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it reaehe?, without passing beyond, the purity and truth of that nature on which it is founded.

Next >n value and beauty to the Theseus is a figure, (No. 70) which about a hundred and fifty years ago occupied a portion of the western pediment, but had disappeared, and was considered to be entirely lost, until Lord Elgin recovered it by purchasing a house which lrad been built close to the spot, and digging where it was likely to have fallen. This figure is now considered to represent Missus, the god of the river of that name which formerly ran through the plain of Athens. The peculiar attitude of this figure, which is that of rising by a forcible action from the ground on which it is lying, prevents it from being so striking in its effect on the general spectator as the statue of Theseus. But perhaps this attitude adds to the value of the figure as a perfect achievement of art, because it increases, in a very great degree, the knowledge and skill required for that achievement. This figure is also more mutilated than its rival and companion. Nevertheless, with all the disadvantages under which it is seen, the Ilissus must be regarded as one of the most astonishing, if not the most striking and effective, works of art in existence, if the reader is scientifically versed in the construction of the human form, let him, if possible, make himself acquainted with the anatomical effect of the action in which this figure is engaged,—that of rising from the ground, while the whole weight of the body rests on one hand and arm; and then let him point out, if he can, a single error in the detail, from whate/er point of view he may regard the figure.

Of the various other fragments of figures which occupied places in the two pediments, I must forego any detailed description, on account of the extremely imperfect state of their preservation. But 1 would recommend every one of them to the spectator's marked attention and admiration, if it were only on account of the noble draperies that enfold the greater part of them. But in fact, there is a certain air of simple and severe grandeur pervading these fragments, which nothing can deprive them of, so long as any marks of their maker's hand is left upon them. The two most striking of these fragments are, that of a group of two females immediately on the left, as you enter the room (No. 63); and another group of a similar description, on the right (No. 77). Both of these groups are magnificent in the highest degree. There is also another draped fragment which should be pointed out, on account of the extraordinary effect of motion which is given to it by means of the arrangement of the drapery. This figure is marked No. 74; and is said to represent Iris, the messenger of the deities, going on an errand connected with thg story represented in the sculpture of the east pediment, from which it is taken The only other fragment that I shall mentiori from this department of the temple, is the Horse's Head, marked No. 68. This has always struck me as being, if not the most valuable, perhaps the most extraordinary object in this whole collection. However inferior it may be to some others in the intellectual power which it evinces, in mere power of hand it perhaps surpasses them all. There never before was such absolute vitality communicated to dead stone—such living and breathing fire struck out of such a piece of "cold obstruction."

We must now turn to the other departments of this sculpture; that which was introduced into the exterior frieze of this temple, above the colonnade which surrounded it; and that which formed a continued sculptural picture in low relief, continuing all round the upper part of the wall which that colonnade immediately encjosed.— Of the metopes, or square slabs which were placed at equal distances along the frieze of the external entablature of the temple, there are fifteen specimens, ranged against the upper part of the wall on each side of the room. The whole of these are in an extremely imperfect state—so much so as to require a very careful and practised eye to discover their beauties. But though, from the surface being almost entirely gone, the mere beauty of them is greatly impaired; the merit which they include is perhaps almost as conspicuous as it was when they were in a perfect state. There is, in fact, not one of them that is not, even now, instinct with a spirit and truth which cannot be overlooked. No. 1 is extremely beautiful; the anatomical expression of Nos. 2, 6, and 7 are astonishingly fine; 9 is in the most perfect state of any, though not so fine as some others; 11 is highly animated and spirited, though the left leg of the centaur is bad; and the involved action of 14 is very striking. But perhaps one of the most remarkable qualities displayed in this portion of the sculpture of the Parthenon, was the wonderful invention which could produce ninetytwo of these groups, each consisting of a single Centaur and a single Lapitha engaged in combat, and each group varying so entirely from all the rest, as to admit of all being placed on the same temple.

It only remains to speak of the sculptural frieze in low relief, which ran round the cella of the temple. Of this, there is a very considerable and valuable portion saved—no less than about fifty slabs, many of which are nearly in a perfect state, and offer unquestionably the most beautiful and valuable specimens in existence of this class of work. When the Louvre was in its glory, I remember to have seen there a single slab from this same frieze, which, though inferior to many in this collection, was then regarded as one of the most choice and valuable morceaux of that unrivalled Gallery of Art. And certainly nothing can be more beautiful, with reference to their intended effect, than many parts of this frieze. There is a still and severe sweetness about them, added to a sort of shadowy and retiring effect, which is most delightful. And the general style of the design and composition is pure, and what must be called, for want of a better phrase, classical, in the highest degree. There can be little if any doubt, too, that the design was furnished by Phidias himself: which adds very greatly to their extrinsic value and interest at least

It may be worth while to take a glance at the details of what remains of this beautiful composition, as we pass before it from the left extremity on entering the room ;—premising that it represents the procession in which all the Athenian people (hence called Panathcnaic) joined once in every five years, in honour of Minerva, the goddess of the Parthenon.—The first two slabs, from 15 to 17, are very defective, and consist of draped female figures walking in procession towards a group, which seems to have been the central point of the whole, and towards which the procession moved from the right as well a* the left. This group is said to consist of several of the celestial deities, and deified heroes. The attitude of one of them is Jbr a deity, not a little remarkable. lie is seated, with one of his knees elevated, and clasped between his interwoven fingers: one of those positions which idlesse " is very cunning in"—and which every one of us is in the habit of assuming spontaneously, and without ever having seen it assumed by others, though it is one which premeditation would never have taught us.—From 18 to 22, the draped figures, bearing offerings, &c. continue—but are in a very imperfect state. We now, from 23, all along the left side of the room, to 33—where the slab turns the corner—are presented with mounted horsemen, and charioteers. This part of the composition— from 25 to 30—is undoubtedly that which is most worthy of admiration—not only on account of its comparatively good state of preservation, but of the variety and elegance of the composition, and the astonishing life, spirit, and truth of the execution. From 25 to the end of this side of the room, the spirit and interest of the scene keep increasing; till at length there is scarcely an air or attitude which can be assumed by an accomplished horseman that we do not meet with. The whole, too, seem to crowd and press upon each other, with an effect of actual life and motion.— Just beyond the left angle, however, which occurs at this part of the room, there is a point in the picture which I cannot avoid noticing here; though it has already been mentioned, in a work which appeared a short time ago, entitled "Letters on England." I allude to the grossly defective execution of the fore legs of a horse which is introduced here. It seems to have been occasioned, either by some necessary alteration in the arrangement of this part of the composition, or more probably from the work having been for a moment intrusted to some inferior and incapable hand. At all events, it is highly curious and interesting, occurring as it does in the midst of objects which might almost seem to have demanded more than human skill to produce them.—At about No. 33, the composition turns the corner, on the same slab of marble; and then, during all the rest of its extent along the opposite side of the room, it is sadly injured and decayed; until towards the extreme end, where the sacrifices, &c. commence. Here, if anywhere, the execution is perhaps somewhat inferior. In conclusion, the reader may be assured, that in standing before the best parts of this frieze, (those, for instance, which occupy the left side of the room) he looks upon the most beautiful and perfect work of its kind now in existence.


How changed is Nature's aspect, late so gay!
Spring danced along in beauty volatile,
And Summer checr'd us with her flowery smile,
But, transient like the rest, he pass'd away:
And Autumn came in harvest's rich arrav,
And now is hush'd the joyous minstrelsy
Of field and grove; save the lone redbreast,—he
Sits on the naked branch, trilling his lay
Plaintive and querulous, the sear leaf's dirge.
It is a fearful time; the conquering blast
Kiots in devastation, and doth urge
Tempestuous and wild his strong career,

In cloudy chariot through the sky o'ercast.
Scattering the faded honours of the year.


The ballad has nowhere been so completely naturalized as in Germany. The German ballads are not, like the most of our own, mere imitations of the rude songs and traditions of antiquity. They combine in a wonderful degree the polish and refinement peculiar to an advanced state of civilization with the simplicity and nature of the older fragments of popular tradition. Almost all the great poets of Germany hare occasionally descended from the severer lubours of more »labor»te composition to the delassement of ballad-writing; and the consequence is that Germany is at this moment richer in this species of literature than all the rest uf Europe (Spain excepted) put together.

We intend to present a few of these in an English dress, and shall begin with Goethe. This wonderful man, who has run through almost every department of science and literature, has displayed the same preeminence in the light and gay strains of the ballad, as in the magnificent creations of Faust and Tasso. Some of his ballads, such as Die Braut von Corinthus, are distinguished by a solemn supernatural effect; others, such as Die Spinnerinn, Der MQUerin Vcrrath, and Der Mullerinn Riche, by an exquisite archness and naivete, and all of them by a captivating simplicity of language, which while it increases very much the effect of the original, presents a very formidable difficulty to the translator. That we have subjoined is versified nearly as literally as the differences of the language will permit.


From the German of Goethe.

Thk water roll'd—the water swell'd,

A fisher sat beside;
Calmly his patient watch he held

Beside the freshening tide:
And while his patient watch he keeps,

The parted waters rose.
And from the oozy ocean-deeps

A water-maiden rose.

She spake to him, she sang to him—

"Why Iur'st thou so my brood,
VVith cunning art and cruel heart,

From out their native flood?
Ah! couldst thou know, how here below

Our peaceful lives glide o'er.
Thou Mst leave thine earth and plunge beneath

To seek our happier shore.

Bathes not the golden sun his face,—

The moon too in the sea;
And rise they not from their resting-place

More beautiful to see?
And lures thee not the clear deep heaven

Within the waters blue,—
And thy form so fair, so mirror'd there

In that eternal dew?"—

The water roll'd—the water swell'd,

11 reach'd his naked feet;
He felt as at his Love's approach

His bounding bosom beat;
She spake to hint, she sang to him.

His short suspense is o'er;—
Half drew she him, half dropp'd he in,

And sank to rise no more.

G. M.



Absenteeism,No. II. 43—No. 111.162
Adieu, the, 398.
Advisers, 12.
All I wish, 260.
And I too in Arcadia, 238.
Anthology, Specimens of a Timbuctoo.

Arcadi, account of the, 490.

Art, British Galleries of, No. XII. 177

XIII. 473—XIV. 567.
Ashantees, review of Dupuis upon the.

Austria v. Lord Holland and the Ladies.

Authoresses and Autographs, No. I. 217

—II. 317.
Autobiography of Theobald Wolf Tone,
1—his birth, ti.—enters Trinity Col-
lege, 3—marries, 4—his house robbed,
5—South-Sea plan, 7 — connexions
with the Whig Club, 9—his pamphlet
respecting Ireland, 11—continued, 336
—his friendships, ib—memorial to
the Duke of Richmond, 337—political
club, 338—Emmet, 339—effect of
Burke's invective, 341—state of Irish
parties, ib.—Irish committee, 343—
publishes a pamphlet, 346—continued,
417—dispute with Irish House of
Commons, 418—united Irishmen, 419
—petition of, 420—is made secretary
of the committee, 421—repulses an
attack of footpads, 423—continued,
537—attacks made upon the society,
ib.—" Northern Star" established at
Belfast, 538—communication of de-
struction of Bastile, it.—exiles him-
self to America, 539—embarks at
Belfast, 540—tyrannical conduct of
three British frigates, 541—arrival at
Philadelphia, 542—purchases an es-
tate, 543—sails for France, 545—tried
illegally, 546—interference of the civil
power, 547—destroys himself, ib.
his surviving family, 548.


Bachelor outwitted, the, 104.

Bar and its Logic, the, 74—want of
liberality of mind in the majority of
legal men, 75—anomalies in the law,
ib—drudgery in the study of, 7G—
traits in the character of, 77—use of

vOl. XI.

all law, ib.—fond of going out of their
own line, 78—bad reasoning of in the
senate, 78, 79—the complexity of
study for, to be much deplored, 79.

Bar, Irish, Sketches of, 385.

Bartolini the sculptor, account of, 231
—statue of Napoleon, ib.—bis Venus,
233—his busts, 235—of Napoleon,
of Fox and Byron, 236—of Machia-
velli, 237.

Beauty's Victory, 267.

Bride, the, a sonnet, 316.

Bridge-street, Blackfriars, 449.

Brighton, the Pleasures of, a new song,

British Galleries of Art, 177, 473. 567.

——— Museum, sculptures in the,
473. 567.

Broken Vows, 434.

Byron to the Countess Guiccioli, 414.

Campbell, (T.) Reullura, by, 297.
Canadian Emigrant, the, No. I. 500.
Canzonctta from the Italian, 21.
Characteristic Epistles, No. I. 65—II.

209—III. 352—IV. 528.
Charity, lines to, 504.
Cities of the Plain, the, 374.
Clarke, Life and Remains of, reviewed,

Colman (George) Epistle to, 554.
Colonial Press, the, 442—bad system of
rule in the colonies, ib.—no real re-
medy for wrong inflicted in them, 443
.—oppressive conduct at the Cape and
in India towards the press, 445—opi-
nion of Lord Hastings respecting, 445
—character of a colonial journal, 447.
Conde Lucanor, tale from, 97.
Conversations of Lord Byron reviewed,

Crescembcni and the Arcadi, 490.
Crusaders return, 536.

Dean of Santiago, the, 97.

Delia Genga, account of the cardinal,

Diary, Extracts from my Aunt Martha's,

Dictionary, Specimens of a Patent Poc-
ket, 312.451.496.

Dinner in the Steam-boat, 257.

Dupuis upon the Ashantees, 378.

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