tinta, or ill engraved portraits, which the purchaser of most modern books would cut out, if he were not restrained by the melancholy reflection, that they have doubled the price of his bargain.

It is much less than a century since the attention of the literary republic has been diverted, in a great degree, from Greece and Rome, to the laws, usages, and literature of what we call the middle ages, a subject more copious, more applicable to modern times, and not less interesting. Among the original sources of this information, the Romances have justly been placed very high. It is needless, in this place, to combat those, if any there are, who despise such works. The respect shown to them by Du Cange, St Palaye, and the best French antiquaries, speaks sufficiently in their favour. Those, in fact, who are conversant with the legitimate histories of the middle ages, know how inexpressibly meagre they are, with a very few exceptions, as to the most interesting points-the state of manners-and the progress of society; so that, if a sacrifice was to be made of a Chronicle or a Romance, we should very frequently, with a view even to historical knowledge, in this comprehensive use of the words, throw the former, without hesitation, into the fire.

These legends bear generally strong marks of an Oriental lineage of the many sources, at least, whence they have been derived, this is the most copious. It may seem strange, indeed, to deny the praise of invention to the trouveurs of France, and to Jook for any foreign origin of such works, as a warm imagination might be thought to suggest to the poets of every country. Yet there is much more of plagiarism in fiction, than would at first sight be believed. It has been always more easy and more safe to dress up an old story, than to form a new one. Few romances can be named, which have not some prototype, or of which no imitation has been attempted. There is the less to surprise in this, since even wit, which seems indigenous, has been generally a transplanted fruit. Half of Joe Miller may be traced to Athens, and the remainder to Bagdad."

A question, however, might be raised, why, in those ages of the marvellous, these tales of faery came to supersede, in popularity, the domestic anecdotes which fill up the monkish chronicles. For, when so many saints and devils were gamboling around, for little other purpose than to amuse the public, it seems hard that more attention should have been paid to the enchantments of -Merlin and Morgana. There was, indeed, a sort of competition between these rival powers of feerie and diablerie, to which we may ascribe the spleen which was borne by the monks towards. the minstrels, and the satirical strokes with which the latter re

venged themselves on the monks. Among the vulgar, we suspect the feats of Beelzebub to have been the most popular. But, in the court and the castle, it was quite the contrary: the romances were full of pageants and tournaments, of chivalrous lore and warfare; and the terrors of enchantment were always of a kind that yielded to valour and fortune: whereas the religious legends were apt to lead to a much less favourable conclusion. The story of that tall black man, who beckoned out of his hall, in the midst of a feast, a certain Count of Maçon, might have excited some uncomfortable feelings in the heart of a feudal baron.

'The romance of Partenopex, or rather an extract from it, made its first appearance in the Bibliotheque des Romans, under the title of Partenuple de Blois, translated from a story in Spanish prose. M. le Grand has, however, successfully established the French origin of this work. His own translation is made from a MS. poem, in the library of St Germain-des-Prés, which he is at first inclined to consider as a production of the twelfth century: he afterwards, reasoning from a piece of internal evidence, revokes his first opinion, and, with greater appearance of probability, ascribes it to the thir

teenth.

'Of its French origin, little doubt will probably be entertained by those conversant with the literature of the middle ages. It is scarcely necessary, after the able essays on these subjects by Mr Ellis and others, to insist, that all the antient romances were written in verse. Nor is this the only ground on which M. le Grand might vindicate the title of his country. The oldest verse which Spain can boast, is that of the Troubadours, whose works consist exclusively of metaphysical disquisitions on love, and satires; and even this strain of poetry, amongst the Spaniards, dates long posterior to the period which, arguing from the manners it reflects, and the sentiments which it breathes, must have given birth to Partenopex de Blois. '

The kings of France, as every body knows, are descended from Priam, through Marcomeris, son of Hector;-such luck had these Trojans to found every where better kingdoms than that from which they were forced to fly. In the course of this royal stem between Priam and Pharamond, there reigned a certain Cleoner, whose nephew, son of the Count of Blois, was yclepped Partenopex, the hero of our tale. On a certain day the king went out to hunt the boar in the wood of Ardennes, when Partenopex, after slaying one beast, is separated from his company in quest of another, which he has started. In vain Cleoner and his courtiers seek him on every side, and make the air reecho with their shouts and horns: no Partenopex was within hearing; nor voice nor bugle made reply:' and they return home to supper without tidings. Meanwhile,

Dd 4

• Far

Far prick'd the boy, nor slack'd his courser's pace,
Nor wist that he was single in the chase,

Till day was well nigh spent; then, heartless, laid
His limbs beneath an oak's embowering shade;
Bent, with the morrow's early dawn, once more
The forest's devious mazes to explore.

Rous'd by the lark, he strives to measure back
His homeward way; but, weetless of the track,
Still by the same o'er-ruling spell misled,
Worse than afore the gentle valet sped.

'Twas eve; when from afar was heard the roar
Of hollow billows, bursting on the shore;
And from those wilds forth issuing on the strand,
He view'd a bark fast anchor'd by the land.
Gay was the hull, and seemly to behold;
The flag was sendal, purfled o'er with gold.
Scarce might he climb the deck, with toil foredone,
But in the shallop living wight was none.
While long and sore he mus'd, a gentle gale
Blew, rustling from the shore, and swell'd the sail.
Self-steer'd, o'er sparkling waves the vessel flew ;
The shore, receding, lessen'd from his view. '

After some melancholy thoughts on the awkward situation in which he is placed, our hero goes to sleep; but, waked by the noontide sun,' he finds himself in a spacious port, by the side of which stands a castle, of marvellous extent and beauty. It is well described in the following lines.

Fast by the margin of the tumbling flood,

Crown'd with embattled towns, a castle stood.
The marble walls a chequer'd field display'd,
With stones of many-colour'd hues inlaid.
With that ('twas wrought of fayery) so dight,
The workmanship did pass the substance bright.
Flank'd with protecting towers, a league of ground
The far extending girt encompass'd round.
Within, trim garden, mead, and fruitful vale,
In gay confusion lay, and passing tale
Fit ornaments to grace a rich domain;
Huge garners to bestow the golden grain;
Tall mills, with crystal streams encircled round,
And villages, with rustic plenty crown'd.
These, fading in the distance, woods were seen,
With gaily glittering spires, and battlements between.
Beneath the porch, in rich mosaic, blaze
The sun, and silver lamp that drinks his rays.
Here stood the symbol'd elements pourtray'd,
And nature all her secret springs display'd.

Here

Here too was seen whate'er of earlier age, Or later time, had grac'd the historic page; And storied loves of knights and courtly dames, Pageants and triumphs, tournaments and games. We have then an enumeration of some of these romantic stories, represented on the walls. Moses and the children of Israel (for they too make a figure in these tales), Tristrem and Guenever, and Sir Lancelot, and Arthur. This description is not in the original romance; but strikes us as a very elegant imitation of similar episodes in Virgil, Ariosto and other poets.

These wonders duly surveyed, Partenopex enters a hall, where an excellent repast is set out. What surprizes him, however, is, that he sees neither waiter, nor musician, nor priest. The first, however, could the better be dispensed with, as every thing was, to use a vulgar phrase, in apple-pye order; and a hungry man, we may imagine, could in those days dine without music, and even without hearing grace. While he was pausing at this exhibition, an invisible harp is touched, and a song is sung, which, though not very lively, might, if he listened to it, seem to express some consolatory hints. This ended, he begins to think of making free with the banquet; when, anticipating his wishes, the good-natured meats come to him in turn, of their own accord; and a cup of gold fills itself with the best of wine, which, in spite of his frequent attacks, is never below the brim.

Young as Partenopex was, he could not well help suspecting that all this was out of the usual course of things; and this surmise was not lessened, when a party of wax candles walked before him into a bed-chamber, or, in Mr Rose's language, medii avi, a bower;

where stood a bed,

With milk-white furs of Alexandria spread :
Beneath, a richly broider'd vallance hung;
The pillows were of silk; o'er all was flung

A rare-wrought coverlet of phoenix plumes,

Which breath'd, as warm with life, its rich perfumes.
Here the quaint elves the wondering child undrest,
And on the snow-white ermine laid to rest.

Before he can fall asleep, he hears a soft foot-fall,' and perceives that some one is coming into the very place of his repose. The predicament is certainly become embarrassing he is plainly an intruder, though without his own fault; and who can guess the real owner of his bed?

Melior in sooth it was, the sovereign fay,
The wardress of that keep and garden gay.
She on the bed her dainty limbs down-laid,
Then started'.

Perhaps

Perhaps our readers have gone before us in the progress of this story. Melior, the fairy, had secretly loved Partenopex; had contrived, by magic sleight, that he should be conveyed to her castle; and prepared the banquet for his regale. Thus far her sprites had obeyed her will exactly; but whether it was that fees de chambre, like their types on earth, are sometimes impertinent enough to guess more of their mistress's intentions than is communicated, or from whatever other cause suspicious persons. may conjecture, these heedless elves' had made a strange mistake, and ushered Partenopex into the very bed of the young queen. What an unlucky adventure! An eclaircissement of course ensues; but the circumstances are critical

Lordings, the rest is better guess'd than told.' Told, however, it was, not to lordings only, but to ladies, who, in those matter-of-fact times, were not at all disposed to take such subjects upon conjecture. In Le Grand's translation of the romance, we find a parley between Partenopex and the lady, somewhat resembling, except in tediousness, Crebillon's dialogue of La Nuit and Le Moment. We should laud more highly Mr Rose's sense of propriety in passing over these details, had he not invoked the aid of Mr Smirke's pencil in a print, which, we must own, might be expected to call the eyes of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, were we not aware that those magnanimous friends of virtue confine their inquisition to wooden cuts, and their preventions to the poor.

Though blest in the possession of Melior, the heir of Blois found something wanting; and was naturally enough disappointed that every sense was gratified, save that of sight. The invisi ble musicians, the moving tapers, the self-replenished goblet, might pass; but he had an irresistible curiosity about the face of his bride. In this, however, he could not be gratified. She informs him of her history; that she is queen of the country, but may not marry any but a knight: a beardless boy would be scorned by her vassals.

Content, for a while, with this plea, Partenopex lived right merrily with his Melior; who carefully provided him with hounds and hawks, the only visible company he was permitted to keep; till, growing weary of this pastime, he began to hanker after former friends in his own country. The fairy (quis fallere possit amantem?) perceived the alteration of his mind; and, more generous than Calypso, trusted him on board the magic sloop, which was in a few hours safely moored in the Loire. Here he found a mother, who, half knowing, half ignorant of his secret, concluded that he was enthralled to some amorous demon. If any should think little better of Melior, we give them to know,

that