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consort, whose hold of the affection of the , of gratitude could not be silent. Yet there people of that country was so great as to li is one trait of elegant hospitality, which excite general regret when he felt himself we cannot pass over without notice. obliged to resign in consequence of the | When the Marquis and Lord Temple coalition of Mr. Fox and Lord North weut to Ireland with their regiment of
On the day of his embarkation, on being || Bucks Militia, during the late war, the succeeded by Earl Northington, he was Marchioness and her amiable daughter re. cheered through the streets of Dublin, and || tired from public glare to the shades of that by the most respectable part of the Stowe; but not unmindful of the dearer population, who all showed him the great part of those who had accompanied the est personal respect, and sent forth reiterated two noblemen on public duty, they immewishes for his welfare and happiness. The || diately gave a friendly and generous invitaamiable Countess uow retired into the tion to the ladies of the Officers, to make bosom of domestic tranquillity in the | Stowe their residence during the absence charming regions of Stowe; amidst scenes of the regiment; whilst their benevolent SO remarkable for beauty and character attentions to the wives and children of the as to have stood the test of a century. Il privates were unlimited. Here indeed magnificence and splendour || By her union her Ladyship has three are the characteristics; it is like one of children, Earl Temple, Lord George Grenthose places celebrated in antiquity, which || ville, and Lady Mary. were devoted to the purposes of religion, Let us now take a view of the blazonry and filled with 'sacred groves, hallowed of her Ladyship’s hereditary armorial bear. fountains, and temples dedicated to several |ings, and enquire how far the achievement deities; the resort of distant nations; and of her ancestors is consonant with modern the object of veneration to half the heathen
eathen ll worth. world; all this pomp, however, is still The arms of Nugent are ermine, two bars blended with beauty; here every thing is Il gules. By a reference to some of our forequally distinguished by its amenity aud ! mer Numbers of heraldic science, our fair its grandeur.
readers will perceive that ermine was the To enumerate half the kindkess of the symbol of purity, and that gules represent. Marchioness to her humbler neighbours, ed charity; a combination of symbols, or half her attentions to her more opulent simple in itself, and thereby particularly ones, is far beyond our limits; and indeed marking the antiquity of the coat, as well though much of the latter may be known, as more elegantly expressive of the virtues the former has rather the singular merit of of the present bearer. being concealed, except when the tongue
HYMENÆA IN SEARCH OF A HUSBAND.
(Continued from Vol. IV. Page 288.)
LADY BELLAMONT invited us to ac- , view and conversation, I have made an company her to a party at a neighbouring engagement with him, that he, your aunt, nobleman's on the following day.-" The and myself should all go in the same car. Baron," said she, “ will accompany you ; | riage." and in order that you may have the fuller. “That is delightful," said my aunt. “I
long to see this Baron at full length. Is he gravely when all the amphitheatre are thus really the tremendous coxcomb which | enraptured? what is it you are meditating public ridicule makes him?"
upon ?'- I am thinking, said Socrates, " Why, public ridicule," said Lady Bel. i that had that mistaken man employed half lamont, “ generally draws her portraits the pains to dress and exercise his mind, in caricature, but in this instance the co-which he must have employed on his body, louring scarcely comes up to the brilliancy i what an excellent philosopher would of the original. He is a coxcomb in full Greece have had, where she has now only bloom; we have nothing in the United a rope-dancer!" Kingdom like him."
“ There is but one thing to be said in “ Nay,” said I, “ I should think that favour of the present rage of our young the gentleman who has filled the panels ! men for trifling pursuits, and for the atof his coach with the figures of geese, and tainment of a distinguished name for exwho has made the coach itself in the happy ll cellence in these kinds of follies. Does it shape of that bird, may be put into com- | not," said my aunt, “abstract their minds petition with him."
from vice? and is it not so much gained, “No,” said Lady Bellamont; “ they are if we can thus exchange vice for folly? It blockheads of a different genus. The | is a very harmless absurdity to suffer the Baron is a solemn fool, who is the more visage to be disfigured by the whiskers of amusing because he does not seem in any | a bear; it is equally harmless to cover the degree sensible of his own absurdity; his papels of a coach with the figures of gecse. very reason is besotted, and he is a fool What harm does all this do? It is cerwith all the method and sobriety of reason. || tainly folly; but is not olly better than As to Mr. Cackle, he is au odd mixture || vice? I have always heard so much in of whim and folly; he seems to have ren- || favour of these coxcombs, that whatever dered himself a fool for the purpose of may be their absurdity, no one can allege diverting others, till at length the unlucky ll any positive mischief against them. What habit has grown upon him, and he is now they do or say begins and ends in a laugh, a buffoon in reality.”
Every one acknowledges them to be very " That is much to be lamented," said I; ridiculous, but no one can say any more of “but I have known many excellent cha-l them. They are not profligate, they are racters entirely spoiled in this same way; ll not debauched. You do not find their they have contracted a perverted ambition, names in any of those legal trials in which like the man who fired the temple at the happiness and hopes of families are Ephesus, in order to give immortality to concerned." his name and establish his reputation in ll “You are mistaken, my dear aunt," said his ipfamy. Their folly, indeed, is more li, “in two points; in the first place, in comic in its form, but as respects them
| calling the pursuits of these gentlemen selves is as absurd and extravagant. Some merely follies; and in the second place, in of them have perchance raised an incidental |regarding these follies as so perfectly harmlaugh by some dexterous trick. The ap
less. There are two kinds of vices; the plause pleases them, and they thereafter first are what are termed crimes and lay themselves out to become the Merry ll offences; the others are omissions of duty. Andrews of their friends. I never see these || Those geutlemen are in possession of abunkiud of men but that I remember a cele || dant means of doing good; Providence has brated saying of Socrates upon seeing a made them the stewards of his bounties in rope-dancer. The people, says the nar- giving them a certain condition of life and rator, were in transports at his dexterity; fortune ; and is it no crime, think you, to surely never such a man was seen ; he ex- abuse those gifts to their own follies and cels every thing that Greece has ever here- ll dissipations? Do you not think that they tofore beholder. Socrates alone was silent, will be hereafter called to a reckoning for and observed him with unmoved gravity. this abuse? The neglect of great duties • Whence is it, Socrates, that you look so is in itself a great vice. And in what respect can follies be called harmless when my eyes lighted on as beautiful a woman in the very commission of them they thus as Heaven ever sent into the world as an divert the proper funds of charity? Are example of its own inhabitants. I was they not vices, moreover, by their influ- struck dumb with astonishment; I could ence and effects upon others? The lower l not remove my eyes from the fair enchant. part of mankind generally form their judg-ress. She perceived my stupor, and softly, ments by their eyes and ears, rather than gently, divinely smiled. Unmindful of the from the conclusions of their own reason; service, and of the devotion of the crowd, they see the folly of their superiors, and as for the church was filled, I rushed forfolly has always something which appealswards—took her hand with rapture, and to the passions and appetites instead of to throwing myself on my knees, vowed an the sober applause of the conscience and eternal servitude and devotion to her." understanding, it is always more readily “ And all this," said my aunt, “ in the received, and much better understood, than presence of the Dean, Chapter, and conan example of virtue. The worst effect, ll gregation of a public cathedral in a metrotherefore, of these fools are in the weight l volitan town." which the external circumstances of fortune
“Yes, madam," continued he, bit ap. and condition give to their example."
Il peared somewhat confounded by the quesThe two gentlemen shortly afterwards
tion.—“Yes, madam, my heart, my eyes, made their appearance, and took their seats
my faculties, were all suspended in admirain the coach.
tion. I sat nothing, I heard nothings “My dear Sir,” said Lady Bellamont,
Sophia was present, and in her all my addressing herself to the Baron, “ I have
senses were occupied, absorbed, and lost. the satisfaction of introducing to you the
Lovely, divine Sophia! when I lose the lady of whom you have heard so much re
remembrance of thee, and of our first meet. port. This is Hymenæa."
ing, may I lose my sword and my whiskers, “ Madam," replied the Baron, “ I have
and be condemned to walk the streets travelled over many countries; I have been
beardless and swordless, like the rest of on the tops and bottoms of the Alps and
my fellow-men." Pyrennees, and seen all the wonders of na
" What a terrible execration," said my ture; it is reserved to thee, England, to
ll aunt; “but perhaps you will have the behold her masterpiece. Madam," said he,
Il goodness to continue your narrative." leaning on me in a theatrical and most ri- 118 diculous style, “ I am hereafter your
“ With pleasure, madam," said he, “ as save."
you do not seem to have seen or read my I am fearful, Sir," said Lady Bella- | printed account. I was telling you, mamont, “that your service is so divided that | dam, that I was on my knees before Sophia this lady will interfere with the claims of in
rfere with the chains of ll in the midst of the cathedral, the Dean some other. Pray, Sir, what will Sophia
all and Chapter officiating around me, and the of Cadiz say to this voluntary devotion to
crowd attending to the service; Sophia
and myself, however, were equally insen22 English lady?"
miell sible to what was around us.” “ Sophia of Cadiz, madam," said he,“ is an angel. Still do I remember the day
“ Ma foi!" said my aunt, “have you" which discovered to me her divine beau
I said this in your printed account? Have ties. It was in the middle of the month of you related that Sophia was as much lost June, on the most sultry day in summer, 11 as yourself?" I had dressed myself for the morning walk, || “Yes, inadam," said he; “ I have a sol. and after having sauntered along the streets dier's regard to truth and honour, and had entered in a listless manner the great therefore relate things as they occurred. cathedral. The damp of the lofty arches To return, however. Sophia and myself, had occasioned an irritation on my lungs. | as I have said, were on our knees- " I coaghed; the cough was returned by U “No, Sir," said Lady Bellamont; “you boree one near me. I looked around, and I did not say this before."
“Perhaps the gentleman forgot it," said || with the air and manner of truth. What 1. “ It is a new circumstance."
ll could possibly be his purpose ?" “ Yes, madam," said the Baron, “ I did | “ His purpose," said Lady Bellamont, forget it, but it was 80; I conceive myself | “is the same purpose which has made so much obliged to you for assisting my re- | many other coxcombs; in the first place, collection. I have such a sacred regard the love of singularity and distinction, in for truth, that I would neither omit or mis- whatever that distinction may chance to represent any fact for the value of my exist. And secondly, a desire of recomhonour."
mending himself to the English ladies by a “ So it appears, Sir," said my aunt; || shew of his amorous devotion to the sex “ your narrative has an air which speaks in general. He has knowledge sufficient of for itself. But proceed, Sir."
our sex to know that we are absurd enough “I will, madam," said he. “ Sophia, not only to forgive but even to admire this her arms being thus about my neck in the | kind of quixotic adoration; he wishes to public walk---"
pass amongst us for the Abelard of his “In the public walk?" said Lady Bel
age.” lamont; “why, I thought you were in the “You really think," said I, “ that Socathedral all this time."
phia of Cadiz is an imaginary being." “ And I thought,” said my aunt, “ that “ Yes," said my aunt; “ if he had not Sophia and you were on your knees; you been interrupted in his narrative, you said nothing about throwing her arms would have heard him call her Sophia, about your neck."
Maria, Susannah, and perhaps Rachael, or “But there is no contradiction in this, any other name which came uppermost in madam," said I. “ Sophia might have her the moment in which he was speaking. arms in this way though she was upon | The worthy Baron is not blessed with that her knees."
kind of memory which is necessary to give " True, madam," said the Baron. “I consistency to a long thread of fables. It can assure you my recollection is perfect is hence as good as a comedy to lead him upon this point; a pebble had brought her into a conversation upon the events of his upon her knees."
life. He lays himself out for singularity, “A pebble !" said my aunt; “why, I and therefore deserves all the ridicule which thought she was in the cathedral at her he meets with." prayers ?"
“ It is to be lamented," said I, “ that he The Baron, in despite of his assurance, I should be the coxcomb which we see him was abashed at this remark; and as my l to be; but it is not to be lamented that Lord and some gentlemen rode up to the public ridicule holds him up to the censure carriage at this instant, he availed himself he merits. It is a false humanity which of some excuse in the first place to turn overlooks such folly from any compassion the conversation, and in a short time after. ll to the individual; it is a duty of justice to wards to leave the carriage, and mounting I put it in a proper light whenever it occurs, a led horse he rode away with the gentle and thereby to deter others from seeking a men.
perverse distinction by a prominency in “Well, what do you now think of the folly, and an eminence in vanity and in. Baron and of his Sophia ?" said Lady Bel- significance. It is a matter of public good lamout.
to visit these mischievous levities with “ That I cannot imagine," said I, “ for their merited contempt." what purpose he would put such foolish fables into print, and would vouch for them
(To be continued.)
OBSERVATIONS ON THE PRINCIPLES OF THE DESIGN FOR THE NEW THEATRE NOW BUILDING IN DRURY-LANE.
BY BENJAMIN WYATT, NO. 22, FOLEY-PLACE.
ILLUSTRATED BY A SKETCH.
The following observations are im- , to avoid all breaks and projections on the surfcae portant from their novelty, and immediate
of such form, which can tend to interrupt or imtendency to extend and purify the public
pede the progress of the sound, when once con
veyed to any part of it. amusement of the stage. There is so
It is generally admitted, that a circular en. much science and professional exposition | closure, unobstructed by breaks and projections, in Mr. Wyatt's plan, that we shall give it Il possesses the power of conveying sound with faciin his own words.
lity, and that wood is the material which comSpeaking of the size of the new Theatre,
bines the greatest number of desirable qualities,
as to conduction, resonance, &c. &c. It does not Mr. Wyatt says
absorb the sound so much as some materials, and “It appears to be a very popular notion at pre does not conduct it so much as others; which seat, that our Theatres ought to be very small; medium is acknowledged to be an advantage but if that popular notion he suffered to proceed to the clear and distinct conveyance of sound. too far, it will tend, in every way, to deteriorate That wood is sonorous, and capable of producing our dramatic performances, by depriving the pro soft, clear, and pleasing tones, is sufficiently deprietors of that revenue, which is indispen monstrated by the effect of it in musical instrusible to defray the heavy expences of such a ments. concern, and to leave a reasonable profit to those “I shall take it for granted, that whatever whose property may be embarked in the under be the form of the Theatre, it ought, in every taking
part, to be confined within the limit to which the “ It should be remembered that the unavoidable voice is known to be capable of expanding; and expences attendant on any Theatre of a superior certainly I bazard nothing in assuming, that the order in London (whatever be the dimensions of nearer the shape shall conform to those proporthat Theatre), must, of necessity be very great; tions which could be prescribed by the natural and that less than a certain return for those ex expansion of the voice, the more equally the pences cannot maintain such a Theatre to any sound will be heard in all parts of the Theatre, good cffect.
In pursuing this latter asumption, however, it “It must be evident to every one conversant will be necessary to combine with it a just at. with the beavy expences incident to such an esta tention to those considerations of profit which blishment, that no principal Theatre in London
must be materially affected by the size or cacan be so managed, as to afford to the public any pacity of the Theatre, and which, as I have advantages equal to (and certainly none beyond)], before observed, cannot he neglected without what it has already been accustomed to receive, ll serious injury to the public, as well as to the prounless that Theatre shall be capable of accom prietors." modating spectators to the amount of not less
Mr. Wyatt having entered into a large than £600 (exclusive of private Boxes) at one time; calenlating at the prices established sub scientific exposition of the advantages sequently to the opening of the new Theatre in which the uew Theatre will have in reCovent-Gardeu.
spect to sound, enters upon his observa.“ FORM OR SHAPE.-It is by no means my
|tions on its comparative and positive merit intention to go into a minute discussion of the
with respect to vision :theories of phonics, or of optics, as connected with the subject now before me : I shall confine « In entering upon this branch of the subject, I my observations to such acknowledged facts as should wish to anticipate a question, which may seem to be essential to the present purpose, with probably arise in the minds of some persons ; out entering upon any which are involved in namely, why we should not, in the form of our doubt and uncertainty.
Theatre, adopt the semicircle, which was gene. “First.-With reference to distinct sound; the rally in use among the ancients, and which safest method, in deciding upon the shape of a has evidently great advantages with respect to Theatre, appears to be, to adopt a form which is
-ision. known to be, in itself, capable of conveying « The answer to this question is, that the sound with facility; to construct that form of semicircle requires either, that the stage-opening materials, which are of a conductive nature ; and should be of enormous width, or that the size of No. XXVIII. Vol. V.-N.S.