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A coroner's inquest was held on the body the following day, who brought in a verdict that his lordship was delirious and insane of

mind at the time that he did the fatal act.

His lordship was married to Lady Amelia, the youngest daughter of the late Marquis of Buckinghamshire, with whom he lived on the happiest terms. When, some time ago, his lordship had a quarrel with Mr. Corry, in the Irish Parliament, and was proceeding to the place of combat, where they afterwards fought, he stopped in the lobby, and, calling for a sheet of paper, made, perhaps, the most brief will that ever was penned. It was merely

this:

All I die possessed of, I leave to my wife.
CASTLEREAGH.'

In private life his lordship was one of the most amiable of men; in his family, mild, considerate, and forbearing; to the poor he was beneficent; firm to his connexions and associates; never unmindful of a service rendered to him; faithful in his friendships.

Of his public life, politicians entertain a diversity of opinion; he was firm and vigorous in his measures, and not easily to be diverted from any purpose on which he had fixed. Though possessing none of the charms of eloquence, he was an able senator and an excellent parliamentary tactician; the whole weight of defending the measures of administration in the House of Commons often resting on his single exertions. In point of versatility of talent his lordship had few equals; but too much was required of him. Indeed, there was, perhaps no minister ever undertook so much. His lordship had not only the duties of Secretary for Foreign Affairs, but all our diplomatic negociations were entrusted to him; and he has represented England at the Congress of Sovereigns and in all negociations which have taken place during the last ten years. He was at the same time the leader of the House of Commous and the virtual chancellor of the Exchequer, relieving Mr. Vansittart of all the duties, except those of receiving his salary and superintending the details of office. We are far from considering the Marquis of Londonderry as a great statesman, though that he possessed great talents for political business cannot be denied. We are still less prepared to justify his administration, since many acts of it were liable to censure; but, we are of opinion, that posterity will give him more credit for the purity of his motives than his contemporaries have hitherto allowed him.

The Marquis of Londonderry was, at the time of his death, Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, one of the Lords of Trade,

and a Commissioner for the Affairs of India.

ADVANTAGES OF HAVING NO HEAD.

"The very bead and front of my offending Hath this extent-no more.”—Shakspeare.

nets-as a target for shooting at when rendered conspicuous by a shining helmet-as a snuff-box or a chatter-box-as a machine for stretching night-caps, or fitting into a guillotine, or for shaking when we have nothing to say: in all these capacities it is indisputably a most useful piece of household furniture. Yet, as far as my own experience goes, its inconveniences fearfully predominate over its accomodations, that if I could not have been born a column without any capital, made compact and comfortable by an ante-natal decollation, I would at least have chosen to draw my first breath among

"The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders,"

that by carrying mine adversary in this manner, locked up as it were in mine own chest, I might keep him in as good subjection as St. Patrick did when he swam across the Liffey, and be the better enabled to stomach whatever miseries he might entail upon me. Away with the hacknied boast, so pompously put forth by simpletons, who have no pretensions to the distinction they claim for the race-that man only has a reasoning head. Tant pis pour lui. If he possess this fine privilege, he treats it as worldlings sometimes do their fine clothes--he values it so

He would not be

highly, that he has not the heart to use it, or show it in his conduct. His reason lies in the wardrobe of his brain till it becomes moth-eaten, or if he exert it at all, it is that it may commit a moral suicide and try to get rid of itself. Never so happy as when he much of it as he can in sleep, or blows out his can escape from this blessing, he doses away as highly-vaunted brains every evening with a bottle of port wine, or tells you, with a paviour's sigh, that the happiest man is the laughing lunatic who finds his straw crown and joint-stool throne a most delightful exchange for all the vanity and vexation of irrational reason. Now, if a man could but leave off at his neck, make his shoulders the ultima Thule of his figure, convert himself into a pollard, all this would be accomplished at once. long to either the family of the Longheads or the Wrongheads; he would be neither headstrong nor headlong; he could not be over head and ears in debt or in love; head-ache, and face-ache, and tooth-ache, and ear-ache, would be to him as gorgons and griffins, and harpies-imaginary horrors; opthalmic medicines he needs not; he neither runs his head into danger nor against a wall, and whether corn be high or low-rents paid or unpaid-the five per cents, reduced to four, or the three per cents to nothing, he cares not, for there is no earthly matter about which he can trouble his head. A chartered libertine, he laughs (in his sleeve) at Kings and moth, were not more impassive; guillotines and new Parliaments; the wandering Jew, St. Leon, or Meldrops have for him no more terrors than has a thumbscrew for a sprat, or light boots for an oyster; Jack Ketch and the Headman are no more formidable to him than are the Centaurs and Amazons to us. "Let the gall'd jade wince, his withers are unwrung." The happy headless rogue pays neither powder nor capitation tax. The London Tavern and the Crown and Anchor are his patrimonial kitchens, wherein he alone may reckon without his host. All ordinaries are at his mercy; he may gorge with his friends until the revel rout be dispersed by the watch

men.

"The sloe-juice and ratsbane, and such kind of stuff," be it ever so villanous, can never get up into his brain, and as to the reckoning in all these cases, it is so much a-head-and what is that to him?

I hate the man who can never see more than one It may be thought that I have said enough upon side of a question, who has but a single idea, and this no-head, but I cannot refrain from adding, that a that perhaps a wrong one. No, I adopt an impres- man thus happily truncated would possess immense sion zealously, perhaps erroneously, but I forget not advantages over his companions, should the guardians the "audi alteram partem." I can plead my own of the night break in upon his symposia as I have cause, but I have not given myself a retaining fee; imagined, for he could not be tweaked by the nose, 1 am, therefore, open to conviction, and forward to nor thrust out head and shoulders; although he might acknowledge all that may be reasonably claimed by tumble down stairs without any risk of breaking his my opponents. Candour and liberality are my motto, neck or fracturing his skull During life he might in the spirit of which I begin with confessing, that play as many pranks as Yorick the King's Jester, and there are occasions when that bulbous excrescence, after death, no Hamlet could exclaim over his remains termed a head, may be deemed a handy appendage., Why, will he suffer this knave to knock him As a peg to hang hats on-as a barber's block for about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell supporting wigs, or a milliner's for showing off bon-, him of his action of battery?"

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Plato's Atlantis, and Sir Thomas More's Utopia' and Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, would all be realised in the felicitous life of such a being as I have suggested. But methinks I hear my fair readers exclaim, what happiness is there without love, and where would such an animal find a mistress? Do we not already hear husbands often complaining that their wives have no heads, and vice versa. Besides, might he not seek the original "good woman," of whom a de-capital likeness is suspended at a public-house sign at Shoreditch, and another at Walworth, neither of which did I ever pass in my suburban rambles without many marital yearnings, and longings, and aspirations? These were the only beatific visions lists and dramatists-Love at first sight. That stump that ever identified to me the conception of the noveof a neck is irresistible. In the event of a marriage thus constituted, some difficulty might occur as to the responses, but it could be obviated by signs as in shake of the head indeed, but by some equally intellithe unions of our deaf and dumb; not by a nod or gible indication; and methinks I could rival Catallus himself in composing an epithalamium for such a nuptial pair, for I might safely predicate that they would never lay their heads together to hatch mischief, nor run them against one another in anger, nor lose their time in kissing, nor fall together by the ears. No fear of Bluebeards in this happy state, which, if it could be universally accomplished, would at once restore to us the Saturnia regna-the golden age-the millennium.

tnally on the watch to oppose every improvement as revolutionary innovation; and by some such I expect to be told that my project is jacobinical, as tending to make the profane vulgar independent of those legitimate correctives-the axe and the halter; but I cannot see the matter in this light. John Bull, we are sometimes told, is like a restive horse-give him his head and he runs to the devil; but, by my proposition, the common people will never be able to make head at all, whatever be their provocations, so that I really consider myself entitled to the great prize from the members of the Holy Alliance. Other cavillers may urge that it would be injurious to the progress of knowledge and the cultivation of literature, as if the brains could not exist any where but in the head! Buffon, no ignoramus in such matters, was decidedly of opinion that the stomach was the seat of thought. Persius dubs it a Master of Arts.

Envious, and timid, and jealous people, are perpe

"Magister Artium, "Ingeniique largitor venter." We have it on the powerful authority of Menenius Agrippa, a grave Roman, that the belly once maintained an argumentative colloquy with the members. Ventriloquism is yet in its infancy, but who should limit its eloquence were it cultivated from necessity? this portion of our economy, that we call a cow, or -So satisfied are we of the reflecting disposition of other beast with two stomachs, a ruminating animal, par excellence. Why might not our clergy, instead of dividing their discourses into heads-Cerberean,

Polypean, and Hydra-form, which always afflicts me with a Cephalogy-spin the thread of their sermons, like the spider's, from the stomach instead of the head, and apportion them under the titles of the peristaltic motion, the epigastre, the hypochondre,

and the colon-names as sonorous and classical as those of the Muses, with which Herodotus has 'baptised his respective chapters? Even constituted as we now are, with head-quarters already provided for the brains, will any one deny that an Opera dancer's are in his heels, or that Shakespeare had not a similar conviction, when he makes one of his characters exclaim,

"Hence will I drag thee headlong, by the heels, Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave?" Does he not, moreover, distinctly mark the seat of pride and aspiring talent, when he says of Wolsey,

"He was a man

Of an unbounded stomach-ever ranking
Himself with Princes."

But I have said enough. If the reader be satisfied that I am suggesting a prodigious improvement, I have carried my point: if he be not, I deny that he has a rational head, and thus establish my argument.

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I am sure you, as well as myself, must have observed with some surprise, the dissappearance of a whole class of human creatures, I mean old ladies, who, I suppose, will be spoken of in future times, as we now allade to the Mammoth and other extinct species of animals, a bone of whom is now and then picked up to adorn the cabinets of the virtuosi. It may not be an uninteresting enquiry to many of your readers to ascertain the causes that led to this singular phenomenon, which I think I have discovered and shall briefly

state.

When a judge gives a long and stupid charge, or a lawyer makes a dull prosing speech to evidence, or a parson indulges in a lengthy discourse, their effusions are condemned, and they are themselves called old women. Stories of apparitions, exhortations to keep early hours, persuasions to take gentle physic, hints about reading a sermon on Sunday evenings, remonstrances about shewing too much of the legs, back and bosom; suggestions against flirtation, and the banishment of flannel petticoats, when issuing from the lips of elderly females, are also strongly reprehended, and the speakers are uniformly stigmatized with the title of old women. All these and many other direct attacks,

and sly inuendoes of the same description have sunk for a long time deeply into the minds of the fair sex, and have produced an unanimous determination to stop these slanders, by annihilating in their great and respectable community every trait of an old woman. Accordingly we find that go where we may, whether to parties large, middling, or small; or to chapel licensed or unlicensed, we never meet with an old woman; but behold, on the contrary, the inspiring manifestations of an universal juvenility instead of the hoary locks, we see patent spring wigs, hugging

the skull in a strictly natural embrace, and surmounted with artificial flowers; the ravages of time on the face are repaired by art, and every wrinkle filled up with pearl powder, assumes the appearance of a chalk pit; the flagging energies of the bosom are aided by internal props, and the rebellious waist, which presuming on the privileges of age, endeavours to expand itself, is restrained by a pair of long stays, formed on the plan of the Insurrection Act. Slimness is effectuated by a generous abandonment of the petticoats, and three-fourths of the leg peeps out boldly, in defiance of corns and rheumatism. The manner too, is in strict accordance with the habiliments; the smile, the frown, the flutter, the start, and even the titter, are all practised in their turn. All is youth and sunshine, alertness and gayety; spring reigns in rosy triumph, and obliterates by his magic, every unwelcome trace of ugliness and decay. Yes, Sir, the race of old women is extinguished. no revolution can ever re-place it, it lies buried in the tomb of the Capulets. This being the case, I trust you will excuse me for leaving upon record a description of an old woman, which may assist future naturalists in perfecting their systems, and prevent those chasms in their histories, which the want of such materials has occasioned.

This creature, now no more (and a very venerable, estimable, trust-worthy creature she was), had grey hair, which was neatly combed up, under a close snow-white nicely quilled cap, surmounted, if she was a widow, (for that was the period of what St. Paul calls widows indeed) with a black ribbon: a double handkerchief covered the neck and throat, and was pinned in a most indissoluble manner: the gown was plain and large, and there was undoubted evidence of two pockets of considerable magnitude; the petticoats were long and substantial, and even the point of the toe seldom ventured to transgress their circumference; the face was pale, and the expression of it resigned; the manner was quiet and gentle, yet cheerful; impressed more with the hopes of another

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world than with the pleasures of this, yet no foe to the enjoyments of the young, when they trenched neither upon health nor decorum: she wore spectacles, with very ponderous silver rims, and when after reading her accustomed chapter in the Bible in the morning, she took them off, and explained any dificult passage to her grand-children, who were sitting around her, ber countenance assumed the character of earnest yet tempered feeling, which struck me as peculiarly pleasing and appropriate. Her children and her children's children were the chief objects of her tenderest care, and they generally repaid her with affection and confidence; she attended and watched over them in every exigency; the infant found its first cradle in her arms, and no plan of domestic management was ever settled without first receiving her sanction: she had a particular place, and a particular chair.

Whenever she dined out (and this was but seldom) at the houses of her children, each of the little ones

had a highly valued privilege of paying her some peculiar attention; one drew over for her a stool to rest her feet upon; another folded up her cloak, a third brought her tea, and a fourth handed her the nicest piece of bread and butter; they all loved her because she promoted their enjoyments, and respected her although she was grave and feeble, wore black silk mittens, and told them the same stories, over and over again, about Joseph and his brethren, and David and Jonathan. Such was she to her children; and to her friends she was equally acceptable. If you talked to her of routs, she would lift up her hands and eyes; but would sometimes join a friendly party who met at seven in the evening to play a rubber of whist, or a pool of quadrille. She was always at home by ten, and generally in bed by eleven, and breakfasted at nine; her experience was in especial request; and the confidence reposed in her unlimited; she was never known to break a promise, or to reveal a secret; spoke friendly of her neighbours, when she spoke at all, and went to church till sickness or infirmity confined her to her chamber; and here all was neatness, order, and regularity; here too she expired in the arms of her children, and here her last sigh breathed a prayer for their felicity.

This, Sir, is a description of an old woman of the old times; a being that in a short period will only be known by a reference to your pages, to which I consign her for the benefit of posterity. I am, Sir, your's, &c. David-street, Friday morning.

LITERARY NOTICES.

QUIZ.

Mr. Gideon Mantell, F. L. S. Member of the Geological Society, and author of The Fossils of the South Downs, is preparing for publication a Description of the Strata and Organic Remains of Tiigate Forest; with Observations on the beds of Limestone and Clay which alternate in the Ironsand of Sussex. This Work will be embellished with numerous Engravings of the extraordinary fossils discovered by the author in those remarkable strata; and will contain an Account of the Geological Relations of the Limestone of Winchelsea, Hastings, Battel, Horsham, &c. It is intended as an Appendix to the Illustrations of the Geology of Sussex.

Mr. P. W. Watson, of Hull, has been engaged, in the vicinity of London, since the Spring of 1820, in collecting materials for a Dendralogia Britannica, (Trees and Shrubs that will live in the open air of Britain during the whole year,) to be illustrated by original descriptions, and coloured Plates from living plants.

Preparing for the press, Travels through the Holy Land and Egypt, illustrated with engravings, by William Rae Wilson, Esq. of Kelvinbank, North Britain.

Mr. Townsend is preparing for publication the New Testament, in Chronological and Historical Order, on a plan similar to his arrangement of the Old Testament, lately published.

What shall be, shall be. A Novel. By Mrs. Meeke, 4 vols.

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MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.

Leo, in that part of his work which relates to Egypt, gives a curious account of the diversions of the common people at Cairo in his time: There is,' says he, 'a spacious suburb of Al Cairo, containing about three thousand houses, filled with merchants and artificers. In this quarter is a large palace or bazaar, called Tazbach. Here, after prayers and public discourses are concluded, the mob of Al Cairo are accustomed to meet every Friday. Especially tavern-keepers, dancing-women, players, jagglers, and those who teach camels, asses, and dogs to dance; which dancing is a very pleasant sight. Sometimes the master will turn to one of the asses, and proclaim, with a loud voice, that the sultan is going to build a vast edifice, and that all the asses of Al Cairo will be put in requisition to carry stone, lime, and other materiais necessary for the purpose. Then the ass will suddenly fall on the ground, with closed, as if he were dead. Immediately the master his legs sprawling in the air, and his eyes half bewails the loss of his ass to the surrounding multitude, and begs from them something towards purchasing him Having collected as much money as possible, he says, "Do not suppose the ass is dead. No, the glutton, knowing the poverty of his master, does this to enable him to got something to buy him provender." Then turning to the ass, he orders him to rise immediately and, as the creature does not move, he gives him repeated blows. But these not making him stir, the master tells the crowd that the sultan has issued an edict, that on the following morning, all the people should go out to view the spectacle of a grand triumph. That the most beautiful and noble women would be mounted on the handsomest asses, which would be fed with oats,

another.

and have the delightful water of the Nile to drink. Scarcely would the man have spoken these words, when the ass would leap up on his feet and bray for joy. Then the master, pursuing his story, would say, "the prefect of our quarter of the city has wife to ride." On this, the ass folds back his ears, asked me to lend him my elegant ass for his old ugly, and begins to limp, as if he bad dislocated his foot. The master, upon this, asks him if he prefers young

women.

The ass nods his head, as if in assent. Come, now," says the master, "tell me which of the young women present is your favourite?" The ass singling out one of the best-looking, touches her with his bead, to the great amusement of the speetators, who call her the ass's wife. Then leaping on his ass, the man procedes to another place, to play the same tricks."

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The second letter of "A Mancunian" has been received — We cannot conceive how be should have mistaken the intention of the writer of the article to which he alludes.Perhaps Mancunian, who takes so much interest in the subject, and who, we doubt not, is iully competent, will nadertake the task.

In reply to T. L.'s question, we have only to say, that we shall be glad to insert a good review of Mr. Roscoe's interesting Biographical Sketch of Koberts, providing any correspondent will farnish it.-We are surprised that the work has not been more generally noticed.-It contains, indeed, several curious facts which we purpose to introduce, unconnectedly into the Iris, if we do not receive them soon, incorporated into a review.

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FOR THE IRIS.

FRAGMENT OF AN ESSAY ON THE DECAY OF

Advertisements.-The last column of the Iris is open to. such advertisements only as are of a Literary or Scientific nature, comprising Education, Institutions, Sales of Libraries, &c.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 1822.

To depict the whirlwind of the passionsdisplay the beautiful propriety of virtue, and the forbidding unseemliness of vice-to lash the follies of a licentious age, and to celebrate THE MORAL TENDENCY OF DRAMATIC EX- with honour the excellences which adorn it-to immortalize the actions of patriotism-to record the triumphs of freedom-to breathe inspiring sentiments of heroism-and to stimulate the adventurous spirit in its career of glory continue to be, as originally they were, the chief machines for dramatic composition.

HIBITIONS.

NOTWITHSTANDING the great delight with which theatrical representations are received in the civilized states of Modern Europe, and the munificent patronage which, in the present age, is bestowed upon the professors of the histrionic art, it may fairly be questioned whether such high and important advantages result from either, as, we are justified in supposing, were the effects of their original institution, by the polished nations of antiquity.

The spectacles which minister to the fancy, which dazzle the imagination, which excite the sensibility, and which in some instances captivate the heart, possess it is true, a most vivid and absorbing influence upon our thoughts and conduct; but this dominion is brief and evanescent, and in that precise proportion by which the cause has a power of excitation, will be the tendency which its effects have to fade and pass away. Whereas it is the distinguishing characteristic of every object that is adapted to the understanding and to the reason of mankind, to create for itself an abiding empire, and a homage, whose sincerity is perpetually evinced by the influence which it exerts over the character and actions.

So that, unless the features of the drama, at this day, both in regard to its conduct and composition as a science, and also as respects the disposition and expectation of its customary patrons, can be proved to be coincident with those which we know to have distinguished it in the early eras of its history, there will remain but the same difference between the comparative advantages to be derived from the representations of each epoch, as, it has just been remarked, was observable between the enchantment which works upon our imagination, and that which appeals to the cool dictates of almighty reason.

Now, perhaps, it cannot with justice be advanced that there is such an intrinsic difference between the scientific conduct and composition of the ancient drama, as would, per se, produce the effect for which we are contending; because, if we except, in the former, the unities by which it was regulated, and exclude, in the latter, many of their recent productions, baptized indeed, into the communion of the legitimate drama, but mainly consisting of "Inexplicable dumb shew," there will be perceived scarcely any departure from the ancient standard of dramatic composition.

To what predominant influence therefore must be attributed that change in the drama which we are compelled to believe reduces its advantages considerably in comparison with those that were originally produced by it?

We reply, the temper and views of a modern auditory. In that which may appropriately be called the golden age of tragedy, the stage was almost the only medium for useful instruction "Philosophy," it has been observed, "applied to the liberal arts for their influence and assistance: she appeared in the theatre even before she dictated in the academy; and the immortal Stagyrite delivered many of his best precepts by the mouth of his favourite poet."

The actor, too, excited little attention except as the representative of a particular personage; and, provided the sentiment was emphatically delivered, and appropriately accompanied by a commanding action, the assembled multitude was satisfied and delighted.

But how few, even amongst the most cultivated members of a modern audience, visit the theatre to benefit, by the refined tone of sentiment which pervades our dramatic chefs d'œuvres, or to apply the powerful delineation of the various passions in a fictitious character, to the guide and regulation of a real one! The man, the actor, is now the point of attention and of criticism. The acumen of the amateur is not directed to the workings of human nature, to their effect upon the frame, and to their influence within the sphere of society upon which they operate; not to the progress of jealousy in an Othello, or of "vaulting ambition" in a Macbeth; but to analyze and measure the talent of the actor, in the particular Othello or Macbeth which the poet has drawn, and to judge of the representation by some arbitrary standard of excellence which he has previously erected. It is true, that in the higher walks of the drama, there have been, and are individuals whose consummate ability has destroyed the illusion of the scene, and identified themselves for the tine with the character with which they are invested. But, even in such instances, the mind insensibly centres upon the man, and the moral (if I may so express it) is at the

PRICE 3 d.

best, but adjunctive and auxiliary. Now this propensity to fanciful, rather than to intellectual gratification, necessarily leads to that spurious and vitiated taste, which neglects the sound, preceptive, and energetic dignity of the regular drama, for the more splendid, astounding, and magnificent pageantry of melodramatic exhibitions, with their attendant paraphernalia of gunpowder, horses, dogs, and elephants. The good old thunder and lightning of Shakespeare, and the passing clouds upon which his Hecates and Ariels were wafted to this nether world, (fit emanations from the bright and fanciful regions of his golden genius), are superseded by ponderous chariots, tinselled horses, prostrate ruins, and burning edifices. Nay, the depraved thirsting for exaggerated efforts has even extended its influence to the actor himself, and the natural, equable, and majestic delineation of character, which in the very whirlwind of passion, begets a temperance that gives it smoothness,' has been exchanged for impassioned ravings, unnatural exertions, unharmonious cadences, and unseemly harlequinades"overdone, from the purpose of playing."

Nevertheless, there are circumstances which

account, in a great degree, for that change which so considerably reduces the derivative advantages of the early drama. These are the increase of facilities for the acquisition of knowledge, and the perfection to which the various arts connected with scenic representation have arrived.

When books were scarce, and confined to a few hands, the stage presented a very eligible medium for the conveyance of instruction, rendered doubly inviting by the gratification, which, at the same moment, it conveyed to the senses. Now, however, if the productions of a dramatist are resorted to for instruction, it is not at the theatre, but in the routine of private study. So that, notwithstanding Lady Amaranth's declaration that a good play was like a wholesome draught from a golden cup; and notwithstanding the great argument of theatrical abettors, that the stage is the great school for morality, it is to be feared that both players and audience are doomed past redemption, to the devil, if these be the only grounds for countenancing the pursuit, since it will be acknowledged by every one, that if instruction be the object, it may be attained with less alloy, and in a thousand more eligible shapes, from a variety of other sources.

When, moreover, the excellence of the scenery, enriched by the productions of modern artists, the perfection of the machinery, and the goodness of the music, are considered,

not to mention the critical niceties of costume and personal decoration, it will not be surprizing that the gratification of a modern audience should centre in the tout ensemble of the representation, and be diverted from that which was the simple and undivided object of interest to an ancient assembly, the sentiment and character of the piece itself.

It cannot be doubted that the great charm which formerly excited and limited the attention to this one object, was the grandeur and perfection to which the drama was carried by the three great writers of ancient Greece.

I do not pretend to be so conversant with the little that remains of the Roman drama, as positively to assert, that the first symptom of the change which at present exists, was owing to a failure in these important respects. But it is worthy of remark, that even at that early period, such a change had taken place, and that the delight of an Italian audience was excited more by the talent of the actor, than the excellence of the production. This is apparent from the tribute which Cicero pays to the memory of Roscius, in language which forcibly expresses the talent of the actor in delineating the various passions, and the influence which his powers had exercised upon the feelings of the spectators. Whilst the dull and artificial character of such Roman dramatic writers as remain, if they may be taken for a specimen of the whole, strengthen the idea that the change, thus proved to have taken place, was owing to a deficiency in the constitution of the dramatic productions of the age.

The French stage, perhaps, approaches the nearest in similitude to the original standard, not only in regard to the composition of its pieces (in which that standard is almost religiously adhered to) but also in the views and dispositions of the auditors, A short time ago, I heard it remarked by a gentleman who is acknowledged to be the first tragedian, and the finest Hamlet on the British boards, and whose opinion was the result of personal observation during a tour on the continent, confirmed by the declaration of Talma and the best French critics, that an audience in that country directed its attention solely to the actor, marking with critical precision the current of the sentiment and distinguishing it throughout by expressions of pleasure or disapproval, whilst the wretched and cumbersome state of the scenery, (not to be accounted for but upon one ground, in a country where mechanism and the fine arts are carried to such perfection) further evinced the object, from which a Frenchman derived his gratification. Yet although it night have been supposed that the French drama would in consequence have imbibed a distinguishing character from the prevalence of this disposition, it is, I believe, almost universally agreed, that in sublimity, in pathos, in delicacy of colouring, and indeed in all the essential features of dramatic excellence, it is infinitely inferior to the generality of our own productions, and particularly to those of our immortal Shakspeare; although it is probable, that if Landsdown could have analyzed an audience of the present day, he would have given his commendation to that quarter that deserved it, viz. the writer, and not to the " 'groundlings" for he says in his preface to the "British Enchanters," a lyrical drama, "that an English stomach requires something solid and substantial, and will rise hungry from a regale of nothing but sweetmeats."

THE AUGUSTAN AGE IN ENGLAND.

(See page 236.)

his vigour-his exquisite tenderness, and fearful terror-while he loses his quaint style, his homely images-and that indulgence of sly humour, which so often casts a dash of ridicule over even his most powerful passages. With all these faults-and we admit them freely-Mr. Crabbe has acquired and deserves the very highest reputation. He is the most original writer that we ever remember to have met with; and he is successful in his originalities. His verses were worthy-and we cannot give them a higher praise of the noble destiny of being the last literary enjoyment of Fox.

It is

Mr. CAMPBELL has, perhaps, never quite fulfilled the brilliant promise of his early years-but what he has given us is of great beauty and value. The Pleasures of Ĥope may be considered the connecting link between the past and present school of poetry written in the metre and manner of the first, and with the glow, animation, and energy of the other. Considered as the work of a very young man, it is indeed a wonderful performance; and naturally gave rise to expectations which have never, perhaps, been wholly accomplished. Gertrude of Wyoming has infinite grace, elegance, and sweetnessbut it wants force. The character of the Indian Chief, indeed, is a masterly sketch, and gives rise to flashes of the very greatest power-but, as a whole, the poem has, certainly, an air of languor. The causes of this have been satisfactorily pointed out by almost every critic who has written on the subject. It is evident that over-carefulness has cramped the exertions of genius-that it has pruned away the luxuriances of poetical imagination, till nothing but the bare trunk, or at most, trimmed branches, remain. The well-known couplet, which is so often false—

To return to our subject. Mr. CRABBE is a poet of a very different kind: but he is one who has acquired, and will retain, a foremost rank in poetry. We should say, Mr. Crabbe's peculiar power is that of giving pain; he possesses that to a degree which we have never met with elsewhere. There is a terrible reality in his pictures of suffering, which give them more the air of transcripts than imaginations. His characters are usually placed in the lower ranks of life, and he commonly joins physical to mental distress in a manner equally natural and painful. His paintings in this style are highly wrought, and minutely finished, but we do not think, that from this they either lose the freedom of poetical conception, or have the appearance of being overcharged. These poetical and most powerful representations abound in his works; but we would cite, as more particularly illustrative of our meaning, the Hall of Justice-the Parting Hour-the Patron-and the Farmer's story in Sir Owen Dale. We know no one whose touch of tenderness is so true, and consequently so irresistible, as Mr. Crabbe's. In the compositions we have named, we meet with them here and there, in the midst of misery, and guilt, and terror-like a few spots of lovely and refreshing green which remain unburned in the scorched expanse of the desert. In addition to these qualities, which so eminently distinguish him, that they may be almost considered peculiar to himself, Mr. Crabbe has some productions of mingled genius and fancy which would do honour to any poet. His Sir Eustace Grey is a beautiful sketch of this kind-and his Edward Shore tells of the aberrations of genius and virtue in the highest tone of genius and virtue themselves. But Mr. Crabbe has other excellen- is here completely verified. We would give a cies, which are more common in his writings, great deal to see Gertrude of Wyoming with and have, accordingly, been more praisedwe mean, those of humour, and what has been The crudenesses and superfluities which would, every stanza as it was originally composed. called his Dutch painting. We are not sure, of course, appear, would be far more than however, whether these merits stand very high compensated by the impress of immediate in our estimation. In the first place, we are genius. We are confirmed in this opinion angry with them for having, in some degree, by the vigour of Mr. Campbell's shorter usurped the place and the praise of the higher His Elsinore-Hohenlinden-and qualities of which we have been speaking. Mariners of England are, in our view, his pieces. There are many who, in admiring the humour-most powerful compositions. His genius is ous delineations of Crabbe, overlook his other there suffered to move unshackled-the "fire far nobler powers, from the circumstance of from heaven" there burns with undimmed their being less frequently employed in his works; and thence talk of his Teniers-like duction of enchanting beauty. Its exquisite O'Connor's Child, too, is a probrightness style, as the general characteristic of his sweetness, and mildness, and pathos, bear writings. His merit in this line, also, is very ample marks of having flowed uncontrolled nearly connected with his faults, and is apt to from the poet's heart, and, in consequence, degenerate into them. Quaintness-occa-irresistibly win their way to ours. But Mr. sional vulgarity-and minute dwelling on sub- Campbell has, of late years, shewn that his jects below all poetry, are the blemishes of Mr. Crabbe; and his humour, when too much powers are not confined to poetryindulged, not unfrequently runs into these. But it is in his lyrical productions that he has his chief power; and it is much to be lamented, that he should not have written more in this style. Since his first volume of poems, he has published absolutely nothing lyrical, with the exception of the songs very sparingly scattered through his last work. And even these songs, though inferior to the Hall of Justice and Sir Eustace Grey, sufficiently bespeak his great power in this branch of poetry. In all his lyrical pieces, his many and glaring defects totally vanish, and all his excellencies increase. He retains his nerve,

Poets lose half the praise they would have got
Were it but known what they discreetly blot-

Equal to both, and armed for either field,

he has proved himself a most accomplished prose writer. His criticisms on poetry are made with a poet's feeling. We do not consider it necessary for a man to have written verses to be able to criticise poetry-but he ought to have the mind of a poet, that he may fully enter into and appreciate the poetical creations of those concerning whom he writes. And who possesses this in so eminent a degree as Mr. Campbell? His critical writings, hence, are delightful. He has the utmost grace of style-and writes with a knowledge and fondness of the art, which betray the hand of a

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and malignant woman, going one day into his library, burnt every note he had prepared, under the pretence that she feared he would kill himself with study. The Doctor shortly after came in, and seeing the scene of havoc, enquired who was the author of it? His wife boldly avowed that it was herself; the

patient man heaved a sigh, and said, "Dinah, thou hast given me a world of trouble;" and quietly sat down to another eight years of hard labour, to replace the notes he bad lost!

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brother of the craft. But why does Mr. account. When it was published, and the success of Campbell confine himself to these?-why does the work had been in some degree ascertained, the he not give the world a poem which shall author again offered it to the same bookseller for place his name undisputedly on the pinnacle three hundred pounds; but he refused to give more of fame? He is in the fullness of his powers, than two hundred and fifty. While this negociation and may yet produce a work which shall call on an eminent publisher in Paternoster Row, was pending, a bookseller from Carlisle happening to realize all the promise of his early years. was commissioned by him to offer Dr. Paley one Then we have MOORE-the witty, the bril- thousand pounds for the copyright of his work. liant, the impassioned, the voluptuous Moore. The bookseller, on his return to Carlisle, duly exeHis writings are the very essence of poetry. cnted his commission, which was communicated He has been justly said to appear to breathe without delay to the Bishop of Clonfert, who, being A lady, who was pressed for time in the progress intoxicating gas while composing. He writes at that time in London, had undertaken the manageof some business, which was very important to her, "Never did I suffer so much and who was going to her attorney to consult with more con amore than almost any other poet-ment of the affair. that is, he takes the most evident delight in the anxious fear," said Dr. Paley, in relating the cir-him about the proceedings which were going on, to exercise of his art. He luxuriates in the cumstance, "as on this occasion, lest my friend avoid a circuitous route, went in at one door of a boundlessness of his unrivalled imagination. should have concluded the bargain with Mr. Faulder, church, during the time of divine service, and passed before my letter could reach him." Luckily, he had out at the other. In reply to some reproof which He lavishes images in a stanza which would not; but, on receiving the letter, went immediately supply other poets for a page. He pours them into Bond-street, and made his new demand. Mr. forth from the cornucopia of his fancy with an Faulder, though in no small degree surprised and inexhaustible profusion that causes us equal astonished at the advance, agreed for the sum rewonder and delight. This is equally applica-quired before the bishop left the house. ble to his comic and serious poetry. In the former, his liveliness is the most exhilarating -his satire the most pungent-his wit the most brilliant of any we ever remember to have seen. Woe to him whom Moore, in his compositions of this kind, holds up to scorn. The flashes of his indignation, like those of lightning, while they strike the victim to the earth, illumine the whole horizon, that his annihilation may be witnessed by all. On lighter subjects, however, his playfulness is unmingled and enchanting-to use his own beautiful words,

His humour, as gay as the fire-fly's light,

TRUE NOBILITY.-Schiller, the German poet, had a patent of nobility conferred upon him by the Emperor of Germany, which he never used. Turning friend, he came to his patent, and showed it careover a heap of papers one day, in the presence of a lessly, to his friend with this observation, I suppose you did not know I was a noble; and then buried it again in the mass of miscellaneous papers in which it had long lain undisturbed. Schiller's friend might have answered, after this action, " If I did not before know you were noble, I know it now."

A DIFFICULT TASK.-One day, when King James the First had been perusing a work, entitled, a Description of the Policy of the Church of England," written by the historian Calderwood, he was

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peevish and disconcerted. A prelate standing hy,
enquired of his majesty the cause of his uneasiness?
He replied, that he had been reading such a work.
To this the prelate replied, "Don't trouble your
majesty about that, we will answer it." In a pas-
sion, the king replied, What would you answer
man? There is nothing here but scripture, reason,
and the fathers."

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WRITING HISTORY.-When Leti, the historian,

one day attending the levee of Charles the Second, he said to him, "Leti, I hear that you are writing the History of the Court of England." Sir, I have been for some time preparing materials for such a history." "Take care that your work give no offence," said the prince. Leti replied, "Sir, I will do what I can, but if a man were wise as Solomon, he would scarcely be able to avoid giving offence." Why, then," rejoined the king, "be as wise as Solomon; write proverbs, not histories."

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Plays round every subject, and shines as it plays.— Like the fire-fly's light, too, it is on such occasions as unwounding as it is brilliant. In his more serious writings, we look on Mr. Moore's poetry to be of the very first class. He is the poet of the heart. He can draw the tears which spring from its inmost recesses with a power peculiar to himself. His pathos is of the finest kind. It never fails. Often as he employs it, it always strikes home irresistibly. All must have felt the manner in which he speaks of parting and absence so simple, so familiar to all-and yet so free from every thing trite or hackneyed. His tenderness is unmatched. He clothes fondness in all the beauties of poetical imagery and language, and yet leaves to it all the simplicity and truth of a real feeling. Mr. Moore's superiority, however, in these branches of poetry are almost undisputed-but there are some who impute to him a want of vigour. We must say that we consider this objection very unfounded. Can any say that Mr. Moore wants vigour when he crushes into dust the objects of his scorn?-Can any say that he wants vigour when Patriotism adds her inspirations to those of poetry, and the strings of his exquisite harp are accorded by the hand of his country's genius? It is on these occasions and they are manifold in his works-stir, and his prediction was accomplished. that Mr. Moore's full powers are displayed. His unrivalled touch of melancholy feeling, and all the beauties of his more tender writing, swell into intensity and grandeur as they approach such themes. Those of the melodies which relate more particularly to Ireland, and great part of the Fire Worshippers, will fully

confirm what we have said.

VARIETIES.

DR. PALEY.-When Dr. Paley had finished his Moral Philosophy, the MS. was offered to Mr. Faulder of Bond-street, for one hundred guineas; but he declined the risk of publishing it on his own

as

CHEMICAL DANGERS.-M. Rouelle, an eminent French chemist, was not the most cautious of operators. One day, while performing some experiments, he observed to his auditors, "Gentlemen, you see this cauldron upon this brazier; well, if I were to cease stirring a single moment, an explosion would ensue, which would blow us all in the air." The company had scarcely time to reflect upon this comfortable piece of intelligence, before he did forget to

The

explosion took place with a horrible crash; all the
windows of the laboratory were smashed to pieces,
and two hundred auditors whirled away into the
garden. Fortunately no one received any very
serious injury, the greatest violence of the explo-
sion having been in the direction of the chimney.
The demonstrator escaped without further harm than
the loss of his wig.

PATIENCE. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth,
Dr. Cooper (afterwards made Bishop of Lincoln, as
a reward for his literary labour) republished Elyot's
Bibliotheca Elyota, with the addition of thirty-three
thousand words, and many other improvements. He
had already been eight years in collecting materials
for his edition, when his wife, who was a worthless

she received for having done so, she said, You

must acknowledge that I am a thorough churchwoman.'-Would not this apply to a few of our Old Church goers?—ED.

BOSWELL'S SYSTEM.-A gentleman of the name of Lowe having got Dr. Johnson to write a letter for him, was on the point of taking his leave, when Boswell, who had come in while the Doctor was writing the letter, followed Mr. Lowe out. "Nothing," says Mr. Lowe, "could surprise me more; till that moment he had so entirely overlooked me, that I did not imagine he knew there was such a creature in existence; and he now accosted me with possible." "How do you do, Mr. Lowe? I hope the most overstrained and insinuating compliments you are very well, Mr. Lowe. Pardon my freedom, Mr. Lowe, but I think I saw my dear friend, Dr. Johnson, writing a letter for you.' "Yes, Sir.' 'I hope you will not think me rude, but if it will not be too great a favour, you would infinitely oblige me, if you would just let me have a sight of it; every thing from that hand, you know, is inestimable.' Sir, it is my own private affairs, but I would not pry into a person's affairs, my Dear Mr. Lowe, by any means; I am sure you would not accuse me of such a thing; only if it were no particular secret- Sir, you are welcomo to read the letter.' I thank you, my dear Mr. Lowe, you very obliging, I take it exceedingly kind.' (Having read) It is nothing, I believe, Mr. Lowe, that you would be ashamed of?' Certainly not.' Why then, my dear Sir, if you would do me another favour, you render the obligation eternal. If you would but step to Peele's Coffee House with me, and just suffer me to take a copy of it, I would do any thing in my power to oblige you.' I was overcome (said Lowe) by this sudden familiarity and condescension, accompanied with bows and grimaces. I had no power to refuse; we went to the coffee house, my letter was presently transcribed, and as soon as he had put the document in his pocket, Mr. Boswell walked away, as erect and as proud as he was half an hour before, and I ever afterwards was unnoticed; nay, I am not certain (added he sarcastically) whether the Scotsman did not leave me, poor as he knew I was, to pay for my own dish of

are

coffee."

HANOVER-SQUARE CONCERT ROOMS.- The present Hanover-square rooms, built for the subscription concerts of Bach and Abel, were originally ornamented by transparent representations of Apollo and the Muses, designed and executed by the elegant and poetical artist, Cipriani. With respect to the rooms themselves, the effect of these decorations was as beautiful as the idea was tasteful and appropriate; but the variegated bues transmitted by the illuminated colours, were so unfavourable to the complexions of the female part of the audience, that the paintings were necessarily, though reluctantly removed. The next concert night, after their disappearance, a certain countess, surprised at the change, involuntarily exclaimed aloud, as she entered the room, "Good heavens! Apollo and the Muses are gone!" Yes, Madam," said Cipriani, who happened to be standing with Bach, near her ladyship: "but they will soon return: the concert is about to begin; and then you will hear them all."

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