SOLITUDE.

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN OF MERZLAKOFF.

Upon a hill which rears itself 'midst plains extending wide, Fair flourishes a lofty oak in beauty's bloom and pride; This lofty oak in solitude its branches vast expands,

All lonesome on the cheerless height like sentinel it stands ; Whom can it lend its friendly shade, when Sol with fervor glows.

Or, who can shelter it from harm when the rude tempest

blows?

No bushes green, entwining close, here deck the neighbouring

ground,

No tufted pines beside it grow, no osiers thrive around.
Sad e'en to trees their dreary state in solitude, if grown,
And bitter, bitter is the lot for youth to live alone :

Though mines of countless wealth be his, how vain the selfish pride!

Though crowned with glory's laurell'd wreath, with whom that wreath divide?

When I with an acquaintance meet, he scarce a bow affords, And beauties, half saluting me, but grant some transient

words,

On some I look myself with dread, whilst others from me fly, Yet the world lavishes its smiles till the dark hour draws

nigh.

But were my aching heart relieved? new woes assail me

sore,

My friend, who sleeps in the cold earth, comes to my aid no

more,

No relatives, alas! of mine in this strange scene appear,
No wife imparts love's kind caress, soft smile, or pitying tear;
No father feels joy's thrilling throb as he our transport sees,
No gay and sporting little ones come clambering on my

knees;

Take back all honors, wealth, and fame, the heart they can

not move,

And give instead-the smiles of friends, the fond embrace of

love.

W. D. L.

MASQUERADES.*

The misfortune of the thing is, that people dress themselves in what they have a mind to be, not what they are fit for.-Steele.

This species of entertainment, in the present day, is far from flourishing. It is in England like a puny exotic. The first masquerade given in this country upon the foreign plan, was by the queen of Charles I. It was on a Sunday, when, in front of the banqueting-house at Whitehall, a scuffle ensued between the soldiers and the people, in which six of the latter were killed. This made the queen very unpopular, and raised a violent opposition to masquerades for nearly a century. The most splendid English masquerade on record was provided at the Opera House, in 1717-8, by that celebrated caterer, Mr. Heidegger. It was allowed to be more magnificent than had been known in Italy, Venice, or any other country, and was thus described in Mist's Weekly Journal, February 15, 1718:-"The room" says the writer, "is exceedingly large, beautifully adorned, and illuminated with 500 wax lights; on the sides are divers beaufets, over which is written the several wines therein contained,,—as Canary, Burgundy, Champagne, Rhenish, &c., of which all are at liberty to drink what they please; with large services of all sorts of sweetmeats: there are also two sets of music, at due distance from each other, performed by very good hands. By the vast variety of dresses, (many of them very rich,) you would fancy it a congress of the principal persons of all nations in the world,- -as Turks, Italians, Indians, Polanders, Spaniards, Venetians, &c. There is an absolute freedom of speech, without the least offence given thereby; while all appear better bred than to offer anything profane, rude, or immodest; but wit incessantly flashes about in repartees, honor, and good humour, and all kinds of pleasantry. There was also the groom-porter's office, where all play that please; while heaps of guineas pass about with so little concern in the losers, that they are not to be distinguished from the winners. Nor does it add a little to the beauty of the entertainment, to

This article is taken from 4 Companion to the Theatres, a very useful little book to those who wish to become acquainted with the origin, progress, and present state, of all the metropolitan theatres.

see the generality of the masqueraders behave themselves agreeable to their several habits. The number when I was there, on Tuesday, last week, was computed at 700, with some files of musqueteers at hand, for the preventing of any disturbance which might happen by quarrels, &c.,-so frequent in Venice, Italy, and other countries, in such entertainments. At 11 o'clock, a person gives notice that supper is ready, when the company pass into another large room, where a noble cold entertainment is provided; the whole diversion continuing from nine o'clock till seven the next morning. In short, the whole ball was sufficiently illustrious, in every article of it, for the greatest prince to give on the most extraordinary occasion."

The masquerades formerly given at the Pantheon were very celebrated. In 1783, Delpini, the famous clown, got up a grand masquerade there, in celebration of his present majesty (then Prince of Wales,) attaining the age of majority. The tickets were all sold at three guineas each, but Delpini was a loser by the speculation. About six years since, the king sent the poor artiste £200; but the latter part of Delpini's life was passed in sickness, misery, and suffering. In the same year, Garrick attended a masquerade at the Pantheon, as king of the gipsies, a character which, according to local report, he rendered inimitable, by his spirit and humour. Masquerades, carnivals, and fancy-dress balls, are given, upon special occasions, at Drury Lane and Covent Garden theatres, when the whole theatre is formed into a saloon, by flooring over the pit level with the stage, which has a most imposing effect. The admission is from one to two guineas. There are annually, at the Italian Opera House, three masquerades, and the same number at the Argyle Rooms, in Regent street. They are numerously attended; but in their motley assemblages we miss the character and spirit, the gentlemanly ease and fashion, of the times of Killegrew and Heidegger. All is revel and rout; but as a picture of London life, these entertainments merit notice; and such as do not wish to mix in their frolics, may witness them from the spectatory of the theatre. The pit is floored over at the Opera House, and the saloon then formed is one of the most brilliant that can be conceived. The admission is 10s. 6d. for persons in character; and one guinea for those in plain dress. Supper and wines are charged extra.

Venice is, however, the city for masquerades; and in Paris a carnival is still held fifteen days previous to Ash Wednesday. In 1790, it was prohibited; but on its restoration, for some years, nothing could exceed the beauty and richness of the costumes displayed on these occasions. Thousands of masked persons then paraded the streets; but the entertainment has now lost its charms, and the masks are few and unmeaning. Masked balls were introduced in 1716; and a Carmelite friar (good soul!) invented machinery for elevating the floor of the pit to a level with the stage. They now commence about the end of January, and continue on fixed days throughout the carnival. The charge to the most splendid is only six franks; to others, three franks; and these balls are given at almost every theatre in Paris.

Masks were very common among the ancients, and were more particularly used by the performers at their theatres. It is uncertain whether the Egyptians understood theatrical amusements; but remains of their monuments prove them to have been accustomed to conceal their faces with masks. They were originally made of the bark of trees, then of leather, subsequently of wood, and lastly of paper, varnished. The mask was likewise worn in several ancient religious ceremonies, and fêtes of the heathen deities, as also in the Saturnalia. Female masks were likewise worn by boys, who formerly played women's parts on our stage.

SHE LEFT THE BALL.

She left the ball, for all was dim,
For all was darkness without him;
For what was feast, or what was ball,
Without the dear one loved of all?
Then home she went, but what was home,
Without that one who made home sweet?
'Twas he that made it bliss to roam,

Or made the hours at home so fleet.

She took her harp, but vain the sound,
To soothe a mind oppress'd with care;
She found, alas! too sadly found,

'Twas all in vain-he was not there.

ALLAH.

NICHOLAS PESCE, THE FISH,

FROM THE ROYAL ARCHIVES OF SICILY.

In the time of Frederick, King of Sicily, there lived a celebrated diver, whose name was Nicholas, and who, from his amazing skill in swimming, and his perseverance under water, was surnamed, The Fish. This man had from his infancy been used to the sea, and earned his scanty subsistance by diving for corals and oysters, which he sold to the villagers on shore. His long acquaintance with the sea, at last brought it to be his natural element. He frequently was known to spend five days in the midst of the waves, without any other provisions than the fish he caught there, and ate raw. He often swam over from Sicily to Calabria, a tempestuous and dangerous passage, carrying letters from the king. He was frequently known to swim among the gulfs of the Lipari islands, noways apprehensive of danger. Some mariners, out at sea, one day observed something at a distance from them, which they regarded as a sea-monster; but, upon its approach, it was known to be Nicholas, whom they took into their ship. When they asked him whither he was going in so stormy and rough a sea, and at such a distance from land; he showed them a packet of letters, which he was carrying to one of the towns of Italy, neatly done up in a leathern bag, in such a manner that they could not be wetted by the sea. He kept them thus company for some time on their voyage, conversing and asking questions; and, after eating a hearty meal with them, took his leave, and, jumping into the sea, pursued his voyage alone.

In order to aid these powers of enduring in the deep, nature seemed to have assisted him in a very extraordinary manner; for the spaces between his fingers and toes were webbed, as in a goose; and his chest became so very capacious, that he could take in, at one inspiration, as much breath as would serve him for a considerable time.

The account of so extraordinary a person did not fail to reach the king himself, who, actuated by the general curiosity, ordered that Nicholas should be brought before him. It was no easy matter to find Nicholas, who generally spent his time in the solitudes of the deep; but at last, however, after much