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Cease thy sorrow! cease, oh, cease !

We knelt imploring those who did us spurn; Lest thy song my sighs increase ;

Who o'er their captives scoffing said—“ Arise,
Whisper nought but calm and peace

Sing unto us a song of your Judea.”
To her lowly pillow.

Land of my soul, when I forget thy cries,

Oblivioni detur dertra mea !
Gentle, wanton, frolic air,

Our readers will think by this time that we are me-
Flitting, sighing everywhere,

lancholy to-day-something in Master Slender's vein. Through those elms with sweet accord,

We rebut the accusation, and sing them, in our least Gently sound to mine idol adored.

croaking notes, a light and graceful To judge from a great proportion of the poems of Italy

MADRIGAL. which have been translated into our language, we might

Madonpa! whoso looks on almost be led to suppose that this passionate earnestness

Thy divinest beauty, was their sole characteristic. Even the stern Dante

Needs must feel devotion he who had more of “ the ancient Roman honour in him

Strongly war with duty. than any he that breathed in Italy"-yields to the “ soft

If it cause emotion, impeachment.” What a glow there is in the following

Gazing but one day, sonnet! and withal what a gentle and stately grace! It

Who is safe, I pray?
is like the silver swan gliding majestically along the sur-
face of the lake.

Would it not then be,
Negli occhi porta la mia Donna Amore.”

In such doubtful war,

Prudence greater far Love in her eyes enthroned my lady bears,

To guard and not to see, So gentle makes she all she looks upon.

Than to see and guard ? Passing, all turn and bless her unawares

To see, but be prepared No heart but beats If she saluteth one,

That the heart must rue it, All colour leaves his downcast face,-he sighs,

Best of all would be. Grieving for all his own unworthiness.

But, ah, the youth could do itAll pride or any or swift before her fies.

Lady, where is he?

M. C.
Aid me, bright dames, her homage to express !
All geutleness, all thoughts of love, all kindness,
Spring in the hearts of those who hear her speak.

MAGGIE ROUAT.
So to bebold how fair her virtues shine,
And to adore not, must be very blindness ;

A TRAGEDY. IN THREE Parts.
But when she faintly smiles, all words are weak,

Part I. So wondrous is that miracle divine !

By R. G. Mayne. But even in these hot climates there are cool shades, where refreshing sentiment, and more lofty reflection

Margaret SIMson was the daughter of humble parents, flourish luxuriantly. In our last number we showed in the county of Ayr. With a comely figure and pretty Çalderon, in stately verse, moralizing the stars into ephe-face, she had her share of vanity; and, like her betters, meral existences. To-day we show him, with the beau- could mock at the pains and anxieties of her rustic suitors. tiful perversity of imagination, endowing with enduring In the bloom of womanhood, however, but gay and light life the flowers which bloom and wither in a day.

of heart as in her most girlish days, she was united to John Rouat, a thriving tisherman. John's fortune con

sisted of his coble, three oars, his fishing gear, a moderate These flowers which now their glowing pomp unfold,

sum gradually saved, and the health wherewith ProviWaking beneath the eyelids of the morn,

device had blessed him. Margaret's former gaiety gradually Sball, when day sets, with drooping leaves forlorn,

subsided into a cheerful care for her husband's comfort, Sleep in embraces of the midnight cold :

and John's habits of industry became strengthened by These gorgeous tints, which shine like heaven adorning increasing occasion for their exercise. Contented with Bright Iris, freak'd with purple, jet, and gold,

their allotment of worldly substance, all things went well. Shall be to mortal life a symbol warning

John's musings, however be might have been engaged, were How much of change doth oue brief day behold.

turned homewards. The wind might blow, the rain pelt, The rose, she greets the morning but to bloom, or fish be scarce,-he thought of the clean blazing hearth

And blooms, but soon to fade in lonely bowers of bis home, with the beaming faces around it, and cared A tomb and cradle for her brief perfume

not. One bud :- And such, man's fleeting fortune towers,

Twenty years had passed away, leaving John Rouat Which in a day is born, and meets its doom

somewhat less active, with here and there a broad furrov In woe--for ages past were once but hours.

traced by time or care, but still vigorous, and assisted by

two stout, well-favoured youths, his only surviving childCamoens saddens yet more his melancholy imaginings, ren. The lads were of restless dispositions, thoughtless, by calling to his aid the recollections of the Jewish cap- and self-willed. They early evinced dislike to ibeir tivity.

father's calling, often hazarding, while yet mere boys Em Babylonia sobre os rios cuando

their lives in some crazy yawl, with rude sail and rudder,

far upon the waters in the most boisterous weather. De ti Siað sagrada nos lembramos.

Their father looked upon their frowardness with painful In Babylon, by streams unknown forlorn

anxiety, and strove to check its growth ; persuasions We sat, and wept when Zion we thought on, failed-hot expressions were used, and blows bestowedSad captives from our own sweet country torn; yet all would not do. Joha, the oldest, was the first Our harps we hung the willow-trees upon,

openly to throw off his obedience. A revenue cutter, And strains that once in Zion sweet did glide, stationed on the neighbouring coast, was in use to anchor

In other measures now were made to mourn; at stated periods in the bay; and, despite of his parents' Ah ! other days indeed! when shall the pride remonstrance, he engaged himself as one of its crew. His Of Judah see those happy days return ?

father, provoked at his obstivacy, struck him when they Our cheeks upon our hands, with dowocast eyes, met, and angrily forbade him ever to return home. The

THE FLOWERS.

cutter soon sailed on her accustomed cruise ; and father south-west, were gradually swelling into thick murky and son parted in bitterness.

volumes, that drove heavily athwart the firmament. A James Rouat, because of his brother's behaviour, and stiff gale set in; the sun emitted a filmy light, and interas having often betrayed similar inclinations, was treated mittent half-formed waves lashed along the beach. These with greater rigour than before. It happened about this were succeeded by greater, spurting their spray high over time, that a young man belonging to a war-brig came, opposing fragments of rock; and soon the white surf of after three years' absence, on a visit to his mother and a thousand heaving billows speckled the dark waters. All friends in the village. James and he had been intimate appeared gloomy and sad, save the sea-birds careering on from earliest boyhood, and now their old acquaintanceship the blast, as if delighted with the conflict of elements. was warmly renewed. Robin told him

The storm arose so suddenly, that it had attained its “ How sailors lived like kings,”

greatest violence ere any of the fisherboats could be de

scried on their return to the bay of the village. Wives what sights they saw, and wonders they performed, how and mothers watched for their coming, crowded together happy at sea, and how jovial on shore ; till his enrapta- upon a little eminence. At length one boat was seen red friend resolved to go and be a sailor. When Robin striving through the deep, and the sight was hailed with Blair, therefore, returned to his duty, James Rouat, with something like joy, although they knew nou whose it out his parents' leave, and scarcely with their knowledge, might be. Others were soon observed rising and falling bore bim company, with the intention of entering into on the distant waves. By much exertion, they succes the same service.

sively but slowly neared the shore; their little parties John Rouat became morose and fretful, and his coun were recognised and welcomed by hearts bounding with tenance wore an expression of settled gloom, while a sulky gratitude, and for a space all seemed joy and giadness in reserve in his whole demeanour made his acquaintance the hearty expression of mutual congratulations ; but one shun though they pitied biin. He pursued his occupa- boat was still awanting—it was John Rouat's. tion as formerly, but without the same spirit, and his Margaret had stood apart, no one speaking comfort, so fishing seemed never so successful as it used to be when busy was each bosom with its own fears and emotions. his lads were with him : the thought of their desertion, Often she strained her gaze over the turbulent waters, just when increasing years most required their help, shed but her eyes were dimmed by the breeze, and deceived a deadening influence over all his efforts.

His wife saw

her. When the last boat touched land, and she saw not his unhappiness, and, stifling her own sorrow, strove to the old coble with its single occupant, a feeble cry broke Inspire him with that comfort which she herself did not from her throbbing breast, and rushing to those who had feel; but John Rouat would not be comforted.

escaped from peril, she wildly demanded her husband, One day, while he sat on the stone bench at his door, The poor fellows she addressed, wet and worn with mending his lines, a ship letter was put into his hands fatigue, were stunned by her call, as if it brought some by the village postman. At first he thought it must be dreadful occurrence to their recollection. Some answered from one of his sons; his heart softened, and in the mo- not, and others spoke evasively, or made signs to their ment their disobedience was forgotten : but it seemed not companions. Margaret riveted her eyes upon the men the writing of either. Entering into his house, he open---she knew that her husband was lost. ed the letter and read, in large uncouth characters, as John Rouat had that morning, before daybreak, rowed follows:

off to the accustomed fishing-place, distant about three

miles, whither he was gradually followed by the other “ Mr Jhon Rouet,

boats belonging to the village. In bis sad humour, John “ Fusher Man Scotlan

held no communication with the rest; when the sound " in Beut.

of voices, or morning's dawn, informed him of their “ From our ship the Brothers Merchntman, proximity, he rowed farther away. Lonely and abstract“ 10 Jun 180

ed, he thought not of the gathering storm, nor of danger, “ I rite this opertunity to let you kno as how your poor till the waves lipped over his boat's edge. As the threatjack is ded of a teribl yellow fiver which he catshed soon

eving aspect of the heavens became more apparent, the as our ship left Jameka—and axed me for to rite to let different fisherboats moved together, that they might rethe old peepl kno as how he dyd thinkng and Ripenteng turn in company for mutual protection. John Rouat sat, of them.

unmoved. Again and again they hallooed, and called “ I hav no more to say at presen but remains Your him by name; at last, seeing him raise his grapnel, and afekshonate jack's Friend,

JHON Denester.”

dip his oars in the water, they steered for the bay.

In returning, the chief danger lay where the Frith is The wretched father read the letter aloud; towards the open for more than a mile to the swell of the broad ocean. close his voice became tremulous; as he finished, a heavy John Rouat's boat was the last that essayed to cross this groan escaped, and be covered his face with his hands. “ wild commotion.” The storm continued to rage, 'and Margaret listened with that pain which only a mother huge frothy billows swept fearfully along. Awhile he can feel. She watched in silence the motions of her bus- succeeded—but by efforts that exhausted his strength band, but without venturing to speak; for of late he had in keeping to the wind. He felt his coming weakness, been unkind even to her. He sat for hours gazing on and fear assailed his heart,--still he clutched the oars, the embers, his rough hand pressed against his cheek; and and, by habit, drew them through the brine; but his no sound, but the shivering burst of sorrow, passed his strokes were nerveless, and suddenly his boat wheeled lips.

round, exposed to the influence of the tempest. BareIn a few days, John Rouat again plied his fisherboat; headed and aghast, he gasped for breath. His grizzled but the death of one son, and uncertainty as to the other's locks stood erect, and wildly he stared upon the waves fate, bowed down his spirit. He became more sullen and dashing over his frail boat. Still he tugged; till one distant in his manners than ever; the condolence of kind whelming billow, "mightier than the rest,” came heaneighbours was hardly acknowledged, while their offered ving onward, now rising in a turgid mass, now subassistance was uncourteously rejected.

siding deep and hollow, to rise again with added force. Autumn had nearly reached its close, when one day He knew his doom-his bloodless lips quivered—the cold the sky became suddenly overcast, and to those accustom sweat of agony stood upon his wan forehead—the oars ed to judge of such signs, portended a storm. The day escaped his grasp, and he clung convulsively to his bark, had been beautifully calm, but already could be traced on now cumbered with water. There was brief but awful the smooth surface of the bay, the rippled course of shift- suspense. Heavily man and boat descended in the deepsing gusts; and long streaks of Heecy clouds which lined the,, ening gull-rising, it encountered the briny wall-a gushi

of waters broke over it-one gurgling yell was heard, unrelenting batred at his successful rival, who stands louder than the storm. The billow rolled onwards. over him, directing his sword point for the last deadly

thrust. How easy with a poet is the transition from

sternness to gentleness ! Did ever even Shakspeare's mind EDINBURGH DRAMA:

conceive any thing more lovely than that sweet and gen

tle girl, who stands, gazing heavenward in her sorrow, We have passed many a delighted bour within the allowing her last floweret to drop unremembered from her walls of our Edinburgh Theatre, but never one of deeper band ? " They all withered when my poor father died." feeling than was spent in witnessing the animated Tab- But more startling yet is the transition when, from the leaux from Shakspeare's plays, introduced into the slight depths of woe, we pass in an instant to a subject provo. dramatic sketch entitled “ Shakspeare's Dream.”

king the most side-rending mirth. See there, beneath Let our readers who have not yet witnessed this spec- the oak of Herne the Hunter, Falstaff, with antlered tacle, fancy to themselves the stage, and the body of the brow, sinking in terror to the earth, at the shouts of the house, reduced to a kind of mysterious twilight. You Welsh fairy and his goblin crew, while the Merry can scarcely distinguish the company, but you are kept Wives of Windsor, two portly and comely dames, huddle aware of their presence by a low anxious murmur of their biting jeers upon him with the most impassable expectation. At the extremity of the stage is seen the conveyance.” What! is the base-string of humanity to glittering of a large, massive, richly-gilded frame. But be sounded yet deeper? See the overstrainedly careless within it, there is only a black space. Two shadowy mien of Gadshill

, as he seeks to persuade the carrier to figures-Oberon and Titania -are ditting about the stage, lend him bis lantern. One of the “ hempen homespuns" waving their magic wands in mystic circles. Titania draws back in stupified astonishment at his forwardness, evokes the phantasm of Juliet. Low, tremulous music but the other, of a “ prettier wit," points with his finrises on the ear, gradually swelling to an expression of gers at the unreasonable beggar, as if replying with the intense passion ; the black space disappears, and in the biting sarcasm, “Lend thee my lantern, quotha ? Marty, bright but uncertain light of the moon, we see the gentle I'll see thee banged first.” We wonder whether a man girl leaning on her balcony, with upturned look, absorb- could ever hold up bis head again after such a retort. ed in love's reverie. The first impulse is a hushing sense Last scene of all is Romeo dead beside Juliet's bier, and of wonder—the next is to give vent, in clamorous applause, the distraught maiden impatiently waving off the importo our feelings of admiration, and the whole house re tupate friar. sounds with clapping of hands, bravos, and loud hurrahs. Nay, not the last scene; for, at the waving of King But tbe blackness creeps again over the beatific vision. Oberon's wand, the whole crowd of phantasms which

The music is changed. A less passionate and some have passed before our eyes troop together upon the stage what stately air is heard, and the enchanted island of the black curtain disappears—the statue of Sbakspeare Prospero bursts upon the view. The fair Miranda

stands bathed in light, and all the shadowy beings point seated before a globe, upon which she rests one hand, to him as theirs. Pritchard has made us his own for while with the other she endeavours to raise a huge book. ever by the manner in which, in his character of ShakHer look is bent upwards, as if following the direction speare, he greeted this apparition on the first night of the of her father's hand, who, propped on his wand, points representation of the Tableaux. He rushed forward, and to the skies. Ariel, with fulded wings, reposes in a cor- prostrated himself before the image of his future self. ner. What a severe grandeur there is in the arrangement We know that these pieces of dumb-show are generally and attitudes of the group !

left to the actor's discretion; and we believe that this The music now expresses horror and dismay. In the action was basty and unreflected on Pritchard's partuncertain glimmering of a huge ball stands the guilty but it was exactly what he ought to have done. It was queen of Macbeth, essaying to wipe from her hands that the passionate yearnings of youth bowing down, in po blood which never can be hid from the mind's eye. Scarce ignoble idolatry, before its own perfected genius. It was ly visible through the thick gloom, we see the anxious like frail mortality paying the homage of mingled awe and faces of the attendants infecting the spectators with con- delight to that more glorious state which itself is after. tagious horror. The white drapery of the agonized wards to attain. dreamer has a spectral and unearthly appearance.

But the green curtain has fallen, the lamps are rekinHark, to “ the startling burst of the trumpets' blare!" dled, and the audience are either departing, or busied in Amid a glare of light, and elevated on the kingly dais, the momentous arrangement of shawls and cloaks. AU the princely Edward and his brother York are enfolded are busy exchanging remarks on the delightful vision in the warm embrace of boyhood's affection. Their dark they have seen. Have we indeed been slumbering among uncle, in feigned humility, and devotion to their service, so much good company? We felt as if in the dim cavern bends the knee before them. The scene needs but the of the weird sisters, beholding the dim phantasmata of applause of surrounding multitudes to make it right royal, future and contingent existence floating before us ; and and there with a wish it comes thundering from pit, here we are in a moment, amid a gay and brilliant assemboxes, and gallery at once.

bly. But the impression left by these transitory glimpses “ A solemn, strange, and mingled air,

of beauty shall not thus pass away. By fits 'twas sad, by starts 't was wild."

Among the performers in the Tableaux, Miss Jarinan

is entitled to our warm thanks for her Juliet-Mrs StanWhom else could it herald but the moody Prince of Den- ley for her Lady Macbeth and Statue of Hermione. Miss mark? There he stands, “ as Kemble stood and Law- Turpin was the truest Ophelia we have seen, either on rence drew," wrapt in bis inky cloak, and inkier thoughts, the stage or upon canvassdelicately beautiful, and overin a dim and blasted light, which seems as if it were a flowing with feeling. The Manager's Garrick, in the parcel of his fortunes. That pensive, upturned look, that tent-scene in “Richard III.”—a representation which has finger pointing at the skull in his hand, betoken the since been replaced by one of more bustle and incident long-drawn, shuddering sigh with which he exclaims, was the most startling piece of personation we have seen. “ Alas, poor Yorick !" How well does the picture har. It was the very picture. We have here specified a few monize with Shakspeare's poetry! At first all seems of those who did best where all did well. Our best darkness and woe, but there are gentle silvery glances of thanks are due to Murray, and to the eminent artist who the moon, which steal soothingly over us as we gaze. assisted him, for this rich treat. It is introducing an

But it is in vain that we endeavour, within our narrow entirely new source of delight upon the Edinburgh stage, limits, to do justice to them all. See there, amid the din and one which is susceptible of infinite variety. We and confusion of battle, Richard casting his last look of should like to see some of the best works of the Italian

school thus embodied; and we know that some of our Farewell !--the sound bath never slept, first artists are both able and anxious to lend their aid Since first on Eden's bowers 'twas wept ; towards effecting this wish. The Manager may rest

It hath been shriek'd on every shore, assured, that such exhibitions will answer in a financial Choked in the ruthless waters' roar, point of view that they will give a tone of elevated feel And every spot we tread can tell ing to his establishment and help to disperse many ho Its tale of many a wild farewell ! nest prejudices. They will also have a good effect in forming the taste of the actors.

ALFRED.

Farewell !-the saddest and the last
Of earthly sounds-hath voiced the past,

And through the future still 'twill mourn
ORIGINAL POETRY.

The partings that have no return;
Till death-divided friends shall dwell

In lands where there is no farewell!
TO A FRIEND.

0 Gioventu!
O Primavera! gioventu dell'anno,

LITERARY CHIT-CHAT AND VARIETIES.
0 Gioventu! primavera della vita!
Yes! years have pass'd, and many more may be,

The Rev. J. T. Becher is about to publish “A System of En. Before 'tis ours again to meet, if ever ;

dowment for the Provident Classes in every station of Life, ex. Yet, oh! beloved friend, the thought of thee

emplified by the rules of the Southwell Endowment Society."

In the press—A Picturesque Pocket Companion to Margate, Still lives, and leaves my faithful spirit never !

Ramsgate, &c., with 120 Engravings on Wood, including every

object of interest on the river. My soul-none reads; thy name, I breathe it not;

OUR STUDY TABLE is ornamented at present with a new series Apart from mine thy changeful lot is cast ;

of Mrs S. C. Hall's Irish Tales. Beside them lies Fitz-Raymond. Perchance even thou may'st deem thou art forgot, A little further over is the second edition of Ellis's Polynesian We met in smiles, and smiling parted last.

Researches. There lie Fuseli and Davy, looking a mild reproach

upon us, as if they feared we were neglecting them. The Pulpit But thou wert with me in that vernal time

is here, too, preaching to no unwilling ears. A new volume of When childhood's dreams made summer in the heart,

Oliver and Boyd's Cabinet Library beckons us away to Egypt,

the land of solid structures and shadowy legends. And who that shares with us life's early prime,

POPULAR SCIENTIFIC LECTURES.-Mr W. Rhind will commence, But claims remembrance never to depart!

early next month, a course of popular lectures on Natural History,

in the George Street Assembly Rooms. In his introductory lec. We ne'er may meet again !-yet is it nought

ture, he will explain the object of the science, illustrate its imThat we have met in that bright fleeting spring portance and utility, and give a sketch of its progress. He will, Of purest joy, whose bloom but once is caught,

in his subsequent lectures, lead his audience from the history of And leaves behind but woe and withering ?

unorganic matter, through the vegetable and animal kingdoms, up,

finally, to man. The lectures will be illustrated by numerous speOh! is it nought to think that we have trod

cimens of objects in natural history. We know Mr Rhind to be a The same green haunts, in summer's radiant weather ? | of abilities and acquirements striking into this path.—Mr Cheek,

man of talent. Indeed, we are happy to see so many young men And roaming thus with Nature and her God,

the able editor of the Edinburgh Journal of Natural and GeograHave smiled, and wept, and hoped, and prayed together? phical Science, contemplates delivering, this summer, a course of

lectures on Practical Anatomy.--Dr William Gregory has produ. For ever, and for ever in my mind,

eed a favourable impression by his Chemical Lectures; and Mr With all youth's brightest and most glorious things, Russell, by his course upon Mechanical Science. Thy name is link'd, thy memory is enshrined,

Bentley ~, HORACE.-(From a Correspondent.)—The critics

seem to have agreed in exploding Dr Bentley's arbitrary substituNor time, nor change, can loose the golden strings !

tion of " ter natos,” for “ tornatos," in the following yerse of

Horace:
Whene'er I look upon the sunset skies,
Whene'er I catch the breath of mountain flower,

“ Et male tornatos incudi reddere versus." Whene'er I gaze on childhood's laughing eyes

DE ARTE POETICA, V. 441. Thou comest to me with many a faded hour!

That is, gentle reader, or is supposed to be_"And to send the ill.

turned verses back to the anvil.”_" What an absurd mixture of The summer morning, full of dews and light,

metaphors !” exclaims the doctor ; "a turner's lathe and a smith's The simplest tones of music sad and wild,

anvil!" &c. &c. Even the defenders of the old reading—and the The calm of ocean in the starry night,

oldest is generally the best, especially if old enough to be the Whate'er brings back the feelings of the child author's own—admit that there is a little confusion of metaphor.

Gesner admits it. Hunter, by quoting him without any remark, All speak of thee! and oft unconscious tears,

seems to homologate the charge. But Baxter had shown, more Not sorrowful, but sweet, will gently start,

than a hundred years ago, that there is no confusion,--that the To think the friend of earlier, happier years,

metaphor is quite unique. That tornus is—a " minter's die”

forma monetaria. What, then, is more common than to return Is great and noble, as I feel thou art !

the ill-coined pieces to the anvil ? Critics appear not to be ac.

quainted with a most excellent work on the “Connexion of RoWe ne'er may meet again! yet do I love

man, Saxon, and English Coins," by the Rev. W. Clarke-grandTo ponder on those days long fled for ever;

father of the celebrated traveller, Dr Clarke-to which Cowper A thousand blessings crown thee from above

acknowledges himself indebted for the rectification of what had While memory lives, thine own shall perish never! been absurdly rendered the Two Bottoms of Nestor's Cup. They

GERTRUDE.

were two vine branches, upon which the doves were perched. Mr Clarke's note is too long for me to transcribe at present; but he clearly proves, from Bentley's own quotations, particularly Pro

pertins_“angasto includere torno," that tornus must have been FAREWELL.

used to denote a die. Such as have access to the book, will find the By John Malcolm. passage by the Index, under “Bentley."

E. T.

LONDON.-We venture, without leave asked or given, to print FAREWELL!-Oh! what a countless hoard

part of a letter we have just received from one of our most valued Of sorrows wake at that lorn word !

correspondents one of those pleasing acquaintances whom we In moments crowding griefs of years,

know better, and esteem more, without ever having seen their

faces, than most of those with regard to whom we have enjoyed Whose mute interpreters are tears

that privilege :-“ Our town just now is quite alive with literary Wrung from the heart, that hears its knell

stars. Wordsworth appears in sound health, and though his hair In the dread, withering word-Farewell !

is grey, and his noble brow wrinkled, yet his poetic feeling and

exquisite taste are fine and lofty as ever.-Miss Edgeworth is still CAPTAIN HALL'S NAVAL LIFE, AND in town. I believe you have never had her in the north. * In per.

EARLY VOYAGES. son she is very diminutive. Though her features may be called plain, there is a simplicity and frankness in her address, and a FRAGMENTS of VOYAGES and TRAVELS. mild and mental beaming in her eyes, which command attention By CAPTAIN BASIL HALL, R.N. 3 vols. 153. Just Pubs

lished, and respect, even did you not know the right she possesses to veneration and esteem." - Macdonald has made a bust of The " These volumes do infinite honour to their author-may be of Poet. Of course, we mean him who is named in the above ex.

infinite service to the naval profession-and are sure of being pro

ductive of infinite pleasure to the very many whu will certainly read tract. The sculptor writes to a friend that it is his most success.

them.”—Literary Gazette. ful likeness, and in these matters we have great faith in the “ This is worthy to rank in the juvenile library along with Sir artist's own opinion. -- Messrs Phillips and Westmacott have Walter Scott's Tales of a Grandfather, and we could not say more concluded their lectures at the Royal Academy. The Exhibition

in its behalf if it were our own.'-Edinburgh Literary Journal. opens, as usual, on the first Monday in May.- Immediately after

II. the death of the Duke of York, a private subscription was entered CAPTAIN BASIL HALL'S NORTH AMERIinto for the purpose of erecting a monument to his memory. The CA. 3 vols. L.l, lls. 6d. And ETCHINGS, 10s. 60. most eminent sculptors and architects were invited to send de

III. signs; but the latter were warned not to have an equestrian statue, as his late Majesty thought such a distinction should be DESTINY. By the Author of “ Marriage." 9 vols.

L.1, lls. 6d. Just Published. reserved for crowned heads. (We trust this folly has been un

"A most excellent Novel."'-Literary Gavette. justly imputed to him.) Mr Westmacott's design for a statue has

“ We regard the author of these volumes as standing among living been preferred: it is to be erected in Waterloo Place, if the per female writers, second only to' Joanna Baillie Destiny is worthy of mission of the proprietors of the adjoining houses can be obtained. the Author of Marriage"-Edinburgh Literary Journal. Wyatt has also been appointed to erect, on some spot, not yet

“ The character of Destiny will be best understood by the admidesignated, an exact copy of Trajan's pillar, with the exception

rers of Pride and Prejudice, and Northanger Abbey, when we say

that the Authoress is entitled to the high disunction of being called, of the sculptures. The shaft will be of red—the base of grey without qualification or drawback, the Miss Austin of Seutland." granite; and the whole is to be surmounted by a brouze statue of Spectator. the Duke.

IV. Theatrical Gossip.—The Atlas thus expresses itself regarding MARRIAGE. 2 vols. Third Edition. L.1, Is. the prospects of the star-system : “The patrician order of actors

V. is rapidly on the wane. We believe, with one or two exceptions, THE INHERITANCE. 3 vols. Second Edition, nightly remuneration is altogether abolished, and a sensible re L.1, 11s. 6d. dnction has taken place in the weekly salaries. This is the first

ROBERT CADELL, 41, St Andrew Square. step to a renovation of the drama. By a fair distribution of the

WORKS means placed by the public in the hands of the managers, we may hope at last to get good plays well acted throughout—instead of By Messrs COLBURN and BENTLEY, London; and BELL and

Nearly Ready for Publication, having a solitary star shining in a round of lead." We are also

BRADFUTE, 12, Bank Street, Edinburgh; inclined to look for benefit to the drama, from the number of new

I. theatres that are starting up in the metropolis. It will soon be

In a few days, the Third and concluding Volume of found impossible to keep up the huge establishments, which en THE LIFE of LORD BURGHLEY, Lord High courage and render necessary an exaggerated style of acting. Treasurer of England, in the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. With Massinger's “Maid of Honour" has been revived at Covent Gar. Extracts froin his Private and Official Correspondence, and other den, for the purpose of introducing Fan ay Kemble as Camiola. Papers, now first published from the originals. By the Rev. Dr Arnold has gained nothing by his speculation at the Adelphi. His

NARES, Regius Professor of Modern History in the University of

Oxford establishment was on too expensive a scale for so small a theatre.

II. –The French comedians at the Haymarket continue to give satis

The Fifth and concluding Volume of faction.--Pritchard has succeeded poor Denham as secretary to

Mr D'ISRAELI'S COMMENTARIES on the the Edinburgh Theatrical Fund. We are happy to learn that this

LIFE and REIGN of CHARLES I. King of England. excellent institution is flourishing. Is it to have a benefit, or a

III. dinner, this year?

THE DIARY of Dr DODDRIDGE, forming the Weekly List of PerFORMANCES.

Supplement to his Correspondence, now completed, and including APRIL 16-22.

many curious particulars in his Life hitherto unknown. Edited by SAT. Masaniello, Three Weeks after Marriage, & Shakspeare's

his Great Grandson, John DODDRIDGE HUMPHREYS, Esq. Dream.

Just published, Mox. The Two Friends, Mr Tomkins, & Do.

In a handsome volume of 560 pages 12mo, with Fine Portrait, Tues,

Price 7s.6d, in extra cloth boards, ing Draught. WED. Cinderella, Mr Tomkins, & Shakspeare's Dream.

ERSKINE, A.M., Minister of Stirling, Father of the Sexes THURS. The White Phantom, Charles XII., & Brother and sister.

sion Church.—To which is prefixed, a MEMOIR of his father, the

Rev. HENRY ERSKINE, Minister of Chirnside. FRI. Der Freischutz, The Lancers, $ Shakspeare's Dream.

By the Rev. DONALD FRASER,

Minister of the United Associate Congregation, Kennoway. * Our friend is mistaken. Miss Edgeworth visited Sir Walter Published by WILLIAM OLIPRANT, 22, South Bridge Street, Scott, at Abbotsford, a few years since.

Edinburgh : and sold by W. COLLINS, Glasgow, and all Booksellers.

Just published,
TO CORRESPONDENTS.

In One Volume, 8vo,

price 12s, or 12mo, price 8s. 6d. We must request our friends to have patience with us for this AN INQUIRY into the PREVAILING week.

NOTIONS respecting that FREEDOM of WILL which is supposed to be essential to Moral Agency, Virtue and Vice, Reward

and Punishment, Praise and Blaine.
(No. 128, April 23, 1831.)

By JONATHAN EDWARDS.
ADVERTISEMENTS,

With an Introductory Essay and Notes, extending to 150 pages. Connected with Literature, Science, and the Arts.

By the Author of the Natural History of Enthusiasın."

Published by JAMES DUNCAN, London; and Sold by WILLIAN FRENCH LITERATURE.

OLIPHANT, 22, South Bridge Street, Edinburgh.

Just published, MR SURENNE, F.S.S.A., French Master in the

12mo, boards, price 4s. 6d. Royal Military and Naval Academy, will, on Saturday, the 30th of April, at one o'clock, in the Hopetoun Rooms, deliver, gratis,

PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. A LECTURE ON FRENCH HISTORIANS,

A POEM.

In Two Parts. INTERSPERSED WITH READINGS FROM THEIR WORKS.

Pro Naturâ meâ. After which, the Two Prizes which have been promised at the beginning of his Course of Lectures, just finished, will be awarded.

“ Many of the illustrations are not only appropriate and poetical, Subject of the prizes : Lequel des Gouvernements Despotique, reverence for sound principle and moral worth."-Edinburgh Weekly

but original and remarkable ; and the strain of sentiment is that of Monarchique ou Démocratique, peut plus assurer le bonheur des Journal. nations.

Holdsworth and Ball, 18, St Paul's Churchyard, London ; and 8, Nelson Street.

Wauga and INNES, Edinburgh.

The Barber of Serille, Shakspeare's Dream, of The Sleep |THE LIFE and DIARY of the Rev. EBENEZER

THE

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