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an imp of sallow hue, and wrinkled visage, clad in well-worn robes of rusty black, with ponderous wig, descending in ample curls. The procession was closed by a numerous body of common-council men, while the sheriffs, with their cocked hats, white wands, and massive chains, brought up the rear. “The mayor had no sooner embarked in a skiff to proceed to the state-barge, than he roared out, “By the powers, Dick Millikin—I’ll be drowned if you don't put your stern into the bow of the boat, and bring her by the head.—“Right worshipful, replied Millikin, “you have heard of Bryan O'Lynn, with his wife and wife's mother, Who all went over the bridge together; But the bridge broke down and they all fell in : We'll get to the bottom, said Bryan O'Lynn. Why, Goblet, my old boy, there's not six feet water between the shore and the mudbarge.”—“Six feet,” echoed the mayor, “’tis well enough for you to talk in this way; but what the devil would I do in six feet water?'—“Shall I help your worship up the side,' said Millikin; they have forgot the accommodation ladders;' and, without waiting for reply, he seised the mayor, and handed him up in safety to the grasp of Jerry Leary, a stout brick-maker, who, without much exertion, soon placed him firmly upon his feet, on the quarter-deck of the barge.—“Well, thank goodness,’ said little Goblet, perking up his head like a cock-sparrow, and nothing disconcerted at the proceeding, or the halloos and huzzas of which it was productive, “I’m safely landed at last!—and now, boys, as soon as you get into something like order, I'll give the word. The seven four-oared boats, you see, are to follow the state-barge—the band of the Cork militia to be in one of them—let a banner be placed in the head of each. Steady there—the six-oared gig with the macebearer, is to go a-head, with the other band in the bow, and the wherries are to keep off the crowd of boats. Let Mic oi. be admiral of the fleet. And now, are you all ready? Let Maurice Cogan go into the elephant; and mind, Maurice,

* for I never tried.'—‘Well then, you shall try now,' said Millikin; “up with you on the elephant's back, sit down cross-legged there, under the red and gold tester, my boy—here's the pipes, put the bag under arm, fasten it with that strap, and blow away like a broken-winded horse. There's grand music for you, Mister Mayor. Who cares for Tom Barrett, now *-* What are you about, Cogan ” said the mayor, ‘why don't you keep the proboscis and the tail moving together?" —Cogan replied in a hollow voice of despair, from the interior of the elephant, H • Goblet, this will never do; I'm fairly bothered from the head to the tail—I must have some one to help me—the strings are too short entirely, and I’m in a regular stew cramped up here.”—“Well, well,' replied his worship, just stay where you are, and never mind it; you shall have some one directly.' “These important arrangements being completed, a signal was given from the state-barge for the aquatic procession to move forward. The bands struck up • Bob and Joan;’ the boats glided along the glassy surface of the Lee toward Cork; and towering above the rest was seen the elephantine barge. Unfortunately, when the vessel approached the centre arch of the New Bridge, a loud and fearful crash, followed by a tremendous plunge, was heard.—“Oh I' said Dixon, starting up, ‘the elephant is overboard—cast off!'— And so in truth it was. The stage upon which it was placed, had been erected at such an elevation, as to render it impossible that it could pass under the arch of the bridge. Crash went the head and trunk against the key-stone of the arch, with an impetus so sudden and overpowering, that the mock animal was forced back on its hinder legs, and, rolling to leeward, sent the mayor overboard. The elephant, which was formed of basketwork, covered with canvas, floated like a Leviathan, the hugest monster of the deep, surrounded by the small craft, the persons in which endeavoured to keep it from sinking by the aid of oars, boat-hooks, and - - - 4 * ~~~~~ --- .1 l- >

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should like to have one kick for it any how.”—“Sure, I'm cutting it as fast as I can, Cogan,' replied his deputy; and in his efforts to release his principal and himself, the balance of the elephant was lost—the leg sunk downwards with his weight—the body rolled over—and the water rushed through the aperture which he had made. It was at this moment that the grand effort was making for their safety; and the prisoners, hearing the sound of the voices, and being sensible of the thumps on the outside, knew that friends were near, and as a signal of distress began to work with extraordinary vehemence at the strings connected with the machine

ry of the trunk and tail. Tom Deane then arranged for slinging up the elephant, by directing the rope to be carried over a lamp-post on the bridge, which, havin been secured under the body, and roun the neck, it was hoisted up according to the orders of that distinguished architect. Nothing could be more amusing than its ascent; for the unconscious prisoners still continued their active exertions in the interior, producing most extraordinary and laughable flourishes from before and behind; and, by their restlessness, caused the body to sway backwards and forwards in the most ludicrous manner.”

The BEAUTY of The cott AGE,

with a fine Engraving.

CoAaseness of features and inelegance of form are generally seen in rustic life: yet some female villagers exhibit the most attractive beauty. Speaking of one of

these “roses of the wild,” Thomson says,

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Before we knew that our designer intended to represent Lavinia, we had composed a soliloquy in the name of the fair inhabitant of the cottage, and we shall not with

hold it from our readers.

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This poet is considered by his friends as a philosopher, and he himself undoubtedly thinks that he is a person of that description. We allow that he has manifested a philosophic or scientific spirit in his preface to the Encyclopædia Metropolitana; yet we must say that there is, in some of his effusions and remarks, an eccentricity which differs from true wisdom. The following observations are attributed to him by a writer in the Atlas. “He said of an old cathedral, that it always appeared to him like a petrified religion. Hearing some one observe that the religious sentiments introduced in Sheridan's Pizarro met with great applause on the stage, he replied, that he thought this a sure sign of the decay of religion; for, when people began to patronise it as an amiable theatrical sentiment, they had no longer any real faith in it. He said of a friend of Fox, who always put himself forward to interpret the great orator's sentiments, and almost took the words out of his mouth, that it put him in mind of the steeple of St. Martin, on Ludgate-hill, which is constantly getting in the way when you wish to see the dome of St. Paul's. Seeing a soiled copy of Thomson's Seasons in the window-seat of an obscure inn on the sea-coast of Somersetshire, he said, “That is true fame.” He observed of some friend, that he had thought himself out of a handsome face, and into a fine one. He said of the French, that they received and gave out sensations too quickly, to be a people of imagination. He thought Moliere's father must have been an Englishman. Common rhetoricians, he said, argue by metaphors; Burke reasoned in them. He considered acuteness as a shop-bo quality compared with subtilty of mind, and quoted Paine as an example of the first, bishop Berkeley as the perfection of the last. He extolled the sermons preached by bishop Butler at the Rolls' chapel as full of thought and sound views of philosophy, and conceived that he had proved the love of piety and virtue to be as natural to the mind of man as the pleasure he receives from the color of a rose or the

smell of a lily. He spoke of the Analysis as theological special pleading. He had no good opinion of Hume, and disputed his originality. He said the whole of his arguments on miracles might be found stated (as an objection) by Dr. Barrow. He regarded Cowper as the reformer of the Cruscan style in poetry, and the founder of the modern school. Being asked which he thought the greater man, Milton or Shakspeare, he replied that he could hardly venture to pronounce an opinion—that Shakspeare appeared to him to have the strength, the stature of his rival, with infinitely more agility; but that he could not bring himself after all to look upon the bard of Avon as anything more than a beardless stripling, and that, if he had ever arrived at man's estate, he would not have been a man but a monster of intellect. Being told that the eccentric wife of Godwin exercised a great ascendency over the mind of that philosopher, he said, “It is always the case: persons of imagination naturally take the lead of people of mere understanding and acquirement.” This was scarcely doing justice to the author of Caleb Williams. He spoke of Sir James Mackintosh as deficient in original resources: he was neither the great merchant nor manufacturer of intellectual riches; but the ready warehouseman, who had a large assortment of goods, not properly his own, and who knew where to lay his hand on whatever he wanted. An argument which he had sustained for three hours with another erudite person on some grand question of philosophy, being boasted of in Coleridge's hearing as a mighty achievement, the latter bluntly answered, “Had there been a man of genius among you, he would have settled the point in five minutes.” Having been introduced to a wellknown wit and professed jester, and his own silence being complained of, he said he should no more think of speaking where Mr. was present, than of interrupting an actor on the stage. He preferred Salvator Rosa to Claude, therein erring. He however spoke eloquently and feelingly of pictures, where the subject-matter was poetical, and where “more was meant than met the eye.” Thus he described the allegorical picture by Giotto in the cemetery at Pisa, the Triumph of Death, where the rich, the young, and the prosperous, are shrinking in horror and dismay from the grim monster, and the wretched, the cripple, and the mendicant, are invoking his friendly aid, both in words and tones worthy of the subject. His was the only conversation we ever heard in which the ideas seemed set to music: it had the materials of philosophy and the sound of music; or, if the thoughts were sometimes poor, the accompaniment was always fine. e stated of Henderson, the actor, or some person of whom a very indifferent jest was o that it was the strongest proof of his ability, and of the good things he must have said to make his bad ones pass current. He characterised the Prometheus Bound of AEschylus, as being less a drama than an ode to justice. He said that formerly men concealed their vices; but now, in the change of manners and the laxity of theories, they boast of those which they have not. He sometimes tells a story well, though rarely. I have heard him speak with some drollery and unction of his meeting with a Lutheran clergyman, who exressed a great curiosity about the fate of r. Dodd, in a sort of Latin gibberish which he could not at first understand. “Doctor Tott / Infelir homo, collo suspensus!”—he called out in an agony of suspense, fitting the action to the word. Some Germans have a strange superstition that Dr. Dodd is still wandering in disguise in the Hartz forest.

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commonly partial, consider her superior to Georges and Duchesnois. Consequently, our exultation, in having an opportunity of beholding this excellent tragedian, was natural and warranted: and, indeed, our expectations have not been disappointed; for we have applauded, with unfeigned rapture, the only actress who was able to bring to our remembrance the incomparable Wattier. “The first character in which she appeared was that of Jane Shore, wherein she displayed art beyond all praise. Her just and refined conception grasped all the transitions of that arduous part, and she pourtrayed them with an elegant delicacy and feeling. In the first act, her air was captivating and graceful; and her auditors felt themselves overpowered with compassionate emotions during her personification of that amiable and penitent character, particularly after she had entrusted her jewels to the care of her treach- . erous friend Alicia. She shone equally in the third act, when Hastings would have seduced her to his will. She resisted his brutal attempts, not with haughtiness, not with useless gestures, but with delicacy— with an expressive look of reproach for abusing the confidence she had placed in him. In the 4th act, she showed herself to be a consummate actress, when, after having briefly related her griefs to the duke of Glocester in a most affecting manner, she was instantaneously enraptured on hearing that Hastings had taken the part of the royal orphans, and justly appreciated the noblemindeduess of the man by whom she had been insulted. Her voice resounded awefully when she herself stood up in defence of #. unhappy children; and, when Glocester's order sentenced her to a horrible death, her pantomimic performance was superlatively excellent. Yet it was in the last, in the terrible act, that she gave especial proof of the power and witchery of the art. None but a tragedian ...'...; when placed in the same shocking situation, could have fettered the attention of the spectators, in that degree which rendered em insensible to the miserable scenery of the theatre, and the lamentable acting of the other performers: even Miss Smithson herself was forgotten in the pitiable fate of Jane Shore. On her entering in penanceń. barefooted, enfeebled by three days' amine, exhausted and pining away, a chill of horror pervaded the assembly. All shuddered as she approached the door of Alicia, to crave that support which it was

conjectured would be refused. But who can paint the glance of anxiety which she cast around, to see if no guard lurked near, before she ventured to touch the knocker? or, who can depict the fright which she exhibited when the noise of the knocker struck upon her ear? She seemed to dread that her pursuers had heard the sound. Her patience and gentleness under the reproaches and spnrnings of Alicia, and the terror with which she was seised when her injured husband presented himself before her, are indescribable. All the tones, all the transitions, so difficult and diversified, she knows how to express with the greatest propriety, without using unnecessary gesticulations, by her charming and distinct voice, and by the magic of two bewitching eyes. Her graceful form, her nobleness of features, and the tastefulness of her movements, contribute, in no small degree, to produce an ensemble of perfection.”


The catholic question continued, in these two months, to agitate the nation in an extraordinary degree. When Mr. Peel introduced the bill for the relief of his new friends, he vindicated the important measure in a long and able speech. The grand contest respecting the bill was at the second reading. Sir Edward Knatchbull properly animadverted on the inconsistency of Mr. Peel, who, after having (in the last session) argued the question as a religious one, because the pernicious tenets of the Roman-catholics were so farmingled with their political conduct, as to be fraught with evil to the institutions of civil society, now declared that it was merely a political dispute. The baronet also maintained, that the apprehensions of dangerous convulsions in Ireland, if the present scheme should not be adopted, were not more alarming than they had been some years ago, when the secretary ridiculed the idea of such danger. Mr. Sadler, a new member,

it should be the general will of the nation (which was far from being the case) to relinquish the advantages of the protestant settlement. The majority seemed ready to decide the question by acclamation; but a division of the house was deemed a more regular mode of settling it, and it then appeared that a plurality of 180 votes sanctioned the unconstitutional measure. This was considered by both parties as decisive; for every politician now supposed that so o: a majority among the commons would influence the house of lords to a concurrence, and that, even if the bill had been the offspring of an uncourtly faction, instead of being prepared under the king's eye, it would assuredly receive the royal assent. In the upper house, a spirited opposition was made to the bill by the earl of Eldon, whose zeal in a good cause induced many to lose sight of the mischief which he had inflicted by his doubts and delays in the court of chancery: but the influence which he formerly exercised over the noble assembly was now superseded (unjustly indeed) by a feeling that bordered on contempt. The two archbishops, the dukes of Cumberland and Richmond, the earls of Winchelsea and Falmouth, strongly condemned the scheme of concession, declaring it to be at once unjustifiable and dangerous; the bill was sanctioned on the second reading by a majority of 105 votes, passed triumphantly through every stage, and, on the 6th of April, received the royal assent. By this new Magna Charta (as it has been styled by its exulting advocates) it is ordained, that Roman-catholics, on swearing that they will never use their power to the detriment of the established church or the existing constitution, may sit in parliament, act as ministers of state, and fill every office, with an exception of the regency and chancellorship, of the viceroyalty of Ireland, and of all places or dignities belonging to the churches of England, Ireland, and Scotland, to the ecclesiastical courts of judicature, or to any of the universities. Another bill, less pleasing to the victorious party, was at

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