is, of course, at the bottom of the revolt, and finds a ready instrument for his purpose in the person of one Hayur-el-Gezzar (Anglice "the butcher"), a noted pirate, who is abiding at Valetta under the gentler name of Baptista Zotti, an Italian merchant. This personage out-Satans Satan, by imprisoning in a dark and noisome dungeon, for a long series of years, and without any assignable cause, a fair lady taken in one of his buccaneering expeditions, who ultimately proves to be the wife of the Grand Master! He is therefore a man after Ombo's own heart if the devil may be supposed to possess one-and a perfect understanding is established between the two worthies. While Ombo thus, on the one hand, turns to the worst advantage vice which he finds ready-formed to his hands, he, on the other, diligently seeks out its latent seeds, and fosters them into rapid growth. Nay, the softest affections are, by his craft, perverted into means of evil; the tender-hearted Zulemah being persuaded that the surest method of testifying her love for the gallant Huberto di Brindisi, and the best service she can render him, is publicly to accuse him, by the production of forged documents and pretended revelations from himself, of a design to betray the island to the Turks. These, and similar plots and devices of the evil one, form the groundwork of a series of vigorous scenes, among which may be cited, for its characteristic tone, Brindisi's spirited defence of himself before the Council of Knights; and, for its pathos, the meeting of Cobedo, the Grand Master, with his long-lost Agata, and of the latter with her daughter Clara. The author also displays occasionally his powers of quaint humour in the characters of Paulo Pozzo, the Grand Master's spy, and mine host of the Golden Stag; but we must protest against the unwarrantable extravagancies imagined in the scene of the catacombs, as quite at variance with his usually sound judgment. His descriptions of the City of Valetta, with the romantic scenery of the island and its historical memorabilia, set forth in the introduction and the notes, contribute their part to the interest of the volume. We ought not to omit specifying, that though the Prince of darkness plays the most prominent part in the drama, the true moral is steadily kept in view ;-those who receive him favourably suffering the appropriate consequences, while the declaration of the apostle, "Resist the devil, and he will fly from you," is illustrated by others of the dramatis personæ, Finally, Ombo may be regarded as a creation per se, acknowledging an affinity with, but no resemblance to, either the Mephistophiles of Goethe, or the Lucifer of Byron or Longfellow. The Dragone ofe Oxforde is announced as the first of a series of "Legendes of the Nine teenth Century," of which, judging from the spirited character of the opening, we enter tain favourable anticipations. In the present version of the far-famed legend of St. George and the Dragon the latter is-horrescimus referentes-the terrible Romish monster which lately frighted the Isle from its propriety, and St. George is none other than the redoubtable inditer of the ever-memorable Durham letter. The dragon springs from the head of the learned Doctor Faustus a "Newe Manne" at Oxforde, the result of swallowing for supper a "batte," emblem, we suppose, of night and darkness. The Doctor, P-sie, presides at the gestation, but will have nothing more to do with the monster when he observes what sort of production it is. The author thus recounts his danger and escape The Dragone about threw itte's tayle, The Dragone itte bouncede,- On Pussee; But Pussee flewe out of the windowe. The dragon sheds tears bitter at his disappointment, and, to indemnify himself, seeks fairer game. He flys away with a lady of the royal household, and is on the point of devouring her, when she suggests that Queen Gloriana would be a worthier morsel for him. While the dragon is considering this suggestion the lady slips away, and takes refuge in the olde oake tree, which we take here to represent the principles of the Reformation. The dragon, not baulked by these failures, proceeds in his career, but thinks it expedient to invoke the assistance of an enormous Bull from Rome. This voracious animal quickly shews a disposition to consume all the pastures of the land, and the two set to work spreading consternation throughout the country. Queen Gloriana summons a council, whereat St. George appears, armed cap-à-pie, and followed by his Squire, Sir Charles, with his budget, who, par parenthese, is dubbed Sir Dandie Lione, in honour of his supposed love of chicory. St. George is preparing undauntedly for a conflict with his duplex foe, the dragon and the bull, when an unexpected adversary presents himself in the person of King Duncan. They run a tilt, in which St. George is overthrown, left for dead on the field, and carried off to bedde. If by King Duncan we are, as it appears, to understand Mr. Locke King, and his motion for the extension of the county franchise, the poet commits an anachronism, the bull business having been of prior date. St. George shortly afterwards revives, and is incited to fresh deeds against the dragon by having his attention directed to a passage in Tom Jones, wherein the Man of the Hill expresses his indignation that certain Protestants and members of the Church of England should prove such apostates as to seek to replace the exiled Stuarts on the throne. This memento, however, leads to no result; nor do we see its drift, but, with it, conclude the Legende, which, though we meet with a platitude here and there, exhibits in general, as we have said, considerable smartness, and argues decided aptitude for this style of writing. In the "Thomas a Becket" of Mr. Scott we have a strikingly-drawn portraiture of the troublous times in which that haughty prelate lived. The almost superstitious reverence paid to him on the one side, and the bitter feelings displayed against him, are each in their turn illustrated by the several characters introduced. In treating the murder of the Archbishop, full justice is done to the magnanimity, self-devotedness, and contempt of death, by which the illustrious victim was distinguished; but in the details the author sacrifices history to dramatic effect. He represents three of the knights only-Fitzurse, De Morville, and Brito -as making the first murderous demonstration against Becket in the archiepiscopal palace. Awed by his dignified demeanour, they are unable to execute their purpose, but are subsequently incited by De Tracy to take part in the deed of blood in the cathedral, this latter having a private pique against Becket, who has seduced from him the affections of his ladyelove, and not after a spiritual manner either, if we rightly understand the inuendos. Such a calumny might have been spared on a man whose unblemished moral purity was ever ac knowledged, even by his greatest enemies. The poem takes the form of a drama, whereby additional point is given to the action. The language, too, is appropriate to the subject, though, either aiming at ultra-magniloquence, or from mere carelessness, many lines here and there "leave wondering comprehension far behind." The lyrical pieces appended to the leading poem are of a remarkably pleasing character; most of them founded on some pretty little conceit or other, among which we would particularly specify "Lady Audrey Leigh" and "Iva." "Mrs. T. E. R.'s dream" we would gladly transcribe entire, for its whimsicality, did space permit, but must content ourselves with the first lines and the last, and supply the interval as briefly as we may. Mrs. T. R., loquitur 'Twas very long and very flat The sermon that I heard, Each ancient phrase upon my ear, And desk, book, preacher, one by one, Died like the light of setting sun, as changing the church into a ball-room brilliantly lighted and decorated, where countless waltzers are intensely whirling. Among them is a youth of fascinating aspect, who engages in succession a variety of partners, each of whom, in her turn, mysteriously disappears At length he approaches Mrs. T. R., and demands her waist for the next. An inclination she cannot control wars with the terror his previous performances have inspired. She resists, yet fain would yield; a terrible conflict goes on within her, till, at the height of her excitement and agitation, she awakes, and has the happiness of finding herself free from danger in her comfortable pew. "Thank heaven, 't is past !" I faintly sighed; "Christmas at the Hall" opens with a charming scene of rural economy and bucolic bliss: the landowner all devotion to his tenantry, and studying nothing but their happiness; the tenantry all love, contentment, and guilelessness. So poetically and picturesquely does the author describe the beauty of the country, and the innocence and happiness of its inhabitants, that we almost persuade ourselves he has actually witnessed such an Utopia, though we confess we know not where we should seek it. The actual "Christmas at the Hall" is, however, confined to the family circle, each member of which recites a poem of his or her own composition-papa, mama, sons and daughters. We cannot profess concurrence in the eulogies pronounced by the happy family upon each other in regard to their poetic abilities, and much prefer the general to the domestic pictures. The occasional pieces that follow possess a certain merit, but are mostly in quatrains, of which the second and fourth lines only rhyme, leaving the non-rhyming of the first and third a perpetually-recurring disappointment to the ear, thus marring what might otherwise be effective. In setting himself to review a work such as "The Parish," the critic unconsciously lets fall his weapons of offence, and stands disarmed before his author. If" one touch of nature makes the whole world kin," then assuredly touches of purest nature recurring at every turn, identify the reader with the writer, and make their tendencies and feelings one. Welldevised fiction, clad in the poetical garb, is ever a pleasing contemplation, but truth similarly arrayed is so in a far greater degree. Though Goldsmith's "Sweet Auburn have been the "loveliest village of the plain," stern experience teaches us that "health and plenty cheered the labouring swain" only in may The lady then proceeds to describe the dream the poet's fancy. Thus a sort of disappoint ment mingles itself with our pleasure. In the busy scene of "The Parish," joys and sorrows, smiles and frowns, good and evil, each bear their part, and pass in succession before us. The picture presented to us is that of a pastor whose deep appreciation of the duties of his office, and of the responsibility he has taken upon himself, leads him to devote all his mental and bodily energies to the adequate fulfilment of them. The basis he deems the surest on which to build the parochial edifice is the imparting to the congregated multitude committed to his care the character of one united family, pervaded, as far as possible, by common sympathies; and in this main object, with the exceptions and restrictions inseparable from every human work, he succeeds. As the father of the parochial family he seeks to make himself intimately acquainted with every member of it. The happiness, the griefs, the aspirations, the despondencies, the hopes, the doubts, the distresses or perplexities of each and all, he makes his own, and treats them with paternal solicitude. The rejoicings of a marriage or the lamentations of a funeral are not confined to the individuals immediately interested, but are partaken by the community, as if of family concern; and so with every other incident. This peculiar feature gives its characteristic colour to the numerous and ever-varied little histories recorded by the Pastor as coming under his cognizance in the course of his unwearied ministrations, and which are told with an appropriate simplicity that cannot fail to impress the heart of every reader. His keen sensibility also of the beauties of nature is in accordance with the feeling he manifests for the living objects of his contemplation. All bears equally the stamp of reality, and is, in effect, real. The author witholds his name from the public, but there is no difficulty in ascertaining it; and, having learnt it, we are enabled to say that "The Parish" is a true and vivid picture, both in its general character and its details, of one in the neighbourhood of London of which he has the charge. The principles and system set forth in a volume published by him some time ago, entitled "Parochial Work," constitute the theory he has carried into practice, and its results are depicted in the present poem. tian era. Little is known of him, further than that he was the author of "Sakontalá," the "Hero and the Nymph," the "Cloud Messenger," and other poems, and was, moreover, one of the "Nine precious stones" that adorned the Court of Vikramaditya, King of Oujein, just 1900 years ago. Only seven, of the twenty-two Cantos, in which the poem originally appeared, have survived the ravages of time. The latest incident detailed in these is the bridal of Uma, the mother of the War-God. No doubt can any longer be entertained as to the value of the poetic treasures contained in the Sanskrit language, after the enthusiastic encomiums bestowed upon them by such scholars as Professor Wilson, Sir William Jones, Goethe, Humboldt, Schlegel, Milman, and others. Among the epics and dramatic pieces are poems which would lose nothing by comparison with the choicest effusions of the classic age of Greece. Witness the " Specimens of the Hindú Theatre," translated by Wilson; the "Gita Govinda," (or the Song of the Divine Herdsman) "Sakontalá," "Savitri" (or the Faithful Wife), translated by Mr. Griffith, and many others. It is not probable, however, that Sanskrit poetry can ever be generally popular in this country, on account of the continual allusions it contains to an involved and complex mythology, the constant introduction of oriental metaphors, which, however beautiful in themselves, and however appropriate in their own glorious clime, sound extravagant and absurd to the dull ear of a common-place, matter-of-fact Hyperborean. It is only those of refined taste and cultivated mind who can appreciate the charms of these writings; and even they must not be surprised if here and there they meet with passages they are not able to interpret satisfactorily. The vivid descriptions and dazzling imagery of the ancient Hindús generally is peculiarly remarkable; but few, in these respects at least, have ever equalled the fanciful creations of the sweet singer of Oujein. The following brief specimens will serve to convey some idea of his power: On came the Archer-God, and at his side by R. T. H. Griffith. Hall, Virtue, & Co., 25, Paternos- Full in his song, the Minstrel stayed to sip The heavenlier nectar of his darling's lipPure pearls of heat had just distained the dye, But flowery wine was sparkling in her eye. How the young creeper's beauty charmed the view, Fair as the fairest maid, as playful too! Here some bright blossoms, lovelier than the rest, In full round beauty matched her swelling breast; Here in a thin bright line, some delicate spray, No charmer's spell may check the firm control, Bright flowers of Spring, in every lovely hue, A greedy bee kept hovering round, to sip The classical reader will probably trace some resemblance, in this myth of Káma and Reti, to that of Cupid and Psyche; for Káma (the archer-god), be it known, is the God of Love, and the timid Reti is his bride. Mr. Griffith deserves a high eulogium, for the manner in which he has acquitted himself of his self-imposed task. The idioms of the original have been throughout carefully preserved, and the closeness, with which he has, almost without exception, adhered in every canto to the text of his author, shew that he combines, with the rare learning of an accomplished Orientalist, many of the qualifications that constitute a true poet. It is to the auspices of the "Oriental Translation Fund" that we are indebted for the present version of Kumára Sambhava. We hope that this, as well as the previous publications of Mr. Griffith, and others who have been animated by the same noble enthusiasm as himself, may tend ere long to disseminate among the British public a juster appreciation than they now evince for the outpourings of the Indian Muse. The translator, in the present instance, might, without at all detracting from the value of the poem, have expunged several passages, that may be deemed somewhat tedious or superfluous. But he has judiciously refrained from doing so, his aim "having been says he "to give the English reader as faithful a cast of the original as my own power, and the nature of the thing, would permit; and, without attempting to give word for word or line for line, to produce upon the imagination impressions similar to those which one who studies the work in Sanskrit would experience." Old Lamps, or New? A plea for the original editions of The Texts of Shakspeare: forming an Introductory Notice to The Stratford Shakspeare, edited by CHARLES KNIGHT. London. 1853. A few Notes on Shakespeare; with Occasional Mr. To invest every object of admiration, worthy as well as unworthy, with the attribute of infallibility, is at once one of the foibles and one of the virtues of human nature. If, on the one hand, this weakness sometimes leads to the undue elevation of the FALSE, it, on the other hand, kindles into the glow of veneration that which, without it, would be but cold respect for the TRUE. Mr. Payne Collier and Mr. Charles Knight are examples of the good and evil resulting from this incident to Hero Worship. Conceding to both an equal regard for Shakspeare, we find the former claiming for the unknown original owner of the old folio of 1632, not only all the authority due to a true disciple of a great master, but something more. Charles Knight will not admit that this "New Lamp" has any greater claim to respect, than should be conceded to any annotator or corrector at the present day; and this pamphlet is put forth by him to vindicate the general purity of the previously received version of the text, although admitting an occasional emendation from the new source. We have no hesitation in saying, that we think Mr. C. Knight has formed a most erroneous estimate of the merits of Mr. Collier's volume. After the many examples cited in our last Number, it were almost superfluous to enumerate here the reasons upon which this conclusion is based; but we may mention one instance at least, sufficient to prove that the unknown hand had something more than mere fancy to guide him in his corrections. The example referred to occurs in the Merry Wives of Windsor; a play, with the allusions and local illustrations of which, we * "Notes and Emendations to the Text of Shakspeare's Plays, from early Manuscript corrections in a copy of the Folio, 1632, in the possession of J. Payne Collier, Esq. F. S. A., forming a supplemental volume to the works of Shakspeare, by the same Editor." may perhaps claim to be even more familiar than Mr. Charles Knight himself, notwithstanding the advantage he claims of having had Windsor for his birth-place. In the original sketch of the play printed (piratically it is conjectured) in 1602, the name which Ford assumes, and under which he obtains an interview with Falstaff and deceives him, is "Brooke". In the folio edition of 1623, and for a century afterwards, it is "Broome". That Shakspeare intended to use the name of Brooke when he prepared the amended play has been hitherto supposed to be beyond doubt, from Falstaff's pun when Ford is announced as Brooke "Call him in. Such Brooks are welcome to me that o'erflow such liquor." On the other hand, the change of name could scarcely be the result of accident. Moreover, the lines in the amended play "Nay, I'll to him again, in name of Broome. He'll tell me all his purpose: Sure he'll come and which do not occur in the original sketch, appear, as Mr. Halliwell suggests, to be in tended to rhyme. The difficulty has been at once solved by the new commentator. For Broome he has substituted Bourne, which it is needless to say is the good old Saxon name for a stream or brook. Broome was a misprint, originating, probably, with the compositor, and then, when Bourne had become obsolete, Brook was introduced as the necessary word to give effect to Falstaff's pun. It seems evident that the manuscript restoration in the Folio was made, before the word 'Bourne' had fallen into disuse, (and consequently at a period not very far removed from that of Shakspeare himself), and that the corrector had something of a positive character, on which he founded the majority of his corrections. Admitting this, however, it is not of course requisite to assent implicitly to the notion, that every correction was made on equally high authority. It is doubtless possible that the venerable commentator indulged occasionally in speculative corrections. Charles Krigt should bear in mind, that, in vindicating the received text to the extent he does, he is not so much upholding the accuracy of his author, as of the compositors and "readers" of the seventeentl. century: and yet what reason have we for believing them to have been more accurate, than the much more intelligent and better educated men who perform those duties now? The answer is found in the truth we set out with-The reluctance to admit the incidents of human error in any thing connected with that we blindly venerate as divine! Mr. Mr. Samuel Weller Singer's effusion scarcely deserves a moment's serious consideration. It does little more, at least than demonstrate, what, alas! scarcely required proof, that- Of Mr. Collier himself, we know absolutely nothing, having never even seen, or been in communication with him. We have not, therefore, the slightest personal feeling, in vindicating the soundness of the corrections he has given to the world. We stand forth simply as the champions of plain common sense, against the attacks of senile fatuity and imbecility. It has been suggested to us, that the productions above cited must have been intended to be taken ironically, and that Messrs. Knight, Singer, & Co. simply meant to perpetrate a little facetious waggery. It is possible that this may have been the case; at any rate it is the only palliation that can be urged. If so, however, the failure is most signal, for there is an utter absence, throughout the whole of their dull pages, of the slightest scintillation of wit, the smallest sparkle of humour. One single specimen of the absurdity of these men, and we have done. Our readers will recollect a passage, quoted I have a heart as little apt as your's, As vapid and as meaningless, surely, as could I have a heart as little apt as your's To brook control without the use of anger, Will it be believed, that the sapient yet presumptuous Singer wishes us to reject the line in question, and to return to the old reading, substituting, simply on his authority forsooth, |