joined to the Helvetic League, and acknowledged as a free and independent state. SARDINIAN FEUDS. THE inhabitants of Terranova (says Captain Smyth, in his interesting work on Sardinia) are rather tall, strong, active, and well proportioned; they have, in general, long faces, dark heavy eyebrows, and small black eyes. They rarely look a person directly in the face, but view him askance; they never fail to shake hands when they meet, yet during the ceremony each looks over his left shoulder, and they remain with their faces directed to opposite parts, during the whole conversation. Nor is any town in Europe disgraced by a more bloodthirsty set of miscreants; the life of a fellow-creature is considered so trifling an object, that on becoming in any degree burthensome, he is dispatched without ceremony or comment. As these assertions would bear the appearance of invective rather than observation, I will add an anecdote or two, of outrages committed by members of the infamous family of Putzu. Pietro, the elder brother, was actually holding the situation of British vice-consul when I visited Terranova, though, I am happy to add, they have since met with at least part of the punishment they long deserved. Ten years ago, this knot of murderers defied the power of government; but becoming disunited among themselves, they lost ground, and are now so broken, as to be somewhat more amenable to the laws. Captain Pasquale Altieri anchored his vessel, bearing the British flag, in the gulf of Terranova, and finding that one of his passengers had decamped in the night with some valuable goods, waited on Pietro Putzu, the British consul, to solicit redress. Putzu begged Altieri to give himself no further trouble on the subject, for as he was well acquainted with the various roads, he would himself go on the pursuit. He accordingly sallied out on horseback, accompanied by a huge and fierce mastiff; overtook the unfortunate wretch whom he was in quest of, and with his dog worried and finally murdered him. He then secreted the stolen property, and returned to Terranova, pretending his search had been fruitless. Leonardo, the brother of the "Consul," having without any known provo. cation, conceived an enmity against a man, who was not only his friend, but his "compare" also, waylaid him in a by-road, and shot him, as he rode past with his wife. The victim fell from his horse, and the afflicted woman on her knees endeavoured to stanch the blood; but the villain rushed on them, and drawing forth a long knife, stabbed the dying man in various places; brutally remarking to the woman, that a husband was easily replaced. The horrid scene concluded by the assassin drawing the knife, yet reeking with the blood of his friend, between his lips, previous to returning it into the sheath; he then walked off, leaving the poor widow insensible from terror and affliction. This ruffian, after having committed numerous other outrages, is now only in exile at Maddalena, within sight of the scenes of his guilt. When Mr. Craig questioned him respecting the murder of his "compare," he very freely told the whole story; and added that he never saw so furious a dying man in his life, for he kicked with such violence while being stabbed, as to make a large hole in the ground! The occurrence that ended the career of this detestable family, exhibited a singular exertion of cunning and ferocity. Andrea Scaccato, a "capo pastore" possessed of considerable property, had been marked as an object of resentment by Leonardo, Pietro, and G. M. Putzu, and vain was every effort on his part to avert his doom. To conciliate such powerful and implacable enemies, he patiently suffered the grossest insults; had marrried one of his sons into the Putzu family, and had become "compare" to the very wretch who compassed his murder. As Scaccato had two sons, fine, spirited youths, residing with him, and was moreover popular in the district, it was deemed imprudent to attempt assassination by the usual ambush system, since retaliation might be feared; it was therefore determined upon, to massacre the whole family at a blow. G. M. Putzu being captain of the provincial militia, it was planned, that under pretence of having received secret orders from government, to arrest the Scaccatos, he should select the most hardened of his dependants, together with some carabinieri. On obtaining admittance into the dwelling, they were not only to destroy the whole of its inmates, but also the "brigadiere," or commanding officer of the soldiers, which would serve as a proof that Scaccato had resisted; as well as enable the Putzus to assert, without fear of contradiction, that he had called them out, instead of their having summoned him. On the fatal night the assassins presented themselves at the house, and demanded admission in the king's name; a desire instantly complied with by the master, though against the opinion of his wife, who suspected danger. On his opening the door, poor Scaccato was shot dead, and a musket was discharged at one of the sons, the ball from which passed through his heart and into the breast of his wife, who was beside him. Another son, on receiving the first shot, fell on his knees, and addressing himself to G. M. Putzu, piteously exclaimed, "Oh! godfather, In that sorrowful season of anguish and ill, When the spirit is shadowed and lonely; When the flowers in the valley, the sun on the hill, Would dishearten our bitterness only; Where the cold misty streamlet is flowing, And blasts through the hazel-bush mournfully swell, Red leaves on the sallow grass strowing. And the gloomy gray stole of a winterly sky, And the light half obscured by the shadows, Seem kindlier far to the tear-bedimmed eye, Than the snubeam o'er emerald meadows. For Nature, we see, seems to suffer distress, When the sunbeam of summer forsakes it; And the pang that we felt, grows insensibly less, When we find that another partakes it. UTILITY OF DULNESS. spare me only till I confess, and make DULL, timid, and weak men are, as it were, the cement of society; the mortar which serves to connect and bind together the more valuable parts of the great fabric. They are, like their supposed prototype, an indispensable part of a superstructure; a sort of trifling negative series of particles, which, however worthless in themselves, cannot be done without. They are the seasoning of society-somewhat liberally sprinkled to be sure. They give a gout and flavour to the social circle, which even Attic salt cannot impart. Paradoxical as it may appear, they are the finest possible breaks in the continuity of mere liveliness, and converse would actually become tame without them. A dull uniformity would prevail, and we all know by experience, that nothing palls so much as unvaried sprightliness, unshaded mirth, and unrelieved brilliancy. Deathlike dulness itself is not so tiresome and fatiguing. When a boy, I have often made fireworks. Once in compounding a set of squibs I forgot to mix up with the positives of saltpetre and gunpowder the negative of pounded charcoal; and in firing them off, each consisted of but one explosion, bright no doubt, but transient also, and dangerous withal; while the squibs which were rightly mixed up, were both bright, sparkling too, and much more lasting; besides, they did not scorch me. Dull men are, then, to society what charcoal is to squibs. F. INDOLENCE OF GENIUS. IDLENESS and indolence, for they are not equivalents, are, to the man of genius, what rust is to the polished metal. It is lamentable to think on the ravages they have made in the finest minds, eating so deeply into them that they have at last become, as it were, incorporated with their very essence: often too that species of indolence is nourished, and even has its rise, from the self-same source as the noblest of mental peculiar ities. To indulge in contemplation, for itself only, is one of the most alluring of pleasures. The bright and beautiful ideas which present themselves to a mind so engaged, give as much delight to the individual to whom they are suggested, even though they perish at the moment of their birth to make room for the embryo creations which crowd after them in quick succession, as though they were chronicled on tablets of brass, or the ever-during monument of a nation's memory. I speak of the delight felt at the moment of their creation, not of the permanent and strengthening pleasure received from their reiteration when preserved, or the applause of crowds when popular. Some la borious writers instantly seize these evanescent wanderers, and, with patient industry, pin them on paper, as a butterfly collector does his specimens; but they are not, nor do they in general deserve to be, the authors whose memories are cherished with the deepest love, and whose works are graven on the fleshly tablets of a thousand congenial hearts. In reading their works we think they have rendered us all they could give, and left us nothing to regret; that they have drawn their wine to the lees, and spun their airy web while a single particle of material remained. There is in this, wherever displayed, a sordidness, even where no pecuniary profits could be reaped, which revolts us. It is an ambition distinct from, and grovelling below, that noble thirst for fame which has caused the transcription, at least of mighty works, though, some will hold, the composition of none. An author of this description resembles a painter who would admit of no shading in his pic tures, but filled every corner of his canvass with gaudy lights and glaring figures,-on the ground that he could not afford room for what was in itself without expression. These considerations may serve to reconcile us to the imputed indolence of many living and deceased writers. There is now no want of authors, nor of books: let then poets enjoy their solitary thoughts unmolested; the world is already rich enough in their productions! F. CASTIGATIONES.-No II. (For the Parterre). THE Gentleman's Magazine for July last, contains an interesting memoir of Sir Edmund Verney, the king's standardbearer at Edge-hill. This gallant Royalist perished in that sad conflict: his body, it is said, was never discovered, but a hand was found among the slain, and recognized by a ring on one of the fingers. This story is in all probability true, and no man will deny that it is an affecting one. But the other circumstances connected with the capture and recapture of the royal banner are variously told, and the writer of the memoir in question has drawn his information from writers of one party only—that of the cavaliers. In the first place, we are told, that when Charles erected his standard upon the castle-hill at Nottingham, Sir Edmund observed, as he fixed it in the earth,* that "by the grace of God, the man who wrested it from his hand should first wrest his soul from his body." Now we very much question, if the large standard set up at Nottingham was that which Sir Edmund bore so gallantly at Edge-hill. This, in fact, being a standard, while that which Sir Edmund bore in the field was a banner; but, as every body knows, the two names have long since been confounded. The writer of the memoir quotes Lloyd, who tells us that the knight slew sixteen men with his own hand. This is a genuine cavalier boast: with such a banner, Sir Edmund must have had quite sufficient to do to defend himself from attack, and preserve his charge. But the best portion of the story is to come. The author of " Britannica Vir tutis Imago," printed at Oxford in 1644, *It was fixed in the rock, which was with considerable difficulty perforated to receive the staff. gives an account of the capture and recapture of the royal banner, and is followed by the writer of the memoir, who says: "It was entrusted by Copley (the man who, probably, dealt Sir Edmund his death-blow) to one Chambers, secretary to the parliamentary general, who, guarded by an escort of three cuirassiers, and as many arquebussiers on horseback, endeavoured to carry it off the field. As they were thus making their way, Captain John Smith, a soldier of note, and captain-lieutenant to Lord John Stewart's horse, attended by one Chichley, groom to the Duke of Richmond, rode by; but conceiving the banner which was rolled up to be merely one of the ordinary colours of the king's life-guard, and that so strongly guarded, he was willing to avoid an encounter. Whilst pondering on what step he should pursue, a boy on horseback called out that the enemy were carrying off the standard. This intimation to a man of Smith's established gallantry was not thrown away; and shouting, "Traitor, deliver the standard!" he immediately attacked the secretary, who was on foot, and wounded him in the breast. Bending over to follow up his thrust, a cuirassier struck him on the neck with his pole-axe through the collar of his doublet; when, at the same time, his companions discharged their pistols at his face. The death of the cuirassier by the hand of the captain terminated this unequal contest, for, on his fall, the rest presently fled, leaving the subject of contention in the hands of their gallant victor," &c. The reader is requested to go over the preceding paragraph attentively. He will perceive that the secretary, to whom the standard was confided, was on foot, and that he was the first man wounded, though six horsemen were around him. Captain Smith bends forward to repeat bis thrust, when he is struck with, what? --why, a pole-axe! In the name of all that 's wonderful, what had a dragoon of that period to do with a pole-axe? Such a weapon could have been of no use against a long, cutting broad-sword. Then, and only till then, the other troopers discharged their pistols in the captain's face, who, mirabile dictu! not only escaped with his brains, but was not even blinded by the explosion. Great, indeed, must be the credulity of the man who could believe this story. We are sorry to see a writer at the present day endeavouring to perpetuate the absurd tales of violent partisans of the Royalists. A great author has wisely remarked, that it is the duty of a reader to "weigh and consider," not to run mad with the taking opinions of one author, until he has compared him with another. The writer of the memoir, which has called forth these remarks, is evidently among the infatuated few who believe the cavaliers to have been paragons of virtue. That many good men fought and fell on either side, during that unhappy period, there is little doubt; but the majority consisted of the idle, the dissolute, the worthless, and the violent. We shall only add, in conclusion, that the account of the recapture of the standard is very differently given by the author of the "History of the Stuarts in England." This writer says, that Smith with two others disguised themselves with orange-coloured scarfs, and riding towards the party who were carrying off the standard, persuaded them to give it up, as it was not fit that a penman should be the bearer of it. The secretary believing Smith to be of the republican party, gave up his charge; and the captain rode off in triumph, and presented it to the king, for which he was knighted. K. THE AUTHOR. BY THEODORE S. FAY. THE INTRODUCTION. "Prudence, whose glass presents the approaching jail, Poetic justice, with her lifted scale, I walked out one summer afternoon, to amuse myself after the troubles of a long and toilsome day, spent in poring over musty volumes of the law. As I rose from my fatiguing studies, and breathed the fresh, free air of heaven, I enjoyed that natural cheerfulness which is always felt when the elastic mind soars from the object to which it has been bound down, and sports away at pleasure through the regions of fancy. After having groped among the shadowy labyrinths of ambiguous science, wearied and bewildered in its mazy path, I rejoiced to be in a lighter sphere, amid merriment and bustling adventure—where the brilliant confusion gave a livelier character to my meditations, and the rosy cheeked, bright-eyed girls who passed by me, imparted a sweeter sensation to my mind. It had been extremely warm and sultry, but now a light breeze cooled the air; the pigeons pecked and cooed and sported about in the shade; a privileged dog might now and then be observed trotting along behind his master, panting and tired, with his tongue hanging from his unclosed mouth, and those unpoetical animals in the records of our Common Council, denominated-hogs, grunted through their long and dreamless slumber, in all the glory of independence and mud. It is an old maxim, that something may be learned in whatever situation we are placed. The darkness of a solitary dungeon improves the contemplative disposition, and the mid-day splendour of the city is replete with instruction. The vast and wonderful variety of face and figure, which on every side met my view, afforded an amusement for my ramble, of which I did not fail to take advantage. Sometimes brushed by me the smart beau, ready dressed, and polished for his lady's eye; his new, shining hat, upon a head each particular hair of which possessed its assigned station, like well disciplined soldiers at a military post. In dark contrast behind him dragged the lazy sweep-wrapping his dusky mantle around his gloomy form, the personification of a moonless night. The man of broad dimensions waddled before the thin, consumptive, meagre wretch poverty and plenty, emblematic of the rapid vicissitudes of life. Bullies, thinking of thunder and lightning-Dandies, thinking of nothing but themselvesand fools, thinking of nothing at all, went one after another before my observing sight. Editors, composing extemporaneous editorial articles-Players, conning over their half-learned partsLawyers, calculating what no one but lawyers could calculate-and Doctors, in rueful, but resigned anticipation of their patient's demise, passed by, and disappeared like Macbeth's visions in the regions of Hecate. Now came a crowd of "Noisy children just let loose from school," in high glee at having escaped from the vicissitudes of the mimic world-some from the troubles of incomprehensible ancient languages, and lines terrible to scan-and other young literary Bonapartes, who "had fought and conquered" whole troops of mathematical problems, who had surmounted obstacles seemingly insurmountable, and laboured far up the rugged hill of science, in spite of the brambles and shadows with which it so plentifully abounds. Then I beheld the philosopher, in his ordinary habiliments, scrupulously plain, careful to owe no portion of his celebrity to the vanities of dress-his brow clouded with a sublime frown, which spoke of crucibles, airpumps, powerful acids, and electrical machines-pacing his steady way, with measured strides-all science and severity from head to foot. After him came the poet, in a poetical dress, with short sleeves to his coat, short legs to his pantaloons, and short allowances for his hunger-his hat was put back from his forehead in negligent grace-there was no awkwardness in his moving attitudes -no rose upon his thoughtful cheekand no cravat around his neck; but bewildered, Byron-like, and brimful of imagination, and wrapped up in splendid visions, invisible to all but himselfthrough the various multitude he pursued his unerring career, It "Iu lofty madness, meditating song." The richly dressed, fashionable belle dashed by me like a blazing meteor, sparkling and flashing in transitory brightness-and in bashful beauty, like some softly passing dream, followed the sylph-like figure of a charming girl, with eyes cast down in the modesty of merit, and cheeks blushing at the earnest gaze which their loveliness attracted. passed away from before me like the evanescent hopes of youth, and gave place to a person who monopolized all my attention. It was the short, prim form of a middle-aged, negligently dressed man, who wore an air of drollery, entirely irresistible. As he passed, maiden purity and philosophic sternness lent the tribute of a smile, and the little boys paused from the fascinations of their hoops and marbles to look and laugh. The clouded visage of misfortune, by his ludicrous appearance, was cheated into a temporary illumination, and in the wildness of my disenthralled fancy, methought the very birds of the air, and the beasts of the field, or, in plain English, the pigeons and the pigs, gave a glance of merry astonishment upon the object of my notice. His coat (for although he was an author, he had a coat) had once been of handsome black cloth, but its charms had vanished "like fairy gifts fading away"- many winters had scattered their snows upon the shoulder-blades and elbows, from the pinnacles of the latter of which peeped something not very white, concerning which I had my |