Imagens das páginas
PDF

Telegraph, electrical, 133.

"Tell me not of jocund spring," by G., 336.

Temperance recommended, 343.

Ten, Council of, dramatic critiques by—*ee Theatrical.

Text, singular and appropriate, 79.

That, may occur eight times in uninterrupted succession,

320.
Thermo-micrometers, with engraving, 46, 51.
Theatre, Liverpool, notices of, 4, 12, 20, 29, 40, 44, 53,
58, 65, 65, 68, 73, 81, 83,101,125, 128, 136, 143, 152,
193, 212, 280, 404, 413, 424, 424, 440.
Theatrical notices, 223.
Theodric, by Mr. Campbell, 327.
Thoroughfares, or right of road, 39.
"Thou art lost unto me," &c (verses) 428.
Though tears may dim, 336.
Thrush, lines to a, by G., 420.
Tick and Sheridan, 337-

Time, voice of, by G., 44—Sonnet on, by G., 80—Epi-
gram on the loss of, 80.
Tippling females, or sham poison, 364.
Toads, or frogs, in solid rock, 100, 176, 184, 201.
Tom (blind) curious biography of, 374.
Tooth-ache, recipes for, 147, 335, 371.
Touchard's coffee-house, 350.
Townshend's sonnet, lines after reading, 4.
Trade—tec Iron.
Traill, Dr., address of, at the opening of the Liverpool

School of Arts, 430.
Translation, original, of an entire French work on geo-
logy» natural history, &c tee Earth.—Whimsical, 67

—tec French verses—tec Latin.
Translations expressly for the Kaleidoscope from L'Her-
mite en Italie, 1, 8, 17, 25, 41, 57. 69, 77, 105, 113,
121,129.145,153, 161, 169. 177—From the German,
18, 26, 33, 42, 50, 58, 70, 121, 135, 154, 161, 170, 238,
322.

Translation, II Grasso, the cabinet-maker, 397-

Translations, original, paper on, 227. 231, 239,250.

Travelling six thousand miles for a guinea, 211-

Travelling, ancient and modern, 90-

Tree, immense American, 858.

Trees, how to make names grow upon, 79—Subterrene,

189—Remarks upon planting, 189.
Trials, ludicrous, 91.
Truth, by G. 328.
Tuscany, festivals of, 57.

"'Twas but a moment" (verses) 428. «

Twist, Dr. Timothy, letter from, 24.
Typographical punning, 8a

Vacuum, pneumatic, engine, 64.

Valentine of a sailor, 284.

Vandenhoff, Mr. remarks on, 128, 223.

Vapour bathing recommended for the poor, 384, 384—tec

Bathing.
Vegetable phenomenon, 67,152,192,192.
Vermin, destruction of, 47.
Verona, journey to, 17.
Vesuvius, eruption of, 273.

Viginti and Nonaginta.conversation (in verse) between, 38.
Virtue, lines to, 200.
Vive La Bagatelle—Solution of conundrums, puzzles,

enigmas, &c. 7, 14, 24, 33, 40,220, 228, 232,244, 256,

264,272, 277,289—tee alto Gymnasia.
j Volcanoes, 265, 273.
Voyages of discovery, 174, 274, 315, 399, 405, 436—tee

Parry and FrankUm,

W.

Wages and population, 328.

Wakes, country, and rush-bearings, 324, 328.

Walnuts recommended as medicine, 147.

Warning, giving, to a wife, 253.

Water, glass of, how to invert, without spilling, 287-

Waters of the ocean, on the mass of, 385, 893.

Watt, the late Mr. speech of Mr. Jeffrey, respecting, 3-4.

Wayte, Thomas, Esq. biographical notice of, 347, 351.

Whale, enormous, stranded, 388, 395, 401.

Whale found in a moss in Scotland, 189.

Whalebones (burlesque lines) 200.

Wealth, national, Mr. M'Culloch's lecture on, 406.

Wealthy commoners in England, 287.

Webbe, Mr. prize Catch, by, 269.

Week, explanation of the days of the, 250.

Weights and measures, alterations in, 63, 163, 821—-Ori-
ginal letters respecting, 190,191.

Wet feet, precautions against, 343.

White, Henry Kirke, lines by, 380.

Wife, right of, to a dower, 287—How to choose a, 428.

Will, curious, 107.

Wilson, the Rev. Mr. speech of, at the meeting to establish
the Liverpool Mechanics' Institute, 438.

Wine, compound, 35—And Bark, versified, 859— Pars-
nip, 363.

Winds, lines by G. on, 52.

Winter cautions, 231—tee Latin vcrtct.

Wolves harnessed to a carriage, 439-

Woman, the essentials in a, 54.

Wood, subterraneous, in Scotland, 189.

Worcester, Marquis of. Century of Inventions, a reprint
of the whole, beginning at page 21, and continued each
week.

Worms, cure for, 335.

Year, dying, by G. 216—Retrospect of the last, 285.

York Assize week (verses) 353.

Zinc plates for engraving, 235.

Zodiacal signa—tee Attronomical Signt.

[ocr errors][merged small]
[graphic][graphic][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][graphic][ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

Is fsmubu'Miscellany, from which rslliriuusand political matters are excluded, con'ainsavarletyof original andselected Article*; comurehend ng Literature, Criticism, Men and Manner?,
Ai-jijemeut, Elegant Extracts, Poetry, Anecdotes, tliugrapb.y. Meteorology, the Drama, ArtsandSciences, Hit and Satire, Fashion*,Natural History. 4sc. &c. forming ahandsome Annu«l
N\Yuuae,wiLnan Index and Title-page—Us clrculution renders It a most eligible medium for Literary and FtuhumaMt Advertisements.—Regular supplies are forwarded weekly to the .Agents, viz.

StiK-l-port—T. Claye .
Vlverston—J. Soulby
riakefield—Mrs. Hurst:
Warrington—J. Harrison
IVelchpool—R. Owen;
Whitchurch—R. Parker;
Wlgan—Lyon and Co.;
J. Brown;

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors]

itlm ar.ft /Manners.

in. XIX. ABRIVAL AT PISA.

Boa LSSB3IITH B!» ITALIK, THB LATEST WOXX OF MR. JOUT.

[Translated expressly for the Kaleidoscope.'}

I set out on horseback from Spezzia, accompanied by a uale, and we soon arrived at Ltrici, tbe ancient Erix, r Ptirtut Erici of Ptolemy. This town, situated at the w of a range of rocks, is excluded from every view ice?', ihat of the sea. Its gulf is separated by a narrow «i of land from that of Spezzia. Towards sunset, we cached Sarzana, situated on the frontiers of Tuscany nd the territory of Genoa, and separated from Lend by

mountainous country, about live or six leagues in exist Sarr.ua, called by the Latins Sarazana, Sergittnum, id L*r» Pw, forms a part of the Genoese territory, and

eighteen leagues distant from the city of Genoa. It irmerly belonged to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, but ; ceded it in the fifteenth century to the Republic of enoa, in exchange for a small hamlet of fishermen's us, called Leghorn,, a name still retained by the great ivn which now occupies the same site. Sarzana has a oil uninteresting appearance, and the houses are of a raj dusky hue, like those of most of the old towns in •It. The most remarkable buildings are the cathedral ltd public palace. Near Lunenza are quarries containig a sort of marble called by the Latins lapidi I line n si. : is of the purest white, and the grain is exceedingly if. 1:15 so transparent that it has often been mi-taken r Parian marble, the latter being even inferior to it in soBtf anil whiteness. The house of Benedalli, at Sarzana, built of this marble.

I raised the night at Sarzana, and the next day hired a triage, which conveyed me to Pisa, a large and fine city

Tuscany.

Tbe quay of the Arno is the finest ornament of Pisa, 1 fii> even been thought to surpass in beauty the quay

the Arno at Florence. It extends in the form of a **3'. from the gate dclle Puige to that called del Mare, u presents a magnificent coup d'ecil from whatever rat " is surveyed. Palaces and fine houses are erected »jg this quay, which is also adorned by three bridges nag a communication between the quarters of St. »7 and St. Antony. The scene is enlivened by the Krnm's barks, and boats laden with merchandise, uir.jall? crossing each other upon the river, which V">=! itself into the sea, at the distance of two or three SWs

-J grim, which is permitted to grow in many of the «streets, gives to the interior of the town a solitary

dsmal aspect. The population, which once amounted i acre than a hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants,! low ruduced to sixteen thousand. This town is very ]

ancient, and is supposed to have been founded by a Greek colony. The founders came from a city of Greece, of the name of Pisa, built on the shores of the river Alpheus, in Elis, a province of Peloponesus.

Virgil says, speaking of Pisa, verses 179 and 180 of the tenth book of the -Cneid:

"Hos parere Jubent Alphese ab orlgine Pis*.
Urbs Etrusca solo. Sequitur pulcherimus Astur.*

Pisa is situated in a vast, richly cultivated, and populous plain. The marshes which once infected the purity of the air, have been drained, and its climate is now esteemed one of the finest in Italy, the extremes both of heat and cold being less frequent than at Florence. Snow never falls there, and the frost does not continue above eight days in the year. It is usual, in the months ot' December and January, to dine with the windows open, and the mild spring weather begins as early as the month of February. The heats of summer are constantly tempered by the sea winds.

Pisa was, in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, a republic no less powerful than that of Genoa. She then made conquests in Africa and the Mediterranean, possessed herself of Carthage, and took from the Sarrasins the Balearic Isles, Corsica, and Sardinia. She sustained long wars with the Florentines and Genoese, to whom she finally owed the destruction of her power.

A village of the name of San-Pietro is built upon the land formerly bathed by the waves of the ancient port, J w tich fell in o ruin, when fortune and the Mediterranean deserted it. A large loose stone, in the middle of the nave of the parish church, designates the spot, where, according to tradition, Saint Peter landed and fastened the anchor of his vessel, when he visited Pisa, one of the first towns where Christianity was established. The Florentines deprived the inhabitants of Pisa of their liberty and government in 1*06. Charles the Eighth, at the time of his journey into Italy, assisted them in recovering both; but, in 1609, they again lost them ; and have, from that time, remained in the power of the Giand Dukes of Tuscany.

In 150O, Lewis the Twelfth, in conformity with his promise to assist the Florentines in their attempts upon Pisa, lent them 6,000 good infantry and a large body of cavalry. Determined to allow the inhabitants of Pisa no quarter, the Florentines insisted upon choosing their general themselves, and demanded of the King of France Hugh de Beaumont, as a man whose stern and inflexible character rendered him a fit instrument of their animosity.

Having arrived before Pisa, Beaumont sent D'Arbouville and Hector de Mortcmar, two of his principal captains, to summon the inhabitants, in the name of the king, to return to the yoke of their former masters. The magistrates received the envoys with great ceremony, and led them to the town-hall. They there shewed them the portrait of Charles the Eighth, honourably placed under a canopy, and surrounded by the emblems of their grati

tude for a prince, who had, as they said, withdrawn them from the tyrannical dominion of the Florentines. "We owe to the French," said they, "our liberty, which is dearer to us than life, and we arc determined never to be separated from that generous people. Our town formerly constituted a part of the Duchy of Milan; we therefore belong to France. Let the king deign to receive us among the number of his subjects, and we will willingly submit to the conditions he shall impose, however severe they may be; but let him not abandon us to pitiless wolves, to inexorable tyrants; to the Florentines, our implacable enemies. If we cannot obtain this favour, let him at least grant us an asylum in his kingom, since we prefer exile and poverty to the horrors of servitude which would await us in our own country."

Whilst the captains, affected by this appeal, were endeavouring to persuade the people to submit by promises to alleviate the severity of their fate, the gates of the ball were thrown open, and five hundred young girls, dressed in white, and with dishevelled hair, entered, conducted by two venerable matrons, and throning themselves at the feet of the two envoys, conjured them to remember the solomn oath they had taken, on receiving the order of chivalry, to be the defenders of the fair sex, and not to abandon them to the brutality of their enemies. Arbouville and Mortemar bent their eyes to the ground, much embarrcsscd, and attempted to withdraw, but these young girls, surrounding them, dragged them before an image of the Virgin, and would not allow them to depart, until they had moved them to tears by the earnestness of their entreaties. The envoys then returned to their camp, loaded with presents, and related what they had seen and heard.

It was difficult for an army of French soldiers to attack a people who opposed to them arms like these, but though the principal officers wished the assault to be deferred until further orders were received from the king, Beaumont persisted in his resolution to invest the town. He could not, however, prevent a friendly intercourse from being established between the besiegers and the besieged. All the French soldiers who presented themselves at the gates either during the day, or in the night time, were hospitably entertained, and often dismissed with wine and meat for their comrades in the camp. When the attack was commenced, the inhabitants pointed out to them the places upon which the cannons of the town were to fire, in order that they might avoid them. Some assaults were nude but little slaughter was committed. The soldiers by del grees abandoned their posts, until the desertion became so general, that Beaumont was obliged to retire with his army in the night time, leaving the sick and wounded at the mercy of the besieged. The inhabitants of Pisa at traded by the groans uttered by the disabled soldiers upon seeing their comrades depart fiom them, came out from the gates of the city, carrying torches, and removed these wretched men into the town, where they bestowed upon them every care necessary for the rcestablishment of their health. They then permitted them to return to Milan

rnd furnished them with money for their journey, still i expressing to them their desire to belong to France. We must do Napoleon the justice to own that less entreaty was necessary to induce him to grant a people the honour of forming a part of the great empire.

My mind continued occupied with these remembrances R* I passed through the streets. I at length alighted at an inn, situated on the quay. The bridge is said to be of marble, .vhich does not answer to the ascriptions given of it. The surface of its free-stone parapets is covered to the height of at bast twelve feet with pieces of marble, joined together. The inhabitants, taking a part for the whole, boast that their bridge is built of marble, and as the causeway and payement are composed of flags of common stot.e, much resembling, at the first glar.es, unhewn oiarble, the deception is not easily discovered.

At one extremity of the quay, near the gate of 1 .ucca, Is an immense square, purt of which is occupied by the dome, baptistry, Campanile, or steeple, and, Campo Sitnto or cemetery. These four buildings are very lofty, and of great extent. They are entirely composed of white marble, avd surrounded on the'outside by antique columns of difilretit orders, incrustatcd with marbles of various colours, and adorned by gothic sculptures. The Cainpu«ite, a circular building, situated at the western extremity of the dome, is the most deserving of attention. It is a hundred and ninety feet high, and its summit inclines from it» base more than forty feel; it is ornamented by seven rows of pillars. The interior staircase is so easy of accent, that it is said to be practicable to a man on horseback. The inhabitants call this r -•■ t Torre liotttt. Some assert that the architect sported w • his art, when he gave this tower so marked an inclination; others maintain, that after having been regularly constructed, it gradually assumed an inclined position, as the suil stink under its weight.

The interior of the Metropolitan chinch is majestic; it is ornamented by seventy-six pillars, numerous basso-relievos, and paintings by the first masters. I remarked particularly a Saint Agnes, of Andrea del Suite. The pavement is of Mosaic; the choir rises in the form of an inverted half globe, and is compos d ot a substance having the appearance of painted glass, penetrable to the light, and in which the rays of the sun are refracted. At the bottom of this half sphere is observed an Image of the Almighty, of gigantic size, painted several centuries ago.

The doors at the bottom of the church are of bronze, and covered with numerous fi -tires moulded with them, which the inhabitants pretend to have been brought from Jerusalem by their ancestors hi 107')- These figures represent traits in holy writ. The lateral doors possess nothing remarkable.

The Campo Santo, or cemetery, is about a thousand feet in circumference. It is rendered ihterestitig by the paintings, in fresco, which adorn the whole extent of its interior walls. The figures are of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and represent the histories of the Old and New Testament, and views of Paradise, Purgatory, and Hell. The latter arc particularly worthy of study. On one of the walls is painted the celebrated picture of Vergogna, or Modestina, who, to avoid seeing her father Noah, extended near her, naked and intoxicated, covers her eyes with her hands, the fingers of which remain separated. The dampness has spoilt,*.! most of these paintings. Copies of them may be found in a collection of engravings published by Morghen, in 1810, and the years following.

The inhabitants »>' Pisa sfiirm that the reddish earth of this cemetery, in **-rtich thrir dead are interred, was brought from Mount Calvary, near Jerusalem, in the twelfth cu.tu.-y, ai.d that it cjr.su.rn.es the body in the course of twemy-fuur hours.

A vast gallery, contained in the cemetery, is bordered by ancient tombs, of which the sculpture attests the great mttquity. The inscriptior.s are unfortunately for the most part illegible.

THE BACHELOR'S STORY.
[original.]

"Perdl una liija ri,in/..-:la

Que era la nor desta tierra

Cteti doblas Java por clla

£,'0 mc las est-iino e-.i nada. "—.MooriM Ballad.

I was horn in London, in the year 1775, just about the btc.iking out of the American war. My father was reputably established in life as a tallow-chandler, and was considered by many as a man of property. He loved mc, and J loved him, and never shall I forget the kind manner in which he used to make me a small present for my own use, though he certainly hud a very q'tcer way of tacking to his gift this phrase—"there, and don't make a beast of yourself." He wa3 not much informed, but was what the wold call an easy man; easily imposed upon he was, 'tis true; "but then, he could not help mankind being villains, and if he was more unfortunate than his neighbours. why, he could not help it—so there it might end." My mother, be it known, was completely different; in opposition to my father's corpulency, she was slim and lengthy in her person, and possessed what she termed a "vast mind." This " vast mind" of hers was, however, only filled with scraps from badly selected novels; and armed with every quotation from the last romance, she assaulted my father with a vigorous display of her transcendant talents. Sooie one hail told her that every clever woman was absent and thoughtful; she, too, would therefore be absent, and would frequently, in some of her reveries, overturn the tea urn with her arm, or upset the whole tea equipage with her foot, um! she could not be brought back to her herself, but by the cups and saucers clattering about her feet; and after being wet and scalded in every direction, she just found out that she was not in the midst of a wood, but sitting down with her "clump of a Tlusband," as she called him, at the odious tea table. She would sit up all morning, poring over the "lettered page," and feasting herself and her "vast mind" on the rich stores of the impenetrable secret, or a romance of the sixteenth century, she would exclaim—" Oh that I should be wedded to a tallow-chandler"

My father bore all this with patience (but as in my own story I should wish to adhere to truth, so in that of others the same principle; ought to be observed.) I must inform you 'hat he was rather henpecked, and feared my mother's vast tongue a great deal more than her "vast mind." They lived, however, as happily as a literate wife could live with an illiterate husband, and if they often quarrelled, they did, to do them justice, very often agree: one point ti-.'y did differ on, and had they lived to eternity, would have still diit'orcd on,—this was politics. My father was a tory, my mother was a whig; he loved peace, she loved war; he was contented with the then present state of affairs, she railed against t'.ictn; he sided with the ministers, sheopposed them. Amidst this clash of opinions no wonder there were spatks; but my mother got the better in the argument, if argument it could be called, and in the whirlpool of liberty, rights of man, ptiviltge of women, tyranny, and oppression, my poor father was

I lost. The only riaiurce he had was his shop; to that he

] hastened as his "sanctum tanctornm," for there my mother would not condescend to enter; and, shrouded in its gloom, he dippul on in peiire and quietness. Whether my father had suffered enough from his own ignorance, or wV. thcr he imagined that the knowledge of Latin and Greek would prevent me from enduring the yoke which he so quietly bore, I could never determine, but he took great pains to select for me a school where these necessary accomplish

I meats to a man of any pretensions to ability were most completely of the 0ieaust importance, and where every thing else but the classics were quite neglected. I went

'through the usual routine of a classical education; had

Zenophon, Tully, Herodotus, Homer, Virgil, Plato, Cato, and the whole host of Romans and Greeks marshalled in battle array on the tablet of my memory, but the utile ttai quite forgotten. Of our own history I knew little or no. thing; whether the Normans conquered the Saxons, or the Saxons the Normans, I was quite ignorant- Geography *ai put aside; astronomy ne'er enlightened my mind; tht Black Sea might unite with the Baltic, and the Wolja with the Ganges, for all that 1 knew about the matter: the course of the celestial bodies might have attracted my attention, but to believe that the earth moved round the sun, seemed to m- too large a draft on my credulity. I will not tire you with an account of my school pranks, they were like those of others, and if I was a little mote daring than the rest of my competitors, I generally sufferod in a proportionable ratio. At sixteen I was taken from school, and homewards bent my way. My father was then getting old, and even my mother's "vast mind'' had fallen considerably away. By dint of diligence and economy my father had now amassed a very handsome fortune, and one morning as I passed him on the stairs, he called after me to come up inio his own room, "for I want to speak to thee, my lad, alout thy future welfare," said he, with a laugh upon his face. When we were fast. ened up (for he had a great dislike to an open door) hi commenced his harangue thus :—" Will, my boy, I am old, and have scraped together more than thnu'lt spend, so I don't see why I should go on in business, wasting myself for nothing—I'll shut up shop, and we'll live in some comfortable place in the country, and thou, my lad, shall be a gentleman." Of course 1 did not dissent from snei a proposal; for, to tell the truth, I had a natural aversion to business: I answered as became a dutiful child, "that their will was mine." So the shop was shut up, and every thing sold, and away we posted to our country-house, ray mother quite delighted with the change, and I myself not leas so. We had purchased the manson of a gentleman

near the pleusBnt town of , most charmingly situated,

and commanding a fine view of the river , as it swept along with its rapid current. Mr. V—, the gentleman from whom the house was purchased, had otice been a very considerable merchant, but owing to a reverst of fortune, he had been obliged to sell his estate, and lire in a more retired manner at a small house in the neighbourhood. The mansion had been uninhabited for some time, for the grass was on the walks, and the trees were scattering their wild branches in every direction, but still it wr.s evident that the whole had been planned and eie cuted in an elegant and tasteful manner.

Sheltered from the northern blast by a row of stately firs, our garden bloomed in the severest weather. The ra nunculus, the hyacinth, the modest lily of the valley, am the blushing anemone, were scattered in profusion on the ground. Hose trees innumerable shed their frngrann in the air; but one in particular attracted my attention this was close under one of the windows, and, from it height and beauty, seemed to have received no commoi care. In a few days my father set to, got the gardei cleared of its incumbrances, and again brought it into it original state. Being myself fond of exercise, I frcqueml (for want of better employment) busied myself in digging around the different trees, not forgetting my favourite orrt I had been occupied thus one evening, and had left li earth perfectly level round the root of the finest, when, a returning in the morning to view its opening beauties, was surprised to find the prints of feet about it. Robit son Crusoe could not have been more agitated when t saw the marks of footsteps on his barren and tlesolal shore, than 1 was then; for, upon examining them m01 particularly, from the size, I discovered them to be those* a female!" Perhaps 'tis the servant's ?—ro, no ; we In but one female, and she had never such a foot as thi Perhaps 'tis my mother's ?—oh, Lord, said I to mysel her foot would make six of these! Then whose could be ?—a stranger's—that's certain. But when could si come? not in the morning, t'm I was an early riser, at ihtoU bare discovered bcr; then at night it must be, an J H light I "11 watch." I was communing with myself in (his manner, when my father rapped me on the back, lamuag in my ear, " Will, my lad, breakfast's ready." 1 immediately followed him, though curiosity had quite tikea away my appetite. After breakfast I lounged up and down, ju*t to voile amy the time until evening: at last, with sleeping, eating, and walking, I brought the day to adase. To put my plan into execution, I retired to bed early, and, without undressing, threw myself upon it, wilting oil the Tast-couiing shade should deepen the (dram around me. All who know what an evening in July is, when in the country, must have observed with dciijit this necessary repose of nature. In the present case J Uk the serenity and peace of the landscape before me "come over my heart like the sweet south wind over a bed cf violets;'* for as I watched the yellow moon rise with her foil round orb, shedding her mild lustre on the tops of the large black firs that almost surrounded our mansion, I felt > glow of pleasure and ecstaey of feeling that belongs Lot to this world, its cares, or its troubles. As I stood furcifag this enchanting scene, my eye instinctively fell eo tie rose tree below me; but bow my heart palpitated, and my pulse throbbed, when I beheld by the side of it a female! Just then a slight cloud passed the moon, partially obscuring her from my view; but soon the ".watery veil" was withdrawn, and I had a good opportunity of viewing her figure. She appeared to be not more than seventeen or eighteen, and from the lightness and elegance of her form I judged ber to be handsome. For a few minutes she remained in a pensive attitude, seemingly qnte absorbed in contemplation, but afterwards directed her attention to the rose tree, which she bent over in the most aaVctionate manner; then, as if something had alirmed her, she suddenly cast her eyes upon the very *wdo»in which I stood, liveted to the spot, and almost incapable of stirring a fibre. As quickly as I could I retired, hoping to escape observation, but I was deceived, fir, on returning, I found she had fled.

"Had she sunk In the earth, had she melted In air,
"1 saw not, I knew not, but nothing was there."

Nothing more could be done, so I jumped into bed, but not to sleep, for I had caught a glance of a dark black eye, and a raven tress on a neck of snow, which were quite «:ifidoit to drive the drowsy god from my eyelids. I tried in ten thousand ways to account fot her appearance: to find out who she was, and what she was, now became of importance; but 'twas in vain; roomingbroke, and found m» equally puzzled. After breakfast I set out into the

village of , to make some inquiries about M r. F—,

and amongst others I culled upon the gardener, who had lived wkh him prior to his reverse of fortune. From him I g« this information—that Mr. F— had a daughter: but I did not wait to hear any more, being quite satisfied in my own mind that 6he was the visitant of the rose tree.

[To be continued.]

[ocr errors]

BEDGAUNTLET.

We do not identify ourselves in any degree with the following brief critique of the last work of the "Great unisayn" as the author of Waverley is sometimes styled. W' e are certainly amongst the admirers of the extent and versatility of his talents, but we are also aware that it is t» much the fashion to laud most extravagantly every thing which proceeds from his pen. Such indiscriminate and often unmerited eulogy renders it hazardous to identify ourselves with any critiques upon what are called the Scotch Novels, especially if such critiques, as in the present instance, proceed from gentlemen on the other "da of the Tweed. However, as curiosity is on the nlert °& the subject, and as we have, not yet had it in our

power to peruse the work, we shall present our readers with the following sketch from a cotemporary.—Ed . Kal. {From the EdMnrgk IVetkly Chronicle.) •• We are happy to announce the re-appearance of this great luminary above our northern horizon; and if his orb, in Its last passage over the meridian, suffered a partial, and but a partial obscuration, it shines forth now in full splendour. The apprehension which from lime to time involuntarily arises, that this extraordinary mine must at last be exhausted, is again completely refuted. The author has broke up an entirely fresh vein. Redgauntlet, Peter Peebles, the blind tiddler, Joshua, and even Nanly Kwart, are all originals, scarcely owning among their predecessors any class to which they belong. The publication having got the start of us by a week, it could serve no purpose now to give extracts from what must be already familiar to nine-tenths of our readers. We cannot help, however, calling their attention to the boldness, spirit, and interest of the whole work, and to the vigour with which the characters are drawn. Old Redgauntkt, though in a very opposite attitude, reminds us somewhat of Burley, in the same stem and deep devotion to a lost cause, and his readiness to support it by every engine, either of good or of evil. There is something almost supernatural in the deep mystery of his movements, in his dark and lofty demeanour, even in those pacings, bark and forward, "whose funereal slowness seemed to keep time with some current of internal passion, dark, slow, and unchanged." Poor Peter Peebles we rind considered by many as the prime ornament of the book; but though we trust ourselves not insensible to the extraordinary merits of Peter, particularly in some of the dialogue, yet he really appears to us somewhat too crazy and worthless. We think, if an honest, reputable, otherwise sensible person had, by lawsuit upon lawsuit, been turned half crazy on this one point, it would have had a better effect. It is understood, indeed, that Peter is a real personage, well remembered by those who, twenty-five years ago, were accustomed to pace the boards of the Parliament House; but this is not to be admitted as a full excuse; for a writer of fancy ought not to adhere servilely to his model, but to expunge, modify, or soften, as suits his purpose. The blind strolling fiddler appears more perfect and pleasing. Who hut must admire that lofty pride in his art, which, even in such humble circumstances, rises superior to any views of interest, and makes him disdain to admit of any sssociutes, however gentle or bountiful, whom he deems unworthy to perform along with him? His legend of Sir Robert Redgauntlet is a wonderful flight of fancy. Then, as to Nanty Ewart, though we do not, so much as some, admire the authoi's merry scoundrels, yet a remorseful and broken-hearted ruffian lias something in it very original. There are some fine images of the scenery of the Solwoy, particularly its rapid and fearful tides, which, after the hero had been rescued from them, were heard advancing behind, "like the roar of some immense monster defrauded of his prey." We cannot exactly approve of the manner in which the writer flics off from letter to narrative, from narrative to journal, and from the journal of one person to that of another,—at least it would not do for any other writer; but as our present author is not one from whom much of method or order was ever expected, if it keeps him better in the spirit and trim of the story, we have really no objection to his taking such little liberties."

[ocr errors]

THE LATE MR. BELZONI.

The following letter, containing an account of the illness and death of this celebrated traveller, was addressed to Lieut. Scott, of his Majesty's brig Swinger, by Mr. 1 loutson, a British trader at Benin :—

"Galo, December G, 1823.

"Mr Dear Sib,—It is with feelings of the deepest distress that I announce to you the death of our illustrious friend, Mr. llcrznni, who paid the debt of nature at Galo, on the 3d inst. at fifteen minutes before three p. m.

"I wrote to you from this place on the gd, and on despatching your canoe, set off for Benin. On my arrival I found Mr. B. much worse, with every symptom of confirmed dysentery: from the first day of his arrival at Benin, he lost his wonted spirits, and told me the hand of death was on him: on receiving the medicine chest from Gato, on the 28th, he took large quantities of castor oil, but without any benefit. I strongly recommended a course of calomel combined with opium, until a slight salivation should be effected, but he declined it, as too hazardous in his to weakly state. I

I "On the morning of the 2d, he begged of me, ss a last

'request, that I would send him down to Gato, and thence to Boltee, in the hopes of the sea breeze having a beneficial effect; to which, although most reluctantly, 1 at last consented, believing that a change of air might possibly have

j some good influence, although I had but little hopes. I accordingly got the people ready, and sent him t.ff at eight o'clock, by II. E. Sirith, intending to follow him

i myself the moment the hammock bags returned from Gato. They reached that place late at night: on the path the flut alatcd, and nn his arrival, Mr. B. although much fatigued,

i conceived himself better, and appeared in very good spirits.

| He ate a piece of bread, and drank a cup of tea, after

i which he 6iept until four o'clock, when he awoke, with a dizziness in his head and coldness of the extremities, with a rattling in his throat. He drank some arrowroot gruel, and continued in a quiet state until his death, suffering but little pain, apparently.

"On the morning of his leaving Benin, he called me, and desired, in case of his death, I would send home what articles could not be sold in the country, by your vessel. I requested he would have the goodness to sign a few lines to you on the subject; I wrote them down to his dictation, and he afterwards felt well enough to copy the whole himself. He then wrote to his agents, Messrs. Briggs and Brothers, and was going to write to his wife, Dut his strength failed him. However, he desired me to bear witness that he died in the fullest and most affectionate remembrance; and begged I would write to her, with this ring he then wore. He was perfectly collected, and spoke with calm fortitude of his approaching death, as an event certain,—and declared, when he had finished, that he was satisfied, and committed his life and spirit to the will of God.

"I arrived at Gato on the afternoon of the 4th. Mr. Smith had already prepared the body for interment, and I went and arranged witii the Governor, to bury it under the large tree that you and I cleared away last year, for a cool retreat from the heat of the sun. We made the grave six feet deep; it was finished at nine o'clock, when we committed his remains to the earth, paying every mark of respect the situation and time permitted. I read the Church Service, and after the conclusion, my canocmen fired three volleys of musketry over his grave.

"Thus finished, my dear Sir, the career of this celebrated and intrepid traveller, in the flower of his age, and every arrangement made for his setting out on his daring enterprise, with the fullest prospect of reaching, in a sho t

Eeriod, that famed Timbuctoo and Houssa, which have een the object of so many travellers, and in which they have been hitherto unsuccessful and unfortunate,

"I had considerable difficulty in allaying the King's jealousy, arid more particularly that of the rascally Emigrants and Fieddors (that is, nobles) but at last succeeded in recovering them—got the King's messenger, the boatswain of my factory, and Rob and Two, to accompany Mr. Belzom as far as Houssa—to wait there his return from Timbuctoo, and bring letters for myself and his friends in Europe, on the receipt of which I was to give my note for a fine present to the King, and to pay the messenger accord, ing to the report the letters should give of his conduct— This was the plan I mentioned to Mr. B. on his first coming into the river; and on no other could he have got forward.

"I am still of opinion this is the only practicable path to Timbuctoo. I know the point of departure must be from some powerful King in the Gulf of Guinea,—as the distance is not great, and the communication is frequent. Dahomey to Lagos, Jabos, and Benin, although less to Benin than the former. But the King's name is feared and respected to the borders of Houssa, so that I should consider myself perfectly secure, going and returning with

his messenger I am, yours,

"JNO. HOUTSON."

"P. S.—If you can get your carpenter to paint a piece of board white, and print on it the following, as neat as you can, with black paint, I shall feel much obliged, and bring it with you in the canoe, or send it:—

"Here

lie the remains of

G. BELZONI, Esq.

who was attacked with a dysentery

on the 26th of November, at Benin, on his

way to Houssa and Timbuctoo, and

died at this place, on the 3d of December, 182S.

The Gentlemen who placed this

inscription over the prave of this intrepid

and enterprising Traveller, hope that every

European visiting the spot will cause

the ground to be cleared, and the fence around put

in good repair."

[ocr errors][graphic][ocr errors]

LINES

KHITTIX APTBR RKADIXO C. H. ToWWSRWP's SONNET, BNTITLKD u THE LOVB THAT CANNOT DIB,"

Is it the breathings of a mortal lyre? Or heaven]/ harp, with inspiration's Are, That warbles of a love that cannot die \ But In the heart, and In the " tell-tale eye." Holdi the tame language through revolving yean Unchanged; unchanging amid joy or tears; If fortune smiles, or when her frown severe Strikes to the soul with withering touch of fear? Tells it of rays that must for ever shine, Of ceaseless rivers, and of things divine 1 Ah! heed it not; —a visionary strain Never on earth was yet true passion's reign, Where pride, ambition, interest, avarice mean. In phantom semblance of the god is seen; And pranking, in fantastic mock'ry drest. Thy shadow, Love, betrays the trusting breast. There is a love, a love that cannot die, Born not of rosy cheek, or sparkling eye; A love that can the maddest grief control, 8 utain the heart, and cheer the sinking soul; A love defying misery, time, and death; A love surpassing all the dreams of earth; But, oh! this love in brighter region lies—. The love of God, the love that never dies. Liverpool Q*

[ocr errors]

THK THEATRK.

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.
His acts being seven ages."

It is a source of much gratification to us to he enabled to state, that throughout the whole of last week, numerous highly respectable audiences have frequented, in succession, the representation of King John, Charles II., The Wokder, Henry IV. and The Strakgea; the latter, as the bills aver, for Mr. Charles Kemble's benefit. We rejoice to perceive the bugbear fashion, at length, fairly overcome, and surrendering at discretion. ** Time was, -when the braim were out" that the great amongst the little great could only visit the Theatre on certain high ton nights, whatever might be the attraction : as for example, supposing Monday, a fashionable, and Tuesday, an unfashionable evening; Tom Thumb on the one, would secure the attendance of more box beaux and belles, than Kins Lear, cast ever so strongly, on the other. This same fashion is a most capricious and preposterous thing in general, but more particularly so, when foolish! v suffered to affect taste ana common sense. Who would not blush to prefer the symmetry of ** the crook'd back tyrant" to thatof the Apollo Belvidere ? and yet, such is the thing's influence, were a strife for pre-eminence to occur, ar.d fashion award the palm In Richard, the decision would be received as "proof of holy writ"

"New customs. Though they be never so ridiculous, Nay, let them be unmanly yet are followed.* King John is not, by any means, one of Shakspearc's happiest acting tragedies; for although there are in it, as in all he ever wrote, innumerable passages of great and varied beauty, it lacks the stimulating action of both mind and body, which are necessary to keep alive and who'ly absorb the attention of an audience. There is an inactive sameness in the characters that cloys; a deal of *• sound an J furv, signifying nothing." One's ears are ** ever and anon" uiun d with the shrill clamour ef some two or three discordant trumpets, whose brazen tongues proclaim the approach of kingly imbecility and craft, and forth with introduce to us the vapouring of two "sceptered bullies;11

and these, in their turn, do fawn and lie and flout, and flout and fawn and lie, until one becorues disgus'.ed nutright with their sacred majesties* most royal morality. Then there is the stgrihVnnt murmuring of the corning drum, which doth so affright the brave citizens of Angiers, that they straight hit upon a pretty matrimonial expedient to fave at once their boasted city, and allay the furor of incensed majesty. Blench and the Dauphin are on the instant betrothed, the wily John with his hectoring perjured brother, Philip of France, enter Angiers triumphantly, where nil crocs swimmingly on in amity, till a busy meddling Cardinal pounces upon this loving brace of Hud's annotnted, and, by his threats and excommunications, sets them hy the ears again. To it they go in good earnest, the pope-Ioving Philip is worsted, Prince Arthur token prisoner, and conveyed hy John to England; where his affectionate uncle makes especial nrnvi. sion for him—in the tower. Nay, so very paternally is John concerned for his hopeful nephew, that he resolves, in mercy, to rid him of ail royal cares, anil concerts, with magnanimous Hubert**hiscuttingoiT." Hubert, however, after consenting to be his liege lord's instrument in this unholy villany, suddenly becomes humane; and. wrought upon by the bov's aftveting prattle, assigns the Prince an asylum secure from further mischief. Here the unoffending urchin might have awaited inpatient safety his cutthroat relative's death, but he was of regal blood, and could brook no delay; and must needs, therefore, in attempting to save his little highness' life by flight, fall from the battlements nnd dislocate his roval neck. Refractory Barons, an invasion on the part of France, instigated by his holiness the Pope, and domestic broils thus fermented, at last bring John to his senses. He ackowledges again the authority of holy church, manifests some qualms of conscience, recants his errors, and is at length poisoned hy a good-natured Monk; a "resolved villain," as Hubert styles him, who, we dare say, thought the King aweary of his life, and kindly undertook, with the sacrifice of his own (for he was, on this occasion, taster to the King, and ** his bowels suddenly burst out") to ea?e his Majesty of so troublesome an incumbrance. As he lived, so he dies—inglorious!?; leaving not behind him one unsullied spot on his escutcheon, or the recollection of a single virtue to embalm his memory,

The still gloom of a malignant monarch sits not easy upon Mr. Vandenhoff, nor does he effectually embody the quiet dignity of regal repose. He must "ride the whirl, wind and direct the storm;" the gentle zephyrs of a summer passion comport not with his potent agency. After what we have seen of him, he will always appear to comparative- disadvantage in the part of King John ; if we ex. cept the scene with Hubert, where he accomplishes, with such artful dexterity, his design of bringing that pliant gentleman over to his murderous purposes, together with the last final effort of struggling nature, when he enters, poisoned, upon the stage. Here, in the orchard of Swinstcad Abbey, he was, indeed, awfully great, exhibiting an anatomically correct picture of what he described himself to be.

** Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow room;

It would not out at windows, nor at doors.

There it to hot a summer in my bosom,

That all mtf hmveh crumble up to dust,

I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen

Upon a parchment; and against thitjire

Do I shrink up."

"And none of you will hid the winter come.

To thrust his icy Angers in my maw;

Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course

Through my uurn'd bosom: nor entreat the north

To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips.

And comfort me with cold." Faulconbridt>e ranks with Shakspeare's inimitable sketches of Hotspur and Mcrcutio, characters of which he appears to have been more than ordinarily enamoured. In Mr. Charles Kcmble, the brave blunt wit has an admirable representative. He is an intrepid braggart, an abrupt audacious spirit, whose every look and act proclaim ** his high descent, nor shame his noble lineage;" one would swear, intuitively, that he was of the lion hearted race. There is no withstanding his merciless raillery, and the cool sarcastic contempt with which he perpetually taunts the Puke of Austria, is positively beyond all durance: his notable brother Robert, too, comes in for a good handsome share of the "mad-cap** illegitimate's terrible witticisms. Nothing could exceed the free impudent unconcern of Mr. Kemble's bearing throughout the first act; the piquant air, particularly, of bold indifference with which he interrupted his brother's appeal to the King—

"Well, Sir, by this you cannot get my land:

Your tale must be how he euiploy'd my mother,"

Our thanks are due to the managers for engaging Mrs. O^ilvie, whose appearance amongst us we ha:l with a most unfeigned welcome. She is ** a goodly portly dame, ay faith, of a pleasing look, and a most noble carriage;" incomparably superior to any tragic actress we have seen from London, duiing the last three years. Immediately on her entrance as Lady Constance, it uccured to us, that she was not an entire stranger, and we now remember hating witnessed her earlier efforts, once on occasion of Mr. Vandenhoif's benefit, we think, about five years since; it was consequently erroneous in us to announce the evening of this day se'nnignt for hi r ttrbut on our boards. Mrs. OgiL vie's reception was extremely flattering, but not unwarrantably so; for she certainly personated Constance, in a manner highly creditable to herself, and every way deserving of the warmth with which she was greeted throughout — Her person is above the middle stature, well-proportioned, and dignified; her style of acting lofty and commanding. She possesses a countenance susceptible of much and deep expression, particularly of the sterner kind; and a voice of considerable volume and intonation, but somewhat dt fectively modulated. While her face is better calculated for the imprint of strong impassioned emotion, her elocution seems more adapted to the pathetic; and hence the reason why she pleases less in the delivery of such speeches as that to Austria, commencing

"War! War 1 no peace! peace is to ma a war," than in the one to the Cardinal—

"o, father Cardinal, I have heard you say. That we shall sec and know »ur friends in heaven; If that be true, I shall see my boy again; For since the birth of Cain, the first male ehJld. To him that did but yesterday suspire. There was not such a gracious creature born. But now will canker sorrow eat his bud, And chase the native beauty from bis cheek. And he will look as hollow as a ghost; As dim and meagre as an axue's fit: And so he'll die; aud rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of heaven, I shall not know him: therefore, never, never Must 1 behold my pretty Arthur more." ** The Merry Monarch" was repeated on Tuesday, and went off with great eclnt. Mr. Kemble's King Charles, Miss Kenneth's Lady Clara, Miss Cramer's Mary, and Mr. Andrew'* Captain Copp, are each entitled to very respectful notice. Miss Cramer, especially, exhibited a gaiety and archness in her acting, and an attention to the general business of the scene, which hold out no sin ail promise of future excellence, Mr. Hooper is a favourite of ours, and we should certainly take great pleasure in adding his name to the list of those who aid in the success of this favourite piece; but, truth to say, this gentlemen wofully disappointed us in his assumption of Rochester. He either totally misconceived the part, or miserably faded in exeni plying his conceptions, we know not which. We allude more particularly to the scenes at Court; wht re his appearance was unpolished, his delivery of the text vulgar, and his whole demeanour utterly irreconcileable with the manners and accomplishments of that pink of genteelity and wit he should have been. An apt scholar would have profited, we should think, from coming so closely in contact with the graceful negligence and dignified ease of Mr. Charles Kcinblc.

Air Charles Kemble's second performance of FalstafT has confirmed our opinion of its decided inferiority to Dowton's. The part, as played by Mr. Kcmble, is a most htrculean task, and we will not, therefore, detract from the merit of so much labour by descending to particularize its demerits: indeed, we have not space, were we even so inclined. Mr. Yandentioff's Hotspur was wont to be considered one of his very happiest efforts. He has, of late, however, i fleeted so much in character of a higher order, that it cannot now be thus designated. It is, notwithstanding, a finely sketched portrait, with a freshness, dash, and vigour about it strikingly characteristic and effective. Mrs. Vandenhoff' presented a fine picture, in costume and appearance, of Lady Percy; as indeed she did of Lady Blanch, in King John; and we were much pleased at the testimony borne by the audience, on hti entrance, of their good opinion. We must say this lady always evinces great taste in dressing her parts, and there is also a respectful modesty in her deportment very prepossessing. On acknowledging the salutation of the audience on the evenings in question, there was a timidity observable quite in keeping with her assumed character.

We had prepared some remarks Ion the enactment ok "The Wonder" as well as on that of ** The Stranger* which, for wantof room, have been reluctantly withdrawn. THE COUNCIL OF TEN. 5th July,

« AnteriorContinuar »