son He saw fit that I should learn; yet sweet are the uses of adversity."."-"Yes," said the old woman, " 'Peggy doesna mean to murmur. And do not, dear children, amongst all the happy faces you have seen to-day, think that God has forgotten us. No; he has made his face to shine upon us in all our sorrow, and filled our hearts with peace, and hope, and joy! Poor Peggy had but one care when she rose this morning, and felt how weak she was; and even that is now removed, for both our good minister, and your dear mo ther, have been here to-day, and they have promised Peggy that if it pleased the Lord that she should join him that's gone, before his poor old mother does, they will take care of her. So now her poor heart is at rest, and we can both wait for God's good time in peace." The children now bestowed their little gifts, and received the blessing of the widow and her daughter. Their little hearts were full, and the tears stood in their bright eyes when they departed. But at their age, such tears may purify, but do not long sadden, the heart. DICK DEWLAP. [An English Magazine for February contains an article entitled Dick Dewlap, detailing some of the troubles of obesity. As it is too long for the pages of the Atheneum, and as it is not all written with the same spirit, we make a selection of the most amusing portion, being the dream of Mr. D.] I BELIEVE my dream had a commencement rather tragical than uncommon; for few people can acquit their consciences of having dreamed they were going to be hung, though I never could get any one to own that he also knew he had done enough to deserve the punishment. Unluckily for me, however, I had not even this consolation; I thought I was to be hung for being too fat; and so far was I from feeling shocked at the circumstance, that I was only surprised how I had escaped so long. Though in Newgate, I was perfectly tranquil; and received with resignation the intelligence that I was to be hung the following morning, the cause being, simply and solely, because two credible witnesses had sworn that, in their judgment, I was too fat to be allowed to live any longer. Still more at his ease, however, if possible, was Daniel Lambert, who was, I thought, my fellow prisoner, and to suffer in the same way, for a far weightier offence of the same un pardonable description. As the kitchen (for, with a dreamer's privilege, I imagined all this took place in a Newgate kitchen) as the kitchen, I say, was not over large-and my partner and I were-we could not move about without jostling each other; so I helped Daniel to perch himself on the top of an empty hogshead, that stood near the dresser; and there he sat, drumming with his mill-posts against the side of his pinnacle, his hands placed quiescently under his knees, and his pouting lips suitably employed in half whistling "See the conquering Hero comes." I supposed that poor Daniel, being at least three times my weight (I found that circumstance no small consolation), had long considered his crime too enormous to pardon; and as hiding or running away was out of the question, had made up his mind that the affair would terminate fatally, from the moment he was seized and shoved into a waggon. I cannot help remarking, though, that Mr. L., had he seen the matter in a proper light, must have considered me a martyr in comparison with himself; the victim of a law, equally just and necessary as it regarded him, but, in my case, carried to a most cruel extreme. Affairs were in this interesting position, when Mr. Ketch made his appearance, bringing in his hand some twenty yards of cordage, about as thick as a brig's hawser, and asked us, on our honor as gentlemen, whether we thought that would be strong enough to answer a certain purpose? I replied, that I could not speak from experience, but I flattered myself the line was strong enough, and that for me he need not be at the trouble of getting a chain cable. As for Mr. Lambert, I left him to speak for himself, as he had not favored me with any remarks on things, either in general or particular. Daniel, I suppose, heard this remark; but he still kept whistling and drumming, with undisturbed calmness, and did not answer a syllable. When Mr. Ketch had withdrawn, it occurred to me, that however merited my sentence (and I could not deny that I had enjoyed a long career of excessive stoutness), yet still the humane community, tempering justice with mercy, could only require that I should be despatched, no matter how; and that I might, therefore, as well make my exit in private as public, at ease as in pain. No sooner thought than done. A bottle of laudanum stood at my elbow. I poured a large quantity into a breakfast cup, and instantly drank it off, with the serenity of a Socrates. My friend Daniel witnessed the hero ic performance with equal apathy, and still continued drumming and whist ling" See the conquering Hero comes." As a convicted fat man, anxious for the honor of the chief of his caste, I could not help feeling somewhat piqued at Mr. Lambert's indifference to his impending disgrace. " Why, Daniel," said I, "will you be fool enough to be led out to-morrow morning, at eight precisely, to dance in the air for the amusement of the skin and bone scoun drels who have sworn away our lives, and will gloat over our fatal fall, as they would over the prize beef that they devour as well as kill? Why don't you behave like a man, and do as I have done?" His reply petrified me. "I don't know," answered the monster, coolly, "I think its hardly worth while. The fact is, that the Secretary of State (on condition of our eating no more rump steaks) has sent down our pardons, and I've got them both in my pocket." Here was an answer to give a man whom he had just seen swallow laudanum enough to kill a cart horse ! After staring at him for half a minute with "thought too deep for tears" indeed I was studying which way to sacrifice him-my indignation at length found utterance-"Why, you envious, overgrown villain," said I, "why did not you tell me this before?" "Why did not I?" replied he (as if confident I could not possibly object to his most exquisite reason), "why, because you did not ask me!" What signified arguing with such a dolt? I determined to make short work of it. "Now, you fat fool," cried I (going up to him with my clenched fist), "now I must go and have the laudanum taken out of me with the stomach pump, through your stupidity-take that!" (knocking him off his perch into the empty hogshead, the top of which suddenly gave way behind him); and I think I awoke with the noise he made in bawling out-"What's that for?" specimen, you may judge whether I am not as much to be pitied for my nightly visions as any opium eater in England. I'll dream against the best of them for a veal cutlet any night he likes. From this THE IMPROVISATORI. THE CONFESSIONS OF A MALE, AND THE PERFORMANCE OF A FEMALE. I HAVE always under immediate command, a store of current and favorite subjects, suitably wrought; for instance, the death of Adonis-the loves of Cupid and Psyche--the sacrifice of Iphigenia-the chastity of Lucretia-the death of Cæsar-the cruelty of Nero-and so forth. I have [This throws some light upon the subject, coming, as it does, from a "professional gentleman;" but thus much we had supposed without his confession. Stripped of the mask of inspiration-for this reduces them to the rank of others who "fret their hour upon the stage"--by which they might deceive and confuse the more illiterate of the Italian mob, how shall we account for the prodigious effect of the girl's performance, who seems to have carried away captive, not only her own easily excited countrymen, but the cooler blooded and more phlegmatic, although perhaps as easily gulled, Englishman? There is still some mystery about the matter, the readiest solution of which is to suppose the English letter-writer exaggerating the effect, for the purpose of lauding that which it is fashionable to praise. It is not "straining at a gnat" to imagine a person who applauded Mathews's caricatures-not because they were caricatures-swallowing with equal avidity the rant and buffoonery of Italian mountebanks. also in readiness a number of pompous ger of splitting on this rocky problem, speeches and gorgeous descriptions, especially when he applies it to subwhich are easily interwoven in poems jects borrowed from modern history. on every subject, and relieve weaker passages by their glowing diction: for instance, an eulogium on the city of Rome-a deprecation of the passions a storm scene-the delights of spring -with other popular, and generally applicable subjects. It is also a happy expedient, in spontaneous composition, to interweave with the commonplace subjects so often proposed, introductory remarks and conclusive moralities of universal application. Thus the poet avoids all suspicion of having prepared himself for the occasion, and by seasonably introduced compliments and apologies he will readily adapt himself to all occasions. Memory alone will not, however, meet every claim upon the powers of an improvisatore; presence of mind, and a lively imagination, are indispensable; or, in default of the latter, the power of concealing its absence by a ready command of the classic poets, quotations from which are not regarded as plagiarisms, but rather as honorable evidence of extensive learning; and, with a command of Virgil and Horace alone, I would pledge myself to exhaust any lyric or epic theme from ancient story, without any modern accessaries. The rhymes readily suggest themselves in a language so rich and pliant as the Italian, and relieve the labor of invention, especially if aided by musical accompaniment. For dramatic poems, which are almost invariably modelled after regular tragedy, and from ancient history, I have sentiments and language prepared for every probable contingency. The characters are tyrants, cruel parents, heroes, lovers, and confidants. For these I have declarations of love, farewell scenes, blessings, and maledictions, all ready, and easily adapted to a variety of situations. Occasionally, too, I employ the ancient chorus, which deals in generalities, and comes in with good effect. Versi sciolti are the most hazardous of all spontaneous attempts, and the poet is often in dan Miss "L. E. L.," who has given fame to "The Improvisatrice," and all others who think them remnants of ages past, when inspiration was not so uncommon as at present, merely because there were not so many candidates, will pardon these reflections which tend only to bring us all back again to "Mother Earth."] The improvisatrice gave, on the 24th of February, 1818, a public Academia in the Teatro della Valle, which I attended. At the door of the parterre was a silver urn, into which every one who entered was allowed to throw a theme rolled up in a slip of paper. A low and simple overture from the band preceded the arrival of the poetess, who at length made her appearance in white costume. She was a pale girl, about seventeen, and her large black eyes were full of fire. After an obeisance to the audience, she requested that the silver urn might be brought upon the stage; and, in sight of every one, a stranger drew out six slips of paper, the contents of which he read aloud, and then pre- or repetition, her internal agony was sented them to the poetess. The themes were these: La morte del Conte Ugolino; Saffo e Faone; La morte d'Ifigenia; La morte d'Egeo; Il cinto di Venere ; Coriolano. She selected the first named; and after pacing the stage for several minutes in visible excitement, but without gesticulation, she directed the orchestra to play an aria, which she distinguished by a number. In accordance with the subject, the melody was a deep lament, and of simple construction. After it had been played over twice, she gave a signal to the band, and, with an impassioned burst, began to declaim her poem in tones which were a mean betwixt re citation and singing. The musicians yielded to the words, and humored a slower or more rapid utterance with great dexterity. The emphatic notes always fell on the rhymes, and were sustained ad libitum; but here the declamation yielded to the air, resembling somewhat the recitativo secco of the Italian opera, or the chanting of the mass in the Catholic churches. The improvisatrice excited astonishment and pity. Her whole frame quivered with convulsive effort; her bosom throbbed, her cheeks glowed, her dark eyes blazed, and her countenance assumed a character so widely different from its first appearance, that I could have fancied her a statue suddenly warmed into vitality by the Promethean spark of poesy. When ever the flow of her diction was suspended, even for a moment, or when she was conscious of any slight error expressed by looks so appalling, that I felt an involuntary anxiety to help her out of the difficulty. Her delivery, however, became more flowing and impassioned as she proceeded, and, as she uttered the last word, she fell exhausted into a chair. But her excitement was too great for long inaction. She rallied almost instantaneously, swallowed hastily a glass of water, and called to the orchestra for another accompaniment. Gradually she took a bolder flight, and a wider range; calling occasionally for intercalary verses, and final rhymes from the audience, who also prescribed for her the metres of several poems. The conclusion of each effort was followed by loud and universal applause, nor could the audience always wait the close, but expressed their loud delight during the brief pauses in her recitation. These interruptions, however, were evidently no annoyance, but rather seemed to stimulate the gifted fair one to more daring flights. She wrought wonders with the stale and worn-out themes selected for her; and certainly no one, who looked and listened, could doubt her inspiration. Most admirable, too, was the unaffected and maidenly propriety with which she steered her course through the difficulties of that slippery subject, the girdle of Venus, and avoided every allusion which might have compromised her youthful purity. The delicacy with which she accomplished this cannot, however, be conveyed by description, nor could I do justice to it, had I retained her language. LE JEUNE AVEUGLE.-THE BLIND BOY. Ou me conduisez vous, ma mère? J'ai senti la fraicheur des champs. Oh! qu'un seul rayon de lumière Repandrait de vie en mes sens! Adieu, seduisante nature! Que n'ai j'oublié tes couleurs, Que n'ai j'oublié la verdeur, Et les arbrisseaux, et les fleurs? Etes-vous belle encor, ma mère ? Pour moi, je ne vous verrai plus, Aн, mother, whither am I led? I feel the freshness of the fields: Oh! that on me one ray could shed The light and life that summer yields! Thou glorious nature, fare thee well! Why can I not forget thy hues, Forget the green and graceful dell, And every flower its turf that strews? My mother, art thou lovely still? For me, I see thy face no more; Je ne depeins sous ma paupière Qui m'environne sans retour, Il s'arrête-il cherche une rose, Et sa main la cueille en tremblant : Puis de ses larmes il l'arrose, Et la rejette en l'effeuillant. Il mourut l'automne dernière; Et, pendant ses touchants adieux, Il disoit tout bas à sa mère, "Je verrai clair dans les cieux." But, through the shades mine eyes that fill That round me spreads where'er I flee, Feebly he stooped and sought a rose, And tore its leaves, and flung it down. EDINBURGH SESSIONAL SCHOOL.* In IN 1823, a small circulating library was annexed to the Institution. 1824, the school was removed from Leith Wynd to Market Place, and in 1825 was opened an evening school, for the benefit of individuals more advanced in life. In various instances have been seen at this seminary the parents of the children who were then in attendance upon the day-schooland there is now a father and son together in the evening school. The -branches of education taught in it are reading, with English grammar, general knowledge of the English language, and explanations of the subject on which they read, arithmetic, writing, and geography. It has been seen that SUNDAY SCHOOLS were originally the principal, if not the exclusive, object of the Edinburgh Parochial Institutions. Mr. Wood has two excellent chapters on Sunday Schools-but of their contents we can give but a very concise abridgment. First, he turns himself to meet an objection often urged against them, that it is an improper thing to take the religious education of the young out of the hands of their parents, and to devolve that important duty on strangers. It is, he allows, to be regretted that any parents, from indolence, indifference, mistaken diffidence, a desire to spend their own Sunday evenings at sermons or prayer-meetings, or else where, or in idle gossip, or worldly cares, or dissipation shocking to the sanctity of the day, should entirely delegate to the sabbath-teacher, tutor, or friends, that sacred trust which God and nature have so strongly reposed in themselves; but what if hundreds of children in any large town, nay, in any parish, have no parents who will instruct them, or no parents at all? That argument is a clencher, and there is really no need for another. A Sabbath school then was opened in every parish in the city. Such schools were founded so far on the principle of locality, but for good reasons given by Mr. Wood, not exclusively; and their management seems to be excellent, though we cannot go into the details. An objection, it seems, has most absurdly been made to these Sabbath schools, that the teachers are paid. Indeed! The religious instruction of the poor should be "a labor of love!" Indeed! is not the laborer in such cases worthy of his hire? He is, if in any case whatever. The very responsibility of the teacher is increased by some not inadequate remuneration of his labors. We doubt if without it responsibility could exist. Gratuitous services are suspicious; they puff up those who bestow them-they flagthey pant—they die. * Continued from page 38. |