shudder when I recall them. They appeared to

drag each other forward, and on the word being given, let us pray,' they all fell on their knees; but this posture was soon changed for others that permitted greater scope for the convulsive movements of their limbs; and they were soon all lying on the ground in an indescribable confusion of heads and legs. They threw about their limbs with such incessant and violent motion, that I was every instant expecting some serious accident to occur.

"But how am I to describe the sounds that proceeded from this strange mass of human beings? I know no words which can convey an idea of it. Hysterical sobbings, convulsive groans, shrieks and screams the most appalling, burst forth on all sides. I felt sick with horror. As if their hoarse and overstrained voices failed to make noise enough, they soon began to clap their hands violently. The scene described by

Dante was before me:

Quivi sospiri pianti, ed alti guai Risonavon per l'aere

Orribili favelle

Parole di dolore, accenti d'ira

Voci alti e fioche, e suon di man con elle.

Many of these wretched creatures were beautiful young females. The preachers moved about among them, at once exciting and soothing their agonies. I heard the muttered 'Sister! dear sister!' I saw the insidious lips approach the cheeks of the unhappy girls; I heard the murmured confessions of the poor victims, and I watched their tormentors, breathing into their ears consolations that tinged the pale cheek with red. Had I been a man, I am sure I should have been guilty of some rash act of interference; nor do I believe that such a scene could have been acted in the presence of Englishmen without instant punishment being inflicted; not to mention the salutary discipline of the tread-mill, which, beyond all question, would, in England, have been applied to check so turbulent and so vicious a scene.

"After the first wild burst that followed their prostration, the moanings, in many instances, became loudly articulate; and I then experienced a strange vibration between tragic and comic feeling.

"A very pretty girl, who was kneeling in the attitude of Canova's Magdalene immediately before us, amongst an immense quantity of jargon, broke out thus: Woe! woe to the backsliders! hear it, hear it, Jesus! when I was fif

teen my mother died, and I backslided, oh Jesus, I backslided! take me home to my mother, Jesus! take me home to her, for I am weary! Oh John Mitchell! John Mitchell!' and after sobbing piteously behind her raised hands, she lifted her sweet face again, which was as pale as death, and said, 'Shall I sit on the sunny bank of salvation with my mother? my own dear mother? oh Jesus, take me home, take me home!'

"Who could refuse a tear to this earnest wish

for death in one so young and so lovely? But I saw her, ere I left the ground, with her hand fast locked, and her head supported by a man who looked very much as Don Juan might, when sent back to earth as too bad for the regions below." i. 240—44.

We must lift up our voice like this gentle backslider, and exclaim, "Oh Mrs. Trollope! Mrs. Trollope! we hope, when this was going on, that you remembered you were an old woman." It has pained us much to speak as we have done, of the work of one so clever and sagacious, and who can handle the pen in a way so graceful and easy. We have seldom met with so much talent united to such sad prejudice.

Journal of an Expedition to explore the Course and Termination of the Niger; with a Narrative of a Voyage down that River to its Termination. By Richard and John Lander. 3 vols.

[Second Notice.]

*

"Little boys and girls were running to and fro, clashing empty calabashes against each other, and crying bitterly; groups of men were blowing on trumpets, which produced a harsh and discordant sound; some were employed in beating old drums; others again were blowing on bullock's horns; and in the short intervals between the rapid succession of all these fiend-like noises, was heard one more dismal than the rest, proceeding from an iron tube, accompanied by the clinking of chains. Indeed, everything that could increase the uproar was put in requisition on this memorable occasion; nor did it cease till midnight, when the eclipse had passed away." ii. 179-84.

The travellers here begun to descend the river, and the following narrative is admirably graphic:

"The day had been excessively warm, and the sun set in beauty and grandeur, shooting forth rays tinged with the most radiant hues, which extended to the zenith. Nevertheless the appearance of the firmament, all glorious as it was, betokening a coming storm; the wind

whistled wildly through the tall rushes, and darkness soon covered the earth like a veil. This rendered us more anxious than ever to land somewhere, we cared not where, and to endeavour to procure shelter for the night, if not in a village, at least under a tree. Accordingly, rallying the drooping spirits of our men, we encouraged them to renew their exertions by setting them the example, and our canoe darted silently and swiftly down the current. We were enabled to steer her rightly by the vividness of the lightning, which flashed across the water continually, and by this means also we could distinguish any danger before us, and avoid the numerous small islands with which the river is interspersed, and which otherwise might have embarrassed us very seriously. But though we could perceive almost close to us several lamps burning in comfortable-looking huts, and could plainly distinguish the voices of their occupants, and though we exerted all our strength to get at them, we were foiled in every attempt, by reason of the sloughs and fens, and we were at last obliged to abandon them in despair. Some of these lights, after leading us a long way, eluded our search, and vanished from our sight like an ignis fatuus, and others danced about we knew not how nor where. But what was more vexatious than all, after we had got into an inlet, and toiled and tugged for a full half hour against the current, which in this little channel was uncommonly rapid, to approach a village from which we thought it flowed, both village and lights seemed to sink into the earth, the sound of the people's voices ceased of a sudden, and when we fancied we were actually close to the spot, we strained our eyes in vain to see a single hut,-all was gloomy, dismal, cheerless, and solitary. It seemed the work of enchantment; everything was as visionary as sceptres grasped in sleep.'

"We had paddled along the banks a distance of not less than thirty miles, every inch of which we had attentively examined, but not a bit of dry land could anywhere be discovered which was firm enough to bear our weight. Therefore, we resigned ourselves to circumstances, and all of us having been refreshed with a little cold rice and honey, and water from the stream, we permitted the canoe to drift down with the current, for our men were too much fatigued with the labours of the day to work any longer. But here a fresh evil arose, which we were unprepared to meet. An incredible number of hippopotami arose very near us, and came plashing, snorting, and plunging all round the canoe, and placed us in imminent danger. Thinking to frighten them off, we fired a shot or two at them, but the noise only called up from the water, and out of the fens, about as many more of their unwieldy companions, and we were more closely beset than before. Our people, who had never, in all their lives, been exposed in a canoe to such huge and formidable beasts, trembled with fear and apprehension, and absolutely wept aloud; and their terror was not a little increased by the dreadful peals of thunder which rattled over their heads, and by the awful darkness which prevailed, broken at intervals by flashes of lightning, whose powerful glare was truly awful. Our people tell us, that these formidable animals frequently upset canoes in perish. These came so close to us, that we the river, when every one in them is sure to

could reach them with the butt end of a gun. When I fired at the first, which I must have hit, every one of them came to the surface of the water, and pursued us so fast over to the north bank, that it was with the greatest difficulty imaginable we could keep before them. Having fired a second time, the report of my gun was followed by a loud roaring noise, and we seemed to increase our distance from them

Finding we could not induce our people to land, we agreed to continue on all night. The eastern horizon became very dark, and the lightning more and more vivid; indeed, we never recollect having seen such strong forked lightning before in our lives. All this denoted the approach of a storm. At eleven г.M., it blew somewhat stronger than a gale, and at midnight the storm was at its height. The wind was so furious, that it swept the water over the sides of the canoe several times, so that she was in danger of filling. Driven about by the wind, our frail little bark became unmanageable; but at length we got near a bank, which in some measure protected us, and we were fortunate enough to lay hold of a thorny tree, against which we were driven, and which was growing nearly in the centre of the stream. Presently we fastened the canoe to its branches, and wrapping our cloaks round our persons, for we felt overpowered with fatigue, and with our legs dangling half over the sides of the little vessel into the water, which for want of room we were compelled to do, we lay down to sleep. There is something, I believe, in the nature of a tempest, which is favourable to slumber, at least so thought my brother; for though the thunder continued to roar, and the wind to rage, though the rain beat in our faces, and our canoe lay rocking like a cradle, still he slept soundly. The wind kept blowing hard from the eastward till after midnight, when it became calm. The rain then descended in torrents, accompanied with thunder and lightning of the most awful description. We lay in our canoe drenched with rain, and our little vessel was filling so fast, that two people were obliged to be constantly bailing out the water to keep her afloat. The water-elephants, as the natives term the hippopotami, frequently came snorting near us, but fortunately did not touch our canoe.

"The rain continued until three in the morning of the 17th, when it became clear, and we saw the stars sparkling like gems over our heads. Therefore, we again proceeded on our journey down the river, there being sufficient light for us to see our way, and two hours after, we put into a small, insignificant fishing-village, called Dacannie, where we landed very gladly." ii. 8-10.

--

On their arrival at Eboe, we have symptoms of approaching the coast, and of intercourse between the natives and Europeans:"The little we could see of the houses with which the shore is interspersed, gave us a very favourable impression of the judgment and cleanliness of the inhabitants of the town. They are neatly built of yellow clay, plastered over, and thatched with palm leaves: yards sprucely fenced are annexed to each of them, in which plantains, bananas, and cocoa-trees grow, exhibiting a pleasing sight, and affording a delightful shade. When we came alongside the large canoes already spoken of, two or three huge brawny fellows, in broken English, asked how we did, in a tone which Stentor might have envied; and the shaking of hands with our powerful friends was really a punishment, on account of the violent squeezes which we were compelled to suffer. The chief of these men calls himself Gun, though Blunderbuss, or Thunder, would have been as appropriate a name; and without solicitation, he informed us, that though he was not a great man, yet he was 'a little military king;' that his brother's name was King Boy, and his father's King Forday, who with ' King Jacket,' governed

all the Brass country. But what was infinitely more interesting to us than this ridiculous list of kings, was the information he gave us, that, besides a Spanish schooner, an English vessel, called the Thomas of Liverpool,' was also lying in the first Brass river, which Mr. Gun said was frequented by Liverpool traders for palm-oil.”

The costume of His Majesty is of the same

party-coloured fashion as the language of the people :

"The dress of the King of the Eboe country somewhat resembles that which is worn, on state occasions, by the monarch of Yarriba. Its appearance was altogether brilliant; and from the vast profusion of coral ornaments with which he was decorated, Obie might not inappropriately be styled, the Coral King,' such an idea at all events entered our minds, as we contemplated the monarch, sitting on his throne of clay. His head was graced with a cap, shaped like a sugarloaf, and covered thickly with strings of coral and pieces of broken looking-glass, so as to hide the materials of which it was made; his neck, or rather throat, was encircled with several strings of the same kind of bead, which were fastened so tightly, as in some degree to affect his respiration, and to give his throat and cheeks an inflated appearance. In opposition to these were four or five others hanging round his neck and reaching almost to his knees. He wore a short Spanish surtout of red cloth, which fitted clase to his person, being much too small. It was ornamented with gold epaulettes, and the front of it was overspread with gold lace, but which, like the cap, was entirely concealed unless on a close examination, owing to the vast quantity of coral which was fastened to it in strings. Thirteen or fourteen bracelets (for we had the curiosity to count them) decorated each wrist, and to give them full effect, a few inches of the sleeves of the coat had been cut off purposely. The beads were fastened to the wrist with old copper buttons, which formed an odd contrast to them. The King's trousers, composed of the same material as his coat, stuck as closely to the skin as that, and was similarly embroidered, but it reached no further than the middle of his legs, the lower part of it being ornamented like the wrists, and with precisely the same number of strings of beads; besides which, a string of little brass bells encircled each leg above the ankles, but the feet were naked. Thus splendidly clothed, Obie, smiling at his own magnificence, vain of the admiration which was paid him by his attendants, and flattered without doubt by the presence of white men, who he imagined were struck with amazement at the splendour of his appearance, shook his feet for the bells to tinkle, sat down with the ut most self-complacency, and looked around him."

We have the less regret in parting with these highly-interesting volumes, because the price places them within the reach of the great majority of readers-but we cannot do so without expressing our admiration of the persevering courage and unaffected good sense of the travellers, and our best wishes that they may long live in happiness and prosperity.

Woman's Love; a Novel. By Mrs. Leman Grimstone. 3 vols. 8vo. London, 1832. Saunders & Otley.

As this is the work of a lady, we looked for something soft, delicate, graceful, and we found all we looked for, and more. 'Woman's Love,' shows much of the gentleness, generosity, and clinging affection of the sex, with now and then a bit of weakness and even wickedness; there is not a little of the moral and monitory, and, what the world loves still better, much of the bitter and the sarcastic. The story is of the domestic kind, and laid in our own days; the characters, both male and female, are such as may be found without any laborious search, for they have little originality; and the dif

ficulties which embarrass the hero and heroine have been set forth before in novels, and are of a common-place kind. There are gratuitous

acts of scoundrelism, for which no adequate cause can be assigned, and impediments thrown in the way of the leading characters, which would be stepped over at once by any other legs but those which march through a novel. Many characters are introduced -Lord Conway, a hot-headed ridiculous bully; a devout Admiral, who swears he toral crooks; Claudia Conway, a lady of enlives in dread of relics and crosses and pasthusiasm and sudden impulses; Mrs. Fitzarran, handsome, heartless, fond of being wooed, and, though married, not unwilling to be won; Ida Dorrington, who loves moonlight woods and purling brooks, and other matters equally natural; and Charles Beresford, one of those gentle geniuses, created to be persecuted through three volumes, but who comes forth like the sun from the cloud, in the concluding chapters. There are, likewise, old dowagers, sharpers, mad women, mendicant strollers, and a justice of the peace.

Of all the characters, the most original is a certain virago, some six feet high, with a hawk nose, inquisitive eyes, and an imperious aspect, bearing the name of Miss Clapperton. To this amiable spinster, is entrusted the task of pulling her friends to pieces, and of clogging the wheels of the narrative when running too fast. We shall spare room for a sample of her sarcasms:

"But Ida, my dear,' resumed Miss Clapperton, 'I hope you are glad to see me, though you don't say so. I've come to stay a week, perhaps of Dromore was coming; the old Countess, I two, three, just as it happens. The Countess mean; but on hearing my intention she changed her mind. Means to inflict herself on Lady Cruise, her crooked cousin, who looked quite sour on the intimation-so I told the Countess, but she said, "Never mind, most things keep well in vinegar." I told the Countess she did right to think of preserves; I might have said repairs: for with all she does, time's pulling down the tenement she flirted in so long. Remember her a very pretty woman; not been that these last thirty years; but rouge, ringlets, pearl-powder, and false teeth, make her still pass in a crowd. Really, Mr. Beresford, the old fellow with the scythe and the hour-glass is a terrible Turk! now, for my own part, I never cared for him. Nature never made me for him to spoil; so that where he has been a foe to others he has been a friend to me. His touch could efface no beauty, for I never had any; it has therefore probably softened some deformity. He has left my strength unimpaired, and added to the funds on which I draw for thought in solitude, and converse in society. It is when I see him spoiling such a piece of perfection as this,' poking her immensely long finger, which might have been fatal as a fork, into Ida's face, 'that I think what a monster 'tis! Now I dare say you'd be perfectly content to see him throw his brick-bats at me, and break my bones ad libitum, if he but spared such china-ware as Ida Dorrington, and such splendid specimens of the species as Lady Claudia. If an edict of extermination could be sent out against old and ugly women, what a beautiful world would you gentlemen have it!'

"Not unless,' cried Charles, speaking loudly and laughing, 'not unless we weeded the men in the same manner that you propose with your

own sex.'

"Well, in that case,' she rejoined, 'you'd be safe enough. Ida, 'twill be a good thing for you when more people come to this house. Love

was born in solitude; that's the reason he always runs away when people get into the world. He's nursed up a little while in the honeymoon; but, hardly have the coach-wheels begun to rattle

THE third volume turns out to be, as we expected, the best of the three; and, in spite of the press of matter, we must try to get in a column or two edgeways.

To begin, we shall present the Captain in a character in which no one can have expected to meet him, except those who were capable of appreciating the power and beauty of his picture of the Calm at Sea,' which we exhibited last week. The scene of the present piece is the shore between Colabar and Ma

labar Point, called Back Bay; the flat sandy beach of which is belted by a grove of cocoanut trees, and their rich underwood of plantains, limes, and figs. This beautiful and secluded spot was chosen as the place for burning the bodies of the dead; and at the period Captain Hall treats of-while a frightful famine raged in the land-the funeral fires were seen blazing without intermission, night and day:

"The periods of the day when I visited this strange scene were either in the morning, when the damp land-wind was just dying away into a calm, or in the afternoon, when the delicious

sea-breeze still blew freshly home to the bottom of the bight, waving the plumes of the cocoanuts in fine style. In the morning the bay, not only within the two points, but quite out to the horizon, remained as smooth as a sheet of glass, without even a ripple large enough to break audibly on the sand; and as no swell rolled in from the offing, the sea, at such moments, lay so perfectly still, that all the surrounding objects on the shore, as well as those resting on the surface of the water, became reflected with a degree of sharpness in every respect like the originals.

66

The funeral piles being placed just within the margin of the beach, at the very water's edge, and fringing the shore, there rose up, in the most striking manner, nearly at equal intervals, a hundred pillars of smoke, as it were guarding the coast; or like tall columns stretching their heads into the air, many times higher than the highest trees of the dark, thickly planted tope, or grove, further inland, not a single leaf of which seemed now in motion.

"What added something of a mysterious and unearthly character to this solemn scene, was its perfect silence. Scarcely a sound could be heard along the whole shore, though within the space of a mile many hundreds of persons might be seen flitting about. Had it not been for the frequent splash, as another and another dead body was dipped in the sea, or a low word or two escaping from the natives as they arranged the pile on which the corpse was to be consumed, or the crackling of some fire fanned into more brisk action than the rest by a casual flaw of wind whisking in from the bay, the whole might have passed for a ghost-like vision. As I moved

We had half a mind to puff away these terrible smokes with a gale of tobacco sweeter than the sweet south; but we must content ourselves with giving notice, that we are ready to back Captain Hall's Blast against King Jamie's Counterblast any day of the year. We cannot, however, in justice to this light-hearted but observant sailor, refrain from quoting at least a part of his dissertation on the two strange animals afloat-viz. Johnnies and Jollies,-anglicè, Sailors and

Marines:

"The words Marine and Mariner differ by one small letter only: but no two races of men, I had well nigh said no two animals, differ from one another more completely than the 'Jollies' and the Johnnies.' The marines, as I have before mentioned, are enlisted for life, or for long periods, as in the regular army, and, when not employed afloat, are kept in barracks, in such constant training, under the direction of their officers, that they are never released for one moment of their lives from the influence of strict discipline and habitual obedience. The sailors, on the contrary, when their ship is paid off, are turned adrift, and so completely scattered abroad, that they generally lose, in the riotous dissipation of a few weeks, or it may be days, all they have learned of good order during the previous three or four years. parties are placed on board ship, and the general discipline maintained in its fullest operation, the influence of regular order and exact subordination is at least twice as great over the ma

Even when both

rines as it ever can be over the sailors. Many, I may say, most of their duties are entirely different. It is true, both the marines and the seamen pull and haul at certain ropes leading along the quarter-deck; both assist in scrubbing and washing the decks; both eat salt junk, drink grog, sleep in hammocks, and keep watch at night; but in almost every other thing they differ. As far as the marines are concerned, the sails would never be let fall, or reefed, or rolled up. There is even a positive Admiralty order against their being made to go aloft; and, accordingly, a marine in the rigging is about as ridiculous and helpless an object, as a sailor would prove if thrust into a tight, well pipe-clayed pair of pantaloons, and barred round the throat with a stiffstock." iii. 282-3.

A marine, moreover, can no more row than a sailor can go through the manual exercise. If a marine attempted to take the soundings, he would break his sconce with the lead; and if a sailor tried to march in line-heaven help his bow-legs!

"In short, without going further, it may be said, that the colour of their clothing, and the manner in which it is put on, do not differ more from one another than the duties and habits of the marines and sailors. Jack wears a blue jacket, and the Jolly wears a red one. Jack would sooner take a round dozen than be seen with a pair of braces across his shoulders; while the marine, if deprived of his suspensors, would speedily be left sans culotte. A thorough-going, barrack-bred, regular-built marine, in a ship of which the sergeant-major truly loves his art, has, without any very exaggerated metaphor, been compared to a man who has swallowed a

set of fire-irons; the tongs representing the legs, the poker the back-bone, and the shovel the neck and head. While, on the other hand, your sailor-man is to be likened to nothing, except one of those delicious figures in the fantoccini show-boxes, where the legs, arms, and head, are flung loosely about to the right and left, no one bone apparently having the slightest organic connexion with any other; the whole being an affair of strings, and springs, and universal joints!

"The marines live, day and night, in the after part of the ship, close to the apartments of the officers; their arm-chest is placed on the quarterdeck; their duties, even in cases where they are most mixed up with those of the seamen, group them well aft. The marines are exclusively planted as sentries at the cabin-doors of the captain and the officers; and even the look-outmen on the quarters, at night, are taken from the royal corps. To all this it may be added, that the marines furnish the officers with such

small service, in the way of attendance, as they may require, and generally wait at table." 286.

The difference between sailor and marine is strikingly exemplified; and, in unshaken fidelity, it appears, that the latter have the advantage:

"In a well-known instance of mutiny on board a frigate, the operation of these principles was shown in a most striking manner. The

captain was one of that class of officers, now happily extinct, whose chief authority consisted in severity. To such an excess was this pushed, that his ship's company, it appears, were at

length roused to actual revolt, and proceeded in a tumultuous, but apparently resolute body, to the quarter-deck. It is extremely curious to remark, that the same stern system of discipline

which had driven the seamen into revolt, had likewise been applied to the marines without weakening their paramount sense of duty under

any circumstances. Such, at all events, was the force of habit and discipline, that when the captain ordered them to fall in, they formed instantly, as a matter of course, across the deck.

At his farther orders, they loaded their muskets with ball, and screwed on their bayonets. Had the corps now proved traitors, all must have been lost; but the captain, who, with all his faults of temper and system, was yet a great, and gallant, and clear-headed officer, calculated with good reason upon a different result. Turning first to the mutineers, he called out,

"I'll attend to you directly!'

"And then addressing the soldiers, he said, with a tone of such perfect confidence of manner, and so slightly interrogative as to furnish its own answer,

"YOU'LL stand by your king and country?' "The marines thus appealed to said nothing, but grasped their fire-arms with an air of fixed resolution. It was exactly one of those occasions when silence gives the most expressive of all consents; and the captain, assured that if he were now only true to himself, the soldiers would be true to their duty, exclaimed,

"Then, royal and loyal marines, we don't care a damn for the blue jackets!'

"And, stepping forwards, he seized the two principal ring-leaders by the throat, one with each hand, and calling out, in a voice of thunder, to the rest, instantly to move off the quarterdeck, he consigned the astonished and deserted culprits to the master-at-arms, by whom they were speedily and quietly placed in double irons --and the whole mutiny was at an end!" 317-19.

But this is not all. The fate of the disciplinarian and the disciplined forms at once one of the most appalling and the most affecting story we ever read-and with it we shall conclude.

"The successful issue of the recent mutiny,

and his well-grounded confidence in his own resources, had taught him to believe that he could command the services of his people, not only on ordinary occasions, but at moments of utmost need. Here was his grand mistake. The obedience he exacted at the point of the lash had no heartiness in it; and when the time came that the argument of force could no longer be used, and when the bayonets of the marines had lost their terrors, there was read to him, and in letters of blood, the bitterest lesson of retributive justice that perhaps was ever pronounced to any officer since the beginning of the naval service.

"The frigate under command of this energetic officer, when in company with another ship, chased two French frigates off the Isle of France. As his ship sailed much faster than her consort, he soon outstripped her, and closed with the enemy single-handed. The Frenchmen, seeing only one ship near them, and the other far astern, shortened sail, and prepared for the attack, which, however, they could hardly suppose would be undertaken by one ship. In this expectation, however, they underrated the gallant spirit of her commander, who, unquestionably, was one of the bravest officers in the service. It is said, also, that he deemed himself, at this critical moment of his fate, one of the most fortunate of men, to possess such an opportunity for distinction. Seeing the enemy's frigates within his reach, and well knowing what his men could execute if they chose,-never dreaming for a moment that they would fail him at this pinch-he exclaimed, in the greatest rapture, 'We shall take them both! steer right for them! and now, my brave lads, stand to your guns, and show what you are made of!'

"This was the last order he ever gave! The men obeyed, and stood to their guns, like gallant fellows as they were: but they stood there only to be shot to death. They folded their arms, and neither loaded nor fired a single shot, in answer to the pealing broadsides which the unresisted and astonished enemy were pouring fast in upon them! Now had arrived the dreadful moment of revenge for them-as their captain, who was soon struck down like the rest, lived only long enough to see the cause of his failure, and to witness the shocking sight of his gallant and self-devoted crew cut to pieces, rather than move their hands to fire one gun to save the credit of their commander-all consideration for their own lives, or for the honour of their country, appearing to be absorbed in their desperate determination to prove at last how completely they had it in their power to show their sense of the unjust treatment they had received."

WAVERLEY NOVELS.-VOL. XXXV.
Redgauntlet. Vol. I.

A pleasant Preface and one or two personal anecdotes give interest to this volume. The illustrations are both good-the vignette, by Inskipp, capital.

New Guide to the "Lions" of London. With numerous Illustrations by Bonner. London, 1832. Kidd.

Mr. Kidd turns his wood-cuts to most ingenious uses. We meet with many old acquaintances in this little volume; but they look well, and are serviceable and welcome. The work is very tastily got up contains information that cannot fail to be useful to a stranger, and is remarkably cheap.

ORIGINAL PAPERS

STANZAS ON THE LATE FAST-DAY.
Who calls out on Fride
That can therein tax any private party?

THE wrath of God-the wrath of God
Is pour'd upon a guilty land:
Who can despise His threaten'd rod?
His gather'd vengeance who withstand?
What may this vast corruption be

That makes our God his face to hideThat "flows as hugely as the sea,"

And swallows all it reaches ?-Pride. The pride of reason and of power,

The pride of knowledge and of skill, The pride of beauty's passing flower, And of ungovernable will. Pride-that deforms our beauteous vales With riot fierce and gloomy rageThat makes o'erflow our groaning gaols With desperate youth and harden'd age. Pride-that perverts the sacred theme,

By glosses drawn from man's decreesThat makes an atom judge supreme Of heaven's eternal mysteries. Pride-that the towering statesman steels To point th' unhesitating wound, And, reckless what his victim feels,

To dart sarcastic lightnings round; That bids the pamper'd heirs of wealth From misery's plaint regardless turn; The confident in strength and health,

Grey hairs and pale diseases spurn;
Self-honour'd Virtue bar the door

To Penitence for errors past;
And self-styl'd wit despise the lore
That sage Antiquity held fast;
Half-letter'd Pedantry assume
The lofty magisterial speech,
And level by one general doom

The heights it is not given to reach.
All sects, all classes, all degrees

Of men that move beneath the sun, One universal madness seize

Of struggling not to be outdone. Hence mutual jealousies and jeers,

Deadly revenges, devilish hates; And hours perform the task of years,

In urging on the fall of states. Haste, Britain, to thy mercy seat,

And gird thy robe of sackcloth on; And thus in solemn strains repeat, Devoutly prostrate at the throne :"The wrath of God-the wrath of God Is pour'd upon a guilty land: None may despise His threaten'd rodHis gather'd vengeance none withstand. "Yet, Lord, our humble offering take, And turn no more thy face aside; While at thy altar we forsake

Our rebel will, our sinful pride. "The festering plagues that round us wait, Are but the type of that within. Oh, Lord! by thy great power abate The moral pestilence of sin! "So may our land Thy holy name

Again with hymns of triumph singAgain with ceaseless shouts proclaim, The Lord of Hosts is Britain's king!"

LIVING ARTISTS.-No. XIV. WILLIAM HILTON, R.A. HOGARTH, in one of his satiric works, represents the influence of patronage upon English painting by the symbol of a tree with three branches: the bough, which implied Landscape, kept green, but did not grow that which stood for History was shrivelled

in the bark and withered in the leaf-while the third, which perfigured Portrait, flourished like the green bay-tree. As painting was in those days, so is it still: the historic branch is shrunk and withered for want of public aid, while the great watering pipe of patronage flows continually for that of portraiture, and likenesses flourish in the land. One of the chief apostles in the unprofitable line of historic painting, is William Hilton; for these many years he has continued to swim against the running stream of public inclination: he has resisted discouragement in silence and tranquillity of heart-other artists have murmured much, but he has been resigned: he has neither submitted to subscriptions, nor petitioned the House of Commons. Year after year has witnessed the appearance of some new and noble performance of his as many of his works are purchased as enable him to live, and he paints on, in hope that better days are at hand. We heard, indeed, several years ago, that, weary of working on the barren branch of history, he had set his brushes in order, and mixed his palette for portraits; but the rumour died away, nor were we at all sorry; for though we know that following the muse of history has "damned his fortune to the groat," yet we feel that the recompense in fame will hereafter not be small. Indeed, we would rather see him striving, like Wilson or Barry, to keep soul and body coldly together, with a pint of porter and a crust of bread, while he painted scenes from Milton and Spenser, than see him grow rich in likeness-taking, and riding out with lacqueys behind him, to get an appetite for dinner.

To the task of historical painting Hilton has brought a correct eye, a clear sense of form and quantity, considerable skill in colour, and unrivalled accuracy in drawing. He conceives well, groups naturally, and works freely. There is much beauty and grace in his productions: he has so much softness in his flesh, and fascination in his outlines, that he has half enticed us into a liking for allegory. He makes himself intimate with the poet, whose ideas he desires to embody. Spenser seems a great favourite; yet he disdains not to find subjects in obscurer authors: one of his pictures in Lord de Tabley's gallery was from a ballad called 'The Mermaid,' by Allan Cunningham. There is sometimes, however, a deficiency of dramatic power observable in his works: he has too little of that intense earnestness of purpose, which compositions of the kind demand. In this he resembles West more than any painter we know: all that the most perfect art demands is there, save a little vitality that ethereal touch, which sets all in motion, and which may be called the soul of the performance. To paint fine groups, admirable in outline, graceful in attitude, and dipped in the fairest hues of heaven, is certainly a great achievement; but to inspire them with sentiment and feeling, and make them live in every limb, is a higher achievement still. Now, we do not mean to apply all this to the performances of Hilton; on the contrary, we have seen several of his pictures inspired as high as we could wish, and life and action impressed till we were even more than content. these were, and we were glad of it,-all subjects taken from the poets. Of his performances from Scripture we are not at all

But

admirers; and we may say of his 'Release of St. Peter,' as a poet said of the Scriptural works of Blackmore,

He undid creation at a jerk,

And of redemption made damned work. We confess that we love Scripture as it stands, without painter's gloss or grammarian's comment: and we may moreover add, that we never saw a single painting,—and noble ones we have seen,-which raised us one iota higher than the simple words themselves had before raised us. We wish he would dip his brushes in things equally noble, though less sacred: a gallery formed from Spenser, and Thomson, and Collins, and Byron, would find many admirers.

Hilton, on the resignation of Thomson, who succeeded the captious Fuseli, was made Keeper of the Royal Academy. There is a small salary attached-there is also an apartment for study, and another for repose--and, on the whole, his brethren have endeavoured to recompense him, as far as they could, for the sacrifices which he has continued to make in the cause of historical painting. As he is a man with a gentle voice, and mild and unassuming manners, he is much liked by the students, who compare him with Fuseli, as they would sunshine with storm. If we have not the learning of the Swiss, we have the gentlemanly ease of the Englishman; and though he cannot reprimand the students in fifteen living languages, he can give them most useful instructions in their native

tongue, which is sufficient for the purpose. There is no doubt, that had Hilton given way to despondency, and lifted in his vexation the pencil of portraiture, he would have succeeded in becoming popular. His fine drawing, his agreeable colouring, and his knowledge of nature, as well as art, would have made the labour easy;-ladies who covet divine shapes and heavenly hues, would have flocked to his easel; and gentlemen, desirous of having their heads made historical, would have followed. Then the painter would have avoided all the cost of fancy and outlay of invention, which the historic style requires. Reynolds, according to Northcote, complained that the historic style cost him too dear; that is to say, it ate up time, required reading, a little thought, and a poetic feeling akin to that which inspired the historian or the poet. This did not suit Sir Joshua: to him portrait painting, with the shape and expression ripe and ready to be stamped off at so many hours' sitting, was a kind of royal mint engine, which coined gold at the rate of five guineas per hour: whereas, in historical painting, he had to sink his shaft, find the vein, dig the gold, and wash, refine, melt, and stamp it—a toil which made, even when payments were sure, a very niggardly return compared to the Aladdin lamp sort of work to

which he was accustomed.

APRIL FOOLS.

YOUTH, to whose inexperienced view
The world appears in brightest hue,
Give to thy ardent fancy scope,
Indulge the fairy dreams of hope,
The warning voice of age deride,
And in the beauteous charm confide :-
April fool! April fool!
'Tis the mirage o'er desert dust
That mocks your hope, betrays your trust.
Wake, Genius, wake, with daring pinions
Soar beyond space and time's dominions;

Boldly pursue thy daring flight
To unknown worlds of life and light;
In honour's page thy name shall shine,
Eternity of fame is thine :-

April fool! April fool!
Say, who thy eagle course behold?
The dull, the senseless, and the cold.
Poor student, in that humble cell
Where poverty and learning dwell,
Grudge not to waste the midnight oil,
Spare not thy frame in ceaseless toil;
Knowledge thy labour shall repay,
And lead to wealth, to rank, to sway :-
April fool! April fool!
Banish at once that pleasing vision,
Learning is now the world's derision.
Hail to the patriot!-let thy zeal
Lead thee to guard the common weal;
A grateful country's fond regard
A nation's heart, sincerely thine,
Shall pay thee with a rich reward;
Shall raise thy image in its shrine :-
April fool! April fool!
The crowd's applause is breath at best,
And public gratitude's a jest.

EXPENSES OF DRURY LANE THEATRE, AND

HIGH SALARIES OF PERFORMERS.

A Sunday paper, in speaking of this subject, makes a most extraordinary assertion. We

not have more than fifteen shillings a week, and you shall be compelled' to write for any paper that chooses to employ you." The doctrine is absurd-it is monstrous. The evil, if it be one, carries its own corrective with it. Actors have an undoubted right to ask whatever terms they please. Managers are not compelled to accede to them-if they do, it is because they expect to find their account in it-if they find that account, who is injured? And if they don't, they will not give so much another time. Managers do not give high salaries to individual performers from choice, but from necessity. What causes that necessity? The scarcity of good ones. Who, then, besides the writer we have alluded to, shall presume to say that the few who possess superior talents, shall not be paid for their superiority? Why does Mr. John Cramer receive a guinea a lesson for teaching the pianoforte, when there are plenty of instructors to be had at three and five shillings?-because Mr. John Cramer is a better teacher than others, and properly chooses to be paid in proportion (or out of proportion, if he likes it better,) for so being. In the same way, Mrs. Wood commands and receives-aye, and will command, and will receive a higher salary than other singers. When we see the supply of good actors and good singers exceed the demand, and find any manager, although able, from the depreciation in price, consequent upon over-supply, to make engagements on his own terms, taking a new tone, and saying to those whom he selects, "It is true, I can have you for three or five pounds a week, but I choose to pay you twenty, because your talents deserve such remuneration," we will give up a portion, if not the whole of our arguments. Until then, we must decline. And yet managers are seldom mentioned by the press, without some such epithets, as "liberal," "spirited," "active," "enterprising," &c., before their names. Are they, generally speaking, liberal? For further information, inquire among the subordinates of the profession, where the supply exceeds the demand, and where, consequently, without it's being publicly noticed, they can grind. Are they, generally speaking, liberal? Inquire among those authors who depend solely on their profession, and where, also, they have too frequently the power of driving a hard bargain-and it will be found, that the fingers of one hand will be sufficient to count the instances where extra remuneration has been volunteered as a reward for extra success. Above

were aware that the nightly expenses of the house were very great, but were by no means prepared to find from such undoubted authority, that "Captain Polhill pays 2501. every time his curtain is raised." Upon this scale, a five-act play, an interlude, and a farce, will make his outlay two thousand pounds for the night! After this, no one can wonder at the concern being unprofitable. But to leave off joking, the same paragraph states, with an air of great indignation, that "Mrs. Wood lately netted 100%. in one week; namely, 601. from Drury Lane, (with the aid of her husband,) 201. from the Antient Concerts, and 207. from the Managers of the Oratorios"" It goes on to say, "This is vastly too much in these days of depression; and, indeed, the salaries and emoluments of all performers, are far above the level of the payment of any other profession or trade." And again, farther on, the following laws are coolly laid down-"The very best actress or actor now on the stage, ought not to receive more than 207. a week; and for this they ought to be compelled to play ought not they, and ought they? We should whenever their services can be useful." Really be glad to know where our worthy cotemporary, who seems to care so much more about managers than actors, learned that newspaper critics have the right of fixing the salaries, and regulating the duties of actors; and still more, where he learned that it is not as free to actors as to the members of any other profession or trade, to carry their commodities to the best market. They are called servants of the public, it is true, and so in a certain degree they are-but the compact only extends to the correct fulfilment abilities while they are on the stage and before of their duties, according to the best of their the public; and there it most properly ends. The price at which performers are to be had, must and will, like the price of everything else, be regulated by supply and demand-and there is no earthly reason why it should not be so. If the writer of the article in question had an exclusive supply of any commodity in general demand, we suspect he would cry out loudly against the man who should pretend to say that he had no right to take advantage of his good fortune, and make the most money he could-nay, we will put a case home to him, and ask him whether or not he would feel himself aggrieved, if he were the only person extant capable of writing theatrical notices, and were told "you shall

all, let us see more instances of the public, who are so kind as to designate actors as their servants, caring two straws what becomes of a favourite performer after he has finally quitted the stage, before any of that public presume to dictate what terms he shall make while on it, or tell him that a profession, which, from its nature, is precarious above all others, ought not to produce to its followers profit, in an increased proportion, while the time for its exercise lasts.

OUR WEEKLY GOSSIP ON LITERATURE AND ART.

The

THERE is more knowledge abroad in our land than formerly, but we question if men are individually so learned and deeply acquainted with the mysteries of art and nature, as they were an hundred years ago. world has received a varnish; all is shining and showy; a little is known of everything, much of nothing; our children's tables are heaped with books, of which they can only acquire a smattering, and our own are filled with works on all subjects under the sun, and at prices so astonishingly low, that we marvel how so much can be given for so little. But, after a moment's reflection, we do not marvel quite so much. The linen,