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 !
Teod.

Mark, 'tis she.
Diana.--Listen

Teod. Give thy high commands.
Trist.-If the case she understands,

Out of doors we fly all three.
Diana.- I've a friend, who cannot trust

Her own wit, and therefore tasks me ;
On the paper here, she asks me
To write something--so I must.
Though of love I know not aught.
Friendship bids me write the letter ;
As I'm sure thou’lt do it better,
Thy assistance I have sought,

Take it,read it.
Teod.

Nay, not so:
Any thing thy hand has writ,
None, be sure, could equal it;
I'm not so presumptuous, no.
So I tell thee, reading nought,

Send it to the lady straight.
Diana.-Read it-
Teod.-

Still you hesitate !

Strange, but still I would be taught,
As of love I never wrote-

How to write a style quite new.
Diana.- Never? Never ?
Teod.

Nay, 'tis true;
When my great defects I note,

Then to love I feel afraid.
Diana. -Oh! the cause at last is known,

Why a cloak is o'er thee thrown

Lest thy face should be display'd.
Teod.-Cloak, my lady!-when, and where ?
Diana.-Why, they say, that late this night,

Thou wert seen, in muffled plight,

By the major-domo here.
Teod. 'Twas a jest, and nothing more,

Such as I and Fabio make

Often for amusement's sake.
Diana.—Read.
Teod.

But, when I think it o'er,

Sure some envious man must be.
Diana.–Or, perhaps, some jealous woman-

Only read
Teod.

This wit, uncommon,
I should like indeed to see.
(Reads) “ To love from seeing others love, I own,

Is envy ;-to be jealous before love
Is deem'd impossible ;-but love would prove
His art, and here a miracle has shown.
Yea, love with me from jealousy has grown,

To torture me, that being far above

The other beauties, all the joys which move
My envy, should to me remain unknown.
Without occasion, I myself mistrust.
Jealousy without love I must endure;

Yet, wishing to be loved, to love is just;
I neither yield, nor keep myself secure ;
I would

say all, yet hold my peace I must ;
Read me who can ; I read myself, be sure.
Diana.—Well, what say you ?
Teod.

That, if this
Suits the purpose of the lady,
Better thing I never saw.
Still, I own I understand not
How it is that love derives
Birth from jealousy, when always

Jealousy gives death to love.
Diana.-Why, as I suspect, this lady

Always felt delight in seeing
This gallant, without a passion.
Now she finds he loves another,
Through the jealousy she feels,
She both loves him and desires him.

Can this be ?
Teod.-

Oh! yes, I grant it:
But this jealousy, señora,
Had a birth from some beginning.
This was love : the cause, believe me,

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.
Diana.That may be; but this I know

Of the lady, since she told me,
That for this same cavalier
She felt nought but simple kindness;
But that when she saw him love,
All at once a thousand wishes
Crowded in the way of honour,
And her soul they have despoil'd
Of those thoughts so pure and honest,

Which she hoped would last her life.
Teod.- Thou hast made a perfect letter,

Which I cannot dare to equal.
Diana.-Enter here, and try.
Teod. -

I dare not.
Diana.-Do it for my life, I beg thee.
Teod.- Nay, my lady by this trial

Would my ignorance discover.
Diana.—Here I wait-go, hasten back. (Exit Teodoro.)

Re-enter TEODORO,
Teod.-Thy commands are executed.
Diana.-Thou hast written?
Teod.-

Yes, I have.
But 'twas done with sore misgiving.
Diana.-Show me.

Teod. Read it.
Diana.-

This it says: (reads.)
“'Tis envy-love from seeing love—no more;

If those who see, loved not without such sight.
And none from seeing love will love aright,
Having bestow'd no thought on love before.
Love, when it sees the thing it must adore

Held by another, all disguise will slight.

Then the soul's woes through language come to light.
E'en as the blushes paint the features o'er.
I say no more-by contact with the less,

The greatest I would not offend in aught,

And, therefore, I renounce all happiness.
Here only what I understand is brought,

For lest what I deserve I should express.

I understand not, where I merit nought."
Diana.-Much discretion thou hast shown.*

Teod.—Dost thou jest?
Diana.

Would 'twere a jest.
Teod.- How is that?
Diana.-Because the best
Of the letters is

your own.
Teod. - That, methinks, is a disaster,

For a cause of hatred lies,
When the serving-man more wise
Is considered than his master.
Once a king—the story goes-
To his greatest fav’rite said:
“ Of this letter I'm afraid;
Though I've brought it to a close.

I would have you write another,t
* Here the rhyme in the dialogue is resumed.-J. O.

+ In these two lines the rhyme is dropped in the original, and therefore here also.-J. O.

And the best I will select.”
When the fav’rite came to see
That the monarch thought his letter
Was decidedly the better,
To his eldest son of three,
He said : “Son, the danger's great,
From this land we must depart.”
Then the boy, with heavy heart,
Begg'd the reason he would state.
He replied : “ The king finds out
I'm a wiser man than he.”
Such will be the case with me,

Through this letter-much I doubt.
Diana.-No-for saying that to thine,

The just preference is true,
I but mean it is more true
To the given theme than mine.
If I like thy work-what then ?
Still I would not have thee boast
That all confidence I've lost
In the strokes of mine own pen ;
Though a woman I may be,
And to ev'ry error prone,
May be, not the wisest one
As most likely thou can'st see.
There's one error thou must know.
When thou say'st : in humble state
Living, thou offend'st the great-
Now, in love, it is not so.
Humble rank gives no offence
By its love-mark my assertion,

It offends but by aversion.
Teod. Though that sounds like common sense,

Phæbus' son was crush'd at last,
Also Icarus, we're told ;
One, from steeds of burning gold
Was upon a mountain cast,
While the other's waxen wing,

Soon the sunbeams forced to run.
Diana.-Had a woman been the sun

Ne'er had happen'd such a thing.
Dost thou pay thy court to one
High above thee, never fear,
Love must ever persevere,
Women are not made of stone.
Now this letter I will read,

Pond'ring on the language slowly.
Teod. It is fill'd with errors wholly.
Diana.—No, there is not one indeed.
Teod.-Too much honour, I confess,

Thou hast shown-I have thy letter. Diana.-Keep it, though methinks 'twere better

Thou should'st tear it. Teod.

Tear it?
Diana.

Yes.
Greater matters lost can be,
So if this be lost, 'tis nought.