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overdrawn; and then the style-so-so | the English, I ascribe to the peculiar -I don't know what-you understand tone and cast of the aristocracy of Engme; but it's a dear book altogether! Do you know Lady-?'

'Oh dear! yes; nice creature she is!' "Very nice person, indeed.' "What a dear little horse that is of poor Lord-'s!'

'He is very vicious.'

Is he really?-nice little thing!' 'Ah! you must not abuse poor Mrs. -; to be sure, she is very ill-natured, and they say she's so stingy! but then she really is such a dear

'Nice' and 'dear' are the great To Prepon and To Kalon of feminine conversational moralities.

But, perhaps, the genius of our conversation is most shown in the art of explaining.

'Were you in the House, last night?' 'Yes-er-Sir Robert Peel made a splendid speech!'

'Ah! and how did he justify his vote? I've not seen the papers.'

'Oh, I can tell you exactly-ahemhe said, you see, that he disliked the ministers, and so forth-you understand -but that-er-in these times, and so forth, and with this river of bloodoh! he was very fine there!-you must read it-well, sir; and then he was very good against O'Connell-capital!-and all this agitation going on-and murder, and so forth;-and then, sir, he told a capital story about a man and his wife being murdered, and putting a child in the fireplace-you see I forget now but it was capital: and then he wound up with-a-with-a-in his usual way, in short. Oh! he quite justified himself -you understand-in short, you see, he could not do otherwise.'

Caricatured as this may seem to others, it is a picture from actual life: the explainer, too, is reckoned a very sensible man; and the listener saw nothing inconclusive in the elucidation.


(From the Same.)

In attempting to trace the causes operating on the national character of

land much of that reserved and unsocial spirit which proverbially pervades all classes of our countrymen. To the same causes, combined with the ostentation of commerce, I ascribe, also, much of that hollowness and glitter which belong to the occupations of the great world, and that fretfulness and pride, that uneasy and dissatisfied temper, which are engendered by a variety of small social distinctions, and the eternal vying, and consequent mortifications, which those distinctions produce. These feelings, the slow growth of centuries, became more and more developed as the effects of civilization and wealth rendered the aristocratic influences more general upon the subordinate classes. In the indolent luxuries of a court, what more natural than satiety among the great, and a proud discontent among their emulators?

The peace of 1815, just concluded, and the consequent pause in continental excitement, allowed these pampered, yet not unpoetical springs of sentiment, to be more deeply and sensibly felt; and the public, no longer compelled by war, and the mighty career of Napoleon, to turn their attention to the action of life, could give their sympathies, undivided, to the first who should represent their thoughts. And these very thoughts, these very sources of sentiment, this very satiety,-this very discontent,— this profound and melancholy temperament, the result of certain social systems, --the first two cantos of Childe Harold suddenly appeared to represent. They touched the most sensitive chord in the public heart, they expressed what every one felt.

The position of the author, once attracting curiosity, was found singularly correspondent with the sentiment he embodied. His rank, his supposed melancholy, even his reputed beauty, added a natural interest to his genius. He became the type, the ideal of the state of mind which he represented; and the world willingly associated his person with his works, because they

thus seemed actually to incorporate, is usually evinced by the conception and in no undignified or ungraceful rather than the execution; and this often shape, the principle of their own long- makes the main difference between melonursed sentiments and most common drame and tragedy. There is, in the emotions. Sir Philip Sidney repre- early poems of Lord Byron, scarcely sented the popular sentiment, in Eliza- any clear, conception, at all; there is no beth's day,-Byron, that in our own. harmonious plan, comprising one great, Each became the poetry of a particular consistent, systematic whole; no epic age put into action; each,-incorpo- of events artfully wrought, progressing rated with the feelings he had addressed, through a rich variety of character, and --attracted towards himself an enthu- through the struggles of contending siasm which his genius alone did not passions, to one mighty and inevitable deserve. It is in vain, therefore, that end. If we take the most elaborate and we would now coolly criticize the merits most admired of his tales, the Corsair, of the first cantos of Childe Harold, we shall recognize in its conception or those Eastern tales by which they an evident want of elevation: a pirate were succeeded, and in which another taken prisoner,-released by a favourite sentiment of the age was addressed, of the harem, escaping, and finding namely, that craving for adventure and his mistress dead. There is surely wild incident, which the habit of watch- nothing beyond melodrame in the design ing, for many years, the events of a of this story; nor do the incidents evince portentous war, and the meteoric career any great fertility of invention, to of the modern Alexander, naturally en- counterbalance the want of greatness gendered. in the conception.

We may wonder, when we now return to those poems, at our early admiration at their supposed philosophy of tone and grandeur of thought. In order to judge them fairly, we must recall the feelings they addressed. With nations, as with individuals, it is necessary to return to past emotions, in order to judge of the merits of past appeals to them. We attributed truth and depth to Lord Byron's poetry, in proportion as it expressed our own thoughts; just as in the affairs of life, or in the speeches of orators, we esteem those men the most sensible who agree the most with ourselves,-embellishing and exalting only, (not controverting) our own impressions. And, in tracing the career of this remarkable poet, we may find that he became less and less popular, in proportion, not as his genius waned, but as he addressed more feebly the prevalent sentiment of his times: for I suspect that future critics will agree, that there is, in his tragedies, which were never popular, a far higher order of genius than in his Eastern tales, or the first two cantos of Childe Harold.

The highest order of poetical genius,

In this, too, as in all his tales, though full of passion,-and this is worth considering, since it is for his delineations of passion, that the vulgar laud him, -we may observe that he describes a passion, not the struggles of passions. But it is in this last that a master is displayed: it is contending emotions, not the prevalence of one emotion, that call forth all the subtle comprehension, or deep research, or giant grasp of man's intricate nature, in which consists the highest order of that poetic genius which works out its result by character and fiction. Thus, the struggles of Medea are more dread than the determination; the conflicting passions of Dido evince the most triumphant effect of Virgil's skill; to describe a murder, is the daily task of the melodramist:

the irresolution, the horror, the struggle of Macbeth, belong to Shakespeare alone.

When Byron's heroes commit a crime, they march at once to it; we see not the pause, the self-counsel,-the agony, settling into resolve; he enters not into that delicate and subtle analysis of human motives, which excites so absorbing a dread, and demands so exquisite a skill. Had Shakespeare con

incident, nor above all, in the dissection of passions, can the early poems of Lord Byron rank with the higher masterpieces of poetic art.

But, at a later period of his life, more exalted and thoughtful notions of his calling, were revealed to him; and I imagine that his acquaintance with Shelley induced him to devote his meditative and brooding mind to those metaphysical inquiries into the motives and actions of men, which lead to deep and hidden sources of character, and a more entire comprehension of the science of poetic analysis.

ceived a Gulnare, he would probably have presented to us, in terrible detail, her pause over the couch of her sleeping lord: we should have seen the woman's weakness contesting with the bloody purpose; she would have remembered, though even with loathing, that, on the breast she was about to strike, her head had been pillowed; she would have turned aside-shrunk from her design-again raised the dagger: you would have heard the sleeping man breathe-she would have quailed-and, quailing, struck! But the death-chamber,-that would have been the scene in which, above all others, Hence, his tragedies evince a much Shakespeare would have displayed him- higher order of conception, and a much self, is barred and locked to Byron. greater mastery in art, than his more He gives us the crime, and not all the celebrated poems.-What more pure or wild, and fearful preparation for it. If more lofty than his character of AngioByron had, in his early poems, con- lina, in the Doge of Venice? I know ceived the history of Othello, he would not, in the circle of Shakespeare's have given us the murder of Desde- women, one more true, not only to mona, but never the interviews with nature; that is a slight merit;-but Iago. Thus, neither in the conception to the highest and rarest order of of the plot, nor the fertile invention of nature.


THIS popular author stands at the head of the novelists who depict sea-life, and has furnished the public with a great many amusing and agreeable volumes, which have experienced an almost unrivalled popularity. He was born in 1792, and commenced his literary career in 1829 by the publication of "The Naval Officer,' which was quickly followed by "The King's Own,' and in 1832 by 'Newton Forster, or the 'Merchant Service. Then appeared 'Peter Simple,' which is perhaps the most humorous of all the works of this entertaining author. Captain Marryat continued his labours without intermission, and he has left us about thirty highly interesting novels, of which the principal are, 'Jacob Faith


Cutter the First.

Reader, have you ever been at Plymouth? If you have, your eye must have dwelt with ecstasy upon the beautiful property of the Earl of Mount Edgcumbe: if you have not been at Plymouth, the sooner that you go there, the better. At Mount Edgcumbe you will behold the finest timber in existence, towering up to the summits of the hills, and feathering down to the

ful," Mr. Midshipman Easy, Japhet in search of a Father, Poor Jack,' 'Frank Mildmay,' 'Masterman Ready, and 'Percival Keene. His style is light and fascinating; there is a never ceasing flow of anecdotes and innumerable traits of wit and humour in all his works, and his delineations of original characters would alone render his name famous. He wrote his impressions on a visit to America in a book entitled 'A Diary in America, with Remarks on its institutions, which although containing a deal of good description and sagacions observation, is not considered equal to his abovementioned productions. His death took place on 2nd Aug. 1848.

shingle on the beach. And from this lovely spot you will witness one of the most splendid panoramas in the world. You will see I hardly know what you will not see--you will see Ram Head, and Cawsand Bay; and then you will see the Breakwater, and Drake's Island and the Devil's Bridge below you; and the town of Plymouth and its fortifications, and the Hoe; and then you will come to the Devil's Point, round which the tide runs devilish strong; and then you will see the New

Victualling Office,-about which Sir James Gordon used to stump all day, and take a pinch of snuff from every man who carries a box, which all were delighted to give, and he was delighted to receive, proving how much pleasure may be communicated merely by a pinch of snuff-and then you will see Mount Wise and Mutton Cove; the town of Devonport, with its magnificent dock-yard and arsenals, North Corner, and the way which leads to Saltash. And you will see ships building and ships in ordinary; and ships repairing and ships fitting; and hulks and convict-ships, and the guard-ship; ships ready to sail and ships under sail; besides lighters, man-of-war's boats, dockyard boats, bum-boats, (1) and shoreboats. In short, there is a great deal to see at Plymouth besides the sea itself; but what I particularly wish now, is, that you should stand at the battery of Mount Edgcumbe and look into Barn Pool below you, and there you will see, lying at single anchor, a cutter; and you may also see, by her pendant and ensign, that she is a yacht.

Of all the amusements entered into by the nobility and gentry of our island, there is not one so manly, so exciting, so patriotic, or so national, as yacht-sailing. It is peculiar to England, not only from our insular position and our fine harbours, but because it requires a certain degree of energy and a certain amount of income rarely to be found elsewhere. It has been wisely fostered by our sovereigns, who have felt that the security of the kingdom is increased by every man being more or less a sailor, or connected with the nautical profession. It is an amusement of the greatest importance to the country; as it has much improved our ship building and our ship fitting, while it affords employment to our seamen and shipwrights. But if I were to say all that I could say in praise of yachts, I should never advance with my narrative. shall therefore drink a bumper to the

(1) Market-boats.

Herrig, British Auth.


health of Admiral Lord Yarborough and the Yacht Club, and proceed.

You observe that this yacht is cutterrigged, and that she sits gracefully on the smooth water. She is just heaving up her anchor; her foresail is loose, all ready to cast-in a few minutes she will be under weigh. You see that there are some ladies sitting at the taffrail; (1) and there are five haunches of venison hanging over the stern. Of all amusements give me yachting. But we must go on board. The deck, you observe, is of narrow deal planks as white as snow; the guns are of polished brass; the bitts (2) and binnacles (3) of mahogany; she is painted with taste, and all the mouldings are gilded. There is nothing wanting; and yet how clear and how unencumbered are her decks! Let us go below. This is the ladies' cabin; can any thing be more tasteful or elegant? is it not luxurious? and, although so small, does not its very confined space astonish you, when you view so many comforts so beautifully arranged? This is the dining-room, and where the gentlemen repair. What can be more complete or recherché? and just peep into their state-rooms and bed-places. Here is the steward's room and the beaufet; the steward is squeezing lemons for the punch, and there is the champagne in ice; and by the side of the pail, the long-corks are ranged up, all ready. Now, let us go forwards; here are the men's berths, not confined as in a man-of-war. No! luxury starts from abaft, and is not wholly lost, even at the fore-peak. This is the kitchen: is it not admirably arranged? What a multum in parvo! and how delightful are the fumes of the turtle-soup! At sea we do meet with rough weather at times; but, for roughing it out, give me a yacht. Now that I have shown you round the vessel, I must introduce the parties on board.

You observe that florid, handsome man in white trousers and blue jacket, who has a telescope in one hand, and

(1) Rail round the stern. (2) A strong frame to which the cables are fastened. (3) Compass-boxes, 29

the company; and he has locked up his chambers, and come, by invitation of his lordship, to play on board of his yacht.

is sipping a glass of brandy and water | He has never had a brief, nor has he which he has just taken off the sky- a chance of one. He is the fiddler of light. That is the owner of the vessel, and a member of the Yacht Club. It is Lord B-: he looks like a sailor, and he does not much belie his looks; yet I have seen him in his robes of state at the opening of the House of Lords. The one near to him is Mr. Stewart, a lieutenant in the navy. He holds on by the rigging with one hand, because, having been actively employed all his life, he does not know what to do with hands which have nothing in them. He is a protégé of Lord B., and is now on board as sailing-master of the yacht.

That handsome, well-built man who is standing by the binnacle, is a Mr. Hautaine. He served six years as midshipman in the navy, and did not like it. He then served six years in a cavalry regiment, and did not like it. But he is very fond of yachts and wherever he goes, he is welcome.

That young man with an embroidered silk waistcoat and white gloves, bending to talk to one of the ladies, is a Mr. Vaughan. Every body knows him, and he knows every body. He is a little in debt, and yachting is convenient.

The one who sits by the lady is a relation of Lord B.; you see at once what he is. He apes the sailor: he has not shaved, because sailors have not time to shave every day; he has not changed his linen, because sailors cannot change every day. He has a cigar in his mouth, which makes him half sick and annoys his company. He talks of the pleasure of a rough sea, which will drive all the ladies below -and then they will not perceive that he is more sick than themselves. He has the misfortune to be born to a large estate, and to be a fool. name is Ossulton.


The last of the gentlemen on board whom I have to introduce, is Mr. Seagrove. He is slightly made, with marked features full of intelligence. He has been brought up to the bar; and has every qualification but application.

I have yet to describe the ladiesperhaps I should have commenced with them-I must excuse myself upon the principle of reserving the best to the last. All puppet-showmen do so; and what is this but the first scene in my puppet-show.

We will describe them according to seniority. That tall, thin, cross-looking lady of forty-five is a spinster, and sister to Lord B. She has been persuaded very much against her will to come on board; but her notions of propriety would not permit her niece to embark under the protection of only her father. She is frightened at every thing; if a rope is thrown down on the deck, up she starts, and cries, 'Oh!' if on the deck, she thinks the water is rushing in below; if down below, and there is a noise, she is convinced there is danger; and, if it be perfectly still, she is sure there is something wrong. She fidgets herself and every body, and is quite a nuisance with her pride and ill-humour; but she has strict notions of propriety, and sacrifices herself as a martyr. She is the Hon. Miss Ossulton,

The lady who, when she smiles, shews so many dimples in her pretty oval face, is a young widow of the name of Lascelles.

That young lady with such a sweet expression of countenance, is the Hon. Miss Cecilia Ossulton. She is lively, witty, and has no fear in her composition; but she is very young yet, not more than seventeen-and nobody knows what she really is-she does not know herself. These are the parties who meet in the cabin of the yacht. The crew consists of ten fine seamen, the steward, and the cook. There is also Lord B.'s valet, Mr. Ossulton's gentleman, and the lady's maid of Miss Ossulton. There not being accommodation for them, the other servants have been left on shore.

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