is supposed by a German scholiast to denote the doom he bitterly anticipates for his own poem-denouncing, under the veil of allegory, the " dogs" and "vultures" of criticism. Many other matters were foreseen by Blind Mæonides, who, like Rabelais, had a fashion of wrapping up his wisdom in the recondite folds of apparent triviality. It is at the very least equally obvious that Shakespeare entertained similar apprehensions of the treatment that awaited him, if we may judge from his pathetic appeal, deprecatory beforehand of such unholy doings H Kind friend, for Jesus' sake, forbear!" &c. &c. -an adjuration, in our opinion, by far too emphatic and impassioned to be only intended as a caution to the parish gravedigger. An admonition so solemnly conveyed could not, of course, be meant exclusively for so low a functionary. Hence we may safely infer that, while apparently soliciting the forbearance of the sexton, he figuratively sought to warn off the pickaxe of the annotator: elucidative commentary on his writings doubtless seemed a more formidable bore than that which could but perforate his coffin. It was not for his "bones," but for his works, that he could have felt a qualm in this Christian country. His dreams were haunted by a vision of mangled tragedies, Que des chiens dévorans se disputaient entr' eux."-Athalie. We grieve for Homer-we are filled with commiseration for the woes of Shakespeare; but Prout possesses naturally enough the core of our sympathies. The fact is, we happen to have some knowledge of the "ungentle practitioners into whose hands he is likely to fall, and hence ariseth our concern for the good old gentleman. In the Acta Sincera Martyrum, by that laborious Benedictine, Don Ruinart, a book to us of fond and frequent perusal, we have often shuddered at one particular formula, of constant recurrence under the truculent Dioclesian; but we now feel inclined to transfer to Prout the feelings with which we used to read DAMNATVS AD BESTIAS affixed to the name of some primitive Christian. Yet of what avail is the expression of our misgivings? Can REGINA shield him from the onslaught, or blunt the mandibula of a single critic? We fear not. She is no sorceress : nor is it without reason that Horace records "Ossa ab ore rapta jejuni canis" (Epod.) among the exploits of Canidia. There is, however, one crumb of comfort, the process of gnawing these reliques, in the ordinary course of things, must be speedily interrupted by the substitution of more attractive and succulent matter. Such is the rapid succession of living candidates for critical dissection, that these tough remains will be quickly superseded. American Willis may happily publish a fresh "book," or Bob Montgomery a new poem," to the inexpressible delight of the reviewers. Some such tit-bits are sure to be found floating on the mare magnum of publication — 66 "At length they caught two boobies and a noddy; And then they left off eating the dead body.' Not that we would institute a parallel between our author and him who "left the cloisters of the classic Salamanca " as travelling tutor to the incorrigible Juan: there was nothing in common between Prout and the licentiate Pedrillo, save, perhaps, the penchant for polyglott erudition (Juan, ii. 25); a remarkable trait in the character of both these distinguished churchmen. A priest's book, in sober earnest, is a sort of rarity, as times go; for the sic raro scribis, so totally inapplicable to every other rank, class, trade, or profession, in this country, can be with truth only addressed to the Romish clergy. Why they should thus studiously abstain from taking any part in the current literature of the day, we are not in a position to explain : but the fact is as we state it. When we speak of literature, we of course do not mean to recognise as such Pastorini's Prophecies -- neither can admit the claim of Den's Complete Body of Theology, which we charitably presume was never meant by its worthy author to be read beyond the circle of his ecclesiastical brethren. But a book on topics extra-prof ssional, a volume on matters of general acceptance, not confined to the politician or the religionist we such a volume, penned by a priest, is not a thing of every day occurrence. The "classical tour" of the late Rev. Chetwinde Eustace, the historical labours of the Rev. Dr. Lingard, a quarto on the literature of the middle ages by the Rev. Joseph Berrington; Alban Butler's Lives of the Saints, a work of immense research, concerning which we need only quote Gibbon's significant and characteristic remark, "the learning was his own, the faults those of his subject;"-these, with the Scriptores rerum Hibernicarum, edited at Stowe by the Rev. Charles O'Conor of Ballanagar, form the only contributions from that quarter to the common fund of British belles lettres. We know none else of late years we had almost said since the Reformation. But here we stand rebuked by Sam. Hall, the discriminating editor of the "Book of Gems." In that exquisite selection from the early poets of Great Britain, the intelligent gem-nosophist, to whom we are indebted for the choice and arrangement of the dazzling bijouterie, has introduced some specimens from the works of a bygone Jesuit, whom, in defiance of national, and perhaps reasonable antipathies, he nevertheless delights to honour. We allude to the poems of Southwell, which Sam. has hawled up from the "well of English undefiled," wherein they lay like Truth, long awaiting the Were assistance of a friendly bucket. Prout alive, he would not fail to express his gratitude to the compiler for the following: "Robert Southwell, born in the year 1560, at St. Faith's, in Norfolk, received his early education at Douay; and at sixteen, while residing at Rome, was admitted into the Society.' In 1584, he returned as a missionary priest to his native country; but appears to have been disheartened at the vain issue of his attempts to stay the progress of the reformation, living like a foreigner, finding among strangers that which in his nearest blood he presumed not to seek." In England, notwithstanding, he continued to reside, labouring diligently and with sincerity, until the year 1592, when he was arrested on a charge of sedition, and committed to a dungeon in the Tower, so noisome and filthy, that his father was induced successfully to petition Elizabeth that his son, being a the rack. At length, death appearing more easy and welcome than such continued torture, he applied to the Lord Treasurer Cecil that be might be brought to trial. The brutal answer of the lordtreasurer is recorded: If he was in such haste to be hanged, he should quickly have his desire. On the 20th February, 1595, he was tried at Westminster on a charge of high treason, in that he, being a Popish priest, born in the dominions of the crown of England, had come over thither from beyond sea, and had tarried there longer than three days, without conforming and taking the oaths. He was found guilty on his own confession, and was executed at Tyburn, according to the horrible practice of the age-adding one to the long list of victims sacrificed to the inveterate and unchristian spirit which characterised the times." That Southwell had a genius of a very high order is undeniable-genius worthy of the high and ennobling themes of which he wrote; and in the treatment of which he is seldom or ever uncharitable. They consist of "St. Peter's Complainte, and St. Magdalene's Funerall Teares, with sundry other selected and devout Poemes;" "Mæoniæ, or certain excellent poems and spiritual hymnes;" "The Triumphe over Death, or a consolatory Epistle for afflicted mindes, on the affects of dying friends, first written for the consolation of one, but now published for the good of all." It is remarkable, observes Mr. Ellis, that the few copies of his works that now exist are the remnant of at least twenty-four different editions, of which eleven were printed between 1593 and 1600. They must therefore have obtained considerable celebrity, though now but little known. Sam. Hall, from whose copious and tasteful industry we derive this knowledge of a Jesuit's claim to rank on the national Parnassus, illustrates his discovery by some delightful extracts, for which we refer with confidence to his "Book of Gems." Per Gemini! (as was eloquently said by Ugo Foscolo, in his sonnet to the author of Rimini) we do approve, Hal, of thy judicious undertaking, and exhort thee to persevere therein, to the gratification of the public, and thy own peculiar privilege of treasure trove. Thou wilt wrongly find a literary Golconda in "Enni de stercore gemmas ;" such employment offering, in sooth, a far more lucrative prospect than what is called "original writing;" which is much like "gathering samphire "— a "dreadful trade." We know not whether we must ascribe to the tragic end of this tuneful son of Loyola, the fact of none of his brethren having since then made any attempt to emulate his literary achievements; for it is a curious anomaly that, while the men of his order throughout the rest of Europe freely contributed to every department of art, science, and literature, the name of the Jesuit Southwell should appear alone as a writer on the muster-roll of British celebrity. The wisdom of the usually sagacious Lord Burleigh does not shine in this transaction. His "war to the knife" against the emissaries of the Vatican was no doubt sound policy, and the security of the queen's government required strong measures; but Cecil should have known that a fondness for elegant lore, with a cultivated taste, was a sufficient guarantee in its possessor against treachery and sedition. It is not from rightly disciplined minds that the well-being of society has any thing to dread. A kindly and peaceable disposition is the result and the index of intellectual refinement; nor is it without reason that the belles lettres have been termed, from their obvious and natural tendency, LITTERÆ HuMANIORES. Turbulence and treason mostly go hand in hand with ignorance and fanaticism; and it must be a very illiterate priesthood, in the ranks of which a conspirator will find his confederates, or a demagogue his tools. We do not therefore approve of the mandate that handed over Southwell to the functionary at Tyburn. To be sure it was wrong to deny the queen's supremacy it was also wrong in Orpheus of old to deny the sovereign empire of the sex; but, for the honour of poetry, we are far from sanctioning the proceedings either of Cecil or "Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard In Rhodopé, where woods and rocks had Religious rancour, the plague of all social intercourse, will rarely be found to coexist with a relish for those studies, or a predilection for those " ingenuous arts," to have cultivated which with fidelity has been ever deemed the surest recipé for taming the ferocity of individual, as well as of national, manners. Many theories have been broached for the tranquillisation of the sister country; but concerning Ireland 66 we have a vision of our own;" nor do we deem it a whit less substantial than other visionary systems. Tom Moore, expatiating somewhere on the supposed juxtaposition of a tear and a smile in Erin's eye, talks incidentally of the rainbow, and finds therein a symbol of peace and concord. There undoubtedly are many points of resemblance between a black eye and the prismatic colours; neither do we deny that the arc en ciel suggests the idea of conciliation-the thought is as old as the flood; but we rather fear that it were vain to count on the blissful consummation devoutly sighed for by the melodist- vain to hope that the green island will become an Arcadia, until the ποιμενες λαων acquire other habits and gentler natures—until the "huinanities" obtain a portion of that leisure that is devoted to electioneering; and some fountain of Hippocrene be discovered, that may supersede the "devil's punch-bowl" in Kerry. We speak thus in the sincerity of our souls, having nothing but the general welfare at heart, and unaffectedly anxious to promote universal cordiality. A great poet has said that he "Wished well to Trojan and to Tyrian, Having been bred a moderate Presbyterian." We should hope that our aspirations for the happiness of our fellow-subjects are not the less vivid and comprehensive. We are far from despairing of improvement and amelioration in the quarter alluded to; for we see no reason why what has been may not be again. "The Papacy during the middle ages was nothing but a confederacy of the learned men of the west of Europe against the barbarism and ignorance of the times. The pope was the head of this confederacy."* We would respectfully submit the case of Of a truth, could we fancy Prout debarred from the resources afforded by his favourite pursuits, we should feel at a loss how to comprehend the possibility of his existence during so long a period on the bleak summit of his parochial Pisgah: the prospect before him must have been as dreary as the "long hollow valley of Bagdad," in the vision of Mirza. Without the converse of the Muses, we can scarcely imagine how the stillness of domestic solitude could be made endurable on Watergrasshill. "Martiis cœlebs quid agam calendis?" Such must have been the sad self-interro- to have thus been one of learned leisure. By the philosophic seclusion of his old age, he fittingly wound up the adventurous period of his youthful rambles over the Continent. After such a fluctuating existence, final repose was natural and desirable, no matter where. Noah's ark rested on the top of Ararat, Prout's chest on as bleak a mountain. A halo of glory will, however, encircle the bill. "Qui nunc misenus ab illo Dicitur æternumque tenet per sæcula nomen."-Eneid, vi. 234. Or, to quote from Pindar (the general tenor of this article being Pindaric in the extreme), A biographical account of his earlier history is yet a desideratum; but of his latter years, the affection of his parishioners and the contents of the chest are the intelligible records. We know not whether he has any chance of the honours of canonisation, for we have not read Lambertini's (Benedict XIV.) quarto book, De Beatificatione SS., in which the qualifications are set forth. But if we be not authorised (until he obtain brevet rank in the calendar) to say of him, in positive terms, "Candidus insuetum miratur limen Olympi," we may at least confidently assert, that, as far as human testimony can go, "He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept."—Ch. Har. iii. 57. In corroboration of which, we have been informed by Croquis (who, previous to illustrating his works, paid a visit to the hill), that the lap of earth in which he is laid has produced a most luxuriant crop of shamrocks,—a circumstance the more remarkable, in our opinion, as, from the father's known antipathy to quacks, he cannot have been much addicted to the use of Morrison's Vegetable Pills. But what is conclusive of the miraculous nature Propy's life at Watergrasshill appears of this verdure is, that it offers abund ant specimens of that genuine Irish plant the quadrifoliated trifolium, or "four-leaved shamrock," concerning the properties of which we need only refer to Lover's delightful song. The peasantry, according to Alfred's account, deem the herbs to possess sundry Hygeistic virtues, some wearing them all round their hat, as a specific for the ague-others preferring to take them inwardly, as an antiphlogistic, in a glass of whisky. All we can say is, that the transmission of the father's spirit into these shamrocks is not without parallel in the legendary pages of the αγιογραφοι; and as for a classical precedent, we need only refer to the account of Polidorus, and the shrubs that grew up from the turf that wrapped his clay, as set forth in the third book of the Eneid, v. 45. One thing is, however, certain, --that he despised the frivolities of the world, and, in the retirement of his solitude, bestowed a proper degree of attention on the cares of futurity. From sundry passages in his translation of Vida's "Silkworm," it is evident that he had understood well the nature of this transitory existence that, with old Dante, he was fully convinced of its being only a state of grublike lowliness, preparatory to a brilliant παλιγγενεσία - "Noi siam vermi Nati per formar l'angelica farfalla." Hence his views were fixed on loftier objects than the pursuits of ordinary priestly. In his intercourse with the men: his musings were those of a priest, nine sisters, he taught them not to imitate the foolish virgins in the Gospel, who neglected to put oil in their lamps; and the waters of Siloa's brook mingled in his cup with those of the classic Aganippe. To be known to mankind as a writer, or a savant, was the least of his aspirations; for he had evidently meditated on a passage of Seneca, which he has traced on sundry flyleaves in the chest, and which is so like a sentence from the Epistles, that it must have been penned by Nero's tutor after one of his many interviews with St. Paul "ILLI MORS GRAVIS INCUBAT QUI NOTUS NIMIS OMNIBUS IGNOTUS MORITUR SIBI." SEN., Traged. of Thyest. MY ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE LATE CHARLES MATHEWS. It must have been about the year 1818 that I first beheld the comic masterspirit of his day. He was then separated from me by a dozen rows of grinning heads, one row of iron spikes, five feet of orchestra, and a baizecovered table with two lamps upon it. To speak more plainly, I first saw the late Charles Mathews from the seventh bench in the pit of the late English Opera House, on which occasion he enacted his "Mail Coach Adventures." I was then a romantic youth of sixteen, devoted to what is termed "the regular drama ;" and more than doubting the ability of one individual (however divisible his individuality) to afford amusement in any degree commensurate with what I had before derived from a numerous dramatis persona, including, besides several of our best tragic actors, the delicious O'Neill. In fact, I was rather taken to see Mathews, by my father, than impelled by my own wishes; and there was a dignified and conde ing. It was, at most, a forced payment awarded by candour to custom. Every body was talking of Mathews, and I strongly suspected they talked nonsense. I went to see how far the world was right, and with the charitable intention of setting it right should it prove wrong. "I came, I saw, HE conquered!" Had the world refused to acknowledge the comic supremacy of Mathews, I should have" banished" it, as Coriolanus did the "common cry of curs,"-yes, I should have struck up for Mathews and misanthropy. I have never since my school-days been "home-sick," except in the sense of being sick of home; nor have I felt home less objectionable than when "At Home" with Mathews. This wonderful actor was never more happy than in the title of his performances- "Mr. Ma thews at Home." It is true the room in which he received his company was very theatrical in form,-otherwise, it Was substantialle |