ary woods

gone by


Nor stooped once, tho' thousands round her Flapp'd the broad ash-leaves o'er the pond grew,

reclin'd, To pull a cowslip as she us'd to do:

And o'er the water crink'd the curdled wave, For Jane in flowers delighted from a child

That Jane was sleeping in her watery grave. I like the garden, but she lov'd the wild, The neatherd boy that us'd to tend the And oft on Sundays young men's gifts de cows, clin'd,

While getting whip-sticks from the dangPosies from gardens of the sweetest kind, ling boughs And eager scrambled the dog-rose to get,

Of osiers drooping by the water side, And woodbine-flowers at every bush she Her bonnet floating on the top espied ;

He knew it well, and hasten'd fearful down The cowslip blossom, with its ruddy streak, To take the terror of his fears to town, Would tempt her furlongs from the path A melancholy story, far too true ; to seek ;

And soon the village to the pasture flew, And gay long purple, with its tufty spike, Where, from the deepest hole the pond She'd wade d'er shoes to reach it in the

about, dyke ;

They dragg’d poor Jenny's lifeless body And oft, while scratching through the bri


And took her home, where scarce an hour For tempting cuckod-flowers and violet buds, Poor Jane, I've known her crying sneak to

She had been living like to you and I. town,

I went with more, and kiss'd her for the Fearing her mother when she'd torn her last, gown.

And thought with tears on pleasures that Ah, these were days her conscience view'd

were past ; with pain,

And, the last kindness left me then to do, Which all are loth to lose, as well as Jane. I went, at milking, where the blossoms And, what I took more odd than all the rest,

grew, Was, that same night she ne'er a wish ex

And handfuls got of rose and lambtoe prest

sweet, To see the gipsics, so belov'd before, And put them with her in her windingThat lay a stone's-throw from us on the


A wilful murder, jury made the crime ; I hinted it; she just reply'd again, Nor parson 'low'd to pray, nor bell to chime; She once believ'd them, but had doubts On the cross roads, far from her friends and since then.

kin, And when we sought our cows, I call'd, The usual law for their ungodly sin " Come mull! "

Who violent hands upon themselves have But she stood silent, for her heart was full.

laid, She lov'd dumb things; and ere she had Poor Jane's last bed un-christian-like was begun

made; To milk, caress'd them more than e'er And there, like all whose last thoughts she'd done;

turn to heaven, But though her tears stood watering in her She sleeps, and doubtless hop'd to be foreye,


(v. ii. p. 92.) I little took it as her last good-bye ;

The tale is a true one, and in a For she was tender, and I've often known little village it would doubtless make Her mourn when beetles have been tram

a deep impression at the time; but pled on :

Clare received it from tradition, for So I ne'er dream'd from this, what soon the circumstance happened long ago: befel,

he would learn therefore the mere Till the next morning rang her passing-bell, fact, that such a girl was drowned

(V. ü.
p. 88.)

in such a pond, and all those parAnd how wonderfully natural on ticulars which constitute the poetry these reflections !

of the story, would remain to be That very morning, it affects me still, created by the activity of his own Ye know the foot-path sidles down the hill, imagination. The true poet alone Ign'rant as babe unborn I pass'd the pond could so faithfully realize to himself, To milk as usual in our close beyond, and few of that class would dare to And cows were drinking at the water's edge, dwell so intensely upon, the agonizing And horses brows'd among the flags and

considerations which sedge,

pass in the And gnats and midges danc'd the water o'er,

mind of a person intent on self-deJust as I've mark'd them scores of times struction : the subsequent reflections before,

of the narrator on her own indiffer And birds sat singing as in mornings gone, ence in passing the pond where While I as unconcern'd went soodling on, Jenny lay drowned, and on the unBut little dreaming, as the wakening wind concerp of the cattle and the insects,


may be, perhaps, more easily con- Vow to be true; and to be truly ta'en, ceived, but are no less faithfully and Repeat their loves, and vow it o'er again; eloquently uttered.

And pause at loss of language to proclaim In our way to Barnack, we skirted Those purest pleasures, yet without a name: the “ Milking pasture,” which, as it And while, in highest ecstacy of bliss

The shepherd holds her yielding hand in brought to my mind one of the most

his, delicious descriptions I ever saw of He turns to heaven to witness what he feels, the progress of love, shall be my And silent shows what want of words conapology, if any is necessary, for the ceals; following quotation.

Then ere the parting moments hustle nigh, Now from the pasture milking-maidens Till next day's evening glads the anxious

And night in deeper dye his curtain dips, come,

eye, With each a swain to bear the burden home,

He swears his truth, and seals it on her Who often coax them on their pleasant way


(V.ü. p. 78.) To soodle longer out in love's delay ; While on a mole-hill, or a resting stile, At the end of that same pasThe simple rustics try their arts the while toral, “ Rural Evening,” how perWith glegging smiles, and hopes and fears fect in form, character, and colour, is between,

the following sketch of an aged woSnatching a kiss to open what they mean : And all the utmost that their tongues can

man in the almshouse. do,

Now at the parish cottage wall'd with dirt, The honey'd words which nature learns to

Where all the

cumber-grounds of life resort, WOO, The wild-flower sweets of language, “love” From the low door that bows two props beand 56 dear,

tween, With warmest utterings meet each maiden's Some feeble tottering dame surveys the

ear ; Who as by magic smit, she knows not why; when she herself was young, and went to

By them reminded of the long-lost day From the warm look that waits a wish'd reply

play ; Droops fearful down in love's delightful The mournful changes she has met since

And, turning to the painful scenes again, Swoon,

then, As slinks the blossom from the suns of noon; Her aching heart, the contrast moves so While sighs half-smother'd from the throb

keen, bing breast, And broken words sweet trembling o'er the E'en sighs a wish that life had never been.

Still vainly sinning, while she strives to rest, And cheeks, in blushes burning, turn’d Half-smother'd discontent pursues its way,

pray, aside, Betray the plainer what she strives to hide.

In whispering Providence, how blest she'd The amorous swain sees through the feign'd If life's last troubles she'd escap'd unseen ;

been, disguise, Discerns the fondness she at first denies,

If, ere want sneak’d for grudgʻd support

from pride, And with all passions love and truth can

She had but shar'd of childhood's joys, and

died. Urges more strong the simpering maid to

And as to talk some passing neighbours love;

stand, More freely using toying ways to win

And shove their box within her tottering Tokens that echo from the soul within

hand, Her soft hand nipping, that with ardour She turns from echoes of her younger years, burns,

And nips the portion of her snuff with tears. And, timid, gentlier presses its returns ;

(V, č. p. 82.) Then stealing pins with innocent deceit, To loose the 'kerchief from its envied seat;

But you are tired, or at least I Then unawares her bonnet he'll untie, Her dark-brown ringlets wiping gently by, then, suppose that I parted with my

am, with this long letter. Briefly To steal a kiss in seemly feign'd disguise, As love yields kinder taken by surprise :

interesting companion, on the top of While, nearly conquer’d, she less disap- Barnack Hill, a place which he has

celebrated in his poems; that he proves, And owns at last, ’mid tears and sighs, she pursued his way to Casterton; and loves.

that after dinner I tried to put these With sweetest feelings that this world be- my imperfect recollections of the day stows

on paper for your amusement. Now each to each their inmost souls dis.





Some thousand gentlemen and which agreeable procedure he con ladies will find our article this month trives to win the heart, hand, and vastly unsatisfactory; for the Captain mouth of a gay lady, with white of our cruiser “ The Critic” being flounces and dark ringlets. His name confined to his hammock, and the was Nicodemus.---The Ghost was the vessel being still on the peace or orbit of his course: in which farce summer establishment, the command we were grieved to see and hear our has alighted on the gunner's-mate; à old favourite “ little Knight" fly diworthy man who will fire his thirty- rectly in the face of Hamlet, and six-pounders with great alacrity till for the temporary purpose of pleasing the signal is hoisted to cease; but the un-play-going pit and gallery of who cannot readily come into the mo. Drury, exaggerate rustic character dern innovation of using locks and (of which we have seen a little) into taking exact aim. He calls outroughly a caricature of Mr. What d'ye cal? in the old style, “ Mind the heave of him, the Droll of the Cobourg. It the sea! Blaze away, my lads !” and would not be desirable to search for never heeds whether his shot tells : a more apposite illustration of the in this way two-thirds are wasted; danger arising from a bad neighbourbut whenever a ball does take effect, hood, than in Mr. K.'s degradation to the cracking timbers show how hard his present style of mocking, not imiit was rammed home.

tating humanity :-his case, howTaking No. XXI, as a pattern, it ever, adınits an easy remedy; he seems the custom to open the period- must recollect his former self, or see ical batteries on Covent Garden-but Emery at least once a week. For as Drury will occupy a very little the rest, “ The Coronation, as usual, time, let us despatch it, and toss it till further notice,” and the actor emover our left shoulder as lightly as peror himself, or themself, (to speak the intolerably tolerable Mr. Cooper regally) as usualmodestly swaggers (under the alias Geraldi Duval) has past those ever-arms-presenting distossed that very fine young woman, temper guards, with a “ NEw MANMiss Smithson, every evening, “Sun- TLE!” more purple than port, and a days excepted,” since our last. Our pompously condescending face more good-natured Commander has called purple than the mantle. There has Mr. Cooper “ an inoffensive actor, also been a farce as usual-Monsieur with no great points about him:" the Tonson hight; the plot is well known. latter limb of the sentence is undeni- Good-bye, Drury ! able, seeing that the gentleman al- At Mr. Smirke's house they have luded to is as plump as a partridge; begun rather strong, treating the nobut for the former, we must be mu- bodies * in town with their principal tinous or dissentient. Once indeed, he dish on the very first night, instead nearly reached that much desired con- of trying third-rate debutants in summation by doing little or nothing first-rate parts, on an easy audience. for two hours but walk in and out This gives rise to two doubts-one, through the doors, and through the whether any live novelties are forthflys, dressed in black, with a shovel- coming besides horses ; the other, is hat, pressing the head of his cane Mr. Young to be considered the acagainst his mouth, and uttering knowledged king, as of yore, two groans : occasionally broaching sen- years back? Green-room report antiments indicative of a gusto for swers the first in the negative; and graves, an amore for exequiæ, a con- as far as concerns the male division, noissance in coffins-assuming to be the public have no reason to lament; a human treatise on urn-burial; by but for the female, or 0. P. side, for

There is nobody in town,' said Topham Beauclerc, “besides myself and about a million of vulgar!' Vol. IV.

2 R

there do the ladies use the bare's down at this present degenerate time, foot, let the pump in Bow-street when the theatres are nearly deserted pour streams of grief. Empty is the by all real play-goers. " It is Lomdressing-room of O'Neill; hollow are bard-street to a Chanay aringe.” But the drawers of the natural, lively the proof of the pudding is in the lady-like Brunton; or, only filled by eating-how fills the treasury? Does pretty, vain Foot, and unoffending he, she, or it bring disordered (i. e. Mrs. Brudenell, who, not to speak cash for check) houses ? There is profanely, but technically, is no good. the higher tribunal, above even friend— Miss Dance has kindly fulfilled our ly encores and hired bravos (not asprognostication made five minutes sassins); there is the grand test! The after her primal entry; and has re- public fancy that managers often emnounced Covent Garden (so we will ploy undue measures to thrust down put it to spare her blushes) for ever mediocrity like a horse-ball-no such and a day. We have been told, that thing! it is the aspirant himself or his this young lady is well connected, injudicious followers. The manager and chose the stage solely out of does not care a d-n who's damned, love for the art: these circumstances or who's saved, as long as he brings might be gathered from her having, the “stumpy.It would be, no doubt, as a LADY, dressed Mrs. Haller in an a singular improvement to the house evening costume from the last“ Jour. to possess another Siddons, but that nal des Dames,very attractive and can hardly be hoped ; in the meanunpenitential; and from the deter- time the histrionic lord mayor has mined, sustained manner in which Charles Kemble, Wm. Macready, she acted every scene, from first to and Charles Young, and heeds not last. The Stranger, with all its glar- the tears of a dozen neglected Misses. ing faults, is a heart-breaking busi- -A new bull to be baited attracts a ness, as London knows ; but if any north-west countryman; and a new tears were shed that night, they somebody to be d—d has irresistible rather gushed from the indelible re- charms for a London pittite. collections of Siddons and O'Neill, We must now go back a little to than from any fault of the debutante, consider the second of our dubious who delicately feeling for other paints points, viz., what is to be the exact ed cheeks besides her own, contrived, rank of Mr. Young? This indeed is in most eloquent dumb show, to as- an entanglement not easily unravel sure the sentimental milliners and led. After the retirement of Mr. little government clerks that “she, Kemble, his range of parts fell of Mrs. Haller, was not Mrs. Haller the necessity to the lot of Mr. Y.; for countess-house-keeper, but Miss D. there was no one else to assume of — In short, we never, cer- them, and the town was already actạinly, saw an English countess with customed to this gentleman's performsuch stiff, tutored, unfashionable ances in the highest class, during brachial actions; and we trust, that it the temporary secessions of the may be long ere we meet with any at all great John. Charles Kemble, indeed, resembling it among the house-keepers made one or two inroads, as in of even “ the first families.” She Hamlet for instance; but, elegant, never forgot who she was, nor where and easy as he is in genteel comedy, she was, for an instant ; neither did he becomes artificial in the loftier the uninterested part of the audience. tragedy, and his Princely Dane never There was some talk of the house produced a permanent effect: he was being packed on the first night of the therefore compelled, after some strugKing's appearance;—of this we know gling, to delight the audience with nothing, for we were not present: Falconbridge, instead of Julling them but we were on Miss D.'s first night, with King John ; while the rival and knowing a little how these things Charles swayed his mild sceptre in are managed, we took some tent; and peace. But now a scene of disquiet we do affirm, that never were clap- begins slowly to open.-A young pers placed so thickly, nor so judici- actor, already highly esteemed at ously, in the whole course of our Bath, made a trial at Covent Garden theatrical experience. This sort of in Phillips's Orestes.- Polished and management will make any thing go heavy as this part is (and therefore


the worst calculated to display Mr. evidently the crisis of Mr. M.'s fate. Macready's peculiar powers that At first it seemed to go off rather could well have been chosen) his flatly—it was a new kind of Richard, passion and nature broke right and they did not know what to make, through it, and convinced the mana- of it: but at length a test of intelgers that they had alighted on somea lect and feeling offered-mouths were thing rather above par, than below opened and bodies leaned forwards, it. He was engaged ; but, the arduous a low hush !—“Good, it will do by business being already filled by

- !" burst from an old amateur Young and C. Kemble, his great near us; up went the applause, atalents were not immediately brought round, above, and below; the burden out. Messrs. Morton, Shiel, and rolled from Macready's mind-the Dimond hearing that he possessed roofing of terrible suspense fell in, tones of deep menace, like the pre- and the vanquishing flame burst high, paratory roar of a lion, and seeing shaking its light over all the house. that he stood firm on his legs, and The business proceeded sweepingly, could assume a murderous smile, maugre the pitiful attempts of the manufactured a stock of slaves,' and creatures from the “ Coal Hole !” till traitors, and assassins, for his express in the Tower scene during “the smo

Mr. C. Kemble was the nice thering,” the pit rose simultaneously young man in these things, and Mr. perforce, cheering and waving their Young a Turkish admiral, an old hats and handkerchiefs !

The enMoorish priest, or any body with a thusiasm which ran through all the long beard, and speeches to match. spectators was indeed surprising : in The public thought that Mr. Mac- the dress circle (the formal, cold, ready was a man of some forty years, dress circle,) bravos were heard from with a desperate physiognomy, and men and females loud as those which the ladies hated him; he played his greet Noblet and Bigotini ; and when part with such intolerable plausi- the curtain fell, a deafening call dragbility. We, who had previously ged forth the proud actor, faint, feseen him enter into the needy tricks vered, and shaken with internal emoof Lackland, more heartily than tions, to receive the congratulations even Jones, and set off the free, full- of the warm-hearted. From this æra blown character of Alexander, knew may be dated the commencement of better : but we kept silence, merely Mr.Young's rapid decline in the favour hinting at a speedy flame-up of the of the Covent-Gardenites: his gracesmouldering fire. We did not wait ful attitudes, his mellow and equable long—the audiences got tired of rant- voice, and his imposing but heartless ing Irish tragedies, and Mr. M. of delivery, were no match for the fapersonating painted devils only fit miliar pathos and whirlwind fury of to affright babes ;” he determined to Macready, who drives on, right or make or mar himself, he set his thea- wrong, like a stream from the mouna trical life upon the cast, and played tain; “ Passion, the all in all” in Richard III-with complete success! acting, “ being everywhere present, Many of his most ardent admirers raising the low, dignifying the mean, were astonished—for our own part, and putting sense into the absurd.” we should have been astonished if Mr. Young at the close of the seahe had failed. At the commence- son disappeared. His re-engagement ment of the play he had three diffi- seemed to us an omen of no good; culties to overcome : his own diffi- we fancied that it involved the disa dence and extreme agitation; the missal of his rival, whom we cannot prejudices of the public against the afford to lose, much as we like Young audacity of a second-rater (for in sad in many parts, and highly as we retruth, he was considered little better); spect him personally. This event has and theunhooded opposition of Kean's not taken place, and Mr. C. Kemble, partisans, aptly cognominated from besides, is likely to lend his strong their odious howling - The Wolves.” shoulder to the dramatic wheel. If The house filled early ; and it was this noble triumvirate would lay aside

*' Charles Lamb.

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