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great. The passage is so fair a specimen of the author's style and talent, that we make no apology for giving it here at full length:

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acted by Mr. G. Bennett. The introduction of Felton, who, in history, was nothing but a foul assassin, is in some measure objectionable, when held forth as an object of regard and pity. Yet the insanity that is made to hover about him softens and relieves the hardness of the portrait in the drama. Throughout, Bennett played the part to perfection; the encounter with Buckingham, when he is wounded, was most impressive. His delivery of the following soliloquy was finely characteristic of the dreamy, half-crazed puritan :

I think the time cannot be far off now.

I feel such throbbings, and can't guess the cause;
But, hour by hour, the feeling grows more strong.
It's like the light I've seen, when we were camp'd
Near Fort Ste. Prie: the sky grew grey at first,
Then whiter, long before the sun rose up
Behind the town; and as the time came near,
Everything grew distinct, and yet no eye
Saw the sun's face. I see as clearly now
As were it done before me. I can't tell
What Spirit it is, that struggles in me so.
Ho, ho if it were Satan's trick, he's foiled.
All comes as if from Heaven; a mind at rest,
Nerves steady, and a full assurance here.
Lie there.


[Lays a knife on the table.

I fancy I can read some words
Upon the blade--my breath has stained it; now
'Tis clear again, ay, clearer, for the stain.
So 'tis with fame. They 'll blacken me for this,
But my poor name will brighten for't the more.

[Looks out of the window.

How clear the sky is! What a pleasant thing
To look up in the blue, and see no cloud!
Ho, Savile! There's my cousin with a man!
What ails him? This way, Savile, Master Savile!
Go to your rest again.

[Puts the knife in the sheath.

Phelps represented the Squire, John Savile, with characteristic vigour. Most feelingly did he deliver the following really poetic lines:

No, no! I spoke to you in gladness. See!

I speak not gaily now-banish the thought.

Lilian, it was in musings such as these

Your sister lived: she saw with dreamy eyes,

Not what things were, but what she painted them.

She raised an idol for herself, and spent

Her heart in worship; and the thing she made

Into a deity was-curses on him!

If I had thought, when Alice pined to death,

Day after day, looking so lovingly

Up the approach, to watch his coming step,

That he would come no more, but leave my child,

My life, my eldest hope, to die-to die!

Curse on him! I will see him yet!

Miss Laura Addison was the graceful, loving, enthusiastic Lilian to the life. The character was a beautiful one, and her impersonation of it was beautiful also. In the scene with the Duke of Buckingham she was

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Sir!-Let me go.-Name not my father's name.
His honest name is not for lips like yours.
You warn me-take a warning back from me.
Bethink you of the gulf you stand on.
That a whole land heaps curses on your head,
And I-fond, dreaming, senseless, foolish girl,
To think you pure and noble! Hear me now:
You 've played the spy-the traitor; look on me,
I would not wed you, if, by saying the word,
I could win kingdoms.-I shall seek my home,
If 'tis still left, and at my father's knees

Pray for God's help, since man's is useless.

The only blemish in the play is the death of Lilian-it was as unneeded as uncalled-for. The transmitting of poison, too, from a Christian father to his daughter is but a poor reproduction of the pagan virtue of Virginius. There is something so cruelly shocking in this conclusion, that it disappoints and dissatifies the audience. With this exception the tragedy is a fine one, and gives brilliant hope of what yet may be done (thanks to Mr. Phelps) towards the fairest restoration of the highly intellectual drama.

The HAYMARKET and the ADELPHI Theatres continue in most flourishing condition, and deservedly so, since they labour energetically and efficiently to secure the mental gratification of the public.

We regret that our limits prevent us this month giving lengthened notices of the new and popular comedy at the Haymarket, entitled Family Pride," and of the recent successful drama at the Adelphi, Gabrielli," by the late Mr. Peake.



Mrs. Warner's style of performances at the Marylebone Theatre, travels most creditably and respectably in the track of Mr. Phelps. Some sterling plays have here found sterling representation.

"Yes, he died at last, and in his room was found bank notes to the amount of £10,000, some in the leaves of the few books he possessed, others in the folds of his sofa, or sewn into the lining of his dressing gown. But 'Ohe! jam satis.'


Timothy Shelley, his eldest son, and heir to the Shelley and Michell estates, whose early education was much neglected, and who had originally been designed to be sent to Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, which the great Sir Philip Sidney founded-and to which his descendant, and Timothy's halfbrother, Sir John, nominates the Master, President, or whatever the head of the College may be called, entered himself at University College, Oxford, and after the usual routine of academical studies, by which he little profited, made The Grand Tour. He was one of those travellers, who, with so much waste time, travel for the sake of saying they have travelled; and, after making the circuit of Europe, return home, knowing no more of the countries they have visited than the trunks attached to their carriages. All, indeed, that he did bring back with him was a smattering of French, and a bad picture of an Eruption of Vesuvius, if we except a certain air, miscalled that of the old school, which he could put off and on, as occasion served.

"He was a disciple of Chesterfield and La Rochefoucauld, reducing all politeness to forms, and moral virtue to expediency; as an instance of which, he once told his son, Percy Bysshe, in my presence, that he would provide for as many natural children as he chose to get, but that he never would forgive his making a mesalliance; a sentiment which excited in Shelley anything but respect for his sire.

"This anecdote proves that the moral sense in Sir Timothy was obtuse; indeed, his religious opinions were also very lax, although he occasionally went to the parish church, and made his servants regularly attend divine service, he possessed no true devotion himself, and inculcated none to his son and heir, so that much of Percy Bysshe's scepticism may be traced to early example, if not to precept. But I anticipate. Before Sir Timothy, then Mr. Shelley, set out on his European tour, he had engaged himself to Miss Pilfold (daughter of Charles Pilfold, Esq., of Effingham Place), who had been brought up by her aunt, Lady Ferdinand Pool, the wife of the well-known father of the turf, and owner of Potoooooooo,' and the equally celebrated 'Waxy' and' Mealy.'"

It is rather curious that the legendary fiction of the Wandering Jew should have such attraction for infidel writers. The recent blasphemous romance in France brought the subject to a climax. Shelley had his turn at the favorite theme :

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Shelley having abandoned prose for poetry, now formed a grand design, a metrical romance on the subject of the Wandering Jew, of which the first three cantos were, with a few additions and alterations, almost entirely mine. It was a sort of thing such as boys usually write, a cento from different favourite authors; the vision in the third canto, taken from Lewis's Monk, of which, in common with Byron, he was a great admirer; and the Crucifixion scene, altogether a plagiarism from a volume of Cambridge Prize Poems. The part which I supplied is still in my possession. After seven or eight cantos were perpetrated, Shelley sent them to Campbell for his opinion on their merits, with a view to publication. The author of the Pleasures of Hope returned the MS. with the remark, that there were only two good lines in it:

'It seemed as if an angel's sigh

Had breathed the plaintive symphony.'

Lines, by the way, savouring strongly of Walter Scott. This criticism of Campbell's gave a death-blow to our hopes of immortality, and so little regard did Shelley entertain for the production, that he left it at his lodgings in Edinburgh, where it was disinterred by some correspondent of Fraser's, and in whose Magazine, in 1831, four of the cantos appeared. The others he very wisely did not think worth publishing."

Shelley is thus personally described

"We now come to another epoch in the life of the poet-Shelley, at Oxford::

"He was matriculated, and went to the University College at the commencement of Michaelmas term, at the end of October 1810. The choice of this college (though a respectable one, by no means of high repute) was made by his father for two reasons-first, that he had himself, as already mentioned, been a member of it, and secondly, because it numbered among its benefactors some of his ancestors, one of whom had founded an Exhibition. I had left the University before he entered it, and only saw him once in passing through the city. His rooms were in the corner, next to the hall of the principal quadrangle, on the first floor, and on the right of the entrance, by reason of the turn in the stairs, when you reach them, they will be on the right hand. It is a spot, which, I might venture to predict, many of our posterity will hereafter reverently visit, and reflect an honour on that college, which has nothing so great to distinguish it.' The portrait of him, drawn by his friend, from whom I have borrowed largely, corresponded with my recollection of him at this interview. 'His figure was slight and fragile, and yet his bones and joint were large and strong. He was tall, but he stooped so much, that he seemed of low stature.' De Quincey says, that he remembers seeing in London, a little Indian ink sketch of him, in his academical costume of Oxford. The sketch tallying pretty well with a verbal description which he had heard of him in some company, viz., that he looked like an elegant and slender flower, whose head drooped from being surcharged with rain.' Where is this sketch? How valuable would it be! 6 'His clothes,' Mr. H. adds, were expensive, and, according to the most approved mode of the day, they were tumbled, rumpled, unbrushed. His gestures were abrupt, sometimes violent, occasionally even awkward, yet more frequently gentle and graceful. His complexion was delicate, and almost feminine, of the purest red and white, yet he was tanned and freckled by exposure to the sun, having passed the autumn, as he said, in shooting;' and he said rightly, for he had, during September, often carried a gun in his father's preserves; Sir Timothy being a keen sportsman, and Shelley himself an excellent shot, for I well remember one day in the winter of 1809, when we were out together, his killing at three successive shots, three snipes, to my great astonishment and envy, at the tail of the pond in front of Field Place. 'His features, his whole face, and his head were particularly small, yet the last appeared of a remarkable bulk, for his hair was long and bushy, and in fits of absence, and in the agonies (if I may use the word), of anxious thought, he often rubbed it fiercely with his hands, passed his fingers swiftly through his locks, unconsciously, so that it was singularly rough and wild-a peculiarity which he had at school. His features were not symmetrical, the mouth perhaps excepted, yet was the effect of the whole extremely powerful. They breathed an animation,—a fire-an enthusiasm—a vivid and preternatural intelligence, that I never met with in any other countenance. Nor was the moral expression less beautiful than the intellectual, for there was a softness and delicacy, a gentleness, and especially (though this will surprise many) an air of profound veneration, that characterises the best works, and chiefly the frescoes (and into these they infused their whole souls) of the great masters of Rome and Florence.'

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"I observed, too, the same contradiction in his rooms, which I had often remarked in his person and dress. The carpet, curtain, and furniture were quite new, and had not passed through several generations of students on the payment of the thirds, that is, the third price last given. This general air of freshness was greatly obscured by the indescribable confusion in which the various objects were mixed. Scarcely a single article was in its right place-books, boots, papers, shoes, philosophical instruments, clothes, pistols, linen, crockery, ammunition, and phials innumerable, with money, stockings, prints, crucibles, bags, and boxes, were scattered on the floor in every place, as if the young chemist, in order to analyze the mystery of creation, had endeavoured first to recon

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