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often partaken with delight at the table of the But were we to go on quoting the many great millionaire, and which Careme had sent interesting incidents with which the composer's him by one of the Baron's own couriers. life has been fertile, we should never complete Rossini was so touched and gratified by the our memoir; and so, for fear of outstripping our attention that he improvised on the spot (only limits, and perhaps the reader's patience, we are imagine, dear reader, the illustrious Ma stro constrained to pass them over. jotting down an inspiration over the pate's Rossini is still living ; though it is currently whereon his eyes were feasting themselves, and and painfully reported that he is in ill health. on the contents of which he was revelling in Heaven grant that it may not prove the truth ! anticipation !) an aria apropos to the incident, May he yet live to give to the world another and gave it to the courier to deliver to Careme; Barbiere or another Guillaume Tell! May the but as the courier was leaving the room, he glory of his genius yet shine with greater effulcalled him back. “Stay,” said he, “I have gence to brighten earth for ages yet to come, omitted to put my signature to it. There !” imperishable and undimmed, clinging to the And he gave it back, having inscribed on the hearts of menfirst page of the interesting !) MS., “Rossini à

" As the ghost of Homer clings Careme."

Round Scamander's wasting springs, His quiet, sarcastic humour cannot be better As divinest Shakspere's might exemplified than by the following :

Fills Avon and the World with lightOne day, shortly after the production of “La Like Omniscient Power, which he Gazza Ladra,” Rossini was sitting yawning in Imaged 'mid mortality.' his robe de chambre—who shall say upon what And yet-to turn to and reflect on that which the mind of the great man was pondering ? must come! When-dust to mingle with dusthowever, he was yawning-perhaps over the the form of Rossini shall lie before us, cold, sickening puff of some senseless critic, perhaps tenantless of its bright soul—when that form is from occasional fatigue-when a poor wretch, hidden from our tearful, lingering eyes, for ever miserably clad, and to all appearance without a and ever during this mortal being, scudo in his pockets, was shewn in (for Rossini sees and receives the visits of all), eager, of

let there only be,

As the garment of the sky course, to have his fortune made, and certain

Clothes the world immortallythat Rossini could and would make it. The

One remembrance more sublime composer is very generous to all those miserables.

Than the tattered pall of Time. "Well,” said he, “what can I do for you?

Gioachino Rossini. An artist? What sort of a voice have you got?”

"No voice, Monsieur Rossini, I am an instrumentalist. Ah! if you will only now

"Ah! what instrument then?”
The other drew himself up proudly. “The

drum, Monsieur! the double-drum, Monsieur !
And if you will only allow me to play to you

Oh! par Example,exclaimed Rossini, bursting into a fit of laughter. “No, thank Epochs there are in Life, when seem to crowd

Events, the deeds of others bring to be ; you; and, besides, you have no drum here?” “But I have brought one with me."

Though they entwine them in our destiny,

And weave their threads before us, unavow'd; Diantre! but I cannot think of you taking Either for Hope's bright raiment—or a shroud, so much trouble. You play beautifully I am Wherein the silent heart may learn to see, certain. I had better at once give you a note Cold as a corse, some cherish'd memory, to Monsieur Tilmant, the conductor of the Which yet for decent burial thus allow'd, orchestra of the Italian opera. Pray don't Smiles mutely grateful in its quiet rest ! bring it in.”

Anon we follow on Life's pilgrim path, But the professor was not to be got rid of Where weeds seem many, and the flowers down so easily. In came an enormous drum, and press’d. Rossini screwed himself up for the infliction.

But Time for every grief a solace hath ; “I shall have the honour,” said the per- God kindles joy in every human breast,

Where Love forgiving quenches human wrath! severing suitor, “ of playing to you the overture to La Gazza Ladra."

“Ah! ah !" And Rossini laughed again. The performer began without more ceremony, and after the tremendous roll which opens the ANSWER TO MRS. ABDY'S CHARADE introductory march of the overture, he looked at Rossini triumphantly, delighted with the noise

(Page 294). he had made.

“Monsieur,” said he, “here are now sixty bars' rest. We will pass them over-and—”

An old, old man, upon whose brow
"I beg you will do no such thing,” replied Sat Wisdom; and whose silver hair
Rossini, gravely and drily; “PRAY count Was frosted as the drifted snow,

Pass'd with a child, blue-eyed and fair !



It was a lovely, rural scene

Of cottages and well till'd land, Of nature clothed in sunniest green,

Through which they wanderd, hand in hand!
And ever stopp'd be, lessons fair

Unto her opening mind t'impart,
Which might take root, and rip'ning, bear

Immortal fruit within her heart !
“ My child !" thus spoke the hoary sage ;
" Life is a clear and open page,

For mortal eye to scan.
There's not a bird, a flower, or stream
Dumb-yet most eloquent doth teem

With . sermons' sweet to man;
Mark yonder hey, whose flutt'ring brood
Could scarce obtain their daily food,

Save by a mother's care ;
Mark it, my child ! for it doth teach
(Better than most inspired speech)

Woman! a love as rare !
Mark, too, yon wretch, whose bloodshot eyes
Flash hideous passions as they rise,

Gaming hath been his BANE!
Take lesson by his fate, and shun
That minister of th' Evil One,

And keep your soul from stain ;
For that, he mingled in the draught
The deadly henlane, which, when quaff'd,

Laid his sire beneath the sod,
To gain that squander'd, horrid pelf,
He had indeed lost heaven itself,

His Saviour, and his God!"
May 2, 1846.



LITER A TU R E. Bells AND POMEGRANATES: No. 8 AND But he is above and beyond them; loving Florence

LURIA; AND A Soul's TRAGEDY. with that sort of human love that makes us By Robert Browning. (Moxon.) —— With this i blind to weaknesses and ready to forgive faults. eighth number Mr. Browning closes the first The five acts of the tragedy comprise five series of those infinitely various productions periods of one day—morning, noon, afternoon, which he has published under the fanciful title evening, and night; into which is crowded a of “ Bells and Pomegranates;” and as it is one life-time of emotion. Extracts can give but a which seems to have puzzled many of his readers, very faint idea of the peculiar beauties of this perhaps we cannot do better than quote his own drama; for its unity of plot and purpose is one explanation. In reply to inquiries he says-- of the greatest. There are single and short “I only meant by that title to indicate an en- i

passages of great power--the power of a fresh deavour towards something like an alternation or

coinage, stamping some truth which we instantly mixture of music with discoursing, sound with sense, recognize in the glowing words which make it poetry with thought; which looks too ambitious thus Poetry; but even these passages belong to the expressed, so the symbol was preferred. It is little work in such a manner that they are weakened to the purpose that such is actually one of the most by isolation. We must try, however, to make a familiar of the many Rabbinical (and Patristic) ac. selection from the many we have scored. The ceptations of the phrase ; because I confess that, following seems to us full of beauties not to be letting authority alone, I supposed the bare words, appreciated at a first hasty reading :in such juxtaposition, would sufficiently convey the desired meaning.”

Ah, noon comes too fast!

I wonder, do you guess why I delay It signifies, however, almost as little by what Involuntarily the final blow general title these poems are to be known, as the As long as possible ? Peace follows it! binding in which they are enclosed might do; Florence at peace, and the calm, studious heads and a few numbers back we had occasion to Come out again, the penetrating eyes ; dwell more fully on Mr. Browning's claim to be As if a spell broke, all's resumed, each art ranked as a true and great poet than we have You boast, more vivid that it slept awhile ! now the space to do. “Luria” is essentially "Gainst the glad beaven, o'er the white palace-front an heroic production ; a beautiful truth idealized; The walls are peopled by the Painter's brush ; a creation that could only have emanated from a

The Statue to its niche ascends to dwell ; mind accustomed to find its daily food in the The Present's noise and trouble have retired noblest aspirations of humanity. We do not apprehend this drama was ever intended for You speak its speech and read its records plain, theatrical representation, although we can un- Greece lives with you, each Roman breathes your derstand how actors of genius might in its friendembodiment delight a cultivated and sympathis. But Luria--where will then be Luria's place? ing audience; but it possesses none of the clap- Domizia. Highest in honour, for that Past's own trap effects and bustling activity which are

sake, necessary to please the general taste, lowered Of which his actions, sealing up the sum and corrupted as it has been by the greedy Wil range as part, with wbieh he worshipped too.

By saving all that went before from wreck, seekers of an evanescent popularity:

Lur. Then I may walk and watch you in your Luria is a Moorish captain of Florentine troops, faithful to the death, but doubted by the Leading the life my rough life belps no more, ungrateful city of his adoption, surrounded by So different, so new, so beautiful -spies, and exposed at last to all the temptations Nor fear that you will tire to see parade a discovery of their falsehood could present. The club that slew the lion, now that crooks

And left the eternal Past to rule once more.

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And shepherd-pipes come into use again ?

The utmost danger was at hand. 'Tis written ? For very lone and silent seems my East

Now make the duplicate, lest this should fail,
In its drear vastness - still it spreads, and still And speak your fullest on the other side.
No Braccios, no Domizias anywhere-

Secretary. I noticed he was busily repairing
Not ever more! Well, well, to-day is ours ! My half-effacement of his Duomo sketch,
Dom. (to Braccio) Should he not have been one

And to it, while he spoke of Florence, turned
of as ?

As the Mage Negro King to Christ the Babe.
Oh, no!

I judge his childishness the true relapse
Not one of you, and so escape the thrill

To boyhood of a man who has worked lately, Of coming into you, and changing thus

And presently will work, so, meantime, plays : Feeling a soul grow on me that restricts

Whence more than ever I believe in him.
The boundless unrest of the savage heart !
The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land,

And towards the close of the last act, after the Breaks there and buries its tumultuous strength;

victorious but mistrusted Luria has taken the Horror, and silence, and a pause awhile ;

fatal draught, and when one by one his spies and Lo, inland glides the gulf-stream, miles away, enemies are learning to believe in him :In rapture of assent, subdued and still,

Lur. "Neath those strange banks, those unimagined skies! How nearer God we were !

My own East!

He glows above
Well, 'tis not sure the quiet lasts for ever!

With scarce an intervention, presses close
Your placid heads still find our hands new work;
Some minutes' chance-there comes the need of we feel 'Him, nor by painful reason know!

And palpitatingly, His soul o'er ours !

The everlasting minute of creation And, all resolved on, I too hear at last.

Is felt there; Now it is, as it was Then; Oh, you must find some use for me, Ser Braccio !

All changes at His instantaneous will, You hold my strength; 'twere best dispose of it!

Not by the operation of a law What you created, see that you find food for

Whose maker is elsewhere at work !
I shall be dangerous else!

His soul is still engaged upon his world-
How dangerous, Sir ?

Man's praise can forward it, Man's prayer suspend,
Lur. Oh, there are many ways, Domizia warns me, For is not God all-mighty? To recast
And one with half the power that I possess,

The world, erase old things and make them new, Grows very formidable! Do you doubt ?

What costs it Him? So man breathes nobly there ! Why, first, who holds the army

And inasmuch as Feeling, the East's gift, Dom.

While we talk Is quick and transient-comes, and lo, is goneMorn wears, we keep you from your proper place While Northern Thought is slow and durable, In the field !

Oh, what a mission was reserved for me, Lur. Nay, to the field I move no more! Who, born with a perception of the power My part is done, and Puccio's may begin!

And use of the North's thought for us of the East, I cannot trench upon his province longer

Should have stayed there and turned it to account, With any face. You think yourselves so safe ? Giving Thought's character and permanence Why see-in concert with Tiburzio, now

To the too-transitory Feelings there
One could ...

Writing God's messages in mortal words !
A trumpet!

Instead of which, I leave my fated field

My Lucchese at last! For this where such a task is needed least, Arrived, as sure as Florence stands ! your leave ! Where all are born consummate in the art

[Springs out. I just perceive a chance of making mineDom. How plainly is true greatness charactered And then, deserting thus my early post, By such unconsciousness as Luria's here,

I wonder that the men I come among And sharing least the secret of itself !

Mistake me! There, how all had understood, Be it with head that schemes or hand that acts, Still brought fresh stuff for me to stamp and keep, Such save the world which none but they could save, Fresh instinct to translate them into law ! Yet think whate'er they did, that world could do. Me who Brac. Yes : and how worthy note, that those same Dom. Who here the greater task achieve, great ones

More needful even : who have brought fresh stuff In hand or head, with such unconsciousness

For us to mould, interpret and prove rightAnd all its due entailed humility,

New feeling fresh from God, which, could we know Should never shrink, so far as I perceive,

O'the instant, where had been our need of it? From taking up whatever offices

- Whose life re-teaches us what life should be, Involve the whole world's safety or mishap,

What faith is, loyalty and simpleness, Into their mild hands as a thing of course!

All their revealment, taught us so long since The Statist finds it natural to lead

That, having mere tradition of the fact, The mob who might as easily lead him—

Truth copied falteringly from copies faint, The Soldier Marshalls men who know as much- The early traits all dropped away--we said Statist and Soldier verily believe !

On sight of faith of yours, so looks not faith While we poor scribes.... you catch me thinking, We understand, described and taught before.

But still the truth was shown; and tho’ at first That I shall in this very letter write

It suffer from our haste, yet trace by trace What none of you are able! To it, Lapo!

Old memories reappear, the likeness grows,

[Exit Domizia. Our slow Thought does its work, and all is known This last, worst, all affected childish fit

Oh, noble Luria! what you have decreed Convinces me: the Past was no child's play ;

I see not, but no animal revenge,... It was a man beat Pisa--not a child.

It cannot be the gross and vulgar way 'Tis mere dissimulation to remove

Traced for me by convention and mistake The fear, he best knows we should entertain.

Has gained that calm approving eye and brow.


Spare Florence after all! Let Luria trust

garble a longer and more powerful one. "The To his own soul, and I will trust to him!

Spinning of the Shroud,” “The Shrift of Janet Lur. In time!

Campbell,” “The Malediction by the Cradle," "A Soul's TRAGEDY” is a very different “Mary of the Okenshaws,” and others whose production from “Luria.” On a first perusal length excludes them, are probably more replete we were inclined to deem it inferior, and we still with genius than the simply touching story of think it obscure; but a light dawns as again and again we refer to its pages, fascinating enough

“ THE HERDSMAN'S DAUGHTER." from the philosophic truths and quaint similies " Oh, but the sun is bonny, in which they abound. We suspect that its

Shining abune the cluds ! purpose is to the full as lofty as that of Luria ;

Oh, but the hyacinth's bonny, and that its text might be a warning for them to

Blooming amang the wuds ! “ take heed” who think that they stand.” Robert Browning's genius is so much in advance

“ Sae was the heir o' Lyndsay,

First o' his haughtie kin; of all that is vulgar and trite and common-place,

Sae was the herdsman's daughter, that-as has been the case with so many great

Lowly, and pure frae sin. poets—his appreciators must be a gradually en

“ He saw her ae summer morning larging circle. That it is already so large as it is, we look upon as a hopeful sign of mental

Doon by her father's door ;

He went to the Ladye Alice advancement in the popular mind; which shows

And the proud old Earl no more. that this is becoming of a different quality from that which had to be taught to recognise so

“ He followed her last at sunset, many of its now acknowledged masters.

First when the lark is heard ;

And aye the answer she gied him A Book of Highland MINSTRELSY; by

Was, Spier for my father's word!' Mrs. D. Ogilvy; with Illustrations by R. R.

“ The Earl is a proud old noble, Mʻlan. (Nickisson) pp. 272.—This is one of the

The herdsman is proud as he ; most charming books of the season, and we speak He hath said that his winsome Jessie of it in the superlative degree without any mental

Shall wed in her ain degree. reservation whatever. There is a delightful freshness, vigour, and originality about it not to

“ The Earl hath baronies chartered,

The carle has a wbeen puir kye ; be described ; and Mrs. Ogilvy appears to have

But or ever he'll sell his daughter gone out of the beaten track of Scottish history

He'll see her lie doon and die ! and tradition into their by-ways, just to prove what“ flowers” of story have been permitted to

“ The Lyndsay he raged and threatened, “ blush” there unseen. The ballads are twenty

The herdsman he vowed and swore, nine in number, each being preceded by a prose

• Gae back to your Ladye Alice,

And sorrow my bairn no more.' introduction, and nearly every one illustrated by Mʻlan, than whom it would have been impos- " Wroth was the heir o' Lyndsay, sible to find an artist with genius more kindred

Sad was the bonny May; to his allotted task; he has been completely the Her cheek it grew white as cannach, poet with his pencil, entering fully, it is evident,

That waves on the mountain brae. into the writer's ideas and feelings. This young “ She didna greet at the milking, poetess is already favourably known to many

She didna girn at the fauld; readers of Fraser's Magazine, and other pub- But she withered awa' wi' sorrow lications, though hitherto only as an initialist,

Till she looked baith bleared and auld. and we remember a prose article of hers in the

" The nicht it is mirk and misty, “ Book of Beauty" attracted, from its power

The moor it is wild and lone; and feeling, universal admiration ; but this is

He stood by the herdsman's shealing, her first book-the herald, as we fondly hope, of She span by the ingle stone. a bright career. Mrs. Ogilvy has not only original thoughts,

“Open to me, my Jessie,

Mickle have I to say; but an original and most graceful manner of

The herdsman is out on the mountain, expressing them; with a feminine depth and

And canna be hame till day. tenderness of feeling, combined not seldom with masculine vigour. Thus she already possesses

" Open to me, my Jessie, that instrument of genius which is often acquired

Your shadow I see on the wall;

Dearer I lo'e that shadow but slowly—an easy and excellent style. Her prose is as flowing and polished as that of a

Than the fairest lady in hall.' long practised writer; and her verse is what " I daurna see you, Lord Lyndsay, must proceed from a poet's heart, joined to a

And I daurna let you in; fine ear, which renders her mistress of rhythm; By Mary Mother I promised, and a natural as well as cultivated taste. But

And I daurna do this sin.' an extract will speak more eloquently in her "" "Ye canna then lo'e me, Jessie, favour than all our praise, however warmly and

If siccan an oath ye sware ; honestly we would lavish it. We choose one of Your heart it has found anither,-the shortest ballads we can find, rather than

Your love it is light as air.'

"Oh, bitter your words, Lord Lyndsay !

Oh, cauna ye judge me richt?
I had rather been dead at morning

Than angered ye thus at nicht. "Spent is my life wi' sorrow;

I bend to my father's law :
I daurna see ye, Lord Lyndsay,

Though I lo'e ye best of a'!'
" Then fare ye weel, bonny Jessie,

Ye kenna true love nor me ;
I'll back to my Ladye Alice,

And wed in mine ain degree! “ Light he laughed as he left her,

Swift he sprang o'er the moor,
He sawna her tears doon drapping,

He sawna she opened the door.
" But the waefu' sugh frae the mountain,

The sparkles o' frost on the ground, Was a' the voice that she hearkened,

Was a' the sicht that she found. “ Proud is the moon at midnicht,

Winding her siller horn, Sae was the Ladye Alice

Lovely and lofty born.
“ Crossing or care she knew not

Till that her lover gay
Was wooed to the herdsman's shealing

By the smiles of the bonny May.
“ Scorned for a herdsman's daughter !

Oh! but her heart was sore, Till that the heir o' Lyndsay

Knelt at her fcet once more. " Saft were the fair excuses,

Bricht were the gems be brocht, But aye as he praised her beauty

Jessie cam' ower his thocht.
“ But the word of a lord is given,

The word of a lady ta'en,--
He that wooeth in anger

Shall rue it for life in vain. “ Dressed was the Lady Alice

Wi' laces and pearlins rare,
And a score of the vassals' daughters

The train of her mantle bare.

“ Guests were gleg at the wedding,

Minstrels harped at the board,
And the Lyndsay clan were feasted

By the bounty of their lord.
“ And did nane remember Jessie,

And her love sae sorely tried ?
Yes !-ane remembered Jessie,

As he stood beside the bride.
" Tho' he held her dainty fingers

Wi' the jewelled rings sae braw,
One kindly clasp o' Jessie

Had weel been worth them a'.
“ Syne on the lip he kissed her,

Cauld was the kiss as clay,
Cauld as the heart o' Jessie,

Broken for love and wae !
“ Heard ye the cry o' mourning

In the hush of the lonesome moor?
Saw ye the virgin carried

Frae the childless herdsman's door?
“ Music of death and bridal

Met on the summer breeze,
Wedding and funeral mingled

Under the kirkyard trees.
“ On a grave they rested the coffin

Til the nuptial rites were said,
And the same auld priest did service

For the faithless and the dead !
“ Sad was the heir of Lyndsay

When he saw that burial train,
Feared was the Ladye Alice

At his sudden start of pain.
“ Feared was the Ladye Alice

For the auld man dour and gray,
Saying, • Lift ye back the coffin,-

It stoppeth the bridegroom's way!
“ Health to you, Ladye Alice !

Health to your loving lord !'
Sad was the heir o' Lyndsay,

Pierced by that scoffing word.
“ Sune frae his home's remembrance

Far to the wars he fled,
And he died for the love of Jessie

On a Saracen battle-bed !!


FIN E A R T S. MR. LOUGH'S STATUE OF H. R. H. our merchant-princes. We have no hesitation

in saying that he has quite excelled the former

Statue—that already in the Exchange, admirable During several days of the past month Mr. as it is admitted to be; and no wonder, Lough’s Studio has been thrown open to a for here he has been untrammelled, and select circle for the purpose of their viewing his his genius, so to speak, has had a fair opStatue of H. R. H. Prince Albert, intended for portunity of developing its own idiosyncrasy. the Vestibule of Lloyd's, at the Royal Exchange. This is no colossal figure ; it is a Queen, It is an exquisite work, in which the gifted but yet a very woman. Artist has triumphed, as only genius can triumph, the artist has thrown into his work may be over the difficulties of having to work according traced in the entire expression, and even in to order. It is easy, graceful, and dignified, the exquisitely-arranged drapery, the folds of and the likeness admirable.

which across the breast have an effect as novel Mr. Lough has also just completed a Statue of as it is beautiful. Victoria, the “Island Queen,”

as the Island Queen, which ought is represented leaning on the prow of a shipto enrich some public building connected with which is itself sculptured with appropriate

The sentiment which

Her Majesty

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