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the virtuoso is very seldom a habitual gazer at sign-posts. The reader who is capable of understanding Cervantes, Fielding, and Voltaire, is not likely to be a great patron of the Minerva Press; and vice versa, the consumers of the Minerva Press ware have no relish for any of the great works of fiction, either in poetry or in prose.

The reading public of Edinburgh do themselves the honour to suppose that they are the most enlightened and elegant reading public in the world. They have been confirmed, we suppose, in this vanity, by the practice of many of the best English writers in the present day, who publish their works in this city, rather than in London. But we fear there is at bottom very little foundation for the belief. Scotland possesses a few authors of great eminence; but, with the exception of these, we think her literary population is entitled to very little respect. Our ladies and gentlemen can indeed re-echo with much volubility the praises of any established author, in the words and phrases already consecrated to his use by the Edinburgh or Quarterly Reviews; but they have no real, intense, abiding delight either in poetry or in prose. They have already almost forgotten Scott's poems, merely because he has not published any for some years, and, of consequence, has not been celebrated in any late numbers of the Reviews. For the same reason, Mackenzie is seldom spoken of, in comparison with Maturin; and Madame Darblay has been eclipsed by Miss Jane Porter. Indeed the whole true literature of our country is comparatively neglected, and any thing, to be noticed, must be new.

It is not long since this little volume possessed all the merits of novelty, and yet it is quite unknown. Had it been published by any great bookseller, and noticed in any great Review, it must at once have become popular; but such has not as yet been

its fate.

It consists of various little tales and fragments, all written under the disguise of a translation from the French, and most of them exhibiting better specimens of Voltaire's mode of novelwriting than any we remember to have seen in our language. The author we guess to be a young man ; but we predict that his name, whatever it be,

will, ere long, provided he makes a suitable use of his genius, become one of the best ornaments of his time. He is master of an elegant style, devoid of affectation, light, graceful, equally remote from the rumbling periodic style which is fashionable on this side of the Tweed, and the pernicious epigrammatic vulgarities which have lately become too common among our neighbours of the South. In this style he embodies lively and exquisite wit, delicate and manly feelings, bitter sarcasms and satire, and observations and reflections of no ordinary depth, all in their turn; and with such a sense of propriety, such a delicacy of taste, that no one of these elements is ever allowed, in any measure, to neutralize the effect of the others.

Our

The volume is a trifle, and we regard it merely as a promise. We shall not therefore, at present, enlarge at any greater length upon merits which we hope soon to see surpassed, or powers which, we doubt not, will yet be far more richly developed. object is merely to call the attention of our readers; and this, we are aware, can be done by no means so effectually as by an extract. We might have selected others, in which greater depth and power are manifested; but elegance is so much the desideratum in most writings of our time, that we have fixed, chiefly for its sake, upon the

"ONE NIGHT IN ROME. "Know'st thou the pile the colonnade sustains,

Its splendid chambers, and its rich domains, Where breathing statues stand in bright arGOETHE.

ray.

"DURING those extraordinary times when Nero wantoned in every species of atrocity, a young man, by name Agenor, was brought up in one of the provinces of Italy. He lost both his parents, and finding himself his own master, set out to visit Rome.

ney, when he first made his approach to "It was at dusk, after a fatiguing jourthat immense labyrinth of wonders and of crimes. Lights were seen scattered over all the city. The sound of chariot wheels, vociferations, and musical instruments, reached him before his entry, and soon after stunned him, in passing along the streets, where senators, and women of rank, flamens, and gladiators, knights, thieves, matrons, orators, and debauchees, were strolling together in companies, and conversing in a thousand different tones, of drunkenness, derision, kindness, resentment, vulgarity, and highbreeding. In short, it was the festival of

Cybele, the mother of the Gods, and all
Rome was in an uproar.

"Our youth feels abashed in the metropolis. The number of countenances that wear a look of intelligence and penetration, without any stamp of moral goodness, dismays and confounds him. He falls into reveries upon the subject, and tries to conceive what style of manners would best protect him from ridicule in dealing with such men; or how he could endeavour to match their shrewdness, when it was accompanied by no respect for justice or truth.

"In the meantime, a scuffle took place One of them was among some slaves.

wounded, and retired among the pillars of a temple, where he lay down, without receiving the least notice or comfort from any passenger. Agenor went up to the spot, and spoke to him. After inquiring into the nature of his hurt, he learnt the name and abode of his master, who was a praetor, and whom he next went to seek, for the purpose of procuring assistance.

It was a magnificent house to which the slave had directed him. The master was out at supper, but his lady was giving an entertainment in his absence, and ere long came in person to learn what intelligence our youth had to communicate. She was a noble figure, had some beauty, with a gay look, and an eye full of a thousand meanings. While Agenor was telling his story she regarded him attentively. Indeed his cheek had a fine bloom, and his locks were as rich and exuberant as what we now behold on the forehead of the charming Antinous. As for his manner, it implied the most unbroken simplicity; so that, after giving orders for bringing home the wounded slave, she begged, in a matronly tone, that he would come up stairs, and partake of a repast along with some of her friends; because,' added she, with a smile, it is the festival of Cybele.' Agenor complied.

"There was a good deal of company in her saloon. Among others, a centurion, who did not appear so devout as Cornelius; an old senator, toothless and half blind; a Greek belonging to the theatre; several married women of the city; and a beautiful young girl, with dark eyes and modest lips, whose name was Phrosine, a niece of

their absent host.

"It was upon this young person that our hero's thoughts were principally fixed during supper; although the lady of the house never allowed much time to pass without asking him some question; or sending a smile to meet his eye as it wandered over the table; and although she presented him with a sweetmeat, where there was a sprig of myrtle floating in the juice. Phrosine spoke little, but Agenor could observe she never missed any thing he said. This made him talk with animation, and gave his voice that sort of mellowness which quiets the female bosom into a delicious languor, while

An easy

it penetrates to its very core.
gayety prevailed throughout the company.
The perfumes which were burnt in the
chamber, together with the occasional strains
of music performed by attendants, operated
in producing that luxurious indolence which
is averse to any sort of contention. Every
disagreeable thought was turned aside by
some dextrous pleasantry. No altercation
had time to occur before it was solved by a
jest. The choicest wines of the praetor were
circulated with a liberal hand; and the old
senator, from time to time, poured forth
unmeaning gallantries, without knowing
exactly to whom they were addressed. Age-
nor began to perceive the beauty of non-
sense, which is almost the only thing that
can relax the vigilance of our self-love, and
enable us to live harmoniously together.

"In the meantime, a great deal of gossip took place among the married women. Nero's conduct was examined with freedom; but more as an object of ridicule than of detestation. The Greek enlarged upon some fine panthers then at the circus. The centurion drank assiduously, and lay in watch for any ambiguities of language that might happen to drop from the company.

These he regularly followed up with such remarks as implied his adoption of their worst meaning; and he shewed an expertness in this exercise, which long practice only could have taught him. Indeed not one sentence escaped from the senator which he did not mould into some equivocal declaration or proposal. The reverend father himself had no suspicion of this, although shouts of laughter were constantly breaking forth among the male part of the company; and therefore he continued slowly bungling forward from one subject to another, while the long chasms between his ideas were filled up and garnished by the centurion, at his own discretion. In those days an old senator was considered as the finest butt in the world.

"When the party broke up, Agenor came near Phrosine, and said, for the pleasure of speaking to her, How long does the festival of Cybele continue ?' Any question will serve to accompany the looks of a Only two days lover. Phrosine replied, more; but in that time you will see much of the nature of Rome; and then added, with a girlish ignorance of her own feelings,

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What a pleasant companion that old senator is! I never spent a night so happily.' Nor I,' said Agenor, who knew the reason better.

"A servant was waiting at the door of the saloon. Agenor followed him; but, instead of being shewn down to the street as he expected, he was left in a solitary chamber, enriched with furniture and paintings Here was an ivory of exquisite beauty. couch, lined with purple; two Etruscan vases full of roses; and a Cupid of Parian marble, by one of the finest sculptors in Greece. The paintings were all of an amo

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rous description. Satyrs gambled along the walls, and thoughtless nymphs were seen very much exposed among the dark recesses of an ancient forest. Agenor endeavoured to find out the meaning of his situation, but could not. Presently the prætor's wife entered. She took his hand with much cordiality, and said, My dear Agenor, pardon me for this detention: I cannot let you depart, without some advice concerning the perils of this bad city; for I perceive you are a stranger. Young men sometimes endeavour to get near the emperor in public places, in order to see his person. Beware of doing so. It is impossible to say what might happen if you should attract his notice; for his power is absolute, and mischief is always in his thoughts. Do not associate with gladiators and charioteers, who seldom leave an obolus in the pockets of their companions; nor with Greeks, who are sad impostors. Again, your handsome person may chance to captivate some of our matrons, who love gallantry; but although they should smile on you from their windows, and beckon with a look of insinuation, do not stop to talk with them; otherwise you will get entangled in a thousand scrapes. You will be left in the lurch, while they go to intrigue with some other person. Avoid all this, and come often back to visit me,' said the prætor's wife, laying her hand upon his shoulder: Be assured I will prove as good a friend as can be met with in Rome."

"Agenor was a good deal astonished. Perhaps he would have been at a loss what to say; but the prætor himself was that moment heard lumbering up stairs, and hemming at intervals, in a state of intoxication. His wife started up, and bade Agenor good night. She then opened a private passage down to the street, and gently pushed him out, saying, with a smile, • Farewell at present; come back to-morrow, and I shall introduce you to the prætor, who is a very worthy man.'

"When Agenor came away, the streets were still as crowded as ever, but afforded more examples of the debaucheries and vices of Rome. The town which Cato loved was now sadly altered. Every god and every virtue had left the place; and although their temples remained as beautiful as in better times, they were filled with scoffing instead of prayer. Agenor had lived as yet uncontaminated; and the conduct of the prætor's wife that night had not seduced him, because he thought of Phrosine. Phrosine's image engrossed his attention so much that he could scarcely find the house where he meant to sleep; and when he lay down, the fantastic dreams of youth continued hovering about his pillow.

"Next morning he took a walk through the town. He viewed the public buildings, the places noted in history, the books of the Sybils, which he could not understand, and the charming productions of the fine arts, VOL. III.

worth all the rest put together. Many a beauteous head, and many a voluptuous form of alabaster, awoke in him the softest feeling of delight; many a group of Bacchanals taught him a joyful indifference; and many a picture bore a motto from the songs of Horace, which told him that life is short, and that we should gather its roses while fate leaves them in our power. Xeno's philosophy had once been his pride; but a softness of heart now crept in upon him; and the feelings of the Stoics died away before other feelings, which rendered him a fitter inhabitant for modern Rome. In the morning he had scrupled about returning to the prætor's house; but now he said, I must go back to see Phrosine.'

"In the mean time, as it was yet early in the forenoon, he repaired to the circus, where he found the citizens already placed in thousands along its far-spreading benches, and some of them distinguished by very magnificent attire. The games began. Racers and combatants appeared on the vast arena. Trumpets were sounded. A num

ber of tigers, newly brought from confinement, scattered the dust in their terrific gambols. Blood began to be shed, and acclamations to rise from the populace. The wild animals increased the noise in receiv ing their mortal stabs, and the gladiators fought and died with enthusiasm; for the sweet music of applause rung in their ears until they could not hear it any longer.

"Agenor grew much interested in these fatal sports. Nevertheless, he fell some times into reveries about Phrosine; and in glancing his eye over the long rows of the circus, he observed the prætor's wife attended not only by her husband, who was a corpulent figure with a red nose, and a countenance full of good-natured sensuality, but also by some of the handsomest men in Rome.

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Agenor thought there was no need of increasing the number. He therefore left the circus, and went to see if Phrosine had been left at home. Fortunately this was the case. He found her watering some plants in an open gallery, and removing such of their leaves as had withered by too powerful a sun. She recognised him with blushes of gladness; and, after a short time, Agenor engaged in dressing the flowers along with her. These young people found this occupation a very pleasing one. Their smiles met every moment over hyacinths and myrtles; and their words were breathed in a low voice among exhalations of perfume. When Phrosine thought the jars were ill arranged, Agenor transposed them so as to produce a finer grouping of the blossoms; and when their pitcher of water was exhausted, this languishing boy and girl, who had already forgotten all conventional forms of behaviour, went, arm in arm, to the fountain down in the garden, to get more. There, at a basin of marble, which foamed to the brim, they replenished G

their vessel. Some drops of the spray came dashing on Phrosine's white shoulders; and Agenor used the freedom to wipe them off with a corner of her garment. Phrosine submitted with a slight struggle; but all this took place in silence, for the feelings of the parties were by far too serious to suit with jests and compliments. Afterwards they leant for a long time, side by side, against the trunk of a chesnut. Their souls were lost in musing, and their eyes were fixed on the shadows of branches that played over the sunny ground before them. Ah! how pleasing is a country life,' said Phrosine, I sometimes wish that I could get leave to spend my time in Calabria, or Apulea, or some of those delightful provinces where the ground is covered with yellow sheaves, and where the days are so beautiful, that if a person merely walks about in the open air, it is enough to make him regardless of all other pleasures. I do not like the town or its inhabitants. Our visitors are so coldhearted, that I am treated as a child if I behave kindly to them. They laugh at any person who is simple enough to feel attachment even for themselves. Again, there is no peace or security in Rome; for every one is afraid of being cruelly insulted by the emperor, or some of his favourites; and their brutality renders so many precautions necessary, that I am inclined more and more to envy the inhabitants of those distant provinces who are out of its reach. Pray, from what province do you come?' From no other than Calabria,' replied Agenor. 'I have a small farm there; but a country life is sometimes insipid, and I came to Rome from curiosity and desire of change. Ah, Phrosine! if I had not come to Rome, I should never have enjoyed the happiness of being near you; and now, if I go back to Calabria, I shall not know what to do with my heart.'

66 6 Keep your heart with sufficient care,' said Phrosine, blushing, and it will give you no trouble. Those deep and lasting attachments which have been described by the poets, are no longer to be found in Rome. It is now the fashion to change rapidly from one object of admiration to another, and, indeed, never to allow the feelings to be seriously engaged at all. The example of Nero, and his detestable court, has annihilated every thing amiable, and left us nothing but selfishness, profligacy, and indifference.'

"Then you must seek elsewhere,' said Agenor, for a heart which is worthy of you. Rome, as you describe it, can never be the theatre of your happiness.'

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Oh! I could endure it well enough,' said Phrosine, provided I were agreeably situated at home. But the prætor's wife is jealous of the attention I receive from her visitors, and sometimes treats me with a degree of harshness which it is difficult to support. She is still fond of admiration, as you may observe, and imagines that I wish to encroach upon her share.'

"There can be no doubt of it,' replied Agenor. It is evident she wishes you out of her family.'

"But what is worse,' said Phrosine with tears in her eyes, and at the same time laying her hand upon his shoulder, would you believe it, Agenor? I can hardly be sure that my own uncle, if circumstances should entice him, will not deliver me up to this monster who calls himself the Emperor. It seems he had observed me with particular attention somewhere in public, and has repeatedly inquired about me since. The prætor is at present in favour; but if he were to evade any of Nero's orders, there would at once be an end to his farther good fortune, and perhaps his life.'

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Then why, my beautiful Phrosine, said our youth, gently encircling her waist, why do you remain here to endanger your uncle's life? Would it not be much wiser, and more consistent with your duty, to marry a poor husbandman who adores you, and set out for Calabria, where you will enjoy all the pleasures of a charming climate, and never hear of this wicked Emperor any more? Surely this proposal need only be stated, to make you at once perceive its propriety.'

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Oh, but my aunt,' said Phrosine, sobbing, in great agitation, she would not approve of my conduct.' "Nor would you approve of hers, if you knew all the particulars of it,' replied Agenor. Wrap your veil about your head, and we shall get out by the garden door, which opens into some of the back lanes. A couple of mules can soon be purchased; and in a short time we will be far from Rome.'

"Oh no, it is impossible,' said Phrosine, I cannot go just now.'

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"Just now is the very best time,' replied Agenor. Every person is at present in the circus, where Nero performs as a charioteer; and neither the prætor nor his wife can return till the games are finished Come along,' said our youth, employing a little gentle violence.

"Oh no, it is impossible,' said Phrosine, weeping and struggling, and gradu ally allowing herself to be dragged away. "MORAL.

"The moral is, that a great deal may be done with young ladies, if they are taken by surprise."

SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF ENSIGN AND ADJUTANT ODOHERTY, LATE OF THE 99TH REGIMENT.

(Continued.)

THE Ode to Messrs Young and Waters, with part of which we closed our last notice of Mr Odoherty's life, has

a merit which is far from being common among modern lyrics-it expresses the habitual feelings of the author. The composer of an ode, in these times, is usually obliged to throw himself out of his own person, into that of some individual placed in a situation more picturesque than has fallen to his own share-he is obliged to dismiss all recollection of his own papered parlour and writing-desk, and to imagine himself, pro tempore, a burning Indian, a dying soldier, or a love-sick young lady, as it may happen. He thus loses that intense air of personal emotion, which forms the principal charm in the stern heroics of Pindar, the elegant drinking songs of Horace, the gay chansons of Deshoulieres and the luxurious erotics of Tom Moore. Odoherty wrote of Young and Waters in his own person, -the feelings which he has embodied in verse, are the daily, or rather nightly, visitants of his own bosom. If truth and nature form the chief excellence of poetry, our hero may take his place among the most favoured children of the muse.

Those taverns were, however, far from being the scenes of mere merriment and punch-drinking. The bowl was seasoned with the conversation of associates, of whom it is sufficient to say, that they were indeed worthy to sit at the board with Ensign and Adjutant Odoherty. The writer of this has no personal knowledge of these distinguished persons; but from the letters and poems of the Ensign's, composed during his stay in Edinburgh, it is evident, that those upon whom he set most value, were the following gentlemen: James Hogg, Esq., the celebrated author of "The Queen's Wake," "Pilgrims of the Sun," "Mador of the Moor," and other well-known poems. Of this great man Odoherty always wrote with rapture-take the following specimen.

While worldly men through stupid years
Without emotion jog,
Devoid of passions, hopes, and fears,
As sénseless as a log-
I much prefer my nights to spend,
A happy ranting dog,
And see dull care his front unbend
Before the smile of Hogg.
The life of man's a season drear,

Immersed in mist and fog,
Until the star of wit appear,
And set its clouds agog.

For me, I wish no brighter sky
Than o'er a jug of grog,
When fancy kindles in the eye,
The good gray eye of Hogg.
When Misery's car is at its speed,
To make the heart where sorrows bleed
The glowing wheels to cog;
Leap lightly like a frog;
Gay verdure o'er the crag to shower,
And blossoms o'er the bog,
Wit's potent magic has the power,
When thou dost wield it, Hogg!"

In the escritoir of the Ensign, his executors found, among letters from the first literary characters of the day, many excellent ones from Mr Hogg; and the following beautiful lines formed the postscript to that one in which he returned thanks to our poet for the above tribute to his own kindred genius.

O hone, Odoherty!
I canna weel tell what is wrang;
But oh, man, since you gaed frae me,
The days are unco dull and lang.
I try the paper and the sclate,
And pen, and cawk, and killivine;
But nothing can I write of late,
That even Girzzy ca's divine.

O hone, Odoherty!
O hone, Odoherty!
Oh weary fa' the fates' decree,
That garred the Captain part frae me.

O hone, Odoherty!
Come back, come back to Ettrick lake,
And ye sall hear, and ye sall see,
What I'se do for the Captain's sake.
I'll coff tobacco o' the best,
And pipes baith lang and short I'se gie;
And the toddy-stoup sall ne'er get rest,
Frae morn till night, 'tween you and me.
O hone, Odoherty!
O hone, Odoherty!
O welcome sall the moment be
That brings the Captain back to me.

Next to the Ettrick Shepherd, the member of the Dilettanti who shared most of Ensign Odoherty's confidence and affection was William Allan, Esq. This gentleman's genius as a painter does not require any notice on the present occasion. He has, we understand, done justice to his own feelings, and to his friend, by introducing a striking likeness of Odoherty's features into one of his principal pieces. Reader, the Cobler in the Press-gang is Odoherty! To Mr Allan, Odoherty frequently addressed humorous epistles in verse. We prefer, however, to quote the following eulogy, which is written in the Adjutant's best seri

ous manner.

When wondering ages shall have rolled away, And that be ancient which is new to-day;

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