216 Otto Von Kotzebue's Voyage round the World. the sea, with a paper in it on which was [VOL. 2 thought till now that the Russians went from the land, although we were 2o dison all-fours, and that they much resem- tant from it, and the west wind blew tobled monkies, but now I had the pleas- wards it. Afterwards we proceeded ure to hear that they were ashamed of rapidly with a fine east wind, and had their error. The Governor, as well as the most delightful weather. On the the inhabitants of Talcagnano solemnly 16th I touched the Parallel, on which promised that whenever any Russians Krusenstern supposes Davisland to lie. came here they would receive them in A tropic bird was seen. On the 18th the most friendly manner. It gives me we took maný distances. We may great pleasure to leave behind such a fa- pretty well depend on the exactness of vourable idea of our nation; if any of our observations as three observers were our mariners should come to this place in employed in them, and there never was future it may be of use to them. The any considerable difference in the longicompany consisted of more than 200, of tude found. Although I followed my whom two thirds were ladies. On the instructions very exactly, I could not 5th of March I was quite ready to leave discover Davisland, and had not the Talcagnano, when a disagreeable occur- least sign of being near land. On the rence made me stay some days longer. 20th I threw a well-corked bottle into One of my sailors deserted this morning: I had thought none to be capable of such an action, as all of them made the voyage with their own free will, and had not the slightest thing to complain of. I heard that a love intrigue was the cause : in vain I offered a reward of a hundred dollars to him who would bring him back to me. He must have found very good friends, as, though I waited three days for him, I could hear nothing of him. Meanwhile the Governor had re- ed the place on which Wareham's rocks ceived an order from his King to receive is marked on Arrowsmith's map, but we us as friends, he gave me a copy of it. discovered nothing, though the horizon On the 8th March we weighed anchor was very clear, and we could see very with a good wind, and very soon lost far. The Island of Sales, which we sight of Talcagnano. The commandant saw on the 26th, has quite the appearwho had now accustomed himself to our ance of a rock, and has perhaps been company, and dined with us almost ev- taken by a false calculation of the longery day, remained on board till the last itude for a new discovered rock. We▸ moment, and departed from us with observed it through our telescopes, and tears. All of us were penetrated with could plainly distinguish the objects on the friendly reception which was shown shore. No green covered the bare rocks to us on this coast, and all were much which lay there scattered in large masses, affected as we lost sight in the evening of and by their black-grey colour give the this beautiful country. On the 10th of island a most dreary look. Many thouMarch, at six in the evening, we per sands of sea-birds have chosen it for ceived a singular motion of the ship, and their abode. Even when we could see heard at a distance a noise as if a car- it no longer we were surrounded by riage passed over a rough wooden Frigate-birds and Pelicans, some of bridge: this lasted each time about a half which we shot. The surf broke vioa minute, and was repeated every two or lently on the rocks, but we could not three minutes. In an hour there was noth- discover the fragments of a wrecked ing more to be heard. Without doubt, ship, which were said to be still here: three was at that moment an earthquake perhaps the waves have carried them in America, because the noise came away. Continued in our next, VOL. 2.] Modern Bards. PRESENT STATE OF ENGLISH POETRY. To the Editor of the London Literary Gazette. 217 THE present state of our poetry always useful in general criticism, and I demands some serious considera- shall take one among many instances, from The Siege of Corinth. The poet is describing the dead after a battle. "Even as they fell, in files they lay, Like the mower's grass at the close of day." tion; and with your permission, Sir, I shall, from time to time, enter into a general critique upon it, and upon the peculiarities of our living writers, through the medium of your Gazette. That a decided revolution has lately taken place in the poetical commonwealth, is obvi- and one would suppose, perfectly comious to the most obtuse capacity; but whether this change has proved beneficial, or otherwise, may be disputed even by the most sagacious. So far this is a most happy illustration, prehensible. Nevertheless the poet adds, "When his work is done on the levelled plain; Such was the fall of the foremost slain." Not one new idea is gained by the latter couplet, but the impression of the former is much enfeebled by it. "This is to be alone ---this, this is solitude." It is urged, and not unjustly, in favour of modern bards, that they seek chiefly to excite our stronger and more sublime feelings, that they cultivate impassioned The "solitude of a crowd," and sentiment, and lay open the inmost re- "solitude sometimes is best society," cesses of the human heart. On this are hackneyed adages enough. But in point, I will allow their superiority over the Childe Harold, these are hammered the writers of the last age. The princi- out to a diameter of eighteen lines, ple which they have adopted, is noble; which end with this tautologous Alexbut it remains to say, whether the way andrine : by which they would effect their object, is adequate and legal. Speaking generally, they have so far improved upon the The word solitude, as a termination, past, as to discard all those prettinesses, reminds me of another error into which sparkling points, and pert antitheses, late writers have fallen, either by a fashwhich are the natural result of verbal ionable negligence of composition, or a correctness, when carried to extreme. fondness for imitating Gothic models. But have they not substituted instead, They perpetually close their lines with another fault of quite an opposite species, such galloping dactyls, as revelry, dreriand regarded language, which is the ment, withering, murmuring, &c. which mirror of thought, with too much inat- always fall weakly and ungracefully on tention? Do they polish that mirror the ear. Now and then, perhaps, such sufficiently? Do they not, on the con- words may give variety to the measure, trary, leave its surface so rugged, that but they should be used very seldom the beauty of an idea is often blunted by indeed. the dimness, or distorted by the obliquity of the medium which reflects it ? Next in order of absurdity, comes the resuscitation of defunct words and idioms; the "rede me arights," and "by my fays," which find themselves suddenly exorcised out of their charnelhouses, and all shrouded as they are, ushered into the gay world among bloom and glitter. In place, then, of obscurity from too much condensation, we have obscurity from too much diffuseness; which latter, as being the more tedious evil of the two, must needs be the greater. In the same spirit of inordinate elongation, some of the most striking thoughts are spun So much has already been said on out to an extent, which utterly destroys this subject, and the incongruity of the their striking quality. Each idea is re- innovation is so evident, that I shall peated, and each succeeding repetition pass it by, to make way for another, is weaker than the former. Example is somewhat similar in its nature, and not 2E ATHENEUM. Vol. 2. 218 French Manners-Bourdeaux and its Environs. [VOL. 2. less destructive of fine and elegant poet- he cannot paint their motion. There ry. I mean the use of expletives. they remain, stuck in the sky for ever, Why those veteran supernumeraries and the longer we gaze at them, the should again be brought into the field, more we discover, that, while the exterI cannot imagine. Neither can I conceive nal resemblance is accurate, the internal upon what principle of taste, eth and ath impulse, which animated the original, is and ith are now so commonly made to wanting. terminate the present tense, instead of plain letter s. Then we have compound substantives without number-watchflame, forest-monarch, death-ball, and battle-field. It were, indeed, most desirable, that our living poets should take pattern only from the spirit and nature of our dead, and avoid all those mimickries which are merely mechanical. A polished age reSome of the errors which I have enu- quires a polished language, and though merated, (and many more remain,) are the talent of thinking well be far superior either the devices of a lazy pen, or of to the art of expressing well, yet the forone which affects the force and ease of mer, as a social quality, is almost impoSpencer, Chaucer, and Shakspeare. But tent without the latter. We know that the melancholy part of the matter is, that the solidity of the diamond is more valufaults are more easily copied than beau- able than the polish which it receives; ties, and that what constitutes a beauty but we likewise know, that its intrinsic in the prototype, often transfers a fault excellence were useless without its exteinto the imitation. An artist may paint rior brilliancy. a flying bird or a flash of lightning, but FRENCH MANNERS. From the Literary Gazette. [The lively author of the Hermite de la Chaussee at Nimes; but are not in such good d'Antin, the Franc Parleur, and the Hermite de la As for modern edifices the only re Gayanne, the subject of which was the manners of preservation. the French metropolis, has now resolved to give similar sketches of the manners of the provinces, each of which with the general features of national resemblance, has also besides its own characteristic markable ones, I believe, are the Theatre, physiognomy. The place with which he has chosen the finest in Europe, considered as a to commence this new series of his miscellany is Bourdeaux. We shall give from time to time some monument of architecture; the Archieof his sketches on manners, which may suit the plan and the limits of our work.] piscopal Pulace, a fine bailding with a DOURDEAUX-I know not what magnificent garden containing a very place should be assigned to Bour- great quantity of valuable plants and deaux, among the three great cities in trees: this is now the royal residence France, which dispute with each other of the French princes when they are at the first rank after the capital; but I Bourdeaux; the Exchange; some churchthink I may affirm that (except Constan- es, of which St. Andrews the cathedral, tinople) there is none in Europe which is the finest ; the Moulin des Chartrons, presents a more charming and striking the erection of which cost enormous appearance than Bourdeaux does, when sums, but which is now so dilapidated you approach by the Bastide. Bour- as to be of no use. It is with this hydeaux is built in the form of a half circle draulic machine as with that of Marly, on the fine river Garonne, which forms it would cost less to build it anew than exactly the chord of an immense arch, to repair it. which the eye embraces at one view in The genius of the Arts perhaps never all its magnificence. This city was par- conceived a bolder undertaking than that ticularly favoured by the Romans, who of the Pont de la Bastide, which is at built here a magnificent temple to the this moment executing at Bourdeaux. tutelary Gods, of which we have re- The possibility of throwing a bridge over mains; and some centuries afterwards, a river, so broad and rapid as the Garonne the Palais Gullen the ruins of which is at this place, has long been a sub(the only ones worthy of attention) have ject of controversy; at present it is no much resemblance to the amphitheatre longer doubtful: the third pier is up, VOL. 2.] Sketches of Modern Society-The Farmer's Daughter. 219 and the first two have already stood tri- generally obtain the prize of splendor; the Chapeau Rouge of elegance. als they might have been supposed unable to go through. Ten years uninterrupted labour will scarcely suffice to finish this magnificent work, the expence of which cannot be estimated at less than 20 millions. The environs as far as one can judge in winter do not afford an indemnity for the poverty of the promenades. Except a pretty large space called l'entre deux mers, between the Garonne and the Dordogne, where there are fine situations and some wooded hills, all the rest of the country is flat and arid. The soil is al most wholly reserved for the cultivation of vines, the immense produce of which annually reminds the proprietors of what they gain by sacrificing nothing to orna ment. The Chapeau Rouge and the Chatrons are incomparably the two finest and two richest quarters of the city: the latter, situated beyond the Chateau trompette, is chiefly inhabited by families of foreign extraction, the most of whom have been settled there for two or three generations. These houses, and some others of Chapeau Rouge, which are more anciently French, compose what is called Le haut commerce, that is a class of merchants still more respectable for their probity than their riches. In direct opposition to these two celebrated quarters, may be placed that of the Jews, situated at the other extremity of the city, and of which the street Bouhaut forms the greatest part. The Jews of Bourdeaux are distinguished from the rest of the inhabitants, with whom they have no intercourse, by the long features of the face, by their complexion, their accent, and an habitual uncleanliness which is not always confined to their dress. The Jewish tradesmen in the street Bouhaut, are constantly at the door of their shops to watch for customers; they are not contented with merely inviting them to enter, but press and persecute them in so urgent a manner, that one is sometimes obliged to use force to get out of their hands. Among the Jews of Bourdeaux there are several families who are very rich, such as the Rabats, the Gradis, and some well-informed men, at the head of whom public opinion places Mr. Furtado. conse The Gascon patois is here in general use among the lower class of people,and persons of good education are quently obliged to understand and speak it. Hence a great number of popular expressions have been insensibly introduced into the language of good comFrom time immemorial there has ex- pany, which they have at last corrupted. isted between the inhabitants of the One might form a whole volume of Chapeau Rouge, and those of the Chat- these words which are merely of local rons a rivalship in which the women of use, and which no analogy assists one to course act the first part. When they comprehend. It is, however, but just are to meet at a fète, or ball, you may to confess that these local expressions, depend on their exerting all their efforts are met with (in the higher classes,)more to outdo each other in dress, grace and frequently in the mouths of the men than beauty, the expence of which is gener- of the women, who being for the most ously provided for by the fathers and part educated at Paris, express themhusbands. In this struggle, where vic- selves with elegance and without the tory is often uncertain, the Chatrons least accent. DA SKETCHES OF ENGLISH SOCIETY. From the Literary Gazette. THE MODERN FARMER'S DAUGHTER. three generations. She was particularAME Greenfield made her appear- ly pious, thrifty and retired in her habance above half a century ago; its; for which reason she was not marher parents were honest, plain, homely ried until nearly thirty-five, and her sole people; and the occupation of a farmer offspring was a daughter. As this had not been changed in the family for young lady did not figure in the event 220 Sketches of Modern Society-The Farmer's Daughter. ful Drama of life till thirty-five years after her mother, there was a great contrast between them. Matters throve so well with the industrious economical couple, that Miss was looked up to as a sort of an heiress, and this precious unit was considered as the most valuable property in their whole stock and crop. [VOL. 2. The period of education concluded, she returned in sullen misery to Friar's Court Farm, and turned up her nose at every object, from the barn-door chicken to the family cat, and from Doll the dairy-maid up to the honest parson of the parish. Of Pa she got desperately ashamed; and Cousin Winbush was informed, with the most ineffable contempt, never to presume to call her Peggy as long as he lived. Pu was ordered out of the parlour to smoke his pipe, and forced to dress every day for dinner; for, by this time, Margarita's superiority was so felt, that she was maitresse absolue over the whole establishment. Mrs. Greenfield's Christian name was Margery, and her honest husband called her Madge; but this was thought too vulgar for the pearl of the family, and she was accordingly called Margaret, which swelled itself in time into Margarita. Worthy Mrs. Greenfield could milk, make butter and puddings, spin, cook, and fabricate coarse lace; but all The pianoforte was sold for a trifle, these occupations were beneath Miss and one hundred guineas given for a Greenfield; they were judged as calcu- harp; reels and country dances were lated to spoil her white hands; and Pa exploded for waltzes and quadrilles ; (for so Miss called him) was determined barbarous French was deserted for softto make a lady of her. Now Ma had er Italian; and painting on satin was no accomplishments: her writing was superseded by the amusement accruing cramped and not very legible; she read from being a poetess. Miss had also with a west country dialect; and she been informed that melancholy heightens sung through her nose. Miss, however, the interest of a face; and she accordwas taught to play on the pianoforte by the organist; had a very pleasing voice, learned to dance reels and country dances, and spoke barbarous French: besides she embroidered on satin, and wrote an affected taper hand. Ma now quitted the stage of life; and Miss Margaret did not mourn for her very violently. "Some natural tears she shed," but "the world was all before her," and ardently she wished to figure in it. Very unluckily the corn trade flourished to an unnatural extent about this time; and the farmer's pride rose with the price of grain; so Miss Margarita's earnest request was granted; and she was sent to a most extravagant boarding school, where Lady Mary and Lady Betty looked down upon her at first. She soon excelled, however, in accomplishments, and played the girl of fashion so naturally, that, added to having an unlimited credit for cash and dresses, she ingratiated herself with the females in high life, and used to lend her pocket money and make presents to such an extent, that the farmer's sacks used to shrink into a robe a la turc, or a curricle dress. ingly adopted that cast of countenance, and adjusted a lock of hair across her forehead so as to give great effect to a languishing eye, peeping like silver Cynthia through a cloud. Margarita now sold four cows and three ponies to purchase a pair of blood horses; and had a desperate quarrel with Pa because he would not give Joe, the stable-boy, a crimson livery to ride after her. Whilst at the boarding school, she had not been without admirers. A gentleman in a curricle had dropt a billet doux at her feet, and she had received a proposal to elope with a young rake, which offer had been elegantly and adroitly slipped into an orange. Her heart, however, leant towards an officer of the Life Guards; and she had literally "Fancied her into a chivalry Dame, And him, the bold Knight of the lance." With this penchant, she came down to the country, and had the advantage of being in love, which added greatly to the rest of her irresistibility. She now, therefore, vegetated, as she called it, at Pa's for six months, with the sole conso |