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"27 Craven Street, Monday, 26th September, 1836. "I have accidentally alighted upon the foundation of Madame de Staël's 'Corinne'-Dodsley's Annual Register, 1776, Chronicle, p. 176, 31st August. 'They have a custom at Rome of solemnly crowning extraordinary poetical genius in the Capitol: nor is the honor confined to men. Porfetti and Petrarch were the last Italian poets who obtained it. This day it was conferred on a young lady of the name of Morelli Fernandez, called Corilla Olympia by the Academy of the Arcades, who had long gained the admiration of Italy by her extempore verse on any subject proposed. She was conducted to the Capitol by the Contessas Cardelli, Dandini, and Ginessi. The Chevalier Jean Paul de Cinque placed the laurel upon her head,' &c.

"I wish Madame de Staël had retained the original name. Corinne is debased (at least to English ears) by Swift's Corinna, Pride of Dunbar, not to mention Curll's Corinna. JAMES SMITH."



"From Mount Street, Phipps to distant Venice hies,
And breathes his last sigh on the Bridge of Sighs.

September 27th, 1837.

"Youth, beauty, love, delight,

All blessings bright and dear,
Like shooting-stars by night,
Flash, fall, and disappear.

LETTER FROM HORACE SMITH TO LADY BLESSINGTON. "Tunbridge Wells, June 27th, 1843. "DEAR MADAM,-Your ladyship's last letter has been forwarded to me at this place, and I deeply regret to learn that you have been such a sufferer lately, both from ill health and the more trying privation of relations so dear to you. Most sincerely do I hope that your early convalescence, and the healing influence of time, will completely restore your usual spirits.

"Never having had the honor of seeing Lady Arthur Lennox, I fear that I could hardly do her justice in attempting to illustrate her portrait; and it would be a bad compliment to trust to my imagination for lines that can not be other than encomiastic.

J. S."

"Not having my papers with me here, I have nothing to offer as a substitute, so I have scribbled a few lines of the prescribed shortness, which, if you think them worthy insertion in your Annual, are very much at your ladyship's service. I have the honor to remain yours very faithfully,


While cynics doubt their worth,

Because they're born to die,
The wiser sons of earth

Will snatch them ere they fly.

Though mingled with alloy,
We throw not gold away;
Then why reject the joy
That's blended with decay?





"A sorrow has shadow'd thy heart,
A thorn in that bosom is set;
Monimia, that sorrow impart ;

To speak is, in time, to forget.
When Sympathy soothes and it cheers,
The wounds of Affliction she cures ;
How freely a man of my years

May talk with a woman of yours!

I see that I truly have scann'd

The cause of thy sad discontent;
That cheek that reclines on thy hand,
That dark eye on vacancy bent;
Those lips in mute silence compress'd,
Those tresses dishevel'd that rove,
All speak of a feeling distress'd,

And tell me that feeling is love.

Alas! that Adversity's storms

Thy happy horizon should cloud!
Envelop that noblest of forms,

That finest of faces enshroud.
To hear thee thy sorrow relate,

My long-dormant feelings hath wrung ;
I heed not the rich and the great,
But I feel for the lovely and young.

All tokens of memory shun;

Those jewels, so tastefully set,
Seem but to remind you of one

Whom now 'tis your task to forget.
In frightful effulgence they gleam,

No longer imparting a grace;
Like the vest of Alcides, they seem
To poison the form they embrace.

H. S."

[No date.]

You smile at expressions like these,
At wisdom so threadbare and poor;
And ask, since she sees the disease,
If Wisdom can point out a cure.
Ah, no! such a cure is unknown;

A theme too well known I pursue :
I once had a heart like your own-
I once was a lover, like you.

With an eye, while I write, filled with tears
At the long-faded passion of youth,
I look through a vista of years,

And scarcely believe it a truth.
Yet, though Love's enchantment I miss,
Mild Reason her solace has lent ;

I shrink from the palace of Bliss,
To thrive in the vale of Content."



CAPTAIN MARRYATT, born in London in 1792, was descended from one of the French refugees who settled in England after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. He was the second son of Joseph Marryatt, Esq, an eminent West India merchant, Chairman of Lloyd's, and M.P. for Sandwich. "A little Latin and less Greek," a good deal of mathematics, and some "polite literature,” more than sufficed for him when he entered the Navy in 1806 as a first-class boy on board the Imperieuse. For more than a quarter of a century Marryatt followed his profession, braved all its perils, discharged all its duties, risked his own life repeatedly to save the lives of others, attained honors and preferments, and in 1830 set his foot on shore for good and all, in every respect a first-class man.

Captain Marryatt turned his leisure to a very profitable literary account. He may be said to have created a new kind of novel literature, illustrative of naval life; and in that line, though followed and imitated by many, he has been equaled by

none. The excellence of his productions, and the great success they met with, considering the large number of them, is remarkable.*

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The Metropolitan Magazine" was ably edited by Captain Marryatt for some years. He was a contributor to several other periodicals, and a writer, in reviews of a graver character, of articles of great merit on subjects relating to his profession. In politics he was strongly Conservative; but, however strong he wrote against Whigs and Whiggery, in his friendship he knew no difference between Whigs and Tories, no more than he did of distinction in his dealings with men of different religions. It was not in his nature to be otherwise than just and generous toward all men with whom he came in contact whom he believed to be honest. But when he had to do with political opponents on paper, whom he did not know personally, and allowed himself to be persuaded by others of his party, who were not sincere and upright, he opened on them all his guns, and raked the enemy fore and aft, very desperately exasperated during the engagement, and often surprised, when it was over, at the extraordinary vehemence of his anger.

Captain Marryatt was one of Lady Blessington's most intimate friends and especial favorites. "Full of talent, originality, and humor," says Lady B—, "he is an accurate observer of life-nothing escapes him. Yet there is no bitterness in his satire, and no exaggeration in his comic vein. I have known Captain Marryatt many years, and liked him from the first." Miss M might not have agreed with Lady Blessington's opinion with respect to the character of the satire.

One of Lady Blessington's correspondents, the first and most distinguished of living litterateurs, indulged in some quaint and

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* "Frank Mildmay," "Letters in Canada," "Masterman Ready," "Children of the New Forest," "Newton Forster," " King's Own," Peter Simple," Jacob Faithful," "Pasha of Many Tales," "Japhet in search of a Father," "Mr. Midshipman Easy," "Snarley-Yow, or the Dog Fiend," "The Phantom Ship," 99 66 Percival Keene,' 77 44 "Poor Jack," "Joseph Rushbrook," Privateersman,' 776 Olla Podrida," "Little Savage," "Valerie," "The Mission," Diary in America," "Narrative of Travels of Monsieur Violet," "Borneo," &c., &c., &c. + Idler in France, vol. ii., p. 86.

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jocular observations on one of Marryatt's sea-life novels, and the effects on a landsman of a long voyage of perusal over three volumes of salt-water subjects, in which the author was continually splashing in grand style.

"I have been reading 'Peter Simple.' It is very good. But one is never on land for a moment. I feel grogged and junked after it."

Nevertheless, the writer eulogized the talents and the worth of the author.

The surest and best test of moral worth and social excellence is to be found in the appreciation of a man's character by his own people in the immediate precincts of his own hearth and household, in the small circle of friends and relatives-those nearest and dearest to him.

By that test if Marryatt be judged, the fine, manly, and kindly qualities of the man will be found in no respect inferior to those intellectual ones of the author, which are now generally admitted.

Captain Marryatt died at his residence, Langham, in Norfolk, August 2d, 1848, in his fifty-sixth year.


Spa, June 17th, 1836. "MY DEAR LADY BLESSINGTON,-I have received all your packets of letters, and am very much obliged to you, not only for the letters, but also for thinking about me when I am so far out of the way, which, you know, is not very usual in this world, and therefore particularly flattering to me. As you will perceive, I am now at Spa, after a month's sojourn at Brussels. Spa is a very beautiful and a very cheap place, but it is deserted, and it is said that there will be no season this year. There are only two or three English families here, and they are all cock-tails, as sporting men would say.

"We are therefore quite alone, which pleases me. I was tired of bustle, and noise, and excitement, and here there is room for meditation e'en to madness, as Calista says, although I do not intend to carry my thoughts quite so far. I write very little, just enough to amuse me, and make memorandums, and think. In the morning I learn German, which I have resolved to conquer, although at forty one's memory is not quite as amenable as it ought to be. At all events, I have no master, so if the time is thrown away, the money will be saved.


"I believe you sometimes look at the Metropolitan;' if so, you will have


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