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equivocal; and the most affecting of the and high-minded young officer !-We situations arise from Winterland's resent

are induced to say less both of the mement of his conduct, the disappointed pas rits and defects of this comedy than we sion of Clara, and the severe reproach of should otherwise have done, from its her feelings, which she incurs from the high spirit and wounded pride of her brother. appearing to have been already (a Circumstances render Dorrington the bearer week after its first performance) with of an offer of marriage to Clara from Young drawn from the stage. If it is not to Bowerscourt, who had suffered overtures be brought forward again it has been to be made in Clara's prosperity, and which much shorter lived than we anticipathis father holds himn more than ever bound ed, and than many others containto follow up; an explanation ensues between ing much less merit and amusement. Dorrington and Clara, when he declares There was a scene in the last act, behimself disappointed also of his inheritance, tween Miss Adamant and Old Bowersand urges the suit of Young Bowerscourt, in order to save Winterland from despair court, very charmingly written, and and ruin. Bowerscourt's heart has, how. in the true spirit of comedy. Indeed ever, in spite of his better reason, been en the whole of the latter character was snared by Miss Adamant, a gay winan of good—and it was exquisitely performfastion, of a generous disposition, but fligh- ed by Mr W. Farren. We shall take ty manners, which revolt him. The diffi

an early occasion to speak of this genculties of these parties are finally removed tleman, who is a very great acquisi. by a seasonable discovery - Mr Hustings, tion to the London stage. the uncle of Winterland, had left the property to an unknown stranger, who had sav. ed his life from robbers on the coast of

The Pantomime. Cornwall, on his identifying himself ; if not, it passes to a Mr Silvertongue, a more The Christmas pantomime at this distant relation. Sildertongue, by a coward- house is nearly as good as usual. It ly caution to avert the supposed indignation is the story of the famous Baron Munof Dorrington, calls on him to explain his chausen dramatised. No expense seems conduct, and unfolds particulars which prove to have been spared in getting it up, Dorrington himself to be the fugitive incognito, in the last hour allowed him to set

and accordingly, the scenery is just up his title. He arrives, however, at Old what the scenery of a pantomime Bowerscourt's, the trustee, just in time, and should be very gorgeous and agreethe possession of the property enables him able-very active, changeable, and to do justice to Winterland, and to confirm obedient. There are some excellent his engagements with Clara,. Young Bow- transformations, a good deal of drolerscourt is thus released of his obligation- lery, a clever Pantaloon, an admirable both he and his father become reconciled to Miss Adamant, who remains the mistress Harlequin and a great fool. But we of his heart. Mr Larum is a natural agent were not quite satisfied with the poein the plot

, and some amusing situations tical justice of changing the lying, arise out of his having abandoned his wife, blustering traveller into that exquisite from a hasty and erroneous conviction of compound of mirth, magic, and huher infidelity : and being afterwards em- manity, Harlequin. If the feeling ployed by Old Bower scourt to promote a of envy could at all be admitted durmatch with her for the old gentleman, she ing the witnessing of a pantomime, being then unknown to him under the name

we should sometimes be half disposed of Singleton. This leads to a satisfactory

to indulge in it when we see any one explanation, by which they are also reconciled. The impertinent gallantries of Mr transformed into Harlequin. He is Curvette, which have a great tendency to

“ full of most blest condition." All create the jealous fancies of Young Bowers. people think (or protest they think court, form also a considerable share of the which is the same thing) that they earlier acts of the comedy."

would rather be themselves than any The writer of this account of the body else---so that, not to be singular, plot has hit upon a lucky expression. we shall not absolutely wish to change He says that “ the chief interest of our state. But certainly the next the piece turns upon the distress of best thing to being one's self must be Young Winterland, &c." and it does to be Harlequin! What a shape and " turn” round and round, as a make he has ! what grace and lightblind horse in a mill does, innocently ness and agility! what a dress and fancying, all the while, that it is going address ! Then what a temper! His straight forward. And then how odd, honest black face is always laughing. for the chief interest of a comedy to Like most heroes, his possessions are turn upon the “ distress" of a gallant contined to his sword. But then what

AT THE CARNIVAL JN ROME.

a sword ! It includes nothing less than dancing, he has a perfect passion for the qualities of Fortunatus's cap, Alad- it-and knows all the new steps withdin's lamp, the Philosopher's stone, out being obliged to take “ private and the Elixir of life. Then what a lessons." He is a poet, too,-as good traveller he is! The clouds are his as most—though he never learned to chariot and the winds his horses and write. Which is perhaps an advanhe never stops to change or pay turn tage to him-for he has no chance of pikes, but goes all round the globe in being put into the Edinburgh Review. a single night-calling at the moon in Certainly if we were to change our his way. And what a delicious com- humanity" with any thing it should pagnon de voyage he has ! The first be with Harlequin-for he never grows pretty girl he meets after he is created older than twenty, and “Love's young (for he hasn't the trouble of being dream” lasts all his life. At least as born) falls in love with him, and fol- far as we are informed: for when he lows him all the world over. Then

comes to be "

a married man,” we he always has the start of a train of lose sight of him, and neither know stupid pursuers who have only just or desire to know any more about him. wit enough to keep him on the qui vive! without which perhaps even his spirits might sometimes flag at least if he happened to visit England in Decem RELIGIOUS INTERLUDE PERFORMED ber. He doesn't keep house neitherwhich is another immense advantage ; but can make himself at home any MR EDITOR, where, without carrying letters of in- A GERMAN traveller, who, among troduction: for every body loves him other things, gives a very full and a

-which is much ; and he does not musing account of the Roman Carnihate

any body-which is more. Then val, observes, that of all the popular he is never without attendants, though amusements common elsewhere at feshe has not the plague of keeping ser tivals of a similar sort, the only one of vants---for the elements obey him bet- which there is little or nothing in the ter than they did the philosopher in imperial city, is ballad-singing. The Rasselas. He can make Old Time go only instance of any thing like the forwards or backwards or stand still ballads usual in the Catholic cities of can change dreams into realities and his own country, or of Spain, was a realities into dreams, just as he likes little song sung by a blind boy from and night into day or day into night Naples-of Sicilian, and therefore pro-which is a very pleasant thing some- bably of Norman origin. This cirtimes. His whole life is one long cumstance is deserving of notice ; betwelfth night-if a twelfth night can cause, says my author, the true balladbe long Then what company he horrors of ghosts, and witches, and keeps ! He is on visiting terms with devils, are in general quite foreign to the man in the moon is hand and the ideas of the Italians. Every Chrisglove with Puck and Titania--plays at tian, according to the belief of these hide and seek with the stars—and is people, who takes the two sacraments on not afraid to join in a game at snap- his deathbed, is sure of being saved at dragon or blind-man's-buff with the last. Purgatory is the worst he has devil. To be sure he does love a bit to fear; and purgatory, however strange of mischief to his heart---but then he it may be thought, is not in general never indulges the propensity at the regarded with much horror. At all expense of any but knaves and fools. events, this cuts off all the most dark Then he is an accomplished fellow and terrible ideas, on which the inwithal. He knows all languages, terest of the profoundest Northern without the trouble of studying their ballads is founded. The little Neapogrammars, and understands most arts litan's ballad, however, is in a taste and sciences--except botany and me sufficiently shocking. The scene is taphysics. These he has no fancy for the place of public execution. An old He is a better architect than Mr Soane witch is watching by the body of a --we have seen statues of his raising malefactor who has just been broken nearly as good as Mr Bacon's and he on the wheel. A man comes up to can hit off a whole length likeness her for the purpose of abstracting some with a stroke of his wand. -As to parts of the corpse. He addresses the

witch with a sort of magical greeting; Alle chiome, mento, alviso
and the objects he has in view will Egli e d'esso, egli è si si.
put our readers in mind of some ter Questa gente non e amica,
rible lines in Tam o' Shanter. This vi è una ruggine alta e antica,

Della patria mia, lo so. is the first verse. The visitor com

Che levare non si può, mences the dialogue, and the witch

( Approaching the well.) answers in the second line.

Baderò alli fatti miei, Gurugium a te! Gurugiu !

Io al pozzo voglio andar; Che ne vuoi della vecchia tu ?

Se dirà, Donna chi sei ? Io voglio questi piedi

Gli dirò, son chi mi par. E que diavolo che ne vuoi far?

Christ ( with a benevolent smile). Per far piedi ai candelieri

Buona donna, i ciel vi guardi ! Cadavere ! Malattia !

Sam. ( surprised by the manner of his address. Aggi Pazienza vecchia mia.

O buon Uomo, a voi ancor ! Io voglio questi gambe

Christ. Per far piedi alle Banche.

Siete giunta troppo tardi. Io voglio le ginocehia

Samar. Per far rotole alla conocchia.

Non potevo piu à buon or. Io voglio questo petto

Christ. Per far tavole per il letto.

O figliola, che gran sete! Io voglio questa pancia

Un

ро d'acqua in carità. Un tamburro per il Re di Francia

Deh ristoro a me porgete, Io voglio questa schiena

Un ро d'acqua per pieta. Una sedia per la Regina.

Samar. The favourite substitute, for ballads Voi à me Samaritana

Domanda vi dia da ber; of the terribly superstitious kind, is in Rome some versification from the A un Guideo, è cosa strana

Chi l'avesse da veder. Bible, in the dialogue fashion above Queste due nazion fra loro exemplified. One of the most com

Non si posson compatir. mon is an interlude, made out of the Se vedesse un di coloro, conversation between our Saviour and Cosa avrebbe mai à dir. the Samaritan woman. This is pos

Christ. sessed of no inconsiderable graceful- Se sapeste, se sapeste ness, both in the words and the mu Chi a voi chiede a ber, sic. The scene is laid, as our readers Certo a lui richiadereste

Acqua viva per aver. will suppose, by a well in the neigh

Samar. bourhood of the town of Samaria. Voi Burlate, e dov è il secchio ? Our Saviour appears first, and explains,

Dove l'acqua, o buon signor?
in the fashion of the mgodor-fortes, his Di Giacobbe il nostro vecchio
own situation, and all that he expects Siete voi forse maggior ?
to occur.

Che sia pur benedetto
Christ.

Questo pozzo a noi lascio;
Sono giunto stanco e lasso

I suoi figli, il suo diletto, Dal mio lungo camminar.

Gregge in questo abbevera. Ecco il pozzo, e questo e il sasso

Christ. Per potermi riposar

O figliola, chi l'acqua mia Qui mi fermo, quivi a petto,

Aqua viva bevera. Una Donna ha da vesnir

Già sia pur chiunq

Sia O bel fonte, o fonte eletto

Mai in eterno sete avrà. Alma infida a convertir.

Samar. Pecorella già smarrita

O Signor non si potrebbe Dal ovile cercando va.

Di questa acqua un po gustar Ma ben presto convertita

La fatica leverebbe Al pastor reternera.

Di venirla qui à cavar. (The Samaritan Woman appears in the dis

Christ. tance.)

A chiamar vostro marito Ecco appunto la meschina

Gite, l'acqua vi darò. Che sen vien sola da se.

Ne temete sia partito, Vieni, Vieni, O poverina,

Perchè vi aspetterò Vien t'aspetto, vien da me.

Samar. Samaritan Woman ( still at a distance ). lo Marito ! guardi il cielo, Questo appunto ci mancava ;

Sono libera di me. Qui e colui, che siede la ?

Christ. Io di già me l'aspettava,

Che direte s'io vi svelo Di trovar qualcuno da.

Che n'avete più di tre E un Guideo se ben ravviso,

Cinque già ne avete avute, Lo conosco in fin di qui;

Se vostr' è quel ch'avete or.

Samar.

Christ.
O che santo, il ciel m'ajuti! (aside.) Ab eterno già sapea
Dite vero o mio signor !

E pero vi mandai là;
Certo que siete profeta

Fin dall' ora vi sceglica Ben sapete indovinar.

A bandir la verità. Io per dirla cheta, cheta,

Samar.
Me ne voglio un poco andar.

O Signor, io mi arrossisco
Christ.

Di vedermi in tanto onor ;
No, No, non gite via

Piu ci penso e men capisco Che è venuto il tempo già

Come à me tanto favor. D'adorare il gran Messia,

Christ.
In spirito e verità

Questo e già costume mio
Samar.

Qual io sono a dimostrar
Che il Messia abbia a venir

Per oprar cosa da Dio Io non nego, o questo no;

Mezzi deboli adottar. Mase voi avessi a dire

D'Oloferne il disumano
Se è venuto non lo so.

Dite su chi trionfò ?
Christ.

Donna frai di propria mano
O figliola egli è venuto

Nel suo letto lo sveno Il Messia, credete a me,

Il gigante fier Golià Se puoi essere creduto

Come mai Come morì ?
Chi vi parla quel Egli è.

Dún sassetto della via,
Samar.

Che scagliato lo colpi. lo vì credo, o buon Signor

Tutto il mondo gia creato E vi adoro, or voglio gir,

Opra fu della mia man In Samaria un tal stupore,

Ed il tutto fu cavato,
Voglio a tutti referir.

Dal suo niente in tutto van.
Christ.

Perchè vuo la gloria mia
Gite pur! sià vostra gloria,

Come e debito per me Se vi crede la città.

L'util poi voglio che sia Per si nobile vittoria,

Sol di quel che opra con se.
Tutto il ciel triompherà

Samar.
Samar.

Che più potrete darmi ?
O Divina si grand opera

Mi scoprete il gran vangel.
Convertir si infido cuor!

E di quel volete farmi
Christ.

Una apostola fedel.
Il poter tutto si adopra

Quanto mai vi devo, quanto
Del gran Dio tutto l'amor.

Cortesissimo Gesù !
A voi m'offro e dono intanto

Nè saro d'altro mai più.
SCENE SECOND.

Christ.

Vi gradisco, si, vi accetto,
Samaritan Woman.

Si, già accetto il vostro amor,
Ecco qui quella meschina,

E gradito e sol diletto Che ritorna onde parti

Essere vuo dal vostro cuor. O amabile divina

Samar. Maestà, Eccomè quì !

į Si sarete sposo mio, L'alma mia in questo pozzo,

Christ. La vostra acqua si gustò ;

Sposo voi sarete a me. Che ogni fonte dopo sozzo

Samar. Qual pontan gli risembrò.

lo in voi, Mille grazie, o grand' iddio,

Christ. A voi rendo, e sommo onor,

Ed in voi lo, Che mutò questo cor mio,

Both.
Dal profano al santo amor.

Serbaremo eterna fede.
Christ.
O mia figlia, tale adesso

And so ends this interlude. When it is Piuì che mai vì vo chiamar,

performed on the Corso, every woman La mia grazia quanto spesso,

present joins her voice to that of the reSi bell opra ella sa far.

presentative of the Samaritan. ThemeSono Dio, di Sià 'l sapete

lody is equally agreeable to the worldEmio bracchio tutto può,

ly, as to the religious fair, and each Io per voi, se fede avrete,

finds something in the words which Quanto piu per voi farò.

renders her willing to dwell upon Samur. (with hesitation.) Siete Dio omnipotente,

them. “Such interludes,” observes E veduto l'ho pur or !

my author, cannot be without their Di Sammaria la gran gente

effect in rendering religion a popular Convertita è a voi, Signor.

thing." I cannot say that the species

A CHURCH-YARD DREAM.

of religion likely to be rendered popu

6. lar by such means is exactly such as I But Death behind a marble Tomb

Looks out upon his prey, approve of; but, perhaps, your untravelled readers may be amused by Is yet of earthly clay,

And smiles to know that heavenly bloom seeing a specimen of a kind of poetry Far off I hear a wailing wide, so unlike any thing they are used to And, while I gaze upon that Bride, in their own country. After all, I am A silent Wraith before me stands, inclined to think better of it, than And points unto a grave with cold, pale, of the half-unintelligible, half-blas clasped hands. phemous stuff which one sometimes

7.
hears in a Methodist chapel at home. A Matron beautiful and bright,
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

As is the silver Moon,
P. C. K.

Whose lustre tames the sparkling light
Of the starry eyes of June,
Is shining o'er the Church-yard lone,
While circling her as in a zone,
Delighted dance five Cherubs fair,

And round their native urn shake wide 1.

their golden hair. METHOUGHT that in a Burial-ground

8. One still, sad vernal day,

O Children they are holy things, Upon a little daisied mound

In sight of Earth and Heaven! I in a slumber lay ;

An Angel shields with guardian wings, While faintly through my dream I heard

The home where they are given. The hymning of that holy Bird,

Strong power there is in children's tears, Who with more gushing sweetness sings And stronger in their lisped prayers The higher up in Heaven float his unweari.

But the vulture stoops down from above, ed wings!

And, mid her orphan brood, bears off the 2.

Parent Dove. In that my mournful reverie,

9. Such song of heavenly birth

The young-the youthful—the mature, The voice seemed of a Soul set free

Have smiled and all past by, From this imprisoning Earth ;

As if nought lovely could endure Higher and higher still it soared,

Beneath the envious sky; A thrilling rapture that adored,

While bowed with age and age's woes, Till vanished song and singer blest

Still near-yet still far off the close In the blue depths of everlasting rest. Of weary life, yon aged Crone 3.

Can scarce with blind eyes find her HusJust then, a Child, in sportive glee,

band's funeral stone. Came gliding o'er the graves,

10. Like a lone bird that on the sea

All dead the joyous, bright, and free, Floats dallying with the waves ;

To whom this life was dear ! Upon the lovely flowers awhile

The green leaves shivered from the tree She poured the beauty of her smile, And dangling left the sere ! Then laid her bright cheek on the sod,

O dim wild world !-but from the sky And, overpowered with joy, slept in the eye Down came the glad Lark waveringlý, of God.

And, startled by his liquid mirth, 4.

I rose to walk in Faith the darkling paths

of Earth. The ftowers that shine all round her head

EREMUS. May well be breathing sweet,

Marischal College, Aberdeen. For flowers are they that Spring hath shed To deck her winding-sheet ; And well the tenderest gleams may fall Of sunshine on that hillock small On which she sleeps, for they have smiled O'er the predestined grave of that uncon Black is the Lake, and blacker still the sky, scious Child.

And Lake and Sky with hollow murmur 5.

moan; In bridal garments, white as snow,

Scarce shakes a little star its locks on high ; A solitary Maid

And Fear's fantastic images alone Doth meekly bring a sunny glow

Crowd on the expectant spirit. O'er the hill, Into that solemn shade.

That lifts above the wave its shaggy brow, A Church-yard seems a joyful place Rises a solemn radiance :-lovelier still, In the visit of so sweet a face,

And, varying like enchantment, lovelier now A soul is in that deep blue eye

It stands with burning glory, bright and deep, Too good to live on earth_too beautiful to As that which compasseth the eternal throne die.

Mid black-pavilioned clouds ! So to the sleep VOL. IV.

3 M

SONNET.

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