COLERIDGE, THE POET. 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-boy 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 elo. quently 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 ac companiment was always fine.

He stated of Henderson, the actor, or some person of whom a very indifferent jest was repeated, 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 Eschylus, 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 expressed a great curiosity about the fate of Dr. Dodd, in a sort of Latin gibberish which he could not at first understand. "Doctor Tott! Infelix 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.

FAME OF MISS SMITHSON ON THE

CONTINENT.

An actress who was not highly admired when she performed in this country, has been honored by the French with extraordinary applause, and even the phlegmatic people of the Netherlands are enraptured with her tragic performances. In the Netherland Mercury she is thus praised."On the announcement of Miss Smithson's arrival, the expectations of the Amsterdam public were raised, and an impatient longing was very general among those who are acquainted with English literature. The extraordinary reputation which she acquired in so short a period at Paris, has spread through Europe, and placed her upon a level with Clairon and Siddons. Even the French, who are

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 ap peared 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 treacherous 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 delicacywith 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 the 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 like herself, when placed in the same shocking situation, could have fettered the attention of the spectators, in that degree which rendered them 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 penancegarb, barefooted, enfeebled by three days' famine, 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.'

NOTICES AND OBSERVATIONS FOR
MARCH AND APRIL.

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 far mingled 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, ably argued on the same side; and the attorney-general, Sir Charles Wetherell, though he foresaw that the loss of his place would be the consequence of his opposition to the bill, contended for that exclusion of the catholics from power which had formed an important part of the constitutional code before the Revolution, at that æra, and after it. This palladium, he said, ought not to be given up, unless

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 ample 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 the same time enacted, disfranchising the possessors of the smaller freeholds, and raising the pecuniary qualification of a voter from 40 shillings to 10 pounds per annum. This act will exclude many thousands of the provincial rabble of Ireland from that privilege of voting which few of them know how to exercise properly.

Such is the settlement of this longcontested affair. We have repeatedly

given our opinion upon the subject, and therefore shall merely express our fervent wish that the accommodation may be permanent, that the dread of danger may prove visionary, and that the evils of Ireland may be remedied.

March 21.-A dreadful calamity occurred in Spain. An earthquake was felt in the kingdom of Murcia, which (in the language of a royal address, "converted into a desert a spot that was just before covered with 4,000 houses, 20 churches, and various manufactories, burying under the ruins a considerable number of the inhabitants, with their harvests, their flocks, and their fortunes." His majesty gave a small sum for the relief of those who were only injured in their property, and private subscriptions were made for the same purpose, but not with that liberality which would, on a similar occasion, have been manifested in Great-Britain. Ferdinand, indeed, and his subjects in general, are comparatively poor.

April.-Princely Poverty.-As applications for relief are frequently made to those who are supposed to be rich, the multiplication of such appeals must be vexatious and troublesome to the higher classes. To check this freedom, Henry, duke of Wurtemberg, published the following notice." For a considerable time past I have been assailed with such a quantity of what are vulgarly called begging letters, that I know of no other remedy but to declare to the writers thereof, that it is in vain for them to attempt to wring contributions from my scanty purse. Although I consider it a sacred duty to afford as much assistance as possible, still the performance of this duty depends not so much on the inclination as on the means that are at the command of an honest man. In my case these are very limited, and have been of late reduced by certain taxes, &c. Besides, my assistance is due, in the first place, to those persons in whose vicinity I reside; I request, therefore, all those who fancy they can force me to contributions by dedications and other means, to save themselves the trouble in future, inasmuch as I have nothing else to reply to their alleged distress, than Knock elsewhere, for I cannot assist you, however inclined."

April 13.-Brutal Barbarity and just Punishmant.-A base follower of the abominable example of Mrs. Brownrigg, appeared in the person of Esther Hibner, a tambour-worker, who, having several parish apprentices in her service, treated

them with great cruelty, and destroyed one of the number by famine and violence. She was found guilty on strong grounds, and ordered for execution. During her imprisonment she stabbed herself in the throat with a knife, but not very seriously— "I don't care (she said) a pin about death, but I don't like to be hanged like a dog." -The chaplain in vain endeavoured to prevail upon her to pray, or to turn her mind from the contemplation of self-destruction. She turned away from him with apparent contempt and abhorrence, A short time previous to her attempting to commit suicide she took leave of her daughter, and, when asked if she had any desire to see her other relatives, she replied, "Not I, indeed; they can't save my life." A little before the hour of execution, the under-sheriff went to her cell, asked her how she felt, and told her that her time was come. She said not a word, except that she was going to be murdered; that she never used the child badly, although, to be sure, she did not treat her as a mother would have treated her. Toward the churchwarden, who appeared against her as a witness, her venom appeared to have peculiar asperity. "Oh," said she to several who have seen her since her conviction, "I would think nothing of all this if I could only be revenged on the churchwarden- if I could only have his life some way or other, I'd die happy and comfortable." When the old woman was conducted into the room where the officers of justice were assembled, she was pinioned, and had a strait-jacket on, and looked as pale as ashes. The expression of her countenance was suited to what had been so long going on within. Before she made her appearance, the under-sheriffs entered the room, and informed Mr. Sheriff Booth that they never beheld so dreadful a spectacle as the old woman presentedthat she appeared only anxious to execute vengeance upon others, and never once thought of a future state. The instant she entered the room, every one present was of the same opinion. No one uttered a word, and two of the sheriff's men led her at once to the scaffold. When she appeared upon the platform, the thousands who had assembled rent the air with shouts of exultation. She appeared to feel this salute, and looked forward to the specta tors as if she would have performed the office of executioner on all who were to witness her departure from this world. The hangman was not long occupied in fixing the rope, and every movement of

his was hailed with shouts of applause. The moment the drop fell, the applause bestowed upon the execution of his task was greater than before, and a groan of execration followed.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF WAVERLEY.

HAVING announced a revised, corrected, and illustrated edition of Sir Walter Scott's novels and romances, we gladly communicate some of the interesting annotations of the ingenious writer, whose indefatigable literary industry we highly commend.

"Scottish Inns.-The courtesy of an invitation to partake a traveler's meal, or at least that of being invited to share whatever liquor the guest called for, was expected by certain old landlords in Scotland, even in the youth of the author. In requital, mine host was al ways furnished with the news of the country, and was probably a little of a humorist to boot. The devolution of the whole actual business and drudgery of the inn upon the poor gudewife was very common among the Scottish Bonifaces. There was in ancient times, in the city of Edinburgh, a gentleman of good family, who condescended, in order to gain a livelihood, to become the nominal keeper of a coffee-house, one of the first places of the kind which had been opened in the Scottish metropolis. As usual, it was entirely managed by the careful and industrious Mrs. B while her husband amused himself with field sports, without troubling his head about the matter. Once upon a time, the premises having taken fire, the husband was met walking up the High Street, loaded with his guns and fishing-rods, and replied calmly to some one who inquired after his wife, 'that the poor woman was trying to save a parcel of crockery, and some trumpery books; the last being those which served her to conduct the business of the house. There were many elderly gentlemen in the author's younger days, who still held it part of the amusement of a journey to parley with mine host,' who often resembled, in his quaint humor, mine Host of the Garter, in the Merry Wives of Windsor, or Blague of the George, in the Merry Devil of Edmonton. Sometimes the landlady took her share of entertaining the company. In either case, the omitting to pay them due attention gave displeasure, and

perhaps brought down a smart jest, as on the following occasion:-A jolly dame who, not 'sixty years since,' kept the principal caravanserai at Greenlaw, in Berwickshire, had the honor to receive under her roof a very worthy clergyman, with three sons of the same profession, each having a cure of souls; be it said in passing, none of the reverend party were reckoned powerful in the pulpit. After dinner was over, the worthy senior, in the pride of his heart, asked Mrs. Buchan whether she ever had had such a party in her house before. 'Here sit I,' he said, 'a placed minister of the Kirk of Scotland, and here sit my three sons, each a placed minister of the same kirk.-Confess, Luckie Buchan, you never had such a party in your house before.' The question was not premised by any invitation to sit down and take a glass of wine or the like; so Mrs. B. answered drily, 'Indeed, Sir, I cannot just say that ever I had such a party in my house before, except once in the forty-five, when I had a Highland piper here, with his three sons, all Highland pipers; and deil a spring they could play amang them!"

"The Castle of Doune.-This noble ruin is dear to my recollection, from associations which have been long and painfully broken. It holds a commanding station on the banks of the river Teith, and was one of the largest castles in Scotland. Murdock, duke of Albany, the founder of this stately pile, was beheaded on the Castle-hill of Stirling, from which he might see the towers of Doune, the monument of his fallen greatness. In 1745-6, as stated in the text, a garrison on the part of the Chevalier was put into the castle, then less ruinous than at present. It was commanded by Mr. Stewart of Balloch, as governor for prince Charles; he was a man of property near Callander. This castle became at that time the actual scene of a romantic escape made by John Home, the author of Douglas, and some other prisoners, who, having been taken at the battle of Falkirk, were confined there by the insurgents. The poet, who had in his own mind a large stock of that romantic and enthusiastic spirit of adventure which he has described as animating the youthful hero of his drama, devised and undertook the perilous enterprise of escaping from his prison. He inspired his companions with his sentiments, and, when every attempt at open force was deemed hopeless, they resolved to twist their bed-clothes into ropes, and thus to