of the dying agonies of the guilty. His details of the former are, by far, too minute and sickening. They only tend to weaken the sense of infinite love, which the great sacrifice itself must awaken. The shuddering and even the tears which they may excite, have little connexion with pure and deep sympathy, and far less with religious feeling. The spiritual is lost in the palpable. The more vivid and harrowing the picture, the less will the mind be disposed to dwell on that which cannot be painted. In the description of dying scenes Mr. Leifchild is too frequently tempted to dwell on circumstances which border on the physically shocking. When he abstains from this, he is absolutely fearful. We remember once hearing him, at the close of a striking description of the alarm felt by a sinner at the approach of death, exclaim in a wild tone-" his friends rush to him-he is gone"-then with a solemn impressiveness add "he is dead!"— and, at last, in a voice that came on the ear like low thunder, pronounce" he is damned!” The effect was petrific and withering. It seemed as though he had actually witnessed, while he spoke, the passage of a soul into eternity, and the sealing of its irrevocable doom. He sometimes appears to us to regard the manner of death as too accurate a test of character; but he is surely justified in attempting to arrest attention by those circumstances of mortality, which have so profound an interest to all that are -mortal. Who does not feel the truth of these exquisite words of " time honoured Lancaster" He that no more must stay, is listen'd more other like strokes on a wedge, each adding to the effect of the other, until they can rive the knotted oak. His manner of level speaking is slovenly-sometimes bordering on the familiar-but when he is fairly aroused he pours out a torrent of voice and energy, and sustains it without intermission to the end. His whole soul seems thrown into every word. He does not stop to explain his expressions, or give all the qualifications to his doctrines which he might think requisite in a confession of faith;-but gives full vent to the predominant feeling, and allows no other to check its course ;- which in every kind of oratory is wise. He thus occasionally, it is true, rushes headlong against some tremendous stumbling-block, or approaches that fine division, where the pious borders on the profane. But, on the whole, the greatest effect is produced by this abandonment to the honest impulse of the season. He occasionally, however, impairs the effect of his loftiest eloquence, by introducing quotations from miserable verses, which he strangely appears to relish. The Dissenters, we are afraid, as a body, do not cherish a taste for poetry, worthy of those who "the faith and morals hold which Milton held.” Dr. Watts, whom they chiefly quote and admire, was a man of great variety of knowledge, and of deep piety, but he has little claim to the honours of the bard. The least pretending of his poetical works, his Hymns for Children, is the best, and the most ambitious, his Lyrics, his worst. It is difficult to conceive any thing more destitute of the real spirit of poetry than those cold elegies, turgid declamations, and excessive eulogies. His panegyrics on King William cannot be justified even by dissenting gratitude. All laureate strains fall far short of those in which he describes that low-minded prince as to be painted only "in the form of angels or his own, Gabriel or William on the British throne." His Hymns for the use of Congregations are surprising, if taken on the whole, when we consider their number, variety, and the difficulty of compris ing any subject within the allotted space; but singly they seem, with few exceptions, either too doctrinal, or too frigid. They rarely sound as ner, which, however, are not worthy of particular remark. Indeed they all spring so evidently from his earnestness in the cause to which he is devoted, that we can scarcely desire their removal. To the opinion of his fellow-men he appears almost careless. There is no false fire-no self-seeking-no mingling of personal desires in his zeal. Others may use their power to more advantage inobtaining popular applause; but there is no one, whom we have heard, the inspiration of whose eloquence appeared to arise from a deeper or holier fountain. Ω. Town Conversation. No. III. SIR EGERTON BRYDGES. WE continue our notice of the English Review, so patriotically printed and published at Naples, by Sir Egerton Brydges! Of the first article, we have treated in our last number. The second article is on the Origin of Italian Poetry, in which the two following long disputed points are discussed at some length:-1. The claims of the poets of Provence, or the Troubadours, to the first use of rhythm in the vulgar idiom.-2. The priority of the Sicilians, in composing in the Italian language. On the first point, the Baronet, with very great reason, takes part with Tiraboschi, Pietro Bembo, the Abate Carlo Denina, Crescimbeni, Quadrio, Gravina, Bettinelli, and Ginguenè, who maintain the priority of the Troubadours, against Castelvetro, Muratori, Signorelli, and Giacinto Gimma, who have endeavoured to refute that opinion, and establish the priority of the indigenous Italian poets. The second point, with equal good reason, he gives against the Sicilians. The advocates for the priority of the Italians bring forward two inscriptions, bearing the dates of 1135 and 1184. The first was placed over the altare maggiore of the cathedral of Ferrara. In mille trentacinque nato Fo questo tempio a Zorzi consecrato: E Glielmo fo l'autore. The second is on marble, and belongs to the Ubaldini, a noble Florentine family. Both these inscriptions, it is true, have been disputed, but then the only poetry by a Sicilian author, which can be opposed to them, is liable to still more doubt, and has remained in greater uncertainty. It is a cantilena, the only existing composition of the author, Ciullo d'Alcamo, supposed by some to have been written in 1197 ; and, by others, with better foundation, in or about 1227. Now the cantici of St. Francis, of Assisi (asserted by the Abate Denina, to be the most ancient poetry the Italians possess) can be reduced to a sure and incontrovertible date,* earlier than the probable date that can be attached to Ciullo's Cantilena: this positive date then (without recurring to Fra Pacifico, à convert of St. Francis, who wrote verses, It is agreed on all sides, that St. Francis lived from 1182 to 1226. The third article of Res Literariæ, is a mere catalogue of the eminent Italian literati of the eighteenth century; and the fourth, a catalogue of the historians of Naples. Article the fifth, is, on five Latin poets of Italy. Pietro Bembi, Andrea Navagero, Baldassarre Castiglione, Giovanni Cotta, and Marc Antonio Flaminio. Of the latter, (whom he prefers) he gives some specimens, which are good; one in particular, beginning, Pausilipi colles, et candida Mergelinastrikes us as very fine. Articles, six, seven, eight, nine and ten, are mere catalogues of the works and editions of the Italian-latin poets, viz. Politianus, Casa, Fracastorius, Sannazarius, and Vida. The eleventh and twelfth articles contain some account of the celebrated editors, Volpis, and of the Velpi, or Comino press; and a long catalogue of Lib. Rar. and Lib, Rariss. by them collected. Article thirteenth is a catalogue of the editions of the Histories of Florence, by Leonardo Aretino, and Poggio Bracciolini, with short biographical sketches of the authors. Article fourteenth, prose and poetical works of Pontanus-there is a short sketch of his life, and some specimens of his poetry. Article fifteenth, perhaps the most curious in this very curious book, is on Valerianus, and his works; of which the most remarkable are, a Treatise on the Infelicity of Authors, "De Infelicitate Litteratorum," and his justification of wearing beards, "Pro Sacerdotum Barba, Apologia." The first of these tracts (which was drawn from the author, by the struggles and sufferings of his early life) the Baronet has never been able to meet with, and therefore, as he justly observes, knows not its contents. The Baronet does not remember the matter of Mr. D'Israeli's volumes on this subject-and therefore thinks himself "permitted to put down a few cursory thoughts of his own on this interesting subject." He has accordingly given us one of the strangest, most confused little essays we have ever read. This article, altogether, is a model of confusion and jumble; we had the idea of giving a sketch of its parts, but they elbow one another in such a perplexing manner, that we have really found it too difficult; and must refer the reader, "curious in these matters," to one of the seventyfive copies of "Res Literariæ.” The sixteenth article is a mere mention of Jacobus Pontanus, a Bohemian monk and poet, of the beginThe seventeenth article, on the Early ning of the seventeenth century. Literature of Florence, gives a cata logue of books on that subject; and an essay at length, by N. S. Meneci, lish. Of this essay, we cannot say followed by a translation into Engmuch: it is a dry eulogium on Florentine authors, much in the same style that those things are still done in, Academie, and Società letterarie, those The far greater part of it is taken up quack-doctor shops of literature.in deciding which among gli uomini sommi Fiorentini knew Greek, and it-parts of it, however, "cannot," of whom, and where they learned as Sir Egerton says, entirely fail to interest those who regard the revival of literature, as an event of some importance in the history of mankind." The eighteenth and last article of Res Literariæ, is a catalogue of the literary historians of Italy: it is copions and valuable. 291 Although Ciullo must give up the paint of prierity, we think him, undoubtedly, the best of the poets in question. His Cantilena has more sentiment and poetry, and is written in purer Italian than any thing remaining of that epoch. The poets of that time were accustomed to mix a good deal of Latin with the vulgar idiom.-The Cantici of St. Francis d'Assisi, are neither Latin nor Italian, but an ungracious Mosaic-like union of both, the style of which seldom approaches poetry; indeed, of so undefined a character are they, that about half a century ago, a dissertation was published to prove that they were originally written in prose. The custom of mixing Latin, accompanied the Italian poetry in its progress, and, in fact, did not quite abandon it in its grandeur and perfection. Dante has not unfrequently a Latin line, which, however, being generally borrowed from the fine old church service, carries with it a venerable and deeply impressive charm. LITERARY CONVERSAZIONE. It will be seen, by a paragraph in our literary and scientific intelligence, that a gentleman of wealth and education is about to establish a weekly meeting at his house, as a point of communication between the literary and scientific men residing in the metropolis, and the distinguished strangers and foreigners who may happen to be visiting it from time to time. On the mere announcement of this intention, it will instantly strike almost every one, that such a meeting, conducted on a liberal and extensive scale, has long been a most desirable addition to the society of London. What other great metropolis of Europe is without several such meetings as the one in contemplation?—and in what other metropolis are meetings of this kind so much needed, or so likely to be attended by effects, at once honourable to the promoter, gratifying to the partaker, and beneficial to the interests of science, literature, and art ? We are not acquainted with the exact plan on which the proposed meeting is to be conducted; but as the wealth and character of Mr. Webbe insure the absence of all petty views, and all party intrigue and cabal, we receive and promulgate the announcement of it with great pleasure, because we anticipate from it unmingled good. One thing, however, we would venture to suggest-namely, that the meeting be made more miscellaneous than such assemblies have usually been in this country that it be more assimi lated to meetings of a like nature on the Continent, and particularly in Paris. It gives a zest and spirit to the conversation of literary and scientific men, when they feel that they are in the presence and under the observation of persons of totally different views and habits from themselves; and by whom their remarks are likely to be regarded with more than ordinary curiosity and interest, on account of the novelty of receiving them directly from their own lips, instead of through the somewhat chilling, because formal, medium of the press. We cannot help anticipating very extensive benefits, even to the general state of society in London, by the establishment of such meetings as that in contemplation,--provided they are conducted in the spirit, and with the effect, of which they are susceptible. We should have considerable hesitation in recommending the introduction of females to these kinds of meetings in this country,-because there is something in the character of English women essentially inimical to that display, which is not merely excusable, but desirable, or these occasions. But, certainly, the annals of the world tell of nothing half so brilliant and attractive, and at the same time, so influential on literature and art,—as the meetings of this nature which were the boast of the French metropolis, about the middle of the last century and it must not be forgotten, that women contributed a good part of the soul, and all the heart, to those meetings. LORD BYRON. There is not much literary news this month. Lord Byron's tragedy of the Doge, Marino Falieri, is still delayed; but three more Cantos of Don Juan are announced in Mr. Murray's (Booksellers') list. Of these we hear that one is rather dull, and one very beautiful. MR. MILMAN, MR. CROLY, MR. SHELLEY, MISS BAILLIE. We have heard, (but we cannot vouch for the truth of the report,) that Mr. Milman is engaged on a poem, which is to be entitled "The Fall of Babylon." The subject, at least, is splendid. At present, we can only hope that Mr. Milman will do it justice, for we know nothing of the execution of the poem. Mr. Croly's work on the subject of Ca tiline' is, we understand, a dramatic poem, and not a tragedy, as we had been led to suppose.-Mr. Shelley, besides the tragedy of Charles the First, alluded to in a late number of our Magazine, has written a poem, in the ottava rima, called The Witch of Atlas.'- Miss Joanna Baillie has in the press a volume of poems, entitled Metrical Legends,' but they are not altogether equal, we believe, to the Dramas of this lady, which possess, certainly, high and undoubted merit. While we are on this subject, we will introduce to our readers a dramatic poem or tragedy, written by a young lady, who is worthy of being compared, we think, with Miss Joanna Baillie, or any female poet of the present day. THE POET'S CHILD Is the tragedy to which we have above alluded. It is written by a young lady (of whom, personally, we know nothing) of the name of Isabel Hill. This drama is very inartificial, and even slight in its construction, but the language is simple,-in exceedingly pure taste, and at times eminently beautiful. There is not in the Poet's Child' of Miss Hill the pomp of Mrs. Hemans; nor, on the whole, so much nerve, perhaps, as Miss Baillie displays; but it is free from the inversions of language, and antique phraseology of the last named authoress, while it has much of her independant cast of thought: Miss H. is decidedly a more original writer and thinker, and altogether a better poetess than Mrs. Hemans. We have not space here to detail the story of the Poet's Child,' but we will give an extract or two to justify the praises which we have bestowed upon it, requesting readers' attention to the high merit, and really fine modulation of the following lines : our Eug. There were in Italy two names, and when Men heard them, 'twas together; they belonged To men of Rome, born, bred, as Romans should be. Each long line was of heroes, and the dead Had not been greater than the living twain, Who their bright stainless honours had encreased. One chief was old and rich, with children, kindred, Vassals, array; the other young, and poor, Confess a sympathy indefinite, Our A brotherhood with one who has no brother! He was a Poet; half the world admired him, And he was fair, as Poesy's young God. Invested him,-played round his stainless brow, Blent with the clear red ray of his dark eye, Like torch-light darting from a crystal cave. Mar. That such a creature should be wretched! well! Eug. Poets are seldom made by common means, And he was paradised by passion. Early He loved the daughter of the rich old Ro man, Who, like her sire, fav'ring his suit, he wedded. The following is descriptive of the joy of an old man on being reconciled to his slandered son. The last line and an half are very striking. I too, old though I be (young while I look On thine unbroken youth) will once more deck me In the glad pomp of justice long delayed. As sunrise after a long night of storms Be thy return. The excess of filial love is thus described: Haunt me! pursue me! give me e'en the Thou nameless spirit of my father dead! terror Of seeing thee-as-death must make the fairest, Rather than let me stand, like fever'd dream, Detach'd, unclaim'd, the chaos of the fancy. The expression of "But I've a heart as boundless as the heavens," is good, if not new; and the inquisitiveness of youth beginning to think, is well given. From childhood's heedlessness To curious youth I wake, and ask my birth: Again Mother's the title of a household goddess, is very admirable; and so are, in fact, many other passages in the drama of Miss Isabel Hill. It is not good, certainly, as a tragedy, nor does the talent of the fair authoress appear to be peculiarly dramatic; but she is a very clever young writer, and we can safely recommend her book to our readers, as a volume of great promise. |