of wrestling through rings than Will was, although the latter was always considered a more pains-taking Wrestler. Many of Richardson's friends assert, and among them are some well qualified to judge, that he was the fairest stander, and best Wrestler, of his time; while those rather hostile to him, contend, that he was a sulky (which is tantamount to an unfair) stander, and was as much indebted to that, and his tremendous strength of arm, as to his science. For our part, we have no reason to applaud or condemn;-we do not think any of our readers will deem us incapable of forming an opinion, and we assure them it is a free and unprejudiced one. We have not the least doubt but that he was for a number, or even for one fall, a competent match for any man in the kingdom for very many years. For us to endeavour to particularize his conquests would be absurd; and we have noticed his occasional defeats for the purpose of reflecting lustre on those who threw such a hero, and not by any means to detract from the great and well-merited renown he universally possessed."

We now bring this long, but, thanks to Mr Litt, this interesting article, to a close, with his account of the Carlisle wrestling in 1822.

"The first prize was won by W. Cass, and the second by John Weightman. As those who wrestled may yet be considered in possession of the ring, that circumstance must of course circumscribe our account of them. Cass is not far from six feet high, and weighs sixteen stones. The action he displays is an outside stroke with his left foot, but its fatality consists in the swing, or twist, with which it is accompanied, and his method of parting with his men. He was not much noticed previous to his throwing Weightman; but in our opinion he will, and is the only man who ought to throw him again. Cass is equally as strong, full as heavy, and Weightman will find it difficult to improve his hold, and command him as he does all his other opponents. Cass certainly won very cleverly, and though we must admit he wrestled fortunately through the ring, we think him the likeliest person to win again.-The redoubted Weightman is above six feet three inches high, and weighs upwards of fifteen stones. Weightman has certainly a very good-natured, and indeed we might with truth say, a prepossessing appearance. The whole science he appears master of is the address he displays in the application of his tremendous strength in breaking his adversary's, and improving his own hold. He appears to be master

of Liddle, and in the match between him and Richardson, the latter certainly had no chance with him. Respecting his behaviour towards the spectators on that occasion, we will remark that there is a very material difference between wrestling a private match, and contending for a public prize. The latter is expressly for the amusement of the spectators, and they have a right, as in a theatre, to express, in a certain degree, their opinion of the conduct of the performers; but with the former they have no right whatever, excepting to preserve fair play between the men; and when it is well known that this was neither the second nor third instance in which matches with Richardson never were decided, we have room to infer that the fault in taking hold might not be all Weightman's. The grand question now is-Is there one man in the present list who can throw him amain? Our opinion is, if there be one, there are not two. John Liddle, the victor at Keswick, and from whom much was anticipated at Carlisle, is upwards of fourteen stones, and about five feet ten inches high. It is scarcely fair to make lengthy remarks upon those who may again appear in the ring, therefore we shall only observe, that, with one exception, there is no wrestler of, or under his own weight at present, that can throw him. Graham had for some time been labouring under a bad state of health, and in appearance, as well as powers, had evidently declined. We likewise think that T. Richardson cannot be what he has been. As a hipper, he is certainly the quickest and best on the list. He is taller, but not so heavy as Liddle; and though we do not think him a T. Nicholson, yet very few at present are an equal match for him. John Fearon, who threw Weightman at Carlisle, is about the same height, but heavier than that hero. The fame of Weightman was his principal inducement for entering that ring, and by throwing him he accomplished his object. Respecting the contest between them, it was a bad one, and Weightman lost the fall at a time when he ought to have been certain of winning it. John Laughlen, the fourth stander on that occasion, is near six feet six inches high, and at present weighs about seventeen stones. Had he been in practice, and taken more pains in procuring an equal hold, Weightman ought not to have thrown him; as, though not excelling in action, he is by no means deficient in science. Having been some years married previous to his present settlement in Whitehaven as a publican, his practice must have been latterly very con

James

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pathetic to an excess that absolutely merits the strappado. Why not? all so much the better. He is a fine, open-hearted, ingenuous, accomplished and gentlemanly youth; and we, whose prophecies have been fulfilled somewhat more frequently than those of the Editor of the Blue-and-Yellow, pronounce him a promising poet, we tie a wreath of laurel round his forehead, and may it remain there till displaced to make room for a bolder branch of the sacred Tree.

The subject of the Drama is a good one, deeply, terribly tragic-" a tale of tears, a rueful story,"-a murder strange and overwhelming to the imagination, yet such a murder as the mind can image and believe in its wild and haunted moods. Mr Beddoes deserves praise for choosing such a subject --for all true Tragedy must possess its strength in a spirit of terror. His reading seems to have lain among the elder Dramatists, and his mind is much imbued with their tragic character. We sup full of horrors, but there are some gay and fantastic garnishings and adornments of the repast, disposed quite in the manner and spirit of those great old masters. Joy and sorrow, peace and despair, innocence and guilt, saintliness and sin, sit all together at one banquet; and we scarcely distinguish the guests from each other, till something interrupts the flow of the feast, and they start up in their proper character. Yes, there is a dark and troubled, guilt-like and death-like gloom flung over this first work of a truly poetical mind, sometimes alternating with an air of ethereal tenderness and beauty, sometimes slowly and in a ghastly guise encroaching upon and stifling it, and sometimes breaking up and departing from it, in black masses, like clouds from a lovely valley on a tempestuous and uncertain day. Dip into the Poem, here and there, and you cannot tell what it is about-you see dim imagery, and indistinct figures, and fear that the author has written a very so so perform ance. But give it a reading from the beginning, and you will give it a reading to the end, for our young poet writes in the power of nature, and when at any time you get wearied or disappointed with his failure in passion or in plot, you are pleased-nay, delighted, with the luxuriance of his fancy, and with a strain of imaginative feeling that supplies the place of a profounder interest, and also prepares the mind to give way to that pro

found interest, when, by and by, it unexpectedly and strongly arrives.

"The following scenes were written, as you well know, exclusively for the closet, founded upon facts which occurred at Oxford, and are well detailed and illustrated by an interesting ballad in a little volume of Poems, lately published at Oxford, entitled the Midland Minstrel, by Mr Gillet: and may thus be succinctly narrated.

"The Manciple of one of the Colleges early in the last century had a very beautiful daughter, who was privately married to a student without the knowledge of the parents on either side.

"During the long vacation subsequent to this union the husband was introduced to a young lady, who was at the same time proposed as his bride; absence, the fear of his father's displeasure, the presence of a lovely object, and, most likely, a natural fickleness of disposition, overcame any regard he might have cherished for his illfated wife, and finally he became deeply enamoured of her unconscious rival. In the contest of duties and desires, which was the consequence of this passion, the worse part of man prevailed, and he formed and executed a design almost unparalleled in the annals of crime.

"His second nuptials were at hand when he returned to Oxford, and to her who was now an obstacle to his happiness. Late at night he prevailed upon his victim to accompany him to a lone spot in the Divinity Walk, and there murdered and buried her. The wretch escaped detection, and the horrid deed remained unknown till he confessed it on his death-bed. The remains of the unfortunate girl were dug up in the place described, and the Divinity Walk was deserted and demolished, as haunted ground. Such are the the outlines of a Minor's Tragedy."

There is nothing very imposing in the office of a manciple; and accordingly Mr Beddoes has left the peculiar character of his heroine's status in

society undefined. She and her parents are poor and humble, and live in a cottage that is all we know, and it is enough. The fair Floribel is the bride of Hesperus, a youth of high birth, and their marriage remains, for obvious reasons, concealed. The first scene

in which they appear at evening in the garden of the lowly cottage, and feast on love's delicious converse, is very pretty, although not very rational, and serves to interest us for the simple, beautiful, and affectionate Floribel.

"Come, come, my love, or shall I call
you bride ?
Floribel.

E'en what you will, so that
you hold me dear.
Hesperus. Well, both my love and
bride; see, here's a bower

Of Eglantine with honeysuckles woven, Where not a spark of prying light creeps in,

So closely do the sweets enfold each other. 'Tis Twilight's home; come in, my gentle love,

And talk to me. So! I've a rival here; What's this that sleeps so sweetly on your neck?

Flor. Jealous so soon, my Hesperus ?
Look then,

It is a bunch of flowers I pulled for
you;
Here's the blue violet, like Pandora's eye,
When first it darkened with immortal life.

Hes. Sweet as thy lips. Fie on those taper fingers,

Have they been brushing the long grass aside

To drag the daisy from it's hiding-place, Where it shuns light, the Danäe of flowers, With gold up-hoarded on its virgin lap? Flor. And here's a treasure that I found by chance,

A lily of the valley; low it lay

Over a mossy mound, withered and weeping

As on a fairy's grave."

After some soft talk and fond endearments, not unmixed with some natural tears, Floribel gives utterance to those thoughts" that in the happiness of love make the heart sink”—they part, and the short scene passes by like a dream.

Hesperus has a rival in the affections of Floribel," the Diana of our Forests," named Orlando, who throws old Lord Ernest, the father of Hesperus, into prison, on account of a debt, "of which his whole estate is scarce a fourth." This debt, however, is not to be claimed, provided Hesperus consent to wed Olivia, in which case Orlando hopes to espouse Floribel. This is a clumsy contrivance, but it cannot be helped. Accordingly Hesperus is admitted to his father, in chains and in a dungeon, when the following dialogue ensues.

"Lord Ernest. Oh set me free, I cannot

Hesp. Bring the priest, the bride. Quick, quick. These fetters have infected

him

With slavery's sickness. Yet there is a

secret,

'Twixt heaven and me, brbids it. Tell me, father;

Were it not best for both to die at once? Lord Ern. Die! thou hast spoke a word,

that makes my heart

Grow sick and wither; thou hast palsied

me

To death. Live thou to wed some worthier maid;