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And give his name to after-time
In hues of villany sublime."

He finds his prey dosing, and is just
about to despatch him; but, having
fortunately eat rather a hearty supper,
"Harsh and uneasy visions past
Upon his troubled brain ;"

and his host awakes time enough to save himself. The following is the animated description of the combat which takes place between them. We have no doubt it will remind our readers of the death of Marmion, or that of Hassan, in the Giaour. "Now wrestling fierce the wall he made, And snatching thence a hanging blade, The dragging foe he from him flings, Then on with furious valour springs, Forth leaps M'Donnell's sword amain; They meet they part-they close again; They grapple now, and now the light The lamps dim rays afford, Strikes full upon the traitor's sight, Down drops the hero's sword!

Great powers of heaven and earth, he cries, What sight is this to blast mine eyes? Say, horrid semblance, art thou not M'Donnell, the confederate Scot? That subtle damned renegade! While thus by dire amaze betrayed, The generous chieftain sunk, Rushed full upon his naked breast, Deep in his heart his faulchion prest, And prone the warrior sunk; Yet spare my children, ere he died, Oh! spare my children, feebly cried!" Now, with all our admiratio of the above fine passage, we do not precisely see the grounds on which M'Quillin can with any propriety term his adversary a renegade. The Highlander appears to have been troubled with few religious principles of any kind; and those which he had, bad as they were, he never seems to have renounced. Mr Quillinan, however, appears to understand the word to mean

a person who breaks into a castle and kills the owner of it-an interpretation for which Dr Johnson had not quite prepared us. Passing over this, and other frivolous objections, we shall now present our readers with the most sublime passage in the whole poem. It consists of an address from the poet to the burglarious Celt.

"Now dark M'Donnell take thy sword,
And lift it to thy lip abhorred,
Aye, let that sacrilegious lip,
Its every gout of crimson sip;
Nay, upon blood let blood-hound sup,
Drink, dark M'Donnell, drink it up;
For 'twill supply thee to the hilt,
The deepest deadliest drug of guilt,
That e'er on soul of mischief fell,
And clogged it till it sunk to hell."

This is in the true military taste, and with the favourable impression it must leave on the minds of our readers, we shall now close our extracts. The love scenes between Owen and Marion are wrought up in the most approved manner, according to the best recipes adopted by Miss Owenson and Miss Porter, but we must leave them to be enjoyed by those who choose to

feed their raptured glance" by perusing the volume itself. The work is from the private press of Sir Egerton Brydges, who discharges the pleasing duties of editor. We should say the printing was beautiful were absurd it not disfigured by an mass of gaudy and tasteless decoration. One of the vignettes, we observe, at the commencement of a poem intended to be very pathetic, contains a delineation of a pocket handkerchief, an instrument, however, which we can assure the most lacrymose young lady she will find not the smallest occasion for in perusing the poems of Lieutenant Quillinan.

ACCOUNT OF AN AUTOMATON CHESS PLAYER, NOW EXHIBITED AT NO. 4, SPRING-GARDENS, LONDON.

A VERY clear and animated description of this extraordinary piece of mechanism, which may really be called a wonderful creature, has been written by a friend of ours, an Oxford graduate; and we think our readers may be amused by some particulars of what may be called its life and char

*

acter. Our friend is one of the best chess-players we know ; yet we believe that he was hard put to it by the Automaton, who is, in his own peculiar way, quite a second Phillidor. All who know any thing of the fascinating game of chess are aware of the constant exercise of acute judgment required in

* Printed for J. Hatchard, Piccadilly. 1s. 1819.

anticipating the designs of an antagonist, and in frustrating those that cannot be foreseen. Indeed, it is acknowledged to be about as difficult a thing to win a great game of chess, as a great battle-and, therefore, our Automaton may yet make a brilliant figure some day or other as a general officer.

The inventor, or rather, it should be said, the father of this creature, was Wolffgang de Kempelen, a Hungarian gentleman, aulic counsellor to the royal chamber of the domains of the Emperor in Hungary. Being at Vienna in the year 1769, he offered to the Empress Maria Theresa, to construct a piece of mechanism more unaccountable than any she had previously witnessed; and accordingly, within six months, the Automaton chess player was presented at court, where his extraordinary mental powers excited the liveliest astonishment. M. de Kempelen, some years afterwards, publicly exhibited him (for we shall not degrade a man of genius by the application of a vile neuter) in Germany and other countries. In the year 1785, M. de Kempelen visited England, and at his death in 1803, this worthy Automaton became the property of that gentleman's son, who may be distinguished from his incomprehensible brother by the term, "filius carnalis," and by whom (notwithstanding the apparent violation of the free spirit of our laws, and of nature herself,) he was sold to the present exhibitor, a person, it is said, of great ability in the science of

mechanics.

After this short historical notice, our Oxford friend (who, by the way, has seemingly forgotten his promise to send us an occasional article) thus introduces to us the son of the aulic counsellor.

"The room where it is at present exhibited has an inner apartment, within which appears the figure of a Turk, as large as life, dressed after the Turkish fashion, sitting behind a chest of three feet and a half in length, two feet in breadth, and two feet and a half in height, to which it is attached by the wooden seat on which it sits. The chest is placed upon four casters, and together with the figure, may be easily moved to any part of the room. On the plain surface formed by the top of the chest, in the centre, is a raised immoveable chess-board of handsome dimensions, upon which the figure has its eyes fixed; its right arm and hand being extended on the chest, and its left arm somewhat raised, as if in the attitude of holding

a Turkish pipe, which originally was placed in its hand.

"The exhibitor begins by wheeling the chest to the entrance of the apartment with

in which it stands, and in face of the spectators. He then opens certain doors contrived in the chest, two in front, and two at the back, at the same time pulling out a long shallow drawer at the bottom of the chest made to contain the chess men, a cushion for the arm of the figure to rest upTwo lesser doors, on, and some counters. and a green cloth screen, contrived in the body of the figure, and in its lower parts, are likewise opened, and the Turkish robe which covers them is raised; so that the construction both of the figure and chest internally is displayed. In this state the automaton is moved round for the examination of the spectators; and to banish all suspicion from the most sceptical mind, that any living subject is concealed within any part of it, the exhibitor introduces a lighted candle into the body of the chest and figure, by which the interior of each is, in a great mea sure, rendered transparent, and the most secret corner is shewn. Here, it may be observed, that the same precaution to remove suspicion is used, if requested, at the close as at the commencement of a game of Chess with the Automaton.

"The chest is divided by a partition, into two unequal chambers. That to the right of the figure is the narrowest, and occupies scarcely one third of the body of the chest. It is filled with little wheels, levers, cylinders, and other machinery used in clock-work. That to the left contains a few wheels, some small barrels with springs, and two quarters of a circle placed horizontally. The body and lower parts of the fi gure contain certain tubes, which seem to be conductors to the machinery. After a sufficient time, during which each spectator, may satisfy his scruples and his curiosity, the exhibitor recloses the doors of the chest and figure, and the drawer at bottom; makes some arrangements in the body of the figure, winds up the works with a key inserted into a small opening on the side of the chest, places a cushion under the left arm of the figure, which now rests upon it, and invites any individual present to play a game of Chess.

"At one and three o'clock in the afternoon, the Automaton plays only ends of games, with any person who may be present. On these occasions the pieces are placed on the board, according to a preconcerted arrangement; and the Automaton invariably wins the game. But at eight o'clock every evening, it plays an entire game against any antagonist who may offer himself, and generally is the winner, although the inventor had not this issue in view as a necessary event.

"In playing a game, the Automaton makes choice of the white pieces, and always has the first move. These are small

advantages towards winning the game which are cheerfully conceded. It plays with the left hand, the right arm and hand being constantly extended on the chest, behind which it is seated. This slight incongruity proceeded from absence of mind in the inventor, who did not perceive his mistake till the machinery of the Automaton was too far completed to admit of the mistake being rectified. At the commencement of a game, the Automaton moves its head, as if taking a view of the board; the same motion occurs at the close of a game. In making a move, it slowly raises its left arm from the cushion placed under it, and directs it towards the square of the piece to be moved. Its hand and fingers open on touching the piece, which it takes up, and conveys to any proposed square. The arm, then, returns with a natural motion to the cushion upon which it usually rests. In taking a piece, the Automaton makes the same motions of the arm

and hand to lay hold of the piece, which it conveys from the board; and then returning to its own piece, it takes it up, and places it on the vacant square. These motions are performed with perfect correctness; and the dexterity with which the arm acts, especially in the delicate operation of castling, seems to be the result of spontaneous feeling, bending at the shoulder, elbow, and knuckles, and cautiously avoiding to touch any other piece than that which is to be moved, nor ever making a false move.

"After a move made by its antagonist, the Automaton remains for a few moments only inactive, as if meditating its next move; upon which the motions of the left arm and hand follow. On giving check to the King, it moves its head as a signal. When a false move is made by its antagonist, which frequently occurs, through curiosity to observe in what manner the Automaton will act : as, for instance, if a Knight be made to move like a Castle, the Automaton taps impatiently on the chest, with its right hand, replaces the Knight on its former square, and not permitting its antagonist to recover his move, proceeds immediately to move one of its own pieces thus appearing to punish him for his inattention. The little advantage in play which is hereby gained, makes the Automaton more a match for its antago

nist, and seems to have been contemplated by the inventor as an additional resource towards winning the game.

"It is of importance that the person

matched against the Automaton, should be attentive, in moving a piece, to place it precisely in the centre of its square; otherwise the figure, in attempting to lay hold of the piece, may miss its hold, or even sustain some injury in the delicate mechanism of the fingers. When the person has made a move, no alteration in it can take place: and if a piece be touched, it must be played somewhere. This rule is strictly observed by the Automaton. If its antagonist hesitates to move for a considerable time, it taps smartly on the top of the chest with the right hand, which is constantly extended upon it, as if testifying impatience at his delay.

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During the time that the Automaton is in motion, a low sound of clock-work running down is heard, which ceases soon after its arm returns to the cushion; and then its antagonist may make his move. The works are wound up at intervals, after ten or twelve moves, by the exhibiter, who is usually employed in walking up and down the apartment in which the Automaton is shown, approaching, however, the chest from time to time, especially on its right side.

At the conclusion of the exhibition of the Automaton, on the removal of the chess men from the board, one of the spectators indiscriminately is requested to place a Knight upon any square of the board at pleasure. The Automaton immediately takes up the Knight, and beginning from that square, it moves the piece, according to its proper motion, so as to touch each of the sixty-three squares of the chess board in turn, without missing one, or returning to the same square. The square from which the Knight proceeds is marked by a white counter; and the squares successively touched, by red counters, which at length occupy all the other squares of the board."

Our friend, the Graduate, whose own skill in mechanics is well known, offers some speculations on the theory of this wonderful person's generation. These exhibit all his wonted acuteness, but, as he confesses that they leave the mystery of the Automaton's powers still unexplained, we content ourselves with referring the curious reader to his own very entertaining pamphlet.

SKETCHES OF SCENERY IN SAVOY, SWITZERLAND, AND THE alps.

MR EDITOR,

You ask me to send you some sketches of my late tour in France, Switzerland, Italy, &c. But I'm afraid I shall be able to offer you little that will be of general interest; for I must confess to you, that my plan of observation-if it could be called a planwas entirely a selfish one. Before setting out, I had determined to remain so totally unfettered, that I would not even prepare myself for the journey, by renewing or completing my very imperfect reading acquaintance with the chief parts that I was about to visit. I was going, in sober certainty, to view the real scenes, the ideal images of which had been the objects of my love-until within these few years my hopeless love ever since I had known what it was that I really wished or wanted; and I was determined to come to the contemplation of them free from all other bias on my mind than would be given to it by the delightful but somewhat misty and indistinct associations, which had come to it, as it were of themselves, in my very earliest youth; and had, ever since, been congregating and engendering together, till at length they had formed a sort of colony there a little kingdom of their own, of which Fancy was the sole and undisputed sovereign, and in the midst of which I could at all times take refuge from the dull and dreary realities of common life. I determined, too, that this ideal kingdom should never be overturned but by Nature herself. In fact, that I would not go among these scenes for the purpose of forming a judgment of them for myself, but would leave them to build up for me a fabric of their own, in the place of the ideal one that I know they would destroy. I felt it to be something worse than idle to go peeping and prying about, with a pencil and a notebook in my hand, among the mountains of William Tell ;-to be sketching trees and cottages, or scribbling nothings, in the ideal presence of Manfred, or the real one of Mont Blanc; -to be ascertaining the exact distance from Verai across the lake to the rocks of Meillerie, in order to calculate whether St Preux really could see from thence the dwelling of Julie ;—

to be inquiring the number of the inhabitants, and the price of the necessaries of life, at Clarens-the scene of that immortal kiss, the echoes of which may even now, to an ear properly attuned, be heard mingling with the breezes that whisper among the branches of its chesnut groves, or come fanning the brow-the burning brow-of him who gazes, for the first time, on that cradle and home and heaven of love.

I repeat, my determination was not only not to prepare myself for visiting such scenes as these, but when I found myself in the midst of them, not even to examine or record my feelings about them: but to remain in what Wordsworth calls " a wise passiveness.”—To spread open, as it were, my mind and heart and senses to the powers and influences that would every where surround me; and leave them to work their own effects: believing, that if I was worthy to receive the benefit of such influences, they would come to me of themselves, and remain with me; and that if I was not, no seekings or solicitations could entice them.

I therefore wrote nothing about them at the time-I mean, for myself. I did not even endeavour to remember any thing. I read the poetry of them -as I read written poetry-not for the purpose of criticising it, and getting particular passages by heart, in order to talk about and quote from it, but to feel and enjoy it;-not that I might seem wiser and better in consequence, but that I might be so.

I shall not determine whether this was the best plan I could have adopted, with reference to my own purposes; but certainly it was, of all others, the least fitted to enable me to give information or amusement to any but those very few dear friends, in whose estimation, when one is absent, every little word and thought that is conveyed to them, acquires a new and adventitious value, by becoming a hint, on which the imagination may build conjectures and surmises quite as good as any real information that might occupy their place. For, to such friends as I am speaking of, the absent person will always be the centre to which all those of their thoughts which can be made to have any refer

ence to him, must alone point. In books they may read descriptions of foreign scenery and manners, for mere amusement, or for the purpose of extending their knowledge, and enriching their fancy and imagination; but when they read such in his letters, it is only that they may endeavour to realize to themselves, and sympathize with, what they will know to be his feelings in contemplating what he describes. They will desire to learn the character of the scenery through which he is passing on such or such a day, that they may be the better able, in fancy, to accompany him. They will wish to be made acquainted with the habits and manners of the people with whom he is sojourning, that they may the more distinctly, in imagination, view him among them. In short, all the direct and personal interest that may, at other times, have been felt in such descriptions, will now be merged and lost, for the moment, in the relative interest they have acquired by their connexion with him.

If you think your readers are likely to be amused by unconnected extracts, such as accompany this, from private letters, I may perhaps be able to send you a few more of the same kind. I may also add a few desultory recollections, just in the order, or rather disorder, in which they are pretty sure

to occur to me.

. The following are sketches of scenery very little known and talked of in this country: by far the most frequented passage into Italy being that by the Simplon.

"You know that Rousseau passed nearly all the innocent and happy part of his life with his dear Maman,' Madame de Warens, at Chambery, the capital of Savoy; and, surely, nowhere else is there a place so exquisitely adapted to feed and nurse and cherish the peculiar propensities of his romantic nature. The road to Chambery from France lies through a country that surpasses, in mingled grandeur and beauty, all that I had previously conceived of natural scenery, though the beauty greatly predominates. The road is between two ranges of mountains, and by the side of a small river the whole way.-This river is the most poetical little stream you can imagine. Sometimes rippling and smiling along through flowers and weeds, to the sound of its own music VOL. IV.

at others, leaping and dashing through broken rocks, and lashing it self into torrents of white foam-at the next turn of the road, perhaps, thundering down a precipice in the form of a cataract, or its course only to be discovered by its sound, or by the thin white mists that rise from its low and concealed bed-and, perhaps five minutes after, you discover it again, basking along in the sunshine, as if nothing could disturb its tranquillity, and as if the greatest obstacle it had ever met with in its course had been a few pebbles to curl round, or a water-lily to sport with.-The road is a sort of causeway, always following the course of this river. Immediately adjoining to the road and the banks of the river, the bed of the valley extends for a very small space on each side, covered with the most luxuriant cultivation, and then immediately from this bed the mountains ascend on each side, almost perpendicularly, to (literally) above the clouds.-You will easily conceive that the effect of all this is exquisite-for the mountains themselves, up to nearly their summits, are not only covered with the most beautiful cultivation, but studded with cottagesand villages at all heights and in all directions; and the whole surmounted by magnificent forests of pine-trees, in many parts shooting their strait arrowy trunks from out the eternal snow, The character of the houses, too, is so exactly in keeping with the scenery in which they occur, that the effect. of the whole is perfectly enchanting. They are scarcely ever built in the valley, but on the sides of the mountains; out of which they appear to grow, as if they were a part of the mountain itself. They are always perfectly white; and to every small village of eight or ten cottages (for they are all cottages), there is a little church; and these villages and churches are met with at every mile-so that there is an unceasing variety the whole way. These cottages generally stand in the midst of little patches of garden or orchard ground, or meadows of the most exquisite green, in which flocks and cattle are feeding.-Add to all this a romantic-looking castle, with towers, turrets, &c. occurring every now and then on the summit of a projecting rock-beautiful waterfalls gushing from out clusters of firs, or clumps of underwood-the unceasing 4 E

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