their intense winter are mitigated. To the enliven-
ing blaze, and the clean-swept hearth, and to all the
numerous comforts, which, in this country, so usually
wait upon their junction, they are perfect strangers.

Winter, thou daughter of the storm,
I love thee when the day is o'er,
Spite of the tempest's outward roar;
Queen of the tranquil joys that weave
The charm around the sudden eve;
The thick'ning footsteps thro' the gloom,
Telling of those we love come home;
The candles lit, the cheerful board,
The dear domestic group restored;
The fire that shows the looks of glee,
The infants standing at our knee;
The busy news, the sportive tongue,
The laugh that makes us still feel young;
The health to those we love, that now
Are far as ocean winds can blow;
The health to those who with us grew,
And still stay with us, tried and true;
The wife that makes life glide away,
One long and lovely marriage day.
Then music comes; till round us creep
The infant list'ners, half asleep;
And busy tongues are loud no more,
And, Winter, thy sweet eve is o'er.

Anonymous.

MELANCHOLY NARRATIVE

OF THE

LOSS OF THE ABEONA TRANSPORT.

minutes. She proved to be the Condesa da Ponte,
Portuguese merchant ship, from Bahia bound to Lis-
bon. After relating to the Captain our history, west
demanded of him at what time he had first seen the
light? and learned to our astonishment that they
had not seen it at all; that their own course had
brought them to the very spot where the boats were
lying. Some of our party instantly ascended the mast,
in the hopes of seeing some of our poor absentees
floating on spars; and, after intently sweeping the
horizon, and seeing nothing, the Captain was induced
10 cruize about the neighbourhood till noon, when he
said he could detain the ship no longer. ?

In the old series of the Kaleidoscope, vol. I. pages
56, 57, 58, 62, 66, and 74, may be found a collection of
affecting narratives of shipwrecks and similar cala-
mities, upon which the mind dwells with intense and
painful interest. The frightful calamity it is now our
task to record, was given in the ship-news, of the last
Mercury, at all practicable length; and the present de-
"This dreadful accident was occasioned by Mr.
tails serve to illustrate the convenience afforded by this Duff, the First Mate, forgetting his wonted prudence
our minor work, which, from its exclusion of politics in taking the candle out of his lantern to see some
thing more clearly with, when a spark from it, or the
and news, and various other matters indispensible to a candle itself, fell on some of the combustible matter
regular newspaper, enables us to put on record many around. His grief at having been the cause of such
such narratives as the following, which we should other-destruction made him, when solicited to save his hit,
wise be reluctantly compelled to pass by altogether, or
to give in an abridged form.-Edit. Kal.

decline it: No,' said he, I pity those in the boats the most; for with us it will soon be over, but they will be eating each other in a few days.-Parental affection never shone with greater lustre than on this

EXTRACT OF A LETTER FROM ONE OF THE PERSONS Occasion: mothers and fathers, apparently regardles

SAVED FROM THE ABEONA TRANSPORT.

of themselves, caught up their young children, threw them into the boats; and in one family (lr. rie's) the eight juniors are preserved-one a chid of only 15 months old; while the noble parents, with their eldest son and daughter, are numbered with the dead. Another circumstance of a great soul deserves to be recorded. A Mrs. McLaren, with her husband and four children, upon the flames advancing, retreated into the fore-chains, when, recollecting that husband was a good swimmer, she implored him the fate that awaited them, as he could not avertis save his own life, and leave her and their children and their wishes were attended to

"I have the melancholy task of informing you of the destruction of the Abeona transport, of 328 tons, in which I had embarked, with other settlers, for the The winter of 1819-20 was very early in its com- Cape of Good Hope, and of the dreadful fate of the mencement, rigorous in its season, and severe in its great majority of the persons on board ber. In determination, such as for several years has not visited tailing to you the circumstances of this fatal accident, var region of the earth: deep snows, and of long, in common with those whose lives have been miracontinuation, destroyed a portion of the smaller culously preserved, feel consolation in the consciousbirds. The little wren seems to have suffered great- the jaws of death as many of the poor sufferers as ness of having done all in our power to rescue from ly; the goldfinch was also as severe a sufferer. This possible. On the 25th ult. in lat. 4. 30. N. long. 25. bird, we believe, lives almost exclusively upon seeds 39. W. about fifteen minutes past noon, the alarm, "After a favourable passage, we arrived at Lisbon of plants of the syngenesious order; in the wintry was given that the ship was on fire. It proved to be on the 20th inst. all well; and, having met with the months it frequents our gardens and cultivated fields, in the lazaretto abaft, the receptacle of all the ship's most marked attention from the Gentlemen of the feeding on the groundsel (senecio vulg.) which gestores and provisions. Every nerve was exerted in British Factory, embarked this morning in the Royal nerally abounds in these places, where it commonly handing water to the First Mate and seamen who. Charlotte for Greenock. Several of the young vegetates through every season; but this supply of were down in that place; but all proved useless, for and boys who have become orphans have been in food was hidden from him by the snow, and the the people in a few minutes were driven up from be- by the different English Gentlemen at the above place, low by the dense smoke, and the rapidity with which desirous of having them, and who have pledged them sharp winds of February and March, which suc- the fire communicated itself to every surrounding ob-selves to provide for them." ceeded the dissolution of it, cut it down, and many ject. In ten or fifteen minutes from the first alarm of these poor birds perished from want. The young the case was hopeless; the ship being in a perfect aportsmen made unusual havock among the race of blaze, from the main-mast aft on the lower-deck; turdi, that scarcely a field-fare or red-wing was and from the excessive heat of the upper one, we moseen in the spring, and the song of the blackbird mentarily expected the fire to penetrate it: the skiff and was only partially heard, two gigs were down, and the long-boat almost high enough for clearing the side, when the flames rushing up from the after-hold communicated with the main blasted every hope of getting her clear. To attempt rigging, flew up to the mast-head like lightning, and to paint the horror of the scene at this moment would be vain. The shrieks of the women and children, combined with the furious element traveling on to devour us, formed a picture of human misery that must rend the stoutest heart.

Drama. #MENZ

MR. KEAN.

(From the National Advocate, of December 16.)

and genius of an actor. Lear is a very difficult ch
"We never saw an audience so moved by the
ter to perform. His passions, when contrasted with
age and supposed feebleness, demand no ordinary
to exhibit. The mad scenes created great effect,
is supposed by many, that his Lear far surpasses

his Richard or Othello."

The accumulation of snow, tended to the destruction of a considerable portion of the smaller beasts of prey, by betraying their haunts. Of all our animals called vermin, none seem more admirably fitted for their predatory life than the martin cat (mustela martes ;) it is sufficiently strong in body, remarkably quick and active in all its motions, with ■ eye so clear and perceptive, and so movable in itá orbit, that nothing can stir without detection; The panic and confusion were such, that the longand is apparently endowed with a sense of smelling boat proved too heavy to be launched by the few who as acute as its other faculties. Its feet are beauti were sufficiently collected to attend to the orders; From the same Paper, Dec. 18. fally formed, not treading upright on the ball, like and, on the main-yard-arm falling, she was stove.Seeing now all was over, and the people were throw- "Mr. Kean performed Reuben Glenroy, the domestic cat, or fox, but sloping to the grounding themselves overboard, and into the boats, I also medy of Town and Country, on Friday evening, baving the balls deeply embedded in the softest and jumped over, and happily was picked up by the gig. although he imparted to the character all the interes most elastic hair, that the tread of the animal, even Our anxiety was now to save as many lives as our and force of which it is susceptible, we still think upon decayed leaves, is hardly audible; and it steals three small boats could possibly swim with; and I below his powers and genius. There is no field for t upon its prey without any noise betraying its ap. rejoice to say that 49 were miraculously preserved. display of those fine points which distinguish his Lat proach. The fur is remarkably fine, apparently filled "A few minutes after I quitted the wreck, the main Richard, and Othello. On Saturday evening we a with a medullary matter; the skin unusually thin and. mizen-masts fell; the flame, rapidly advancing, him in Richard for the third time; he appeared to drove numbers of the poor wretches on the bowsprit, bour under some indisposition. We have to remark a and dexile, impeding none of its agile movements, where it was our hard lot to behold them frantic, particular circumstance which has occurred every and i combining to render the martin a most de-without being able to render them the least assistance, ing of Mr. Kean's performance. Part of the audience structive creature. In winter it lives in hollow trees, You will judge how the boats were crammed, when governed by irresistible feelings, have loudly applauded warmly imbedded in dry foliage: in the more husbands, who had wives and children still clinging to his fine and occasional bursts. The other part, fearful genial seasons he often sleeps by day in the old nest the wreck, exclaimed against more being received! losing a sentence, and eagerly attentive to the of a kite or buzzard, where his dormitory is occa- "We kept close to the wreck till daylight next have arrested this applause midway, by a loud A sionally betrayed by the chattering of magpies and morning, in the hope that any vessel which might be This has a chilling influence on the actor, who has alway crows. Their numbers are but small, our woods in passing would see the immense body of fire, which been accustomed to loud applause, although it is a great England being too easily penetrated to afford the continued raging till about three o'clock in the morn- compliment to his genius; but the audience neve martin any thing like permanent shelter; and the ing, when everything disappeared. A little before loses by this applause, because it affords the actor t race is only continued, with probably an annual di- daybreak, when thinking only on the awfulness of to recover himself, and give greater force to the our situation, and the little chance we had of reach-ceeding passage, and we have discovered that appla minution. We have heard that the sum of three ing the coast of Brazil in our miserable plight, with has an electric influence over Kean; he is fifty per est shillings has been offered for his pads only! proba-a few hammocks only to make sails of, a damaged greater: and indeed applause may not only be cora bly to be used by the gilders.

(To be continued in our next. )

compass, and with scarcely any water or provisions, dered as his right, but, like the Promethean
the carpenter discovered a vessel close to us. We gives life and animation to his genius, and adda hast
seized our oars, and were on board of her in a few to his performance.'

THE NEW TRAGEDY OF MIRANDOLA.

hears the sound of musquetry which seals the fate | the muscles of the tongue, great applause took place of his only child, and his owu desolation. Nature | by way of encouragement; which, by the bye, had a This tragedy (says the Literary Gazette) is a beau- struggles through a few throes, and he expires. contrary effect; and I found too late that I bad tiful production, and will widely extend the fame In the development of these incidents, consider. launched my oratorical bark ou a boundless ocean, of its author, Mr. B. Waller Procter, which we now | able art is evinced. The alternations of calm and without compass or rudder. After coughing, and unhesitatingly give to the world: for no assumed trouble, of joy and sorrow, are perhaps a little too again adjusting my collar to gain time, I repeated, title, (though eveu that of poetical celebrity, “ Barry | systematic. - Such a writer needs not care for con- " Mr. Chairman, the ladies' eyes, Sir,--a-that is, Cornwall,") can lunger avail to obscure him per-trasts, and might safely have abandoned that the ladies' eyes" but here my tongue stuck so soually from the general regard. Under the com-theatrical rule which asks for sunshine before clouds, fast to the roof of my mouth that I could not move bined impression made by perusing Mirandola, and | and bright glimpses of happiness to succeed the it, and I sat down amidst general laughter, whilst witnessing its admirable representation on the stage, environing sadness of gloom. Another of the chief an audible whisper ran through the room" It's all and under the still stronger feeling of friendship for moving powers of tragedy, we may also state, is re- my eye!" the writer, we almost dread the endeavour to lay it peated, though with great effect, too frequently,— You will naturally conclude, Sir, after so great a fairly and dispassionately before our readers; but we allude to suspense. In our judgment, this en- mortification, I returned home not much pleased with we shall try to discharge our duty as impartial gine in dialogue should be very sparingly used; and myself; but I am not yet dismayed; to prove this, reporters, by abstaining as much as possible not because it has not prodigious influence, but I shall attend the next debate, fully prepared with from that language of praise which our sense of merely because it is rather a dramatic contrivance, my speech at my fingers' ends; and instead of glandelight would dictate; and by allowing the sweet than strictly consonant with the relations of life. cing at the ladies' eyes, I shall attack their ears in poetry of this drama to plead its own cause and From considering these matters, one or two slight a manner that will reinstate me in their good graces ; espeak its own eulogy, And while pursuing this inconsistencies, or rather absence of sufficient causes for I find of a truth, that it is easier to rise in a pubcourse, if our readers enter into our opinions, it will for the effects produced, and the occurrence of alic assembly than to sit down again with credit. 3 add somewhat to the complacency with which we few poor expressions, we cherish the thought, that I remain, Sir, yours, &c.quote from a composition, (we may without vanity eminently successful as Mirandola has been on the TRY AGAIN. say) advised, excited, and instigated, by the pressing stage, and singularly pleasing as it is iu the closet, recommendations which the Literary Gazette ad- Mr. Proctor will in future works surpass what he dressed to Barry Cornwall, to induce him to employ has accomplished in this. ha talents in the regular service of the Tragic

muse.

The story of Mirandola is exceedingly simple: the incidents are very few, and those on which the catastrophe hinges are even common-place; yet to such is the skill with which the whole is wrought, fine is the taste of the texture, and so many are 14the gems of poesy with which the web is studded, that every thing but adniiration is forgotten as it is safolded to the view. It has no pomp of style, no majesty but the majesty of nature; it has no ornaments, no laboured graces but the brief sweet breathings of a poetic mind; it has no affecting wonder, no road to the heart but the deep pathos of truth, Hader circumstances of human affliction, and the pourings out of souls wounded by disappointment, itang by treachery, blighted by ingratitude, infurited by jealousy, and maddeued by despair. And this is genuine inspiration; these are the real glories of verse, which would force us to overlook as nothing a hundred fold greater blemishes than any that can be detected in Mirandola. But to the prof. Mirandola in a châster? Parisina. The Duke, under the supposition of his son Guido's death, and Baknowing of their original loves, weds Isidora, the vora bride of Guido. The letters between the parties have been intercepted and suppressed by Isabella, the Duke's sister (whose ambition seeks the throne for her son), and her agent Gheraldi, a mook, whom she has seduced by the promise of a Cardinal's hat. Guido returns to Mirandola, is informed of his hopes, and yet, as far as a broken heart can be reconciled, is reconciled to his father kad-Isidora. But the plotters of the evil take care to fill the breast of Mirandola with jealousy, agaiust which his nobler sentiments strive to shield him in Pain. The sight on his hand of a ring, pledge of bis love, obtained from his Duchess and conveyed to Guido as a token of her friendship, fills him with the bitterest suspicions; to allay which Guido resolves to abandon Mirandola for ever. He declares he will not see Isidora again, and after a fine scene, his father bids him farewell. Unhappily, however, Isidora, through their mutual friend Casti, implores an interview, to procure the restoration of the ring; to which Guido assents. Meanwhile Casti discovers the treachery of Isubella and Gheraldi, from the dropping of some papers by the latter in his cell, and rushes forth to expose the traitors to the Duke He is too late. In the interim Mirandola has been guided to the final interview of the lovers in the garden; and thus convinced of his falsehood, dooms hia son to instant death. He is led out to execu tion; Casti comes, and shows the villany of Isabella';, the crisis arrives, and the agonized parent, imploring in merey that his cruel orders may be prevented,

|

|

Correspondence.

to the ediTÓR.

TO THE EDITOR.

SIR,-You see what you have brought upon yourself by your kindness in inserting my last in your paper. I begin to think myself quite an author, and am in consequence assuming all the privileges of that caste of beings. lustead of putting on a clean shirt every SIR,-If the few hints I have put together be day, I now only shift myself three times a week; thought worthy a place in your entertaining and and have left off wearing cravats, as 1 see most of wide spreading miscellany, they may, perhaps, an- my brother authors of the present day are stuck up swer two good purposes-First, as a warning to in the windows of the print shops without them. I young pretenders, like myself; and, secondly, to have brought down from the shelves on which they promote moral and rational instruction through a had slumbered for many a day, my " Elegant Exmedium the most improving; I meau, u habit of tracts;"" the Whole Art of Poesie," done into Engpublicly communicating our own thoughts on gene- lishe by one Joseph Lydiard; “ Wrygtynge made ral subjects. This brings forward opposition, and easy;" and " Dallas of Styles," which latter, by the opposition calls forth the latent powers of the mind; way, I find not likely to improve mine, being, as it for I consider the human intellect as a spring, the is, one of your stiff, crabbed law-books. My oki more it is pressed, the more you add to its elasticity. maiden servant is utterly discomfited at this unèx. I have frequently noticed observations in the Ka-pected revolution, she is no longer allowed to put leidoscope, tending to promote the utility of debating | my study in order and my books in their proper societies, accompanied with reference to talent places every morning: no, Sir, tempora mutantur, that wanted only encouragement to call it forth.: as I tell her, I am emancipated from the ignominious and I am glad to find the advice of your corres-thraldom of obscurity which had so long hung over pondeut has been followed, by the establishment of a society for literary discussion, under the direction of a gentleman every way qualified for the undertaking.

A few evenings ago, I sauntered into the new establishment, and my surprise could only be equalled by my pleasure, on entering a most commodious and extensive room, rendered sufficiently warm by two large fires, and brilliantly illuminated with gas. The audience was not so numerous as might have been expected, owing, perhaps, to want of publicity; but lack of numbers was amply repaid by at least one half the auditors consisting of ladies. Ambition is considered as one of the strongest stimulants of the human mind. Is it not strange them, Sir, that, before so many of our amiable country women, the laudable ambition to obtain their smiles should have so little effect? In vain I urged one and another to begin: at length, disgusted with the apathy of my fellow-meu, I courageously determined not to let the glorious opportunity pass by; and accordingly prepared to address the president. As the first blow is half the battle, I resolved to set off with a witty compliment to the ladies; for the question being on the wonderful power possessed by the late Miss M'Avoy, without the use of her eyes, I meant to prove what the female part could do with them.

Well, Sir, I took off my hat, and slowly laid it on, the seat, brushed forward my hair, and placed my self in a true Ciceronean attitude: with tolerable effect, I pronounced, “ Mr. Chairman!" All was silent; every eye was turned upon the new orator; and as I did not immediately proceed, owing to an indescribable something which then strangely affected

ine, and am determined that henceforth my study
shall exhibit a perfect' picture of literary confusion.
My grocer sent me the manuscript of a rejected
tragedy," Odes to the scenie Muse," &c. &c, which
had been hauded over to him by the manager of the
theatre, and which were about to be applied as wrap-
pers to candles, &c. when I bethought me of the
idea of strewing my table with MSS, and rescued
the effusions of an unfortunate brother from so ig-
noble a fate. They now look exceedingly well on
my table, I assure you; and if any pryie visiter
should hazard the remark, that they are not in my
hand-writing, nothing is easier than to plead the
partiality of all great authors for amanuenses. The
other evening, my cousin Pen (her name is Penelope)
came in, and found me ensconced in the remote
recess of my leathern easy chair, my wig thrown on
the back of my head, my feet on the fender, and my
eyes immovably fixed on the ceiling.
I was re-
solved to astonish the poor creature (she has no soul
for literary sublimity, Sir) and replied not a word
to her many inquiries after my health. She drew
her chair nearer, and, putting on her glasses, looked
into my face to see, I suppose, whether I was asleep.
I started; muttered “Avaunt! the fit' is on me;
I'm composing!" and throwing myself a little too
far back in the raptures of inspiration, lost my wig,
and with it my reckoning; for, between ourselves, I
was casting up my washing bill, and had got more
than half way up the pence. However, the thing
took effect, Sir; poor Pen drew back full two yards
and a half (I like to be particular) and cried, with
uplifted hands and eyes, "Why, cousin Marmaduke!
you're mad!" To which I rejoined, with my accu

OR,

Literary and Scientific Mirror.

No. 31.-NEW SERIES.

Literary Notices.

KENILWORTH.

(WRITTEN FOR THE KALEIDOSCOPE.)

TO THE EDITOR.

ledge her to the world, renders Tressilian | Willing to commit any act that may secure
suspicious that their union is of a guilty na- the advancement of his patron, and conse-
ture; he resolves to recover Amy for her quently his own, Varney confines his unfor-
father, and with this intent journeys to Lon-tunate prisoner in a stricter manner than
don, to present a petition to the Queen, before; and finally compasses her death by
through his powerful kinsman, Thomas, Earl a new and extraordinary expedient, unpa-
of Sussex, the rival of Leicester in Eliza- ralleled in the annals of novel-writing. Im-
beth's favour. Leicester, aware that the mediately after her death, arrive young Wal-
discovery of his marriage will for ever ex- ter Raleigh (afterwards so celebrated) and
clude him from the presence of the virgin others, sent by the Earl of Leicester to pre-
Queen, and consequently blast his ambitious vent Varney from executing his diabolical
prospects, makes every attempt through purpose. But it is too late; and their only
his emissary, Varney, to prevent the pe- consolation is an opportunity of revenging
tition from reaching his royal mistress. But the murder of the innocent and lovely vic-
Tressilian gains an audience; and every tim upon the hardened villain.
thing is on the point of being discovered, Such is the outline of the story and my
when Varney steps forward, and affirms that readers will perceive what mighty workings

SIR,—I have always thought that a good 1ovelist was at least as valuable as a good shilosopher; and no one will deny that he twice as amusing. The one grumbles at us or not being what we ought to be; the other aughs at us for being what we are. If this dea of mine be correct, the author of Waerly, &c. has undoubtedly a right to a place in the shelf by the side of old Bacon. His the petitioner is his wife. Her real hus-of intense interest the situations are calcuast book proves him to have been a most band has not the courage to confess the lated to produce. Take, for example, first, Indefatigable peruser of all the black letter truth, and Elizabeth, suspecting some mys- the scene at Whitehall, where the discovery, MSS. of the Elizabethan age, to say nothing tery, commands the presence of Amy at so hostile to Elizabeth's vanity as a woman, of the manner in which he has rummaged Kenilworth, whither she has been invited and love of power as a Queen, is on the out the secret recesses of that most curious by Leicester. In the mean time Amy dis- point of being made by Tressilian in the of libraries, the human heart. Some of the covers that she is Countess of Leicester; presence of the rival factions of Dudley and situations in this novel, which turn upon and, escaping from her confinement, sets Ratcliffe; and, secondly, the scene at Kenilhe secret marriage of Elizabeth's favorite, forward to meet the Queen as Kenilworth, worth, where the sovereign herself is the the Earl of Leicester, are of the most and compel her husband to acknowledge chief instrument in bringing on a denoue powerful dramatic interest, and are truly her. After a perilous journey, she gains ment, so cruelly evaded by the heartless irworthy the pen of our immortal bard. I entrance in disguise into the castle of which resolution of Leicester, and the ready vilshall endeavour to give a short sketch of she is the rightful mistress, and where every lainy of Varney. The first interview of the plan and conduct of this enchanting thing is in a state of splendid confusion Walter Raleigh, then a handsome and adJook. Amy Robsart, the daughter of an on the Queen's arrival. After remaining venturous youth, with the Queen, who was obscure Devonshire knight, has been wooed for some hours in dreadful suspense, she at so greedy of adulation from the other sex, ay Richard Varney; first for himself, and length accidently falls in with Elizabeth, is admirably told. Not inferior is the deafterwards for some illustrious incognito, to who, resolved to clear up her doubts, drags scription of the captive Amy's idolatry of whom she is at length married. He consigns the unhappy Countess into the presence- her unknown husband, and her noble indigher to the care of one of his dependants, visit- chamber, where the Lords are assembled. nation when he proposes to her to appear at ing her occasionally in her strict confinement, The young and beautiful Amy calls upon her Kenilworth as the wife of Varney. But the and allowing her every luxury, but still refus-wicked, irresolute husband to acknowledge last fatal scene, mainly brought about by ing to confide to her his name and rank. The her. During the struggle between contending her love for him who sacrificed her to his place of her confinement is discovered by passions in his 'bresst, the wretched minion, ambition, is of too deep and dreadful an inEdmund Tressilian, the friend of her fa- Varney, steps forward once more, claims the terest to be lightly dwelt upon in a faint ther, and her rejected lover. The refusal Countess as his wife, and, declaring her to be sketch like this; and I, therefore, refer the of her husband, who is no other than the maniac, obtains the royal permission to re-reader to the work itself, not inferior, in celebrated Earl of Leicester, to acknow- convey her to her former place of confinement. most points of view, to any this astonishing

KENILWORTH.-QUADRILLES.

TO THE Editor.

C.

Goliath of acute knowledge, acute taste, and power of description; the images and allusions Amidst the gods, a paragon; and thus are often in the highest degree poetical; and the Away! I'm grown the very fool of love. and actute feeling, has produced. dialogue is no ways declamatory, but sprightly, re- Gheraldi, the monk, now informs the Duke, that ciprocal, and animated. The experienced reader his son, Guido, who, he supposed, had been killed in will soon perceive that the diction is occasionally the wars, is alive, and on the point of returning laboured, and the versification uamusical; but home, and that he too loves Isidora. This scene these defects are, in my opinion, counterbalanced is exquisitely managed; but I am sorry I have by the force and chasteness of the former, and the not room for its insertion. I cannot, however, belg copiousness and variety of the latter. In short, this gratifying my readers and myself with the first sene drama displays an acquaintance with the passions in the second act, in which Gheraldi informs Guide of the human heart, a richness of fancy, a delicacy that his father is already married to Isidora. The of feeling, and a command of language, which place sudden burst of the suspicions on Guido's mind SIR,-In the new novel of Kenilworth, vol. III. the it far above most of those which haye lately issued and their confirmation producing a momentary sto author introduces at the revels, "parties of ancient in such abundance from the press; and from which por of his faculties, are beautifully drawn, and di Britons, Romans, Saxons, and Normans, in Qua-it is reasonable to hope, that its author will, with play great knowledge of the human heart. drilles." As I have heard several persons ridiculing already arrived, at the highest rank amongst our the help of further cultivation, arrive, if he has not Gheraldi. My Lord; Lord Guido! Guido. Ha! Gheraldi, you? the introduction of Quadrilles (supposing them no modern dramatic writers. Where's 1sidora? Is my father well? other than the modern Quadrille dance) at that reGher. Your father bidsGuido. I'll see him presently: mote period, I beg leave, through the medium of But where's my love? the Kaleidoscope, to give the meaning of the term Quadrille, as it has evidently been applied by the intelligent author of this truly fascinating publication. XXIV.

This is the work of a true poet, and just such a one as we had reason to expect from the genius of our author. The plot is simple and well deThe principal veloped, and the action probable. characters, with the exception of one, are drawn with much nicety and judgment. The sensitive, openhearted, and confiding Duke, whose jealousy is as easily Tulled to sleep as it is roused; the generous, soldier-like, and forgiving Guido; and the dark, plotting, Machiavellian Gherardi, and Isabella, are pourtrayed with the truest delicacy. Isidora is upon the whole a very amiable personage, but she displays too little of the woman on the most trying of all occasions to be much of a favourite. Her grief, on hearing of the arrival of her lover, when she is already married to his father, is cold and Platonic in the extreme, and far different from what we should look for in a young woman of sensibility, "who was loved even to madness," and that

woman an Italian.

Notwithstanding, however, this chilling defect of the heroine, there are some scenes in this tragedy of the deepest and most melting pathos: the one, for instance, in which Guido reproaches Isidora with perfidy, and declares that she was

"his home, his heaven,

His wealth, his light, his mind, his life substantial," cannot fail to make an impression on the cold. est reader; so rooted is his love, and so deep and withering his sorrow, There are many passages which display much vigour of sentiment,

As there has already appeared in the last number of this journal a simple and well-written descrip tion of the plot of this tragedy, I shall refer the reader to it, and proceed to lay before him some extracts, that he may judge for himself.

I shall select part of the 3d scene of the 1st act, in which the character of the sensitive Duke is slightly unfolded, who is ever and anon seized with vague suspicions that Isidora's affections are bestowed on another. She is herself conscious that such is the case, and is in constant terror that her husband's penetration, or her own coldness, will discover the dreadful secret.

Duke. Mark! I speak

More boldly here than you. I know my heart:
And yours too can I read.

Isid. What, read my heart?

Duke. I spoke in jest: you tremble: I am calm
(You see't) as conscious love, or fate, or death.
Isid. I'm often thus: pray take no heed of it.
You trembled too, I thought.

Duke. Feel that I do not. [Puts out his hand.
Isid. I did not note your hand, but thro' your voice
There ran a tremulous chord, which made me think-
Duke. Of what?

Isid. That you were angry: nothing more.
Duke. Oh! then you far mistake me. I am not
A leaf blown to and fro by every breath:
I am as steadfast as the oak; ay, more,
As little to be shook or turned aside
From my vowed purpose as the based rock,
Which, when the blasts of thundering winter tear
The pines away from their strong, rifted holds,
Looks calmly as tho' 'twere sunshine still, and smiles.
Isid. I am glad you are so calm.
Duke. Why are you glad? why glad,
My Isidora ? You can ne'er have cause
To dread my anger!

Isid. Oh! I hope not.
Duke. You

Could never dread me, Isidora?
Isid. Never.

For never could I do you wrong, my Lord.
Duke. My own sweet love! Oh! my dear peerless
wife!
By the blue sky and all its crowding stars,
I love you better; oh! far better than
Woman was ever loved. There's not an hour
Of day or dreaming night but I am with thee:
There's not a wind but whispers of thy name,
And not a flower that sleeps beneath the morn
But in its hues or fragrance tells a tale
Of thee, my love, to thy Mirandola.
Speak, dearest Isidora, can you love
Foolish if thus I talk. You must be gone,
As I do? Can, but-no, no; I shall grow
You must be gone, fair Isidora, else
The business of the Dukedom soon will cease.
I speak the truth, by Dian.

Gher. He has commanded me-
Guido. Not now, not now;
Where is she?

Gher. First hear the Duke's message; nay,-
Guido. Now, by my soul, I shall be angry with you.
Say to your lord, some ten,-five minutes hence,
I'll see him in his study. You oppress me.
What do you mean, that thus you shake your head
In silence; or is't sorrow? Ha! she's dead?
Gher. Not so, my Lord.

Guido. Why all is well, then: yet,
(What do you mean?) you seem to mock my joy,
And lay a leaden hand upon the wings
Of all my hopes.-Oh! Isidora, where,
Where are you loitering now when Guido's here?
By the bright god of love, I'll punish you,
Idler, and press your rich red lips until
The colour flies.

Gher. My Lord, nay, do not frown.
I have a story of deep interest, sir,
It is my duty (my sad duty now)
To break into your ear some tiding.
Guido. Quick!

Gher. Your father, my dear Lord, is married.
Guido. So.

Gher. Reasons of state

Guido. Keep 'em, good monk! I have no stomat

now

Ger. I mean, she was so fair, my Lord.
Guido. I mark you. Well?

Gher. My Lord, your father (urged

By some state policy, and fearful lest
Your death should snap the link your friendship for
"Tween him and Count Nravarro)

Guido. Chose his daughter?
Gher. No; not-not thus.

Guido. How then? Speak. Is my heart
Bursting? What is't, I fear? My very soul
Is sick, and full of some dismay, as though
Fate were upon me.
If I dare not ask:
I dare not tho' a word would end it all.
Gheraldi! no, no, no: silence awhile:
I will not hear thee now, Oh! heaven and earth!

If it were so it cannot be it shall not.
Yet, if it were-Oh! Isidora, you—
What! you?-She is as constant as the stars
That never vary, and more chaste than they.
Forgive, forgive me, that I slandered thee
Even in dreams.-Gheraldi, now I'll listen,
And you shall tell your tale. I was a fool
Just now. Forgive me, father. Now.

Gher. I said your father did desire a bride
From out his realm. Navarro's daughter then
Was woo'd; now she is married: but he had
Two nieces-

Guido. Aye, I see't. My father saw
The lady Julia: yes; I see how 'twas.
It was so, was it not?

Gher. He saw her there.

Guido. Ay, ay: she was a pretty girl when last I was at home: and so he married her 2