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or grandchild, brother, sister, or kinsman, young, or old, rich or poor, of what degree or condition soever, look upon his face, save the ancient maid, whose name was Elizabeth. She only made his fire, prepared his bed, provided his diet, and dressed his chambers. She saw him but seldom, never but in cases of extraordinary necessity, and died not above six days before him. In all the time of his retirement he never tasted fish or flesh; his chief food was oatmeal gruel; now and then, in summer, he had a salad of some choice cool herbs; and for dainties, when he would feast himself upon a high day, he would eat the yoke of a hen's egg, but no part of the white; what bread he did eat, he cut out of the middle of the loaf, but the crust he never tasted; his constant drink was four shilling beer, and no other, for he never tasted wine, or strong water. Now and then, when his stomach served, he did eat some kind of suckets; and now and then drank red cow's milk which his maid Elizabeth fetched him out of the fields, hot from the cow. Nevertheless, he kept a bountiful table for his servants, and sufficient entertainment for any stranger or tenant who had occasion of business at his house. Every book that was printed was bought for him, and conveyed to him; but such as related to controversy he always laid aside, and never read. In Christmas holidays, at Easter, and other festivals, he had great cheer provided; with all dishes in season, served into his own chamber, with store of wine, which his maid brought in. Then, after thanks to God for his good benefits, he would pin a clean napkin before him, and putting on a pair of white Holland sleeves, which reached to his elbows, cutting up dish after dish in order, he would send one to one poor neighbour, the next to another, whether it were brawn, beef, capon goose, &c. till he had left the table quite empty; when, giving thanks again, he laid by his linen, and caused the cloth to be taken away; and this would he do, dinner and supper, upon these days, without tasting one morsel of anything whatsoever. When any clamoured impudently at his gate, they were not, therefore, immediately relieved; but when, from his private chamber, which had a prospect into the street, he spied any sick, weak, or lame, he would presently send after them to comfort, cherish, and strengthen them; and not a trifle to serve them for the present, but so much as would relieve them many days after. He would moreover inquire what neighbours were industrious in their callings, and who had great charge of children; and withal, if their labour and industry could not sufficiently supply their families, to such he would liberally send, and relieve them according to their necessities. He died at his house in Grub Street, after an anchoretical confinement of forty-four years, Oct. 29, 1636, aged eighty-four. At his death his hair and beard were so overgrown, that he appeared rather like a hermit of the wilderness, than the inhabitant of one of the first cities of the world.


Ludicrous description of a "timid gentleman's"
journey by coach.

JEAN PAUL RICHTER, one of the worthies of German literature, died not long ago. Samples of his genius, and a masterly criticism upon it, (which we have read twice over for the mere pleasure received from the force and abundance of the thinking) are given in the third volume of Mr. Carlyle's Specimens of Ger

man Romances, from which the following passage is taken. We are much mistaken if we are hazarding the usual perils of an overweening introducer of a jest, when we candidly express our anticipations of the reader's hearty laughter. There is caricature enough, but like all Richter's caricatures, it is grounded on the deepest and kindliest knowledge of real character, kindliness and depth being indeed necessary accompaniments in a man's knowledge of his fellow-creatures. But how he can go heaping one extravagance upon another, in this successful way, is amazing, (for there is a whole seventy pages full of it). We think, every instant, that nothing further can be piled upon the joke, like children seeing a tower of cards threatening to topple over; when lo! another story, and another yet is achieved, to their delighted astonishment, and hand-clapping bursts of laughter. Perhaps, from what little we have been enabled to see of the genius of Jean Paul (for the Germans love to designate him by his Christian names, as the French do Rousseau) a general idea of it may be given by supposing him a sort of prose Shakspeare, acting the part of one his own Fools. In the book before us he unites Rabelais with the author of the Anatomy of Melancholy.

The twenty-second of July, on Wednesday, about five in the afternoon, (quoth the "magnanimous mouse" Schmelzle, for he relates his own exploit) was now, by the way-bill of the regular post-coach, irrevocably fixed for my departure. I had still half a day to order my house; from which, for two nights and two days and a half, my breast, its breast work and palisado, was now, along with myself, to be withdrawn. Besides this, my good wife Bergelchen, as I call my Teutoberga, was immediately to travel after me on Friday the twentyfourth, in order to see and make purchases at the yearly fair; nay, she was ready to have gone along with me, the faithful spouse. I therefore assembled my little knot of domestics, and promulgated to them the household law and valedictory rescript, which after my departure, in the first place before the outset of my wife, and in the second place after this outset, they had rigorously to obey; explaining to them, especially, whatever, in case of conflagrations, housebreakings, thunder-storms, or transit of troops, it would behove them to do. To my wife I delivered an inventory of the best goods in our little register ship; which goods, she, in case the house took fire, had in the first place to secure. I ordered her on stormy nights (the peculiar thief-weather), to put our Eolian harp in the window, that so any villainous prowler might imagine I was fantasying on my instrument, and therefore awake; for like reasons also, to take the house-dog in doors by day, that he might sleep then, and so be livelier by night. I further counselled her to have an eye on the focus of every knot in the panes of the stable window, nay, on every glass of water she might set down in the house, as I had already often recounted to her examples of such incidental burning glasses having set whole buildings in flames. I then appointed her the hour when she was to set out on Friday morning to follow me; and recapitulated more emphatically the household precepts, which, prior to her departure, she must afresh inculcate on her domestics. My dear heart-sound, blooming Berga, answered her faithful lord, as it seemed, very seriously: "Go thy ways, little old one; it shall be done all as smooth as velvet. Wert thou but away! There is no end of thee!" Her brother, my brother-in-law, the dragocn, for whom, out of complaisance, I had paid the coach-fare, in order to have in the vehicle along with me a stout swordsman and hector, as spiritual relative and bully-rock, so to speak; the dragoon I say, on hearing these my regulations, puckered up (which I easily forgave the wild soldier and bachelor) his sun-burnt face considerably into ridicule, and said, "Were I in thy place, sister, I should do what I liked, and then afterwards take a peep into these regulation papers of his."

"Oh!" answered I: "misfortune'may conceal itself like a scorpion in any corner. I might say that we are like children, who looking at their gaily-painted toy-box, soon pull off the lid, and, pop! out springs a mouse who has young ones."


Mouse, mouse!" said he, stepping up and down. "But, good brother, it is five o'clock; and you will find when you return that all looks exactly as it does to day; the dog like the dog, and my sister like a pretty woman; allons done!" It was purely his blame, that I, fearing his misconception, had not previously made a sort of testament.

I now packed in two different sorts of medicines,
heating as well as cooling, against two different pos-
sibilities; also my old splints for arm or leg break-
ages, in case the coach overset; and (out of foresight)
two times the money I was likely to need. Only
here I could have wished, so uncertain is the stowage
of such things, that I had been an ape with cheek-

pouches, or some sort of opossum with a natural bag,
that so I might have deposited these necessaries of
existence in pockets which were sensitive. Shaving is
a task I always go through before setting out on
journeys; having a rational mistrust against stranger
blood-thirsty barbers; but on this occasion, I re-
tained my beard; since, however close shaved, it
would have grown again by the road to such a length,
that I could have fronted no minister and general
with it.

With a vehement emotion, I threw myself on the pith-heart of my Berga, and, with a still more vehement one, tore myself away: in her, however, this our first marriage separation, seemed to produce less lamentation than triumph, less consternation than rejoicing; simply because she turned her eye not half so much on the parting as on the meeting, and the journey after me, and the wonder of the Fair. Yet she threw and hung herself on my somewhat long and thin neck, almost painfully, being indeed a too fleshy and weighty load, and said to me, "Whisk thee off quick my charming Attel (Attila), and trouble thy head with no cares by the way, thou singular man. A whiff or two of ill luck we can stand, by God's help, so long as my father is no beggar. And for thee, Franz," continued she, turning with some heat to her brother, "I leave my Attel on thy soul; thou well-knowest, thou wild fly, what I will do, if thou play the fool, and leave him any where in the lurch." Her meaning here was good, and I could not take it ill to you also, my friends, her wealth and her openheartedness are nothing new.


Melted into sensibility, I said, "Now Berga, if there be a reunion appointed for us, surely it is either in Heaven or in Flaetz, and, I hope in God, the latter." With these words we whirled stoutly away. I looked round through the back windows of my coach at my good little village of Neusattel, and it seemed to me, in my melting mood, as if steeples were rising aloft like an epitaphium over my life, or over my body, perhaps to return a lifeless corpse. "How will it all be," thought I, when thou at last, after two or three days, comest back?" And now I noticed my Bergelchen! looking after us from the garret window. I leaned far out of the coach-door, and her falcon eye instantly distinguished my head; kiss on kiss she threw with both hands after the carriage, as it rolled down into the valley. "Thou true-hearted wife!" thought I, "how is thy lowly birth by thy spiritual new birth, made forgetable, nay remarkable!"

I must confess the assemblage and conversational picnic of the stage-coach was much less to my taste; the whole of them suspicious, unknown rabble, whom (as markets usually do) the Flätz cattle market was alluring by its scent. I dislike becoming acquainted with strangers; not so my brother-in-law, the dragoon; who now, as he always does, had in a few minutes elbowed himself into close quarter with the whole raggamuffin posse of them. Beside me sat a person, who, in all human probability, was a harlot ; on her breast, a Dwarf, intending to exhibit himself at the fair; on the other side was a Ratcatcher gazing at me; and a Blind Passenger, in a red mantle, had joined us down in the valley. No one of them, except my brother-in-law, pleased me. That rascals among these people would not study me and my properties and accidents, to entangle me in their snares, no man could be my surety. In strange places, I even, out of prudence, avoid looking up at any jailwindow; because some losel, sitting behind the bars, may in a moment call down out of mere malice, "How goes it, comrade Schmelzle?" or further, because any lurking catchpole may fancy I am planning a rescue for some confederate above. From another sort of prudence, a little different from this, I also make a point of never turning round when any body calls "Thief!" after me.

As to the Dwarf himself, I had no objection to his travelling with me, whithersoever he pleased; but he thought to raise a particular delectation in our minds, by promising that his Pollux and Brother in Trade, who was also making for the Fair to exhibit himself, would by midnight with his elephantine face, infallibly overtake the coach, and plant himself among us, or behind, on the outside. Both these noodles, it appeared, are in the habit of going in company to fairs, as reciprocal exaggerators of opposite magnitudes. The Dwarf is the convex magnifying glass of the Giant, the Giant the concave diminishing glass of the Dwarf. Nobody expressed much joy at the prospective arrival of this Anti-Dwarf, except my brother-in-law, who, (if I may venture on a play of words), seems made, like a clock, solely for the purpose of striking, and once actually said to me: "That if in the upper world he could not get a soul to curry and touzle by a time, he would rather go to the under, where most probably there would be plenty of cuffing, and to spare." The Ratcatcher, besides the circumstance that no man can prepossess us much in his favour, who lives solely by poisoning, like this Destroying Angel of Rats, this Mouse-Atropos-and also, which is still worse, that such a fellow bids fair to become an increaser of the vermin of the kingdom, the moment he may cease to be a lessener of it-besides all this, I say, the present Ratcatcher had many baneful features about him; first, his stabbing look,

piercing you like a stiletto; then the lean sharp bony

visage, conjoined with his enumeration of his considerable stock of poisons; then (for I hated him more and more), his sly stillness, his sly smile, as if in some corner he noticed a mouse, as he would notice a man! To me, I declare, though usually I take not the slightest exception against people's looks, it seemed at last as if his throat were a Dog-grotto, a Grotta del Cane, his cheek bones cliffs and breakers, his hot breath the wind of a calcining furnace, and his black hairy breast a kiln for parching and roasting. Nor was I far wrong, I believe; for soon after this, he began quite coolly to inform the company, in which were a dwarf and a female, that in his time he had, not without enjoyment, run ten men through the body; had with great convenience hewn off a dozen men's arms; slowly split four heads, torn out two hearts, and more of the like sort; while none of them, otherwise persons of spirit, had in the least resisted: "but why?" added he, with a poisonous smile, and taking the hat from his odious bald pate; "I am invulnerable. Let any of the company that chuses lay as much fire on my crown as he likes; I shall not mind it."

My brother-in-law, the dragoon, directly kindled his tinder-box, and put a heap of the burning matter on the ratcatcher's pole; but the fellow stood it as if it had been a mere picture of fire, and the two looked expectingly at one another; and the former smiled very foolishly, saying, "It was simply pleasant to him, like a good warming plaister; for this was always the wintry region of his body."

Here the dragoon groped a little on the naked skull, and cried with amazement, that "it was as cold as a kneepan."

But now the fellow to our horror, after some preparations, actually lifted off the quarter skull, and held it out to us saying; "He had sawed it off a murderer, his own having accidentally been broken;" and withal explained that the stabbing and arm cutting he had talked of was to be understood as a jest, seeing that he had merely done it in the character of Famulus at an Anatomical Theatre. However, the jester seemed to rise little in favour with any of us; and for my part, as he put his brain-lid and sham skull on again, I thought to myself; "This dungbed-bell has changed its place, but not the hemlock it was made to cover."

Further, I could not but reckon it a suspicious circumstance that he as well as all the company, (the blind Passenger too), were making for this very Flatz, to which I myself was bound: much good I could not expect of this; and, in truth, turning home again would have been as pleasant to me as going on, had I not rather felt a pleasure in defying the future.

I come now to the Red-mantled Blind Passenger; most probably an Emigré or Refugée; for he speaks German not worse than he does French; and his name, I think, was Jean Pierre or Jean Paul, or some such thing, if indeed he had any name. His red cloak, notwithstanding this his identity of colour with the hangman, would, in itself, have remained heartily indifferent to me; had it not been for this singular circumstance, that he had already five times, contrary to all expectation, come upon me in different towns (in Great Berlin, in Little Hof, in Coburg, Meiningen, and Bayreuth), and each of these times had looked at me significantly enough and then gone his way. Whether this Jean Pierre is dogging me with hostile intent or not I cannot say; but to our fancy, at any rate, no object can be gratifying that thus, with corps of observation or out of loop holes, holds and aims at us with muskets, which for year after year it shall move to this side and that, without our knowing on whom it is to fire. Still more offensive did Red-cloak become to me, when he began to talk about his soft mildness of soul; a thing which seemed either to betoken pumping you or undermining you.

I replied, "Sir, I am just come with my brother-inlaw here, from the field of battle, (the last affair was at Pimpelstadt), and so perhaps am too much of a humour for fire, pluck, and war-fury; and to many a one, who happens to have a roaring waterspout of a heart, it may be well if his clerical character (which is mine) rather enjoins on him mildness than wildness. However, all mildness has its iron limit. If any thoughtless dog chance to anger me, in the first heat of rage I kick my foot through him; and after me, my good brother here will perhaps drive matters twice as far, for he is the man to do it. Perhaps it may be singular; but I confess, I regret to this day, that once when a boy I received three blows from another, without tightly returning them; and I often feel as if I must still pay them to his descendants. In sooth, if I but chance to see a child running off like a dastard from the weak attack of a child like himself, I cannot for my life understand his running, and can scarcely keep from interfering to save him by a decisive knock."

The Passenger in the meanwhile was smiling, not in the best fashion. He gave himself out for a Legations-Rath, and seemed fox enough for such a post; but a mad fox will, in the long run, bite me as rabidly as a mad wolf will. For the rest, I calmly went on with my eulogy on courage; only that, instead of ludicrous gasconading, which directly betrays the coward, I purposely expressed myself in words at once cool, clear, and firm.

"I am altogether for Montaigne's advice," said I; "Fear nothing but fear."

"I again," replied the Legations-man, with useless wire-drawing, "I should fear again that I did not sufficiently fear fear, but continued too dastardly.

"To this fear also," replied I coldly, "I set limits. A man, for instance, may not in the least believe in, or be afraid of ghosts; and yet by night may bathe himself in cold sweat, and this purely out of terror at the dreadful fright he should be in, (especially with what whiff of epileptics, falling-sicknesses, and so forth, he might be visited) in case, simply, his own too vivid fancy should create any wild fever image, and hang up in the air before him."

"One should not, therefore," added my brotherin-law, the dragoon, contrary to his custom moralizing a little, "one should not bamboozle the poor sheep, man, with any ghost tricks; the hen heart may die on the spot."

A loud storm of thunder overtaking the stagecoach altered the discourse. You, my friends, knowing me as a man not quite destitute of some tincture of natural philosophy, will easily guess my precautions against thunder. I place myself on a chair in the middle of the room (often, when suspicious clouds are out, I stay whole nights upon it), and by careful removal of all conductors, rings, buckles, and so forth, I here sit thunder-proof, and listen with a cool spirit to this clementary music of the cloud kettledrum. These precautions have never harmed me, for I am still alive at this date; and to the present hour

I congratulate myself on once hurrying out of church, though I had confessed but the day previous; and running without more ceremony, and before I had received the sacrament, into the charnel-house, because a heavy thunder-cloud (which did, in fact, strike the church-yard linden tree) was hovering over it. So soon as the cloud had disloaded itself, I returned from the charnel-house into the church, and was happy enough to come in after the hangman, (usually the last), and so still participate in the Feast

of Love.


Such, for my own part, is my manner of proceeding; but in the full stage-coach I met with men to whom natural philosophy was no philosophy at all. For, when the clouds gathered dreadfully together over our coach canopy, and sparkling, began to play through the air, like so many fire-flies, and I at last could not but request that the sweating coachconclave would at least bring out their watches, rings, money, and such like, and put them all into one of the carriage-pockets, that none of us might have a conductor on his body, not only would no one of them do it, but my own brother-in-law, the dragoon, even sprang out, with naked drawn sword, and swore that he would conduct the thunder all away himself. Nor do I know whether this desperate mortal was not acting prudently; for our position within was frightful, and any one of us might every moment be a dead At last, to crown all, I got into a half altercation with two of the rude members of our leathern household, the Poisoner and the Harlot; seeing by their questions, they almost gave me to understand, that, in our conversational pic-nic, especially with the Blind Passenger, I had not always come off with the best share. Such an imputation wounds your honour to the quick, and in my breast there was a thunder louder than that above us; however, I was obliged to carry on the needful exchange of sharp words as quietly and slowly as possible; and I quarrelled softly and in a low tone, lest in the end a whole coachful of people, set in arms against each other, might get into heat and perspiration; and so, by vapour steaming through the coach-roof, conduct the too near thunderbolt down into the midst of us. At last I laid before the company the whole theory of electricity, in clear words, but low and slow, (striving to avoid all emission of vapour); and especially endeavoured to frighten them away from fear. For, indeed, through fear, the stroke-nay, two strokes, the electric or the apoplectic-might hit any one of proved, that violent fear, by the transpiration it us; since in Exleben and Reimarus, it is sufficiently causes, may attract the lightening. I accordingly, in some fear of my own, and other people's fear, represented to the passengers that how in a coach so hot and crowded, with a drawn sword on the coach-box piercing the very lightening, with the thunder cloud hanging over us, and even with so many transpirations from incipient fear; in short, with such visible danger on every hand, they must absolutely fear nothing, if they would not, all and sundry, be smitten to death in a few minutes.

"O heaven!" cried I, "Courage! only courage! No fear, not even fear of fear! Would you have Providence to shoot you here sitting, like so many hares hunted into a pinfold? Fear, if you like, when you are out of the coach; fear to your heart's content in other places, where there is less to be afraid of; only not here, not here!"

I shall not determine, since among millions scarcely one man dies by thunder-clouds, but millions perhaps by snow-clouds, and rain-clouds, and thin mist -whether my coach-sermon would have made any claim to a prize for man-saving; however, at last, all uninjured, and driving towards a rain-bow, we entered the town of Vierstadten, where dwelt a post-master, in the street which the place had.

The Postmaster was a churl and a striker; a class of mortals whom I inexpressibly detest, as my fancy always whispers to me, in their presence, that by accident or dislike, I might happen to put on a scornful or impertinent look, and hound these mastiffs on my throat Happily, in this case, (supposing I had even made a wrong face), I could have shielded myself with the dragoon; for whose giant force such matters are a tidbit. This brother-in-law of mine, for example, cannot pass any tavern where he hears a sound of battle, without entering, and, as he crosses the threshold, shouting, "Peace, dogs!"—and therewith, under show of a peace deputation, he directly snatches up the first chair leg in his hand, as if it were an American peace columet, and cuts to the right and left among the belligerent powers, or he gnashes the hard heads of the partics together (he himself takes no side), catching each by the hind lock; in such cases, the rogue is in heaven.

I, for my part, rather avoid discrepant circles, than seek them; as I likewise avoid all dead or killed people: the prudent man easily foresees what is to be got by them; either vexation or injurious witnessing, or often even (when circumstances conspire) painful investigation, and suspicion of your being an accomplice.

In Vierstadten nothing of importance presented itself, except to my horror, a dog without a tail, which came running along the town or street. In the first fire of passion at this sight I pointed it out

to the passengers, and then put the question, whether they could reckon a system of Medical Police well arranged, which, like this of Vierstadten, allowed dogs openly to scour about, when their tails were wanting?

What am I to do," said I, "when this member is cut away, and any such beast comes running towards me, and I cannot, either by the tail being cocked up or drawn in, since the whole is snipt off, come to any conclusion whether the vermin is mad or not? In this way, the most prudent man may be bit, and become rabid, and so make shipwreck purely for want of a tail compass."

The blind passenger (he now got himself inscribed as a seeing one, God knows for what objects) had heard my observation; which he now spun out in my presence almost into ridicule, and at last awakened in me the suspicion, that by an overdone flattery in imitating my style of speech, he meant to banter me: "The dog-tail," said he, "is, in truth, an alarmbeacon and finger post for us, that we come not even into the outmost precincts of madness; cut away from comets their tails, from Bashaws their's, from crabs their's (outstretched it denotes that they are burst); and in the most dangerous predicaments of life we are left without clew, without indicator, without hand in margine; and we perish not so much as knowing how."

For the rest, this stage passed over without quarrelling or peril. About ten o'clock, the whole party, including even the postillion, myself excepted, fell asleep. I indeed pretended to be sleeping, that I might observe whether some one, for his own good reasons, might not also be pretending it; but all continued snoring; the moon threw its brightening beams on nothing but down-pressed eyelids.

I had now a glorious opportunity of following Lavater's counsel, to apply the physiognomical ellwand especially to sleepers, since sleep, like death, expresses the genuine form in coarser lines. Other sleepers, not in stage-coaches, I think it less advisable to mete with this ellwand; having always an apprehension lest some fellow, but pretending to be asleep, may, the instant I am near enough, start up as in a dream, and deceitfully plant such a knock on the physiognomical mensurator's own facial structure, as to exclude it for ever from appearing in any Physiognomical Fragments (itself being reduced to one) either in the stippled or line style. Nay, might not the most honest sleeper in the world, just while you are in hand with his physiognomical dissection, lay about him, spurred on by honour, in some cudgelling scene he may be dreaming; and in a few instants of clapperclawing and kicking, and trampling, lull you into a much more lasting sleep than that out of which he was awakened?

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In my Adumbrating Magic Lantern, as I have named the work, the whole physiognomical contents of this same sleeping stage-coach will be given to the world: there I shall explain to you at large how the poisoner with the murder-cupola, appeared to me devil-like; the dwarf old child-like; the harlot languidly shameless; my brother-in-law peacefully satisfied, with revenge or food; and the legations-rath, Jean Pierre, heaven only knows why, like a half angel, though, perhaps it might be because only the fair body, not the other half, the soul, which had passed away in sleep, was affecting me.

I had almost forgotten to mention that in a little village, while my brother-in-law and the postillion were sitting at their liquor, I happily fronted a small terror, Destiny having twice been on my side. Not far from a hunting-box, beside a pretty clump of trees, I noticed a white tablet, with a black inscription on it. This gave me hopes that perhaps some little monumental piece, some pillar of honour, somr battle memento,* might here be awaiting me. Ovee an untrodden flowery tangle, I reach the black on white; and to my horror and amazement, I decypher in the moonshine; Beware of Spring guns! Thus was I standing, perhaps half a nail's breadth from the trigger, with which, if I but stirred my heel, I should shoot myself off like a forgotten ramrod into the other world, beyond the verge of time!

The first thing I did was to clutch down my toenails, to bite, and, as it were, eat myself into the ground with them; since I might at least continue in warm life so long as I pegged my body firmly beside the atropos- scissors and hangman's block, which lay beside me; then I endeavoured to recollect by what steps the fiend had led me hither unshot, but in my agony I had perspired the whole of it, and could recollect nothing. In the devil's village close at hand there was no dog to be seen and called to, who might have plucked me from the water; and my brother-in-law and the postillion were both carousing with full can. However, I summoned my courage and determination; wrote down on a leaf of my pocket-book my last will, the accidental manner of my death, and my dying remembrance of Berga, and then, with full sail, flew helter-skelter through the midst of it the shortest way; expecting at every step to awaken the murderous engine, and thus to clap over my still long candle of life the bonsoir, or, extinguisher, with my own hand. However, I got off without shot. In the tavern, indeed, there was more

* Our hero was an army-chaplain !

pious exercises and ejaculations in his behalf. When, all was over, the prior entered into a serious conversation with M. St. Gille, and on the strength of what had just passed inveighed against the absurd incredulity of modern sceptics and pretended philosophers in regard to ghosts or apparitions. M. St. Gille thought it now time to undeceive the good fathers. This, however, he found it very difficult to effect till he prevailed upon them to return with them into the church, and there be witnesses of the manner in which he had conducted this ludicrous deception. In consequence of three memoirs presented by the author to the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris,

in which he communicated to them the observations he had collected upon the subject of ventriloquism in general, and those he had made on M. St. Gille in particular, that learned body deputed two of its members, M. de Fouchy and M. le Roi, to accompany him to St. Germain-en-Laye, in order to verify the facts, and make observation on the nature and causes of

this extroardinary faculty. In the course of this inquiry a very singular plan was laid and executed, to put M. St. Gille's powers of deception to the trial, by engaging him to exert them in the presence of a large party, consisting of the commissioners of the Academy, and some persons of the first quality, who were to dine in the open forest near St. Germain-enLaye, on a particular day. All the members of this party were in the secret, except a certain countess, who was pilched upon as a proper victim to M. St. Gille's delusive powers, as she knew nothing even of M. St. Gille or of ventriloquism; and we may imagine, perhaps, for another reason, which the Abbé, through politeness, suppresses. She had been told in general that this party had been formed in consequence of a report that an aërial spirit had lately established itself in the forest of St. Germaine-en-Laye, and that a grand deputation from the Academy of Sciences were to pass the day there, to enquire into the reality of the fact.'

then one fool to laugh at me; because, forsooth, what none but a fool could know, this notice had stood there for the last ten years, without any gun, as guns often do without any notice. But so it is, my friends, with our game police, which warns against all things, only not against warnings.


SOME people (saith our authority, an old magazine) possess the art of speaking inwardly, having the power of forming speech by drawing the air into their lungs, and of modifying the voice in such a manner as to make it seem to proceed from any distance, or in any direction. This art of vocal deception is called Ventriloquism. The public of late years have had their acquaintance with it renewed by means of the admirable Entertainments of Mr. Mathews; but never, we believe, were such triumphant exhibitions of it as are related in the following anecdote, furnished about fifty years since by the Abbe de la Chapelle, of the French Academy.

This gentleman having heard many surprising circumstances related concerning one M. St. Gille, a grocer at St. Germain-en-Laye, near Paris, whose astonishing powers as a ventriloquist had given occasion to many singular and diverting scenes, formed the resolution to see him. Struck by the many marvellous anecdotes related concerning him, the Abbe judged it necessary to ascertain the truth by the testimony of his own senses, and then to inquire into the cause and manner by which the phenomena were produced.

The Abbe having waited upon M. St. Gille and informed him of his design, was very cordially received. He was conducted into a parlour on the ground floor, and M. St. Gille and himself sate on the opposite sides of a small fire, with only a table between them, the author keeping his eyes fixed on M. St. Gille all the time. Half-an-hour had passed, during which that gentleman diverted the Abbe with many comic scenes to which he had given occasion by his talents, when all of a sudden the Abbé heard himself called by his name and title, in a voice that seemed to come from the roof of a house at a distance. He was almost petrified with astonishment; but recollecting himself, and asking M. St. Gille whether he had not given him a specimen of his art, he was answered only by a smile. But while the Abbé was pointing to the house from which the voice had appeared to him to proceed, his surprise was encreased on hearing himself answered, "it was not from that quarter," apparently in the same kind of voice as before, but which now seemed to issue from the earth, at one of the corners of the room. In short, this fictitious voice played, as it were, every where about him, and seemed to proceed from any quarter or distance from which the ventriloquist chose to transmit it to him. The illusion was so very strong, that prepared as the Abbé was for this kind of conversation, his senses were incapable of undeceiving him; though conscious that the voice proceeded from the mouth of M. St. Gille, that gentleman appeared absolutely mute while exercising his talent, nor could the author perceive any change in his countenance. He observed, however, at this first visit, that M. St. Gille contrived, but without any affectation, to present only the profile of his face to him while he was speaking as a ventriloquist.

The next experiment of this ventriloquist was no less curious. M. St. Gille being on his way home from a place to which he had been on business, sought shelter from an approaching thunder storm in a neighbouring convent. Finding the whole community in mourning, he inquired the cause, and was told that one of their body had lately died who was the ornament and delight of the society. To pass away the time, he walked into the church attended by some of the monks, who shewed him the tomb of their deceased brother; and spoke freely of the scanty honours bestowed on his memory. Suddenly a voice is heard, apparently proceeding from the roof of the choir, lamenting the situation of the deceased in purgatory, and reproaching the brotherhood with their lukewarmness and want of zeal on his account. The friars, as soon as their astonishment gave them power to speak, consulted together, and agreed to acquaint the rest of the community with this singular event, so interesting to the whole society.

M. St. Gille, who wished to carry on the joke still further, disuaded them from taking this step, telling them that they would be treated by their absent brethren as a set of fools or visionaries. He, however, advised them to call the whole community immediately into the church; where the ghost of their departed brother might probably repeat his complaints. Accordingly, all the friars, novices, laybrothers, and even the domestics of the convent were summoned and collected together. In a short time, the voice from the roof renewed its lamentations and reproaches, and the whole convent fell on their faces and vowed a solemn reparation. As a preliminary step, they chaunted a de profundis, in full choir, during the intervals of which the ghost occasionally expressed the comfort he recieved from their

M. St. Gille, it may be readily conceived, was one of this select party. Previously to his joining the company in the forest he completely deceived even one of the commissioners of the Academy who was then walking from them, and whom he accidentally met. Just as he was abreast of him, prepared and guarded as he was against a deception of this kind, he verily believed that he heard his associate, M. de Fouchy, who was then with the company above one hundred yards distance, calling after him to return as expeditiously as possible. His valet too, after repeating to his master the purport of M. de Fouchy's supposed exclamation, turned about towards the company, and with the greatest simplicity imaginable, bauled out as loud as he could in answer to him, "Yes, sir!"

After this successful beginning the company sate down to dinner, and the aerial spirit, who had been previously furnished with proper anecdotes respecting company, soon began to address the countess, in a voice that seemed to be in the air over their heads; sometimes it spoke to her from the tops of the trees around them, or from the surface of the ground at a pretty large distance; and at other times, seemed to speak from a considerable distance under her feet. During dinner the spirit seemed to be absolutely inexhaustible in the gallantries he adressed to her, though he sometimes said civil things to another lady. This kind of conversation lasted about two hours, and the countess was firmly persuaded, as the rest of the company affected to be, that this was the voice of an aërial spirit. Nor would she, as the author affirms, have been undeceived, had not the rest of the company, by their unguarded behaviour, at length excited in her some suspicions. The little plot against her was then owned, and she acknowledged herself to be mortified only in being waked from a delicious delusion.

Several other instances of M. St. Gille's talents are related. The author, in his course of inquiries on this subject, was informed that the Baron de Mengen, a German nobleman, possessed the same art in a very high degree. The baron constructed a little puppet or doll, the lower jaw of which he moved by a particular contrivance with this doll he used to hold a

spirited kind of dialogue, in the course of which the little virago became so impertinent, that he was at last obliged to thrust her into his pocket, where she seemed, to those present, to grumble and complain of her hard treatment.

The Baron, being at the court of Bareuth, along with the Prince of Deux Ponts, and other noblemen, amused himself with this scene. An Irish officer, then present, was so firmly pursuaded that the Baron's doll was a living animal previously taught by him to repeat these responses, that he watched an opportunity at the close of the dialogue, and suddenly made an attempt to snatch it from his pocket. The little doll, as if in danger of being suffocated during the struggle occasioned by this attempt, called out for help and screamed incessantly from the pocket, till the officer desisted. She then became silent, and the Baron was obliged to take her out, to convince him by handling, that she was a mere piece of wood.

THE GERMAN PRINCE'S ACCOUNT OF HIS VOYAGE IN A BALLOON. THE "German Prince," with whom the public became so agreeably acquainted under that title by means of his "Tour," and who was supposed to be dead at one time, and "somebody else" at another, (some said an Irish officer) is now known to be Prince PücklerMuskau, a Silesian nobleman, whose ancestors were among the petty feudatories of the German empire. He is a man of lively and even great talents, a little too much used by the world, and spoilt by the combination of all sorts of advantages, for want of a necessity of bestirring himself, and from being a prince, and handsome. He can think, write, and act; and has killed his man in single combat between two armies, like a hero of chivalry; but then he must needs intimate to us his conquests among the ladies; and being an universalist, he thinks it incumbent upon him (as well as pleasant) to be a gourmand, and to imitate the narrowness as well as the enlargement of any idol of the day, who thought his perfections required, or warranted, a set off of infirmity. So, at least, we may gather from his writings; and such, and more, his enemies aver him to be, probably without reason; for it is plain, even from his self-committals, from his cultivation of a natural piety, and the good which he does to the people on his estate, that a great deal of goodheartedness, and real fineness of nature, is mixed up with a doubtful shewiness; and his "Tour" has a power of reflection in it, as well as a brilliance of manner, rarely to be met with in books of travels, or in any books.

In the following account we see the restless man of pleasure, eager for enjoyment in any shape, especially that which shall help him to cut a figure. But we see also the gallant spirit, and the observer worthy of nature. The passage is taken from the two volumes of miscellanies, or short pieces, by him, a translation of which appeared the other day under the title of Tutti Frutti (all Fruits)-so called from a Neapolitan ice of that name.

I had scarcely recovered from a severe illness, when Mr. Richard, the æronaut, came to Berlin, and paid me a visit, for the purpose of receiving introductory letters. He is a sensible, well-informed man, and his interesting narrative awakened in me an irresistible desire to soar once in my life to the empire of the eagle.

He interposed no obstacle to the gratification of my wishes, and we decided that he should construct a balloon at my expense. Truly the sum was no bagatelle, as the different items amounted to 600 rix dollars. But, even at this rate, the pleasure I enjoyed was cheaply purchased.

The day which we selected was one of the most heayenly that could be imagined; scarcely a cloud was to be seen in the firmament; half the population of Berlin were assembled in the streets, squares, and on the roofs of the houses.

We entered the car, and out of the centre of this motley multitude ascended majestically towards the heavens. Our frail aerial bark, not much larger than a child's cradle, was surrounded by a net work, as a protection against any giddiness that might ensue; but notwithstanding the weakness which remained after my indisposition, I did not experience the slightest disagreeable sensation.

As we gently and slowly ascended, I had sufficient time to salute and receive in return the farewell salutations of my friends below. No imagination can paint anything more beautiful than the magnificent scene now disclosed to our enraptured senses. The multitude of human beings, the houses, the squares and streets, the highest towers gradually diminishing; while the deafening tumult became a gentle murmur, and finally melted into a death-like silence. The earth which we had recently left, lay extended in miniature relief beneath us; the majestic linden trees appeared like green furrows; the river Spree like a silver thread; and the gigantic poplars of the Potsdam Allée, which is several leagues in length, threw their shade over the immense plain.

We had probably ascended by this time some thousand feet, and lay softly floating in the air, when a new and more superb spectacle burst upon our delighted view. As far as the eye could compass the horizon, masses of threatening clouds were chasing each other to the immeasurable heights above; and, unlike the level appearance which they wear when seen from the earth, their entire altitude was visible in profile, expanded into the most monstrous dimensions: chains of snow-white mountains wrought into fantastic forms, seemed as if they were tumbling headlong upon us.

One colossal mass pressed upon another, encompassing us on every side, till we began to ascend more

rapidly, and soared high above them, while they now lay beneath us, rolling over one another like the billows of the sea when agitated by the violence of the storm, and obscuring the earth from our view. At intervals the fathomless abyss was occasionally illumined by the beams of the sun, and resembled for a moment the burning crater of a volcano; then new volumes rushed forward and closed up the chasm: all was strife and tumult. Here we beheld them piled on each other, white as the drifted snow, there in fearful heaps of a dark watery black; at one instant rearing towers upon towers, in the next creating a gulf at the sight of which the brain became giddy, dashing eternally onward, onward, in wild confusion. I never before witnessed anything comparable to this scene, even from the summit of the highest mountains; besides, from them the continuing chain is generally a great obstruction to the view, which, after all, is only partial; but here there was nothing to prevent the eye from ranging over the boundless expanse.

obliged to support our character of birds by roosting
length we saw an officer riding along the high road,
im the tree, for night was fast approaching. At
which caused us to renew our cries with doubled

vigour; he paused, but thinking it might be robbers,
who were endeavouring to inveigle him into the
wood, gallopped off with the rapidity of lightening;
but as we continued vociferating, he gave a heaven-
saddle, reined in his horse, and with outstretched
directed glance, discovered us, raised himself in the
neck and distended eyes, endeavoured to ascertain, if
possible, the nature of the singular nest he beheld in
the gigantic pine. At length, having satisfied himself
that we were really not of the winged creation, he
bouring town.
procured men, ladders, and a carriage from the neigh-

But as all this consumed no inconsiderable space of time, we remained perched in mid air; and it was quite dark when we arrived at Potsdam with our balloon, which, by the way, was very little injured. We took up our abode at the Hermit Hotel, at that time badly conducted, where we, alas! had ample reason to regret the loss of our supper.

The feeling of absolute solitude is rarely experienced upon the earth; but in these regions, separated from all human associations, the soul might almost fancy it had passed the confines of the grave. Nature was entirely noiseless-even the wind was silent; therefore, receiving no opposition, we gently floated along, and the lonely stillness was only interrupted by the progress of the car and its colossal ball, which, self-propelled, seemed like the roc-bird fluttering in the blue ether.

Enraptured with the novel scene, I stood up, in order to enjoy more completely the superb prospect, when Mr. Richard, with great sang froid, told me I must be seated, for that, owing to the great haste with which it had been constructed, the car was merely glued, and therefore might easily come asunder, unless we were careful.

It may readily be supposed that after receiving this intimation I remained perfectly quiet. We now commenced descending, and were several times obliged to throw out some of the ballast in order to rise again. In the meantime we dipped insensibly into the sea of clouds which enveloped us like a thick veil, and through which the sun appeared like the moon in Ossian. This illumination produced a singular effect, and continued for some time till the clouds separated, and we remained swimming about beneath the once more clear azure heavens

Shortly after, we beheld, to our great astonishment, a species of "Fata Morgana"* seated upon an immense mountain of clouds, the colossal picture of the balloon and ourselves, surrounded by myriads of variegated rainbow tints. A full half-hour the spectral reflected picture hovered constantly by our side. Each slender thread of the net work appeared distended to the size of a ship's cable, and we ourselves like two tremendous giants enthroned on the clouds.

Towards evening it again became a little hazy; our ballast was exhausted, and we fell with alarming rapidity, which my companion ascertained with his barometer, although it was not apparent to the senses. We were now surrounded for some time by a thick fog; and as we rapidly sunk through it, we beheld in a few minutes the earth beneath glowing in the most brilliant sunshine: and the towers of Potsdam, which we distinctly beheld, saluted us with a joyful carillon.

Our situation however was not so full of festivity as our reception. We had already thrown out our mantles, a roasted pheasant, and a couple of bottles of Champagne, which we had taken with us for the purpose of supping in the clouds, laughing heartily at the consternation which this proceeding would cause in any of the inhabitants of the earth who happened to be sleeping upon the turf, in case the pheasant should fall into his mouth and the wine at his feet: but we could not forbear hoping that it would not descend upon his head, as, instead of an agreeable excitement to his brain, it would act the part of a destroying thunderbolt.

We were ourselves, like the other articles, tumbling, but to our great consternation, we saw nothing beneath us but water (the various arms and lakes of the river Havel), only here and there intermixed with wood, to which we directed our course as much as possible. We approached the latter with great velocity, which appeared to me from the height like an insignificent thicket. In a few seconds we were actually hanging on one of the branches of the shrubs, for such I really believed them to be; in consequence of which I commenced making the necessary arrangements to descend, when Richard called out, "In God's name, stir not; we are entangled on the top of an immense pine!"

I could hardly believe my eyes, and it required the lapse of several seconds to convince me that what he asserted was really true, having entirely lost, in a few hours, the capacity of measuring distance.

We were most certainly perched on the highest branches of an enormous tree, and the means to descend set our inventive powers at defiance; we called, or rather shouted for help,-first in solo, then in duetto, till we began to fear that we should be

A landscape phenomenon, so called on the coast of Naples, supposed to be the work of the Fata, or Fairy Morgana. The nature of it is intimated by what follows.

Eight days afterwards, a peasant brought me my mantle, which I still preserve; and fifteen years later as I entered a Prussian post-house with the intention of sharply reprimanding the post-master for detaining good-humouredly looked at me, smiled, and then me, as I wanted a relay of horses, he came forward, suddenly exclaimed, "Good Heavens! certainly you must be the gentleman I delivered out of the balloon," adding, "at present you must wait still longer." I instantly remembered his countenance and voice, and after conversing with him for some time, I found he was an old comrade, who had fought with me in various battles, which had been the means of delivering our country from foreign dominion; tales upon tales rapidly succeeded each other, until at length the impatient and repeated blasts of the post-boy's take, what will probably prove, a last adieu. horn compelled me to press the veteran's hand, and


The following extract from Mr. Landseer's Catalogue, just published, chiefly concerns the first of these great painters; but the other two are so pleasantly brought in, under circumstances of so much moral beauty, and so honourably withal to Correggio as well as themselves, that we delight in the opportunity of linking the names of all three. There are some names and words which it is as pleasant to repeat as the most golden lines of poetry.

Mr. Landseer's book (for a book it is, and a good sized one,) is entitled A Descriptive, Explanatory, and Critical Catalogue of Fifty of the Earliest Pictures contained in the National Gallery of Great Britain.* It is to be followed by another volume. We have not yet read a third of it, but we shall go through it, every bit, being almost as great devourers of works the colours, &c., as we go, as if they were so much on painting as those on poetry, and almost tasting golden jelly, or ambrosia dipped in rainbows. All we require in the critic is, that he should have some relish himself, and be in earnest; and Mr. Landseer has a good deal of relish, and is unquestionably zealous for the real interests of art. We do not agree hitherto, with all his conclusions, still less in his thinking that love and hate are identified in this or any other zeal, (a figment trumped up by some splenetic men of genius to excuse their pugnacity; for nobody hates what he thoroughly understands; he sees too much reason to excuse and pity it, and too much necessity for the exercise of charity towards himself.) There are also some inaccuracies of expression in the book, especially on the scholarly side; and too many words, perhaps, altogether. But it is very clever; has some excellent passages, we dare say, many (the following is one of them;) and it is calculated to excite much conversation among artists and critics, and to do a great deal of good. Such

works ought to be bought by the National Gallery and laid on its tables, for the sake of furthering the love and knowledge of the pictures around them. Mr. Hazlitt's beautiful book on the Picture-Galleries

of England, itself a set of paintings, ought to be there'; (we are glad to see it quoted so much by Mr. Landseer:) Mr. Patmore's (under a similar title,) should accompany it; and the criticisms in Jones's National Gallery, should not be wanting; nor those in the

By John Landseer, Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries Member of the London Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences Svo. pp. 424. Glynn.

Cabinet Gallery by Mr. Landseer's friend, or foe, Mr. Cunningham. In short, we would have all, of any cleverness, allowed to come together by the Directors in a large, unfearing spirit of liberality, anxious only to have the Arts talked about and encouraged, according to the powers of the speakers, and the various degrees of understanding to which they address themselves.

But to our beautiful names, and Mr. Landseer's very agreeable specimen.

Of the Holy Families, treasured (says he) in our National Gallery, that from the pencil of Correggio is the finest; and perhaps it would have been esteemed still finer as a work of art, had it not been entitled a

Holy Family, since there is nothing in the external pretension or shew of Divinity about it, save and except its superlative merits as a picture, and that single and quite subordinate circumstance which we shall proceed to mention.

As a young, innocent, and smiling nurse attentive to her charge; or a delighted mother attiring her infant son, it is of transcendental excellence: but since there is a carpenter at work in the back ground, its pretensions to be esteemed the Holy Family must be regarded as indisputable, and we shall presently treat of it accordingly. It has already been treated of by Raphael Mengs, in his own account of the paintings in the Royal collection at Madrid, of which it was formerly esteemed to be one of the chief ornaHis opinions we have not had the pleasure of perusing, but in all probability the reader who wishes to form a critical estimate of the merits of Correggio's Holy Family, will find the remarks of such an artist as Mengs well worthy of being consulted.


After being acquainted with this work only through the medium of engravings, we were both surprised and delighted at sight of the original; not that the engravings were not good; but that there is so much of the celestial purity of painting (technically speak ing), and so much of that kind of peculiarity withal, which can no more be translated or rendered into another language of art-or at least which has not yet been rendered-than words can express it. So much is there of these extraordinary qualities, that it came upon us like a heavenly vision, or a picture from another planet. The Athenians of old possessed a statue of their tutelary deity which was fabled to have fallen from heaven, and was much venerated. It had a primitive air, yet was crude, archaic, and graceless. Could they have shewn such a work of art as this of Correggio, their fable had been rendered credible, and their veneration been justified upon internal evidence. Yet these high claims reside not in anything celestial, superlative, or ineffable, in the character either of the Madonna, or infant Saviour; and if, in what shall follow, these terms or any of them, shall fall from our pen, they must be understood as being intended to be applied to the peculiar felicity with which the painter has employed the instrubeauty of the characters he has produced-but we ments of his art-not to indicate the unspeakable must develope and explain.

The Madonna has come forth into the genial charge, and inhale the freshness of its breezes: her summer air of Nazareth, as if to sit with her celestial

little basket of nursery implements is beside her, and at a short distance in the back ground, Joseph the Carpenter is sedately at work, which (as is observed above) is the chief signal of a holy family being here intended by the artist. Intent upon his occupation among unfinished evidences, and quite detached from the fore-ground objects, he seems introduced as a denoting sign and no more, and the Madonna and Bambino to be the things signified: as if Correggio conventional circlets of sanctitude, as, in the works of had preferred this to the having recourse to such his predecessors and contemporaries, betokened holiness; and had resolved by the potency of his art, and without factitious aid, to raise what was earthly into heavenly importance, as Adam is recorded to have been created out of clay.


And this is what he has accomplished. Of the infant Christ, the purity of its innocence alone, seems to elevate it almost sufficiently towards divinity. There is no dawn of the incipient consciousness of his sublime destiny. We speak here of what is expressed in his countenance and action. In character it has somewhat the air and peculiarity of being the portrait of a handsome and fair-headed English child; smiling maternal tenderness of the young Madonna, his complexion too is exquisitely fair. The placidly as she enrobes her infant, is also beautifully expressed. An excellent critic thinks we may observe in this female a certain innocent girlish pride arising from the consciousness of the perfections of the infant entrusted to her; which perhaps no painter, except Coreggio, ever conceived. But this girlish pride is scarcely compatible with the lofty dignity which the religion of Italy attached to the character of the mother of our Saviour; nor could it probably have co-existed with that due consciousness of the perfections of the Holy Infant, which in some of Raphael's Madonnas is so profound as to absorb every other sentiment.

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in great part, at least, to the absence of all effort to make it appear divine. It is as if the author felt quite certain that there was no other art addressible to mortal, but through terrestrial and intrinsic means. It sets the sophistry of art at an immense distance, and reduces to nothingness those meretricious and fantastic tricks that are sometimes played before the high heaven of painting, "which make the angels weep."

To be able to appreciate and enjoy such works as this divine mother and child, is no trivial attainment of taste, and the less experienced reader will not regret if he sympathetically catch a portion, at least, of this pleasure and this power from Annibal Carracci, who writes of the finer qualities of Correggio,-"This kind of delicacy and purity, which is rather truth itself than verisimilitude, pleases me greatly. It is neither artificial nor forced, but quite natural." And in another place, treating of the youthful heads of Correggio, the same distinguished painter writes, (what is very pertinent to the present performance) "The faces beam with so much nature and simplicity, as to enchant, and compel us, as it were, to smile as they smile." This is charming. The ascribing to Correggio of this power of exacting involuntary sympathy by his productions, is an exquisite compliment, proceeding, as it does, from an artist of Annibal's high attainments: yet who feels not something of this as he gazes at the present Madonna and infant, or in the words of Milton,-.

To our view the group appears to beam with domestic affection, but it does not go beyond select nature. Although the fine art with which it is rendered be quite marvellous, there is nothing about it of the ideal or deific being intended to be superinduced on the terrestrial, otherwise than by the beauty of the internal blandishments of art.

In these respects, Julio Romano's Holy group (which we dismissed a few pages back) and the present, are wide as the poles apart: and may therefore serve to teach us how various and vast are the scope of excellence and the pleasure to be derived from pictures. Both artists are justly admired, although the one be deficient in every requisite in which the other shines and abounds.

Wide as the poles apart although Julio Romano and Correggio were, upon an important professional principle; there is pleasure in perceiving that the sphere of their art revolved in an orbit of urbanity; and that if the envy and professional jealousies of some painters, have been held up to public ridicule and dislike, others are liberal-pre-eminent amongst whom was Julio Romano, Yes: amid the professional envy and uncharitableness, which literary commentators have been a little too prone perhaps to select and report; it is but fair to mention that Julio candidly and liberally affirmed Correggio's colouring to be "altogether the best he had ever seen; nor was he averse to the Duke of Mantua giving the preference to Correggio above himself, when about to make a presentation of pictures to the Emperor Charles." [Roscoe's Lanzi].

Let the reader call to mind here how tempting and how flattering to an artist's ambition was this occasion. And when we reflect too that decision of style in art proceeds from vigour and peculiarity of thought -such liberality as is here implied* is worthy of being placed upon record, as equally honorable to Julio Romano and to Correggio.

To return to Correggio's Holy Family. There is nothing at all about the group, of its author having intended in the delineation of his component forms, to superinduce the ideal or deific, on the terrestial; or (in other words,) of superseding "Nature as it is" by "Nature as it ought to be"-otherwise than by the beautiful blandishments of light shade and colour. There is not the least indication that such a thought had, at this period of life, entered into the mind of Correggio.

The child is accordingly in playful action, as if something at a little distance and out of the picture -a passing butterfly perhaps-had caught its attention, and occasioned some small temporary impediment as the benevolent mother puts on his outer dress of light purple;-a sort of thing that happens to almost every mother, almost every day. Her hands, and those of the child, are most delightfully drawn and painted, and perhaps are all the better for the artists' avoidance of that factitious gracefulness of lengthening out the extremies far beyond Nature's average, in which Parmegiano about this time, or soon afterward, began to indulge.

The draperies throughout are cast in a masterly style; broad, and but little divided over the larger forms; more divided and subdivided where it is of finer texture; but everywhere characterized by a certain squareness* which is in agreeable opposition to the roundness of the limbs and other nudities.

The robe of the Madonna is red, but the artist has contrived that enough of white shall approach the carnations both of the mother and the child, to shew to the greatest advantage those flesh tints, which of themselves would be exquisite and admirable! In the works of no other master do we find the cool pearly greys worked into the warmer hues with such magical and exemplary skill. It is really a thing to stand before with wonder and amazement ! The infant limbs are beautifully moulded; the head is immaculate, and all are rounded and blended into the most perfect harmony! The effect seems to have resulted from the dexterous and exemplary management of light, shade, and colour; lines are scarcely recognised, and there is little of distinct specification. The right knee and leg of the Saviour come forward, and on the right side these are pronounced with distinctness against the red robe of the Madonna-and so of his face: but everywhere else, his figure is melting and mellifluous blandishment, like the concert of sweet sounds. It far transcends all painting of the kind that had preceded it; and through the three centuries that have since elapsed, panting art has "toiled after it in vain."

The whole performance seems to owe its divinity

But, in truth, the instances of such liberal emulation and appreciation-at least among modern painters--are much more numerous than the world has given them credit for. He who goes much into their society cannot have failed to witness instances of respectful deference for, and as high and just appreciation of, each other's talents, as you will find among any numerous body of fellow practitioners of the same profession (even the clergy themselves). To be sure, they also occasionally blame heartily; but the same sincerity gives birth to both.

Since writing the above, I have learned from Lanzi that Mengs is lavish in his critical praise on the design of the dra peries of Correggio, "on whose masses he bestowed more attention than on the particular folds; he being the first who succeeded in making drapery a part of the composition, as well by force of contrast as by its direction; thus opening a new path which might render it conspicuous in large works."

"Hangs over it enamour'd?"

That the Emperor Charles V. received the little picture which is the subject of our present essay, as a present from the Duke of Mantua; and that it is the very work, (or one of the works,) alluded to by the historian of Italian art, and by Julio Romano, in the passage which we have quoted above, is by no means improbable, since it was imported into England within these few years, from the Spanish metropolis, and we believe from the Escurial, by Mr. Wallis (an English artist, since deceased,) who either gave or received for it two thousand giuneas.

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TWO LEGENDS OF THE WARDROBE. (From Mr. Planche's "British Costume.").

A FRENCH writer, of the "olden time," to deter his daughters from extravagance and superfluity in dress, recounts the legend of a knight, who having lost his wife, applied to a hermit to ascertain if her soul had taken an upward or a downward direction. The good man, after long praying, fell asleep in his chapel, and dreamed that he saw the soul of the fair lady weighed in a balance, with St. Michael on one side, and the devil on the other. In the scale which contained her soul were placed the good deeds of her life, and in the opposite one her evil actions, and beside the scale lay her fine costly clothing in the care of a friend. The devil then said to St. Michael; "This woman had ten divers gowns and as many coats, and you well know that a smaller number would have been sufficient for every thing necessary, according to the law of God, and that with the value of one of these gowns or coats, no less than forty poor men might have been clothed and kept from the cold, and that the mere waste cloth in them would have saved two or three from perishing;" so saying, the foul fiend gathered up all her gay garments, rings, and jewels, and flung them into the scale with her evil actions, which instantly preponderated, and Saint Michael immediately left the lady and her wardrobe at the devil's disposal.

THE eldest of two sisters was promised by her father to a young knight, possessed of a large estate. The day was appointed for the gentleman to make his visit, he not having as yet seen either of them, and the ladies were informed of his coming, that they might

be prepared to receive him. The affianced bride, who was the handsomest of the two, being desirous to shew her elegant shape and slender waist to the best advantage, clothed herself in a cote-hardie, which sate very straight and close upon her, without any lining or facing of fur, though it was in winter, and exceedingly cold. The consequence was that she appeared pale and miserable like one perishing with the severity of the weather; while her sister, who, regardless of her shape, had attired herself rationally with thick garments lined with fur, looked warm and healthy, and ruddy as a rose. The young knight was fascinated by her who had the most health and the most prudence, and having obtained the father's consent to the change, left the mortified sister to shiver in single blessedness.


The Game of Morra.-The Morra of the Italians, the Munke of the Germans, and the Mourre of the French, is also met with in Spain, and is well known in Greece. Indeed a celebrated modern Greek poet, Solomos of Zante, has made an allusion to it in one of his compositions. It is played in Scotland, and also in Ireland, and is not, I believe, wholly unknown

in our own country, though less so than in those above named; on which account I shall endeavour to give an idea of the manner in which it is played, and in what it consists.

The Mourre of the French may be considered as two distinct games, the one (micatio digitorum) consists in one of the parties quickly holding up one or more of his fingers, and calling out a higher number than those make which he holds up; the other party must instantly and without consideration hold up as many of his, the number of which added to that indicated by the fingers of his opponent will amount to the numbers called by the latter. Thus if the one hold up two and call out fire, the second must instantly hold up three of his to complete the number named; in the event of an error the party failing has to pay a fine. This game is very common in the South of France and in Italy, where men and women may be repeatedly seen playing at it.

The other division of the Mourre is that playəd by yonng girls on the petals of flowers when secking for sweethearts, and it is at this game the fair Chinese are supposed to be playing. A margaret or chrysanthemum is the flower usually selected: the little one begins by plucking off one of the petals, saying at the same time, Il maime un peau; for the second, beaucoup, for the third passionnement, and for the fourth, pas du tout. She then commences again with the same words and in the same order, until she arrives at the last petal, and according as the corresponding word, happens to be much or little, &c., so is she beloved by the object of her researches. The Morra of the Italians and Munke of the Germans correspond exactly to both these different games. In Greece, the latter seems to be chiefly known, though I have met with some Greeks who were not wholly unacquainted with the former. The Spanish girls have also a mode of divining with grapes after the same manner. In Germany the young ladies pursue their investigations somewhat further than their fair neighbours the French: plucking the petals in the same way they pronounce the words, Edelmann, Bettelmann, Pfaff, Soldat, Student, (nobleman, beggar, parson, soldier, student), thus learning the quality of their lover; they then take another of the same kind of flowers, and repeat the following words, plucking off a petal for each: Er libet mich von Hertzen · mit Schmertzen-Klein wenig-nein ger nicht. He loves me with his heartwith smarts,-very little.-not at all.) Sometimes, however, they only repeat the words, he loves me, he loves me not, in succession, and indeed Goethe, in his original and extraordinary composition, Faust, makes Margaret pluck an ester when in the garden with Faust, and repeat these words to see if she is loved by him. The Grecian ladies chiefly employ the latter words, but repeat their operations on three flowers; it therefore results that they must have the same word twice out of thrice, and this of course is very decisive.

The Chinese, it appears, are acquainted with both these games, the one with the flowers and that with the fingers: the latter is much used by the Manderins; they may be seen sitting together amusing themselves playing at it, and not unfrequently in the absence of others, with their servants. In Italy, France, and Germany, the micatio digitorum, however, is confined exclusively to the vulgar.

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Many thanks to our fair correspondent CECILIA. We will see the observations she speaks of.

ZETA has an eye for truth and nature, and cannot do better than cultivate his faculty as a grace and a recreation. We do not recommend him, or anybody, let his faculties be what they may, to make writing the business of his life; nor, indeed, do we understand him as implying a wish to do so; but it may be as well to touch upon this point. If authorship must be a man's task, it will come; and his lot may have its pains or its pleasures, as may happen; but nobody can reckon upon its being sufficient for him in a worldly point of view, apart from other means of success.

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