hand, and, after breakfast, walked out of doors man to the chapel ; the rise or fall of his person being in with deliberate steps and a solemn mind. His march some measure a signal to guide the corresponding motions down the Canongate was performed with all the decorum of all the rest of the congregation. which might have attended one of the state processions of Such was Alexander Halket-at least in his more a former day. He did not walk upon the pavement by poetical and gentlemanly aspect. His character and histhe side of the way. That would have brought him into tory, however, were not without their disagreeable points. contact with the modern existing world, the rude touch For instance, although but humbly born himself, he was of which might have brushed from his coat the dust and perpetually affecting the airs of an aristocrat, was always sanctitude of years. He assumed the centre of the street, talking of “good old families who had seen better days," where, in the desolation which had overtaken the place, and declaimed incessantly against the upstart pride and he ran no risk of being jostled by either carriage or foot consequence of people who had orginally been nothing. passenger, and where the play of his thoughts and the play This peculiarity, which was perhaps, after all, not inof his cane-arm alike got ample scope. There, wrapped consistent with his Jacobite craze, he had exhibited even up in his own pensive reflections, perhaps imagining him when a shopkeeper in Fraserburgh. If a person came in, self one in a court pageant, he walked along, under the for instance, and asked to have a hat, Halket would take lofty shadows of the Canongate,-a wreck of yesterday down one of a quality suitable, as he thought, to the rank floating down the stream of to-day, and almost in him or wealth of the customer, and, if any objection was made self a procession. On entering the porch of the palace, to it, or a wish expressed for one of a better sort, he would he took off bis hat; then, pacing along the quadrangle, say, “ That hat, sir, is quite good enough for a man in he ascended the staircase of the Hamilton apartments, your rank of life: I will give you no other." He was and entered Queen Mary's chambers. Had the beauteous also very finical in the decoration of his person, and very Queen still kept court there, and still been sitting upon much of a hypochondriac in regard to little incidental her throne to receive the homage of mankind, Mr Halket maladies. Somebody, to quiz him on this last score, once could not have entered with more awe-struck solemnity circulated a report that he had caught cold one night, goof deportment, or a mind more alive to the nature of the ing home from a party, in consequence of having left off

When he had gone over the whole of the various wearing a particular gold ring. And it really was not rooms, and also traversed in mind the whole of the recol- impossible for him to have believed such a thing, extralections which they are calculated to excite, he retired to vagant as it may appear. the Picture-gallery, and there endeavoured to recall, in the same manner, the more recent glories of the court of Prince Charles. To have seen the amiable old enthu

THE DRAMA. sjast sitting in that long and lofty hall, gazing alternately What a weary load of trash is emptied out of muddy upon vacant space and the portraits which hang upon brains upon the subject of Kean's acting! Long, dismal, the walls, and to all appearance absorbed beyond recall in half-philosophical dissertations, containing a strange mixthe contemplation of the scene, one would have supposed ture of nonsense touching Shakspeare's plays, and of him to be fascinated to the spot, and that he conceived it drivel touching the actor's conceptions of them! The possible, by devout wishes, long and fixedly entertained, simple truth lies in a nutshell ;—Shakspeare was a man to annul the interval of time, and reproduce upon that of genius, and Kean is a man of genius, and ninety-nine floor the glories which once pervaded it, but which had out of a hundred who pretend to speak about them are so long passed away. After a day of pure and most ideal not men of genius, and consequently do not, in the most enjoyment, he used to retire to his own house, in a state remote degree, understand either the one or the other. of mind approaching, as near as may be possible on this Kean has played five of his best parts here,—Shylock, earth, to perfect beatitude. *

Othello, Macbeth, Hamlet, and Richard twice; but Heaven

forbid that we should make one of the twenty thousand ceiving him, and not only persuaded him that the picture was not a likeness

of the goddess of his idolatry-Queen Mary, but possessed who, for the twenty-thousandth time, gravely set themhim with the belief that it represented the vinegar aspect of the hated selves down to write an analysis of each of these parts, Elizabeth. Mr Halket, however, was too proud to acknowledge his mortification by causing the picture to be removed, or perhaps it might not have been convenient for him to supply its place; and he the Crown Room, in Edinburgh Castle, immediately after the old redid not want wit to devise a pretext for allowing it to remain, with | galia of the kingdom had been there discovered in 1818. out compromising his hostility to the English Queen one whit: casion, a friend of the present writer saw him, and endeavour d to * Very well," said he, “ I atn glad you have told me it is Elizabeth ; engage him in conversation, as he was marching up the Castle Hill; for I shall have the pleasure of showing my contempt of her every

but he was too deeply absorbed in reflection upon the sacred objects day by turning my back upon her when I sit down to table." which he had to see, to be able to speak. He just gazed on the pere

• ile said a state visit, in full dress, with a sword by his side, to son accosting him, and walked on.

scene.

On this ocI. MORNING.

and to discourse “ most eloquent music,” though some- new readings of Shakspeare? He mangles the soliloquy, what drowsy withal, on their respective merits and de- “ To be, or not to be,” most dreadfully, and he has so alfects. The world knows pretty well, by this time, what tered several other passages that we scarcely knew them. kind of actor Kean is. He is one whom Nature, in her mercy, threw upon the stage, to redeem it from the stiff

ORIGINAL POETRY. frigidity of tight-laced art. She bestowed upon him strong passions and acute feelings, and she desired him to give

SONNETS. them free and spontaneous scope. The actor caught her meaning, for the understanding of it was inherent in him;

By Charles Doyne Sillery. and taking to himself plenty of elbow-room, he knocked at the heart of his audience boldly and at once, and if the door 'Tis morn! the mountains catch the living glow was not willingly opened to him, he threw himself against Of amethystine light, and beam sublimeit with all his weight, and forced it. Some there were The shatter'd thrones of Omnipresent timewho said, there was no grace, no study, no refinement in Belted with broken fragments of the bow! his style,—that it was coarse and vulgar, and against all Up their brown sides, from crag to crag, I climb, rule; but he dashed on, regardless of their prating, and he Gazing, enraptured, on the scene below. carried mankind along with him in spite of themselves. The blue and boundless ocean, in the prime The old sober spectacled critics looked at him as they of the young morn, is heaving to and fro; would have done at Joshua commanding the sun and And all around is beautiful and bright, moon to stand still, shook their heads, confessed they did | From the green earth to the calm liquid skies ! not understand him, and so went home to bed. But he Light melting into sbade, and shade to lightheld the theatre breathless, or stirred it into thunder, as The dew-gemm'd world's a perfumed paradise he chose ; and, therefore, there was in him the invisible Of flowers, so fresh and fragrant, that I feel fire, the existence of which men know and feel, though The very morn of life into my being steal ! they cannot describe or catch it. Let all his faults be

11. EVENING. granted, for they cannot be concealed ;-he was a shabby little creature, with a harsh voice, and uninteresting fear But hush! the dolphin dies—the west is tinged tures,—at times he ranted, and at other times he was too

With the last gorgeous tinctures of the day; tame,—he had some tricks, too, to catch the gallery,-he And clouds of burnish'd gold, with sapphire fringed, had none of the patrician dignity of Kemble, none of the

Roll gloriously into sublime array, gentlemanly ease of Young ;-let all this be granted,-s0

And fade and languish tremulous away much the better for Kean,—for we should like to know

Into the heavens, like rainbows in the spray. what it was, after all, that so many thousands of people A change is wrought;—the beams which late were sown squeezed their sides out to see ? Was it not this one small Into the soil of darkness, now have grown man, because he had acquired a mastery over their souls ?

Ten thousand thousand gems of living light! and what more can be said of the mightiest minds that

How great is God !—“how beautiful is night!" ever lived ?

Lift up thy voice, my soul! awake! arise ! But Kean (though he is still the best actor we have)

On every ray that streams so purely bright has fallen off; and when we say so, we mean ourselves to

I feel my spirit wafted to the skies, be understood in the fullest acceptation of the term, with

And there eternal day puts Nature's frown to flight! out making any ridiculous distinction between physical strength and mental power. The two are inseparably Sweet is Aurora's breath at early dawn; conjoined. If a man's body grow weak, his mind, to all

Sweet is the melody of birds and bees; intents and purposes, grows weak also. Sickness and dis- Sweet the faint zephyr from the fragrant lawn, sipation have made terrible havoc with Kean ; and the

And sweet the plaining of the Æolian trees : consequence is, that his whole manner is now tamed down, and that half his wonted fire is extinct. His style Give morn her glorious star in purple rolld,

But there are sweets my soul loves more than these ;is far more pompous and elocutionary than it used to be ;

Give noon her cloudless skies of laughing blue, and this is an alternative which debility has forced upon

Give even her melody and blushing gold, him. He now mouths and journeys slowly through many

And night her skies, where countless worlds shine passages, to which, in his better days, he would have

through, given all the force of nervous and rapid utterance. Let nobody suppose that this is a voluntary change, because time Autumn, her yellow corn—and winter, bind

Give spring her blossoms-summer, flowers and dewhas chastened his judgment. Judgment was never Kean's

In zones of glass, and robes of virgin hue :forte ; but when his blood dashed strongly through his But give me-give me sunshine in the mind, veins, he yielded to the quick impulses of the moment, and My lyre—my native land—and gentle womankind ! these impulses were true to pature. But now they come more rarely, and are feebler when they do come. He bas not

SONNET.-THE DEPARTED. so much blood as he once had, and a great deal of Kean's best acting lay in his blood. He is like a good race-horse

By Thomas Atkinson, somewhat stricken in years ; he walks over a course which Not with the plaint of unavailing grief he has often galloped round, a hundred yards a-head of Shall we who knew and loved it was the same all competitors ; yet now and then he starts off into his Thy blameless life, for us on earth too brief! old pace, and the common spectator ignorantly imagines Lament that we can cherish but thy name ; he is as able to win the cup as before. We do not say that Though natural tears will drop,—thy only fame!Kean is past his best now and for ever. If he gets stronger Yet we will not, with a despairing woe, and more regular in his habits, his acting will again in- Mourn that thou lingerest not with us below; sensibly assimilate itself to what it was in his most vigo- For though recall'd so soon to whence you came, rous days. In the meantime, he has got three hundred Shall not thy mem'ry, like thy living worth, pounds for his six night's performance in Edinburgh, and If unobtrusive, yet be potent too ? with that sum in his pocket, he will probably smile very Hath not upon our hearts the dove gone forth, coolly at our assertion, that he has fallen off.

Which shall with consolation come anew,
Old Cerberus.

And tell us, while Example bids us soar,

Earth hath one saint the less but heaven one angel Postscript.-By the by, what does Kean mean by his more?

III. THE THINGS I LOVE.

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