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due ceremonials had been observed. Never, or very seldom, as I said before, accepting London invitations to dinner, I generally dine in the neighbourhood of the theatres, and most frequently at the Piazza, though somewhat more, I think, on account of the sound and honour of the thing than from any particular predilection for the place, for the large room invariably reminds me of some dark, cheerless, and restored cathedral, of which the head waiter and his pursuivants, in full canonicals, are strikingly like the Dean and Chapter. There is a certain coffee-house in that neighbourhood, the name of which is not so well calculated to adorn a narrative, but into which I often look for the face of some friend or other, who, like myself, knows its advantages, and like myself may be at a loss now and then when in London to know what to do with some hour, or half-hour, which intervenes between two engagements, an undefined blank in the plan of the day or night. It is one of the very few coffee-houses now remaining in which I find any thing which I can compare with the glorious coffee-house hours of the days of the Spectator ; being resorted to by men of a certain station, and of considerable acquirements; who yet, for the most part, hang loosely upon society, and are not chained to localities by wives, children, or any set occupation or regular and daily routine of duties; whose exertions are occasional, and whose hours of relaxation often recur :—they live, for the most part, among the brilliant, the noble, and the gay; partake of the varied information of professional men, but without professional prejudices, because they are of no profession; and are men of discursive habits, tastes, and fancies; of easy manners, good spirits, well-informed minds, and lively conversation. The last time I was there, about half-a-dozen of this description were collected together, and the subjects of their discourse were various, but all treated with infinite ability, and occasionally with infinite humour. An author ventured to state his projects concerning a new publication, and was liberally and cheeringly encouraged. One of the party was going to Circassia, another to Ireland, another to the House of Commons, and remarks wandered, and witticisms scintillated, between the two poles of the world. My attention was chiefly directed to a tall thinnish gentleman, just past the middle point of life; his hair, eyes, and eyebrows were dark; his countenance singularly expressive, not altogether without a slight tragic cast, or perhaps more properly indicative, whether truly or not I know not, of high-wrought and romantic feeling; and his voice was peculiarly agreeable and gentlemanly. I judge much of men, and of women too, by their voices; the muscles of the face may, by long practice, be subdued to any habitual expression; physiognomy is fallacious; the organs of the head are easily concealed; but I am assured by all my experience, that the tone of the voice has a constant affinity with the tone of the mind. The gentleman I describe had, moreover, a brown coat on; and, although it was evening, bis independence of what is called fashion was demonstrated by his being dressed in top-boots. He alternately contributed to the conversation, and leaned back in his arm chair as if to sleep; and all this with so easy and indolent an air that I was quite convinced he could be no other than an author ; indeed, I half suspected him of being a poet. On enquiring his name I learnt he was Sir L. --S-, so long and so curiously distinguished in the circles of fashion. I am always deeply

affected by contemplations of the silent lapse of time, and the changes effected by it: the “ Eheu fugaces” of Horace is the title to a volume of recollections, each with its moral attached to it. This, then, was he who had tried every changeful variety of fashion, until invention was exhausted and vanity satiated, and who had proved, more than any man now living, the fatigue of fashionable folly, and the emptiness of the most elaborate and ingenious affectation; but who, outliving his "young days of folly," had shewn, by subsiding into the agreeable and well-informed gentleman, that beneath this frothy exterior there had always been a purer stream of sense which his shallower imitators dreamt not of, and without which it is impossible to believe that life would have been supportable to him when youth was no more ! Having stept into the coffee-house on this occasion for half an hour before the play began, I left my company somewhat unwillingly, and proceeded to Drury-lane.

I could say nothing of the theatres that would not be uninteresting to those who live in London : theatrical criticism is their province, and I have no wish to invade it. If I were to say that the performances were tediously protracted, the fault might be ascribed to my rustic hours; if I thought the ladies who sung at the oratorio reminded people more of the joys of this unhappy world than of the joys of a better, it might be ascribed to my being a country gentleman. Yet the voice of Braham was as the voice of a friend, and did “ good like a medicine;" I laughed at Liston as I had often laughed before ; and I will not be deterred from expressing my admiration of Miss Clara Fisher; her pretty figure, her sweet and plaintive voice, and her subdued drollery and archness, reminded me of the days in which Mrs. Jordan used alternately to make me weep and laugh :—the remembrance of that delightful woman is now altogether sad, and the circụmstances of her latter days are among the few subjects on which I can never speak or think without departing from the natural and customary moderation of my character.

By one of those chances which never fall out but in London, two of my most particular friends came into the very box in which I had taken my seat. When I say they were my friends, I mean as far as the most opposite habits of life can allow; they living almost all the year round in London, and having little relish and less taste for any thing out of it. Country gentlemen are always led into the lobby : perhaps it is the effect of the transition from youth to middle age, but I could not help fancying its attractions were diminished and its grosser features increased since I saw it before. After the performances I was persuaded to accompany my two friends to 0—–'s, which, it seems, is à famous supper-house, and which was filled, soon after we reached it, by men of fashion and of name. The arrangements, however, were by no means calculated to fortify the stomach. Nothing appeared genteel but the company; the tables were slopped, the lights were dim, the waiters were slow, the knives were wiped, the glasses were dull, and the chops, after much clamorous request on the part of the claimants, were not half-cooked. Yet to this splendidly wretched apartment numbers of young men, whose genteel appearance is unquestionable, are in the habit of resorting nightly, in hopes of destroying some part of that time which for ever weighs upon and threatens to overwhelm

VOL. VII. NO. XXXI.

them; eternally pursuing a phantom of pleasure, with weariness for their associate. A young gentleman from Nottinghamshire (who had been convincing his faculties with Scotch whiskey for some time very assiduously, and imagined he was well qualified in oratory) having made a tolerably argumentative speech on a question that was mooted by another, those present availed themselves very readily of so good a pretext for ringing with their glasses, thumping the table, and using all the polite

methods of signifying approbation; and, kindling into enthusiasm with their own noise, at last voted him president for the night, conducted him with all solemnity to a leathern chair, and called for a toast and a song. A stout, good-looking gentleman, with brown and copious whiskers, wearing his hat on one side, and generally keeping a pipe in his mouth, gave us some songs in a style superior to any thing I had ever heard in private company. He was a Captain F : he seemed popular in the assembly ; had frequently, I was told, filled the president's chair, and was indeed, with many, the principal attraction to the house. Yet I could not help feeling surprise that a man accustomed during any part of the four and twenty hours to the life of a gentleman, should like to descend at night into such an equivocal company-a foolish reflection, which could only have been made by a country gentleman. Towards morning it became difficult to sing a solo, from the propensity of the hearers to take part in whatever they heard. My two friends could not sing, but they had become by this time so loquacious that I pleaded even more fatigue than I felt, and retired to my hotel, comparing as I went the turbulent scene I had just quitted, with the peaceful state of my distant home at the same hour, inwardly complaining of the weariness, staleness, flatness, and unprofitableness of the hours I had spent at 0-'s, and determining to spend the next day at least entirely in my own way.

A sleepy, dropsical-looking waiter received me, and led me along a labyrinth of passages to my bed-room, from which I had the satisfaction of feeling assured that, in case of fire, I could not make my escape. However, I had not long amused myself with " thick-coming fancies" of being burnt to death, before I fell into a delightful sleep, to dream of the busy and infatuated multitudes that had bewildered my senses during the day.

THE GODS OF GREECE. FROM SCHILLER.

Fair beings of the fable-land !
How bless'd the race of mortal birth,
When ye resign'd to Joy's light hand
The leading-strings of earth!
When your delightful worship reign'd,
How different all !-below-above-
While yet the world with flowers enchain'd
Thy temple-God of Love!

When Fiction wove th'enchanting robe,
Whose lovely calours Truth conceal,
A livelier spirit fill'd the globe;
All felt, what none again shall feel.
To clasp her charms on Love's warm breast
Man gave to Nature added

grace :
On the tranced eye, all, all impress'd
A Godhead's sacred trace.

Where now—as sages teach their lore-
A senseless fire-ball wheels its way,
Then, the gold-chariot onward bore
The God whose splendour gives the day.
On every height an Oread sprung,
Each tree a Dryad's native home,
And from their urns fair Naiads Alung
The streamlet's silvery foam.

This guardian Laurel screen'd the maid,
That silent stone was Niobe,
Here Philomel attuned the glade,
There Syrinx' reed breathed melody.
Here Venus, vainly, on this mount
Bewail'd her beauteous paramour,
There Ceres wept in yonder fount
Her child in Pluto's power.

For earthly race the gods above
Heaven and their nectar-feasts forsook,
Nor Phæbus self, to win his love,
Disdain'd the shepherd's crook.
Men-heroes-gods-alike all felt
How sweet Love's equalizing power;
And mortals with immortals dwelt
In Amathusia's bower.

Stern gravity and harsh control
From your kind rites were cast aside;
Joy swell’d each pulse, bliss thrill'd each soul,
For bliss was with your power allied.
A holy light round Beauty play'd,
Nor gods 'mid joys imagined shame,
When the

coy

Muse a blush betray'd, And Graces fann'd the flame.

Like palaces your temples shone, Heroic games your glory raised, Where way'd o'er Isthmian feasts the crown, And nigh the goal the chariot blazed. The dance, that lured the soul, enwreathed Its maze your radiant altars round, And coronals that victory breathed Your fragrant tresses crown'd.

Evoe's Thyrsus waved in air,
And the yoked panthers proudly drew
The God of Joy, the young, the fair,
Where Fauns and Satyrs forward flew.
Around him leap the Mænades,
Their gambols of the gay grape told,
While down the host's brown cheek, the lees
Of the drain'd goblet rolld.

Then the dim eye that swam in death
No ghastly skeleton discern'd,
But when a kiss caught life's last breath,
His torch a genius downward turn'd."
E'en the stern Judge who ruled in hell.
Was kin to earthly parentage,
And on the Thracian's plaintive shell
Reposed the Furies'

rage.

Then in Elysium's blissful grove
Gay shades the joys of life renew'd :
There Love relink'd the chain of Lore,
The charioteer his course pursued.
There Linus sung his wonted strain,
Adinetus press'd Alcestes' heart;
Orestes found his friend again,
The Lemnian chief his dart.

Then nobler gifts the hero braced
Who toild on Virtue's rugged road:
And some, by deeds sublimer graced,
Climb's highest Heav'n--the guests of God.
To the Deliverer of the dead
The gods their brows in silence bent:
And o'er the pilot's stormy bed
The Twins their radiance sent.

Fair World! where art thou? blooni again,
Bloom thou again young Nature's prime !
Ah! lives alone in fairy strain
A trace of thy fictitious Time.
How desolate earth's drear domains !
Beams on my sight no god portray'd,
Ah! of each living form remains
The disenchanted shade.

The beauteous blossoms fade and fall,
Cut by the North wind's shivering blast,
One to enrich, one, Lord of all,
That world, and its immortals past.
Sorrowing I seek thee, star by star,
Thou, Cynthia ! there no more art found;
Through woods, o'er waves, I call afar,
My words alone resound.

Reckless of gifts, herself provides,
Nor glorying in her power to bless,
Blind to the god her course that guides,
Nor happier for my happiness ;
Regardless of her Maker's praise,
Like the dead stroke that beats the hour,
Ungoded Nature but obeys
Dull gravitation's power.

Again her fetters to unbind,
Nature each day but delves her tomb,
And moons that round one axle wind,
Ceaseless their self-wheeld toils resume.
Back to their home of fable-birth

The idle Deities repair,
While grown beyond their guidance, earth
Self-balanced, hangs in air,

They won't 'twas Nature's mortal day:
Of grandeur and of grace bereft,
All hues, all harmonies decay,
A word, devoid of soul, is left.
They hover, Pindus' heights among,
From Time's o'erwhelming deluge free :
What must immortal live in song,
In life must mortal be.

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