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On reaching the quarter of the country where lay the every nerve in my body to hear. I could not mistake place of my nativity, I pressed on with eager longing to it—it was my cousin's; and it was replied to by another, visit the babitation of my youth. I knew that my cousin whose sweet low accents I knew likewise only too well. had succeeded to the inheritance which might have been in the few sentences which passed between Colville and mine; but I had been informed, that he had, with his his wife, I learned enough to sting me into irrepressible wife, now delicate and consumptive, left the island for indignation. She complained of neglect, of desertion, of some time in search of the more genial influence of con- cruel treatment ; she spoke patiently of her own life as tinental climates. I understood that my youthful home, waning to its close ; and she begged, with mild solemnity, the Abbey, dear to me in despite of all the sufferings that her few remaining hours might be spent in peace. which it had witnessed, was solitary and deserted :- | And it was with boiling blood that I heard him answer ruinous and decaying it bad ever been, and fading like the her with a bitter sarcasm, which proved that his naturally setting star of the fortunes of our race; and with sor- upfeeling temper had been hardened by time into inburowful pleasure I anticipated the prospect of spending a man insensibility; and when, in the course of tossing few hours among its silvan retirements.

over the articles in the room, I could see him throw a It was a glorious summer's evening when I reached it, couple of swords on a table, I could hardly refrain from and as I passed westward up the straight avenue, the bursting forth and calling him to a deadly account for bis broad plane-trees threw down rich masses of shadow, wrongs to me and to her. now veiling, and now contrasting with the bright hues He came out; and my breathing ceased while I gazed of the green carpet beneath them, and of the low, moss on him. Even I was shocked at the change I beheldgrown broken walls with which they were on each side dissipation, debauchery, sensual and brutal, had done its shut in. My heart beat as I approached the mean hoary work; for him I was incapable of pity; but had my own range of buildings which excluded the view of the man wrongs been all, I could now have sternly despised him. sion-house, where the avenue separated into two walks, His unhappy wife followed him, and urged soine request passing on each side of the tree-skirted lawn, and meet I know not what it was- I heard not a word, for my ing at the ends of the house. I passed round the corner head swam with agony, and I could hardly bear to look of the buildings, and scarcely knew for some moments upon that face and figure, and think on the history of whether the picture before my mind was produced by ac approaching dissolution which they so surely told. Feebly

tual vision, or was held up to Imagination by Love and she followed him, and as she stopped to lean for support • Memory, the eldest and most powerful of her slaves ! on the sun-dial before the door, I could bear the hollow

The two flanking arcades of majestic patriarchal trees re- panting of her breast, and see the tears falling silently tired and darken ed before me, enclosing in their grasp, down her thin and death-like cheeks. She raised herself like some sequestered forest-glade, the large balf nati with effort, and approached her husband. who stood ral green whose soft and hillock-broken turf was illu- within arm's-length of my covert. She clung to him; minated by the countless tints of the departing day. And for she tottered, and must have fallen without support; wandering on along that gorgeous surface, the eye rested and the wretch shook her from her hold! He did more on a dark shadow falling forward on its further extremity. --he struck her ! By my remorse, he did !-savagely I blessed that shadow even with tears as it met my view; and violently struck her, and the unfortunate fell on the for it was the shadow of my father's house,—of those old ground beside him, senseless as a three-days' corpse. He walls which in foreign solitudes I had seen with closed bent down alarmed over her, and in the same instant I and brimful eyes,—those beloved walls whose memory had sprung out and was gazing on her too. One look

shall be the last to leave the fading tablet of my soul! I only was necessary; the glimmering taper of ber lite · looked up, and the house was there, unchanged as if I even a gentler hand might have extinguished. She was

had but left it yesterday, closing the prospect to the west dead; he had murdered her, as he had ruined me. We • before me, with its three antique gables side by side facing raised our heads at the same moment, our eyes met, and

the lawn, and standing up sombre and distinct in the he started as he recognised me. He cowered before my red and spirit-like streaming of the sky. There was look, with a mixture of compunction and sudden fear, much too that I did not behold, and which rose swiftly and I triumphed at the sight even in that crisis of uninto my fancy as I musingly advanced up the centre of utterable horror; it was the first time, and I felt that I the lawn. Bebind the house, and stretcbing to the right, had vindicated my place. For one moment I did not lay those spots which had been my favourite baunts when hate him. His confusion was short, and he was the first thoughtfulness or hardship drove me into solitude ;-the to speak, in the voice and words which I had, years bescattered and devious wood with its beautiful mounds and fore, gnashed my teeth to hear, careless, contemptuous, rocks clothed with the rustling fern and the bushy tangles and taunting :-“ To what circumstance, Mr Walden, of the blaeberry ;-and the deserted and romantic quar- do I owe your presence ?"_" To that Providence,” I reries, where I had so often roamed to pluck the graceful plied, " which avenges guilt;" and I said the words as fox-glove from their granite cliffs, or to plunge into the firmly as he spoke himself. I had not hated him for black tarns which lay numerous among the profound re- twenty years, to give vent to my passion now by cursing

To the left of the mansion was the garden, and like a drunken boy. “I come to demand vengeance for towards it I turned.

acts long since past ; and for that.” I pointed to the body I entered, and had one wing of the house close on the at his feet, for I couid not name her death nor her. He right; and before me the cumbrous but delightful fea was unmoved by the taunt, and addressed me again, tures of the place, those antique arrangements which find “ Ever the same, my most cool and inveterate of haters ; perfection in ruin and decay; the grassy walks, the you are true to yourself, my amiable cousin, and to your mossy seats, the artificial arbours, and the old clumps of early fame. Another man now would have been at the verdant box and holly; while the surrounding walls were sword's point with me by this time ; but you,” (he bent richly mantled with the gloomy foliage of the ivy, or the forward and spoke into my ear,) “ you stand quietly by, more cheerful flowers and tendrils of the jessamine and and talk of outrage and revenge ; as if it pleased your woodbine.

malice to view your vengeance and your enemy before I was standing behind some tall leafy shrubs, when I you grappled with them.” My veins swelled with a suddenly heard voices from the building, and looking from fever like madness, for my conscience told me that my between the branches, I saw, through the two open win-enemy spoke the truth. I looked in his face, and met dows of our old parlour, evident signs of inhabitants, or there the identical sneer with which, nineteen years of preparations for their reception. I had scarcely time before, he had brutally spat on me, and insultingly for consideration, when footsteps in the house struck my grasped my hands, and mocked my impotent endeavours ear, and immediately afterwards a voice, which it shook to revenge the affront. The evil feelings of my youth


the sun,

renew ;

burst back upon me in one appalling sweep, and my bet- | And if high thoughts and feelings deep dwell not within ter angel was not near to save. I looked round, and saw

your soul, the swords lying in the open room. I dashed in, snatch- The seraph lip, the sunbeam pen, the eye that seeth all, ed them up, and, throwing one of them to Colville, mo The fairy charms of vision's realms, your meed ye may not tioned him to defend himself. He retreated a step or

call. two, and called anxiously to me, “ Hold, Walden! what means this? Madman that you are, stand back!" One autumn night, the stars, the moon, the far-extending Coward !" I shouted; and I could not have uttered an sky, other syllable though it had been to purchase the salva- Brought o'er my brain and mind a trance of blissful tion of my soul. His eyes flashed fire, and we closed to

ecstasy ; gether in the resolute conflict of deadly and unquenchable And dreams like shadowy noonday clouds that flit before hate. A few passes were enongh to show that he was the better swordsman ; and the conviction braced my Came, spell-like, o'er my wandering thoughts--my vision nerves to something like desperation. One furious thrust had begun ! had almost reached him, and in parrying it his sword And now methought that I did dwell in the halls of the broke across. Frantic with rage, I heeded not his quick virgin moon, and terrified cry for forbearance. In the next moment And traversed o'er its emerald paths un fettered and alone. he lay, mortally wounded, at my feet; and, leaning on The light which there was shed around was the dazzling my bloody weapon, I watched with a steady eye the con light of star, vulsive workings of his face, and smiled as I marked the But it was not the cold, cold gleam they give to the earth last agonizing shudder which contracted his body as the from the heavens afar. spirit left it.

What passed during the remainder of Each one had the mild and gentle flush of the sun when that terrible night, I remember but indistinctly; the re he sinks to rest, collection comes only in my most horrible moments, and of the golden sun when he cools his brow on the ocean's I dare not invite them.

soothing breast. With that night my concern with life terminated.

And methought a thousand lands were held within her My existence since has been a breathing agony. To some

green embrace, men my act might be as nothing ; to me the memory of Bright beauteous lands of fruit and flower extending o'er it has been an iron hand that crushes my very heart. her face. There is blood upon my head,blood which deserved to The skies were cover'd by no cloud, no vapours choked be spilt, but, oh! not by my hand! It cries up against the air, me from the earth, and I hear it always. I have no

But one far light, and one far smile, extended every where; rest; for there has not passed a single night since that The happy flowers, and laughing tields, were nere dreadful one, in which I have not, in my perturbed sleep, chill'd by dew, acted over again that unnatural scene. The two who | And the trees required no gentle spring their foliage to died that evening in my presence have a heavier slumber -would that it were mine! my punishment is greater | The birds sang sweetly night and day, and fed pot on than I can bear.

their kind, The Abbey has been converted, fitly, into a mad-house; And the lordly lion and tiger fierce were timid as the and it may be that my life will end there, where it

hind; began.


Love dwelt supreme o'er every thing, unchallenged, mo


War, Hate, Pride, Rage, bow'd down their heads—Lore
By J. W. Ord.

held and govern'd all.
Glory beyond all glory ever seen
By waking sense, or by the dreaming soul.
WORDSWORTH's Ercursion.

The beings who inhabited this realm of peace and love

Were as the saintly forms of dreams, sent down from There is an hour of holy peace which on the soul doth

heaven above, dwell,

They crouch'd not under Wealth and Power-Strength Like dew upon the breeze-stirr'd rose, like oil on the ocean

ruled not over Right, swell.

Pride trampled not on timid Fear, nor Wrath on young There is an hour when the loudest blast doth sink into a

Delight. sigh,

Oh, that the embodied forms which shone, in vision's And the mountain streams sing a softer song as they

dazzled eye, dream in gladness by ; When the green leaves sink upon their boughs and fondle

Might come unto our weeping earth, in all their majesty; the breeze no more,

The men of lofry brow and thought, the maidens kind

and fair, And the hymns of the many birds are hush'd and their strains of love are o'er ;

The feelings warm, the virtue proud, that dwelt suWhen the proud and stately wild-deer from the heatby

premely there! height goes down, And in his home of calmness dwells in sovereign pride There were no halls and castles bigh, and mansions rich

alone; When the golden moon, so loved by all, walks forth in All dwelt and slept in heaven's bright gaze, in heaven's joy and mirth,

eternal day. And pours o'er bill, and dale, and rock, and heath, and What sought they more than couch of moss, or beds of gloomy moor,

flowerets bright, And garden gay, and woods of green, and ball, and lady's For o'er their sky was never cast the mourning garb of bower,

night; And peasant's hut, the flood of love and light which is They needed not the taper's gleam, for the glow of stars her dower.

came down, Oh, ye of the poet's glancing eye! oh, ye of the poet's Ever and ever to light their path, like the proudest sun tire !

of June; Go out to the woods on an auíumn night with your | For theirs was one unvarying clime of brightness and of passion-breathing lyre,


and gay,


And ne'er apon the fruitful soil had winter set his feet, | That our land with all its towers and spires, aud valleys Or breathed the breath of tempest o'er its gardens soft and

rich and gay, And cities proud, are but as dew, in the sun's all-search

ing ray, And now methought I gazed down on the dim far earth

Which brightly shines for a little space, and then dies beneath,

all away! That earth whose proudest gifts are but the passing of a And it tells us that beyond the hills, and beyond their breath;

heathy shrouds, I thought upon the deadly mass of pride, and hate, and And beyond the line of the mountain-sea, and beyond fear,

the mantling clouds, And envy pale, and malice cold, that lies in blackness And beyond the stars,—in majesty, and glory, dwells our there;

God, A shadowy mist dwelt over all, like the mist in a maid- | Who holds the earth in his monarch hand, and sways it en's eye,

by his nod. When her lover's away to a foreign land, or in lone cap

tivity; Like the mist which breathes from the violet's breast in

FINE ARTS. the depth of a summer day,

FOURTH EXHIBITION OF ANCIENT PAINTINGS Or the shadowy cloud which veils the sun, on an evening


(Concluding Notice.) When all the fainting earth is fill'd with its dim and melting ray.

OTHER matters have somewhat interfered with the reI look'd where oft on the summer morn I had gazed ongularity of our notices of the Ancient Exhibition; but we the gold green sea,

return to the subject once more, though at a period when And watch'd bright wave chase after wave in wild and its first gloss of novelty is over. playful glee;

Having in former articles wound up the story of the Where oft like stars I had beheld the ships glide calınly on, mighty masters of Italy, we now turn to a less dazzling Mocking the surge that lash'd their sides, with song, and clime. We have already intimated our belief that the sigh, and moan;

Dutch school of painting was merely an integral portion But the sea was gone as an infant's tear, and its voice of the German, the earliest and finest specimens of which was hush'd and still,

were produced by the artists resident at Cologne. At And each strong river now was dry, and each melodious the time painting principally flourished in the Nerill.

therlands, religious enthusiasm, if it was encouraged at I look'd unto the mountains, whose proud heights I oft all, had taken a direction totally different from the imahad trode,

ginative, and occasionally fantastic, bent of Italy. The And gazing down on the valleys far, had wept unto my struggles of the infant commonwealth had stamped upon God;

men's minds a sedate practical character. There was Bat the mountains with their golden heath that kiss'd neither in their tempers, nor in the forms of nature and the sunny clouds,

art which surrounded them, any such source of high And breatbed soft scent to the sunbeams, were all hid in poetical feeling as gave birth to the works of Rafaelle. pierceless shrouds.

The subjects which the artist loved to represent were I look'd to the woods, where at evening fall, I bad often those which were most germane to his fancy—the rich walk'd alone,

tints of fruits and flowers—the tranquil landscape-the And listen’d to all the birds might say, and watch'd the sturdy expression of character in domestic life. sun go down;

painting of a Madonna, or of some mythological subject, by Bat the woods were like a little stain on the snow-drop's an Italian artist, a single happy touch gives interest, by virgin bell,

recalling the whole story to our remembrance ;-a Dutch And the bright, bright birds had fled away from the trees interior, on the other hand, can interest us only by the they loved so well.

mastery of art displayed in its representation, but can And I look'd for the village calm in which my boyhood's derive no additional charm from any feelings awakened days were past,

by its commonplace subject. Perhaps the triumph of Those days whose pleasures, hopes, and fears, have flitted mere art is, on this very account, more decided in the by so fast;

works of the Dutch school. But the village with its church and bells was no where

To convince ourselves how much has been accomplishto be seen,

ed in this way, we nced only consult the walls of the And its stately abbey, too, was gone, as if it ne'er had been. Exhibition, through which we now walk, prattling with

the reader. Take Nos. 2, “ Temptation of St Anthony;" Hy dream doth hold a moral, but my words are weak 12, “ Visit to the Nurse;" 21, “ An old man and ivcand rain,

man;" 31, “ An Interior, by De Hooge;" 41, “ A SeaOh, that I could but lift my voice in a purer, loftier strain! piece, by Backhuysen;" 55, “ Three Men Drinking ;" It tells of the glories of the sky, of the bliss and gladness 61, “ A Winter Scene, by Berghen;" 70, “ A Land. there,

scape,” attributed to Hobbema, (more probably by DekOf the love they feel in passion's calm, of the hopes un- ker ;) 77, “ A Landscape, with portraits of Teniers, his dimm'd by fear;

Wife, and Child;" 88," A Landscape,” (attributed to HobOf the lofty thoughts and feelings warm, and innocence bema ;) 103, “ Interior of a Stable, by Wouvermans ;" divine,

127, “ A Stag-hunt, by the Same ;" and last, and best, Which like the lights of a gemmy cave in each fair bosom | 25, “ A Cattle Piece, by Cuyp"—the gem of the Exhisbine ;

bition. In not one of these is there any thing poetical, It tells that our earth is a blacken'd hall, suspended in or (with the exception, perhaps, of the Stag-hunt) even the air,

exciting; yet, what a charm in the beauty and harmony That we and all we boast are dark corruption everywhere; of their colours ! It is like music to the eye. And there That our beauty is as nothing, and our genius but a is a soul in them, vital, though not elevated. Teniers's thought;

Temptation of the Iloly Anthony is a nightmare seen and that all our wealth, and power, and strength, and by daylight. boastings, are as nought;

There is, however, a school of Dutch artists, in which

In a

something of the spirit of the old masters of Italy revived ter in this department, as well for the simple grandeur for a brief space.

Its founders were Louis Carracci, of his ideas, as for the marked character which he sucand his two nephews, Augustin and Hannibal ;-the ceeds in impressing upon all his subjects. The small uncle was born in 1555, and died in 1629. They landscape (95) attributed to this artist, although placed have been called Eclectics in art, from their principle of in a bad situation, and tolerably dirty, will richly repay imitating whatever they found good in the works of their a narrow examination. Great though he be, however, predecessors, yet with such modifications, as made it har- he does not win upon our love like Claude-the rich and monise with their own peculiar style. Hannibal is, un lovely-the sharer of Nature's sweetest secrets. The deniably, the greatest genius of the three ; the most landscape, No. 14, has suffered much, but is still every learned artist, the most powerful drawer, and possessed / inch a Claude. No. 53, on the contrary, though it at. of the greatest mastery of the pencil. There is a beauti tracts at first by its gaudy colouring, does not stand a ful little piece by him in the Exhibition— Mercury and nearer and long-continued scrutiny. Nos. 33 and 121 Argus (32.) Two Saints (18 and 29) are possibly from are by Salvator Rosa, and to these two pictures (particuthe pencil of Louis.—Guido Reni, the most distinguished larly the latter) we are inclined to give the palm above scholar of the Carracci, threw into his earlier works strong all the landscapes in the rooms. They tell us of the baste masses of shade, intermingled with striking lights, after of Rosa's execution, for the manner in which his colours the manner of Louis Carracci. At a later period, he as are worked in show it, but the composition of his pictures sumed, by the advice of Hannibal, a clearer tone of colour- speaks of long hours of study in the profound recesses of ing, as more congenial to the cheerfulness which charac- his own mind. terises his talent.--Domenichino excelsin the management Of Rubens, Vandyke, and Rembrandt, who belong to of profoundly studied compositions, and has succeeded in the Netherlands, but whose works are full of Italian appropriating, by severe labour, much both of the grand-genius, we much regret that our limits at present do not eur and beauty of the antique.-- Albano was a mere permit us to speak as we could wish. There is a fine St copyist of the forms of the Carracci, but without enter Simeon, (137,) and some exquisite sketches, by Rubens; ing into their spirit.—Guercino, we know from his own a noble Belisarius by Vandyke; and by Rembrandt, confession, took the first suggestion of his strong shadows “ The Tribute Money,” a work, whose rich mellow tones and piquant lights from the works of Louis Carracci. It make every thing near it look feeble, except our favourite is evident that he bad but little feeling of the ideal. His Cuyp. Nor must we forget to mention, that an “ AlleMercury and Argus, (6,) when brought into comparison gorical subject,” by Jordaens, is the most gorgeous piece of with the same subject by Hannibal Carracci, (32,) will culouring we have seen for many a day. show pretty accurately the relation in which he stands to It is with no small pride that we turn from these that master. His “ Abraham on Mount Moriah” would classical schools to look upon the works of our own island be a fine picture, but for the expression of the Isaac's face, masters which enrich this Exhibition. The portraits of in which (if we may be allowed to parody the technical the Duchess of Buccleuch and Lady Mary Montague, by language of artists) the face of the sheep behind him seems Sir Joshua Reynolds, are, prejudice apart, the finest picto b· repeated.

tures in the room. The little landscape by Wilson (59) The great merit of all these artists consists in their ha- will stand a competition with any of its companions. ving struggled, with more or less success, to free art from And “ The King,” by the lamented Lawrence, notwiththe monotonous mannerism which had palsied it, to bring standing all its faults of colouring, is worthy of the subit nearer to truth and nature, and to extend its limits by ject. The face is superbly modelled, and we see down the introduction of new and original forms and arrange through the clear transparent eye into the very soul. ments. It seems, however, the fate of all reformers, to be succeeded by a class of half-learned men, who distort their

THE PSALMS OF DAVID. principles and render them hideous by half apprehending them. Caravaggio and his scholar Spagnoletto stand in To the Editor of the Edinburgh Literary Journal. this relation to the Carracci. Through a misapprehension of the true meaning of the word “natural,” they not only

Ir good sense, Mr Editor, is the foundation of good renounced all mannerism, but all particular choice of writing, in verse as well as in prose, there is no man to form. Their Madonnas are mere common women, their

whom I should more cheerfully consign the important

task of revising our Psalmody, than to your anonymous Christs mere commonplace boys. Nay, they have carried it so far as to excite an occasional suspicion that they have correspondent in the last Number of the Literary Joursought, instead of avoiding, vulgar and disagreeable sub

nal. His Paper gives a simple and most correct view of

the subject; it is, in my opinion, worth all the palarer of jects. They are the Galts of painting. With all their faults, however, their works give evidence of much talent all the enthusiasts put together. I mean no disrespect

to Mr Tennant, however, of whom it may be justly said and experience ; and their strong contrasts of light and shade are well calculated to allure the many;. Spagno- learning. Though no poet, I have ventured to try my

that he is even more celebrated for his genius than bis letto's Philosopher (115) is a fair specimen of his style.--Francis Mola may be regarded as holding an intermediate hand, in compliance with the wishes of your anonymous

correspondent; and, in doing so, I hope to set an example place between these two schools. During the earliest and brightest harvest of art in worthy of imitation. Here are a few of his exercises, or

which men, infinitely my superiors, may not think unItaly, landscape does not seem to have been cultivated as a separate branch. Beautiful specimens of landscape are

new readings of certain parts of the Psalms :to be found in the works of the earlier masters, but, in Ps. i. 3. “ He shall be like a goodly tree general, employed only as a subsidiary ornament of some

That grows the streams beside, large composition. It is among the Tramontane artists

Which in his season yields his fruit, that we must seek the origin of landscape painting. Va

And his leaves fresh * abide.” sari, when speaking of a landscape by Titian, mentions

I cannot think of parting with the neuter pronouc it as done after the manner of the “ Tedeschi," who used

which. to paint such subjects; and the first who devoted themselves in Italy exclusively to landscape painting were na Ps. ii. 6. “ Yet, I have him anointed king, tives of Antwerp. The Italians communicated to it

Ev'n him, iny chosen one; somewhat of the ideal character of their country's higher

On Zion, my own holy hill, school of painting. Caspar Dughet, who was a brother

There have I set his throne.” in-law of Nicholas Poussin, and who afterwards assumed his name, is deservedly looked upon as the greatest mas

* All leaves are not green.


Ps. iii. 7, 8. “ Arise, O Lord, save me, my God! more than some commonplace observations concerning the On cheek-bone thou didst smite

word “ farewell” -a most threadbare theme, and a parMine en’mies all; thou brak'st the teeth ticular request that the public would behave as kindly as Of the ungodly's spite.

possible towards Mr Murray. This request is expressed “ Salvation to the Lord belongs,

in the highly poetical coupletSalvation great is bis;

“ When I am far, my patrons, oh! be kind
Thy blessing, Lord, for evermore

To the dear relative I leave behind.”
Upon thy people is."

Then follow some lines in which she praises the “ dear

relative" in a style which appears to us in very bad taste. Ps. vi. l. “ In thy great anger, O my God,

Had Sir Walter Scott thought more maturely on the subDo thou rebuke me not," &c.

ject, we do not believe he would have deemed it consistent 8. “ Depart from me all ye that do

with the dignity of the occasion, to make Mrs Siddons In sinful works rejoice ;

foist in by a side-wind a puff collateral to the present For, lo ! the Lord hath turn'd his ear manager. All the world is aware, that she will naturalUnto my weeping voice."

ly continue to be anxious for the success of her brother, Ps. vi. 9.

whether he boasted “ Unto my supplication's voice,” &c.

“ A Scottish origin—a Scottish name,” 10. “ That en'mies are to me,” &c.

or not; but why make a parade of this feeling, and therePs. vii. 2. “ Lest that my soul's fell enemy

by distract the attention from the main subject? The Should like a lion rave,

audience was assembled to hear her farewell, not to be In pieces fiercely rending it,

cajoled into applauding Mr Murray, who must of course While there is none to save."

stand or fall by bis own deserts. Observe, we do not Ps. vi. 9. " But 'stablish sure for aye,” &c.

mean to blame Mrs Siddons; we are finding fault with

what was written for her. But were we a great actor 16. On his own head shall come," &c.

or actress, and about to make our last public appearance, Better certainly the repetition than the vulgar word we should not accept of a poetical address from a conelave pate.

of all the best poets living. There is always something Ps. viii. 2. “ From mouth of babes and sucklings, thou artificial, studied, cold, and repulsive, in a set of regular Didst powerful strength ordain,

heroic lines. If we felt that our heart was truly touched That so the avenger thou might'st still, -our feelings deeply agitated, how could we reconcile it And enemy restrain.

to our conscience to study beforehand a copy of verses,

written for us by another, and, when the moment came, 3. “ When I consider well thy heavens,

march up to the stage-lamps, and pronounce them with The works of thine own hand,

becoming emphasis and discretion. Good heaven! if we And look unto the moon and stars

saw a great multitude assembled to take leave of us, and That were by thee ordain'd."

knew that the slightest indication of a reciprocity of feel

ing upon our part would melt them all to tears, could we “ When I consider well thy heavens,

play the frigid declaimer, and take our departure amidst Thy fingers' works that be,

the heartless see-saw of an empty rhyme ? No!-a few And look unto the moon and stars,

plain words of unadorned prose, the simple, manly, and Which were ordaind by thee,” &c.

sincere expression of the emotions actually passing within 6. “ O'er all thy works thou mad'st him lord, us, were worth an Iliad of hexameters. A poetical ad

And 'neath his feet did'st lay," &c. dress is well enough upon certain occasions; but is altoI have only room to say, that my earnest endeavour gether out of place when a favourite performer bids a final has been to be “ smooth, plain, and agreeable to the text,” and solemn adieu to public life. though, I fear, not “ more so than any heretofore." I

Auber's opera of “ Masaniello, or the Dumb Girl of have shown my good-will to the work, and more worthy Portici,” has been produced this week. The music of labourers, I have no doubt, will be forthcoming in due this piece is, in many respects, very beautiful; and, conseason. I am, &c.

R. W. sidering the defective state of Mr Murray's operatic force Dunbar, 31st March, 1830.

at present, more justice bas been done to it than we expected. The Overture is spirited and good ;—the finest

passages are those in which the barcarole, the Market THE DRAMA.

chorus, and Masaniello's march, are introduced. The orThe event of the week in the Dramatic world of Edin- chestra is not effective enough to do it full justice, but, burgh, has been the retirement of Mrs Henry Siddons on the whole, it is respectably executed. The general from the stage, or, as the bills express it, from “ the character of Auber's music, though he is himself a FrenchEdinburgh Stage,” the meaning of which equivoque is, man, is essentially Italian. He has been accused of imi. that Mrs Siddons conceived it possible she might at some tating Rossini too closely, but we confess we cannot disfuture period be induced to accept of a short engagement cover any undue resemblance in the opera of “ Masanielin London, or elsewhere, and wished to leave the door lo.” In consequence of Montague Stanley, who played open for her doing so. Let nobody contradict this state-Don Alphonso, not being able to sing, a solo, duet, and a ment“ on authority,” or in any other way; for we know it to very spirited quartett and chorus, have been left out, but have been the fact, though it is possible Mrs Siddons may we are thankful that this bas been done rather than the have since changed her mind. The house, upon Monday alternative adopted of entrusting the part to Larkins, who evening, was filled to bursting, and the heart of every would have murdered it altogether. Wilson 'plays Maindividual seemed as full as the house. But, having in- saniello, and the performance, as a whole, has raised him dulged in some very pretty pathos concerning Mrs Sid- highly in our opinion. As an actor, he is still a little dons a fortnight ago, we do not intend to draw any far- awkward and stiff, but not more so than his want of exther draughts at present upon our readers' good-nature. perience would naturally lead one to expect. As a singer, She made her final erit with great applause, as was fit- he unquestionably possesses powers of a high order. Noting, and is going to spend some time in Paris. In a sub- thing can exceed the distinctness of his articulation, and sequent page will be found the Farewell Address, which the clear sweetness of his voice. We think also he is imwas written for her by Sir Walter Scott. It is fully as proving in energy, especially where an instrumental ac. poor as such compositions usually are; containing little companiment spurs him on, and bears him out. We wish

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