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straw, like the folk of the Round of the press)-Gentlemen and broTable, a re-action would immediate thers! ly take place, and people would be “If we look to tradition, our arts found to denounce the idol as a thing and sciences, our laws and governof clay, even in the very teeth of his ments in embryo were uncertain, disidolators.

putable, and vague.” Things went on differently then, This is a deep discovery. and the Cockneys had it all to them- “ To accomplish perfection in any selves. Creatures whom the most pal- degree, (there being of course various try of the two-pennies of London degrees of perfection,) has been, and would not now admit as gratis contri- will remain, the work of ages and conbutors, then directed the taste of “ the stant perseverance. town." They went about trim, crisp, “I am THEREFORE aware of the difand jaunty, weaving chaplets of lau- ficulties we have to encounter in rel, and venting sonnets on one ano- bringing our little society," &c. &c. ther. You heard a sugh at every cor- &c. What an Argal! Arts, sciences, ner about fine gusto, and virtu, and laws, governments, ages, and tradi. keeping, and those down-looking tion, lugged in by the head and shoulGreeks, of whom, by the way, they ders, to preface the formation of a could not spell the names, far less read drunken club! The force of bathos them, if written in their native cha- could no farther go. racters. Poor devils! When we look He went in 1818 to France-dined back at their happy state, our heart is with Talma—and got a snuff-box from sometimes “ wae" within us on reflect some French players--all of which ing that it was we who marred their important events are duly dated. It Elysium-a feeling which, however, is from circumstances of this kind, farles in an instant all away when we that we conclude it must be an autorecollect that they used the power they biography, for surely no man alive possessed to insult merit-to outrage would take the trouble of finding out, decency-to vilify religion—to puff that, on the 15th of July, 1818, Kean meanness-and to beslaver all that was dined with Talma, or would care a venerable and glorious in the land. pinch of snuff whether, on the day These were Keau's patrons--they pro- afore-mentioned, he had gone suppernounced him a second Garrick, and less to bed. After this, we have him the town bent in prostrate reverence acting in Howard Payne's most stubefore the fetid breath of the oracle. pid of all stupid plays, Brutus, very

Under the auspices of this gang, much to his own contentment. He Kean went on and prospered. He soon tells us, that the leading feature of his entertains us with an account of a acting was dignity,“ dignity approachmost asinine speech he made, at the ing to the sublime, and downright most asinine ceremony of presenting simple energy.” This is too audaci. him with a gold cup, which was deli- ous. Kean act Brutus with dignity ! vered to him by Palmer. And in a Howard Payne write a play in which page or so afterwards, he gets so de- anybody could act with dignity! Aulighted with his oratory, that he again thor and actor were worthy of one anfavours us with another most brilliant other. We wish somebody would tell harangue, delivered by him at the Kean what George Coleman said of his opening of the Wolf Club, of which fine and original way of mispronounhe was the appropriate grand-master. cing the word “prisoner," in the pasIts design was to howl down, as its sage which extorted all the approbaname implies, everybody who had any tion from the Cockney critics. We chance of rivalling the quack actor, doubt if he would try it again. who got them together, though Kean We next slur over his indefensible here seems toinsinuate that they were conduct to poor Jenny Porter, and her merely a drunken set of soakers, who play of Switzerland-as also his behamet to make themselves “ comfort. viour to Bucke's Italians. He owns able," p. 130. He was at last obliged he had the worse of the latter controto knock it up. The opening sentence versy ; but defends his letter in anof the speech is too good. Conceive swer to Bucke, by saying that it was such a man as Kean beginning an ora- written under angry feelings. He tion thus:

must have been not angry with Bucke “GENTLEMEN ! (there was not one only, but with the language of the in the room, except a few gentlemen country, for it was full of words misspelt from beginning to end—just such share of applause, but the story is a fine composition as he some time af- simply this: When Kean was a strol. ter had the folly to write to John Bull, ling player, he asked this man for and which Bull, with malicious mirth, half-a-pint of porter ; and Boniface printed verbatim as it came from the would not give it to him until he paid pen of the writer.

the penny beforehand-such was the : Good old Sir John Sinclair after this shabby appearance of the poor fellow. makes his appearance, with the silly We think the man was quite right, as epistle which he wrote on the occasion every one ought to take care of his proof some foolish people of our modern perty. Afterwards, when Mr Kean was Athens having clubbed their shillings rich, this landlord, as landlords will to buy Kean a sword. It was an un- do, came bowing and scraping to him, justifiable and cruel proceeding, after and Kean remembering the indignity all; for the sword being unfortunatee of having been refused tick for a penly too large for Kean's body, he ap- ny, made a most indignant speech, peared, whenever he was tied to it, and left the house. He knit his brow, like a poor cockchaffer transfixed by a he says, most awfully, and among huge corking-pin. Sir John favours much other stuff, he announced himhis correspondent with some remarks self as “ The same Edmund Kean on swords, and on the history of Mac- that I was fifteen years ago, when you beth, very pleasant to read, aud quite insulted me. Look at me again, sir. germane to the matter. The sword, What alteration beyond that of dress he tells him, is of the true Highland do you discover in me? Am I a betmake, whence we conclude that the ter man than I was then ?" &c. &c. Celtic Society was at the bottom of Heaven help us! Here is nonsense the business, for it is quite fit for in all its altitudes ! To be sure, he was them. It is adorned, moreover, “ with not a better man--very possibly he some of the most valuable stones that might have been a worse man-but Scotland produces.” We flatter our he was decidedly richer-better on selves that that is a touch redolent of 'Change. The landlord, when he saw the north side of the Tweed. It is poor Mr Kean, was afraid of his mogood to be merry and wise. None of ney, and refused him credit—when he your outlandish diamonds, therefore, saw rich Mr Kean, he looked to a good which cost siller, when we can get our stiff bill—and that made all the differown canny cairngorms for nothing. ence. Kean never was so besotted as The inscription on the sword is wor- when he imagined the compliment thy of them that gave, and him who paid to his purse was paid to his perreceived. We copy it as it appears in

son. this authentic tome, p. 136.

“On Kean's acting,” continues he,

“ we decline offering any criticism ; This sword was presented

he is beyond it." Quite beyond it inTO

deed-but there are two kinds of beEDMUND KEAN, ESQ. When he appears on the stage,

yonds, above and below. A worse acAs

tor never trod the stage-we mean, Macbeth,

pretending to enact such characters as The King of Scotland.

he has taken on himself to murder..

Here ends the auto-biography. We What it means is beyond our capa- go no farther, having nothing to do city.

with Kean except to expose quackery, Next follow his adventures in Ame- puffing, and humbug. He is going rica, briefly related for good reasons ; down very fast, and we flatter ourand the whole is wound up by a good selves that this Life of his, though indeal of puffing, on some of his freaks tended for a different purpose, will of ostentatious generosity. Some in. freshen his way a trifle down the ladsolent language of his to a tavern- der of popularity. keeper in Portsmouth, comes in for its

FUTURE PROSPECTS OF THE WORLD.

Spirit of Concord ! shall it still be thine To mourn thy sorrows, an unending line? Shall never Wisdom, in her robes of white, Chase Ignorance afar, and Error's night? Shall never War recline his leaden ear, Or spareless Phrenzy cast aside the spear ? Must it be thine, despairingly to weep Bloodshed on shore, and Rapine on the deep ? While seasons hold their course, and heaves the main, Shall Sin light Misery's watch-towers o'er her reign? Can Mercy send no star of heavenly birth, To cheer the aspect of this darken'd earth, And, with a radiance gloriously sublime, Illume the footsteps of departing Time? Say, never shall the strife of Discord cease, And Man, with Fellow-man, embrace in peace?Or, doomed for ever to her scythed car, Shall fire-eyed Vengeance wield the sword of War; In ruin mock the lightning and the flood, And drench her reeking blade in human blood, Turn, smiling, turn from Life's expiring throe, And scorn, in mockery wild, the plaint of woe?

No! heavenly light dispels the shapeless gloom,
And Hope presents to Man a brighter doom ;
Far through the shadowy mist of years, I see,
Degraded world, thy glorious jubilee !
See from the fetter'd hands the shackles fall,
And Peace appear at Mercy's pleading call;
See Ignorance and error take to flight,
And Abdera’s new uprise to glad the sight ;'
See truth present the scene, by Fancy given,
And open'd to Mankind the gates of heaven ;
While glorious on the view the prospects rise
Of cloudless Joy, and blooming Paradise !

As Herod's heart to Mariamne turn'd, 2
Hung o'er her recollected charms, and burn'd,
Sorrow'd for frailties past, and fondly swore
To love her memory, and to err no more;
So shall the devious mind, that hath deplored
Its errors past, to Virtue be restored ;
And, as Repentance drops the bitter tears,
Mercy expunge the strains of other years!

While o'er the rolling earth, and heaving main, The voice of strife is heard, and terrors reign ; · Lo! Friendship gazes with prophetic eye,

And, hopeful, reads our future destiny !

“ Behold,” she says, “what clouds of dreary shade, To wither all its charms, the scene pervade;

Beneath a chilling breeze, a frowning sky,
Droop all the fragrant summer sweets, and die.
Yes ! Sin her upas poison breathes around,
And sink her victims writhing to the ground:
Dark is the wilful destiny of man ;
Nature laments her controverted plan ;
And where, of yore, emblossom’d Eden smiled,
Peace is o'erthrown, and innocence exiled !

“ With cypress coronal, and robes whose dye Surpass in darkness Zembla's midnight sky, 'Mid yon dim cloudy bowers, from which the day Melts off with baffled and impervient ray, Sits Superstition, she whose hydra bands Have bound the rolling world through all its lands, To lingering death her captived thousands thrust, And bow'd the laurell’d conqueror to the dust; As if in scorn corporeal forms to bind, She wreathes her mystic fetters on the mind; Degrades celestial Reason from her throne, Chains Fancy's feet, and makes all sway her own : 'Twas she, amid Dahomey's groves of blood, That edged the brand, and loosed the purple flood; 'Twas she, 'mid Brama's wilds of awful gloom, That gave the widow'd wretch a living tomb; 'Twas she, that o'er the necks of erring love, The wheels of Juggernaut triumphant drove ; 'Twas she that sent the banner'd cross afar, Whose mandate kindled Palestine to war, That bow'd the crest of Turkey's haughty lord, That drench'd in Moslem blood the Christian sword,5 That gave-ah! record of eternal shame ! A Ridley to the stake, a Cranmer to the flame !!

“ And yonder, see, within a trackless maze, The dreadful power that Pyrrho worshipp'd strays; Like midnight skiff without a magnet, tost, Dubious of wreck, yet certain to be lost; Dim is the mist-attired horizon round, Gulfs yawn before her yet no hope is found, No sign like that, which, pointing Israel's way, Forbade the weak to sink, the bold to stray : She looks beneath-there is no prospect, save A wakeless sleep, and everlasting grave, Across whose precincts, in unhallow'd bloom, The nightshade waves its canopy of gloom ; She casts her glance above her, to descry A chance-created heaven-a godless sky, And wavering Fancy wanders to explore, In helmless bark, a sea without a shore; While Silence, like a guardian, grasps the key That opes the portals of futurity!

“ 'Tis night; and lo! from yon beleaguer'd wall, Shatter'd with shot, and tottering to its fall,

Burst shrieks and shouts, that pierce the shuddering ear
With wild amazement, and delirious fear;
There, where red Murder walks his hourly round,
Where ashes smoke, and wrecks bestrew the ground,
The mother tends, with fear-dejected eyes,
The couch whereon her slumbering infant lies,
And feels for danger and for death prepared,
So dooms propitious Heaven that it be spared !
The orphan relic of her house she sees,
Hangs o'er its beauty on her trembling knees,
And pours, alas ! 'tis lost in empty air,
Her choicest blessings, and her warmest prayer;
For scarcely from her tongue the words depart,
Fraught with the holiest feelings of the heart,
Ere bursts the fire-wing'd globe, and spreads a flood
Around her household walls of guiltless blood,
And down she sinks, released from earthly pain,
To wake, and meet her babe in heaven again!
Thunders reverberate, dire lightnings flash,
Sink down the crumbling towers, the temples crash.
The curses of revenge, the shrieks of pain,
Burst forth from lips that ne'er unclose again ;
While, reft of life, the patriot drops his blade,
By foes o'ermaster'd, or by friends betray'd,
And o'er paternal fields, and native plains,
In Power's licentious pride, the tyrant reigns !
- " See o'er the earth, with waste and woe replete,
Lithe Flattery crouching at Corruption's feet;
Ambition mounting by the neck of Sin;
And Wisdom's small voice drown'd by Folly's din.
Lo! at the beck of Luxury, Wealth awaits ;
While haggard Famine, prone before the gates
Falls down, without a robe to shield her form
From the sharp winds, and night's descending storm :
There Industry, his day-long labour vain,
Looks on his half-fed family in pain ;
And Beggary, with her orphans at her back,
Climbs slowly on up Virtue's rocky track,
Turns from Temptation's paths, whose sweets invite,.
'Mid Nature's craving wants, her longing sight;
Expects not human aid, and to the skies
Trusts only for the help which man denies !

“ No longer gaze in anguish and affright
Upon the realms of uncongenial night,
But o'er them, where Elysian prospects lie,
Far to yon glowing summit turn thine eye,
To yon bright tract, where Hope and Fancy roam,
And share the spring of pleasures yet to come ;
Cimmerian shadows, that o'erhang the day,
Abide not yonder sun, but melt away,
While nought expands before the ravish'd view,
But scenes of garden bloom, and skies of blue !

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