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An English lady resident in Florence paying a visit to her own country, and violently abusing the crucifixes and reposoirs everywhere seen abroad in Catholic countries, Campbell, the advocate of perfect religious freedom, said, when she had concluded,
“I trust, madam, you believe in Moses and the prophets ?” “ To be sure I do, Mr. Campbell.”
* Then do you not remember where Moses says, 'you shall not blaspheme the gods of the nations where ye go to dwell pun
* Very true, Mr. Campbell, but these were not the gods Moses meant.”
“True, madam,” said the poet, “crucifixes were unknown in Egypt, and in the Desert, where the Israelites wandered, they were calves and beetles there."
“And then, Mr. Campbell, theirs is not the true faith like ours.” “No; our true faith is not their true faith."
“I don't understand, Mr. Campbell, there can be only one true faith."
“Only one," answered the poet; ours to us and theirs to them. We must not, therefore, abuse each other's gods."
Campbell had a great dislike for some trades or professions ; a man milliner or a dancing-master was not at all to his taste, thinking their businesses about as degrading to manhood as can well be conceived possible. Some one telling him the story of a lieutenant-colonel of volunteers at Plymouth-dock, now transmuted into Devonport, who was a man-milliner, into whose shop one of the Ladies Lennox was said to have gone and addressed the owner with, “Colonel, I want sixpennyworth of pins," the poet laughed immoderately at the incongruity:
“But fancy a dancing-master a colonel,” said he, "could they make a similar demand of him ? or could the chancellor order his toes to be taken for his trading stock ?"
It was remarked that a dancing-master like a poet had no stock liable to the bankrupt laws.
“But,” said Campbell, "he ought to pay his debts. I should write something to obtain money for the purpose ; but what would a dancingmaster do, would he pay in hornpipes ?"
Talking one day with Mr. Peregrine Courtenay, who observed that politicians in office could not always act upon conscientious principles,
Ay,” said Campbell, “but when the premier has no conscience, it is a pity he does not belong to a party that has one."
Foscolo imagined that a lady had fallen in love with him, but as he had a good deal of vanity not indiscriminatory, he did not imagine it to be on account of his ordinary features but his mental qualities.
“ It is too bad of our friend,” said Campbell, one day in joke. “ Madame de Sévigné says, 'men do sometimes abuse the permission they have to be ugly.'"
At a dinner-party, where one of the guests was praising Lord Castlereagh as the first minister England had ever seen, Campbell asked his right-hand man whether or not the gentleman who spoke was a Welshman, for he had never heard parallel praise except from the CambroBriton, who said he would vote for a particular person to represent his borough because he was "more of a cot almighty than Sir Watkin Wynne himself."
A SCENE FROM THE GARDENER'S DOG (EL PERRO DEL
HORTELANO), OF LOPE DE VEGA.
BY JOHN OXENFORD. THE plot of this piece is too inartificial, and possesses too little interest to admit of being turned into a detailed narrative, like those of Calderon and others, which have already appeared in this magazine. The “ Gardener's Dog" is exactly what we call the “Dog in the Manger," and the play takes its name from the circumstance, that Diana, the Countess of Belflor, is in love with her secretary, Teodoro, precisely because she has found out that he is enamoured of Marcela, one of the ladies of her court. Whenever she has encouraged him, and he begins to feel proud of his good fortune, the difference of rank which separates them revives in her mind, and she treats him with disdain.
But when to console himself for her indifference, he returns to his first love, Marcela, the passion of Diana again revives, and she puts an obstacle in the
way of the happiness he would seek. Thus she is said to be like the “Gardener's Dog," who would neither eat, nor let italone, who would neither stop within doors, nor out of doors. The difficulty is at last solved by a very silly expedient, for Teodoro pretends to be the son of an old nobleman, who has lost his real son in infancy, and being acknowledged by him, is married to the countess as an equal in rank, the curtain falling on an imposture, and poor Marcela being married to a trumpery character, whom we should call a walking gentleman.
The chief interest of the play lies in those scenes, where the proud Diana confesses her love for Teodoro, and the part which I have selected for translation contains the first declaration. Teodoro has had a clandestine interview with his beloved Marcela, and both he and his servant, Tristan are alarmed, lest the Countess Diana should be acquainted with the circumstance. It will be observed that the original metre is followed, that rhyme proper is rendered by rhyme, but that no attempt is made to imitate crima asonante,” which is therefore represented by blank verse:
Diana.— Teodoro !
Mark, 'tis she.
Teod. Give thy high commands.
Out of doors we fly all three.
Her own wit, and therefore tasks me ;
Take it,read it.
Nay, not so:
Send it to the lady straight.
Still you hesitate !
Strange, but still I would be taught,
How to write a style quite new.
Nay, 'tis true;
Then to love I feel afraid.
Why a cloak is o'er thee thrown
Lest thy face should be display'd.
Thou wert seen, in muffled plight,
By the major-domo here.
Such as I and Fabio make
Often for amusement's sake.
But, when I think it o'er,
Sure some envious man must be.
This wit, uncommon,
Is envy ;-to be jealous before love
To torture me, that being far above
The other beauties, all the joys which move
Yet, wishing to be loved, to love is just;
say all, yet hold my peace I must ;
That, if this
Jealousy gives death to love.
Always felt delight in seeing
Can this be ?
Oh! yes, I grant it:
Never springs from the effects, * It will be observed that after the letter, which is a sonnet, the rhyme of the dialogue ceases.-J. O.
The effects the cause produces.
Of the lady, since she told me,
Which she hoped would last her life.
Which I cannot dare to equal.
I dare not.
Would my ignorance discover.
Yes, I have.
Teod. Read it.
This it says: (reads.)
If those who see, loved not without such sight.
Held by another, all disguise will slight.
Then the soul's woes through language come to light.
The greatest I would not offend in aught,
And, therefore, I renounce all happiness.
For lest what I deserve I should express.
I understand not, where I merit nought."
Teod.—Dost thou jest?
Would 'twere a jest.
For a cause of hatred lies,
I would have you write another,t
+ In these two lines the rhyme is dropped in the original, and therefore here also.-J. O.
And the best I will select.”
Through this letter-much I doubt.
The just preference is true,
It offends but by aversion.
Phæbus' son was crush'd at last,
Soon the sunbeams forced to run.
Ne'er had happen'd such a thing.
Pond'ring on the language slowly.
Thou hast shown-I have thy letter. Diana.-Keep it, though methinks 'twere better
Thou should'st tear it. Teod.