the forest. A ray of light suddenly broke the line of continuity of this yet smoky barrier; and, as if touched by the enchanter's wand, castles, towers, and trees, were seen in an aggregated cluster, partly obscured by magnificent foliage. Every accession of light produced a change in the chittram, which, from the dense wall that it first exhibited, had now faded into a thin transparent film, broken into a thousand masses, each mass being a huge lens; and at length the too vivid power of the sun dissolved the vision; castles, towers, and foliage, melted like the enchantment of Prospero, into "thin air.” I had long imagined that the nature of the soil had some effect in producing this illusory phenomenon, especially as the chittram of the desert is seen chiefly on those extensive plains productive of the saji, or alkaline plant, whence, by incineration, the natives produce soda, and whose base is now known to be metallic. But I have since observed it on every kind of soil. That these lands, covered with saline incrustations, tend to increase the effect of the illusion, may be concluded. But the difference between the sehrab or chittram, and the see-kote or dessasur, is, that the latter is never visible but in the cold season, when the gross vapours cannot rise; and that the rarification, which gives existence to the other, destroys this, whenever the sun has attained 20° of elevation. A high wind is alike adverse to the phenomenon, and it will mostly be observed that it covets shelter, and its general appearance is a long line, which is sure to be sustained by some height, such as a grove or village, as if it required support. The first time I observed it was in the Jupoor country; none of the party had ever witnessed it in the British provinces. It appeared like an immense walled town with bastions, nor could we give credit to our guides when they talked of the see-kote, and assured us that the objects were merely "castles in the air." I have since seen, though but once, this panoramic scene in motion, and nothing can possibly be imagined more beautiful. It was at Kolah, just as the sun rose, whilst walking on the terraced roof of the garden-house, my residence. As I looked towards the low range which bounds the sight to the southeast, the hill appeared in motion, sweeping with an undulating or rotatory movement along the horizon. Trees and buildings were magnified, and all seemed a kind of enchantment. Some minutes elapsed before I could account for this wonder; until I determined that it must be the masses of a floating mirage, which had attained its most attenuated form, and being carried by a gentle current of air past the tops and sides of the hills, while it was itself imperceptible, made them appear in motion. But although this was novel and pleasing, it wanted the splendour of the scene of this morning, which I never saw equalled but once. This occurred at Hissar, where I went to visit a beloved friend-gone, alas! to a better world,-whose ardent and honourable mind urged me to the task I have undertaken. It was on the terrace of James Lumsdaine's house, built amidst the ruins of the castle of Feroy, in the centre of one extended waste, where the lion was the sole inhabitant, that I saw the most perfect specimen of this phenomenon: it was really sublime. Let the reader fancy himself in the midst of a desert plain, with nothing to impede the wide scope of vision, his horizon bounded by a lofty black wall, encompassing him on all sides. Let him watch the forest sunbeam break upon this barrier, and at once, as by a touch of magic, shiver it into a thousand fantastic forms, leaving a splintered pinnacle in one place, a tower in another, an arch in a third, these in turn undergoing more than kaleidoscopic changes, until the "fairy fabric" vanishes. Here it was emphatically called Hurcheend Raja ca poori, or "the city of Raja Hurcheend," a celebrated prince of the brazen age of India. The power of reflection shown by this phenomenon cannot be better described, than by stating that it brought the very ancient Aggaroa, which is • This is the ancient province of Horiana, and the cradle of the Aggarmal race, now mercantile, and all followers of tence. thirteen miles distant, with its fort and bastions, close it-grass, and nettles, and weeds may grow upon the The difference then between the mirage and the 6 pleasure of beholding picturesque ruins or old buildWe are altogether depriving our posterity of the ings-there will be few antiquaries who will refer to the style, or anything else in architecture, belonging to the nineteenth century. St James's Palace, and the old red brick houses in the Temple and Lincoln's Inn, have a substantial, venerable, and in many cases picturesque appearance,—but how will our modern yellow brick-dust human packing-cases look when the same number of years have rolled over their heads The if indeed they stand so long. rienced officer on deck; and I believed it was really was either the reflection of our own ship in a passing HINTS FOR TABLE TALK. BRICK-AND-MORTAR ABORTIONS-RUINS OF MODERN CHORUS. IN walking about the outskirts of the town we often see what I may call premature ruins the commencements of buildings-the foundations of houses carried up perhaps as far as to be on a level with the ground; the memorial of some building mania in the neighbourhood, in which the speculator has been cut short by bankruptcy. They have generally the appearance of being about ten years old or so the effects of the panic of 1825. I do not recollect ever having seen any of these abortions of bricks and mortar, at any after period, carried on and completed. They have either been gradually obliterated from the face of the earth, which they disfigured, or removed to give place to buildings of altogether a different kind; and there are some which I have known for this dozen years, in the same rotten withering state. These premature ruins can never acquire a picturesque appearance. There is something in modern brick and mortar which seems altogether irreconcileable to Hesi or Vishnu. It might have been the capital of the Ag grames, whose immense army threatened Alexander; with Agra it may divide the honour, or both may have been Poorus's race. Nine out of ten of the houses now built are built one should live in them seems altogether an after thought. I am unfortunately fixed in one of this character. It looked all very close and compact and nicely finished when new, but in a very short time the shutting of a door would drive mortar from the corners and edgings of the walls, and plaster from the roof. The ceiling being covered with lime not sufficiently slacked, blistered and soon began to look as if it had had an attack of the small-pox. Every windy night the windows rattle most uproariously, as if they and the wind were old acquaintances, and were merry-making at their meeting. The heat of the fires in the rooms soon began to show of what stuff the floorings were made;-it so shrunk the boards that the floors soon looked more like railings than anything else. This last grievance I have more particularly felt-the March winds having made me the present of a delightful ticklish cough which has confined me to my room. To keep myself free from a draught has been the constant exercise of my ingenuity. My first discovery was that the wind blew upon me through the very carpet;-the carpet was therefore taken up and the seams stuffed with paper, then list was nailed round the edge of the doors, then strips of paper pasted round the window-sashes-and and—but I might write my ink-glass dry, and my pen to a stump, without enumerating all my troubles. What an extraordinary disease is a cough? It makes one bark like a dog, or grunt like a lion,— yach!-yach!—yow!—ugh-ugh-u-oo!— It feels as if some little imp had got into your thorax, and amused itself with tickling it with a feather ;—and it soon becomes so tender that every cough feels as if a bundle of thorns were torn through your throat, and your whole frame is shaken like the world with an earthquake. Nor is it a malady which exhausts itself with the action; the more you cough the more tender, irritable, and ticklish, the throat becomes, sounds till something or other allays the irritation. and the more you are compelled to emit the yelping It is impossible to prevent yourself coughing,-yawning or laughter may be overcome, but coughing cannot. I have a faint recollection of an anecdote in which two persons were concealed under a table, and THE WEEK. PERSONAL PORTRAITS OF EMINENT MEN. gave way to time, and in clearing the foundations for a third church, the workmen laid open a tomb which proved to be that of Robert the Bruce. The lead the one feeling an inclination to cough which he found it impossible to overcome, requested the other to stab him to the heart at once, to prevent a discovery. I think the circumstance relates to the ad- [It was accidentally omitted to mention last week, coating in which the body was found inclosed, was ventures of some of the crown-losing Stuarts either in Cromwell's time or later. that the account of Wolff, the German scholar, was ROBERT BRUCE, KING OF SCOTLAND. this to show how custom blunts the feelings. It's life, he was nearly six feet high; his hair curled such a common disease,-it can't be serious. Burns says, in his Address to the Toothache,' "I do not mean to say that their "pitying moan or sympathising waes me!" does one any good, or alleviates the malady in any degree, but it shows that there are human beings in the world to whom you are not altogether indifferent. cr There is such a thing as killing with kindness -at all events I have often found kind intentions very annoying, and especially when troubled with a cough. Just after a fit of coughing, for instance, before you have time to draw a relieving breath, you feel a soft hand on your back, and another with a spoonful of jelly at your mouth,—almost thrusting it in, with "Poor dear !-what pain he must sufferdo take this jelly-'t will prevent another fit !"—Thus they go on teasing and irritating you and nauseating you with sweets, till a dose of rhubarb would be a relief to your taste, and if you utter the least complaint, you are thought ungrateful, unkind, nay, barbarous. What can be more annoying than when you happen to have a little ease from the earthquakes that rend your heart, and are just falling into a dose on your easy chair, you hear a gentle "hush!" whispered by your nurse to somebody else in the room who is not making [any noise, and then a light step across the room, and then falling lightly over your head a silk handkerchief, which tickles your nose, makes a draught, dispels your drowsiness, and makes you quake again! But you must not complain-it was done with the best intention the good soul was afraid you would catch cold in your head! In my opinion, the whisperings and hushings, and soft treadings, and shutting doors quietly, and all that, tend far more to keep one awake when drowsy than an absolute noise. dispose oneself to sleep requires an absence of any effort upon the subject to endeavour to think upon nothing; but whispering and hushing keeps the mind in remembrance of the desired object, and so prevents its attainment. Το You have just got a few moments respite from the commotion—you have just lain down upon the sofa, and a relieving slumber is gently stealing o'er youWhuff! comes a cloak over your shoulders; you jump up-"Why the deuce did you disturb me!"— "You would get more cold, dear, to sleep without something over you."-Well! it's all done for the best, and so must be endured. I have amused myself with thinking whether a cough could not be imitated on some musical instrument. I have noticed all the different tones, and run up and down the gamut during a fit. The bassoon has occured to me as the best suited for such an imitation. It would be a novelty, at all events, if some musician would compose a "Coughing Chorus," and introduce a solo for the bassoon-Yach-yachyow!ugh-ugh-u-00-00 ! PROFOUND TRUTH. BOOKWORM. On every occasion in which virtue is exercised, if something is not added to happiness, something is taken away from anxiety.—Bentham's Deontology. closely and shortly round his neck, which possessed But from this error he was saved by the love of his Immediately after the King's death, his heart was *Fordun a Goodal,' vol. ii, p. 295. twisted round the head into the shape of a rude crown. A rich cloth of gold, but much decayed, was thrown over it, but, on examining the skeleton, it was found that the breast-bone had been sawn asunder, to get at the heart.* There remained, therefore, no doubt, that after the lapse of almost five hundred years, his countrymen were permitted, with a mixture of delight and awe to behold the very bones of their great deliverer. * See an interesting Report of the discovery of the Tomb, and the re-interment of the body of Robert Bruce, drawn up by Sir Henry Jardine, in the second volume of the 'Transactions of the Antiquarian Society of Scotland,' part ii, p. 435. ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. NO. LXVI. GENEROUS CHILDREN GENEROUSLY helped. [THE compiler of the Sixty Curious Narratives' has extracted this delightful anecdote from the 'Memoirs of -,' we shall not say whom, that we may not injure the agreeable effect produced by the disclosure of his name, upon those who are acquainted with his writings. Every record of handsome actions performed by such men, is a boon to mankind, and should be received by them with gratitude; for it gives double zest to every handsome sentence in their books, increasing that faith in the good and beautiful which made them what they were.] A GENTLEMAN, being at Marseilles, hired a boat with an intention of sailing for pleasure; he entered into conversation with the two young men who owned the vessel, and learned that they were not watermen by trade, but silversmiths; and that when they could be spared from their usual business, they employed themselves in that way to increase their earnings. On expressing his surprise at their conduct, and imputing it to an avaricious disposition; "Oh ! sir," said the young men, "if you knew our reasons, you would ascribe it to a better motive. Our father, anxious to assist his family, scraped together all he was worth, and purchased a vessel for the purpose of trading to the coast of Barbary; but was unfortunately taken by a pirate, carried to Tripoli, and sold for a slave. He writes word, that he has luckily fallen into the hands of a master who treats him with great humanity; but that the sum which is demanded for his ransom is so exorbitant, that it will be impossible for him ever to raise it: he adds, that we must therefore relinquish all hope of ever seeing him, and be contented; that he has as many comforts as his situation will admit. With the hopes of restoring to his family a beloved father, we are striving, by every honest means in our power, to collect the sum necessary for his ransom, and we are not ashamed to employ ourselves in this occupation of watermen." The gentleman was struck with this account, and on his departure made them a handsome present. Some months afterward, the young men being at work in their shop, were greatly surprised at the sudden arrival of their father, who threw himself into their arms'; exclaiming, at the same time, that he was fearful they had taken some unjust method to raise the money for his ransom, for it was too great a sum for them to have gained by their ordinary occupation. They professed their ignorance of the whole affair, and could only suspect they owed their father's release to that stranger to whose generosity they had been before so much obliged. After Montesquieu's death, an account of this affair was found among his papers, and the sum actually remitted to Tripoli for the old man's ransom. It is a pleasure to hear of such an act of benevolence performed even by a person totally unknown to us; but the pleasure is infinitely increased, when it proves the union of virtue and talents in an author so renowned as Montesquieu. CHARACTERS OF SHAKSPEARE'S PLAYS. BY WILLIAM HAZLITT. NO. XIX.-ROMEO AND JULIET.-(CONCLUDED). Ir would be hard to say which of the two garden scenes is the finest, that where he first converses with his love, or takes leave of her the morning after their marriage. Both are like a heaven upon earth : the blissful bowers of Paradise let down upon this lower world. We will give only one passage of these well known scenes to show the perfect refinement and delicacy of Shakspeare's conception of the female character. It is wonderful how Collins, who was a critic and a poet of great sensibility, should have encouraged the common error on this subject by saying "But stronger Shakspeare felt for man alone." The passage we mean is Juliet's apology for her maiden boldness. "Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face; Thou may'st prove false: at lovers' perjuries Or if thou think I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay. In this and all the rest her heart, fluttering between pleasure, hope, and fear, seems to have dictated to her tongue, and "calls true love spoken simple modesty." Of the same sort, but bolder in virgin innocence, is her soliloquy after her marriage with Romeo. "Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Thinks true love acted, simple modesty. in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Give me my Romeo: and when he shall die, We the rather insert this passage here, inasmuch as we have no doubt it has been expunged from the Family Shakspeare. Such critics do not perceive that the feelings of the heart sanctify, without disguising, the impulses of nature. Without refinement themselves, they confound modesty with hypocrisy. Not so the German critic, Schlegel. Speaking of Romeo and Juliet,' he says, "It was reserved for Shakspeare to unite purity of heart and the glow of imagination, sweetness and dignity of manners and passionate violence, in one ideal picture." The character is indeed one of perfect truth and sweetness. It has nothing forward, nothing coy, nothing affected or coquettish about it;—it is a pure effusion of nature. It is as frank as it is modest, for it has no thought that it wishes to conceal. It reposes in conscious innocence on the strength of its affections. Its delicacy does not consist in coldness and reserve, but in combining warmth of imagination and tenderness of heart with the most voluptuous sensibility. Love is a gentle flame that rarefies and expands her whole being. What an idea of trembling haste and airy grace, borne upon the thoughts of love, does the Friar's exclamation give of her, as she approaches his cell to be married "Here comes the lady. Oh, so light of foot The tragic part of this character is of a piece with the rest. It is the heroic founded on tenderness and delicacy. Of this kind are her resolution to follow the Friar's advice, and the conflict in her bosom between apprehension and love when she comes to take the sleeping potion. Shakspeare is blamed for the mixture of low characters. If this is a deformity, it is the source of a thousand beauties. One instance is the contrast between the guileless simplicity of Juliet's attachment to her first love, and the convenient policy of the nurse in advising her to marry Paris, which excites such indignation in her mistress. "Ancient damnation! oh, most wicked fiend," &c. Romeo is Hamlet in love. There is the same rich exuberance of passion and sentiment in the one, that there is of thought and sentiment in the other. Both are absent and self-involved, both live out of themselves in a world of imagination. Hamlet is abstracted from everything; Romeo is abstracted from everything but his love, and lost in it. His "frail thoughts dally with faint surmise," and are fashioned out of the suggestions of hope, "the flatteries of sleep." He is himself only in his Juliet; she is his only reality, his heart's true home and idol. The rest of the world is to him a passing dream. How finely is this character pourtrayed where he recollects himself on seeing Paris slain at the tomb of Juliet ! "What said my man when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet." And again, just before he hears the sudden tidings of her death "If I may trust the flattery of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand; My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne, And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead, (Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think) And breath'd such life with kisses on my lips, That I reviv'd and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy !" Romeo's passion for Juliet is not a first love: it succeeds and drives out his passion for another mistress, Rosaline, as the sun hides the stars. This is perhaps an artifice (not absolutely necessary) to give us a higher opinion of the lady, while the first absolute surrender of her heart to him enhances the richness of the prizę. The commencement, progress, Of and ending of his second passion are however complete in themselves, not injured, if they are not bettered by the first. The outline of the play is taken from an Italian novel; but the dramatic arrangement of the different scenes between the lovers, the more than dramatic interest in the progress of the story, the development of the characters with time and circumstances, just according to the degree and kind of interest excited, are not inferior to the expres sion of passion and nature. It has been ingeniously remarked, among other proofs of skill in the contrivance of the fable, that the improbability of the main incident in the piece, the administering of the sleepingpotion, is softened and obviated from the beginning by the introduction of the Friar on his first appearance culling simples and descanting on their virtues. the passionate scenes in this tragedy, that between the Friar and Romeo when he is told of his sentence of banishment, that between Juliet and the Nurse when she hears of it, and of the death of her cousin Tybalt (which bear no proportion in her mind, when passion after the first shock of surprise throws its weight into the scale of her affections) and the last scene at the tomb, are among the most natural and overpowering. In all of these it is not merely the force of any one passion that is given, but the slightest and most unlooked-for transitions from one to another, the mingling currents of every different feeling rising up and prevailing in turn, swayed by the master-mind of the poet, as the waves undulate beneath the gliding storm. Thus when Juliet has by her complaints encouraged the Nurse to say, "Shame come to Romeo," she instantly repels the wish, which she had herself occasioned, by answering- "Blister'd be thy tongue For such a wish, he was not born to shame. O, what a beast was I to chide him so? NURSE. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? JULIET. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, my poor lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it?" And then follows, on the neck of her remorse and returning fondness, that wish treading almost on the brink of impiety, but still held back by the strength of her devotion to her lord, that "father, mother, nay, or both were dead," rather than Romeo banished. If she requires any other excuse, it is in the manner in which Romeo echoes her frantic grief and disappointment in the next scene at being banished from her.-Perhaps one of the finest pieces of acting that ever was witnessed on the stage, is Mr Kean's manner of doing this scene and his repetition of the word Banished. He treads close indeed upon the genius of his author. A passage which this celebrated actor and able commentator on Shakspeare (actors are the best commentators on the poets) did not give with equal truth or force of feeling was the one which Romeo makes at the tomb of Juliet, before he drinks the poison. "Let me peruse this face- O, my love! my wife! Death that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty; Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, And Death's pale flag is not advanced there.- Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain, Socrates was put to death by the common mode at Athens, of despatching persons capitally convicted, that is, by a narcotic poison. But as neither Xenophon nor Plato mentions the precise poison which was employed, we are left to conjecture what it was by our knowledge of what narcotics the Greeks were acquainted with, or employed at that time. They knew, amongst others, the Aconite, the Black Poppy, the Hyocyamus, and Hemlock. Dion, the father of Dionysius, the tyrant of Syracuse, who was With worms that are thy chamber-maids; oh, here intimately acquainted with Plato, and a contem Will I set up my everlasting rest; Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, oh you The lines in this speech describing the loveliness of Juliet, who is supposed to be dead, have been compared to those in which it is said of Cleopatra after her death, that she looked "as she would take another Antony in her strong toil of grace;" and a question has been started which is the finest, that we do not pretend to decide. We can more easily decide between Shakspeare and any other author, than between him and himself. Shall we quote any more passages to show his genius or the beauty of 'Romeo and Juliet?' At that rate, we might quote the whole. The late Mr Sheridan, on being shown a volume of the Beauties of Shakspeare,' very properly asked-" But where are the other eleven ?" The character of Mercutio in this play is one of the most mercurial and spirited of the productions of Shakspeare's comic muse. ON THE DEATHS OF SOME ILLUSTRIOUS PERSONS OF ANTIQUITY. (An Abridgment, with which a Correspondent has favoured us, from Sir Henry Halford's Essays.') SYLLA, the dictator, died by the rupture of an internal abscess, in a paroxysm of rage. He had, it seems, set his heart upon the restoration of the capitol, and upon its dedication, by a certain day. But a messenger brought him intelligence that the resources he expected for this purpose were not forthcoming; on which he gave way to his unbridled passion, vomited a large quantity of blood, passed a night of great distress, and died on the following morning. The expressions of Valerius Maximus are very forcible. "He vomited up his life, mingled with blood and threats;" so that, as he afterwards says, "it was doubtful whether Sylla or Sylla's wrath should first come to an end." Crassus, the eminent Roman orator and friend of Cicero, died of a pleurisy. He had been speaking with great animation and effect in the Senate, when he was seized with a pain in his side, and broke out into a profuse perspiration. On going home he had a shivering fit, followed by fever. The pain in the side still continued, and he died on the 7th day of the disease. The terms of deep sorrow in which Cicero laments so feelingly and so beautifully the loss of this eminent man, may justify the regret of physicians, even at this distant period, that it has not been transmitted down to them what resources of our art were resorted to in order to save a life so valuable to his country. Thus much, however, we do know, that Celsus, who lived not many years afterwards, suggests the proper treatment of a pleurisy, by bleeding, cupping, and blistering; all the expedients, in fact, which we use at this era of improvement in the art of medicine. We may rest assured, therefore, that nothing was left undone to save this distinguished person; and that the regret of his friends was not porary of Socrates, was poisoned by hemlock; and Plutarch says that Phocion drank the conium (hemlock). This, we have reason to suppose, was always fresh pounded for the occasion; and we learn, from Theophrastus, that the whole plant was usually pounded together, but that the Chians pealed off the outer rind, as occasioning pain, and that then, having bruised the other part and put it in water, they drank the infusion, and found it to cause an easy death. Whatever the poison was, it must have been one of weak and tardy operation; for the executioner told Socrates, that it would prevent its effect, if he entered into earnest dispute, and that it was sometimes necessary to repeat the dose three or four times. After a while, the philosopher is described as having felt a weight in his legs, as if he had been intoxicated. The effect of the drug grew stronger, and made him, at length, so insensible to pain, that he did not feel when his foot was pinched. The extremities grew cold, he was convulsed, and expired. But what was the poison contained in that "ring, the avenger of Cannæ, and the retributor for so much blood," by which Hannibal destroyed himself? Although the Carthaginians were a much more civilized people than their enemies, the Romans (who happen to be their historians) are willing to allow, it would be too much to suppose them acquainted with the inventions of modern chemistry, and the poison was most probably the inspissated juice of some deleterious vegetable. Mr Hatchett conjectures that it may have been derived from the Euphorbia officinalis, which is a native of Africa. As to the report of Hannibal's having been poisoned by drinking bullock's blood, which is mentioned by Plutarch, it must be a fable, as was that also of the death of Themistocles, by drinking a similar draught, for the blood of that animal is not poisonous. An accomplished nobleman told me that he was present at one of the bull-fights at Madrid, when a person rushed from the crowd, and having made his way to the bull, which the matador had just stricken, caught the blood, as it flowed from the wound, in a goblet, and drank it off before the assembly. On inquiring into the object which the poor Spaniard had in view, it appeared that the blood of a bull just slain was a popular remedy for consumptive symptoms. The poison with which Nero destroyed Britannicus was probably the laurel water. Tacitus states that, when Nero had determined to despatch the ill-fated youth, he sent for Locusta, a convicted female prisoner, who had been pardoned, and was kept for state purposes, and ordered her to prepare a poison which should produce its effect immediately. Locusta prepared one which killed a goat in five hours. This would not serve the tyrant's purpose-he ordered her to provide a more speedy instrument, to prepare it in his own chamber, and in his presence. The boiling began, and was urged to the effectual moment, in proof of which it was tried on a hog, and the animal was killed by it immediately. Dinner is served. The young members of the Imperial family are sitting at the foot of the table; the Emperor and his guests reclining on their sides. The unhappy youth calls for water-the prægustator tastes, and then serves it. It is too hot. Some of it is poured off, and the glass is filled up with a fluid resembling water-but this contains the poison. The young man drinks it, and is seized instantly with an epileptic fit, in which he expires. He is buried the same night. There is a great similarity in several points between this case and that of Sir Theodosius Boughton, who was poisoned by Captain Donellan, with laurel water, in 1780. In both there was the attempt on the part of the murderer to pass off the insensibility caused by the drug for an epileptic fit; and in both there was an extraordinary lividness of countenance in the victim. I remember to have seen the face of Sir Theodosius Boughton, when the corpse had been disinterred, in order to be examined for the satisfaction of the Coroner's jury, and its colour resembled that of a pickled walnut. Alexander the Great was said to have been poisoned; but Arrian, who has written the best account of his death, though he mentions that such a report had prevailed, gives a rational account of his illness, and of the bulletins which were issued respecting it, the most ancient series of bulletins on record. The story goes, that the poison was of so subtle a nature, that no vessel of metal could hold it, and that accordingly it was carried in the hoof of a mule. But this is a mistake arising from the double meaning of the Greek word onyx, which signifies either the onyx, a precious stone, or a hoof. The fact is, that Alexander died of a remittent fever, which he caught in the marshes of Babylon. Arrian, after detailing the daily progress of Alexander's last illness, gives a beautiful portraiture of the character of that great man, whose spirit and energy, manifested in the conquest of so large an extent of country, were fully equalled by his wisdom in controlling and attaching to his government the nations which he had subdued. Of the merit of his system of policy of intermarrying his wounded soldiers with the females of the conquered countries, and of appointing Macedonian officers to command the native troops, what stronger proofs can be given, than that the experience of more than two thousand years has added nothing to what his instinctive discernment had already suggested to him, that his successors were taught, by what he had done, to found and to govern kingdoms; and that the efficiency of the British army in India, to keep in subjection nearly one hundred millions of the inhabitants of that vast country, is at this moment maintained by the very same measures which Alexander devised and oarried into execution? ON THE GIPSIES A race apart among the sons of men. What are they? lost from sunny lands of gold, Hath swart Bengala on their hearts a hold? Or, scattered through the nations of the earth, Are they a particle of Egypt old, Stricken of prophesy? or claim they birth With they which had a God to lead them forth, And made the waves an avenue? Who know? They are among the mysteries of worth, To humble us to wisdom, for they show How little is the knowledge that we boast, And thence induce a faith where thought is lost, G. E. I. It is now pretty generally admitted, we believe, that the Gipsies come from Hindostan. The conjecture is, that they expatriated themselves during the irruption of one of its conquerors. Grellmann, a German writer (of whose work on them there is a translation) has quite proved this origin, in our opinion, by his comparison of the Gipsy and Hindostanes languages, far more conclusive than such arguments are wont to be.-ED. PASSAGE IN SHAKSPEARE CORRECTED "Vaulting ambition that o'erleaps itself," should be "its sell." Sell is saddle in Spenser and elsewhere, from the Latin and Italian. This emendation was shown to the late Mr Hazlitt, an acute man at least, who expressed his conviction that it was the right reading, and added somewhat more in approbation of it.—Landor's Examination of William Shakspeare. FINE ARTS. Exhibition of the Society of British Artists in Suffolk Street. THE Exhibition this season comprises few works of the higher classes of painting, but we think it shews an advance upon former years; the number of picThe histures positively bad being much reduced. torical pictures are few, and, with one exception, contain little worth remark; the narrative pieces are few; the portraits are in greater number, but not many of them good. The strength of the collection lies among its landscapes, which are numerous; they are chiefly drawn from native scenery, and the best of them are of this number. Having premised these general observations, we will quote a few of the pictures that pleased us best. The Haarlem Meer-Moonlight' (10), G. Balmer, a very clever picture; the brilliant moon, the pale neutral tint of the distance, the half-developed colours of the foreground, the long, frequent, uncertain shadows, are in the true spirit of nature and beauty. • Ancient Puteoli, in the Bay of Baie, with the Landing of Saint Paul' (131), W. Linton, is rich and shewy in colouring, but flimsy and unreal in substance; it is rather like a vision than a reality, but has scarcely grandeur enough to seem supernatural. A Monk reading a Tomb-stone' (18), T. Roods, is a clever piece of effect, but no more. The lamp burning before a shrine in the back-ground looks like a living flame. 'Village Festival' (20), W. Shayer, is a lively scene; but the best part is the roof of the house and the boughs overhanging it, the effect of which is so real, that one expects to see the tree move, or a bird alight on the tiles. • Near Totnes, Devon' (148), F. W. Watts, is a lovely scene, and very tastefully painted. The Reprieve, from a Spanish Romance' (53), J. R. Herbert, wants a line or two of explanation in the catalogue; the girl is painted with great feeling and delicacy; the face is from you, and yet the little glimpse one catches of the features, suffices to suggest a lovely one. the There is a little appearance of weakness in the expression of the knight to whom she is kneeling, which the story may warrant, or even require; but of this the catalogue leaves us in ignorance. < Scene in Devonshire' (75), F. R. Lee, is a deep and leafy nook, such as England is richer in than any other country, cool, verdant, fertile, sequestered. It is painted with a proper relish for its tranquillity and sweetness. 'Cassandra predicting the Murder of Agamemnon on his arrival, after ten years' absence, at Mycenae, painted for the Duke of Sutherland; head of Cassandra from the Hon. Mrs C. Norton' (149), B. R. Haydon. Agamemnon, returning from the siege of Troy, among his share of the spoils, brought home Cassandra, who had swindled Apollo out of the gift of prophecy, a gift spoiled in the making, and saddled with the incredulity of the hearers. Cassandra, arriving at the house of the King of Kings, denounces it as the future scene of his murder. This is the point of time Mr Haydon has chosen. The drawing is worthy of his reputation; and the colouring, though perhaps not quite natural, is solid and effective. But as a design, does not the picture want unity? The figures appear to us a little too much like separate studies for the characters, Cassandra raves, Agamemnon looks unconscious, Ægisthus grasps his dagger, Cly. temnestra holds her husband with one hand and her paramour with the other, Orestes is panic-struck all the figures are busy in their allotted parts; but they seem to pay no regard to one another; they neither look at nor from each other, but each appears intent solely upon the due performance of his own duty, like actors at a rehearsal. The effect of all this is, that one is struck with the prodigious energy and effort in detail, and the entire absence of effect in the whole. The individuals are full of in. tention, yet the total is not in earnest. The point worthiest of admiration, we think, is the horrorstruck and understanding look of the horses, particularly of one of them, who seems absolutely inhal ing what the prophetess utters. The subject is injured by want of space. COLUMBUS. As once, to him who his adventurous keel TABLE TALK. Self-conceit and malice are needed to discover or to imagine faults, and it is much easier for an illnatured man than for a good-natured man to be smart and witty.-Sharp's Essays. STRANGE RECORD. I remember having seen the heart of one that was bowelled, as suffering for high treason, that being cast into the fire leaped, at first, at least a foot and half in height, and after by degrees lower and lower, for the space, as I remember, of seven or eight minutes.-Bacon on Life and Death. SULTAN MAHOMED. It is a fact but little known, that most of the Asiatic princes possess a trade; the great Arungzeb was a cap maker, and sold his caps to such advantage on those ninth-day fairs, that his funeral expenses were by his own express command defrayed from the privy purse, the accumulation of his personal labour. A delightful anecdote is recorded of the Ghliss King Mahomed, whose profession was literary, and who obtained good prices from his Omrahs for his specimens of caligraphy. While engaged in transcribing one of the Persian poets, a professed scholar, who, with others, attended the conversazione, suggested an emendation, which was instantly attended to, and the supposed error amended. When the Moolah was gone, the Monarch erased the emendation and re-inserted the passage. An Omrah had observed and questioned the action, to which the King replied: "It was better to make a blot in a manuscript, than wound the vanity of a humble scholar."-Tod's Antiquities of Rajahstan. DRAMATIC PASSAGE BETWEEN A CALIPH AND A tell me you are the Prophet Mohammed; and if by chance a fifth, that you are God Almighty himself." This gentle rebuke so pleased the Khalif that he could not forbear laughing; and, being soon rejoined by his people, he ordered a purse of silver and a fine vest to be given the poor man, who had entertained him in so hospitable a manner. The Arab, in a transport of joy for the good fortune he had met with, exclaimed, "I shall henceforth take you for what you pretend to be, even though you should make yourself two or three times more considerable than you have done."— Universal History. A PLEASANT FATHER! Proud, silent, morose, the Comte de Chateau briand's whole life (father of the celebrated French writer now living) had been spent in efforts to raise the fallen fortunes of his family-efforts which had uniformly terminated in vexation and disappointment. He is described as tall, with a severe and marked countenance, aquiline nose, thin and pale lips, and eyes deep set and grey, like those of a lion or those glauques, comme ceux des lions, ou des anciens of the ancient barbarians ("aux yeux enforcés et barbares"), and his eye-balls glowing like a ball of fire upon the least excitement. The Khalif Al Mohdi being one day engaged in a hunting match, strayed from his attendants, and, being pressed with hunger and thirst, was obliged to betake himself to an Arab's tent, in order to meet with some refreshment. The poor man immediately brought out his coarse brown bread and a pot of milk. Al Mohdi asked him if he had nothing else to give him; upon which the Arab went directly to fetch a jug of wine, and presented it to him. After the Khalif had drunk a good draught, he demanded of the Arab whether he did not know him? The other having answered that he did not; I would have you know then (replied Al Mohdi), that I am one of the principal Lords of the Khalif's court." After he had taken another draught, he put the same question to the Arab as before; who answering, "Have I not already told you that I know you not?" Al Mohdi returned, "I am a much greater person than I have made you believe." Then he drank again, and asked his host the third time, whether he did not know him? to which the other replied, "that he might depend upon the truth of the answer he had already given him." "I am, then (said Al Mohdi), the Khalif, before whom all the world prostrate themselves." The Arab no sooner heard those words, than he carried off the pitcher, and would not suffer his guest to drink any more. Al Mohdi being surprised at his behaviour, asked him why he took away his wine? The Arab replied, "Because I am afraid that, if you take a fourth draught, you will "And oft in sudden mood, for many a day, From all communion he would start away; And then his rarely called attendants said, Through night's long hours would sound his heavy tread. O'er the dark gallery, where his fathers frowned In rude but antique protraiture around." With the advance of age the disposition of the dreaded father became gradually more taciturn and unsociable; he never went out but once a year, and that was at Easter, to attend mass at the parish church of Combourg. He made the solitude around him still more solitary; his family and servants he dispersed in the four turrets of the chateau. In the autumn evenings, wrapt in a dressing-gown of white rateen, with a large night-cap, of the same colour, on his head, he strode across the immense salon; if his wife, with her two children, the chevalier and his sister, all three seated motionless by the fire-side, ventured to exchange a few words, a severe que dit-on? uttered in passing, instantly silenced the rash attempt, and not another word was heard until the stroke of ten suddenly arrested his march, and sent him to his place of repose. His retirement was a signal for an immediate explosion of words and hilarity. Cochrane's Foreign Quarterly Review. TO CORRESPONDENTS. THE Sonnet addressed to Mr Heraud on his Descent into Hell,' shall appear in a week or two. We were much pleased at receiving the book and letter from Greenock, as the writer will see. The fault-finding of our Correspondent who sent us the Poem by Fanshawe, is as good as praises from most men. It shall have our due attention. So shall the pamphlet sent us from Newcastle. The Good Man's Prayer' next week. Also Z. Z. Extracts from the articles of Mr Lamb are again unavoidably delayed. LASCARIS in our next, and the epigrams from Ptolemy the week after. We extend our gold as much as possible, to secure successive value to our numbers. The rest of our correspondents will have the goodness to excuse us till next week. In the sonnet of the week before last, addressed to F. M. W.,-for "either" in the third line, read 'rather," and instead of "For" in the ninth line, read "Nor." LONDON: Published by H. HOOPER, Pall Mall East, and supplied to Country Agents by C. KNIGHT, Ludgate-street. From the Steam-Press of C. & W. REYNELL, Little Pulteney-street, |