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be laid down as the invariable rule of our proceedings, that every point in debate shall be fairly and honestly decided by the plain dictates of common sense.

(Evening III. in our next.)

ARTS AND SCIENCES.

Crystallization of Tin.—We laid before our readers, in No. 76 of the Literary Gazette, a particular account of the method and effect produced by this discovery, and feel much pleasure in marking its progress, which is materially assisted by Messrs. Blakemore and James, in the preparation of the plates in a different manner, which they denominate armorphous plates, rendering the surface of them more crystalisable than by the common method.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

LINES

ON THE FUNERAL OF AN ENGLISH OFFICER
IN SPAIN, 1813.

I heard the muffled drum beat slow,
I heard the soft flute's tones of woe,
I saw the coffin in the ground,
And the loud volley fired around—
And many a manly veteran there,
With faltering step and brow of care,
Dashed from his eye the tear that fell
In token of a last farewell.

A rustic stone upon the grave
Its feeble information gave:
The name, the youthful years, it told,
Of him who there lay silent-cold-
How he had died the hero's death,
In Victory's arms resign'd life's breath.
'Tis o'er-and now unheard by thee
The warring of a world shall be!
Yes-in the stranger's land he sleeps,
No mother o'er the green turf weeps;
Nor must she ever-ever know
The spot where he she loved lies low.
Yet be this grave to memory dear,
An English Soldier slumbers here!
The Spaniard-as he wanders by,
Shall view the mound with pensive eye,
With grateful throb his bosom swell,
For those who nobly fought and fell.
Youth! from thy blessed land they came,
With warrior might and patriot flame,
And buried in the earth of Spain
The Bravest of the brave' remain.

THE TYROLESE GIRL.

ISABEL.

Written after the French Invasion of the Tyrol.

Felicité passée

Qui ne peux revenir,
Tourment de ma pensée

Que n'ai je en te perdant, perdu le souvenir.

You would not wonder, (had you seen
In happier days our fields of green,
Our mountains, skies, and lucid streams,
Like colourings of the poets' dreams-)
You would not wonder I should grieve
Those scenes of loveliness to leave.

Oh, never shall I see on earth
A land like this that gave me birth,
Or hearts so kind, so brave, so true,
As those my blissful youth once knew:
Yet virtue, valour, could not save-
And those hearts slumber in the grave.

With tempest-roar, with lightning-flame,
The Tyrant and his myriads came--
They laid our peaceful valleys waste,
Her Sons with chains would have disgraced.
How fought the Tyrolese-how fell--
Stranger! the tale is known too well.

But never, never can you know
The deep, the agonizing woe
We felt, when man could do no more-
When Freedom died, and all was o'er!
God of our fathers! in that hour
Warred not with us thy mighty power.

No! you could ne'er retrace this scenę
For what it had so lately been-
The ruined cot, the untilled ground,
All-all-so desolate around!

No minstrel wanders through the vale,
No voice floats on the evening gale.

It was so different!-at this hour,
Resting within some shadowy bower,
We listened-with what anxious ear!
The homeward mountain-horn to hear,
And watched the crimson setting sun,
For then our evening dance begun.
The spot our feet once careless prest,
Oh slumber there in endless rest
The maidens' hope, the matrons' pride-
The Youth who for their Country died!
Since then is all a desert grown,
And I remain alone, alone.

Companions, friends, for ever dear!
No longer ye inhabit here-
Yet wonder not that I should grieve
Those scenes of loveliness to leave,
For never shall I see on earth
A land like this that gave me birth.
ISABEL.

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A Dryad's home-Beneath this ancient oak,
(First o' the forest) that spreads its feathery arms
Abroad, and stands again regenerate,
She liv'd. She lov'd, it seems, a Mortal, but
The fairest youth in Phocis-on his brow
Sate a mild beauty-(such the ancients paint
Hylas, or Hyacinth, or, who died self slain,
Narcissus)-Here she passed her life, and caught
Youth from the changing year-She lov'd to lie
At noontide on yon slope, and muse upon
Her sad and lonely destiny-At last,
Quitting her sacred tree (here had she dwelt
The spirit of the place) she plunged within
Yon bend of the Cephisus, where you see
The waves flow darker, and the ripples sink
To silence-yet she died not-for some god,
(Then watching from his orb) preserved the
nymph,

And fixed her in the skies-a star, 'tis thought,
For, ever when the setting sun departs
On April evenings, or in early May,
(That time she left us) a pale star is seen
Brightly to shine on that part of the stream
Wherein she plunged; and ever when it shines,
The trees around the place are moy'd, as if
By airs from Heaven, and sweetness breathes
around-

The dark pines bend their heads-that sacred oak

Lets fall its leaves, as when, on Autumn nights,
The North wind (Winter's fierce precursor) roams
Amongst the branches, howling, and disrobes
The shrubs of all their green-Pale Syrinx then
Moans in the reeds-and sweet Aglaia (she
Still constant to the inconstant rivulet)
Troubles the faint Cephisus' course, and breathes
Music along the waters.-
October 1817.

A MORNING IN SPRING,

W.

It was the budding time-the Sun till now
Had veil'd from us his glory-circled brow,
Since, turning from pale Autumn's tears, he
drove

His flame-hoof'd steeds where many a palm-tree

grove

Waves on the fragrant bank of Oman's tide,
To seek a love more young and laughing-eyed:
But when the beauty from her fresh cheeks faded,
Even like the roses which their lustre shaded,
Once more, unmask'd with clouds, his car of
Inconstant thro' the western azure roll'd
gold,

To welcome forth the flowery-vestured Spring,
Freed Nature flung her ice-link'd fetters hence,
Whose voice had set our woodlands echoing.
And breath'd the magic of her influence
To waft thro' heaven each new-born flower's
Around; while spirits seem'd, on viewless plume,
perfume:

The bee had spied that cinque-ray'd star which glows

Within the bosom of the pale primrose;
The violet peep'd thro' bush leaves waving o'er
her,

And found the snow-drop had awoke before her;
And the blush-rose drew back her hood of green,
But came not out, because her sister queen,
The pale-cheek'd lily, in her close pavilion
Lay still entranc'd; and, scatter'd round,
million

Of little flowers on every bank look'd forth
Beneath some bush between them and the North,
And from their gaudy censers had begun
To offer up fresh incense to the Sun:
The stream, till then thro' leafless coppice
darkling,

Play'd, like the heart's glad current, pure andTM sparkling;

And sun-smiles chased the shadows, as they flew O'er wood and hill; and in a heaven of blue Glanced many wings, before all droop'd and dull, As shooting eve-stars, brief and beautiful:

And aye, since Morn had left her chamber blushing,

Wild melodies thro' glen and grove were gushing:

Motionless, yet as cheerful lay the Deep
As some young beauty smiling in her sleep;
And while the clouds past o'er, or sun peep'd
through,

The waves changed colour-answering hue for hue;

Sometimes a moving sheet of sapphire shone—
And then the emerald's liquid tint came on:
That day the Deep was Nature's palette made,
Whereon she wrought her colours-and display'd
The hue of every beautiful thing-the bloom
Of July roses, and the purple plume,

For ever changing, on the dove's smooth neck;
The burnish'd scales with many a golden speck
(Like studded armour) on the surging snake;
Those pearls they dive for in the orient lake;
The peach's cheek-like beauty-blushing well;
The diamond eye-ball of the wild gazell:
And O, ten thousand other tints, forgot-
That came across one like a pleasant thought!

THE GROUND SWELL.†

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is it?" It wants life,' replied I, it wants the variety of expression of your countenance, which changes frequently, and thus cheats the artist of the likeness which he, for a moment, had in his

SKETCHES OF ENGLISH MANNERS. Power; another expression, agreeable

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Yet still her charms in breathing paint engage, Her modest cheek shall warm a future age. Beauty, frail flower, that every season fears, EUSTACE. Blooms in these colours for a thousand years.

Written on the Breakwater, Plymouth Sound.
The Sun is high, the Atlantic is unfann'd
Een by the breathings of the gentle West,
And yet the broad blue flood is not at rest.
Amid the holy calm on sea and land
There is a murmuring on the distant strand,
And silently though Ocean heaves its breast,
The shoreward swellings wear a feathery crest,
And meet the opposing rocks in conflict grand.
These ships that dare the eternal winds and seas,

In the commotion roll without a breeze,
And as their sides the huge upswellings lave,
His flagging sails the listless seaman sees,
And wishes rather for the winds to rave,
And, like an arrow, dart him o'er the wave.
Plymouth Dock.
N. T. C.

+ The Ground Swell is principally occasioned by storms in the Atlantic, which agitate the sea many days after the tempests have ceased. The ocean heaves, as it were, in masses, but its surface is quite smooth, i.e. unbroken into waves, and without foam, except where it comes in

contact with the coast.

SONG

FROM THE FRENCH OF FLORIAN.

This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. Midsummer Night's Dream.

The pleasures of Love in a moment fly,
The torments of Love endure till we die;
For Sylvia with all once so dear did I part-
She left me, and gave to another her heart.
The pleasures of Love but a moment endure;
The torments of Love admit of no cure,

So sure as this stream shall softly flow
To meet the clear river which glides below,
So sure shall I love thee-said Sylvia to me :
The stream still flows-but changed is she.
The pleasures of Love in a moment fly;
The torments of Love endure till we die.
ISABEL.

Painting, dejected, views a vulgar band, From every haunt of dulness in the land, In heathen homage to her shrine repair, And immolate all living merit there.

POPE.

SHEE'S Rhymes on Art.

"Do now be a good creature and accompany me to my Painter's," were Lady Jane Mandeville's words on perceiving me at the Cocoa-tree door, and on stopping her carriage. "There is nothing so stupid as sitting for one's picture," continued she, "and I know that you are a good soul, and will amuse me with your society during the trying hour of being studied by the Painter. Upon my word, I wonder how many a handsome timid girl can stand the trial: it is quite awful: besides, one is so apt to get into low spirits from the effect of ennui, and it is so excessively tiresome. So step into the carriage, and I shall be for ever obliged to you. I have given two sittings; yet I perceive something wanting to the likeness, which I am at a loss to describe, and which your superior judgment will point out."

The last compliment acted on me as a bribe; yet I saw that it was her Ladyship's intention to make a convenience of me. My age, however, and my habits, favoured the thing: I was weak enough to be pleased with a remark so much in my favour, and to comply. We arrived at the Painter's, and were shewn into a room where the easel and half finished portrait stood. Lady Jane looked it through, examined, looked again, shook her head, and appeared dissatisfied. "That," said she to me, "is not me; it wants something; what

'

and engaging, presents itself to his view; and he is compelled to quit the last play of features, which, if continued, would have been perfect. Thus, for instance, you smiled; he caught that smile; but it died upon your lips and in your eyes just as he was impressing it on the canvass. He looks up; he finds You pensive and grave-another countenance; "Pray, my Lady, smile again: you cannot: the next attempt is unnatural; it is not a smile; the artist is puzzled; he looks at you again and again; the charm of the last smile is: broken; you make a dozen unsuccessful attempts in order to satisfy the painter; you grow impatient; the placidity of your brow is ruffled; the artist lays down his brush; he too is out of temper, but he cannot shew it; he pauses, he reflects; he begs you to sit unconcerned;

Sorry to give you so much trouble;' what can he do?-He paints upon recollection, and fails. Now had an approved and approving, a loved and loving swain been before you, and had said,

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"You are a wicked man, a practised flatterer, a gay deceiver," exclaimed her Ladyship, hitting me amicably with her parasol; "but do tell me what the picture wants. It is stiff; it is grave; it looks like a woman of thirty: in short, it is not me; and I have half a mind not to take it."-I saw immediately its defects in her eyes: it was not handsome enough-not ten years younger than herself-in a word, not sufficiently flattering; but I could not tell her so. It wants,' resumed I, as I said before, your play of features; it cannot, like you, say the most amiable things in the world, nor do the most friendly ones; it has not your wit, your conversation, your knowledge of the world, and your obliging disposition-such things exist not in canvass; and it is not the Painter's fault. Perhaps,' continued I, it has a little too much colour.' "Not a bit,"

(for she was pleased with its improved complexion;)" but," concluded she, "it is too old." Perhaps it may.' She was deeply dissatisfied.

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We now heard very loud talking in

the next room.

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Here we had no longer patience, and we left our listening station. "Fool! cried Lady Jane, and, ringing the bell, ordered the footman to remind his master, that Lady Jane Mandeville was waiting, and that she was pressed for time. The Artist entered, all confusion and excuses, and told us that he had been detained for an hour by a Lady, who at last went away undetermined as to how her daughter was to be drawn.

We all rose together; and as he was conducting us to the door we met Mrs. Versatile and Lady Bellamy. "Do, my love," said the former to Lady Jane, "return with me to the painting room, and see if you can find out my portrait; it is not quite finished, although I have sat ten times" Yes,' interrupted the artist, 'for ten minutes each time; '

She recognised Mrs. | turned instep, etcetera, thus displayed to | of the Guards with me, who kept talking Blossom's voice. "Let us listen," said advantage-her bow suspended from her nonsense to me the whole time of my she. "It is that vain creature, Mrs. shoulders-the head-dress exactly like sitting; do excuse me for this morning, Blossom! I'm sure if Mr. Varnish takes that of the goddess in question." Ad- and I'll come again to-morrow, and a faithful likeness of her, it will be a mirable!' exclaimed Mr. Varnish. "Or bring him with me." Mr. Varnish fright, and it will be the first faithful if she were drawn as Hebe, or —” dropped his brush, and bowed disapthing about her."How severe !' said pointment- Just as your Ladyship "Oh! I hate her," answered her pleases.' Ladyship; "but hush." Upon listening attentively, we discovered that she was come to get her daughter Laura's portrait taken. The poor artist was to be pitied. Nothing could satisfy her. It had been far more candid to have said, I must have a Venus instead of my daughter; you must make this woman an angel in picture; the colours must breathe there must be the spirante colore of the Italian artist; yet it must be Lady Jane, who had so blamed and my daughter in spite of nature and of so ridiculed Mrs. Blossom for her conart. "I will have Laura painted at her ceit and fantasticalness, now began herharp," said Mrs. Blossom. "She must self to play the difficult. She found a be clad in white-light drapery of ex- thousand faults with the picture, and quisite design-her bosom and her arms was quite angry with me for not finding bare-a lily of the valley in the former a thousand more. "The eye wants -her raven locks fancifully arranged- light," observed she; I will give it a one shed over her forehead-a favourite little,' answered the Painter. And the ringlet straying o'er her ivory neck"bosom should be fuller." He made it You paint so beautifully yourself, so, although it was nearer the truth at Madam,' observed the artist,' that I shall first. "It is too old," said she next. execute nothing half so well; but the He retouched it. The likeness, or rather young Lady will make a most interest- the portrait, was more flattering. (Lady ing (laying a false emphasis on resting) | Jane) "That's better! Now I'll have picture, and I will do my best to please the head-dress altered; it shall be like you; your idea is excellent, and I shall those of the Greek models. (Artist) follow it with the utmost care.'" Yes," Your Ladyship shall be obeyed.' " And resumed Mrs. Blossom, "I am allowed that nose again is frightful. I am sure to have a very fine taste for painting," that I have not that pert turned-up (for painting herself she had.) thing which you have given me." The Painter looked all confounded: his eyes said, 'Pray what nose would your Ladyship please to have?' but he could not express himself so. He pondered, and at last painted a very handsome nose, quite unlike the original; for Lady Jane is pleasing, without the least pretensions to regularity of features, or to what may be termed beauty, and she has precisely the nose objected to.

"But stop, not so quick," exclaimed Mrs. Blossom, "another thought has come into my mind-I will have her painted at full length-a light drapery hanging over one shoulder-the other quite bare-her hair a la victime behind, and fastened up on the top of the head -one lock over the left shoulder, long, full, and natural, and finely contrasted with the whiteness of her bosom-her head half turned (this was enough to turn it altogether)-her eyes droopinga book in one hand-the other arm reclining on an elegantly executed pillar." Very good, indeed!' cried the Painter, the young Lady's fine silken eyelashes and full eyes will have a fine effect in this pensive attitude.'

By this time the picture was grown very unlike indeed. "That's better," said she, with a nod and a smile. "Come, my friend," continued she, addressing herself to me," tell me some of your excellent anecdotes, in order to put me in good humour with myself.". ' And with me also,' modestly added the "Not at all," interrupted the partial Painter. There, my Lady, that smile and fanciful mother; now I have a will do inimitably.' She turned her better thought: she shall be painted as head, and was uneasy; she looked all Diana-a beautiful greyhound of ours at impatience; it was lost. You do not her feet, which will be a double advan- sit so well as you did yesterday-not so tage, as it will bring in a favourite-then pleasantly, nor in such good spirits,' we will have her drapery looped up in observed the artist. "Oh! I remember front, and her well proportioned, finely-yes, I had that rattle George Myrtle

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66 But," continued she, "if the likeness he striking, you will know it immediately." We re-entered the room, and, by an approving smile and a glance of Mrs. Versatile's, we discovered a most beautiful picture to be her's; not by the likeness, but by her self-satisfaction at being so flattered. We both agreed that it was uncommonly like. Lady Bellamy grew pale with envy; and Lady Jane observed hastily, 'Mr. Varnish has not taken half so much pains with my picture as with yours.' He modestly answered, Madam, it is not yet finished;" whilst Mrs. Versatile smiled disdain, as much as to say, 'Poor silly thing! do you ever expect to look half so well as

me?'

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Mrs. Versatile then addressed herself

to the artist. "Mr. Varnish, I really do (laying a stress on the last word) beg your pardon for being so troublesome to you, but you must excuse me to-day: I was up all night at a quadrille ball; and I shall fall asleep, or do nothing but yawn if I sit down (turning to the lookingglass;) I protest that I look quite a fright; I will not (the not sounded very positive and emphatically) sit to-day." He bowed submission; and it came out afterwards that she had disappointed him five times running: once she was engaged to a dejeuné; once she had a sick head-ach; the third time she disapproved of her dress, which was to be changed; next she looked too pale after riding; and lastly, she was fluttered and put out of temper, and could not, as she called it, "bear herself, because she looked so unbecoming."

en

To all these changes of temper and disappointments are artists exposed: Her Grace is so disordered by the high wind, that she is not fit to be seen;-Lady so and so has had no rest, and her eyes look quite red;-Miss Lovemore is so fidgetty that she cannot sit still; she is going to a waltz party, and will put off

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the sitting until to-morrow.-Lady Bel-
lamy now put in her word; for she had
a picture which did not half please her,
and which was to be altered. "Mr.
Varnish," said she, my husband does
not approve, of my picture (the case with
many husbands, thought I:) he says that
it is a stiff, prim, formal piece of stuff."
The Painter looked all patience.
"It is
not half as gay as I am (some truth in
that;) it is unlike about the eyes; it
must be touched up again and improved;
besides, my husband says that he must
have me in an easy undress, instead of
that crimson robe and feathers." Just
as your husband pleases,' answered the
tormented artist.

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We now took our leave; and Lady Jane set me down at Hookham's, observing on the way, that Mrs. Versatile's picture was not a bit like her, that Mr. Varnish had made a perfect beauty of her; and that she much regretted having her portrait painted by him, as she did

not admire his likenesses at all.

On my way home, I could not help ruminating on the painful task of the Painter, and recollected that very few of the portraits, which we saw in his showroom, were strong likenesses of those for whom they were taken. The two great causes for this, however, were, that almost every body wishes to be flattered, while some others have the conceit of being painted in dresses foreign to their situation in life, and in which their acquaintances can never possibly have seen them.

and not a goddess; our friend or ac-
quaintance should be a gentleman, and
not a hero of antiquity; good execu-
tion and correctness of similarity should
complete the portrait; else may we have
a very fine picture, yet like nobody
whom we know,-a mere matter of
fancy.

centre of attraction; and with the exception of much more gaiety, more avowed vice, and the absence of all pretence at rational resources, acts the part of the library at an English watering-place. The Redoubt is a large handsome building, the ground floor open with a colonnade in front, appropriated to print, toy-shops, &c. A wide stair-case conducts to the firstWith these remarks, and with this floor, where, after depositing your hat and conviction I shall conclude, professing stick with the gens d'armes at the door, high esteem and pity for the meritorious you enter the Grand Saloon-a splendid artist thus exposed, and an irrevocable room, with a carved cieling, and lined with mirrors. On one side a crowd of resolution never in future, by accommotley, but well-dressed and gay-looking panying a fanciful lady to have her pic-persons, of both sexes, are pressing over ture taken, to lose a morning of the each other's heads, round two large banks An anxious silence of Rouge et Noir. reigns, only interrupted by the rattling of the roulette, the clink of the Napoleons and francs, and the titters and jokes of the few whose speculations are a matter of mere frolic. The play is frequently very high, but the bank does not refuse to sweep in a solitary franc. Pretty interesting women were putting down their Napopoleons, and seeing them swept away, or drawing them in doubled, with a sang froid which shewed they were no novices in their employment.

THE HERMIT IN LONDON.

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.

The seat of the august Congress of the present era is thus described by a recent traveller :

gro

Aix-la-Chapelle stands in a fertile bowl, surrounded by bold hills, on descending from which, either on the road from Liege or from Juliers, the slated roofs and minarets of the Hotel de Ville, and the tesque dome of the cathedral, give to the Between four and five o'clock, groups old Imperial City an air of imposing dignity. On entering it you find it, however, of the beau monde repair to the Louisberg far from a handsome town, according to the -a bold sandy hill, rising abruptly just modern acceptation of the phrase-nor is above the ramparts of the town, the view the interest of antiquity united with any of from which overlooks the city and the that architectural curiosity, which give the rich valley beneath, and stretches over the great cities of the Netherlands so striking neighbouring hills and fertile pastures, to a character. The city, which is by no a range of even mountains which bound the horizon towards Germany. The means large, is as usual surrounded by a scene of attraction on the mountain is a thick rampart, now half in decay, with small Roman towers at nearly equal dis- large tavern, with a splendid saloon, comtances. Below the ramparts are agreeable manding a noble prospect. Music, dancing, There was, for instance, Lord Heavy-shrubberies and gardens, chiefly the work smoking, tea-drinking, walks in the garhead in the costume of a Roman sena- of the French, and which form favourite dens, &c. occupy the various descriptions tor, which he is as like as he is to a promenades to the company of the Bathing-of guests; and the scene has few features of difference from our cockney rendezvous windmill; the Reverend Mr. Preach- Place. hard, in a scarlet hunting frock and near town, except the characters of the black velvet cap, which he used to wear parties, who, instead of being worthy cits, with fat spouses, are often a gay assembefore his ordination, and a fox's brush nations and qualities. biage of Counts, Barons, &c. &c. of various

instead of the Bible in his hands; a
Captain Fairweather, in a suit of po-
lished armour;
a Mrs. Modish, as a
Magdalen; and the Dowager Lady
Lumber, as a sleeping Venus, having a
little more modest drapery thrown over
her. Now, who on earth could expect
to discover their friends under such dis-
guises? Yet to all these whims and fan-
tasies must the painter submit. His task
to please must be difficult.

Of one thing I was convinced, namely, that to picture our acquaintances and friends, or even public characters, strict resemblance, without flattery, is necessary.

The general expression of the countenance, the prevalent habit of the original, and the dress usually worn by her or by him, are equally requisite. Our wife or daughter should be a woman,

Our visit in the summer, when the place was overflowing with company, gave us some idea of the mode of life of deeper of its waters and amusements than the diversified groupes who were drinking ourselves; both of which have no small resemblance to those of similar scenes in England. Gaiety has, however, a more decided character; pleasure is more the avowed business of every body; and if ennui may be the motive of as many visits to this place, as to similar ones in Great Britain, the remedy here appears more successful; for you can rarely read in a single countenance, as you so often may in the libraries of Brighton or Cheltenham, the inveterate disease of which persons come to be cured. The system of the day commences with a bath, taken early, for about half an hour. After breakfast follow excursions in the environs, the walks in the gardens, visits to the cafés and billiard-rooms, and, above all, the pleasures of the Redoubt, or Grand Saloon, which occupy the gay world till dinner, at two or three. This last-mentioned place of rendezvous is the great

During the continuance of the season there is generally a company of German players at Aix-la-Chapelle, and the company hastily return from the Louisberg to the theatre. The building is small, and by no means handsome.

The Cathedral of Aix is interesting for its history, and its rude specimens of early Saxon architecture: but has neither beauty nor grandeur to recommend it. The quaint old dome, which comprehends the whole edifice, except the light Gothic choir of a later date, is a venerable relic of the old minster with which Charlemagne adorned his native city. It was consecrated by Pope Leo III. in 804, with a ceremony worthy of its splendour. Three hundred and sixty-five Archbishops and Bishops were to be present at the solemnity; but unluckily two were missing, and there is

no knowing what might have resulted if nor ugly, nor awkward, nor unintelligent;
two reverend prelates of Tongres, long but we must complete these negations with
ago dead and buried at Maestricht, had not one rather more formidable-she is not fit
been so kind as to walk out of their graves to play Lady Macbeth. She toiled through
and supply the vacant seats at the cere- the part with ineffectual labour; some-
mony. Some of the variegated marble pil- times vigorous. She often mistook whining
lars which adorned the old edifice are now for force, and wound up the solemn and
returned from their temporary visit to Pa- lofty adjurations of this mistress of evil
ris, and are shown with the curiosities of with a sneer. She played the great Regi-
the church. Under the centre of the cide as a common conspirator, and degraded
dome repose the ashes of the great Charles, the midnight invoker of "those spirits that
with the simple but impressive inscription wait on nature's mischief," the mighty
on the pavement-Carolo Magno. Imme- temptress to blood, herself scarcely below
diately above hangs an immense circular the power and darkness of a Demon, into
sort of chandelier in the shape of a crown, a turbulent woman. She has since appear-
composed of silver and brass a presented as Meg Merrilies, a character more
to the church from Frederick the Great, adapted to her general accomplishments,
called Charlemagne's crown.
and of course more successfully sustained.
Young was the Macbeth: very stately, with-
out detracting from his animation; vigor-
ous without effort, and pathetic without fee-
bleness. Great applause followed his vision
of the dagger, and his repulse of Banquo's
ghost at the festival. We have seen no-
thing finer on the stage. His conception
in those scenes was equally remarkable for
nature, strength, and simplicity.

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Among the relics are the soi-disans neck and arm-bones of Charlemagne, his hunting-horn, and a golden cross which he is said to have worn ; - the girdle of the Virgin, a bit of the cord that served to bind our Saviour, a fragment of Aaron's rod, and a morsel of the manna of the desert. The possession of these treasures, which are preserved in a costly case, and exposed periodically to the wondering mul- On Wednesday, Pyne, from the Drury titude, formerly made Aix-la-Chapelle the Lane Theatre, appeared in Henry Bertram, favourite resort of pilgrims from all parts in the striking play of Guy Mannering. His of Europe. An old chronicle relates, that style is familiar to the public; it continues in 1490 above 140,000 visited the relics in the same, figured and imitative; but his one day; and that, at the end of the cere-execution is decidedly more happy. He mony, the donation-box was found to contain 80,000 florins. The miserable morbid-looking wretches scattered about before images and altars on their knees, in every corner of the church, seemed to remind one that the Catholics of the nineteenth century were not so much advanced beyond those of the fifteenth, as for the sake of humanity, one might wish.

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appears to find none of his old difficulties
in the usual evolutions of the gamut. His
voice is sweet, his taste sufficient; and if
he can resist the temptation of following
Braham, he may be a very pleasing and po-
pular performer, without much exceeding
his present standard of skill and facility.
Miss Matthews took the part of Lucy Ber-
tram, and only tripped along where Miss Ste-
phens lounged; Miss Foote was transplant-
ed into Julia, and wore rather more fea-
thers, and was bent rather more double than
usual. Flectere si nequeo superos, &c.

VARIETIES.

torn into a thousand pieces. Meantime the travellers proceeded with all the speed they could, in hopes to reach the town, from which they were not very distant. But the horses were tired, and the wolves, become more savage now they had once tasted blood, had almost overtaken the carriage. In this extremne necessity, the Servant cried out, "There is only one means of deliverance: I will go to meet the wolves, if you will swear to me to provide as a father for my wife and children. I must perish; but while they fall upon me, you will escape." Podotsky hesitated to comply; but as there was no prospect of escape, he consented, and solemnly vowed, that if he would sacrifice himself for their safety, he would constantly provide for his family. The Servant immediately got down, went to meet the wolves, and was devoured! The Count reached the gates of Zator, and was saved-The Servant was a Protestant; his Master a Catholic, and conscientiously kept his word.

66

Vernet und Voltaire.-When Vernet, the celebrated painter, visited Voltaire for the first time, the author thus addressed him: Welcome, M. Vernet! you are rising to immortality, for never were colours more brilliant or more durable than yours!" The Painter replied, My colours can never vie with your ink!' and caught the hand of Voltaire, which he was going to kiss with reverential awe, but the Poet snatched it away, modestly saying, "What are you going to do? Surely if you kiss my hand, I must kiss your feet.”

of Marshal d'Ancre, having had great asTrue Witchcraft.-An Italian lady, wife cendency over Mary de Medicis, Queen of France, after her death was brought to trial on a charge of witchcraft. Being asked, what potent spell she had used to fascinate the Queen? The potent spell," she replied, by which a strong mind fascinates

a weak one."

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COVENT GARDEN Theatre opened on Clerical Wit. Sir William Dawes, Monday with Macbeth. The Manager has Archbishop of York, was very fond of a been liberal, and given his house a new copun. His clergy dining with hin, for the lour and almost a new Company. But we first time after he had lost his lady, he told are not connoisseurs enough in house paint- Remarkable instance of fidelity in a Ser- them, he feared they did not find things in ing, to take much delight in the descrip- vant.-In the winter of the year 1776, so good order as they used to be in the tion of the square miles of buff, intermin- the Count and Countess Podotsky being on time of poor Mary, and, looking extremely gled with furlongs of white, whole acres of their way from Vienna to Cracow, the sorrowful, added, with a deep sigh, “She flesh-coloured cieling, and offskips of crim-wolves, which are very numerous in the was, indeed, Mare pacificum!" A Curate, son wainscot. But the distant admirers of Carpathian mountains, and when the cold who pretty well knew what she had been, this colossal decoration may be indulged by is very severe are more bold and savage Mare mortuum first." The Archbishop gave called out, Ay, my Lord, but she was knowing that the plan of the house remains than usual, came down in hordes, and pur-him a living of 2007. per annum within two unchanged, that its original roses, thistles, sued the carriage between the towns of and shamrocks, are still inviolate, that the Oswiesk and Zator, the latter of which is King's arms lower in undisturbed dignity only a few leagues from Cracow. Of over the stage, notwithstanding the temp-two servants, one was sent before, to betation of the time, and that if the stage chandeliers have been taken away, and the dinginess of two years substituted by fresh gilding and clean paint, the aspect of the Theatre is only the better for the change. Macbeth exhibited a Mrs. Yates from Dublin as the Lady. The character is of matchless power, and we shall never see its adequate representative. Mrs. Yates must be described by negations: she is not old,

speak post-horses; the other, whom the
Count particularly esteemed for his fide-
lity, seeing the wolves come nearer and
nearer, begged his master to permit him to
leave them his horse, by which their rage
would in some measure be satisfied, and
they should gain time to reach Zator. The
Count consented; the Servant mounted be-
hind the carriage, and let his horse go,
which was soon seized by the wolves, and

months.

SMOLLETT'S TOMB.-Situated on the banks of the Arno, between Leghorn and Pisa, in the most romantic spot that even the vivid imagination of an Italian could select, rises the tomb of our countryman Smollett, the author of Roderick Random, &c. It is of a plain octagonal form, about thirty feet in height, and six feet in diameter at the base, which forms an apartment, to which there are three doors. The English who visit it from the port of Leghorn, have erected a plain marble table, surrounded by

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