hand, made the sign of the cross, and, in the most dig. nified manner, bestowed his blessing on the kneeling multitude. It was Pope Leo the Twelfth, who had been visiting his private palace, previous to its undergoing some projected repairs. His unwieldy vehicle, followed by half a dozen others, equally antiquated, filled with cardinals and officers of his household, drove off, escorted by the guard of honour, amidst the respectful silence of the spectators; but not until one of them (a widow by her dress) had thrown a large folded paper, a petition probably, into the coach. The old man took it up, bowed to her with a benignant smile, and handed it to one of his attendants. It is our own feelings which give their tone to the objects we behold; and I acknowledge that the Pope appeared to me much more like what an ecclesiastical prince ought to be on that occasion, than if I had first seen him presiding over the whole sacro collegio, surrounded by all the splendour of the Roman court, or even during holy week, with its many ceremonies, gorgeous, glittering, or lactiferous; its interminable processions, aided by the unequalled miserere, allowed, by the most musical people in the world, to be the acme of human melody. During our walk home by the Ponte di S. Angelo, I asked my reverend Irish friend if he never intended to return to his own country? "Yes," he said; "I should like to leave my bones in the land of my fathers; but what pleasure can I have in witnessing the majority of my countrymen deprived of their civil rights ?" I told him that I did not see how he could be affected by any change, as Catholics enjoyed toleration, and the free exercise of their religion, whilst there were many Protestants in Ireland who were the principal proprietors, and that it was necessary to support the established church there, as well as in England. The Friar indignantly exclaimed, "No! Catholicism is the religion of the Irish people; it is the ancient, indigenous plant of our fertile but neglected land: Orangeism is but an exotic, more recently implanted by a foreign hand in the green fields of Erin,-alas! too often watered by the blood of her sons, until it has attained its present rank and luxuriant growth. When England has the wisdom to wipe off the foul and opprobrious stain attached to the professors of our holy faith, (so long retained, after the shadow of a pretext for such narrow and exclusive policy has ceased to exist,) then, and not till then, will Ireland be happy, and England just." You can have Last evening, I accompanied an Irish Franciscan, who but a faint idea of the impression the old Milesian wishhas resided upwards of thirty years in Rome, to the ed to convey, without seeing his dark pallid countenance, Vatican, to witness the imposing ceremony of Pontifical his venerable locks, and the sparkling of his still intelvespers, in the splendid Sixtine Chapel, where, station-ligent eye; you should have heard his sonorous voice ing ourselves within the railing which ungallantly ex- agitated by the earnest energy of his manner, and liscludes the fair sex, I again beheld the Pope, seated on tened to his enthusiastic patriotism, warmed by religious an elevated throne, his brow adorned with the triple zeal. I endeavoured to soothe his aroused feelings, tiara, clothed in gorgeous robes of white and gold, at- saying, that the evils he complained of, when investiga. tended by a motley assemblage of Roman clergy, nobi- ted dispassionately, would appear to proceed from causes lity, and foreign ambassadors, dressed in the most gla- very different from what many supposed; but his opiring style of magnificence, and decked out in all colours, nions were fixed, the time and place were equally unfrom the sober grey of the anchorites and mendicants to suited for a lengthened discussion; and therefore, shathe sombre black of the Monks;-from the purple of king me cordially by the hand, the worthy old man the monsignore to the crimson of the canon; and from wished me good-night at the door of my hotel, and disthe dazzling scarlet of the cardinal to the sovereign white appeared, afraid, no doubt, of arriving too late at his of the supreme pontiff. If you imagine, however, that convent. I have wandered a long way from the Pope's I am going to enter into a prolix detail of church cere- history, which I took up my pen to give you a hasty monies, I must beg leave to dispel the error, and to as- sketch of. sure you, that I paid very little attention to them, amidst Count Annibale della Genga was born in the year the superior attractions of the unrivalled frescoes of 1760, near the town of Spoletto; and as there is only Michael Angelo, which cover the walls of the Sixtine one road to fortune or fame in the States of the Church, Chapel; and listening to the heavenly music of its full at an early age he repaired to Rome, to commence his choir, for the great effect of the fine evening service of ecclesiastical studies. When about four-and-twenty, his the Catholic Church is produced by the perfect training handsome person and the elegance of his manners atof the band of singers, who practise constantly together, tracted the notice of Pius the 6th, the immediate predewithout any accompaniment. The Sopranos, I am sorry cessor of the last Pope, who was so much struck with to say, are unfortunate castrati, sacrificed for the sake the noble and prepossessing appearance of the Abate of sweet sounds. The Italian voice, though not always della Genga, then just entered into holy orders, that he pleasing in conversation, soars in its higher tones into was immediately summoned to his Holiness's apartthe richest and boldest musical expression. The person ments, at the Quirinal palace. The Pope's object was, who chiefly attracted my attention, (and fortunately my not only to form his court of the best-looking young asHibernian cicerone knew every person of distinction), pirants for ecclesiastical dignities, but also to put their was the Cardinal della Sommaglia, from his strong resem- talents to the test, by employing them in his private blance to a well-known ex-Lord Chancellor. They are correspondence, historical researches, or any secret proabout the same advanced age, both possessing the sauvi. ceedings he saw fit. It happened at that time, that ter in modo, the same penetrating eyes, still lighted up some new arrangements were framing for the governwith an almost youthful fire, when directing a keen ment and discipline of the church in Germany, which piercing glance, or occasionally the play of iron features it was necessary to keep secret from the court. The relaxed into a Sardonic smile. The cardinal was for- Pope, relying on the discretion and zeal of his young merly gifted with considerable skill and address in the protegé, employed him confidentially for many months, management of affairs, but now (unlike his British pro- writing under his dictation upon ecclesiastical affairs, totype) incapacitated for business, owing to a loss of chiefly at night, with much precaution and mystery; memory, a strange negative quality for a minister of until, by a series of skilful manoeuvres, Cardinal Colstate, which office he yet holds. Nor is it only physi-nacci, one of the most ambitious men at the Papal court, cally that he resembles the venerable peer I have alluded to, for their minds seem to have been similarly constituted; they are equally attached to religion, Roman or Anglican, in all its exclusive spirit, and to all ancient institutions; they are equally opposed to innovations, and to the too hasty spread of knowledge, or to what is vulgarly called the "march of intellect." discovered the nocturnal occupations of his Holiness, and intrigued successfully to have his young amanuensis discarded, having pumped the secret of the proposed reforms in the German bishopricks from the unsuspecting youth; who, from the height of the most brilliant hopes, founded on the Pope's predilection for him, as suddenly fell into the undistinguished ranks of the ordinary pre lacy, without appointment or consideration, except that of Monsignore, a class from which those destined to fill the highest offices are generally selected. Monsignore della Genga was afterwards restored to favour, and continued for years private secretary to Pius the 6th, during which period scandal, and the tittletattle of Rome, did not spare the young favourite, who was much admired by the fair sex, particularly by the beautiful wife of an old officer in the Swiss guards; indeed, she was considered as his avowed mistress. He was at length, however, obliged to quit all the attractions of the Roman court, as his patron thought it more for his interest to appoint his confidential secretary to a foreign mission, than to retain him any longer in his cabinet. The legation of Munich becoming vacant, he was named to it, and soon became a decided favourite at the Electoral Court-an honour to which his amiable manners, elegant person, and highly-cultivated mind, justly entitled him. In the year 1793, Count della Genga was promoted to the honorary title of Archbishop of Tyre, in partibus infidelium; and on the death of his patron, in 1800, he was recalled to Rome from his post of legate, where he found his enemy, Cardinal Gonsalvi, (nephew of the ambitious old Colnacci,) in power; for, on the election of Pius the 7th at Venice, he appointed the former secretary of state, an office he retained during the whole of that Pope's Pontificate. Della Genga retired for a while from public life, and his chief occupation and amusement was the chase, to the pleasures of which he devoted most of his time. During the fifteen years that Italy was governed by the French, the Pope's temporal sovereignty was in abeyance; and in retribution for the long period that Gaul was ruled by a Roman Prefect, when the Imperial Cæsars were masters of the world, the Roman states, reduced to a province of the new empire, were obliged to submit to the degradation of receiving laws from a French Prefect, who resided in the Eternal City. He relieved the Papal court from the troubles and anxiety attendant on worldly concerns; and Cardinal Gonsalvi, | the honorary secretario di stato, had a complete sinecure, or rather his functions were limited to the cure of souls, having only the responsibility of those spiritual matters which the Pope, as head of the Catholic church, could not be divested of. error was one of the greatest he could have been guilty of, and in most courts is never excused or forgotten. It nearly proved fatal, not only to his reputation, but to his life. Had he written vaguely, exaggerated the dif ficulties that obstructed him, and abstained from dispatching a courier until the arrangement was concluded or formally signed, his skill, talents, and finesse would have been extolled, and a Cardinal's hat and some rich benefice would have been his reward. Instead of this, Gonsalvi informed the Pope that the affairs of the church absolutely required his immediate presence at Paris, to counteract the awkward position in which the inconsiderate Nuncio had placed the negotiations on the tapis; and as France stands higher than any power in the estimation of the Holy See, from the importance which her adherence reflects on the head of the Catholic church, Cardinal Gonsalvi was very soon on his road across the Alps. A fortnight after writing his unfortunate dispatch, affairs having gone on most prosperously in the meantime, Della Genga was stepping into his carriage to wait upon the French minister, to give the finishing hand to the concordat, when he was surprised by the unwelcome arrival of Gonsalvi; who, in an hour afterwards, receiving the necessary documents from his thunderstruck rival, got into his carriage, and drove to the Tuileries in his place. The distress produced by this untimely interference in the mind of Della Genga was such, that for many months he never left his bed, an hemorrhage having immediate. ly declared itself, which reduced him to the point of death. Grief, disappointment, and mortification preyed on his health; and this malady has never since ceased to afflict him at intervals. It is said he has received the viaticum, or extreme unction, no less than a dozen times since this revolution in his system. At the last conclave, Cardinal della Sommaglia, from his advanced age, from his being Dean of the Sacro Collegio, and other circumstances, had great hopes of being elected to succeed Pius the 7th. A young man seldom succeeds, fifty-five being the minimum; and Della Genga, who had some years before been appointed a Cardinal, was at that time not much more than sixty, quite a youth in their council of ancients. But, it is said, that he dexterously made an arrangement with his old friend Della Sommaglia, to pro. mote the interests of one another, on condition that if either were elected Pope, the other should have the office of Secretary of State. This is the only plausible manner of accounting for the result of the election in favour of the young Pope, and the nomination of the old Ultra-Minister of State. Leo the 12th, however, certainly owes his present elevated station in some mea. sure to his pleasing elegance of manner, and his handsome, graceful person, which secured him many friends; and although a man of pleasure in early life, like Charles the 10th, the present king of France, he is not only reform. ed, but more strait-laced and rigid in his conduct, than if he had been equally exemplary in his youth; in this respect they resemble all converts, who affect greater austerity, and make less allowance for the faults of others, than those who have never strayed from the path of propriety. The restoration of the Bourbon dynasty in France was so important an event for his Holiness, that he immediately sent Archbishop della Genga, to congratulate Louis the 18th on his return to Paris; and in order not to relinquish an opportunity of obtaining as much influence for the Holy See, by negotiation with the restored monarch, as it had lost through the imperial usurper who preceded him, the Nuncio was instructed by the crafty and politic Gonsalvi, to endeavour to prevail upon Louis to renounce those advantages which had been secured to the Gallican church, by the famous concordat, and which even the powerful Louis the 14th could not obtain, although claimed originally by him. It may be imagined that it was not from pure regard or friendship for the Nuncio della Genga, that his rival charged him with a supposed impossible mission; on the contrary, it was more with a view to give a death-blow to his repu Since the accession of his present Holiness, the Vatitation as a negotiator, for he was not without preten- can has been indebted to him for a vast increase to its sions, and his diplomatic skill and address were highly treasures in antiquities, literature, and the arts. Several vaunted in the Papal coteries. The result proved that collections of books, antiques, and curiosities, have been he enjoyed a reputation in this respect he did not de- lately purchased; such as the Verentini, and Rananserve; for, soon after his arrival in Paris, in 1814, dis- dini, and part of the Aldobrandini statues and relievi, covering, to his great astonishment, that the Bourbon Leo is a liberal and enlightened patron of the arts; he ministry was by no means averse to granting his de- has also continued the different public works commenmand, he quite lost his character as a dissimulating, ced by Gonsalvi, added a cabinet of Mosaics to the Va clever diplomatist, by dispatching a courier at once to tican Museum, and augmented the number of TheoloRome, acquainting Cardinal Gonsalvi with his candidgical Colleges. Although an effort was made by the opinion on the subject, and his well-founded hopes of immediate success in the object of his mission. This ultra party to prohibit public Protestant worship in Rome, it still is protected by the Court, and even a guard allowed to sanction the English service; an inestimable advantage to the many foreign residents here. The Pope has, however, made himself unpopular, by restoring sanctuaries for assassins at Ostia, and another unhealthy town, with a view of increasing their population, but, it is to be feared, at the imminent risk of travellers passing near them. Such asylums had been abolished for many years, and are now only partially restored, for a short time, it is to be hoped. To the influence of Cardinal della Sommaglia may be attributed the measures now in contemplation, for founding a college on the same footing as the Sorbonne, a philological establishment, charged with the examination of all literary works before they are printed. There can be little apprehension of any liberal works escaping the vigilant eyes of ecclesiastical censors. I believe his Holiness owes his unpopularity solely to his unfortunate choice of a minister, as the recollection of the beneficent and conciliatory Gonsalvi is still cherished by the Romans with a sentiment of grateful affection, which the less congenial and intolerant government of his antiquated successor has deepened and confirmed. POETRY OF GONZALO DI BERCEO. NOTHING can be more humiliating to the pride of authorship, than to reflect how many names, that once seemed graven imperishably on the tablet of Fame, and were familiar as household words, are now almost totally obliterated and forgotten. Surely it might teach a lesson of humility to many living writers, to witness the unavailing efforts of the Antiquary to buoy above the waters of oblivion some "frail memorial" of individuals, who, in their own belief, and that of their contemporaries, stood high and dry beyond the most presumptuous swellings of its flood. The author, whose name is prefixed to this notice, appears to be one of those at whose expense this disagreeable lesson is furnished. Gonzalo di Berceo was born in the latter end of the twelfth century, and his writings rank next, in the order of time, to the ancient poem of the Cid. Even at this early period he displayed no small share of that fecundity for which his countrymen afterwards became proverbial. Thirty thousand of his verses are still preserved; and although the materials of his history are scanty, an opinion may be formed of his popularity, and of the influence he exerted on the literature of his country, from the fact, that he originated a style of versification called "Versos de arte mayor," which was esteemed the most lofty then known, and continued in use for two centuries. It is true that later critics, who have noticed the productions of this author, have been exceedingly niggard of praise; but we have the testimony of Don Tomas Sanchez, who has done much for the ancient poetry of Spain, besides the obvious improvement of the language in Di Berceo's hands, to set off against their opinion. Sismondi, in particular, might perhaps have spoken with less severity of our poet, had he considered that it was scarcely fair to try the merits of productions of the thirteenth century by the standard of the nineteenth. We have endeavoured to render the following short poem as nearly as possible in the spirit and manner of the original, and have only to beg the reader to bear in mind, that it was not composed in an age when poetical epithets and images were all cut and dry, requiring only to be arranged in rows of a certain length to produce a poem. We may also state, that our poet was a monk; and this circumstance probably accounts for the chief omission discoverable in the following lines; for, had the meit, The meid enamelet sae fayre, the odoures passing sweit, Wi' odoures saft an' savourie, an' shades sae calme as this:- An' there as I wals lyand my cares didde alle forleit, Toke o' the floures als manie as they mot tak awaye; beene. LETTERS FROM LONDON. No. VI. R. F. R. [When politics are incidentally alluded to in these letters, it is not the writer's wish to indicate any party bias, but merely to state facts which come under his own observation.] THE war of politics continues to rage, and with increased violence. The sacred pale of friendship is beginning to be invaded here, even here, in reflecting, dispassionate England, and the Catholic Question bids fair to become as fruitful a source of social discord as the memorable case of Queen Caroline. The very men who have hitherto taken pride in displaying a philosophic indifference to all discussions connected with modes of belief, are gradually doffing their neutrality, and ranging themselves around the banner dearest to the sympathies and recollections that in early life found their way to the hea It is quite surprising to me, that any two sensible mortals of opposite opinions should think of wasting argument upon the matter; for of the innumerable disputations which I have had the misfortune to witness, I never knew an instance of conviction being produced, or any thing but more obstinate assertion, wider disagreement, and a fiercer form of advocacy. My curiosity was gratified last week by seeing the effect of an election with its most anti-classical attendants, upon the University of Oxford-the "holy, stedfast, and demure" Alma Mater of so many august names, that, like the bright embellishments of an illuminated MS., lend lustre to the records of British literature. Alas! for learning, the Oxford election was much like every other, with the exception that a great proportion of the voters seemed to act from a fixed political principle, though not a few were guided by motives, such as are supposed to influence the independent electors of the boroughs, under the special patronage of that upright Anglo-Israelite, Sir Manasseh Massch Lopez. One fact is as certain as any fact can be, that the preceptress of his scho lastic hours has dissolved the ties that bound her to Robert Peel. Nothing could surpass the bitterness with which he was mentioned during the contest with Sir R. H. Inglis, and the persons who voted for his return shrunk from his defence. No man cried, "God bless him!"-His reputation as a public character seems equally to have fallen on the tranquil margin of the Isis, as on the populous banks of the Thames. spirit of genius. Most of those who have written about this picture have called it "Judith and Holofernes;" but by a reference to the catalogue they would have found that the artist himself entitles it simply "Judith." This he has not done unadvisedly, for though every one must admire the painting as a whole, there can be no doubt that Judith is the object of leading interest, and that upon her the painter has been most anxious to During my stay in Oxford, I had the pleasure of hear- exhaust all his powers. Judith, it is evident, would ing that a spirit of reformation in literary matters was make a splendid picture by herself, but Holofernes gaining ground in the University. It is said, that "old would not; for he only serves to illustrate the heroine. things will be done away," and though all things will We look upon the head, neck, and bust, together with not become new, still it is expected that much of the the extended right arm of Judith, as a piece of painting cumbrousness of ancient notions will be thrown off, and which makes as near an approach to perfection as we be superseded by modern ideas of elegance and utility. believe the art to be capable of. We find it difficult to In despite of the horror entertained for the lighter pub- express as we wish our deep admiration of the skill with lications by the sages of the classics, Oriel has produced which Etty has succeeded in attaching to his heroine a a Quarterly Review, and the Oxford Literary Gazette is feeling of moral beauty and sublimity which no inferior announced for the 13th of March. I grieve to find that mind could have cast round a female who was about to the first number of the Review does no credit to Blanco sever a human head from the body to which it belongWhite nor his contributors. It is of a verity a most ed. He has done this in a manner so triumphant, the pithless and pointless periodical. Its first paper especi- conception is so dignified, and the execution is so fearally, would disgrace an Etonian, as an experiment of less and magnificent, that all the small critics who go skill in essay-writing. Blanco must abandon politics about the rooms poking their noses into the little groups and polemics, and look to his editorial duties, if he cares of green trees, or the cattle pieces, or the family scenes, for the success of the work under his charge. Of the and who are very eloquent and learned upon such mat. Oxford Literary Gazette, I am inclined to augur most ters, look quite bewildered and silly the moment auspiciously. Its editor is a scholar and a gentleman, they are talked to regarding what is probably the only with solid and extensive acquirements, and totally free picture really painted for immortality now exhibiting in from prejudice of any kind. He is to be supported by Edinburgh. Etty soars an inconceivably loftier flight the flower of the University, and a part of the accredited than such persons can comprehend. They know a good authorship of the metropolis. One fair and ample field deal about the technicalities of the art, but they are prolies before him in the treasures of literature, that are bu-foundly ignorant of all its higher attributes, its moral ried in the unsunned recesses of the magnificent Bod-power, its poetry, its inspiration. Many little objecleian library, and other great collections. To explore these, and to make a tasteful and judicious use of the fruit of research, would go far to command the prosperity essential to the continuance of the undertaking.-A highly competent Oxonian from your side of the Tweed has taken Sir Philip Sidney under his protection, and his work, which is about to issue from the press, promises to form a valuable addition to the list of good old English books. It contains much that is new and interesting. The Theatres are inexpressibly infelicitous in their dramatic novelties." Monsieur Mallet," owing to the finished acting of Matthews, is the most attractive of all the late productions.—A play, in three acts, by Kenney and Morton, has been produced at Drury-Lane, supported by the strength of the company in every department. Its chief characteristics are obscenity and stupidity. Its name is the "Battle of Pultowa," and a piece under the same title was brought out almost at the same time at Covent-Garden. I leave to other critics to say which deserves the palm of excellence. The genius of Burke-the inventor of a new crime-has been commemorated at the Surrey Theatre. Pitch plasters are expected to extinguish cigars, and I understand, from good authority, that Mr Joseph Hume never quits Bryanstone-square for St Stephens, without adopting the precautionary measure of wrapping a sevenfold fence of silk or fleecy hosiery-I cannot exactly say which around the seat of financial eloquence. FINE ARTS. THIRD EXHIBITION OF PICTURES AT THE SCOT- (First Notice.) THE picture which above all others arrests and retains the attention in this Exhibition is Etty's "Judith." It is a bold and noble production, full of the fire and tions have been started to the details of this picture, some of them perhaps correct, and others most absurd. But who would stop to inquire whether or not Judith's leg was a shade too masculine, or the drapery over Holofernes a shade too glaring, when he felt the effect produ. ced by the tout ensemble pouring itself into his soul, and carrying away the feeble barrier of critical conceit, as the winter torrent carries away the straws and herbage lying in its course. This picture is a study for many a solitary hour. The upturned face of Judith, praying silently and fervently, ere she ventures to thrust the sword into the tabernacle of life, those breathing lips upon which the sunlight falls, and from which we almost hear the words, "Strengthen me, O Lord God of Israel, this day"-that queenlike form, radiant with the beauty and the strength of the luxuriant East,—and then the tyrant by her side, wrapt in an uneasy slumber full of wild dreams, his dark strong hair flowing on the couch behind, and already entwined in Judith's left hand, that her aim may be the surer,-the whole arrangements, so simple, yet so complete,-only two figures, yet those two figures telling in themselves a history, these are cir. cumstances which mark the master, and which he who does not perceive, and appreciate, and feel, may forever renounce all hope of rising to eminence, either as a painter, poet, sculptor, or musician, destitute as he must be of those finer susceptibilities, which from the enjoyment lead one to the execution of what is great, beautiful, and sublime. We are glad to hear that the Academy have purchased this picture, and that they have bespoken two others from the same artist. The picture which, after "Judith," is most spoken of, is Martin's "Deluge," but it is no more to be com pared to the Judith, than a tailor to Hercules. It is painted in a different style of art altogether, and both the style and the conception are as inferior as can well be conceived. The Deluge, it will be observed, is a subject which possesses an inherent sublimity in itself, and the painter therefore must be an arrant ninny, who does not at least make something out of it. But Martin's notions of the cause why the Deluge is sublime, whom it was indifferent, perhaps welcome,-and surely appear to us very apocryphal, or at least much more adapted for vulgar and commonplace minds, than for those of higher cultivation, and gifted with more intellectual discernment. He attempts to produce sublimity solely through the influence of terror, and terror too of the lowest and most unworthy kind-a mere dread of physical suffering. We have all heard of a puddle in a storm, and we must say, that Mr Martin's "De-effect of so entirely unhinging mental and moral energy. luge" reminds us a little of this phenomenon. There is a terrible deal of blustering, and melodramatic stamping and roaring in it, a tremendous quantity of thunder and lightning, a very blood-red sun, a particularly curious-looking comet, and a moon evidently dying of fright; then there are waves lashing and splashing in all directions, water-spouts tumbling and grumbling, clouds of a most portentous blackness, and last of all, millions of people congregated together on rocks, and in caves, squeezing and cramming, like flocks of sheep at a cattle-market; and then over the whole is thrown a glimmering unearthly light, such as may be found in coal-pits, but which, in the present case, must be supposed to be the joint production of the aforesaid sun, moon, and comet. Now, Mr Martin should have known, that all this did not constitute sublimity, or at least, not that kind of sublimity which we look for in a representation of the Deluge-the most awful calamity which ever has overtaken, or ever will overtake, the habitable globe. All this, however, it may perhaps be said, is matter of opinion, or rather of feeling, regarding what is most likely to excite emotions of sublimity. No doubt it is; but we will go farther, and undertake to show, that nobody can feel greatly awe-struck on viewing this production. In the first place, it requires two distinct points of sight. When we stand at the proper distance for seeing the landscape part of the picture, the figures, which are very numerous, and very minute, cannot be recognised or distinguished; and on the other hand, when we go near enough to examine the living multitude, the mountains and the waters become one black mass of confusion. Thus the general effect is divided, as it were, into two halves, and at least materially weakened, if not altogether destroyed. In the next place, there are far too many human beings still surviving. The statement may appear somewhat paradoxical, but it is nevertheless true, that it is impossible to sympathise with a great crowd, so much as with a few individuals. A companionship in misery, takes off from its bitterness. The catastrophe of a piece, which we once saw performed in a provincial theatre, was the blowing up of a mine, by which about two dozen persons, upon the stage at the time, were supposed to be killed, and they fell down accordingly; but the effect, so far from So it is in real being tragic, was positively ludicrous. life. Thousands are cut down on the day of battle, for whom we do not feel so much, as we do for the one solitary traveller murdered on the heath. Hence, with true taste, Poussin, in his fine quiet picture of the Deluge, which is now in the gallery of the Louvre, introduces only one or two human beings, on the top of what is evidently the last peak that still has its head above the waters. The attention is thus riveted on one object, and But Martin is partiimagination is left to do the rest. cularly anxious not to leave any thing for the imagination, and he therefore brings millions together, all of whom are about to be swallowed up very speedily; but as death is to be divided among so many, we have no engrossing feeling of its terrors in any individual instance. In the third place, the painter has chosen to represent only one passion, as pervading the whole of this multitude, and that passion is terror, either terror of the most abject and crouching kind, or terror which has sunk into despair, or terror which has produced madness. This is not true to nature. Among so many thousands, there must have been some courageous spirits who could defy death, there must have been not a few, to ORIGINAL POETRY. A REMEMBRANCE OF EIGHT YEARS. A VOICE comes o'er the waves of Time, With tendrils fast; While through the rainbow drops of tears, Eight years!-but little more than thrice For o'er it crowding joys have stept, Eight years!-if by emotions strong We measured out the march of time, Though seventy times the chime Yet 'tis but yesterday, 'twould seem, Since first I saw the queen-like form, Hath haunted, ay, and bless'd me too, |