is observable, that the heroines thus equipped, in consequence of wearing their thin coat of mail, or rather coat of paint, are assailed with greater ardour by their opponents." This sketch is followed by "Characteristics and Anecdotes of the fashionable world"-viz. The Noble Coachman.-The Philosophic Coxcomb.-The Female Masquerader. The Ambitious Lady.-The Pink of Nobility. The Magnanimous Chevalier and these are followed by "The Temple of Modern Philoso phy, a Vision." Political Quackery, (which contains a gentle Satire on the late Minister and his friends.)—Dramatic Quackery-and Literary Quackery, each occupy a few pages, and conclude the THIS HIS sketch informs us, that at an early age Kotzebue imbibed a passionate fondness for theatrical amusements, and when very young, while a scholar at the Gymnasium at Weimar, notices a custom, which gave him an opportunity of exercising his poetical genius: "An hour in every week was devoted to poetry, and as this was on a Saturday, I always looked forward to that day with particular delight. The forms observed on these occasions were thus regulated: "At the appointed time Musæus came among the class, and enquired whether any scholar had a poetical composition of his own to produce, for this was very properly a perfectly voluntary thing on the part of the youth. Yet he scarcely ever failed of finding some bashful wooer of the muses, who with downcast eyes signified that they had been taking a canter upon Pegasus. The rostrum was immediately resigned to the juvenile poet, who ascended it and read his production, while the master walked up and down in silence with his hands behind him. At the conclusion of each piece, the work was criticised by the latter, though not with the same severity as is customary among the critical corps in the world at large." p. 35, 36. After mentioning another exercise, Kotzebue proceeds to relate the history of his first production in this school, as follows: "At that time ballads were much the rage. The Almanacks swarmed with terrific legends of knights and ghosts, which, as tales of horror, could not fail of exciting my warmest admiration; nor was it unnatural in my ardour of authorship, that I should be inspired with a secret ambition of ri valling them. I therefore composed a Ballad in the very highest flights of the ruling taste, a part of which I have still among my papers. It contained a sumptuous banquet, and a horrible murder; a ghost appeared preaching repentance, and the obdurate sinner was at length carried away by the devil. The versification was, however, easy and correct." In this event we see the first opening of that eccentric genius which has so delightfully terrified almost all Europe. On the following Saturday, 1 scarcely knew how to wait for the ap pointed hour, before I produced this masterpiece. The important moment arrived-my heart palpitated—I as cended the rostrum, and read my performance with a tremulous voicebut how did my eyes sparkle, how did my bosom swell with transport, when at the conclusion Museus said, Oh words never to be forgotten!Good! very good!-from what Almanack did you borrow it?'-Conceive, reader, if thou canst-but no, 'tis impossible to conceive with what exultation I answered, It is my own writing.' Indeed' said Musæus, Well well, bravo! go on !'-I was almost beside myself, and would not have parted with the feelings of that mo ment to purchase a kingdom. With cheeks glowing with delight, I return ed to my seat, and as I observed that the eyes of all my school-fellows were fixed upon me, I concealed my face, with ostentatious modesty, in the blue cloak which all the scholars were obliged to wear. "From that moment, I considered myself as really a poet. Musæus had said BRAVO! Musæus could think that the ballad was taken from an Almanack-a species of publication for which at that time I entertained a very high respect-who then could question my claim to be considered as a son of the Muses?-I had now proceeded in my career, and against every Saturday composed something new, but as it appeared to me that nothing could possibly equal my ballad, I contentedly reposed under my laurels, only gratifying my childish vanity by always carrying the beloved babe in my pocket, that no opportunity of spreading its fame might be lost by its not being at hand when I met with any one so good-natured as to request the perusal of it. Happily for me, Musaus understood as well how to check conceit, as to encourage genius. Some months after, when the time was approaching at which both tutors and pupils were to make an exhibition of their talents at a public examination before a numerous audience, Musqus wishing the examiners to be presented with some specimens of the scholars' progress in composition, desired those whom he thought capable of it, to recite poems of their own writing. When it came to my turn, and he asked me what I should produce upon the occasion, I answered, without hesitation, and with perfect self-satisfaction, my 'ballad.' **** Your ballad,' he replied, what • ballad "The same that Mr. Professor was pleased to commend so highly some months ago, I returned with a confidence and self-sufficiency that Mr. Professor could not endure. 666 Phaw he replied, away with the silly thing which I had long ago 'forgotten. No, no, pray let us have something new, something worth hearing." "I was thunderstruck, the mighty fabric of vanity erected in my bosom was overthrown in an instant, and Shame stood weeping over the ruins. What was to be done?-I must cast off the laurel-wreath beneath which I had so long contentedly slumbered, and which now I first discovered to be withered, and endeavour to deserve a fresh crown." p.37-40. In noticing his juvenile productions, Mr. K. observes, he had always an Lnfortunate propensity to satire, on which we have this remark: "Satire is like the sting of a bee; the stinger thinks no more of it after it be past, but he leaves his weapon behind, which rankles probably for ever within the breast of the wounded person." p. 64. Kotzebue went to Petersburgh in the autumn of 1781, and on account of the nature of his engagement, resolved to relinquish his favourite pursuit of writing; but his friend General Bawr, meeting with a collection of tales he had published, " and enquiring particulars respecting the author, learned, to his no small surprize, that it was the same Kotzebue who then laboured under him, at a very different species of employment." This work procuring the author applause, blew the embers, still smothering in his bosom, again into a blaze: and it is added, by degrees, he again devoted his leisure hours, which were but few, to his old literary pursuits. As it is probable that the following performance drew upon Kotzebue the anger of the Emperor Paul, and produced his exile afterwards into Siberia, though no notice is here taken of that circumstance, we shall present it to our readers. 66 The I wrote," says Kotzebue, "a tragedy, in five acts, called Demetrius, Tzar of Moscou, taken from the wellknown story of the true or false Demetrius, who, according to report, was murdered a child at Uglitsch; but who afterwards appeared, supported by the Poles, and dethroned the traitor Boris Godwnow. world needs not now to be informed, that the best historians are divided upon the question, whether or not this Demetrius was an impostor? A strong prejudice was at last awakened in his favour, from the woman, who was undocbted mother to the child supposed to have been murdered, bursting into an agony of tears, in the midst of a numerous assembly of the people, at beholding the adventurer, as he was called, and with the wildest effusions of joy acknowledging him as her son. It is, however, alas! but too certain, that policy has often engaged even maternal tenderness in its interest, and those tears might not improbably be artificially shed by Maria Feodorowna, from hatred to the usurper, and a desire of revenging herself by contributing in any way to his downfall. Be this as it may, I did not like, in my capacity of tragedian, to produce an impostor as the hero of my piece, and accordingly I supported his being really the dethroned prince. "When my drama was completed, I read it to a small but chosen circle. The then Prussian ambassador at the Russian court, and the president of the academy of arts and sciences at Petersburgh, men of acknowledged and distinguished taste in literature, were among my audience. The piece was approved, probably more from the indulgence of my hearers than from its own merit. Such, at least, is the impression I now have upon the subject, as I should by no means venture at present to bring it on the stage. General Bawr ordered it to be immediately performed, and very splendid dresses and decorations, after the old Russian costume, were prepared for it. "As the Tzarina had consigned the entire management of the theatre to Bawr, he thought his own fiat sufficient, and that it was unnecessary to lay the manuscript before the theatrical censor. But this piece of negligence nearly proved the overthrow of all my transports. As the intended day of representation approached and had been announced in the public prints, the Governor of the Police sent one morning to the theatre prohibiting the performance. It appeared, that Peter the Great had issued an ukase, expressly declaring Demetrius an impostor; and this being still in force, was more incontestible evidence against him, than the tears of his mother were in his favour. In vain did I urge, that I was wholly ignorant of the existence of such an ukase: it was still asked, how I dared, in the very face of an Imperial decree, to present my hero to the public, under the title of Tzar of Moscow?" p. 79 81. The play was however performed, on the condition of Kotzebue making, in his person, a solemn declaration that he was firmly convinced of Demetrius's imposture, and in representing the matter otherwise in his play, had only been guilty of a poetical li cence. Kotzebue passed some time at Reval, and visited "the dismal and dreary environs of Kiekel, abounding with forests and morasses. Yet, through the enchanting smiles of af fection and the genial warmth of friendship, even this miserable country was transformed into a paradise. "Ye worthy! ye excellent people, among whom I then lived! in your circle I learned, that mortal man may be far happier in such a spot, though surrounded by the growling of bears, and the howlings of wolves, than in the midst of polished. society, environed by the honied tongues of hypocrites and flatterers. Your forests were inhabited by beasts of prey, but calumny dwelt not in their dens; frogs and toads croaked in your morasses, but envy had not reared her altar in the midst of them. The limetrees indeed assumed not their lovely verdure till the spring was far advanced, and the roses were even more tardy in unfolding their sweets, but innocence and joy were perennial plants in your gardens. The soil was sparing of its fruits, but benevolence needs not abundance! a groschen is a rich present when moistened with the tear of sympathy, and a louis d'or has no value without it. O fleeting time! scatter if thou wilt, the rest of these pages to the winds of heaven, only let this one-this on which I inscribe the namies of Frederick and Sophia Helena Rose-let this one remain untouched for thou wouldst snatch it from the altar of virtue and affection, on which I place it as an offering of gratitude." p. 87, 88. This sketch now relates our Author's travels through a part of Germany, in the year 1785, and closes with the death of his first wife. As this event forms a prominent feature in our Author's history, and gives his true character, we hope to be forgiven departing from the strict line of our plan, in offering an observation or two upon it. We wish to insinuate nothing against the sincer ty of Mr. K's grief, we rather lament that it was excessive. But it did not produce that sympathy which hovers round the dying pillow, and wipes the chilly dew of death-no; he fled the house, and immediately as he heard of her decease, the country, without waiting to drop a tear upon her corps. Is not this a specimen of that modern sensibility which defeats itself, and while it pretends to extraordinary attachment, forsakes a dying friend in his extremity? Is it not a proof also of the want of sufficient firmness-or rather a want of those Christian prin ciples which alone can support the mind in the prospect of this solemn event-which can enable one to 'talk with threatening death, and not * turn pale ?'. And whither does he fly? Not to the solitary grove, like a poet to tell his sorrows to the winds-much less, like the Christian to his chamber, to hold converse with his God--but to Paris-the centre of vice and of folly, to drown together in the ocean of dis sipation, the feelings of a husband, and the reflections of a man. hand, it was the well known signal that my sufferings were abated-thy work was laid aside, and I no longer thought only of myself, walked only by myself, but arm in arm we paced the room together-then one kiss, and all was forgotten. Happy and cheerful, I laid myself down upon the sopha-the more happy for being alone with thee; for never then did I find the time pass heavily. Perhaps thou didst take a book, and read to me, or went to the harpsichord while I accompanied thee But to return to our Author's narra- with my flute.-Ye blissful hours, netive. In the route from Weimar to ver, never can ye be repeated!-Oh, Paris, a brief account is given of the we were so all-sufficient to each other, places through which he passed, with that every thing else appeared superthe mode of travelling and the accom- fluous to us. If sometimes we fancied modations upon the road, which are we might find amusement at a ball, or represented as very disagreeable and some other diversion, and went thibad. The description of Paris is by ther, the moment the clock struck no means inviting, but disgusting. As ten, my Frederica came to me or I Kotzebue fled to dissipate his grief, went to her, My love, shall we not and knew no better source of consola-go home?'-'Oh, yes,' was the contion, he constantly visited the places stant answer, and the first words as of amusement, and he gives an ac- we entered our own house, were count of the entertainments, and a Thank God, we are at home again"." sketch of most of the pieces he saw p. 315-317. represented at the theatres. During his stay, he was taken so ill one morning as to be incapable of going abroad, at which time he recollects his former happiness, and thus addresses his deceased wife : one, "Oh my Frederica! how unjust was I towards fate when I so often wanted to gather the roses that blossomed around me, without the thorns. Even those hours of anguish when I have walked up and down the room, racked and tortured with my malady, when I could not speak to anker nothing but myself-even those hours are charming to me in recollection, for then thou wert with me! Then didst thou sit upon a corner of the sopha in silence, with thy work in thy hands, from which thou didst sometimes take a stolen glance towards me, yet cautiously avoiding to wipe a tear from thine eyes, unless when my back was turned. Thus sometimes have we passed whole hours. Yet, while all that was imortal about me was in agony, my soul could still feel the highest enjoyment in the serene transports of domestic happiness. "But when these corporeal feelings subsided, the spiritual obtained the complete ascendancy, what then were our mutual ecstasies 1 I gave thee my LXXV. BRITISH MONACHISM: or Manners and Customs of the Monks and Nuns of England. By THOMAS DUDLEY FOSBROOKE, M. A. F. A. S. To the second volume are added, Emendations of Bishop Gibson's Version of the Saxon Chronicle, and the Triumphs of Vengeance, or, the Count of Julian; an Ode. HIS Tol work, which forms two. 8vo. brief account of monachism previous to the time of Edgar, and the second part contains a detail of the customs of Benedictine monachism from the reign of Edgar to the dissolution. At the end of this part are two tables, containing the three Augustinian rules, with a description of the different orders adapted to them: and the rules of the orders which obtained in England. Part II. Describes the monastic officers. The abbot ranks first in order and dignity: the form of his election and the ceremonies used upon taking this office upon him, are here enumerated, with the honours and privileges thereto annexed. "Besides parliamentary honours, they were sponsors to the children of the blood-royal. Bells were rung in honour of them when they passed by churches belonging to them. They rode with hawks on their fists, on mules with gilded bridles, saddles, and cloths of blood colour, and with immense retinues. The noble children, whom they educated in their private families, served them as pages. They stiled themselves by divine permission,' or the grace of God,' and their subscription was their surnames, and name of the house. They associated with people of the first distinction, and shared the same pleasures with them, being accustomed to visit and dine with them. The abbot of St. Albans usually sat alone at the middle of the table of the great hall, where he was served in plate; and when any nobleman or ambassador, or strangers of eminent quality, came thither, they sat at his table towards the end of it. Like the nobility too, they had their privy councils of certain monks." In a note from the Brit. Topog. ii. 461.-In M. S. Harl. 913. fol. 8-10, "is a song made against the luxurious abbot and prior of Gloucester, in vile Latin," which is thus rendered into English. With the rag, tag, and bobtail below was poor f. For] wine [for the abbot and prior they call] To us poor devils nothing, but to the rich all. The blustering abbot drinks health to the prior, Give wine to my lordship, who am of rank higher; If people below us but wisely behave, We'll have all, and leave nought for And to keep up appearances, now You're a man of good habits and give good advice,' The abbot replies-they return'd in a trice, And then without flinching stuck to it amain, Till out of their eyes ran the liquor Among many instances of pride, covetousness, and lewdness practised by the superior orders of monks detected by the inquirende of Henry VIII. we select the following note. "But above all was the prior of Maiden Bradley. Richard Layton says, Whereat is an holy father prior, and hath but vi. children, and but one dawghter marriede, yet of the goods of the monasterie trysting shortly to marry the rest. His sous be tall men waytting upon him, and he, thank God, a none meddler with marritt women, but all with maidens the fairest cowlde be gottyn. The Pope consideryng his frailtie, gave hyin lycens to kepe an hore, and hath goode writyng, sub plumbo, to discharge his conscience." p. 128. The last monastic officer noticed is the confessor of the nuns, and the form of confession is thus described. "Among the nuns of Sempringham, as soon as the confessor came, his arrival was announced. If the prioress then found it necessary that any one should confess, she was told to go to the place of confession. When the confession was made in the house, two discreet sisters sat apart from the window to see how the nun confessing behaved. The confessor too, was to shun talking vain and unnecessary things; nor ask who she was, whence she came, and such things; nor to talk to her about who he was, and whence he came. His behaviour too, was also to be watched. No other obedience was due to him than that of confession. "The Brigettine nun was to confess at a latticed window, so as to be heard but not seen. "It was the opinion of those aras, that the office of a confessor and preacher was that of a midwife, whose duty it was entirely to eradicate sin from the heart, that it might afterwards bring forth a new man; but the confessors of nuns often attended only to the latter part of the injunc |