صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

LITERARY CHIT-CHAT AND VARIETIES.

We understand that Messrs Blackie, Fullarton, and Co. of Glasgow, will speedily publish a small volume, entitled Life on Board a Man of War; being a Narrative of the Adventures of a British Sailor in his Majesty's service, embracing a particular account of the Battle of Navarino, &c. The narrator served on board the Genoa, and much interesting matter will be given regarding the conduct of that vessel during the action, and the accusations brought against Captain Dick

enson.

We understand that the Annals of the Peninsular Campaigns, from 1808 to 1814, by the author of Cyril Thornton, will be published on the 21st of November.

Mr Cooper's new novel, The Borderers, or the Wept of Wish-tonWish, which we were the first to announce on this side of the Atlantic, refers to that period when the early settlers of New England became involved in the most fearful struggles with the native owners of the soil. Of the heroism and high daring of the Indian character, there are numerous instances on record; and we think that few periods of American history present so many deeply interesting and striking events as that which Mr Cooper has chosen.

The three American Annuals for 1830, from Boston, Philadelphia, and New York, will arrive soon in this country. They will be enriched with numerous engravings, and contributions from the most distinguished writers in the United States.

The first volume of a new series of the Extractor will be published speedily, under the enlarged title of the Polar Star of Entertainment and Popular Science.

Dr Arnot's Elements of Physics, or Natural Philosophy, will be completed by the publication of the Second Volume, of which the first half, comprehending the subjects of Heat and Light, is to appear early in October. It will be accompanied by a Fourth Edition of Vol. I., in which the true nature of the common defect in Speech, called Stuttering, or Stammering, is exposed; and a Key is given, for effectually setting free the imprisoned voice.

A second volume of the Topography, Edifices, and Ornaments of Pompeii, by Sir W. Gell, is in preparation, containing an account of the excavations since the publication of the former volume, with several additional interesting remains.

ridge, are the individuals generally known as the Poets of the Lakes,' because, at one time, they all resided in the neighbourhood of Keswick, and were constant companions and bon vivants, as far as related, at least, to three of them. They are now separated, and, we believe, seldom meet or correspond. Southey remains at Keswick; Wordsworth, at Rydal Mount; Wilson, at Edinburgh; Coleridge, at Hampstead; and the celebrated Opium Eater' is gone to take possession of a family estate in the neighbourhood of Kendal, which has devolved to him by the death of his mother."-We have seldom seen so many erroneous statements in so short a space. The five poets mentioned never "all resided in the neighbourhood of Keswick." Southey does not remain at Keswick," for he has gone to settle permanently in London. Wordsworth does not remain "at Rydal Mount," for his family are spending this season on the sea-coast, and he himself is, or has been, till very lately, in Ireland. Wilson does not remain" at Edinburgh," for he has been the whole of the summer at his seat of Elleray on Windermere, and will not return to Edin burgh till near the end of next month. The Opium Eater is not "gone to take possession of a family estate in the neighbourhood of Kendal," but is living in a small cottage at Rydal, where his wife presented him the other day with his fifth daughter, and sixth child. So much for the accuracy of the Cumberland Pacquet.

GYMNASTICS-Scotland VERSUS France. The paragraph concerning gymnastics in our last has procured us several communications from Highlanders and others. In the first place, we are informed that Gymnastics are a very secondary object with the "Highland Club," and are introduce merely for the sake of the younger members-the Club's funds being appropriated almost entirely to the education of nearly one hundred children. In the next place, we learn that the Revue Encyclopedique must have made some egregious mistake in its statement of the feats performed by our Scottish Gymnasts, which led to the boast that the untrained French peasants could beat them all. We shall now mention, for the special consideration of the Revue Encyclopedique, what the true state of the case is. The best throwing of the hammer ever seen in Scotland has taken place at the annual meetings of the St Ronan's, the St Fillan's, and the Six Feet Club of Edinburgh; and at these meetings, we venture to say, that it has been better thrown than it ever has, or can be thrown, at least in modern times. A hammer, weighing between 21 and 22 pounds, has been thrown, by a two-handed steady throw, 70 feet; and a hammer, weighing between 16 and 17 pounds, has been thrown, in the same way, 80 fect,-where a turn or swing was allowed, it has been thrown 91 feet. As to the light hammer throw

Hazlitt's Life of Napoleon, the two last volumes of which have been so long delayed by various circumstances, is about to be pub-ing, which is done with one hand, though, we believe, it is not prolished in a completed state.

The Rev. Mr Dyer is said to be engaged in finishing the Life of Shirley, for the new edition of his Works, edited by the late Mr Gifford, and printed off many years ago. We trust Dr Ireland, Gifford's executor, has supplied to Mr Dyer the various manuscripts and memoranda which had been prepared by Mr Gilchrist and others, and given to Mr Gifford, to complete the Biography of Shirley and the Essay upon his Works.

Historical Memoirs of the Church and Court of Rome, from the establishment of Christianity under Constantine to the present period, is announced by the Rev. H. C. O'Donnoghue, A. M. St John's College, Cambridge. And also, by the same author, the Peculiar Doctrines of the Church of Rome, as contained exclusively in her own Conciliar Decrees and Pontifical Bulls, examined and disproved. A volume of Sermons, by the Bishop of London, is nearly ready for publication.

A Life of Romney the Painter will, we are informed, be published

about next March.

The publisher of the Cornwall and Devon Magazine, after somewhat naively "calling the attention of the reading world to a Magazine which has existed for some years past," announces that he has been put in possession of a variety of original articles, from the pen of the late Dr Walcott,- the celebrated Peter Pindar,-which are to appear from time to time in his Magazine.

CAMBRIDGE.-There are 102 Professors or Lecturers in the University of Cambridge; and the average number of residents in statu papillari is 1600, so that there is rather more than one Professor to sixteen students, whilst at Berlin, one of the best endowed of the Continental Universities, the average is about one Professor to thirty-two students. We should be glad to learn from any of our correspondents what the average exactly is in Edinburgh.

There will shortly be published at Stutgard, a "Corpus Philosophorum optimæ natæ qui ab Reformatione usque ad Kantii ætatem, floruerunt." It will contain the select works of Bacon, Descartes, Spinoza, Locke, Hume, Leibnitz, and others.

THE LAKE POETS.-The Cumberland Pacquet, a newspaper which. by virtue of its locality, ought to have had accurate information coneerning the Lake Poets, favours us with the following paragraph, which has been making the round of the newspapers, and which we copy for the purpose of contradicting almost the whole of it:"Wordsworth, Southey, Professor Wilson, De Quincey, and Cole

perly a Scottish sport, and is looked upon with great contempt by those who pretend to understand the subject, yet George Scougal, of Innerleithen, has thrown a 10-pound hammer upwards of 115 feet. Next, as to high leaping, one of the members of the Six Feet Club has cleared, at a standing leap, that is, without any previous movement, the height of 4 feet 8 inches. Many of the members of the same Club have cleared, at a running high leap, 5 feet; and there is one of them who, as well as Anderson, a tailor in Innerleithen, has cleared 5 feet 4 inches. Ireland, the famous leaper, is said to have cleared his own height, which was 6 feet 1 inch, but he must surely have had the assistance of a spring-board. An ancestor of one of the members of the Six Feet Club leapt in and out of 12 hogsheads without stopping to take breath. We have particularly to request that the Revue Encyclopedique will digest these facts before it again ventures to talk lightly of Scottish gymnastics.

merits of the sketches and models of the monument to be erected in this FINE ARTS.-The committee appointed to judge of the respective city to the late Duke of York, have not yet come to any definite resolution. Two designs, proposed by Macdonald, are now to be seen in the rooms of the Institution, and the larger of the two strikes us as very elegant and appropriate.-We observe that the casts from the Elgin marbles, to which we some weeks ago directed our readers' attention, are still allowed to lie scattered around the octagon, covered occasionally with the hats and coats of the attendants, or the mats and mops which the servants are at a loss to dispose of. Was it with this view that they were presented to the Institution? Might it not be as well to remove them up stairs to the Trustees' Gallery, where they might be of use, and not exposed to accidents?-The sudden and lamented death of Sir William Arbuthnot has left the secretaryship to the board of Trustees vacant. It is not yet known who is to supply his place.-Wilkie's contribution to the new edition of the Waverley Novels is now engraving, and promises (if we may judge from the outline) to be worthy of the artist. The subject is from Old Mortality, Morton taken away from his uncle's by Bothwell and his troopers. -Simpson is busy painting "The Luncheon," a companion to his "Twelfth of August," which he exhibited last year.-Landseer has transmitted a painting to Edinburgh, from which an engraving is to be taken to illustrate the Bride of Lammermoor. It represents the deliverance of Sir William Ashton and Lucy from the wild bull, by the Master of Ravenswood. The arrangement of the figures is circular. Lucy lies on the foreground in a swoon; behind her, and supporti

her head, stands her father, to the right hand of the spectators; and farther back, and rather to the left, the Master is seen advancing towards them. The head and shoulders of the dead animal appear between them. Backwards, on either side, are trees, with a long vista opening in the centre. The picture, altogether, is a beautiful piece of composition.

SMALL TALK FROM FRANCE.-The law of the 18th July, 1828, requires that all Literary Journals find caution, but excepts from this necessity such as are not published oftener than twice a-week. A Mon. Selligue set on foot, some time ago, three journals, beautifully printed on rose paper, and entitled,-" Le Trilby, Album des Salons;" "Le Lutin, Echo des Salons;" "Le Sylphe, Journal des Salons;" each of which appeared twice a-week. The ministry, fancying that this slight difference in the title of three journals, which exactly coincided in every other respect, was merely a device for evading the law, commenced a prosecution against them before the court of correctional police. The publisher offered to prove, by the lists of subscribers to each, that they were independent speculations, and the cause was given in his favour. The Procureur du Roi was instructed to appeal to the Cour Royale; but this tribunal has confirmed the decision of the inferior court.-Although the liberty of the press has been conceded in France, inspectors of the book-trade have been retained, whose business it is to give notice of the appearance of dangerous works. By an ordonnance, which appeared in the Moniteur of 15th September, the four inspectors of Paris have been superseded, and their office transferred to the Commissaries of Police. An author in this country would look rather queer, were Sir Richard Birnie to be added to the long lane of reviewers through which he must run the gauntlet.-M. Chateaubriand is expected to publish, by the monch of January, two volumes "On the History of France."-The Bridge of Louis XVI., at Paris, is to be adorned with twelve statues. The ninth (that of Bayard) has just been placed on its pedestal. There remain to be completed the statues of Segur, Colbert, and Tourville.-An interesting dramatic solemnity was celebrated at Rouen on Saturday the 19th September, the whole proceeds of which were paid to the subscription which has been commenced with a view to erect a statue to Corneille. The evening's entertainments commenced with a poetical address, composed by Casimir Delavigne ; the play was Cinna; and the festival concluded with an opera of Boyeldieu.-Mayerbeer is now in Paris, and is busy with a new Opera, which is to be brought out at the Academie de Musique. The words are by Scribe, the popular French dramatist.

THE INDEPENDENCE OF THE PERIODICAL PRESS.

To the Editor of the Edinburgh Literary Journal. SIR,-I have observed, with much pleasure, that your critical labours are directed, not unfrequently, to the exposure of talentless effrontery, and of that dishonest system of "puffing," which, unless a timely check can be devised, threatens to extinguish sound learning and genuine literature in this country. You cannot render a more important service to letters, than by holding up to public reprobation those bibliopolic arts which are now systematically employed to secure, for productions utterly contemptible, a temporary and profitable popularity. No doubt the cheat, in most instances, is sooner or later discovered; but the counterfeit coin, though withdrawn from general circulation, may contrive for a while to deceive the ignorant and the unwary. If the press continue much longer to pursue its present profligate and mercenary career, the only safety of the reading public will consist in interpreting its literary decisions by the rule of contraries. In proof of the charge which I have brought against the pe riodical criticism of the day, I might appeal to almost every Review, Magazine, and Newspaper in the kingdom. Amid this general prostration, however, there are an honourable few who have not "bowed the knee to Baal,"-and among these the EDINBURGH LITERARY JOURNAL is proudly distinguished. After this deserved tribute to your general impartiality and independence, you will perhaps be surprised when I inform you, that the present observations were suggested by an article in the Journal of Saturday last. The article is a very excellent one, on a very delightful subject-the Annuals for 1830. It is, I have not the slightest doubt, sincere and candid from beginning to end; and yet, I question much whether it should ever have been written. I recollect the time when it would have been regarded as no mean feat to criticise a work without reading it; but no one is now considered free of the craft who cannot criticise a work before it is written. Before a publication now issues from the press, it has been obtruded on our notice to very loathing-the eternal puff presents itself wherever we turn our eyes; so that, when it does appear, instead of receiving it with complacency, we are only anxious to see it consigned to speedy oblivion. We turn with impatience from the substance whose shadow has so long haunted us. In short, it is impossible for us, now-a-days, to sit down to the perusal of any work with an unbiassed mind. We are no longer allowed to see with our own eyes, or judge with our own judgment. We are compelled to make

use of critical spectacles, by which objects are, almost invariably, dimmed, dismembered, or distorted. The Annuals, destined, as they are, to be the messengers of love, affection, and friendship, it was to be hoped would have been deemed sacred, and remained unsullied by any contaminating touch. Alas! the nightshade of puffery has already darkened around them, and will, it is to be feared, speedily consign them to a premature grave. The gems of art, too, with which they are so profusely adorned, are deprived of half their lustre, by being prematurely exposed to the blighting influence of critical cant; and those delightful emotions which they are calculated to impart to the cultivated and sensitive mind utterly annihilated. Each one is ticketed and labelled beforehand-the charm of novelty is de stroyed-the luxury of unrestrained feeling is unknown. Trust me, that he who has been tasting every dish during the cooking will have but little relish for his dinner, and that, if you would have your friend enjoy his repast, you must keep him ignorant of the viands till they are placed before him. These hasty remarks on an important subject I submit to your impartial judgment, and am, with de W. P. ference and respect, yours,

Edinburgh, 28th September, 1829.

Theatrical Gossip.-It is understood that Covent Garden Theatre will open next Monday. Mr Fawcett resigns the stage management to Mr Bartley. Mr Kemble has received offers from Miss Paton and from Madame Malibran, to perform one night, and from Mr Kean to perform twenty-four nights, gratuitously, in aid of the fund. The shareholders of the theatre have agreed to relinquish all right to their dividends for the ensuing season, and also to allow the arrears of their annuities to remain as a debt on the theatre for three years. -It is said that the opening play will be "Romeo and Juliet," the part of Romeo by Charles Kemble, and that of Juliet by his daughter Miss Kemble-her first appearance on any stage. A comedy in three acts, called "Procrastination," from the pen of Mr Howard Payne, has been successful at the Haymarket; but the critics do not seem to think very highly of it.-The English Opera house is about to close, and the Adelphi has reopened.-De Begnis, Curioni, Blasis, Castelli, and Spagnoletti, have formed a little operatic company, and instead of coming here as they at one time proposed, are about to visit Dublin.-Young Incledon is to come out at Drury Lane as Young Meadows, in "Love in a Village."-Miss Stephens, who has been at Paris for some time with her brother and sister, has returned, but has made no engagement at either of the theatres.-Seymour of Glasgow has been busy converting the Riding School into a theatre; and Kean, who it is said has a share in the speculation, is now per forming there. At his benefit here on Wednesday night, he was loudly called for after the curtain fell, and at length made his ap pearance. As soon as the applause subsided he said,-" Ladies and Gentlemen, I feel highly flattered by this mark of your regard. It has ever been my endeavour to please an Edinburgh audience more than perhaps any other. I know that the approbation with which you have honoured me proceeds from persons of enlightened judge ment and warm feelings. I hope at a future opportunity to be better able to testify my gratitude."-Madame Vestris, who was to have appeared on Thursday evening, postponed her debut till to-night in consequence of a severe cold. We suppose our friend OLD CER BEKUS will take her between his paws next week.

WEEKLY LIST OF PERFORMANCES.

Sept. 26-Oct. 2.

[blocks in formation]

Letter." Bennevis" is in types

The Poem by the late Mr Balfour is in types, but is unavoidably postponed.-The Poem from New York will appear in our next.— We intend giving a place to "The Sea Fight," by " M." of Glasgow, when we have room for it.-Our Correspondent in Moray Place seems to be a poet of most extraordinary genius." A Picture," by our fair friend in Banff, shall have an early place." Lines written in a Bible," perhaps.-"The Lovers," by H. W. G. L." will not suit us, "Letters from the West, No. VI." in our next.-The Review of Dr W. Brown's work is in types.

ERRATUM.-In the review of Mr Graham's work in our last, for "Mr Collet," read “Mr Coltart."

[blocks in formation]

LITERARY CRITICISM.

WORKS ON THE EVE OF PUBLICATION.--Cooper's New Novel The Borderers.-The Venetian Bracelet, and other Poems. By Miss Landon.-The Diary and Correspondence of Philip Doddridge, D.D.-The Epping Hunt. By Thomas Hood, Esq.

PRICE 6d.

race to which she evidently owed her birth, she had the wild and timid look of those with whom she had grown into womanhood. Her beauty would have been remarkable in any region of the earth, while the play of muscle, the ingenuou, beaming of the eye, and the freedom of limb and actions were such as seldom pass beyond the years of childhood, among people who, in attempting to improve, so often mar the works of Nature."

We shall add to this fresh and vigorous portrait two others, the one of a European, and the other of an Indian Warrior:

THE EUROPEAN AND THE INDIAN.

We have not yet been able to peruse these works with sufficient attention to give a detailed account of them, or to pronounce upon them decided opinions. As we are unwilling, however, that our readers should not know "Mark, like most of his friends, had cast aside all supersomething about them as soon as possible, we shall to-day fluous vestments ere he approached the scene of strife. The give an extract or two from each of them, with only a upper part of his body was naked to the shirt, and even this single introductory remark in explanation, and shall after- he had already passed. The whole of his full and heaving had been torn asunder by the rude encounters through which wards avail ourselves of the most convenient opportunity chest was bare, exposing the white skin and blue veins of to offer our matured judgment on their respective merits. one whose fathers had come from towards the rising sun. In his novel of the Borderers, Cooper is on his old His swelling form rested on a leg, that seemed planted in ground among the Backwoodsmen. We have already defiance, while the other was thrown in front, like a lever made our readers acquainted with his general merits as a to control the expected movements. His arms were extendwriter. His present work is to be classed with "The ed to the rear, the hands grasping the barrel of a musket, Last of the Mohicans," "The Pioneers," and "The which threatened death to all who should come within its sweep. The head, covered with the short, curling, yellow Prairie," as forming one of that historical series illustra-hair of his Saxon lineage, was a little advanced above the tive of the gradual change effected in the condition of the left shoulder, and seemed placed in a manner to preserve the Indians by the encroachments of Europeans. The date equipoise of the whole frame. The brow was flushed, the of the story is the 17th century, and the leading incidents lips compressed and resolute, the veins of the neck and relate to the contests carried on by the Puritan settlers of temples swollen nearly to bursting, and the eyes contracted, that time in Pennsylvania with the natives. The book but of a gaze that bespoke equally the feelings of desperate determination and of entranced surprise. is one which will afford excellent scope for a detailed and interesting review. Meanwhile, we extract the following

sketch of the heroine :

THE BEAUTY OF AN INDIAN FOREST.

"The age of the stranger was under twenty. In form she rose above the usual stature of an Indian maid, though the proportions of her person were as light and buoyant as at all comported with the fulness that properly belonged to her years. The limbs, seen below the folds of a short kirtle of bright scarlet cloth, were just and tapering, even to the nicest proportions of classic beauty; and never did foot of higher instep, and softer roundness, grace a feathered moccasin. Though the person, from the neck to the knees, was hid by a tightly-fitting vest of calico and the short kirtle named, enough of the shape was visible to betray outlines that had never been injured, either by the mistaken devices of art, or by the baneful effects of toil. The skin was only visible at the hands, face, and neck. Its lustre having been a little dimmed by exposure, a rich rosy tint had usurped the natural brightness of a complexion that had once been fair, even to brilliancy. The eye was full, sweet, and of a blue that emulated the sky of evening; the brows soft and arched; the nose straight, delicate, and slightly Grecian; the forehead fuller than that which properly belonged to a girl of the Narragansetts, but regular, delicate, and polished; and the hair, instead of dropping in long straight tresses of jet black, broke out of the restraints of a band of beaded wampum, in ringlets of golden yellow.

"The peculiarities that distinguished this female from the others of her tribe, were not confined alone to the indelible marks of nature. Her step was more elastic; her gait more erect and graceful; her foot less inwardly inclined, and her whole movements freer and more decided than those of a racedoomed, from infancy, to subjection and labour. Though ornamented by some of the prized inventions of the hated

"On the other hand, the Indian warrior was a man still more likely to be remarked. The habits of his people had brought him, as usual, into the field with naked limbs and nearly uncovered body. The position of his frame was that of one prepared to leap; and it would have been a comparison, tolerated by the license of poetry, to have likened his straight and agile form to the semblance of a crouching panther. The projecting leg sustained the body, bending under its load more with the free play of muscle and sinew, than from any weight, while the slightly stooping head was a clenched on the helve of an axe, that lay in a line with the little advanced beyond the perpendicular. One hand was right thigh, while the other was placed, with a firm gripe, on the buckhorn handle of a knife that was still sheathed at his girdle. The expression of the face was earnest, severe, and perhaps a little fierce, and yet the whole was tempered by the immovable and dignified calm of a chief of high qua like that of the youth whose life he threatened, it appeared lities. The eye, however, was gazing and riveted, and, singularly contracted with wonder.

"The momentary pause that succeeded the movement by which the two antagonists threw themselves into these fine mitted play of muscle, neither even seemed to breathe. The attitudes was full of meaning. Neither spoke, neither perdelay was not like that of preparation, for each stood ready for his deadly effort; nor would it have been possible to trace, in the compressed energy of the countenance of Mark, or in the lofty and more practised bearing of the front and eye of the Indian, any thing like wavering of purpose. An emotion foreign to the scene appeared to possess them both, each active frame unconsciously accommodating itself to the bloody business of the hour, while the inscrutable agency of the mind held them, for a brief interval, in check.'

Miss Landon, after a silence of two years, has again come before the public. We have watched this young

lady's progress with considerable interest, though not with the same romantic partiality displayed by her friend the editor of the London Literary Gazette. Of her present volume, we shall have something serious to say very soon. It consists of "The Venetian Bracelet,"—a story in the style of "The Improvisatrice" and "The Troubadour,” "The Lost Pleiad,"-" The History of the Lyre,”—and a great number of other poems in every variety of verse. The following extract presents a very favourable and pleasing specimen of Miss Landon's powers;

A DRAMATIC SCENE.

"Bertha. It is in this we differ; I would seek
To blend my very being into thine-
I'm even jealous of thy memory:

I wish our childhood had been pass'd together.
Jaromir. Bertha, sweet Bertha! would to Heaven it had!
What wouldst thou with a past that knew thee not?
Bertha. To make that past my own by confidence,

By mingled recollections; I would fain

Our childish sorrows had been wept together:
But as this cannot be, I speak of them-
The very speaking does associate us-

I speak of them, that, in those coming years,
When youthful hours rise up within the mind,
Like lovely dreams some sudden chance has brought,
To fill the eyes with long-forgotten tears,
My image may be with them, as of one
Who held such sympathy with aught of thine.

Jaromir. Sweetest! no more of this: my youth hath pass'd In harsh and rugged warfare, not the scenes

Of young knights with white plumes and gallant steeds,
With lady's favour on each burnish'd crest,
Whose tournaments in honour of fair dames
May furnish tales to suit the maiden's ear➡
I've had no part in such; I only know

Of war the terrible reality;

The long night-watch beneath the driving snow,-
The unsoothed pillow, where the strong man lay
Like a weak child, by weary sickness worn
Even to weeping,-or the ghastly dead,
By the more ghastly dying, whose last breath
Pass'd in a prayer for water, but in vain ;-
O'er them their eager comrades hurry on

To slaughter others. How thy cheek is blanch'd!
I truly said these were no tales for thee.
Come, take thy lute, and sing just one sweet song
To fill my sleep with music.

Bertha.
Then good night.
I have so much to say to my old nurse;
This is her annual visit, and she waits
Within my chamber,-so one only song.
My lute is tuneless with this damp night-air;
Like to our own glad spirits, its fine chords
Are soon relax'd.

Jaromir. Then sing, love, with the wind,
The plaining wind, and let that be thy lute.

Bertha. How wildly round our ancient battlements The air-notes murmur! Blent with such a wind I heard the song which shall be ours to-night. She had a strange sweet voice the maid who sang, But early death was pale upon her cheek; And she had melancholy thoughts that gave Their sadness to her speech: she sat apart From all her young companions, in the shade Of an old tree a gloomy tree, whose boughs Hung o'er her as a pall:-'twas omen-like, For she died young, of gradual decay, As if the heart consumed itself.

None knew

If she had loved; but always did her song
Dwell on love's sorrows.

'Sleep, heart of mine,

Why should love awake thee? Like yon closed rosebud

To thy rest betake thee.

'Sleep, heart of mine,
Wherefore art thou beating?
Do dreams stir thy slumbers,
Vainest hopes repeating?
'Sleep, heart of mine,

Sleep thou without dreaming:
Love, the beguiler,

Weareth such false seeming.

'Sleep, heart of mine;

But if on thy slumbers Breathe one faint murmur Of his charm'd numbers,

Waken, heart of mine,

From such dangerous sleeping;
Love's haunted visions

Ever end in weeping.'

But now no more of song-I will not lose
Another legend of my nurse's store.

A whole year must have added to her list
Of ghastly murders, spiritual visitings;
At least 'twill make the ancient ones seem new.
Jaromir. And you will listen like a frighted child.
I think I see you-when the turret clock
Has toll'd the night-hour heavily; the hearth
Has only flickering embers, which send forth
Gleams of distorting light; the untrimm'd lamp
Exaggerates the shadows, till they seem
Flung by no human shape; the hollow voice
Of that old crone, the only living sound;
Her face, on which mortality has writ
Its closing, with the wan and bony hand
Raised like a spectre's; and yourself the while
Cold from the midnight chill, and white with fear;
Your large blue eyes darker and larger grown
With terror's chain'd attention, and your breath
Suppress'd for very earnestness. Well, love,
Good night; and if our haunted air be fill'd
With spirits, may they watch o'er thee like love!
Bertha. Good night, good night! the kind Madonna shed
Her blessings o'er thee.
[Exit Jaromir.
'Tis his last footfall,-I can catch no more!
Methinks he pass'd too quickly. Had I left
This room,
I should have counted every step,-
Have linger'd in the threshold; but he went
Rapidly, carelessly. Now out on this,
The very folly of a loving heart!

O Jaromir! it is a fearful thing

To love as I love thee! to feel the world

The bright, the beautiful, joy-giving world

A blank without thee. Never more to me
Can hope, joy, fear, wear different seemings. Now
I have no hope that does not dream for thee.
I have no joy that is not shared by thee;
I have no fear that does not dread for thee.
All that I once took pleasure in-my lute-
Is only sweet when it repeats thy name;
My flowers, I only gather them for thee;
The book drops listless down, I cannot read,
Unless it is to thee; my lonely hours
Are spent in shaping forth our future lives,
After my own romantic fantasies.

He is the star round which my thoughts revolve
Like satellites. My father, can it be

That thine, the unceasing love of many years,
Doth not so fill my heart as this strange guest?
I loved thee once so wholly-now methinks
I love thee for that thou lovest Jaromir.
It is the lamp gone out,-that dreams like these
Should be by darkness broken! I am grown
So superstitious in my fears and hopes,
As if I thought that all things must take part
In my great love. Alas! my poor old nurse,
How she has waited!"

We are also well pleased with the flow of the following stanzas, together with the turn of sentiment which pervades them :

A NIGHT IN MAY.

"Light and glad through the rooms the gay music is waking,
Where the young and the lovely are gathered to-night;
And the soft cloudless lamps, with their lustre, are making
A midnight hour only than morning less bright.

"There are vases, the flowers within them are breathing
Sighs almost as sweet as the lips that are near;
Light feet are glancing, white arms are wreathing-
O temple of pleasure! thou surely art here.

"I gazed on the scene; 'twas the dream of a minute;
But it seem'd to me even as fairy-land fair;
'Twas the cup's bright outside; and, on glancing within it,
What but the dregs and the darkness were there?

"False wave of the desert, thou art less beguiling
Than false beauty over the lighted hall shed;
What but the smiles that have practised their smiling,
Weariness ever that feeling must be.

"Praise-flattery-opiates the meanest, yet sweetest-
Are ye the fame that my spirit hath dream'd?
Lute, when in such scenes, if homage thou meetest,
Say, if like glory such vanity seem'd?

"O, for some island far off in the ocean,

Where never a footstep has press'd but mine own; With one hope, one feeling, one utter devotion

To my gift of song, once more the lovely, the lone!

"My heart is too much in the things that profane it;
The cold and the worldly, why am I like them?
Vanity! with my lute chords I must chain it,
Nor thus let it sully the Minstrel's best gem.

"It rises before me, that island, where blooming,
The flowers in their thousands are comrades for me;
And where, if one perish, so sweet its entombing,

The welcome it seems of fresh leaves to the tree.

"I'll wander among them when morning is weeping
Her earliest tears, if such pearls can be tears;
When the birds and the roses together are sleeping,
Till the mist of the day-break, like hope fulfill'd, clears.

"Grove of dark cypress, when noontide is flinging

Its radiance of light, thou shalt then be my shrine; I'll listen the song which the wild dove is singing, And catch from its sweetness a lesson for mine.

"And when the red sunset at even is dying,

I'll watch the last flush as it fades on the wave;
While the wind through the shells in its low music sighing,
Will seem like the anthem peal'd over its grave.

"And when the bright stars which I worship are beaming,
And writing in beauty and fate on the sky,
Then, mine own lute, be the hour for thy dreaming,

And the night-flowers will open and echo thy sigh.

"Alas! but my dream has like sleep's visions vanish'd-
The hall and the crowd are before me again:
Sternly my sweet thoughts like fairies are banish'd;
Nay, the faith which believed in them now seems but

vain."

progress of love in the heart, as witness a long string of love letters which this book contains, from which we take at random a specimen or two:

A LOVE LETTER BY DR DODdridge.

"Dear Madam,-I have so little opportunity of conversing with you alone, that I am forced to take this method of expressing my concern, and indeed my amazement, at what has just passed between us. I know you to be a lady of admirable good sense, and I wish you would find out the consistency of your behaviour yesterday and to-day. Yesterday you expressly assured me you loved me as well as I did you, which you know is to a very uncommon degree; and that it grieved you that you had given me so much uneasiness, adding, you would take care to avoid it for the time to come. To-day you have been telling me you could not bear the thought of not being so rich as your sister; that you do not know why you may not expect a good man with a good estate! I leave you to judge whe ther it be possible I should hear this remark without uneasiness. And, if it be not, whether it were fit for you to make it. Consider, madam, I am a rational creature; and though too much transported with love, yet, blessed be God, not absolutely distracted! How then, do you imagine I can put any confidence in the assurances you give me of your love, when you are so continually contradicting them? For, do you not contradict them when you talk of discarding me for the sake of money? I always thought, my dear creature, you had been remarkable both for good sense and religion. But I own I do not see how it is reconcilable with either, to throw aside those entertainments of a rational, a friendly, and a religious nature, which you yourself think you may find in me, merely that you may eat and drink more sumptuously, and wear better clothes, with some of those people whom the word of God already brands as fools. Madam, I must presume so far as to say that it is neither the part of a Christian nor a friend to keep me in such a continual uneasiness. You unfit me for business, devotion, or company; and, in short, make my very life burdensome by the inconsistency of your behaviour. Let me, therefore, most earnestly entreat you not entirely to dismiss me, which God forbid, but resolutely to remember your promises, and not to allow yourself those unbounded liberties of saying every thing that the vanity of your own dear excellent heart may prompt you to utter, without considering how I am able to bear it. As for what you said at parting, that I have a relish for the vanities of life, I own that I regard them too much. But, I bless God, such is not the governing temper of my mind; and that I can say with full assurance, that I know how to postpone them, not only to my duty to God, but to my affection for you; and I think you may easily believe it when I now give it under my hand, as you had it yesterday from my mouth, that I will willingly and thankfully take you with what your father and mother will give you, if by any means there be a prospect of the necessary comforts of life. I remain, dear madam, your sincere lover and respectful ser

vant."

By our next, it appears that the Doctor's fair one had exhibited symptoms of relenting, and he becomes, in consequence, exceedingly fervent in his affection:

ANOTHER LOVE LETTER BY DR Doddridge.

The Diary and Correspondence of Dr Doddridge, which has just appeared, and which is edited by his greatgrandson, is rather startling in many respects; and we question the prudence which has induced the worthy Doctor's descendant to give to the world so many of the private and confidential writings of his ancestor. The author of the "Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul" appears to have had his weaknesses like other men, and we regret that they should be laid before us at this time of day, interfering, as they must do, with the sanctity which has been long attached to his name. One of its apologists, however, thus speaks of the present volume, and it "My heart for a considerable time had been so entirely is but fair that he should be heard:-" The character of swallowed up with affection for you, that you became in a the letters is that of great simplicity, unquestionable inno-ed my thoughts and my discourse. Even when you were manner my all. In every moment of leisure, you engrosscence, and sincere zeal in his studies, his devotion, and absent, you mingled yourself with all my studies. You dehis cause. Some of them exhibit (the characteristic of termined by your smile and your frown, whether I should the man throughout life) a playfulness, which, with the be either sprightly and cheerful, or distracted with care giddy, would be levity, and with the corrupt would be and anxiety, unfit for devotion, for study, for conversation, vice; but which, with the unformed and rustic spirit of or usefulness; nay, God forgive me, when I confess, that Doddridge, was merely the overflowing of a guileless dis- where his blessed self, and the most important objects of position, and no more connected with culpability than the religion, and the highest hopes a creature can form, had one thought, you at least had ten. The hope of obtaining you, gambolings of a child or a kitten. Some of his effusions and the fear of losing you, affected me more sensibly than are childlike enough; and it may be a question whether the thoughts of a happy or a miserable eternity. And was the dignity of his future years is not a little impaired, by this, madam, the temper of a Christian or a minister? this insight into the pettings and fond fooleries of his Was this a proper course to engage the favourable interpoyouth. But if the force of the physiognomy be not thus sition of Providence to determine this dear affair according preserved, the exactness of the resemblance is more comto my wishes? When I read Mr Baxter's excellent Treatise on Self-Denial, and being crucified to the world, and plete; and truth, the living spirit of biography, is the examined my temper by it, though, I bless God I found a result of this impartial exposure." Be this as it may, the great deal to be thankful for upon other accounts, yet when author of the "Rise and Progress of Religion in the I turned my thoughts to you, I could not but continually Soul" seems to have known something of the rise and condemn myself: not that I loved you better than any

« السابقةمتابعة »