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proached. He knelt beside hers thrust nis crucifix close to her still straining eyes, and in accents that faltered from rage, he cried out—

"Dost thou still dare refuse? Death is on thy lips—hell gapes for thee !— Wretched woman, say but one wordkiss' the blessed relic, and thou art saved."

"There is but one God, and Mahomet is his prophet!" said Beatrice, in hollow and broken accents.

"It is done! Cover her quick! Let per perish in eternal fire!'' cried the mquisitor.

The executioners heaped the earth still higher—the head was covered in— and only then a smothered scream burst upwards, while the struggles of natural agony shook the mound to and fro.— Still the legal and consecrated murderers went on, with trembling hands and quaking hearts; but as they hastily closed their work, a deep and heavy groan came upon the air from a not distant

{iart of the waste ground ; and the group ooking round in guilty terror, saw a 'man close wrapped in a cloak, but struggling with another, of aged and decrepit stature, as if he would break from his hold, and rush upon their unholy labours. A weapon gleamed in his hand; and the whole group of guilt, inquisitor, familiars and guards, struck-with panic, and imagining rescue and revenge from a hundred indignant arms, hastily fled from the scene with loud cries for help.

In a moment the grave was torn open, and Beatrice, still panting in the struggle between life and death, snatched from its re«opened jaws, and about to be borne off in the close-locked arms of her brother, when the insatiate inquisitor, his ardent vengeance overcommg his fears, turned from his flight to give one assuring glance upon his victim's grave. By the light of the lantern which streamed on the ground, he saw that, instead of the indignant crowd his apprehensions had imagined, only two men were on the spot, one of them old and diminutive, and the other encumbered with the exhumed body. In the glow of fanatic fury, he forgot all personal fears, and while his dastard creatures held on their terrified course, he sprang back alone to the burial-ground, and seizing the old man with one hand, he stretched forth the other to grasp from the Moriscoe's hold his still insensible burthen.

"Sacrilegious villains!" cried he, "give up your impious purpose, and resign the body of the recreant lost one. Let it tot in its earthy prison, till the

last trumpet rouse it in resurged life to burn in eternal fire."

A deep and silent plunge of the Moriscoe's poignard struck the blaspheming bigot in the throat; another blow pierced his heart, as he fell into the imperfectly hollowed grave; and while he lay there, several strokes were dealt on him by the feeble hands of the old man with one of the spades, which he tremblingly seized. And then, in the instinct of terror at the deed, he shovelled the loose earth over the bleeding carcass, while the Moriscoe's pale profile looked stern and rigid in the expiring light. The work was soon complete; and the mound of earth thus hastily thrown up (soon covered with as rank weeds as ever sprang from a polluted soil) were long marked by shuddering superstition as "the grave of the Mahommedan girl." The fate of the inquisitor was quite unsuspected; and he might have been still believed to have disappeared supernaturally, or perished by some less awful visitation, had not unerring records thrown light on his fate.

The tottering steps of the old man quickly led the way across the thickly planted site of the little Sablon, and by many a winding lane and alley towards the hill of Caudenburgh, till the Moriscoe, with his beloved burthen, found a safe refuge in the old man's dwelling, in the narrow street on the side of the hill, not a hundred yards below the house of the Marquess of .Assembourg.


Public journals


We have just received two numbers of a New York periodical, entitled the "Euterpeiad, a Musical Review and Tablet of the Fine Arts," published every fortnight, or, as our transatlantic fellow - labourers express it, "semimonthly," and feel nattered at finding our opinions quoted, our columns referred to with acknowledgment, and, still more, our custom of giving good and cheap music, followed, though on a smaller scale, by this critic of the new world. One of the two numbers before us contains Paisiello's delightful serenade from the Barber of Seville, as arranged by Bishop for two voices; and the other, a movement from Rossini's overture to William Tell; both very creditable, as well to the selector's taste as to the progress of American musical typography. The " Euterpeiad" is not confined to music, but embraces the whole circle of the fine arts, theatrical criticism, and even original tales. We ore concerned, however, only with the musical part, and, as a specimen of the manner m which it is probable that de

fmrtment will be conducted, give the folowiug extract from the editor's address: "In regard to music, since the appearance of Weber, an almost new era has commenced. In the works of this celebrated composer, the proverb has been realized—the German Professor has given to his notes the power of language: emotions are almost imbibed from the sounds as from a visible transaction, or a well-told description. If the country which presents the highest or most generally approved attainments in singing, be demanded, perhaps the correct answer would be Italy. The contest afterwards for the highest eminence would lie between England, Germany, and France. The Scottish, Irish, and Welsh compositions, and English ballad music, must of course come under the aggregation of the English school, and availing itself of this union, and taking into view the circumstance of having for a considerable period steadily adopted, and engrafted upon its own stock, the beauty and excellence in the science manifested by the Germans and Italians, the claims of this school become formidable. And it is this which, through the medium of the same tongue, extends an immediate and irresistible influence over the United States.

"As this school is so interesting to the American public, we shall go into some particulars respecting it. To avoid tediousness, the eminent compositions of the English school may be reduced to two classes—lyrical and sacred; or, as some would divide it, into three, adding madrigalists. We can go back for the second class, as far as the time of Henry VIM. whowas himself no mean composer in church music. Purcell, the well-known composer of the music for the Tempest, has stood the ordeal of nearly three centuries. He was also the author of the music of the Indian Queen, Arthur and Emmeline, and a Variety of other pieces. It may be observed that these names are not clustering, but solitary, appearing at long intervals. Locke, the producer of the music in the incantation scene in Macbeth, as now sung and played, was the contemporary of Purcell. Dr. Arne next appears, the famous composer of Artaxerxes. Bishop, who has identified himself with almost every thing valuable in modern composi

tion, is well known, as are also hit works. It would be impossible to omit the name of Handel, the great thorough bass of musical composition, to whom Mozart confessed that every subsequent composer had been signally indebted. He is, by adoption and patronage, the property of the English school. It may not be unacceptable to add, that he composed, besides his other numerous works, one hundred nnd fifty-eight pieces, of which thirteen were Italian operas, many of which were successful.• The famous contest between Handel and Buononcini in Italian composition was decided in favour of the former by public acclamation. Those who are sceptical on the score of his composing in Italian, are referred to the well-known air, 'Lord, remember David,' which is to be found in the opera of Sosarmes, Commencing with the words, ' Rendi il sereno.'"t

The list of operas recently performed in New York might put our patent theatres a little to the blush, at least on the score of variety. Rokeby; the Tempest; John of Paris; the Barber of Seville; the Caliph of Bagdad, performed, and the Freischiitz in preparation, at one theatre. The principal female singers are all Englisn—Mrs. Austin, Mrs. Knight (formerly Miss Povey), and Madame Feron. The American editor's remarks on the two last named ladies, and on ballad singing in general, are so much in accordance with our own opinions, except the praise he bestows on Madame Feron's execution, that we cannot resist the temptation of extracting them.

"Mrs. Knight's worst ballads, aided by a drum beaten by Mr. Knight, seem to please the audience better than Mad. Feron's bravuras; indeed, we think the manager would gain more by the adoption of Mrs. K. than Madame F. We have remarked a listlessness on the part of Madame F., doubtlessly in consequence of feeling that her best efforts are not appreciated by the audience. We are not an ardent admirer of that lady's style: she has evidently studied to surmount difficulties, without sufficiently paying attention to the groundwork of singing; she fills you with ad

* There are thirty-two Italian operas by Handel, la MS. in his Majesty's collection, and he composed eleven others—making forty-three In all.—(Editor of Harmonican.)

f How many more might the American writer have added to this solitary one, had his list of Handel's Italian songs been at hand. This great German composerwas nearly as well acquainted with the Italian language as with his own, and often not only wrote letters iu It, but employed it U maoy of oil private memorandums;—(Jo Jf" miration at the execution of a tremendous passage, and then disappoints you by singing a few sustained notes in a tremulous, uncertain manner. In making the above observations on ballads, let us not be supposed to throw discredit upon that style of composition. 'Robin Gray,' f Oh no we never mention her,' 'The Soldier's Tear,' and such compositions, are a description of bullads, of which, with the Irish, Scotch, and Welsh melodies, we are proud; but if we admit that the drum and fife compositions of Mr. Lee and others, such as 'Bonnets of blue,' 'Blue bonnets,' 'Charley's over the water,' and 'Over the water to Charley,' are other than trash, fit only to amuse the gentlemen and ladies of colour in the gallery, we should be unworthyto beeditorof the'Euterpeiad.'" Harmonicon.—No. I.


We regret to announce the death of this eminent literary character, and venerable citizen, so well known as the the author of The Man of Feeling, and many other productions. Mr. Mackenzie had been confined almost to his room for a considerable time past by the general decay attending old age, and expired, we understand, on the evening of Friday the 14th. There will no doubt in time come from his friends a biographical account of so distinguished and excellent a man; and although it might not be proper toenter into detail at present, we cannot but with feelings of regret notice the departure of almost the last of that eminent class of literary men, who, above fifty years ago, cast such a lustre on our city. Tbey were succeeded, indeed, by a more stern, and probably more philosophical class of writers, as displayed in the papers of the Edinburgh Review, and similar productions; but in that delicate perception of human character and human manners, so correctly, so elegantly, and often so humourously delineated in the numbers of the Mirror and Lounger, where Mr. Mackenzie was the chief contributor, as well as in his other works, and in his general views of the great principles of moral conduct, there have been few authors more distinguished. The elegant society in Edinburgh, well known in former days by the name of the " Mirror Club,'' consisted, besides Mr. Mackenzie, of several gentlemen who were afterwards Judges in the Court of Session—viz. Lord Bannatyne, Lord Cullen, Lord Abercrombie, Lord Craig, and also Mr. George Home and Mr. George Ogilvie. The first, now

Sir William Rammtyne, a venerable and

most accomplished gentleman of the old school, is the only survivor. Mr. Mackenzie was in his 86th year, having been born in 1745. His eldest son is Lord Mackenzie, at present an eminent Judge in the Courts of Session and Justiciary. —Edinburgh Evening t'ourant.

STijc (Batterer.

A innpper up of uncouniderril triflei.



Pope Leo X. was particularly fond of Querno, a poet, the author of "Th* Alexiad,'' and who, at an entertainment given by some young men of rank, had been dignified with the appellation of "The Arch Poet." Leo used occasionally to send him some dishes from his table; and he was expected to pay for each dish with a Latin distich. One day, as he was attending Leo at dinner, and was ill of the gout, he madethis line:

Archi-potta facit versus pro millepoetis: What pains for others the arch poet takes,

He for a thousand poets verses makes.

As Querno hesitated for the next line, the good-humoured Pontiff replied—

Et pro mille aliis Archi-poeta libit: If for a thousand he's obliged to think, He chooses for as many more to drink.

Querno, willing to make up for his former deficiency, exclaimed — Porrigc, auodfucient mihi carmina docta

FaUrnum: To aid my genius, and my wit refine, Most Holy Pontiff, pour Falernian wine.

The Pope immediately replied— Hoc vinum enervat debilituti/ue pedes: I shall supply that wine with sparing hand,

Which from the feet takes off the power to stand. J. G. B.


The mind that never doubts shall learn nothing; the mind that ever doubts shall never profit by learning. Our doubts only stir us up to seek truth; our resolution settles us in the truth we have found.- There were no pleasure in resolution, if we had not been formerly troubled with doubts; there were nothing but discomfort and disquietn#ss in doubts, if it were not for the hope of resolution. It is not good to let doubt* dwell too long upon the heart; there may be good use of them as passengers, but dangerous as inmates. Hall.


In Windsor Castle is the celebrated painting representing " The Interview of Henry the Eighth with Francis the First," between Guisnes and Ardres, near Caftis, in the year 1590, on an open plain, since denominated Le Champ de Drop d'or. "After the execution of Charles the First,'' says Britton, "the parliament appointed commissioners to dispose of his effects, and an agent from France began a treaty with them for this painting. Philip, Earl of Pembroke, an emidnt admirer of the arts, who considered the picture as a valuable appendage to an English palace, resolved, if possible,'to prevent the bargain being concluded, and went privately to the royal apartments, cut out the head of -King Henry from the canvass, placed it in his pocket-book, and retired unnoticed. The agent, finding the picture so materially mutilated, declined to purchase; and it remained in its^tation till Cromwell, having obtained the supreme command, prevented any further disposal of the collection. On the Restoration, the then Earl of Pembroke delivered the dissevered fragment to Charles the Second, who ordered it to be reinserted in its place. By looking sideways at the picture in a proper light, the reparation becomes visible."

P. T. W.


It is reported of the Emperor Claudius, that he retained in memory all Homer, Sallust, Demosthenes, Avicen, and Aristotle's Metaphysics.

Tully and Seneca never heard any thing material but it was imprinted in their memory.

Scaliger said he learned Homer in twelve days, and all the Greek poets in four months.

Seneca, the philosopher, could repeat two thousand names in the exacb order in which they were rehearsed to him.

Themistocles, when he was promised to be taught the art of memory, said, " I had rather be taught the art of forgetfulness, for I remember those things I would not, and I cannot forget those things I would."


In the midst of the distresses with which France was harassed in the reign of Charles VII., and whilst the English were in possession of Paris, Charles amused himself und his mistresses with balls and entertainments. The brave La Hire, coming to Charles one. day, to

talk to him on some business of importance, whilst the luxurious prince was occupied in arranging one of his parties of pleasure, was interrupted by the monarch, who asked him what he thought of his arrangement. "I think, sire," said he, " that it is impossible for any one to lose his kingdom more pleasantly than your majesty." J. G. B.

A Lincolnshire farmer on being told that the low countries had risen, said he " was glad to hear it, for they would not be so often injured by floods."

A. H. R—T.

DEXTEROUS Shaving. Despatch is the order of things, and I think the following cannot be out-done by all the barberizing annals of ancient or modern times, not even by the Patent Steam Shaving Machine, talked so much of a few years ago :—There are opposite each other, in George-street, St. Giles's, two barbers' shops, whose weekly customers average 3,000, and in one of them is a man who has frequently, on a Sunday, mown the chins of the almost incredible number, 500, the majority of these being Irish labourers, with beards ofaweek's growth. In the other, a woman takes no inconsideiytble share in the arduous but impolite performance—pulling men by the nose. JAc-co.


In the Jamaica House of Assembly, a motion being made for leave to bring in a bill to prevent the frauds of Wharfingers, Mr. Paul Phipps, member for St. Andrew, rose and said, " Mr. Speaker, I second the motion; the Wharfingers are, to a man, a set of rogues; I know it well; / was one myself for ten years."

A Little better taste (were it a very little) in the affair of life itself, would nit nd the manners and secure the happiness of some of our noble countrymen, who come with high advantage and a worthy character mto the public. — Shaftesbury.


With IBS present Number, n SUPPLEMENT of

Vol. II

'" "" v~Tl

Printed und Pulditltal hy J. L1VIIIRD. 143, Strand, {near Somerset Hultte.J Ijoildon; tntn In Eit NEST FLEISCHEH, KM, .V«w Market, Leeptifi and by all \snrsaien and Buokietmrs,

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Letters And Journals Of Lord Btron, With Notices Of His Life, By Thomas Moore, Vol. ii.

[To attempt anything like an analysis of a " great big book," of 823 pages, like the present, and that within a sheet of 16 pages, would be an effort of condensation indeed. Besides, the very nature of the volume before us will not admit of such a task being performed with much regard to accuracy or unique character. The "Letters," of which the work is, in great part, composed, are especially ill adapted for such a purpose; since, many of them become interesting only from manner rather than importance of matter. Horace Walpole's Correspondence would make but a dull book cut in "little stars" in the letter style; and Lord Byron, as a letter writer, resembles Walpole more closely than any other writer of his time. His gay, anecdotical style is delightful—his epithets and single words are always well chosen, and often convey more than one side of the letter of a common-place mind.

Our sheet of Extracts is from such portions of Mr. Moore's volume as appear to illustrate the main points of the Noble Poet's character and habits, as the superscriptions will best explain— currente culamo from pages 22 to 769—within a few leaves of the Appendix.]


With the following melancholy passage one of his journals concludes :—

"In the weather for this tour (of thirteen days) I have been very fortunate—fortunate in a companion (Mr. H.)—fortunate in all our prospects, and exempt from even the little petty accidents and delays which often render journeys in a less wild country disap

rointing. I was disposed to be pleased, am a lover of nature, and an admirer' of beauty; I can bear fatigue and welcome privation, and have seen some of the noblest views in the world. But in all this—the recollection of bitterness, and more especially of recent and more home desolation, which must accompany me through life, have preyed upon Vol. Xvii. G

me here; and neither the music of the shepherd, the crashing of the avalanche, nor the torrent, the mountain, the glacier, the forest, nor the cloud, have for one moment lightened the weight upon my heart, nor enabled me to lose my own wretched identity in the majesty, and the power, and the glory, around, above, and beneath me ■ • .*' On his return from an excursion to Diodati, an occasion was afforded for the gratification of his jesting propensities by the avowal of the young physician (Polidori) that—he had fallen in love. On the evening of this tender confession they both appeared at Shelley's cottage — Lord Byron, in the highest and most boyish spirits, rubbing his hands as he walked about the room, and in that utter incapacity of retention which was one of his foibles, making jesting allusions to the secret he had just heard. The brow of the doctor darkened as this pleasantry went on, and, at last, he angrily accused Lord Byron of hardness of heart. "I never," said he, "met with a person so unfeeling." This sally, though the poet had evidently brought it upon himself, annoyed him most deeply. "Call me cold-hearted—me insensible!" he exclaimed, with manifest emotion—" as well might you say that glass is not brittle, which has been cast down a precipice, and lies dashed to pieces at the foot!"


My sister! my sweet sister' if a name
Dearer and purerwere, it should be thine,
Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim .
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine.
Go where I will, to me thou art the same—
A loved regret which I would not resign.
There yet are two things in my destiny—
A world to roam through, aud a home with thee.


The first were nothing— had I still the last.
It were the haven of my happiness;
Hut other claims and other ties thou linst,
And mine is not the wish to make them less.
A strange doom is thy father's son's, and part
Recalling, as it lies beyond redress:
Reversed for him our grandsire's fate of yore—
He had no rest at sea, nor I on shore.


If my inheritance of storms hath been
In other elements, and on the rocks
Of perds overlook'd or unforeseen,
I have sustained my share of worldly shocks,

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