tion of the part of the Moorish woman is full of poetic imagination; and the opening scenes in particular are sublime and interesting. The moral is perfect, and strict poetical justice is done on the guilty. The style is, throughout, poetical and classical, and far above the common level. It abounds with fine touches of nature, and the tender feelings are almost incessantly appealed to. Many of the passages were received with loud, general, and prolonged applause. The tragedy was, indeed, heard from beginning to end with the most marked distinction, and announced for repetition amid shouts from every corner of the theatre. Its principal faults were too great length; and an exuberance of passages merely descriptive. DANCE OF DEATHS. THE French historians relate, that in the year 1424, the English Regent gave at Paris a show, or spectacle, after the manner of his country. The scene of this entertainment was the churchyard of the Innocents. Persons of both sexes, splendidly dressed, and representing the different conditions of human life, began to execute various dances. A number of figures personating Death, whose limbs were concealed in tight dark clothes, upon which were sowed the resemblance of dry bones, so that they seemed to be walking skeletons, came and mingled in the dance, and led away now one and now another into the chambers and cellars about, where refreshments were provided. This odd allegory was called La Danse Macabrée. SNAIL-EATING. THEY are eaten in Germany, boiled, fried in butter, and sometimes stuffed with forced meat. The sliminess is considered as the greatest delicacy, and therefore remains after dressing. Snails close the list of maigre dishes, but they are not eaten from economy, seven of them being charged at the Traiteur's, the same as a plate of veal, or beef. SCOTCH SALUTATION. THE North Briton at Auld Reeky, frequently greets his friend with "Weel, Donald, is na this a fine cauld rainy morning?" Indeed it is, Sandy, a fine cauld rainy morning. POETRY. [We have just received a poem entitled "THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN, OR THE VALE OF ST. JOHN," a lover's tale. It is written in the romantic, or minstrel style, such as Walter Scott has revived. The author is said, we know not with what truth, to be William Erskine, Esq. to whom an introduction of one of the Cantos in Marmion is addressed. The story is more appertaining to chivalry than those of Walter Scott; it is spirited and fanciful, and will, we think, prove very popular among the admirers of this species of poetry. The following is an extract.] KING ARTHUR'S ADVENTURE. BENEATH the castle's gloomy pride, Save that, awakening from her dream, That washed the battled mound. He lighted from his goodly steed, And he left him to graze on bank and mead; Which well he guess'd the hold The tyrant of the wold. XV. The ivory bugle's golden tip Twice touched the monarch's manly lip, Think not but Arthur's heart was good! His shield was cross'd by the blessed rood, Had a pagan host before him stood, He had charged them through and through ; Yet the silence of that ancient place Sunk on his heart, and he paused a space But, instant as its larum rung, The balance beams obeyed the blast, XVI. An hundred torches, flashing bright, Nor wizard stern, nor goblin grim, Nor heathen knight, was there; But the cressets, which odours flung aloft, An hundred lovely hands assail The bucklers of the monarch's mail, Rivet of steel and iron clasp; One wrapp'd him in a mantle fair, And one flung odours on his hair; His short curled ringlets one smooth'd down, One wreathed them with a myrtle crown. A bride upon her wedding day Was tended ne'er by troop so gay. XVII. Loud laughed they all-the king, in vain, King Arthur's sword. One, while she aped a martial stride, XVIII. Through many a gallery and a hall (The lovely maid was scarce eighteen,) Their smothered mirth again 'gan speak, XIX.. The attributes of these high days Yet e'en in that romantic age, Ne'er were such charms by mortals seen, As Arthur's dazzled eyes engage, When forth on that enchanted stage With glittering train of maid and page, The longer dwelt that lingering look, Her cheek the livelier colour took, And scarce the shame-faced king could brook A sage, who had that look espied, Where kindling passion strove with pride, From the chafed tiger rend the prey, Rush on the lion when at bay, Bar the fell dragon's blighted way, VOL. I. New Series. XX. At once, that inward strife suppress'd, Of her light maidens' idle mirth, And dignity their due; And then she pray'd that he would rest With lay and tale, and laugh and jest, XXI. The lady sate the monarch by, Some inward thought to hide ; That heaved her bosom's pride. Closer he press'd, while beakers rang, But why pursue the common tale ? Or wherefore trace, from what slight cause Till mastering all within? Where lives the man that has not tried, How mirth can into folly glide, And folly into sin! |