Imágenes de páginas

442 French Wounded at Walerloo.- Sketches of London Society. [rol. 2 beaucoup, beaucoup !" And when those observations cannot be drawn ; a certain entreaties were unavailing, you might general impression remains, and the inhear in a weak inward voice of despair ; dividual instance must be very remarkaJe mourrai! je suis un homme mort !" ble that is remembered at all. The tones were too true to nature soon “ I know not what notions my feeling to loose their influence. At four in the countrymen have of thirty thousand men morning I offered my services ; and at thrown into a town and its environs. six I entered on the most painful duty of They still their compassionate emotions my life, in inspecting and operating on by subscriptions; but what avails this to these unfortunate men. I was thus en- the wounded who would exchange gold gaged uninterruptedly from six in the for a bit of rag! If men would encounter morning till seven at night for three suc- the painful reality, and allow themselves cessive days.* There was now no time for a moment to think of the confusion for improvement. The objects for which that must attend such a scene ; the diffiI had come abroad were laid aside, for it culty of arrangement; the many, very was necessary to put hands to the work. many cases where knowledge, decision, I was now convinced of the injustice of and dexterity are more necessary than ia expecting information from those who, any other situation of life ; if they would if they have the common qualities of our consider that from the pressure of the nature, must have every faculty bound time the surgeon requires personal and up ia duty to the sufferers : cases and constitutional strength, as well as the

promptitude gained by long study and * “ This hospital of the French wounded was experience, they would be led to inquire I was there, it had not yet assumed the system of the what duties had been performed, and what other hospitals. It was the last hospital formed,where consideration had attended the unexamfull 30,000 men had been accommodated ; and yet there pled exertions of the army surgeons after was no want of any thing essential, and the exertion the battle of Waterloo.” of the medical oflicers were unremitting to bring it into order."

London, Sept. 1817.



I MUST leave this town, my dear sis. A book called “ The Art of Dancing

ter ; I must fly from it forever. All would not sell at all, but yclep it “ The my speculations have failed. A gover- Treasures of Terpsichore," and the whole ness of unimpeached morals, cannot earn world will buy it. Tooth-powder must a decent subsistence in it, though even be termed Oriental Dentrifice, and pomhairdressers drive their own tandemns, and atum, Pommade divine. A shop must tailors entertain their customers with be called a Bazaar, and a dress-maker turbot and champaign. Every day some has no chance of success, unless she entinew trade is invented. A man has made tle herself a Marchande des Modes, or a a fortune here by staining bottles so as Tailleuse. I went to one the other day to imitate the incrustation of old port. to bespeak something ; absolutely she A certain dentist purchased several thou. was uvintelligible. She talked of toques, sand teeth plucked from the jaws of those cornettes, talle fiches, coiffures, slashes, young, warriors who fell at Waterloo ; and capotes. She earnestly recommenand it is now no uncommon circumstance ded to me curls à la corkscrew, eau de to see a dowager of seventy, displaying, Nipon for washing my face, and ponin her smile, two rows of posthumous made de concombre for anointing it! pearls, once the property of some ser As it is now the middle of summer, jeants in the forty-second regiment, or of one might imagine that the town would some privates in the Connaught rangers. be altogether deserted. Quite the conThe great secret is to get a hard name trary. This is the height of the season, for yourself, or your shop, or your goods, and the fashionables, content with pots of

VOL. 2.]
The Naiad : and other Poems.

413 mignionette and wreathes of artificial cards ; in which case you may lose in flowers, are unwilling to ruralize amidst half an hour, the price of three hundred brooks and meadows, till the brooks are and sixty-five dinners.” encrusted with ice, and the meadows “Of course you may, if you stake covered with snow.

much money," replied 1. Nay, not only do they reverse the sea Ay, or if you do not stake a single sons, by transferring to summer the natu- farthing,” said he, “ for, now that money ral amusements of winter, but they like- is scarce, there are some who have adopwise turn day into night and night into ted the system of playing sheep points day. From eight to nine o'clock is the and bullock rubbers !" usual time for dining; and I know a Probably then,” said I, “ they will young country gentleman, who having soon begin to play for each other's wives been met in the street and asked to dine, and daughters.” by a friend, was obliged to refuse the “ They would not consider that high invitation on the plea of his having al- play enough,” answered my friend, and ready supped.

in this they are borne out by the law; “ Besides,” said this young gentleman for if I steal a man's souff-box, I am to me," I who have so restricted an in- hanged ; but if I steal his daughter, I come, really cannot afford to dine out am only fined." often.” Nay," cried I,“ your limited Wonder not then, good sister, that I, means ought to make such a saving very who have no money, should quit a town, acceptable. “A saving!” exclaimed he, where one person is esteemed wiser or “it is the most extravagant plan you can better or wittier than another, by a perconceive. Coach-hire, and the servants' centage on his pocket. I return to the vails for handing plates, and returning country with renovated delight; nor have one's hat safe, cost twice as much as a I gained much more by my trip to town, dinner at a coffee-house. Believe me, a than the conviction of this truth, that we man of moderate fortune here, would can never estimate the blessings of trainsoon ruin himself by dining at other peo- quillity, till we have experienced the turple's expense. Besides, the lady of the bulence and heartlessless of the busy house probably compels you to play at world.

From the British Critic, Oct. 1817. THE NAIAD, A TALE : WITH OTHER POEMS. THIS is really a pleasing little poem: ty; more especially when, as in the pre

the story of it is tastefully chosen, sent instance, bis faults are not inherent and told with lightness; the descriptions in bis genius, but merely the accidental which it contains are given in a wild and fruits of having injudiciously chosen his fanciful manner, and in a versification model. We do not mean to say, genewhich, though unequal, is upon the rally, that Mr. Wordsworth is an improwhole agreeably tuned. We could in- per model of poetry; though unquesdeed wish that these merits were not so tionably he will be found a very dangeroften thrown into the shade, by pretty- ous one; we only mean, that when a nesses, and simplenesses, and sillinesses, writer is induced to model his compoand all those other childish affectations, sitions upon those of another, he should which the imitators of Mr. Wordsworth select one whose genius is cast in a mould are so apt to suppose inseparable from similar to his own. To emulate a writer, the other qualities of his poetry; and, but simply because we admire him, is a very that the present is, we imagine, our unsafe proceeding. Nothing can be more poet's first appearance before our tribu- natural than to feel admiration for the nal, we should perhaps feel disposed to beautiful qualities of Mr. Wordsworth's be less lenient than we intend to be. We mind, and nothing more easy than to imishould be sorry to discourage an autbor tate the occasional childishness and affec. of promise, even though his merits may tation of his manner; but a person must not possibly be only of a subordinate quali- suppose himselflike Alexander,merely be

The Vaiad, &c.

[rot. 2 cause he can walk with his neck awry. Our note the particular expressions we allude author's genius is as distinct from Mr. to by italics, in order to let our readers Wordsworth's as is well conceivable; perceive the nature of the faults we belightness and playfulness of fancy are the fore animadverted upon. qualities which he should principally cul

" 'Twas autumn tide-the eve was sweet, tivate, as they seem to be those which

As mortal eye hath e'er beholden; are most within his reach; and these qua

The grass look'd warm with sunny heatlities, we should imagine, may be studied Perchance some fairy's glowing feet almost any where, rather than in the

Had lightly touch'd-and left it goldea : Lyrical Ballads.” But this is not the

A flower or two were shining yet;

The star of the daisy had not yet set,place for a critical dissertation.

It shone from the turf to greet the air, The poem professes to be founded Which tenderly came breathing there: upon an old Scoich ballad, which the And in a brook, which lov'd to fret author procured from a young girl of

O'er yellow sand and pebble blue,

The lily of the silvery hue
Galloway, who delighted in treasuring All freshly dwelt, with white leaves wet,
up the leger dary songs of her country. Away the sparkling water play'd,
As our author says so, we conclude this

Through bending grass, and blessed flower;

Light, and delight seem'd all its dower: to be the fact; but the subject of the tale

Away in merriment it stray'd,is so exactly similar to that of Goëthe's Singing, and bearing, hour after hour, “ Fisherman,” that we can hardly keep Pale, lovely splendour to the shade. ourselves from suspecting the young girl

Te would have given your hearts to win

A glimpse of that fair willow'd brook: of Galloway" and the “ German Baron of

The water lay glistening in each leafy nook, Weimar” to be, what one cannot easily And the shadows fell green and thin. understand how two such dissimilar cha As the wind pass'd by-the willow trees, racters should be, one and the same per

Which lov'd for aye on the wave to look,

Kiss'd the pale stream,-but disturbid and shooke son. However this be, we have no right They wept tears of light at the rude, rude breeze, to accuse our author of plagiarism, for he At night, when all the planets weré sprinkling bimself points out the coincidence.

Their little rays of light on high,

The busy brook with stars was twinkling,“ One of the ballads of Goethe, called the Fisher. And it seemed a streak of the living sky; man,' is very similar in its incidents to it; Madame de 'Twas heavenly to walk in the autumn wind's site Stael in her eloquent work on Germany, thus des And list to that brook's lonely tinkling." eribes it. • A poor man, on a summer evening, seats himself on the bank of a river, and as he throws in his

The next specimen with which we ioline, contemplates the clear and liquid tide which tend to present our readers, will form a gently flows and bathes his naked feet. The nymph continuation of that which we have alof the stream invites him to plunge himself into it; she ready given ; but it is, in point of style, during the heat of the summer, the pleasure which much less exceptionable. the sun takes in cooling itself at night in the sea, the “ For a moment with pleasure his bridle hand shook, calmness of the moon when its rays repose and sleep And the steed in its joy mock'd the wave on the brock, on the bosom of the stream: at length the fisherman It play'd-and danced up for a moment—no mortattracted, seduced, drawn on, advances near the Then gently glided on as before, nymph, and forever disappears.

Now forth they rode all silently, Except that the “Fisherman" is chang- Beneath the broad and milky sky, ed into 'a young and handsoine baron, And listeu'd at times to the creaking sedge ;

They kept their course by the water's edge; riding along the banks of the stream, at- Or started from some rich fanciful dream, tended by a page, on bis way to meet At the sullen plunge of the fish in the stream ; his beautiful bride, who is supposed to be Then would they watch the circle bright

The eirele, silver'd by the moonlight,waiting his arrival with all the prepara- Go widening, and shining, and trembling on, tions of music and dancing, the above Till a wave leap'd up, and the ring was gone. extract will at once put our readers in Or the otter would cross before their eyes, possession of the sum and substance of And hide in the bank where the deep wook fies;

Or the owl would call out through the silent air, the poem which we are now desirous of with a mournful, and shrill and tremulous ery: making them acquainted with.

Or the hare from its form would start up and pass by; The following lines, descriptive of the And the watch-dog bay them here and there. scenery through which the road of Lord The leaves inight be rustled-the waves be curlidHubert and bis page lay, are pleasing, in

But no human foot appear'd out in the world." spite of the conceits and affectations with The lines in which our author de which they are sprinkled. We shall just cribes the rising of the Naiad from the

VOL. 2.]

Strictures on the Naiad, &c.


stream possess great merit; the picture Lord Hubert would not appear to which he presents to our imagination is have been insensible to the charms of the fancifully conceived, and very poetically poetical invitation; our poet continues, painted. The first eight or nine lines are

She stept into the silver wave,feeble, but the remainder of our extract And sank like the morning mist, from the eye ; will, I am sure, afford pleasure.

Lord Hubert paus'd with a misgiving sigh,

And look'd on the water as on bis grave. " Lord Hubert look'd forth ;-say, what hath caught

But a soften’d voice came sweet from the stream, The lustre of his large dark eye?

Such sound doth a young lover hear in his dream, Is it the form he hath lov'd and sought?

It was lovely, and mellow'd, and tenderly hollow:Or is it some vision his fancy has wrought?

• Step on the wave, where sleeps the moon beam, He cannot pass it by.

Thou wilt sink secure through its delicate gleam, It rises from the bank of the brook,

Follow, Lord Hubert !-follow!" And it comes along with an angel look;

He started-pass’d on with a graceful mirth, Its vest is like snow, and its hand is as fair,

And vanish'd at once from the placid earth. Its brow seems a mingling of sunbeam and air.

The waters prattled sweetly, wildly, And its eyes so meek, which the glad tear laves,

Still the moonlight kissed thein mildly; Are like stars beheld soften'd in suinmer waves ;

All sounds were mute, save the screech of the owl, The lily hath left a light on its feet,

And the otter's plunge, and the watch-dog's howi; And the smile on its lip is passingly sweet;

But from that cold moon's setting, never It moves serene, but it treads not the earth ;

Was seen Lord Hubert !-he vanished for ever : Is it a lady of mortal birth?

And ne'er from the breaking of that young day
Down o'er her shoulders her yellow hair flows,

Was seen the light form that had passed away.”
And her neck through its tresses divinely glows ;
Calm in her hand a mirror she brings,

We cannot afford room for further exAnd she sleeks her loose locks, and gazes, and sings.

tracts; indeed, considering the shortness “ THE NAIAD'S SONG. of the poein, and the modesty of its pre“My bower is in the bollow wave,

tensions, we think we have paid it no The water lily is my bed;

little compliment in extracting from it so The brightest pearls the rivers lave

largely. What remains to be told, may Are wreathed around my breast and head.

be said in a few words. The reader is * The fish swims idly near my couch,

taken to the castle of the father of Anges And twinkling fins oft brush my brow; And spirits mutely to me crouch,

lina (for such is the name of Lord HuWhile waters softiy o'er them flow. ber's intended bride) where of course * Then come thee to these arins of mine, both she and the guests wait in vaio for And come thee to this bosom fair;

the bridegroom: He makes his appear. And thou mid silver waves shalt twine The tresses of my silky hair.

ance, however; but it is not until all the * I have a ring of the river weed,

guests have separated for the night; and "Twas fasten'd with a spirit's kiss ; theo his appearance is under a somewhat I'll wed thee in this moonlight mead,

unwelcome circumstance. Ah! look not on my love amiss.'”

bride, we must suppose, had rather disAs our author has succeeded so well appointed his expectations ; for the very in the lines descriptive of the “ Sprite's” samne night he returns to his earthly alleintroduction to our hero, possibly our giance, and leaves his “noble chrystal readers will not be displeased to read our pile,” in order to come and claim his oriauthor's conception of the song with ginal mistress. But however much the which she tempted Lord Hubert to for- latter may have lamented her lover's get his eartbly bride and follow his new fickleness, she would not seem to think acquaintance under the wave.

that the matter was at all mended by the 4. Oh ! come, and we will hurry now

proof he gives her of his posthumous tiTo a noble crystal pile ;

delity. Where the waters all o'er thee like music shall flow,

* * Thy arms around me pressid And the lilies shall cluster around thy brow.

Like bands of ice upon my breast,
We'll arise, my love! when norning dew

Are fresh now from the chilling water,
Is ou the rose-leaf, soft and new;
We'll sit upon the tawny grass,

To me they come like silent slaughter.'" And catch the we winds as they pass :

We are sorry to end our extracts with And list the wild birds while they sing,

such four notably absurd lines ; but our And kiss to the water's murmuring,

author has no reason to complain ; for Thou shalt gather a flower, and I will wear it; I'll find the wild bee's nest, and thou shalt share it ;

we have overlooked many that would as Thou stált catch the bird, and come smiling to me, little redound to his credii. And I'll clasp its wing, and kiss it for thee.'”

His watery


Vaults of the Franciscar Monks at Toulouse.




Extracted from the Monthly Review Enlarged, Oct. 1817.

S a register of many singular and laughing at the living. A physician, at

striking scenes and phænomena,these tracted by curiosity, was so suddenly afvolumes may be consulted, if not with fected with the sight of the body and profound instruction, yet with profit and countenance of his father, who had died entertainment.

thirty years before, that he almost expired M. Depping has allotted the conclud- on the spot : which recalls to my recoling chapter to rational explanations of lection an anecdote that I once read in an pretended wonders and supernatural ap- old manuseript belonging to the Parisian pearances : but the immediate causes of library.' As a party of Gray Friars of most of them are too obvious to have Toulouse were talking about ghosts and required any forinal solution.

the spirits of the departed, one of their “ The vaults of the Franciscan and number boldly assured them that he Dominican monks of Toulouse were for- would forthwith go down vithout a merly regarded as a wonder, and almost light, into the vaults in which the dead as a miracle. Every traveller went to vi- bodies were kept. It was agreed that he sit, with sacred horror, the corpses which should make the experiment; and down were there exhibited as the well-preserv- he went, with a knife, which he promis. ed relics of another age; and they came ed to fix in the ground at the end of the away with the persuasion of having seen vault. They waited for his return, bat excavations which repelled corruption the evening passed away without his refrom human bodies. This error long appearing ; and, on descending with maintained its ground, from respect to lights, the friars found their brother the situation : but physical and chemical stretched dead on the floor. Instantly, science has at length betrayed it to the they proclaimed a miracle : but, on copublic. These objects, which I adınit to ser inspection, they perceived that the debe objects of great curiosity, were taken ceased was attached to the ground by from the graves of the church and the his garments, and were at no loss to dicloisters of the convents in which they vine the manner of his death. Having had been buried: where the lime, slak- stooped to put iris knife in the ground, ed during the building of the churches, he had unconsciously transfixed his had acted on them to such a degree as to gown, in the dark: when he attempted deprive them of all their volatile particles, to rise, he felt himself detained ; and bis and to reduce a body of a hundred and mind being, at that moment, filled with filty pounds weight to twelve pounds, all the stories which he had heard about M. de Puymarin, who weighed many of ghosts, he no doubt fancied that one of them, fouod none exceeding that amount; the dead was punishing him for his temer so that a hundred and thirty eight pounds ity, was seized with borror, and died had disappeared, without depriving the from fear." body of its form, leaving dust impressed That this story, whether true or apowith the human figure; and the brain crypbal, is recorded in a manuscript prewas reduced to a powder, like saw-dust, served in the library at Paris, we presuine -a singular transformation of the once not to deny: but we have heard it referthinking part of these bodies. The coun- red to a city very remote from Toulouse. tenance, however, still preserves all its The scaling of Mont Percu, undertacharacteristic features. On several, the ken and accoinplished by M. Ramond, expressions of the passions is visibly de- is given in the somewhat inflated laupicted; while on others the contraction guage of that enterprising naturalist : but of the muscles exhibits a hideous grio. the ascent to the Pic du Midi of Pau is Alau perluis, in the last year of his life, not, it should seem, less formidable. otten visited these vaults, as if to court “ This mountain is so high, and so tamiliarity with death; and he alleged difficult to climb, that few persons have that these muinmies were apparently ventured to reach the top of the Peak.

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