that the ground on which colours are first applied, is of a spongy nature, and imbibes far more colour than the painter calculates. I was led to this observation, from the dissection of an old picture which had been partially burned by accident, and which the owner agreed, should have the colour as carefully taken off as possible, in order to ascertain the ground of the picture, which had been remarkable for its brilliant colouring. Having, at length, come to the first painting, we found it consisted not of umber laid in only below the shadows of the picture, but with the exception of the sky, which we could not examine a picture painted with umber and the two siennas, or similar colours, and slightly mixed with umber, or asphaltum, forming the light parts, while the dark shades consisted of the latter with, perhaps, a little blue. The distance was made out with the lighter colours, and so were all the parts where the light of the finished picture were to fall. It is evident, that, with such a mighty strength of first lay below the colours which were afterwards to be applied, and with no corroding colour in it, its colours would not sink at all. I am confirmed in the opinion, that this manner of treating the colours was general, in looking at No. 145 of the Dulwich Gallery-the subject Jacob's Dream, by Rembrandt. This picture may be said to consist of light and shade merely. A few straggling shrubs are inserted in the foreground, and these were not painted in, but scratched in with the handle of the pencil, by which the brownish first lay is discovered from beneath the stronger and more powerful glazing which had afterwards been applied. In many of the best landscapes, especially of the Flemish and Dutch schools, I can discern a great variety in the first painting, although the colours be so much alike, without the use of white; and I am sure that more effect and more labour were formerly given to the first lay, than what modern artists ever think of bestowing. In thus speaking of a system to which I am attached, I am aware that many painters prefer what may be called the opaque style, and cover the whole of their first lay with colours which completely conceal it, making it simply a guide for the drawing. Of the comparative advantages of these, I cannot now write, or of the propriety of uniting the two styles, as has frequently been attempted.

Your last advice to me was, to look to nature. It has been often repeated to me since. I have endeavoured to follow it, and have not been successful in either pleasing myself or others by the attempt. The truth is, that as no painter ever pleased by entirely forsaking nature-so no painter ever pleased by implicitly following her. In looking at a fine landscape it is not less what we feel, than what we see, that ought to guide our pencil. The Flemish School, no doubt pleases to a certain degree, but in it you have only individual nature, and the familiarity of the laughing and drunken boors-the same unchanging subjects, never can afford the pleasure which a higher walk of art excites. Yet, these I believe to have been wholly painted from nature; when, therefore, the young artist is taught to look to nature, in dividual nature ought not to be the object of his study. It must be general nature; when his mind rising beyond the scene presented to his eye, forms new groups, and discovers new beauties of its own; and, thus in look ing at some of the landscapes which were painted by some of our best artists, a practised eye might detect how much they owed to nature-how much to fancy. But in no instance is this so remarkable as in the pictures of Claude-wander through Italy for years, you shall in vain look for scenes such as he has depicted. His pictures do not consist of a mere copy of nature's beauties, such as they would appear to you or me, or even to himself, -nor of nature, as she actually appeared to the world in her brightest sunrise or her most glorious eve, seizing the most splendid tints of both, he rendered them immortal on his canvass, by connecting them with the peculiar beauties and feelings of his own poetical mind.

My next shall embrace the topics you have pointed out—at present I have trespassed beyond all moderate bounds. I have seen Northcote; he remembers and speaks of H. with great kindness. I shall, if possible, have a picture for the Exhibition, and, although not my best subject, will attempt a coast scene to please you. I trust your Society* may flourish. Indeed you have excellent materials, and if you can only continue united, like the Roman forces, your triumphs in the arts may become as celebrated as theirs ever were in history.

The Glasgow Dilettanti Society.

ARCHEOLOGICAL SOCIETY AT ROME.

THE Institute for Archaeological Correspondence at Rome, held a public sitting on the 9th of December, at which Mr. Dodwell made a report of the result of his latest researches into the Cyclopic remains of the aboriginal times of Italy. Baron de Beugust strenuously maintained, at this meeting, the perfect harmony subsisting between the contents of Grecian and Etruscan sepulchres, by comparing the Volscian vases with those which he had discovered in Ægina. M. Kestner next exhibited originals and copies of antiques, recently added to his collection, amongst which were, a Roman lamp ornamented with dancing skeletons. He was followed by Professor Gerhard, who dwelt upon the two mural paintings found in the Etruscan tombs of the Tarquins, which

have been lately discovered at Cometo, and copies of which are about to be published by the Institute. We should have mentioned that M. Fea, the father of the present race of antiquarians in Rome, succeeded our learned countryman, Dodwell, and gave an account of the latest discoveries of Greek remains on the eastern side of Caere, in Etruria. M. Bunsen, the secretary-general, closed the sitting with a merited panygeric on the services which the Institute had rendered to the cause of antiquarian research, and the department of the ancient arts and sciences, during the three short years of its existence.-Athenæum.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE NAVARINO GARLAND.

An entire new Song.

THE British fleet, sought no retreat,
When Ibrahim was halting,

To beat his beat, they hoist their sheet,
No more in Malta malting.

Upon the top, sat Peter Pop,

A seaman bold and stout; Who combat still strove to be In, When enemies were Out.

To Navarino bay when bound,
His ship so quickly ran,
That, though by water, Peter sail'd,
He still was in the Van.

To anchor came the British fleet,

The Turkish balls they boundThey strike the frigate on the Heel, Just as they give a Wound,

Says Peter, "infidels, and all,

We soon shall stop your shout, Since you have given us a Ball,

You'll get from us a Rout."

And, when the yard went overboard,
It did not Peter jar.

"Since we," he said, "shall gain the Fight, Why they may take the Spar."

"The Turkish frigates, of three decks,
The British can't beguile."
And Peter thought, we'll foil their Ranks,
And thin their Rank and File.

The British powder blaz'd away,

Cried Pat, "If we han't chock'd 'em,

If any e'er should get away,

Our Admiral bas smok'd them."

And so he did, for, in one puff,

Ten Turkish ships go down,
And, as they cared not for our threats,
Thus all their Care we drown,

At morn it was great Ibrahim,
But, ere the close of day,
The British cannon plainly told
'Twas Ibrahim, O—Bey.

He thought our British blood to spill,
And give us all a hearter-

We show'd him soon, against his will, The Turk had caught a Tartar.

The British took, full twenty sail,

Away before the breeze,
And show'd themselves in Nav'rin's Bay,
The Sovereigns of the Seize.

For, every ship had precious stores,
And some had silks and gold-
Yet, tho' we took out all things else,
They did not lose their Hold.

A hot reception, sure we got,
And it was our desire,
That not to be undone in warmth,
They might receive our Fire.

Let tyrants all, be warned then,
When British tars attend them,
'Tis not to trifle, but for this,

To either end or mend them.
Now here's health to Codrington,
And here's to Peter Pop,
When next he, for the Public Sales,
We'll advertise the Rope.

GLASGOW GOSSIP.

A GREAT sensation has been excited among our belles, by the proposal of some wag, who speaks of taking out a patent for making ladies' bustles of MacIntosh's Indian rubber, inflated with air. As an improvement on this, we would recommend that steam should be substituted instead of air, after the manner recommended in the Glasgow Courier. This ornament of the figure may then be used as a Cholera band, if brought round the body, and made to serve the purposes of warmth, in the same manner as the fumes of char. coal, resorted to by the dames of Holland.

A good deal of surprise has been occasioned by the conduct of some individuals, residing in and near town, who have ammunitioned their houses with victuals for three months, and given orders that none of their household shall pass over the door till the expiry of that period. If this extraordinary precaution be meant to ward off the approach of Cholera, it seems very ill adapted to answer its end; for the bad effects which want of exercise and old meat are apt to produce, seem to evince, that shutting one's self in is not the best way to shut the Cholera out.

MR: GILFILLAN'S LECTURES.

We are happy to announce, that the Professor of Drawing and Painting in the Andersonian University has commenced his Series of Criticisms on the above interesting subjects. This is the first course of lectures which Mr. Gilfillan has yet delivered in Glasgow; and, therefore, the public in general, have not had sufficient opportunity of estimating their merits. We are inclined to anticipate great results from the abilities of this gentleman, and from the accurate knowledge which he possesses in the varied departments of polite learning. Mr. Gilfillan has a complete acquaintance with the practical details of his own profession, and is, besides this, well qualified to judge of theoretical questions connected with it, by his attainments as a classical scholar and a man of extensive reading. His knowledge of human life has been acquired from different countries, and different pursuits, and is such as to fit him eminently for forming his opinions by a correct estimate, and elucidating his statements by appropriate illustrations. With these advantages, we have no doubt that Mr. Gilfillan will perform his task in a manner very agreeable to his auditors. We heard his first lecture the other day, and were pleased to find in it all our anticipations amply confirmed. The subject of it was an exhibition of the advantages resulting from the cultivation of the Fine Arts, and seldom have we attended to a more able defence of those useful and elegant studies from the cavils with which ignorant or prejudiced people generally attack them. Mr. Gilfillan very ably shewed the connection between taste and the moral sense, by abstract reasonings, as well as by examples from history, and, in a more enlarged view, deduced the prosperity of nations from their attention to works of genius. The States of the ancient world, he proved, were, in general, most free and flourishing, when they fostered the growth of sculpture, painting and architecture, and, in modern times, and in our own country, especially, men were never enlightened, till they knew the value of these arts, and never attained any rank among nations till they were enlightened. With great ingenuity he attempted to connect the success of Britain in her commerce and warfare, with the skill which designed and executed her fancy goods, the source of that wealth by which she was enabled to rival and subdue the world. After some judicious remarks addressed to those political economists who refuse to consider the cultivators of the Fine Arts as contributing to the wealth of a country, the lecturer insisted shortly upon the numerous personal superiorities which the amateur or the artist enjoy, and, in a comparison between the benefits of painting and music, pointed out the reasons why the former ought to be considered an accomplishment no less indispensible than the other. We received so much entertainment from these remarks, and from the style in which they were delivered, that we intend to be constantly present at Mr. Gilfillan's future lectures; and we will probably give those of our readers who are prevented from attending them, an account of the subjects which they bring under review.

FOREIGN LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

A NEW Novel by M. D'Arlincourt is announced for immediate appearance it is entitled "Les Rebelles sous Charles V."

Egypt is destined to furnish unceasing subjects of curiosity for every class of readers. While Champollion (on dit) is about to unrol the mystic papyri in all their primitive significance, the celebrated traveller, Cuillaud, has preceded him with the first Numbers of a work on the Arts and Trades of the Egyptians, Nubians and Ethiopians; their customs, civil and domestic, with details on the manners and customs of the modern inhabitants of these countries Plates, brilliantly coloured, illustrate the text in its minutest details, and when the work is completed, we hope to find materials in it for a curious and interesting article.

MICHAUD, the historian of the Crusades, has arrived at Marseilles, on his return from Palestine, which he has been exploring with a view to the further elucidation of his work. The result of his travels will shortly appear.

LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

MR. SOUTHEY is preparing for the Press his translation of the Odyssey, also a new and corrected edition of the Iliad.

MR. PAYNE, author of the Exposition of Jacotot's Method, is preparing an improved edition of that work: also, a volume of Elementary Exercises on the Inflections, &c. of the Latin Language, adapted to the Epitome Historiæ Sacra.

A Novel, entitled, “The Adventures of a Younger Son,” is announced for publication.

MRS. MARKHAM, author of the History of England, is preparing for the press "Tales and Conversations for Children of all ages."

We understand that the Bibliographical Account of Latin Books, which Mr. John Reid has been engaged with for some years, is shortly to appear under the direct patronage of the Highland Society of London, and dedicated with permission to his Majesty. What the merit of the work is we cannot say but it will be at least an Original Work, as nothing of the same kind has ever before been attempted.

MISCELLANEA.

As a matter appertaining to the Arts, we are happy to hear, that, at a special meeting of the Committee of the Athenæum, Mr. Stanfield was elected a member of that now select body. He was proposed by Sir Martin Archer Shee, and seconded by Lord Farnborough. When the fact of there being some hundreds of names in the lists of candidates, is considered, it affords us a pleasure to find genius taking precedence of both rank and fortune-the persons elected on the same occasion as the painter, were Prince Talleyrand, the Speaker of the House of Commons and Sir James Scarlet.-Athenæum.

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.

We decline inserting the communication of “ An Ultra Tory,” as we cannot consent to make our journal the organ of any party. Our columns will always be open to the defenders of order and of liberty, but they will be shut against the pledged supporters of any set of opinions.

We return our thanks to our valued correspondent who sends us "Tarbet Castle," and, as we propose commencing a series of papers on the "Traditions of the Gael," we trust he will continue his promised communications.

"A Rhapsody on The Day" is too rhapsodical for our columns. The paper on CHOLERA, we fear will not suit us. HONESTAS will have a place in an early number.

In order to insure this Publication being on the Breakfast Table every morning, it is requested that intending Subscribers will leave their names and addresses at the Publisher's.

TALES, SKETCHES AND TRADITIONS OF THE

GAEL.

UNDER the above title it was the intention of the projectors of THE DAY, to give a Series of Notices connected with the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, but, from the multiplicity of subjects which have poured in upon them from various quarters, they have hitherto been prevented from carrying this, as well as some other parts of their early arrangements, into effect. Those included under the present head, were also considered as more suitable for that period of the year, when a great portion of our readers will either have emigrated to the coast, or have engaged their days of relaxation in excursions of pleasure among the beautiful scenery which the bountiful hand of nature has lavished, with such delightful profusion upon our Western shores. As the season however, is now advancing apace, when the description of reading we have alluded to, will be more in request, we take this early opportunity of commencing a series, which we intend shall embrace an unlimited variety, and, as these subjects can only make an occasional appearance in our columns, we propose to begin our labours, betimes, in order that some of our friends, who are fond of visiting the antique and romantic localities of the country, may have the benefit of experience. The subject which we have thought proper to select, as the leading one, has been sent to us by a valued correspondent, and, as we have reason to be satisfied with the accuracy of his details, from our own notes and inquiries, which we had an opportunity of making on the spot, we present it with confidence, to our readers :—

TARBET CASTLE.

MANY of our "Firth of Clyde" tourists may have seen an ancient square building at East Tarbet on Lochfine, whose moss-cap'd and weather-beaten walls, bear testimony to its antiquity. It is now crumbling into ruins, and the traveller whose mind after his voyage may be more intent on the comforts of the village-hostel, than the contemplation of the picturesque, will throw a careless glance on this relic of "other days," and without farther inquiry, pass on to his destination.

But Tarbet Castle was not always thus: often has its ample halls echoed to the pibroch of the Macallister, and never were its hospitable gates shut upon the Seanachaidh and the bard; and, although its towering battlements are seen no longer, and each successive winter with unsatiated revenge, tears with impunity its shattered frame, a few pages of its history turned back, and we see it giving shelter to the royal fugitive, while struggling for the cause of his crown, and the freedom of his country.

It is not known by whom or at what precise time it was built, but tradition informs us, that it was fortified in order to curb the power of the MacNicols, a fierce untractable Clan, who at that time inhabited the wilds of Cantyre, and whose chief, named Donachadh Dubh Gruamach, from his savage manner, was an object of universal dread,-no less for his ruthless raids and devoted followers, than his personal prowess and uncompromising spirit. For some time it served as a check

* Oral historians, or genealogists of the Celts.

† Black, stern, or gruff Duncan.

upon their lawless pursuits, but they began to be weary of the restraint placed upon them, and again commenced their predatory system with redoubled violence and renewed vigour: Few ships passed the coast, from whom Donachadh Dubh's biorlinn* did not exact tribute, and every day told some new tale of his acts of rapine and cruelty. At length Macallister the governor of Tarbet Castle was roused to action, by the continued daring conduct of his restless neighbour; but, knowing the enemy he had to cope with, privately summoned his followers, and marching by night, ere MacNicol had time to defend himself against the storm, -his keep was taken, its defenders slaughtered, and himself chained and carried off a captive, to pine in inglorious slavery, till a punishment should be awarded commensurate to his crimes.

The place in which he was imprisoned was a vault under the castle, entirely excluded from the light of day. Here, from morning till night, and from night. till morning, he brooded over some means to escape, or a scheme of revenge; and, while he trimmed his little lamp, which dimly illumined the damp walls of his cell, he swore, over its flickering light, deep and eternal enmity to his conquering enslavers; but the threat was vain-six months had now passed since he became a captive, and hunger and confinement began to make fearful inroads on his Herculean frame. He could scarcely move the ponderous chains with which he was loaded, but his soul was unsubdued, and his spirit untamed; and, when the person who daily brought his scanty meals informed him,-while unrivetting his irons, that the morrow was his last, the annunciation was received with a look of disdainful scorn, and answered, with a tone of stern defiance; yet divested of his shackles he felt a sort of freedom to which he had long been unaccustomed, and, as every creature has an instinctive love for life, it was no wonder, now that he knew his days were numbered, that he set in earnest about the means of escape. He tried the door of his prison, but his efforts, in that direction, he found entirely fruitless, and he was about to sit down and abandon himself to despair when his eye rested on a stone in the wall, which seemed loosely set-and a ray of hope darted across his mind, when, on examining farther, he found it give way. With the aid of an iron bar which he found in the corner of his cell, he made an aperture in the wall through which he dragged his emaciated body, but, unfortunately, his lamp, the companion of his bondage, was extinguished, and, having no means to re-light it, he was left to grope his way in darkness and uncertainty. From the cold air, which with refreshing vigour, played around his throbbing temples, he knew he had gained the outside of the castle, but whither to wend his steps he knew not. There were numerous caves formed by nature, in the rocks around the castle, and his impression was, that he had entered one of them ;-at one time, indeed, he thought he heard the sound of the distant wave, but it might be the echo of his footstep as it slipped on the uneven rock. He followed, however, in the direction whence he thought the sound proceeded, and, advancing with caution, he was convinced he was not mistaken,-for a few paces more brought him to the bay, on which a cloudless moon was

*Boat or galley.

shedding her silvery beams, and proclaimed the welcome intelligence that he was once more free. Next day, all was confusion in the castle, the prisoner had escaped, and Macalliser knew he had every thing to dread from his vengeance. The cave through which he made his escape was examined, but no trace of him could be found. The country was scoured, but no word of him heard. It was, therefore, concluded, that, -a proscribed outlaw, without home or followers-he had left his country, and his exploits began to be talked of as something which had more the appearance of the chimeras of romance, than of the deeds of a man, whose re-appearance could be expected. Indeed he would probably have soon been forgotten, but that the anniversary of his capture was held in the Castle as a holiday, to which their friends in the surrounding country were often invited. The fifth anniversary was far more splendid than any of the preceding, Macallister had contracted an alliance for his son, with the daughter of the chief of Islay, and he had made sumptuous preparations to welcome the stranger. The costliest wines were drunk by the vassals. The gates were thrown open for the reception of all who chose to grace the hospitable board, and every luxury which affluence could procure was handed round in careless munificence. The night had now far advanced, and the drowsy warder was performing his duty, when his hand was arrested by a tottering minstrel, on whose beard-which swept his girdle the snows of many years had shed their whitening influence. He was admitted, and the wassailers gathered round him to listen to his lay, which he accompanied with a small harp, his only companion. Sleep had now overcome the greater part of the rioters, and the minstrel was left to share the couch of Calum Bhig* Macnicol, a boy who was spared at the destruction of Donachadh Gruamach's keep. During the evening he had become much attached to the minstrel, and, from his first entrance, glances of recognition passed between them, unobserved by the rest, who were busily enjoying themselves on the merry occasion. Silence now reigned throughout the castle, each slumbering in security, nor dreading any danger, when they were aroused by the cry of "Fire," which was seen bursting from several quarters at once. The flames raged with uncontrouled violence, the roof fell in with an horrific shock, and, in a few hours, there was not a vestige of the noble structure left, save a confused mass of scorched rubbish. When the terror had partly subsided, they all met in the castle-yard, and only Calum and the minstrel were wanting; but, as they had not been seen since the commencement, it was supposed they had perished in the flames. It need scarcely be remarked that, the minstrel was Donachadh Gruamach in disguise, who, having secured one of his clansmen (a domestic in the castle) in his interest, he this night put his horrid plan of revenge into execution, expecting to have involved the whole in one undistinguishable mass of ruin. It is not well known what became of him afterwards: some say that, in attempting to cross over to Ireland, he was lost at sea; others, that he arrived in safety, and associated himself with the manners and customs of that people.

Tarbet Castle was afterwards built, but on a much smaller scale, scarcely any tracet of the former remaining, save the extent of its walls; but the cave is still pointed out to the inquisitive stranger, and is known at Tarbet by Donachadh Gruamach's grotto.

ANSWER TO "CELEBS."

A pro re nata meeting of the Council of Ten having been summoned, in order to decide on the merits of the answers sent us by our fair correspondents, to the very ungallant and egotistical epistle of CELEBS, which appeared in No. 26 of "The Day;" a variety of communications were produced and read over, when the almost unanimous opinion of the meeting, appeared to be in favour of Clarissa. This decision we announced in our number of Tuesday. It is but justice to the rest of our very dear friends to say, that though we have in this instance given a preference to the hand of Clarissa, (which is really beautiful) still, we had the usual difficulty in making up our minds on the subject. The letters of Amelia and Agnes were faultless with regard to composition, but they wanted that severity which the circumstances of the case required. Julia expressed herself prettily, but was also deficient in point, from her manner of spelling we are persuaded she must have a very fascinating lisp. The letter signed "A Mother," though good, is in some respects inferior to the one we have selected. We trust we shall again hear from our fair correspondent on some other topic.

To the Editor of THE DAY.

SIR,-The letter which appeared in your paper last week, did not much surprise me, coming as it does from a single gentleman; for, in my opinion, there is no character in the comedy of human life more difficult to play well, than that, of an old Bachelor, and our friend Cælebs performs his part so very indifferently, that I am inclined to think, necessity and not choice, has driven him to the adoption of it. Indeed, I never yet knew a man who railed at the sex, who was not conscious of deserving their hatred. But, I forget: it is not of their hatred that Cælebs complains, but rather of an undue share of their attention, of which, the knowledge of his own demerits ought doubtless to render him somewhat suspicious. But, alas! it is the case with him, as with many in his unfortunate condition: his vanity, acting on a disposition, naturally credulous, induces him to believe all manner of impossibilities; and, consequently, every young lady who indulges to a greater degree than her neighbours, in a little harmless flirtation, runs the risk of being metamorphased into a husband hunter, and every married one who good-naturedly offers him her advice is, in like manner, supposed to mean her daughter. In short, all the common civilities of life his distempered fancy conjures into so many lures to entrap him into matrimony.

Now, it has always appeared to me somewhat contradictory, that, whenever a man begins seriously to look out for a wife, he should uniformly acknowledge the undertaking to be difficult, but on the other hand, let him but declare to the world, that he does not want one, and, immediately, he is overwhelmed with mothers thrusting their daughters on his acceptance, young ladies all but making proposals to him, and widows absolutely rushing into his arms. What a misfortune, that young gentlemen who have really serious intentions should not take an example from such as Cælebs, and just sit quietly down up a flight of three stairs for example, and coolly choose their victim from amongst the host of fair ones who are dying to be mistress of their domicile. But I have my doubts of their ultimate success who try this method of courtship. On the contrary, notwithstanding all that Cælebs avers, I am still of opinion, that "woman must be wooed, and not unsought be won," and I strongly suspect, that his conceit, will one day lead him to find, it has not done so already," that all are not to get for asking." There is one thing evident from the freedom with which he describes himself, as being treated by the sex, that either youth or good looks are not his leading features; for young ladies are very rarely so condescending, but to such bachelors whose age and appearance render it impossible for others to misinterpret the motive for their attention, whatever the poor blinded objects may do themselves. But I have done with old Calebs, seeing that with him "all is vanity and vexation of spirit." I hope, however, the next time he appears in the light of "The DAY," he will be enabled better to perceive the error of his ways. I leave him, in the mean time, to his own vain imagination, begging him to remember, that Some would the justice of the sex condemn, Who wanting merit, to create esteem; Would hide their own defects by cens'ring them. But, they secure in their all-conq'ring charms; Laugh at the vain efforts of false alarms. He magnifies their conquests, who complains ; For none would struggle were they not in chains. I, remain, Sir, your daily admirer, CLARISSA.

Anderston, Monday Morning.

THE PLAYGOER.

WEDNESDAY-HAMLET-The Highland Reel.

WE dropt into the Theatre, the other night, to witness our old favourite KEAN's performance of Hamlet. This is a part in which we had often seen him before, when his reputation was at its zenith, and our object, therefore, was, less to seek amusement, than to compare the present with the past state of the actor's powers. Scarcely had the first scene elapsed, before we felt convinced how feeble the effect of Kean's Hamlet is, in proportion to what it used to be. There was always this defect in the great actor's representation of the princely heir of Denmark, that he was not gifted by nature to look the character well. He had not the grace of limb and the erectness of figure which ought to distinguish the unhappy descendant of a race of kings. He had none of that conscious air of dignity which sat upon the melancholy brow of Kemble, and which was so expressed in all the motions of that eminent man, that, to every eye,

He looked a hero and he walked a king.

But, to atone for the want of these advantages, there were peculiar qualities in Kean's style of acting, which gave an unutterable magic to the character of Hamlet, even when performed by him. There was a still and boding expressiveness in his features, which betokened a heart, sick of the world's hypocrisy, and eaten with the deep canker of grief. There was a wild and fitful glance of the eye that revealed a secret passion, but left the beholder to guess whether it was love, revenge, or madness. There was, in

the very tones of the voice and the articulation of the syllables, a power that shifted the mind, with rapid transition, from one feeling to another, from pity to admiration, and from sympathy to surprise-while, all the while, there hung upon the spirit of the listener the leaden weight of sorrow, from which it was only diverted and not relieved by the transient flashes of keen satire, or dissembling mirth. In vain do we now look for the display of all these characteristic excellencies. The veteran actor is too far advanced on the downward slope of life, to infuse, into his once celebrated part, the spirit and energy which it requires. His face is too much furrowed with wrinkles, to assume the healthful aspect of youth; and, though his eye still retains its wonderful power of smiting with burning hatred, or with freezing contempt, and of assimilating its expression to the uncongenial passions of humanity, yet the haggard look of his features is very ill suited to any character that is not shaded with the dark hues of malignity. It is evident from Mr. KEAN'S manner, that he is unable to sustain long-continued efforts, as he breaks into detached portions some of those bursts of passion which he used to deliver in an nninterrupted flow of utterance. Yet, it is wonderful with how much skill the pauses are supplied, and how irresistibly those scenes still produce their effect. The dialogue between Hamlet and his mother was kept up in this way with not much less energy than we have seen before; and the dying scene was enacted with as much pathos as ever. We must confess, however, that we were frequently compelled to admit that there was more art than nature in the actor's representation, and that the vice for which he has been always blamed, of an addiction to stage effect, seems more apparent now, that it has become the principal resource of his performance. Disposed, however, as we are, to look with compastion upon the failings of so old a friend, we rather consider it a high proof of Mr. KEAN'S genius, that he can still disarm the wrath of the critic, even while he offends his rules, by presenting an illusive imitation of nature, even while he betrays the machinery by which the illusion is produced.

We need scarcely say that Mr. Kean was ill attended and worse supported. The acting of some of the principal dramatis personæ was rather like the repetition of a child's lesson, than the imitation of real discourse. In the afterpiece, they were more in their element, because they had more liberty to indulge their buffoon merriment; but, even the gods got tired of the over-acted attempts to please their tastes, and Mr. Alexander was very wroth that a favourite motion of his own should excite displeasure. We pity the poor man, for not perceiving that all his energy is not sufficient to please, without a little more taste, both in his own performances, and those of his company. Upon this subject we shall again resume the pen as soon as other engagements permit.

GENTLEMEN'S FASHIONS FOR FEBRUARY.

WALKING DRESS.-A blue dress-coat, with very small gilt buttons, blue velvet collar, skirts without flaps and lined with silk gauze. Waistcoat single-breasted, with square end collar, and lapellers turned back. Trousers of chequered kerseymere, buttoned in the front with two rows of black braid up the side seams.

TRAVELLING CLOAK.-A travelling cloak of chequered gam, lined through with scarlet padua, and faced down the front with sable fur about nine inches in width; the collar is eight inches in width, and is of the same fur; the cape is detached, made to button at the collar behind; it has a small strap and buckle in front: this is an excellent contrivance, as it is a perfect walking cloak without the cape, and, with the cape attached, makes a complete roqueleau, and supersedes the necessity of a box

which, when unbuttoned, admit the foot without the strap being made to take on and off.

A RIDING OR WALKING DRESS.-A green Harrington frock, double-breasted, with full riding collar, the turnover of which is of mixed fur; the cuffs are of the same, and the edges bound with it.

AN EVENING DRESS.-A milled drab-brown great coat, the edges are made up raw or swelled; a trimming braid is then run on at about a quarter of an inch from the edge; the pockets are put in with a welt nearly perpendicular, and in the French manner, viz.-half and half.

ADDITIONAL NOVELTIES IN GENTLEMEN'S DRess.

At this season of the year there is not much novelty in materials for gentlemen's dress, the manufacturers being chiefly employed in preparing for the spring; therefore the same patterns continue with little variation. Still we have observed some new casinets for trousers: they are mostly fawn colour, with broad check formed with a small black stripe. For waistcoats, the shawls seem to be of smaller patterns, and the larger ones left to the shops, most of which are nothing more than the broad shawl borders which have been long since a dead stock in the hands of the linen-drapers; the patterns are in general the shell. There are also imitations of the Thibet shawl, for waistcoats, which is in the mixing of cotton and silk as a substitute for the fine hair of the Cashmere goat. A judge of these things easily detects the cheat by the feel.

Alterations in the cut and make, viz. the fashionable dress coats are worn without flaps, waists rather longer, hip buttons wide apart, back wide across the shoulders, buttons thicker on the breast and rather smaller; sleeves short, and to fit the arm; skirts rather longer; collar rather low and longer, but same breadth as last mouth.

Trousers-whole fall down; bottom not so large, made without a slit, or with four buttons up the side-seam, to fit tight in crutch, and to fit the shape.

Waistcoats for the morning are double-breasted, with broad collars, and they are mostly worn turned down.

For dress waistcoats we see nothing but single-breasted rolling or turn-over collars; the buttons of both cannot be too small.

For time began her charms to crop,
Nor paint nor patch could beauty prop,
So she lost all hope, and took to the drop,
Fal lal, &c.

But, as we very seldom see
Fal lal, &c.

That brandy and beauty do agree;
Fal lal, &c.

So frequent did she ply the dose,
At last, alas! the faithless rose

Gave the slip to her cheek, and drew up with her nose,
Fal lal, &c.

Now, Miss Dolly's nose shines a lighthouse, fit
Fal lal, &c.

To shew the rock on which she has split;
Fal lal, &c.

For when the brandy gains the sway,
The loves and the graces, all so gay,
Soon pack up their awls and fly away,
Fal lal, &c.

THE THIEF.

Cries Sam, "I'm robbed."-Quoth John, “I share your grief.” "My poem's gone, in manuscript !"-" I pity now the thief."