so well, that 'the rage of the vulture' -(1 beg the poet's pardon for perverting his meaning) 'The rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,' combine to add at least three good pounds to his weight. "There goes a figure of a different order observe that little Exquisite, with his small waist and his immense trowsers. He is a nephew of mine, and I have long endeavoured, but in vain, to persuade him to give up his ridiculous regard to fashion. The other day we were arguing the matter, and all that he could say in his defence was, that it would appear so odd if he were not to dress like the rest of the world. 'O yes, (replied I) Which he begged me to translate for him. I accordingly informed him that it meant, My brother dandies would not know me were I to sin against Stultz; and when I told him it was from Horace, he said he was a d- sensible fellow, and is more than ever confirmed in his stultified notions. "Ah, look there!—she is showing off now!" pointing to a woman of elegant appearance on horseback. row. I hope you did not tell him my I had passed her before, and could not, in the midst of my reveries, refrain_name.' from a look of admiration. Grace "To be sure I did though indeed seemed to pervade her form, and mo- I parried his attacks for some time, desty her countenance; the glow of still he said he believed he had had the health appeared on her cheek, and the pleasure of seeing you in company lustre of animation in her eye. Her with Lord Garish. I could not dehorse seemed now to have become un- prive you of the credit of so splendid ruly; she was reining him in and an acquaintance, and replied, It was backing him with an appearance more very likely-you had many friends of confidence than of skill, while the among the nobility that you were restive animal swerved from side to Mr. L--, of whom perhaps he had side on the road. My first movement heard. He declared that he had frewas to run to her assistance. "O, quently heard Lord Garish speak of d—— her, let her alone, (said Dick,) you in the highest terms." it's all a fetch-she's a bad one!" Her horse, impatient of the curb, began to plunge, and at last reared and threw her. She fell on her feet, but her habit caught on the saddle. I was no longer to be restrained-I darted forward to assist her, but was anticipated by several gallants more alert than myself, who belu tom animal, while one 'Good heavens! how could you make such a fool of me!-you could not have believed him in earnest. However I will not be the dupe of his flattery-I will leave Brighton to-night. You know I have no friends among the nobility." "Well, you are the oddest fellow!" But I find my friend Dick chooses to stand well with the M. C. wherever he goes; as by making himself useful to him he gets in return a summary of all the chit-chat of the place, which he retails out with wonderful effect. Thus had he sacrificed me to his own aims, though he well knew my particular humour in these matters. However I determined to take flight that night, and so turned to have my last look on the ocean. The contemplation of that wonderful expanse always fills my mind with awe. Ah! (said I,) should not we, who come here to trifle away our time in idleness or dissipation, be by this boundless view reminded of the eternity to which we are all hastening?" "Yes, (replied my friend in a tone of affected gravity,) and it also teaches me another lesson: Does it not warn us of the sort of characters we have to deal with here by its imposing effect?” Now Dick thought this a very good pun; and as I knew he would be anxious to find some one else to whom he might repeat it, I congratulated him on his wit, took leave of him, and returned to my lodgings, which I left that very night, and came to Town. LEONATUS. (Lond. Mag.) VERSES ON THE DEATH OF BLOOMFIEld, the suffolk poet. BY BERNARD BARTON. THOU shouldst not to the grave descend Unmourn'd, unhonour'd, or unsung; Could harp of mine record thy end, For thee that rude harp should be strung,And plaintive sounds as ever rung Should all its simple notes employ, Lamenting unto old and young, The Bard who sang THE FARMER'S BOY. Could Eastern Anglia boast a lyre, Like that which gave thee modest fame, How justly might its every wire Thy minstrel honours loud proclaim; And many a stream of humble name, And village-green and common wildShould witness tears that knew not shame, By Nature won for Nature's child. The merry HORKEY's passing cup The WIDOW turn HER HOUR-GLASS UP, Circling the OLD OAK TABLE round, Whose moral worth thy measure owns, Heroes and heroines yet are found Like ABNER AND THE WIDOW JONES; There GILBERT MELDRUM'S sterner tones In Virtue's cause are bold and free ; And c'en the patient suff'rer's moans, In pain, and sorrow-plead for thee. Nor thus beneath the straw-roof'd cot, Alone-should thoughts of thee pervade Hearts which confess thee unforgot, On heathy hill, in grassy glade; In many a spot by thee array'd With hues of thought, with fancy's gleam,, Thy memory lives in EUSTON's shade, By BARNHAM WATER'S shadeless stream! And long may guileless hearts preserve The memory of thy song, and thee :While Nature's healthful feelings nerve The arm of labour toiling free; While Childhood's innocence and glee With green Old Age enjoyment share ;— RICHARDS and KATES shall tell of thee, WALTERS and JANES thy name declare. On themes like these, if yet there breath'd A Doric Lay so sweet as thine, Might artless flowers of verse be wreath'd Around thy modest name to twine :And though nor lute nor lyre be mine To bid thy minstrel honours live, The praise my numbers can assign, It still is soothing thus to give. There needs, in truth, no lofty lyre To yield thy Muse her homage due ; Those springs may boast no classic name "Tis to THE HEART Song's noblest power- He who shall trust, without demur, - rea ! It is not quaint and local terms Its power unletter'd minds to sway, These, these have given thy rustic lyre Shall give thy honour'd name to dwell: And when Death's shadowy curtain fell Upon thy toilsome earthly lot, With grateful joy thy heart might swell To feel that these reproach'd thee not. To feel that thou hadst not incurr'd The deep compunction, bitter shame, Of prostituting gifts conferr'd To strengthen Virtue's hallow'd claim. How much more glorious is the name, The humble name which thou hast won, Than-" damn'd with everlasting fame," To be for fame itself undone. Better, and nobler was thy choice To be the Bard of simple swains,— And soothe with sympathy their pains; The themes their thoughts and tongues dis cuss, And be, though free from classic chains, Our own more chaste THEOCRITUS. For this should SUFFOLK proudly own Her grateful and her lasting debt ;How much more proudly-had she known That pining care, and keen regret,— Thoughts which the fever'd spirits fret, And slow disease, 'twas thine to bear ;And, ere thy sun of life was set, Had won her Poet's grateful prayer. 'TIS NOW TOO LATE! the scene is clos'd, Thy conflicts borne,-thy trials o'er ;And in the peaceful grave repos'd That frame which pain shall rack ne more ; Peace to the Bard whose artless store Was spread for Nature's lowliest child; Whose song, well meet for peasant lore, Was lowly, simple, undefil'd. Yet long may guileless hearts preserve The memory of thy verse and thee;While nature's healthful feelings nerve The arm of labour toiling free. While SUFFOLK PEASANTRY may be Such as thy sweetest tales make known,By cottage-hearth, by greenwood tree, Be BLOOMFIELD call'd with pride their own! (Lit. Gaz.) LETTERS FROM PARIS. Paris, September 10, 1823. THE THE first volume of Johnson's Lives of the Poets, translated by MM. E. Didot and Mahon, has just appeared, to the great gratification of all the lovers of English literature. It is astonishing that a work so celebrated should now be translated for the first time in France; and this fact proves at once our past ignorance of the riches and beauties of the English press, and our improving state of inquiry and information. Yesterday appeared the Life of Mina, son origine, les principales causes de sa celebrité, ses ruses stratégiques, ses galanteries, &c. It is a complete romance, in which there are not a few marvellous and unfounded tales. There are, however, several anecdotes exceedingly curious: for instance :"The mistress of an inn, Donna Marguirita, a fine looking woman, enterprising and amiable, took a fancy, though married, to a soldier in the 6th Italian regiment. Her amours were adroitly concealed from the poor husband, and had continued some months when the arrival of some Spanish troops disturbed the enjoyment of the happy lovers. Roelli lingered some hours behind his comrades, and with difficulty tore himself from the embrace of his Marguirita. Some Miguelets of Navarre fell in with him at the gates of the town, and treated him in the most cruel manner. They bound him to a tree, after having stripped him naked, and then slashed his body with knives and poignards, particularly his cheeks, which were literally hashed in morsels; in this horrible condition they hanged him on the same tree, exposed to the scorching rays of a meridian sun, and at the mercy of the ravenous birds, so numerous in the Peninsula. Some time after, a muleteer arrived at the inn, and made good his quarters by toasting off a bottle of wine in the Catalan style, that is, taking it down at one draught. "Parbleu, (cried he when he had finished,) I have just seen Roelli in a fine condition." What do you say?' exclaimed Donna Marguiritá. "Yes, the maladroit has managed to be caught by our fellows, and uow he is in devout meditation, hanging on a tree, his eyes turned up to heaven as if he were looking for spots in the sun." At this fearful news the jolie hôtesse, dissembling as well as she could her grief and her resolution, set off on her mule, and at night-fall arrived at the spot described by the muleteer. She immediately discovered the unfortunate Roelli; the heart of her lover still beat; he had been awkwardly suspended, as not unfrequently happened to the French, especially in Galicia. After many painful efforts, Marguirita succeeded in taking down the body of her friend, and placing it on her mule, she returned home, entered the stable silently and secretly, and carried the almost inanimate body into a retired loft. There she lavished on Roelli every imaginable, and even inconceivable attention, and when he was completely cured she enabled him to escape. Roelli is now at Paris, in the Hôtel des Invalides; two silver concave plates cover his cheeks, and conceal from the eyes of observers the horrid state of his face, mutilated and mangled by the Miguelets. Paris, Aug. 27, 1823. In spite of the melting heat, the annual sitting of the French Academy in honour of St. Louis was numerously attended, first at the Church of St. Germain L'auxerrois, and afterwards in its own Salle. A report on the prize poems was read by M. Reynouard, perpetual secretary. The subject of the competition was the "Abolition of the Slave Trade." The Secretary began by some observations,sufficiently strong and perfectly just, on the infamous character of this odious traffic; and then proceeded to the examination of the different pieces, amounting, in number, to the no small delight of the friends of humanity, to fifty-four. The poem that carried the prize was composed by M. Victor Chauvet, already known as having gained an accessit last year on the subject of the Peste de Barcelonne. The piece to be crowned was first read by M. Picard, and, for both beauty of versification and energy of thought, it appeared to merit the high honour awarded by the Academy. Several extracts from other poems, deemed worthy of honourable mention, were also read; one produced a very great impression, and drew tears in abundance from the eyes of the female part of the company. It was the description of a negress endeavouring to soothe and hush to silence her infant, because the captain of the slave-ship had ordered the babe to be killed if it continued to disturb his slumbers by its cries. Had the literary merits of this part of the Sitting been less evident and gratifying, the moral interest would still have been inspiring and delightful. What a reward to the labours of the virtuous, patient, persevering friends of the Abolition, to see fifty-four prize Essays on that subject heaped on the table of the French Academy! Certainly this fact is a counterpoise to another, not less notorious, viz. the zeal and enterprize which have been manifested of late years by French speculators in prosecuting this abominable and abhorred commerce. L'Evéque d'Hermopolis, directeur of the Academy, followed M. Picard, and in a short exordium laid down as a principle, that if it be well to say, it is much better to do; and that of course the Academy ought not to have less pleasure in honouring a good action than in crowning a good poem. He then related the various acts of virtue which had merited the prize founded by M. de Montyon. The first, of 1500 francs, was awarded to the Sieur Becart, for having devoted himself to the relief of the wife of his old master, when she had fallen into want and sickness. He had begged for her support, and had nursed her through long illness, during which he had never slept but in a chair, lest he should sleep too soundly to be awoke at the instant by the feeble voice of his former mistress, whose temper, soured by age and misfortunes, was so unpleasant, that she only repaid his devotions and his services by constant reproaches and by threats of driving him from her employment. Four prizes, of 1000 francs each, were then adjudged to as many females distinguished by their humanity, and who, themselves scarcely above want, had lavished their time and resources, and given the most touching attention to their fellow-creatures sinking in age and anguish. ORIGINAL POETRY. If't were not for the splendid light PERSIAN MELODIES. That trembles from yon beauteous star, How dark would be the form of Night, Careering in her dusky car. 'Tis thus enlivening Woman cheers Man's gloomiest hour with fond caress, When nought of kindred life appears To sooth the pangs of deep distress. We truly know what Woman is. WE (Lit. Gaz.) Remember, when their beauties end, That sports around the fountain's brink, Nor cares its limped wave to drink. MILLINGTON'S PHILOSOPHICAL EXPERIMENTS.* E have not had it in our power since our literary labours began, to recommend to the public a production, in its class, more excellent than this. The unassuming character and noiseless course of Mr. Millington have not concealed from the world, and far less from the lovers of science, the value of those modest talents of which he is possessed, and the services which his skill has rendered to the various departments of philosophy on which it has been employed. We expected therefore from him, and have not been disappointed, an Epitome, which should not only lead the student through these pleasant pursuits clearly and luminously, but should also comprehend, for the information of the studied, a full exposition of all the modern discoveries and improvements which could find place in a book of an elementary description. All this the author has done and done well. We know of no work where so much information is given on the subjects of which this volume treats; mechanics, pneumatics, acoustics, hydrostatics, and bydraulics.t G.B.H. bility be produced upon these sciences, but what there is new has not been forgotten; and an admirable paper on the invention, progress, and present state of that wonderful power the Steam Engine, greatly enhances the worth and utility of the publication. Having thus prefaced our notice of a performance which unites the intelligence of the inquisitive with the experience of the practical man; we nevertheless find it difficult to convey to our readers, either by extract or analysis, a complete idea of the work. Its nature is against reviewing, being very various; the doctrines laid down, illustrated by facts, which are interspersed at distances in the narrative, and the principles elucidated by experiments, which we cannot take into a comprehensive aggregate without going at length into the details which precede them and above all, we are prevented by the consideration that so many of the data on which the structure is founded are familiar to most readers, that we could not hope to arrive at the less known information without largely encroaching on their patience and our own limits with common-places and school-elements. Yet we cannot do Mr. M. the injustice of altogether abstaining from the task, and shall theresain Treatises on, Magnetism, Electricity, from his valuable offering, respecting fore attempt a few summary articles Light, and Astronomy. Much originality could not by possi An Epitome of the Elementary Princi ples of Natural Philosophy. Part the First, &c. By John Millington, 8vo. pp. 358. London 1823. + The Second Part is announced to con 34 ATHENE UM VOL. 1. which he candidly states |