:

hold of one like the breath of Tartarus. Now delicate skins are beset with gnats and boys make their sleeping companion start up, with playing a burning-glass on his hand; and blacksmiths are super-carbonated; and coblers in their stalls almost feel a wish to be trans-planted; and butter is too easy to spread; and the dragoons wonder whether the Romans liked their helmets; and old ladies, with their Jappets unpinned, walk along in a state of dilapidation; and the servant-maids are afraid they look vulgarly hot; and the author, who has a plate of strawberries brought him, finds that he has come to the end of his writing.

We cannot conclude this article however without returning thanks, both on our own account and on that of our numerous predecessors who have left so large a debt of gratitude unpaid, to this very useful and ready monsyllable" Now." We are sure that there is not a didactic poet, ancient or modern, who if he possessed a decent share of candour would not be happy to own his acknowledgments to that masterly conjunction, which possesses the very essence of wit, for it has the talent of bringing the most remote things together. And it's generosity is in due proportion to it's talent, for it always is most profuse of it's aid, where it is most wanted.

We must enjoy a pleasant passage with the reader on the subject of this "eternal Now" in Beaumont and Fletcher's play of the Woman Hater. Upon turning to it, we perceive that our illustrious particle does not make quite so great a figure as we imagined; but the whole passage is in so analogous a taste, and affords such an agreeable specimen of the wit and humour with which fine poets could rally the common-places of their art, that we cannot help proceeding with it. Lazarello, a foolish table-hunter, has requested an introduction to the Duke of Milan, who has had a fine lamprey presented him. Before the introduction takes place, he finds that the Duke has given the fish away; so that his wish to be known to him goes with it; and part of the drollery of the passage arises from his uneasiness at being detained by the consequences of his own request, and his fear lest he should be too late for the lamprey elsewhere.

COUNT (Aside to the Duke.) Let me entreat your Grace to stay a a little,

To know a gentleman, to whom yourself

Is much beholding. He hath made the sport

For your

whole court these eight years, on my knowledge.

DUKE. His name?

COUNT. Lazarello.

DUKE. I heard of him this morning:-which is he?

COUNT. (Aside to Laz.) Lazarello, pluck up thy spirits. Thy fortune is now raising. The Duke calls for thee, and thou shalt be ac 'quainted with him.

Laz. He's going away, and I must of necessity stay here upon business.

COUNT. "Tis all one: thou shalt know him first.

LAZ. Stay a little. If he should offer to take me with him, and by that means I should lose that I seek for! But if he should, I will not

go with him.

COUNT. Lazarello, the Duke stays. Wilt thou lose this opportunity?

Laz. How must I speak to him?

COUNT. 'Twas well thought of.

You must not talk to him as you do to an ordinary man, honest plain sense; but you must wind about him. For example if he should ask you what o'clock it is, you must not say, "If it please your Grace, 'tis nine ;"-but thus ;-"Thrice three o'clock, so please my Sovereign :"- -or thus ;

"Look how many Muses there doth dwell

Upon the sweet banks of the learned well,

And just so many strokes the clock hath struck ;"

And so forth. And you must now and then enter into a description. LAZ. I hope I shall do it.

COUNT. Come.-May it please your Grace to take note of a gentleman, well seen, deeply read, and thoroughly grounded, in the hidden knowledge of all sallets and pot-herbs whatsoever?

DUKE. I shall desire to know him more inwardly.

LAZ. I kiss the ox-hide of your Grace's foot.

COUNT. (Aside to Laz.) Very well.-Will your Grace question him a little ?

DUKE. How old are you?

LAZ. Full eight-and-twenty several almanacks Have been compiled, all for several years,

Since first I drew this breath. Four prenticeships

Have I most truly served in this world:

And eight-and-twenty times hath Phoebus' car

Run out his yearly course, since

do

DUKE. I understand you, Sir.

LUCIO. How like an ignorant poet he talks!

DUKE. You are eight-and-twenty years old? What time of the day

you hold it to be?

LAZ. About the time that mortals whet their knives

On thresholds, on their shoe-soles, and on stairs.

Now bread is grating, and the testy cook

Hath much to do now: now the tables all

DUKE. 'Tis almost dinner-time?

LAZ. Your Grace doth apprehend me very rightly,

A DREAM,

AFTER READING DANTE'S EPISODE OF PAULO AND FRANCESCA.

As Hermes once took to his feathers light,

When lulled Argus, baffled, swoon'd and slept,
So on a Delphic reed my idle spright

So play'd, so charm'd, so conquer'd, so bereft
The dragon world of all its hundred eyes;
And, seeing it asleep, so fled away-

Not unto Ida with its snow-cold skies,

Nor unto Tempe where Jove griev'd a day;
But to that second circle of sad hell,
Where 'mid the gust, the world-wind, and the flaw
Of rain and hailstones, lovers need not tell
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kiss'd, and fair the form

I floated with about that melancholy storm.

CAVIARE.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The Editor will keep in mind the request respecting the Translations. Indeed it has long been among the subjects he has noted down."

The Correspondent who enquires concerning the edition of Spenser, is informed that Mr. Todd's is undoubtedly the best. The text is printed with great care and legibility, and the notes and prolegomena are a copious selection from all that have appeared on that great poet..

D's spirit is much to our taste, but he sometimes does not do himself justice in his management of the detail. He should give himself altogether up to his feelings, and not care whether every sentence is piquant or not. Perhaps he will oblige us with a sight of a few more of his sketches.

Printed and published by JOSEPH Appleyard, No. 19, Catherine-street, Strand. Price 2d. And sold also by A. GLIDDON, Importer of Snuffs, No. 31, Tavistockstreet, Covent-garden. Orders received at the above places, and by all Booksellers and Newsmen.

THE INDICATOR.

There he arriving round about doth flie,
And takes survey with busie curious eye:
Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly.

SPENSER.

No. XXXIX.-WEDNESDAY, JULY 5th, 1820.

GALGANO AND MADONNA MINOCCIA.

He

In the city of Sienna in Italy, famous for it's sweet voices and pleasant air, lived a sprightly and accomplished young man of the name of Galgano, who had long loved in vain the wife of one Signor Stricca. He knew nothing of the husband, except that he was what we call a respectable man; and something or other in his mind prevented him from making his acquaintance; but he contrived to meet the lady wherever he could at other men's houses, and to let her know the extent of his admiration. He wore her colours at tournaments. played and sung to the mandolin under her window, when her husband was away. He was always of her opinion in company, partly because he was in love, and partly because their dispositions were so alike that he really thought as she did. One evening as a party sat out on a large wide balcony full of orange-trees, listening to music that was going on inside of the house, Madonna Minoccia (such was the lady's name) dropped a small jewel in one of the trees; and as he was, help ing her to find it, her sweet stooping face and spicy-smelling hair appeared so lovely among the polished and graceful leaves, that he could not but steal a kiss upon one of her eyelids, adding in a low and earnest voice, Forgive me, for I could not help it."

66

Whether the sincere and respectful manner in which these words were uttered, had any influence upon the lady's mind, we cannot say ; but neither on this, nor on future occasions when he sent her presents and letters, did she return any answer, kind or unkind; nor did sho shew him a different countenance whenever they met. She only dropped her eyes a little more than usual, when he spoke to her; but whether again this was owing to a wish to avoid looking at him, or to some little feeling of self-love, perhaps unknown to herself, and produced by the recollection of that irrepressible movement on his part, is not to be ascertained. Some ladies will say, that she ought to have made a complaint to her husband, or spoken to the people whom he visited, or looked the man into the dust at once: and doubtless

this would have settled the matter on all sides. But Madonna Minoccia was of so kind a disposition, that she could not easily find it in her heart to complain of any body, much less of a man who found such irresistible gentleness in her eyelids. Besides, whatever may be thought of her vanity in this score, she was really so good, and innocent, and modest, that we know not how much it would have taken to convince her fully of any one's being really in love with her, or admiring her more than other ladies for qualities which she thought so many of them must have in common. In short, Madonna, though innocent, was not ignorant that gallantry was very common in Sienna. husband, who was a very honest sincere-hearted man, had told her that all unmarried young men had their vagaries; and, as for that matter, many very grave-looking married people too; and she thought, that if a husband whom she loved, and whose word she could rely on, set her an example nevertheless of conjugal fidelity, she could not do better than do her duty quietly and without ostentation, and think of these odd proceedings both as good-naturedly and rarely as possible.

Her

Unfortunately for Galgano, this kind of temper was the worst thing in the world to make him leave off his love. He had habitually got a common notion of gallantry from the light in which it was generally regarded; but his instinct was better. The subtlety of love made him discover what was passing in Minoccia's mind; and as he had the elements of true modesty in him as well as herself, and would want much to be convinced that a woman really loved him, whatever might be his affection for her, or rather in proportion to the sincerity of it, he thought that she only treated him as she would any other young man who had paid her unwelcome attention. But then to see how kind she still was, to observe no change in her, for all his unwelcomeness, but only such as might be construed into a gentle request to him to forbear,-in short, to meet with a woman who neither shewed a disposition to gallantry, nor resentment against the manifestation of it, nor a coldness that might be construed into natural indifference, all this made him so much in love, that he thought his very being failed him and wanted replenishing, if he was a day without sceing her. He took a lodging opposite Signor Stricca's house; and in order to indulge himself in looking at her without being discovered, filled the window of his room with orange trees. At times, when every thing was still, and the windows were open in the warm summer-time, he heard her voice speaking to the servants. "It is the same kind voice," said he, "always." At other times, he sat watching her through his orangetrees, as she read a book, or worked at her embroidery; and if she left off, and happened to look at them, (which he often moved about with a noise, for that purpose) it seemed to him as if her face was coming again among the leaves. Then he thought it would never come, and that he should never touch it more; and he felt sick with impatience, and said to himself, "This is the way these virtuous people are kind, is it?"

It chanced that Signor Stricca took a house at a little distance from Sienna, where his wife, who was fond of a garden, from that time forth always resided. Galgano, who was like a bird with a string tied to