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pity as a father hath unto his children dear," like pity | school of sculpture. I do not mean to insinuate that exercises he towards that larger family whom Go dhas committed to his trust.

But clerical matrimony is twice blessed. It not only blesses the parish, but the priest. The farmer is a busy man all day long; and his avocations withdraw him, in heart and in spirit, as well as in person, from domestic enjoyments. The merchant and manufacturer are in similar circumstances; and even the laird has legitimate avocations which in no degree identify him with his lady or family. But the clergyman is never so truly in the garb of his duty as when he is sitting in his easy chair, with a book on the table before him, and a child on either knee. Oh God! what are the feelings of that minister of God, who can reside from day to day undisturbed in the centre of his family-whilst wife and children are encircling him like Saturn in a ring, or Jupiter in his satellites! and all the while permit no silent and rejoicing | outgoings into the past-into the golden season of love and courtship—which has only been superseded by the still more engrossing and delighting period of matrimony? -or into the future, it may be the vast and fathomless future-where lie bands and gowns, and epaulets and civic honours, for the little churchmen, warriors, and statesmen, who are now so seriously engaged at taw!

FINE ARTS.

NEWS FROM ROME.

T. G.

We have been much gratified with the letter, an abstract of which we now present to our readers. Rome is the capital of artists, whatever their country; and it is the centre of activity in their profession. In it are stored up, as in a treasury, the richest fragments of the art of the old world, and the noblest treasures of the new. In it are to be found the delegates and representatives of every nation under heaven, catching inspiration from these works, and endeavouring to rival them. It is in it, too, that not only the artist, but the mere lover of art, may gain a high practical insight into its mysteries, which he might elsewhere seek in vain. It is for this reason that we snatch so gladly at every piece of news from Rome. But our friend's letter will, we trust, prove interesting both as containing matter of gratification for this laudable curiosity, and as affording a pleasing picture of the aspirations, and progressive developement of the powers of an ingenuous mind :—

"There are many English artists here. With the pictures of Eastlake and Severn you are probably acquainted. They support the respectability of English art; which is lucky, for several unfortunate exhibitions of pictures have been opened by our artists. Perhaps you have already heard of Turner's turn-out. He exhibited three pictures, one of which was beautiful, but the other two were greatly inferior. There was a view of Orvieto, as yellow as crome could make it; and a Medea, finely conceived, but with little else to recommend it ;— extravagant in the execution, badly drawn, the colours not blended, yellow, red, and white all in confusion. Poor Turner! he was much abused even by the English-to | the Italians and Germans his works were incomprehensible. Andrew Wilson has made a great many views in the neighbourhood of Rome. At present he is engaged with a large picture, a view of Gensano, which is nearly finished. I think his restoration (if we may so call it) to his beloved Italy has improved him much. The scenery around him is congenial to his feelings, and seems to inspire his pencil. I may add, that the climate is so suited to his constitution, that he enjoys excellent health, which never was the case in Scotland.-I come now to the Italians. The subject is ungrateful. Art is in a miserable state. Camuccini has laid the foundation of a bad school of painting; Canova of an equally bad

there is any want of talent, but it is wrong directed→→→ the system is bad. The Italians pay much attention to drawing, but they caricature; of colour and effect they have little notion; of execution, less. Either they are ignorant of the use of glazing; or entertain an idea that it is inconsistent with genius to employ mechanical aids which were unknown to the great masters. They try to colour all at once; nay, their prejudice against glazing is so strong, that one of them replied to a gentleman, who, when he saw him endeavouring in vain to catch the colouring of a picture he was copying, remarked, that the original was glazed- I know it; but I will not glaze.' The consequence is, that old pictures, especially Venetian and Flemish, suffer dreadfully in the hands of Italian cleaners, who take off the glazing, considering it dirt. The beautiful Communion of St Jerome,' by Domenichino, has been treated in this way, and the picture has hence acquired (as Mr Wilkie expressed it) ́ ́ leathery appearance.' The French have an excellent academy here, which produces good artists, especially architects. The French school is doing more at present than any other.-Rome is inundated with moustached German artists. Their extraordinary appearance can only be equalled by the extraordinary style of art they have adopted. Some of them paint beautifully, and their pictures, except, perhaps, that they are more highly finished, resemble the works of some of our own artists. But the majority have followed Pietro Perrugione in all his eccentricities. They have much talent, but surely this is a perversion of it.

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"The private collections in Rome are of very different degrees of merit. The finest gallery, without doubt, is the Borghese, the pictures of which are in tolerable preservation. It makes one melancholy to walk through some of the galleries, and see all around numbers of the finest pictures going to wreck and ruin, partly from want of care, and partly from the miserable avarice or poverty of their proprietors. The Vatican itself is not exempt from this reproach; the pictures there are many of them in very bad condition. What they have been, may be inferred from the admiration with which they were regarded when they were first painted, and from their beautynotwithstanding the neglect they have suffered. You can form no idea of the sculpture galleries of the Vatican. Superb halls, decorated with columns and pilasters of the most rare and precious stones, paved with Mosaics, and filled with fine statues,-'tis the realization of a fairy tale. The Torso of the Belvedere is my favourite piece of sculpture. When I look on this trunk, I can scarcely believe it the work of a mortal. With the frescoes of Michael | Angelo and Rafaelle, as far as prints can go, you must be well acquainted, and have, no doubt, studied with attention the Sistini chapel. Bewick was for some time engaged copying the prophets and sibyls. That he might do it well, he had a high scaffolding erected in the chapel which brought him within a short distance of the paint ings. I went, by a fortunate chance, to the chapel while the scaffolding was still standing. From the ground, the upper part of the Last Judgment looks a confused mass; but when raised, what a variety of expression is discoverable in the countenances and attitudes of the figures! Hope, love, and joy in those of the blessed, contrasted with terror, despair, and death. Wilkie, on reaching the top, and looking around, exclaimed, Good Lord deliver us!' He could not find language to express his wonder and admiration.

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"I have presumed to make my own observations on these specimens of the still unrivalled excellence of the old masters, but I have also listened attentively to the opinions of experienced judges; and sometimes I have found them coinciding with my own preconceptions; often I have acquired new ideas. I wrote to you shortly after my arrival in Rome, but I pray God you may never have received that letter. The vanity of a young travel

ier inspired me when I wrote it. Time, some little gleanings of experience, and the lectures of my worthy father, have removed a load of prejudice, through the dark medium of which I gazed on and judged of every thing. Well do I remember the orthodox horror with which, on my first arrival here, I regarded the works of Italian architects. Their originality now pleases me; though, strange to say, it was at first the cause of my dislike to them. I have been chiefly engaged in drawing, when the weather permitted, since my arrival in Italy, and have formed a collection of views of the antiquities of Rome, likewise a few of Naples and Genoa. We know that, in former times, the sister arts were often pursued successfully by one man: why not now? For myself, I hope and wish to join painting to architecture."

THE GREEK LANGUAGE-ANCIENT AND MODERN. [We have pleasure in laying before our readers a letter from a Greek gentleman, who has very recently come to Edinburgh with the view of giving instructions in that language, and who appears to us to take a somewhat novel, but, we think, just view of the proper mode to be pursued in the acquisition of this beautiful and interesting tongue.— ED. LIT. JOUR.]

TO THE EDITOR OF THE EDINBURGH LITERARY JOURNAL.

quite ignorant of it, and obliged to begin with the alphabet, may learn to read the ancient authors, and to write and speak the language, with the same purity and elegance that well-educated Greeks now do, in far less time, with far less trouble, and with far less danger of contracting any of that disgust for the study, which is so often the consequence of the dry and difficult mode in which it is usually taught. During a residence of two years in the United States, where I gave lessons, first at the Franklin Institution in Philadelphia, then at the Columbian College in New York, and, lastly, at Cambridge, near Boston, my own experience proved the truth of what I have stated. I have received letters in Greek, pretty well expressed, from scholars of three and six months standing; and the same scholars were equally at home in speaking the language. In short, I am quite persuaded, that whoever wishes it, may become master both of ancient and modern Greek in a very short time, and that the latter can only be properly learnt through the former, which is its foundation. My Grammar of the modern Greek, and the Orations for the Crown, together with the Prolegomena in modern Greek, seem to me firmly to establish the truth of what I have now advanced, namely, that the modern is so incorporated with the ancient, that it ought to be studied as one and the same language. I shall now, sir, conclude for the present, but will have much pleasure in replying to any questions you may wish to put to me upon this subject at any future opportunity. Meantime, I have the honour to remain, &c.

Edinburgh, 22d Sept. 1829.

ALEXANDER NEGRIS.

THE DRAMA.

Ir is a pleasant thing to see so many of the "old familiar faces" again. It is a pleasant thing to take our station once more in our favourite little Theatre, and, re

SIR,-IN the course of the conversation I had with you yesterday, you asked me, if I mistake not, whether the language of Modern Greece differs materially from that of the ancient, and whether the difference is similar to that existing between the Italian and the Latin. In reply, I beg to state, that it appears to me very clear that modern Greek neither can nor ought to be considered but as one of those various dialects which, taken together, make the Greek language; and is, in other words, just one branch of a great tree. Modern Greek, therefore, should not be studied separately, unless by those who have previously made themselves acquainted with the other dialects, and who-being able to read and understand each of the four ancient dialects in which the chefs-membering the happy hours we have already spent there, d'œuvre of Greek literature are composed-feel also desirous of acquiring the fifth—that is, the modern-in order to complete their knowledge of the Greek tongue. They, on the other hand, who are only beginning to study Greek, ought unquestionably to consider it as consisting of five dialects, and should be taught to read Homer, Thucydides, Demosthenes, and others, not as writers in a language now extinct, but rather in a language which still exists, and is spoken by a whole nation; for the difference between the language in which these authors write, and that which is now spoken, is not so much in the words themselves as in their construction. It is needless to advert to the objection which has been so often advanced and refuted, that the pronunciation of the modern Greek is different from the ancient, as if it were possible that, after preserving almost every word in the old language, the Greeks should have quite lost sight of its pronunciation, and left that to be discovered by philologians shut up in their closet. But leaving this question to be decided in any way that scholars think fit, permit me to remark, that it is surely much more natural to learn a language with that pronunciation which, besides being harmonious and beautiful, is intelligible to a whole nation, than with that pronunciation which is of no use but in the reading of dead authors. In both cases, the labour is equal; but in one, the advantage is double. By learning the modern dialect, which, as I have already said, is nothing but an appendix to the ancient language, we are not only able to enjoy all the modern Greek works, many of which display an elegance and a beauty truly classical,-such as the poetical productions of Chrystopoulos, of Rizos, of Calbos, of Coray, of Coumas, of (Economos, and many others, but we are also able to avail ourselves of it in conversation and correspondence. I am still further of opinion, that, by studying Greek as a living language, he who is even

anticipate many happy hours yet to come. On Tuesday evening last, we were as full of the milk of human kindness as a lamb, and our heart bounded within us like the heart of a child—a manly bright-eyed boy, whom grandpapa carries off in a coach to see a play for the first or second time in his life. We positively shook hands with Donald the box-keeper, and glad were we to find that the Manager had brought down no star from London to fill his place. Much pleased were we to observe Mr Pindar fiddling away once more in the most good-natured style imaginable, just as if nothing had happened, and to see Mr Platt puffing into his delicate flute with the puff of a master. Then up went the curtain, and, being in perhaps the most delightful mood we ever were in, Stanley, that funniest of all creatures, made us laugh till the tears came over our cheeks. We had scarcely recovered when our eyes fell on our old friend Pritchard, whom we are right glad to see back again ;—whether he be a first-rate actor or not, he is, at all events, a man of a frank and gentlemanly bearing, and, in his own parts, is a credit to our company. Then there was Miss Tunstall, with her clear pipe and good-natured physiognomy;-we really can't help liking her, so we "own the soft impeachment" at once. Then there was Mrs Stanley, a fine woman and a clever, and moreover, a flame of ours about fifteen years ago. Then there was Montague Stanley, a nice lad, getting more easy and graceful, and fit for good things with a little time and experience. And, on Wednesday evening, was there not Mackay, fresh from Liverpool, but with as true a Scotch heart as ever? and Denham the judicious, a little unwieldy in tights and silk stockings, but keeping within himself the soul of a King James and a Dandie Dinmont? No! we could not be crabbed with these old friends on the first or second night of a season, though the critic's laurel crown were to be the

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price of our leniency. We were glad even to see Mr Taylor, Mr John Stanley, Mr Power, Mrs Mathews, and the Misses Murray. As for Mrs Nicol and Mrs Eyre, it is long since they have held dominion over the softest portion of our heart. Yet there was a dash of sorrow in our cup of joy. Where was Jones the gentlemanly?— where was his shrill "ha! ha!" and where his blue or claret-coloured coat, cut so delicately, and fitting so nicely, that it seemed more like the stuff of which a tailor's happiest dreams are made, than a thing of stern reality? Alas! Jones is teaching elocution to the Cockneys of London. Where was Mason the facetious?—where was his caput mortuum face, so full of woe and merriment, that it might make a churchyard laugh?—where was our starved apothecary and our Sir Andrew Ague Cheek? Alas! Mason is "o'er the border and awa," in consequence of some slight and mutually-to-be-regretted misunderstanding between him and the Manager. Where was Thorne the obliging?—where was his "March to the battle-field," his prepossessing nose, and his agreeable careless manner? Alas! Thorne is singing blithely in the English Opera House, "maybe to return to Lochaber no more." And where more than all the rest-where was Miss Noel, the gentle and the good ?—where was her sweetly-warbled melody, dear to the Scottish heart, her playful smile, and fine feeling of the truth of nature? Alas! she is in New York, where her husband is lecturing on anatomy, "across the Atlantic's roar."

But a reinforcement of new recruits has been marched up to supply the place of those who are gone; and what are we to say of them? Of Mrs William West we say that she is a pretty woman, somewhat past her best, and on the whole, a pleasing and graceful actress, though in grave and sentimental characters rather too lachrymose and white-pocket-handkerchiefy, and in gayer characters rather too languid and studied. Of Mr Williams we say that he is "pretty considerable" vulgar, though we daresay he has some humour of a broad and tolerably commonplace kind, and we believe that Scotch characters are his forte. Of Mr M. Rae, from Glasgow, we say that we wish he had left behind him in that city some of his Irish brogue, and brought with him a pair of legs capable of moving a little less stiffly through the parts of walking gentlemen. Of Miss Stoker we say that she is a clever little girl, and that we are glad to see her in the way of rising in her profession, but she must not be quite so rompish on the Edinburgh stage as she might be in country towns; her manner is a little trop prononcée; she must soften it down. Of the " young lady"

who made "her first appearance on any stage" (?)—Miss Weston's younger sister, we believe-we say that she is likely to prove an acquisition in the chambermaid line. Of Mr Barton, from Dublin, who is to take the premier role in the company, we say that we do not yet know exactly what to say. We have seen him only in two characters the Stranger and Lord Townly; we liked him in the first, and were not very well pleased with him in the second; but neither of these characters is well suited to bring out a man's powers. Our judgment rests suspended,-only, we suspect we are going, on the whole, to be pleased with Barton.

On Thursday evening, the first of living actors, KEAN, entered upon an engagement of only six nights. We shall have something to say of him next Saturday. Meantime, we are glad to see him in so much vigour, and expect that hardly an inhabitant of Edinburgh will miss the opportunity of being present at his performances. It was a remark which we heard made by one of the most popular poetesses of the day, that seeing Kean play his favourite parts, was like reading Shakspeare by flashes of lightning."

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Old Cerberus.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE ARAB AND HIS BEARD.

A STORIE FROM THE ARABYCK TONGUE, COMPYLIT INTILL THE
GUID AULD SCOTYSH TONGUE.

By the Author of " Anster Fair."
LAST nicht, as I on my couche was laid,
There cam a vision intill my head,
That garr'd me quhither sae on my bed,
That I wauken'd wi' the flutter:
I dreamyt I met wi' the fearfu' Deil;
I kent the Daddy o' Lies richt weil
By his brimstane beard and his cloven heel,
And his taile as black 's the gutter.
Wi' a growsame glowr, the Father o' Sin
Gluntschet at me wi' an awsome grin ;
Frae his black ee-bree to the tip o' his chin,
Gehenna girn'd black in his face.
The bonnie sterns, at the growsame grin,
Frae th' Equator's belt till the Polar pin,
Creipt to their chawmers a' within,

To shelter themselves for a space;
And the earth, through a' her michtie buik,
Like a palsyt creature quhiver'd and shook ;
Dogs youf't and youl'd, men shiver't and quook,
As they lay on their beds afeard:
For me I cared na a preen or a strae,
For Cleutie that gluntsch'd and gruntlet sae;
But, breeshlin' up to man's mortal Fae,

I grippit him bauld by the beard ;
And I said, Ah, Tyke! ah, Imp o' the Air!
I hae you now in my clutches fair!
For your ill-willit deeds I'll punysh you sair!
And I gave him a slap on the baffit;

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By Robert Chambers.

STRANGE fancies rise at sight of thee,
Tower of the lonesome, silent sea!
Art thou a thing of earth or sky,

Upshot from beneath, or let down from on high-
A thing of the wave, or a thing of the cloud-
The work of man, or the work of God?
Old art thou?—has thy blue minaret
Seen the young suns of creation set?
Or did but the yester years of time
Wake their old eyes on thy youthful prime,
Creature of mystery sublime?

Strange seem thy purposes and fate,
Emblem of all that's desolate!

Outcast of earth, as if cursed and exiled,
Thou hast taken thy place on the ocean wild,
And rear'st, like a mournful repentant Cain,
Thy conscious and flame-letter'd brow on the main,
Telling all who might come to companion or cheer,
To shun thy abode of destruction and fear.
Hermit of the desert sea,
Loneliest of all things that be,
Even the Pillar'd Enthusiast was nothing to thee!

No change in thy aspect, place, or form,
Brings light or darkness, sunshine or storm;
Times and seasons change, but thou never changest—
Range all other sea things, but thou never rangest.
Morn breaks on thy head with her blush and her smile-
Noon pours all his splendours around thy lone pile-

The long level sunbeams that gild thee at eve,
Cast thy shade till 'tis lost o'er the far German wave;
Or night falls upon thee, as dew falls on tree-
Yet these alternations no change work on thee!
Let the sea, as the heaven which it mirrors, be calm,
And each breath of the breeze bring its own load of
balm-

Or let its bleak pavement be traversed and torn
By the white-crested war-waves, from northern seas
borne,

Who seem, as they rush to old Albany's strand,
A new troop of Norsemen invading the land-
Or let the rough mood of that long trooping host
In the conflict and rage of a tempest be lost-
And to the wild scene deepest darkness be given,
Save where God pours his fire through the shot-holes
of heaven-

In calm or in breeze-amidst tempest and flame-
Thou art still the same beautiful, terrible same!

A BACHELOR'S COMPLAINT.

THEY'RE stepping off, the friends I knew, They're going one by one;

They're taking wives to tame their lives, Their jovial days are done ;

I can't get one old crony now

To join me in a spree;

They've all grown grave domestic men,
They look askance on me.

I hate to see them sober'd down-
The merry boys and true,-
I hate to hear them sneering now
At pictures fancy drew;

I care not for their married cheer,
Their puddings and their soups,
And middle-aged relations round
In formidable groups.

And though their wife perchance may have
A comely sort of face,

And at the table's upper end

Conduct herself with grace,

I hate the prim reserve that reigns,
The caution and the state,

I hate to see my friend grow vain
Of furniture and plate.

O! give me back the days again
When we have wander'd free,

And stole the dew from every flower,
The fruit from every tree;

The friends I loved-they will not come,-
They've all deserted me;

They sit at home and toast their toes,

Look stupid, and sip tea.

By Jove! they go to bed at ten,

And rise at half past nine;

And seldom do they now exceed

A pint or so of wine;

They play at whist for sixpences,
They very rarely dance,
They never read a word of rhyme,
Nor open a romance.

They talk-Good Lord!-of politics,
Of taxes, and of crops;
And very quietly, with their wives,
They go about to shops;
They get quite skilled in groceries,
And learn'd in butcher meat,
And know exactly what they pay
For every thing they eat,

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I Do not wish to clothe in vulgar words
The deeper thoughts that in my bosom lie,
To outward sense invisible, like birds
Afloat far off in the cerulean sky.
Let them abide in me, as water-springs

Within the caverns of the rock-ribb'd hill ;-
O'er them no breeze its rippling mantle flings,

They feel not summer's heat, nor winter's chill;
And when the storm uproots the mountain pine,
Or covers o'er with snow the lofty peak,
They rest like liquid diamonds in their mine,

Calm and unchanged, when all without is bleak ;-
So slumber ye, my thoughts, while all unseeing
The cold crowd passes by, and knows not of your being.
H. G. B.

LITERARY CHIT-CHAT AND VARIETIES.

A NEW Juvenile Annual is in a state of forwardness, to be called The Zoological Keepsake, a name which describes at once both its peculiar feature, and almost its whole plan of contents and publication. It will be enlivened by a light conversational manner of treating its Zoological topics, and by an abundance of anecdote, and a share of humorous poetry, and description. The embellishments will consist of en gravings, from drawings by Cruickshanks, Landseer, Baynes, Saunders, and others.

The embellishments for the Third Series of the Tales of a Grandfather are engraved. The frontispiece for the first volume is a portrait of the Chevalier de St George, and the vignette is the execution of Lord Derwentwater and his unfortunate fellow-sufferers; for the second volume there is a portrait of the Duke of Argyle, and a vignette of an incident which took place at the battle of Sheriff-muir; and for the third volume a portrait of a Highland Chieftain, out in the "forty-five," and a vignette of Flora Macdonald. The work is expected to appear about the end of the year.

The Life and Times of Daniel de Foe is preparing for publication. If well executed, the publication ought to be an interesting one, both as a literary biography, and as an illustration of a remarkable period of English literature.

We understand that the Bijou is to appear this season along with the other Annuals, with high graphic and literary attractions.

Gleanings of an English Hermit in Portugal during the years 1827, 1828, and 1829, is announced as about to be published in Lisbon.

Some Account of the Life and Writings of White Kennet, D.D., Minister of St Botolph, Aldgate, afterwards Lord Bishop of Peterborough, by W. Burgess, is in the press.

The publication of the translation of Childe Harold into German, by Baron Von Sedlitz, has been prohibited by the Austrian authorities at Vienna !

The Poems lately published by the King of Bavaria, have excited a considerable sensation amongst the literati of Germany; and an eminent literary character, now residing abroad, we understand, is preparing a translation of them, with which the public will be shortly

favoured.

CHEAP LITERATURE.-The spirit which gave rise in England to the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, has spread itself Over the Continent. A subscription has been opened at Louvain for the economical propagation of useful books. Each member is to receive a copy of all the works which the Society may have published in the course of the year, in virtue of a subscription of six florins (10s. 7d.) Twelve volumes will be published annually, containing at least 120 sheets each, and embracing the matter of twelve volumes of a French edition, of the value of 75 francs-a little more than £3 sterling.

BUST OF MRS HEMANS.-Mr Angus Fletcher has nearly finished a bust of this celebrated poetess. We have had the pleasure of seeing it, and are able to speak very favourably of it. It is chastely and elegantly executed, and, whilst the individual features are well copied, the general character of the countenance has been happily brought out. It is somewhat remarkable, that there is a striking resemblance between the expression of Mrs Hemans's face and that of Miss O'Neil. We believe the bust has been executed for Sir Robert Liston, but it will be exhibited here next season.

MACDONALD'S STATUES.-A drawing which has been taken of this group by Lauder, is about to be lithographed, we believe, by Johnstone, and will be published immediately. This is a compliment which Macdonald deserves.

GYMNASTICS.-A Hint to the Highlanders.-A French periodical, the Revue Encyclopedique, adverting to the account given in the Edinburgh newspapers, of the feats performed at the last meeting of the Highland Club, observes, that if the best high leaper sprang only 50 inches from the ground, and that if the best thrower of the hammer threw the 21-pound hammer only 31 feet 4 inches, and the 12-pound hammer only 67 feet 4 inches, there is scarcely a villager in France who would not be willing to dispute the palm with the Scotch either in leaping or throwing the hainmer. We daresay the Revue Encyclopedique is right; but, fortunately for Scotland, the members of the Highland Club are far from being its best gymnastics. We have seen a Scotchman clear at a high leap 64 inches: and, as for throwing the hammer, we will, ourselves, undertake to throw either of the two mentioned half-a-dozen feet farther, and we know many men who could throw them a dozen.

A DOUBTFUL COMPLIMENT.-The reports of Captain Dickenson's trial were forwarded to the Evening papers by one of those laborious authors called penny-a-line men. In his report of one of the days, this gentleman, commenting on his own contributions, observes,- The

avidity with which the London papers are read is really astonishing!"

A MELANCHOLY SITUATION.-The leading article of a recent Number of an American paper, consists of the following sentence: "The editor, printer, publisher, foreman, and oldest apprentice, (two in all) are confined by sickness, and the whole establishment has been left in the care of the devil."

Theatrical Gossip.-The subscription for the relief of Covent Garden proceeds more slowly than was expected, and it seems doubtful whether the sum required will be obtained. Should the Theatre reopen, we understand that a tragedy from the pen of Charles Kemble's eldest daughter is likely to be brought out. We have heard of this young lady's talents before, and believe she is the authoress of one or two successful minor pieces.-The admission prices at Drury Lane are to be reduced for the ensuing season to six shillings for the boxes, and three for the pit. It is said that Miss Mitford's new tragedy will be the opening piece. Young Charles Incledon, the son of the celebrated singer, is also to appear speedily at Drury-Lane. He is said to have a fine voice, and to resemble his father a good deal in every thing, except that he is extremely diffident-a good fault.Kean, it appears, is at loggerheads with the Dublin manager, who has refused to pay him £350 of salary, which Kean says he owes him. If the action come into court, it promises some amusement. Kean says that the manager would receive no report from a physician as to the state of his health, and obliged him to play with a company who were quite ignorant of their business. Lady Macbeth, he declares, knew only about one line in seven, and the very ghosts were deficient. The manager's principal objection to payment is founded on Kean's refusal to die, on certain occasions, with becoming spirit, and, in particular, to show proper fight with his own son, while he acted Macduff.-A new comic opera (the music by Catel, professor of harmony in the French Institute) has been translated by Mr Cummins, the manager of the Leeds Theatre, and has been received there with enthusiastic applause.-Matthews and Yates have made a successful debut at Paris; and, what is odd, Yates appears to be the decided favourite with the Parisian critics. One of them says, "We are not aware what may be the comparative degree of merit assigned to these two famous mimics by the English public; but, to judge from the effect which they produced on the French portion of their audience, Yates would amuse more in a quarter of an hour, than Matthews in the whole hour."-Rossini was lately a few days at Milan, and was present at a representation of the "Pirate," a new opera by a new composer, named Bellini. A great crowd was attracted to see il gran maestro, but it pleased him to keep at the back of his box during the whole of the performance, and only a few friends were admitted to a sight of him. The author of the opera was among the number, to whom he paid some high compli ments. He also expressed himself in high terms of praise of a female singer, whom he had not heard till that occasion,-Mademoiselle Mérie Lalande. This singer, who is engaged for the next year's opera season at Paris, is the idol of the Milanese dilettanti, who place her on a par with Madame Fodor.-We are happy to learn that a tragedy, from the pen of James Sheridan Knowles, the distinguished author of " Virginius," is in active preparation; and we believe Miss Smithson, his countrywoman, is to play the heroine.-The Caledonian Theatre closes this evening. We shall have no objection to see Mr Bass again, when the Theatre-Royal shuts its doors,—but not till then.

WEEKLY LIST OF PERFORMANCES.
Sept. 22-Sept. 25.

TUES. The Stranger, & Happiest Day of My Life.
WED. The Provok'd Husband, & Do.
THUR. King Richard III., & Do.
FRI.

The Merchant of Venice, & 'Twould Puzzle a Conjuror.

TO OUR CORRESPONDENTS.

THE descriptive sketch of the ascent of Bennevis shall be inserted. -"A Tale of the Coast of Kent," and "J. C. U." are under consideration. We have received Mr Brydson's explanatory note.-The Jones alluded to by the John Bull is not our Jones.

The posthumous poem by the late Alexander Balfour, which we think one of its author's happiest efforts, shall have an early place."The Weepers," by "T. B. J." of Glasgow,-the Communications from Montrose,-the Ballad by " C." of Dalkeith,-the Letter from "R. G." of Leith,-and the Poems by "D. M. Askill," lie over for insertion at our best convenience.-Our Glasgow friend, " T. A.” has our thanks for his contributions.-We are afraid that "W." of Aberdeen will not suit us; and " Arthur Seat" is in the same predicament.

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