ample was given, which will help to teach those gentlemen that they may now and then catch a Tartar. A paragraph which lately appeared in the papers gave rise to an excitement, sufficient to show that all the political harassing of our late years has not been sufficient to extinguish the natural feelings of Englishmen. The paragraph was to the effect, that the famous flag-ship of Lord Duncan at Camperdown, the Venerable, was sold, to be broken up, for L.4000. A good deal of indignation was produced by this announcement, and the Admiralty came in for their full share of rebuke. But, on enquiry, it has turned out, that this violation of national feeling has not actually taken place. The Venerable, it is true, has been sold, and is to be broken up. But it is not the flag-ship of the gallant Duncan, that noble vessel having unfortunately foundered some years ago in a gale, when commanded by Captain Hunter, the Governor of New South Wales. It is to be hoped, that the name of the Venerable will not be suffered to perish from the British navy, but that it will be borne for ever by a succession of proud three-deckers, as a monument of one of the most distinguished courses of service of one of the bravest and most intelligent officers that ever commanded British seamen. During Duncan's blockade of the Texel, the mutiny which threatened the naval existence of England broke out in all the squadrons afloat. Duncan's whole fleet were seized with the infection, and sailed away. In the Texel the Dutch fleet were ready for sea, with the French General Hoche and 40,000 troops embarked, for the invasion of Ireland. Duncan, with the Venerable and the Adamant alone, then commanded by Sir Wm. Hotham, still kept the station. By exchanging signals from time to time with the Adamant, he gave the Dutch the idea that his whole fleet were lying off, and ready to attack them the moment they should come out. He thus sealed up this formidable expedition. He was at last told, that the Dutch Admiral had found out the stratagem, and that his fleet were under weigh. Duncan, instead of making his escape instantly from this dangerous neighbourhood, ordered the lead to be hove. When the depth of water was reported, he looked up to his flag at the masthead, and calmly said, "Well, then, when they shall have sunk us, my flag will still fly." But the Dutch kept within their harbours, until the mutiny had ceased, and the squadron rejoined their heroic Admiral. De Winter, at last, forced out by the command of the French, gave him the opportunity he had so long wished for. The British fleet, as if to wipe off the shame of the past, fought with desperation. The whole Dutch fleet, except a few ships which fled early in the action into the adjoining harbours, were taken or destroyed. But the Venerable still held its superiority. Its fire was tremendous. Its first broadside, poured into the Dutch Vice- Admiral, disabled him at once, and it is said to have struck down 280 men on his decks. It afterwards ranged through the battle, sweeping every thing before it, and at one time sustaining the fire of four of the enemy's ships. It was a glorious day for the fleet and England, and one of the most important of the whole contest in its consequences, for it rendered the invasion of Ireland hopeless, and extinguished the Dutch navy for the remainder of the war. The working of the Whig Poor Law is producing bitter fruits through the country. Cases of the most desperate hardship are constantly coming before the parish officers, which, by the new law, they are destitute of all power to relieve, and the consequence is, that the miserable sufferers are driven from parish to parish, till they can be driven no more, and die. One of the results is that which was so strongly predicted by the Bishop of Exeter-the abandonment and exposure of infants. The guilt of the wretched mothers is generally unquestionable; but the equally guilty fathers find themselves so far exonerated from maintaining either the mother or the child, that both are instantly on the verge of famine. The law affords no resource. The heartless ruffian is protected, the miserable mother has only to wander about with her miserable infant, until it perishes, or they both perish together. The alternative is frequent abandonment, and, in some cases, infanticide, and suicide. It is clear that some improvement of the poor law must take place, or child murder will become a national crime. A curious case occurred lately in the Department of the Lower Ålps, which shows the simple yet true view taken of such matters by untutored reason. A woman was tried, on a charge of infanticide. The charge was proved. But the peasant jury acquitted her on the ground-" that if the prefet, by a late order, had not taken away the basket hitherto kept in every hospice for the reception of infants, the mother would never have destroyed her child." In fact, they thus brought in the prefet as the virtual destroyer. What would those honest peasants say of our Whig Poor Laws? The Radical Meeting at Drury Lane Theatre turned out, after three months' boasting and three weeks' preparation, a contemptible failure. Nothing could show more strongly the actual want of management, common tact, and sense of their true situation, than having the dinner at all. It was but last April, that the single association of the City of London Conservatives had a dinner, almost without any preparation beyond the moment; yet at that dinner they had a list of upwards of 300 stewards, all belonging to the City, all well known, and combining almost the entire of the commercial, banking, and opulent firms of London. At that dinner upwards of 1100 gentlemen sat down, together with a crowd of dukes, earls, men of high legal rank, clergy, and individuals conspicuous for their offices, fortunes, and character. At the Drury Lane meeting of the 23d of January, certainly not 1000 attended! Of the whole number, not one-half were in any way connected with Middlesex ! Of the whole list, even of the Whig Peerage, pompously advertised to attend, not one was present, nor even condescended to apologize for his absence. With the exception of young Lord Russell, who took the chair, and old Lord William Russell, who supported him, pretty much in the way in which the blind lead the blind, all were vulgar. The principal personages were actually the notorious Tom Duncombe, Mr Scales, the Radical butcher of White. chapel, and Joseph Parkes, whose short memory forgot some time ago Old whether he was, or was not, Secretary of the Birmingham Radicals, Mr Wakely of fire-office memory, and that rather too dexterous paper-seller, Sir John Key. The speeches were by the regular performers alone, Messrs Hume, Molesworth, Grote, and Clay ; all remarkably bad speakers at all times, and all on this occasion deplor ably commonplace, giving us the mere repetition of the tiresome twaddle and vulgar radicalism which we have heard from them these ten years past. Nothing could be more adust. Mr Byng, whose age might excuse the visible decay of his faculties, tremblingly said, "that he was still a Whig, and that he was content with the Reform Bill." Joseph Hume, who is a Whig and a good deal more, said that he differed from the old man (whom he evidently insinuated to be little better than an old woman), and was not content with the Reform Bill. That, in fact, with the bill, they were worse off than ever-that they must go on, finding an end to the means, and means to the end; till when and where he cared not, but they must go on. So we are to have the national fever kept up by national quackery, until Mr Hume discovers that he is a hopeless blockhead-a discovery that his common experience ought to have made for him twenty years ago, but which his sullen and brute vanity will never suffer him to make, until it is forced upon him by exhibitions such as those of Drury Lane. It would be a mere waste of time, to argue against the incredible nonsense talked by the whole clique. Mr Clay, who is evidently looking for some windfall among the Commissioners provided by Lord John for the enlightening of puzzled consciences, panegyrized the Ministers; for what? for all that they had intended to do, but could not a very easy source of praise of this trifling and tedious personage. One of the papers, with contemptuous pleasantry says: "When Israel of old forsook all that was good, She fell down and worshipped an idol of wood: Our Radicals play the same part to this day But, like blockheads, bow down to an image of Clay." There are few things more observable among those men than the miser able nature of their public speaking. Of course, it would be idle to expect that they should be all orators. But it would be natural to suppose that the practice of public delivery, the custom of debate, and even the nerve to be acquired by constantly coming before vast assemblies, would give them some of the ordinary ease, clearness, and effect of good speaking. On the contrary, they are all wretched. Their speeches may occasionally read well enough in the papers, though they are all evidently dry, heavy, and commonplace. But the reporters put them all into this readable shape, condense their perpetual repetitions, strike away every thing that is absolute nonsense in them, and reducing a speech of an hour to one of fourth part of the time, make it pass muster. But to hear one of those speakers is a singular trial of patience; a trial, indeed, to which the House very seldom submits. Joseph Hume used to take his seat nightly by one of the pillars supporting the gallery, and there, with his hand leaning upon the pillar, he talked his financial nonsense by the hour. Nobody in the body of the House ever listened to him. The members got up from their seats, made their bow to the Speaker, and then rambled about the floor, as if they were in a large coffee-house. The buzz of voices was loud, every man talked of his own affairs, the gossip of the day, and so forth; while Joseph Hume, with his hand on the pillar, and his face turned to the Speaker, was edify ing that most weary functionary with his wisdom; and was actually listened to only by the writers for the newspapers. His voice is utterly bad, heavy, harsh and indistinct. His manner just what might be expected from a vulgar man educated in vulgarity, and his matter is the dullest, most unidea'd, and prosaic stuff that could possibly be engendered in the brain of a dull man. Grote is somewhat brisker, but equally trite and commonplace. One frenzy has got into his head, that he is the chosen apostle of the ballot. A foolish man, craving for rabble popularity, is naturally delighted with having made such a subject his own. He accordingly brings forward his motion once a session, and at intervals, drags it in as a makeweight to his harangues, let the subject be what it may. Thus, if the discussion were of the price of figs, or the politics of Madagascar, Mr Grote would wind up his very weak harangue, by insisting that neither figs would be cheap, nor the politics of Madagascar quiet, unless Englishmen got the ballot. Leader is a noisy personage, whose roar has only the effect of thinning the House. He is ex-officio the dinner-bell, and the coffee-house keeper ought certainly to fee him handsomely for his services to his counter. He attempts metaphor, a dangerous exercise for a blockhead, and, like the bear, the higher he rises, the more he shows his unseemly parts. Radicalism, with such faculties, can never be hazardous, but it can be infinitely contemptible. He is a wretched speaker. Clay is prosy, feeble, and intolerable. And among the whole set, as if a judgment was upon them, there is actually not a vestige of ability beyond that of the very lowest description. What must Drury Lane dinner, then, have been, with these wretched and tiresome people for its orators, with a feeble boy in the chair, and a superannuated old man for his director? They were certainly worthy of the rabble of Radicalism gathered from every low haunt of the country, and probably one half of them coming on tickets given by the Committee. But the whole meeting was contemptible. What a contrast did it form to the Glasgow meeting!a meeting in a provincial town 400 miles from the metropolis. And this in the heart of London, with the whole Whig-Radical force pledged to it on the eve of the meeting of Parliament, when party naturally makes its best effort for a muster, and with the nephew and uncle of the minister in the House of Commons as its ostensible heads! And yet all was failure. In what light are we to regard this, but as the signal triumph of the renewed Conservative spirit of England! Mr Kavanagh, the member for Carlow, has lately died. He was, of course, abhorred by the faction whose member he displaced, on proof of corruption and intimidation. He had interfered terribly with the Great Agitator's pleasant and well-known pecuniary arrangement with the notorious Raphael; and Mr O'Connell accordingly insulted him on his deathbed. The heroism of the Agitator always loves a safe subject. While this gentleman was known to be suffering under a mortal malady, and obviously approaching the grave, the honest and manly Agitator took his revenge in the following decent expressions, before the mob in Carlow-" Poor old Kavanagh! Alas, poor Kavanagh. (Laughter.) If he had not made the fatal alliance he did, one would be glad that he would sink into his grave in that peaceful obscurity in which, for his own sake, he ought to have remained, and not have the dead cats and dogs of the neighbourhood thrown into it along with him." The Dublin Mail says that Mr Kavanagh was still alive while this fine hint was given to the villain hearers of the Agitator. It was not, however, acted upon. The remains of this much revered and respected gentleman were conveyed from Borris House to the family vault at St Mullins, amid the cries and lamentations of hundreds of the poor peasantry and their families, who lived upon his bounty for years. So heartrending a scene was never witnessed. On the hearse passing through the gates into the town of Borris, the people congregated round the remains of him who was their friend and benefactor, uttering curses "both loud and deep" on the heartless miscreants who would dare insult the memory of the most kind-hearted and honourable man that this country ever produced-the man who fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and whose doors were ever open to give a friendly reception to the stranger. The funeral extended about two miles of the road to St Mullins, every part of his extensive estates pouring forth their tributary streams to swell the melancholy procession. There were twenty-one clergymen of the Established Church in attendance; and, on arriving at the burial-ground, there could not be less than 10,000 persons present. The funeral service was performed by the Rev. Mr Hawkshaw, vicar of St Mullins. After which an eloquent and appropriate sermon was delivered by the Rev. P. Roe of Kilkenny. Throughout the whole day not a person could be seen in the fields; the people having abandoned their usual pursuits to pay their last respects to the remains of their lamented landlord. The chief mourn ers on the occasion were his son-inlaw, Colonel Bruen, and his brotherin-law, Lord Dunlo, who were accompanied by most of the gentry in the county, with their servants and equipages. A remarkably interesting collection of Etruscan antiquities has been just opened in Pall-mall, London. The collection also contains many fine Greek reliques. The proprietor is an intelligent Italian, Signor Campanari, whose treasures, we should hope, the liberality of the English nation will regard as a fit accession to the British museum. The land of Etruria appears to have been one great mausoleum. The spade constantly turns up urns and fragments of urns. It is probable that a vast amount of those most beautiful works of art, where the feeling of the poet and the grace of the artist are so wonderfully combined, may be hidden from this generation, to be reserved for the renewed curiosity of the future. The soil seems inexhaustible. The spectator, on entering the exhibition, is first shown a chamber, arranged so as to represent the inside of one of the tombs from which the reliques have been obtained. "The original chamber had been lately discovered on the ancient road leading from Toscanella (Tuscania) to Corneto (Tarquinia). In the thickness of the wall at the entrance are painted two Charons, or guardians at the gate of the dead, with strange and disagreeable countenances, after the Etruscan fashion. Both of them bear the double mace, to chastise the wicked who might attempt to violate the tranquillity of the tombs; one of them is also armed with a scythe." The second chamber is the fac simile of one which was discovered on the road leading from Tuscania to Tarquinia, at a little distance from the former. It seems to have been the sepulchre of a whole family, from the number of urns which it contains." These urns are, in fact, oblong stone sarcophagi, of which this division of the collection contains four. On the top or lid of the first is the recumbent statue of a priest of Bacchus, in fine preservation, holding in his hand the præfericulum; his head is surrounded by a chaplet of ivy leaves. In the sarcophagus the skull is exposed to view, surrounded with a similar chaplet of pure gold, well wrought. The sarcophagus contains also many curious objects of antique worship. On the lid of an opposite sarcophagus is the figure of a recumbent female, and within it is seen the skull, surrounded with a chaplet of gold myrtle leaves. The other sarcophagi in this apartment are surmounted with two figures, apparently of older persons, but well executed, and in perfect preservation. The sides of these coffins are all adorned with alto reliefs of good workmanship. In the third chamber is the sarcophagus of a warrior; it is open on the top. Within are seen the skull of the deceased, covered with a casque of the Greek shape, an enormous circular shield, capable, from its convexity, of holding a great quantity of water, and differing totally from the Venetian shields and the shields of later ages; the greaves, or leg pieces of the warrior, of brass; and a sword and lance of iron, much rusted, but yet in comparatively good preservation. The reliefs on the side of this coffin, which is of soft stone, are admirable, and show a very high state of the arts: they represent the immolation of human victims. This coffin is the finest thing in the collection. In the fourth chamber there is another sarcophagus, surmounted with an alto relief, as large as life, of a recumbent figure. walls are decorated with copies of the original paintings found in the actual excavations. In the rooms up stairs some very fine specimens of Etruscan and Greek vases are displayed, with urns, pateræ, drinking cups, &c. Some of those are most elaborately painted. The walls of the room are covered with copies from paintings found in the tombs, and all remarkable for their composition, correct drawing, and spirit. In addition to all this, there is a small collection of gems set in pure gold; and very beautiful and delicately manufactured ear-rings, representing the chariot of the sun, drawn by four horses: the shape of these earrings is perfectly of the present fashion, and the workmanship is equal to any thing produced by modern jewellers. There is also a gold bracelet of good workmanship; with a neck chain of pure gold, elaborately executed, &c. The This notice can furnish only a vague notion of the collection. It is only a personal view that can enable a just estimate to be made of its value. It would be writing a treatise on Etruscan antiquity to describe its contents with the accuracy their elegance, value, and antiquity deserve. THE RADICAL FEAST. Drury's in a glorious bustle, Pantaloon by "sweet Tom Duncombe." Butter Byng is quite pathetic; Now the pantomime begins, Off at once go all disguises; Patriots in their proper skius, Asses of all shapes and sizes. Molesworth, great a goose as ever, With his mercenary quill; Sir John Donkey, Parkes the clever, Scales, the genuine butcher still. All is now a gallant tussle (Patriots scoff at hulks and jail); Screams with rapture Baby Russell, Lowest tip of Daniel's tail. Harlequin now waves his dagger (Magic king of paint and lath); Joey Hume starts up to swagger, Full of pudding, port, and wrath. Ladies, have you read the fable Of the lap-dog and the ass? Joey jumps upon the table, Makes his bow, and drains his glass. Then commences his harangue, Stuttering, shambling, loose and low; Nonsense half, half rabble-slang, Middlesex's true Jim Crow ! So concludes the day of wonders, England, England, blush for shame; Why still sleep the indignant thunders? Rise and vindicate thy name! Preparatory to the meeting of Parliament the Whigs have given away six peerages. This may be a good Whig manœuvre, to tell the world the terms on which they are ready to hire for the session. But it is rather a strong measure after all. The Whigs at all times have been the loudest to exclaim at the prostitution of public honours. "If ever they should come into power, then would the reign of merit begin; ability, virtue, and public services alone |