to the glowing descriptions of the wonders which have been revealed whilst steadily pursuing the path that leads to wisdom. How delightful to hear narrated in a succinct yet interesting manner, the history of different nations-the characteristics of different countries—the remarkable epochs which have taken place in the world-to hear recorded the deeds of patriots-the discoveries of great men; or be told of the dawn of civilization-of its gradual progression, and of the principal circumstances which forward its steady onward march. How delightful to be thus made acquainted with the state of the literature and art of our own or other countries, and to have the peculiar excellencies of each pointed out. How encouraging to hear of the triumphs of the sons of genius over every impediment which misfortune has placed in their way -over the frowns of power-the jealousy of rivals— the prejudices of ignorance-or the most insurmountable of all, the trammels of poverty. Our next proposition is that after the Lecture has been delivered, a conversation for twenty minutes or half an hour be carried on among the members generally, on the subject of the lecture. Such conversations we feel assured would be very beneficial to all taking part in them. The knowledge that each possessed would be thus extracted, and by questionings and cross questionings of the eager to learn, it would soon become interesting and familiar to all. We are aware that but few generally take part in such conversations; why should such be the case ?Does it not show great indifference, on the part of those who remain silent, to improving their minds ? Knowledge is not to be acquired without exertion—, great and persevering exertion. It seeks none by whom it is not sought. Pride must humble itself to enquire, and bashfulness must throw off its fears. A degree of enthusiasm must be felt by all for self and mutual improvement, in every branch of useful learning. This noble enthusiasm (for such it is) when felt, will excite the members to persevering exertions. When the conversation on the subject of the lecture begins to flag, we would suggest the occasional introduction of some specimens of Natural History for the inspection of the members, or the performance of some philosophical or chemical experiment; we all pretty well know by personal experience the curiosity such things excite and the pleasure they afford, as well as the really valuable information conveyed to the spectators. The last proposal we have to offer is that the remainder of the evening be spent in listening to Music, or Speeches, or Recitations. We know of no means by which the mind can so well be cheered after undergoing fatigue as by the sweet sounds of music. There are many persons who can neither sing nor play a single note upon any instrument, who nevertheless take very great pleasure in listening to music. Music produces sensations which we would not be a stranger to for worlds. The sounds not only delight the ears, but they frequently charm the imagination. The lofty mountain-the charming grove-the happy vale—the peaceful cot, or the moon-lit sea are pictured with delightful veracity in many of the pretty songs of this country; others again awaken the noblest and most generous emotions of which our nature is susceptible, kindling a patriotic feeling, deeply rooting a love of liberty, and a love of our fellow species:-others again breath the soft tones of love and seldom fail to touch a sympathetic chord which vibrates unseen in almost every man's breast. But we will not dwell upon emotions our national songs give rise to-they have been too often experienced by all to need any description. While for our own part, we prefer songs to instrumental music, still the latter has very great charms and produces very strong effeets upon the mind. From those who are not able to sing or play, it would be only proper to expect a speech or recitation. Recitations would be an agreeable variety to the amusement, and would have the effect of making the members acquainted with some of the most powerful specimens of composition, in prose or verse, which have emanated from the pens of the most eminent authors. Evenings spent in the manner we have proposed, we feel confident would increase the intelligence and happiness of our youth generally, but especially of those who are daily engaged in employments which require not the active operation of the mind, THEATRE ROYAL. Mr. C. Kean and Miss Tree have appeared this week in the plays of the Lady of Lyons and the Stranger, and the tragedies of Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet. As these eminent performers have so lately been before us, it is unnecessary to say more, than they performed with their usual great ability. Perhaps Mr. Kean, like all tragedians, is too old in his style for Romeo, but his Claude Mellnotte is perfect. Miss Tree, as Pauline, and Juliet, and Mrs. Haller, was exquisite. The Gamester was played last night, but we will notice it next week. Mr. Kean and Mr. Stuart, were the Beverly and Stukely, and Miss Tree, Mrs. Beverly. It would be unfair not to notice in terms of highest eulogium, Mrs. Clarke and Mr. Holl, as Madame Deschapelles and Mercutio. The houses have not been so well attended as might have been expected from the united efforts of Mr. Charles Kean and Miss Ellen Tree. OPINIONS. The opinions of different men are formed in a great variety of different ways, and according to the manner in which a man forms his opinions, we consider his happiness or misery in a very great measure to depend. Looking at the characters with which we come into daily contact, we cannot help discovering that many, indeed we might safely say the far greater portion of mankind, are satisfied or dissatisfied with whatever they see, more from caprice or prejudice than from any just motive, or impartial consideration of the real degree of merit or demerit possessed. This indisputable fact readily accounts for so many men having most erroneous opinions of the subjects they dogmatically criticise; hence it is, that different men, according to their several capacities, take such widely opposite views of the same thing, hence it is that there is so much wrangling and party feeling in the world. He that is in the habit of forming his opinions by a careful investigation into the truth, and deliberately reasons before he dogmatically pronounces-such a man is ever sure to gain the respect of the more intelligent portion of the community, and by the babitual exercise of his reason he will learn to dive into the merits of any case with a correctness and promptness which would surprise ordinary men and cause them to look up to him as gifted with intuition. Such a man will very seldom be found to commit himself even in the most passionate discussions, and will very rarely advance an argument which he will not be able fully and clearly to prove by a correct and methodical chain of reasoning, however parodoxical he might at first have appeared. When it is considered how important it is that the majority of mankind learn to think for themselves, and especially learn to form correct opinions upon subjects connected with the national welfare, every individual ought to resolve never to make a rash observation or to act with dangerous precipitation or to form hasty opinions; he should consider it his duty to check, with a gentle spirit and kind motive, every indication of such faults he may chance to see in others. ON PAINTING. Every one knows the pleasure derived from seeing a good painting, especially if it be the likeness of a friend or of an author whose works we have read and whose talents we have admired; or if it be the resemblance of some landscape, on the reality of which we have often with rapture rested our eyes. The splendid art of painting familiarises us with the features of the renowned of former days, and the scenery of countries thousands of miles distant are brought distinctly before our eyes. By the aid of this art we are made acquainted with the forms of the ancient magnificent buildings now in ruins, the stirring events recorded in history are presented to the eye, the wonders of the desert or the deep are submitted to our scrutiny; our curiosity is gratified by seeing correct representations of the dress and features of barbarians; we are made eye-witnesses of their habitations, their manners and their customs. Who can sufficiently admire and extol this noble art which tends so much to please our eyes, refresh our memories, gratify our curiosity, and enrich our minds! Great as are the pleasures to be derived from beholding the beautiful productions of the artist, what are they, what can they be, compared to those which the artist himself derives from the peaceful pursuit of his darling avocation? Secluded from the world, his pencil and his easel his constant companions, with few friends and the slave of poverty, behold, day after day, and night after night, the devoted lover of his art steadily following his occupation, contented so that he can satisfy the cravings of nature, and delighted so that he is able to execute, in the style he desires, the forms his imagination has conceived. He pursues, with indefatigable perseverance, the study upon which his heart is fixed, and great are his triumphs, and amply repaid for all his toil does he consider himself, if he is fortunate enough to produce a painting which he thinks will secure his fame immortal, and which receives the applauses of his fellow-beings-for this has he been content to labour incessantly-for this, to suffer the extremest poverty. ON SCULPTURE. Who, ignorant of works of art, could ever imagine that out of a rude block of marble the noble form of man or the beautiful shape of woman could be chiselled to such a degree of perfection as almost to mock reality? IIow exquisite are those specimens of sculpture which have been handed down to us from the ancients, and which, while we gaze on them, fill us with emotions of awe, or pity, or admiration, or wonder. Whilst we behold with mingled feelings of rapture and astonishment the Laocoon or Dying Gladiator, the Niobe in tears, or bold Ajax, the Hercules, or Apollo Belvedere, or Venus de Medicis, who can help exclaiming, "what is it not in the power of the human mind to conceive-what is it not in the power of the human hand to perform? Nor are the pieces of sculpture executed in ancient days the only ones calculated to excite our surprise and admiration. In the days of Leo the Great, and Lorenzo de Medicis, the fine arts revived, and sculpture was carried to the highest pitch of perfection. While as a painter Michael Angelo's name shone unrivalled, as a sculptor he was equally, if not still more, famed, and his Moses will not lose in the comparison with the very best productions ever performed by the chisel. But coming to still more modern times, what could excel the graceful figures of Canova, the masculine performances of Westmacott, or the sublime productions of Flaxman? We see all these splendid and graceful images hewn out of rough, hard stone. We wonder to what height human ingenuity can attain, and are delighted to see the perfection to which arts have been carried. We feel an inward, unspeakable pride as we commune with ourselves, and say, "To our favoured species has been given the power of performing these prodigies. Truly does Hamlet say, when speaking of man, 'In form how noble, in faculty how infinite, in conception how like a God!'" CONTROVERSY ON THE DRAMA. TO THE EDITOR OF GAWTHROP'S JOURNAL. Ah me environ'd, with what ill Is he who meddles with a quill! Sir,-Allow me to intrude a few lines into your Journal, which is so rapidly increasing in popularity, upon the folly certain gentlemen commit in putting themselves before the public in bad English. I refer to a peculiarly silly and ungrammatical letter from a Mr. J. L. Johnson, inserted in the Albion last Monday, upon the late controversy on the Drama at the Literary and Scientific Institution. Mr. Johnson has quoted from Horace to prove his acquaintance with a dead language; but what think you of the following expressions in our own living tongue? "I shall not occupy the columns of your paper with a futile retaliation, &c." "Satire, when unsupported by reason and truth, is wholly despicable, and but reverts with a bitterer recoil on the head of the timerous propagator." "He" (a writer signing himself S. Percy, Jun.) "appears like the Gladiator panting for polemic honour, &c." Firstly. This gentleman's "futile retaliation" in the sense he uses it, is a solecism in language. Secondly. Mr. Stuart, when he delivered his strongly pointed and justly merited fable of "The Ass and the Elephant," did not appear to be alarmed at the braying which no doubt he expected; therefore Mr. Johnson cannot mean to use the word "timorous" as applying to Mr. S.; he must have intended to use the adjective, temerarious, referring to what Mr. Johnson has before called "inconsiderate proceeding." Thirdly. When did the Gladiators pant for polemic honours? Where did Mr. Johnson learn Roman history and customs? Did he get this from Horace ?-Yours, obediently, J. SWIFT. MR. STUART'S LECTURES. HAMLET. (Continued.) "The German poet, Goethe, describes the indecision of the prince as "a lovely, pure, noble, and most moral nature, without the strength of nerve which forms a hero, sinking beneath a burthen which it cannot bear, and must not cast away;" while a highly talented essayist in Blackwood's Magazine says, "Hamlet sees no course clear enough to satisfy his understanding." The latter is, in my opinion, most correct. The celebrated soliloquy upon death, as Mr. Coleridge remarks, "is of absolutely universal interest, and yet to which of all Shakspere's characters could it have been given but to Hamlet?" To none, undoubtedly. He left the scene after a heavy tumult in his mind, soliloquizing on the means by which to extort a proof of guilt from the spirit-accused usurper, half doubting the unearthly testimony of his crimes; and should this proof be not produced upon his uncle's conduct while witnessing the play. If his occulted guilt Do not itself unkennel in the one speech he has set down and inserted to entrap him. What shall he further do? His father, upon doubtful evidence, destroyed by his own brother; his mother married to that very brother who usurps the throne which rightfully be longs unto the prince alone, a spirit haunting all his steps, accusing the usurper, and arousing him (the prince) to vengeance, surrounded only by informing spies, his very love renounced for his revenge, with mind unbraced by all these fighting circumstances, is it not likely that to his nervous melancholy temperament, the awful crime of self-destruction would present itself? Yes, to the hall where he expects by scenic stratagem to gain some token of his uncle's guilt, he brings a mind oppressed with gloom, harrassed by every care that can embitter life, and tempted by insufferable wrongs to ponder on self-immolation, but battling with the fiends that tempt his soul in such a strait, he who believes there is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow, recovers all his mental strength in the great struggle of spirit so powerfully embodied in the great soliloquy : To be or not to be, that is the question. I rejoice to find a master mind like Coleridge agreeing with me in the view I take of the ensuing scene between Hamlet and the fair Ophelia, though in pursuance of his early expressed intentions he puts on an antic form to mislead and confound the king and all his court; yet there is meaning deep in every word he utters to Ophelia in what generally, but erroneously, has been designated as "The Mad Scene." If Shakspere had intended the prince to assume madness towards Ophelia, the somewhat coarse but antiquated opinion of Dr. Johnson would be correct, who says, "Of the feigned madness of Hamlet, there appears no adequate cause, for he does nothing that he might not have done with the reputation of sanity. He plays the madman most when he treats Ophelia with such rudeness, which seems to be useless and wanton cruelty." Yes, had the prince not had a motive for each word he spoke, he would have deserved the character the lexicographer bestows upon him. But this, is not the case. Hamlet is justly surprised to find a princess on whose every motion the eyes of a full court were fixed, wandering in the palace hall without attendants; and when without any apparent cause she offers back the tokens of his love, his natural suspicion is easily aroused, and he at once believes Ophelia is involved in the court plots against his life; and though he did love her once, her present conduct, to which he afterwards alludes, when he exclaims, "I have heard of your paintings too well enough-heaven hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another"-causes him to wish things done undone, and still continuing the antic form, he tells her that the power of her beauty has been betrayed by the court into a vile instrument for subtly sifting and procuring knowledge of his feelings and intentions. That knowing well her beauty's fascination o'er his heart, she has sacrificed her honesty to her father and the king by such a base attempt, that honesty cannot translate beauty into his likeness, which, though for some time a paradox, yet the immediate time gives proof of it in the young princess' debased position. Now, feeling assured Polonius is concealed and on the watch, he half reproachfully asks her where her father is. She faulteringly utters the untruth, "At home, my lord." And from this moment all his confidence in her is lost; but yet, to make the officious chamberlain perceive he suspects his base position as a prying listener, he says, aloud, Let the doors be shut on him, that he may play the fool nowhere but in his own house. And then to Ophelia, as he leaves her to herself, he utters, in a tone of bitter reproof for this her treachery, his last “Fare well." His love for her he has wiped for ever from his memory as one of those youthful, trivial, fond records that stood between him and the Ghost's commands. Never again does he allude to the young princess till her untimely death, the first intelligence of which he encounters at her grave in the 5th Act, awakens for a time his long-subdued affection. This is the sense I take of this celebrated scene, and the king's words subsequently bear my opinion out. He says:Love! his affections do not that way tend. No; for he had been rude and boisterous with Ophelia. Was not like madness. No; 'twas the quaint and antic form alone which he assumed with purpose to defeat the spies that he felt certain every where surrounded him.” Mr. Stuart next read the speech of Hamlet to the players, which he said was a noble lesson, suited to all periods of the Drama-a lesson equally to be observed by actors for their guidance and critics in their judgment. "He concludes this excellent advice with a few hints to the clowns of his day, who were in the habit of holding occasional conversations with the groundlings; and sometimes, while perhaps a serious scene was acting, by a grin or distortion of their ever-ready features could command a laugh from the lower portion of his audience." Mr. Stuart next alludes to the love of Hamlet for the players, and takes the opportunity of vindicating a profession, honorable enough in itself, as honorable, in our opinion, as the schoolmaster's, but which has been occasionally brought into disrepute by the misconduct of less honorable and not such noble-minded men as the lecturer. Mr. Stuart is evidently annoyed that all should suffer in esteem on account of the deserved contempt felt towards some; and no wonder he seizes upon the opportunity here afforded him of expressing indignation against his detractors, when, though self-conscious he could stand front to front with his bitterest assailants and compare his conduct with theirs, as men and as members of society, till they should be compelled to blush and stand confounded, they, nevertheless, have the audacity to treat him with disrespect, relying upon unjustifiable prejudices for escaping with impunity. We know not in what language to speak of those despicable, mean-minded wretches, who, to screen their own misdeeds, profess feelings of mingled horror and contempt of a class of men who are patronized by royalty, by the clergy, and by the best and most enlightened men of the nation. As far as our experience goes we have ever found these self-righteous, brother-damming, hand and eye-uplifting creatures, the most ungenerous, unchristian and dishonorable of the earth's creeping things. After combating the actor's enemies, Mr. Stuart next combats Shakspere's enemies with firmness and success. We now come to the scene with the grave-diggers— "In powerful contrast with the coarseness of the grave-digger, on whose rude nature thirty years of intercourse with human bones and skulls has had but one effect-to make him jowl them to the ground and play at loggats with them, Hamlet's meditative mind pours forth a strain of elevated melancholy philosophy, falling upon the ear like to a solemn dirge, poured forth in the deep organ's saddest tones, wailing upon the breeze as doth the distant sound of the funeral knell, and calling busy man to think upon the hour when worms must be his drear companions, and the narrow house his home. And then how tenderly and mournfully does he apostrophize over the skull of his father's jester. We have his own authority that he really does "forget himself" when fair Ophelia's lovely form is " 'laid i' the earth." His grief and passion here o'ermaster all his great controlling energies; and can we wonder at his loud volcanolike explosion of despair when he declares He lov'd Ophelia-forty thousand brothers His misery is complete-his father murdered, and his mother he stabs the usurping monster to the heart, who, coward-like, cries out, though pierced to death by the envenomed steel, Oh yet defend me, friends; I am but hurt." During the delivery of this excellent lecture Mr. Stuart was wrapt completely in his subject. There was no attempt at acting-there was no artful pause for applause-the common set rules for Elocution were neglected and forgotten-he neither saw nor thought of his audience-his lighted eyehurried, eloquent, earnest manner showed how completely he himself was carried away whilst contemplating the majesty power and sublimity of Shakspere, and had the decidedly best of all effects, namely, that of exciting in his hearers the same enthusiastic feelings towards the subject. The lecturer himself was seen and heard, truly, but nevertheless, entirely out of mind. A SKETCH FROM LIFE. ALL IS VANITY. "Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, all is vanity."-Solomon. Were we to look into man, were we to examine his heart and see the various emotions which are contending within it, we should naturally exclaim-"what a strange compound is here" the preacher said true-" All is vanity." The truth of his assertion might be illustrated in a thousand different waysif we look at society at large, how plain does it appear.-If we look at man individually, examine each circumstance of his life, and consider the causes which influence his various actions, this truth becomes still more apparent. Observe, in the first instance, how it is displayed among parties and factions. When society is split into parties, each party maintains its own superiority by heaping on the opposite the most bitter aspersions. Each lays claim to perfection— neither will allow their own fallibility, and the presumptuous free-thinker brings upon himself a torrent of abuse, and not unfrequently is compelled to undergo severe persecution. When we look into individual character, vanity and its consequences are equally or more conspicuous. Man is too proud to hearken to advice, or to the voice of reason, and therefore he continues in his folly. A curious instance proving the truth of our observation occurred a few days ago. Two persons were conversing together on an important subject; one began to explain his ideas, at the same time giving his reason for entertaining them, but ere he had concluded what he was going to say, he was suddenly interrupted by his companion, who, without hesitation, denied the justness of his reasoning, and immediately made a contrary assertion, labouring at the same time to prove himself in the right, and that all which had been advanced by the former was ridiculous and absurd. "Stop, stop," his friend replied, "but before I say more on this subject, let me tell you of a fault which you have in common with a great many others, and which might lead to many very serious misunderstandings. I have frequently perceived, when conversing with you, after I have expressed an opinion, and am just on the point of explaining to you why I hold it, that you show great eagerness to contradict me, and will not even allow me a chance of giving you my reason. Now oftentimes, as in this instance, in your rexarks on what I have said, you evidently show that you have not at all understood my meaning. This really looks too much like contradicting for contradiction's sake." "I am aware," exclaimed the other, "that I am too hasty, and am obliged to you for checking me." Encouraged by this avowal, the former pursued. "If, then, it really be your desire to check yourself of this disagreeable habit, do not confine yourself to the mere wish, as do many, but seriously endeavour to avoid committing such breaches in propriety for the future. would but listen attentively and judge deliberately, their happiness would be amazingly increased-earth would then become almost a heaven." The other agreed to the truth of this, said he would remember the advice, and make it of ser. vice to him, The discussion was then proceeded with, but in the course of it, each in his zeal to prove himself right in what he asserted, freely poured on the other the most angry vituperations. Even the philosopher forgot his own philosophy, which he had just before been preaching so eloquently.-It was vanity. If men He was When pondering over the scenes of bye-gone days what various recollections come into our heads; the scenes which we have hitherto witnessed, rush upon our bewildered brain, and what pain do the recollection of many bring to us? We can never think of our old acquaintance William Turner without shedding a tear at the many calamaties which attended him. He was one of those kind old souls who always take delight in making, or endeavouring to make, their neighbours happy. Poor William, how often had he to contend against many of nature's severest frowns, and yet with how light a heart would he bear up against them. He would toil with pleasure at his daily labour and how happy would he welcome evening when it arrived. He would anticipate the pleasures which he would have on his return to his home when surrounded by his wife and children. His family consisted of a son and daughter, the former, at the time alluded to had nearly reached his twenty-second year, the latter was scarcely twenty. Through the assistance of his son he sanguinely expected to resign his daily labour. His son had been for a considerable period, in a respectable merchant's office, the honesty of his conduct and the affability of his manners, had caused his employer to promise an increase in his salary so soon as he reached his twenty-second year. William was anxiously looking forward for the day when such would take place, but alas "a change came over the spirit of his dreams," his son committed some fault which displeased his employer and caused him to be discharged. This was the first calamity, and oh! it would have been well had it ended here. His son found it impossible to procure a situation, without a testimony of his character from his last employer and which was refused him. dejected when he had no employment to go to, he would saunter through the streets looking in the windows of shops, would stare people in the face and join in every crowd. His parents would remonstrate with him about his neglect and not strictly adhering to the wishes of his employer. One day they had been lecturing him rather severely, when he rose from his seat and taking his hat, departed from the house. This of course caused no alarm, as the same frequently had been done before. The day however passed over, night came, but with it their son came not; the parents reproached themselves for having used harsh words to him. Night passed over with all its nocturnal horror; in the morning William ascertained tidings of his son, he was in prison for attempting to rob a gentleman's house the preceding night. Who can describe a parent's feelings after hearing such tidings as these? He learned that when his son left home he strolled to his usual haunt, but his comrades all turned their backs upon him. This inspired him with rage. He retreated from their presence, but where he knew not. During his flight he met with three or four depraved characters with whom he had a slight acquaintance. At any other time he would go a mile out of his way to avoid those very persons, whom he now stopped and shook hands with. They found him in a proper state to "become one of themselves." They repaired to an adjacent ale house, and he there joined them in all their lawless revelry. They had made an agreement an evening or two before, to go that very night to rob a house, which they supposed they could effect without discovery. They persuaded him to accompany them. At first he refused, but by a few entreaties |