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1061

Review.-Friendship's Offering.

Among the poetical compositions, all of which are highly respectable, some few are superlatively beautiful. The following extracts will furnish interesting specimens, both of prose and verse.

A TALE OF VENICE.

By C. Mac Farlane.

"Gherardo was the only son of the patrician Zani, and the most gallant youth of Venice. His love of military glory must have been great, for when the Loge, the incomparable Enrico Dandolo, invited him to follow his banner to the East, he was betrothed to Bianca Celsi, as distinguished for her beauty, as he for his valour. Yet, on the threshold of the hymeneal temple, he did not hesitate; he would go where glory and his countrymen summoned him; when the Doge's exploits were achieved, he would return to Venice, and, more deserving of her, would lay his laurels at the feet of his young bride. He had been, he had prospered; Constantinople had witnessed his valour, and now, returned, the piagetta echoed with the name of Gherardo. He had received the embrace of his aged father without alarm at his tears, for overwrought joy will weep even as sorrow does; he had been pressed in the arms of the friends of his house and his infancy; and he now advanced to a gentler cir cle, composed of his female relations and friends, who, stationed at a balcony, murmured the hero's name, and his welcome back to Venice. But, what meant the omission? Bianca was not among them; Bianca, his spouse, was not there to welcome him with eye and tongue. His voice trembled as he hurriedly asked where she was. An inconsiderate and cruel voice in the crowd answered, Bianca is no more! she sleeps with her father in the church of St. Theodore.'

"No more moaned the young warrior, and his flushed face became pale as monumental marble, and, but for his friends, he had fallen to the earth like one struck by lightning, When he partially recovered from the first shock, he again raised his eyes to the ladies' balcony; she was indeed not there, where she must have been if life and love had animated her. That absence confirmed the truth of the ill-omened voice; his eyes dropped despondingly to the earth, here, now in his youth and his glory, he could have wished to see a grave opened for himself. His old father fell on his neck, and wept aloud.

"For some moments the mind of Gherardo wandered, and his soul was benumbed: but the sight of Alessio, the brother of Bianca, advancing through the crowd, recalled him to consciousness and anguish,

Is it even as they say?' cried he hoarsely, and stretching out his hand to his friend. Alessio grasped his hand with one of his, and dashing away the tears from his averted face with the other, he replied in a suffocating voice, Alas! and alas! it is even so; Bianca expired yesterday; and as the galley, your precursor, was appearing, my sister was on her road to the sepulchre.'

"Such irremediable woe where so much bliss was expected, such an awakening from all the ecstatic dreams and aspirations that had given him strength in battle, and cheered him over the tedious and stormy waves, such a welcome, such a return, such an end to all his fond and passionate hopes, was not to be supported. With a deep groan he swooned away, and the young hero, so lately the happiest among the happy, the most animated where all were animated, was borne in a lifeless state to the sad halls of his father.

Was

"It was long ere he returned to life and reason, and oh, how dreadful was his return to the latter! He would have given the world for some opiate or drug capable of repelling thought and recollection. He closed his eyes to the gay light of the sun; he would have shut out his rays! He was deaf to the advice and consolations of his friends who thronged about him; he was mute, too, and asked not a single question as to the malady or decease of his bride. it not enough to know, that she was for ever torn from him-dead! What mattered, the mode or circumstances that had led to such a fearful result? At last he spoke, but it was only to request his father that he might he left alone. The afflicted Signior, with words of affectionate condolence, and prayers that his son would raise his thoughts to the contemplation of that Being in whose hands were life and death, and to whose omnipotent will it was his duty to submit, left the room with tears, and was followed by all the company.

"When in the silence and solitude of his own chamber, Gherardo looked around him; he felt more than ever the extent of his loss. He rose from his couch on which he had been reclining, and advanced to a curtained recess at the end of the room-he drew the curtains-the sight was a cruel one! There was the

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Talamo or splendid nuptial bed, his friends had prepared and decorated for his return-there, on the rich velvet and the flowing silk, were the embroidered rose wreaths mixed with the laurel crowns, and the initials of his name entwined with those of his Bianca. And hungry death was feeding on her roses, and her name, in the mouths of men, had become a note of woe-in his ear a sound of despair! He threw himself on the ground at the bed's foot, and, burying his face in his burning hands, gave vent for the first time to a copious fiood of tears.

"As thus he lay, humbled in the dust, with all his thoughts in the dark and narrow grave, the sun shone brightly on Venice, and her thronging thousands, replete with joy, sang their songs of triumph, and shouted the names of their gallant warriors, and the captains of their galleys. It could not be that his should be forgotten, for who had borne himself more bravely than he? and as a crowd passed in front of the paternal abode, their united voices proclaimed "Gherardo! Gherardo! Long life and glory to Gherardo, the soldier of St. Mark!" The sounds struck his ears, but now they could elicit only a bitter smile. "The passing hours did not restore tranquillity to the bereft bridegroom; but as the shade of night descended, a wild idea. an uncontrollable impulse invaded him. And shall my fond eyes not obtain a last glance of love and beauty. Shall my Bianca,' reasoned the passionate youth, (if such movement of the feelings can be called reason,) my betrothed, he consumed by the vile worms, and I not see the loveliness she must have carried to the grave? She died but yesterday, she must still be beautiful! Yes! I will see her once again! I will once again press those lips though they be cold-cold!'

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"At a late hour he secretly left his father's house for the well-known church; alas! he was to have been married there. A handful of gold gained over the Sacristano, who unlocked the door of the temple and retired. Gherardo stood alone, a few paces from Bianca's tomb. A few lamps burned here and there, dimly, before the effigies of the Virgin Mother and the most conspicuous of the saints; the moon shed an uncertain light through the painted glass of the lofty and narrow Gothic windows; but away among the massy columns, and through the long aisles of the church, there fell the obscurity of the valley of the shadow of death;' and sounds there were none, save the fast-coming sighs of the hapless lover.

"The hour, the spot, the awful stillness, were all calculated to overpower the mind with indescribable emotions: the age was one of extreme superstition, and our young soldier's philosophy had not taught him to rise superior to the popular credence; the state of his feelings too, and nothing is more imaginative or creative of ideal horrors, than a certain stage of grief-contributed to delude the senses; and as the cressets trembled, and the moon light, strangely coloured by the stained glass through which it passed, gleamed now brighter, and now fainter,-now resting on this object of somewhat grotesque architecture of the church, now on that,-he saw, or fancied, the spirits of the departed rising one by one, and mournfully waving their hands, as if warning him against a sacrilegious intrusion on the regions of the dead.

"Through the postern door by which he had entered, and which ths Sacristano had left ajar, there suddenly blew a gust of the fresh night breeze, that, moaning among the columns, and over the hollow marble pavement of the church, sounded in his ear like a voice; but not of earth-like the united lamentations of sad, and guilt-burthened spirits. He clung to one of the pillars for support, and was for some moments incapable of motion. His natural courage, and the intenseness of the feeling and purpose that had brought him thither, soon, however, came to his aid, and he strode with hasty steps to the cappella, or lateral recess of the temple, beneath which was the tomb of his bride's family.

"Here, in this deep recess, the moon could not shed a beam; but he was guided to the door of the sepulchre by a lamp that flickered on the altar of the cappella, Hurried, breathless, he laid his hand upon that door; massy, and bound with heavy iron and with bronze, it required a great effort to open it-he pressed his muscular shoulder against it,-it receded; but as it turned on its unwilling hinges, it produced a hoarse rumbling sound, that echoed like thunder in the vault beneath, and caused him to start back with trembling limbs and a cold sweat upon his brow. Again, however, desperation-love-the determination to see the lifeless form of his beloved, conquered his awe and the repugnance for disturbing the peace of the grave; yet he paused, ere he ploughed into the horrible, palpable obscurity that lay beyond the door of the tomb, and crossing himself, murmured a prayer to the blessed Virgin, who saw his woe, and might pity or pardon his sacrilegious audacity. He then rushed down a few steps through a short dark passage, and, himself like a spectre, entered the narrow chamber of death."

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Review.-Juvenile Forget-Me-Not.

"A lamp beneath a crucifix burned at the head of the avello, or sarcophagus of Biana, and a grated window near the roof of the vault admitted the rays of the moon, that fell almost perpendicularly on the cold white marble. He grasped at once the heavy cover of the coffin-had he hesitated, he might have been completely deterred from effecting his sad, wild enterprise. His nervous arms removed the weight, and then his eyes rested on the shrouded form of his Bianca, whose head was enveloped in a veil of pure white, and her "decent limbs composed" beneath an ample white robe. His brain reeled at the sight, and the lamp which he had grasped fell from his hand.

*

*

"When he recovered strength to proceed, the light from the grated window fell full in the open coffin; and as his trembling hands withdrew the veil, a clear broad ray of the moon illumined the face of his lovely bride * and could this be death? -Why, even thus she looked when life and love coursed through her young veins!-even thus, when after a day of joy she slept a balmy sleep, a night of peace! And were not the long loose tresses crossed on her bosom the same as erst, and the pale smooth brow, and the broad eye-lids, with their long black fringes, and the cherub mouth, with lips slightly apart, as if smiling in some blissful dream!" No, this cannot be death!" cried Gherardo, deliriously; "she sleeps-she only sleeps! Oh wake! in pity, wake, my wife,-my Bianca-my love!" He was silent for a moment, and gazed on her beautiful moonlit countenance, as if expecting she would really rise at his pasionate adjuration.

"Bianca!" continued he, "my own Bianca! why dost thou slumber thus!-dost thou await the sweet kisses of thy lover to awaken thee? I give them thee !" and, throwing himself across the marble coffin, he pressed his quivering lips to hers. But how did his whole soul rush to his mouth, when he fancied he felt the breath of life on those pale lips! He pressed them again; if it was a delusion, it continued-for the mildest, the most subdued of breathings seemed to pass from her lips to his. He raised her from the sarcopha gus-he placed his hand on her heart-and language has no power to paint his emotions, when he felt-plainly felt her heart palpitate beneath his hand! Another moment, and her eyes opened, whilst a low murmur escaped her lips. clasped her wildly in his rembrace, and leaned for support against the sarcophagus, where, as they stood, mute, motionless, and pale, almost like statues, in the moonlight, it would have been difficult to tell which of the two, or whether both had not been awakened from the sleep of death.

Gherardo

"The Chronicler's tale is told. The ignorance of the physicians, and the immediate sepulture after death, usual in the south, had consigned Bianca to the grave, from which the passion and Impetuosity of her lover saved her so opportunely. The fair Venetian passed at once from the marble sarcophagus to the nuptial bed of silk and velvet. The church, where the echoes of her funeral dirge might almost seem yet to linger, pealed with the notes of her nuptials; and the bridal coronet of white roses was now supplied by the tree that had furnished flowers for her funeral."-p. 200.

1 KNOW THOU HAST GONE.
(By T. K. Hervey.)

I KNOW thou hast gone to the house of thy rest,
Then why should my soul be so sad?

I know thou hast gone where the weary are blest,
And the mourner looks up and is glad!
Where love has put off, in the land of its birth,
The stains it had gathered in this;

And hope, the sweet singer that gladdened the earth,

Lies asleep on the bosom of bliss!

I know thou hast gone where thy forehead is starred

With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul,
Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marred,
Nor thy heart be flung back from its goal:

I know thou hast drank of the Lethe that flows
Through a land where they do not forget,
That sheds over memory only repose,
And takes from it only regret.

In thy far away dwelling, wherever it be,

I believe thou hast visions of mine,

And the love that made all things a music to me I have not yet learnt to resign;

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In the hush of the night, on the waste of the sea,
Or alone with the breeze on the hill,

I have ever a presence that whispers of thee,
And my spirit lies down and is still!

Mine eye must be dark-that so long has been dim,
Ere again it may gaze upon thine,

But my heart has revealings of thee and thy

home,

In many a token and sign.

I never look up with a vow, to the sky,
But a light like thy beauty is there,
And I hear a low murmur like thine in reply,
When I pour out my spirit in prayer.

And though-like a mourner that sits by a tomb,
I am wrapp'd in a mantle of care,

Yet the grief of my bosom-oh! call it not gloom! Is not the black grief of despair:

By sorrow revealed-as the stars are by night— Far off a bright vision appears,

And hope-like the rainbow, a creature of light, Is born-like the rainbow-from tears. p. 291.

REVIEW.-The Juvenile Forget-Me-Not for 1831, 12mo. pp. 224. Westley, London.

A fourth volume of this interesting publication has just been completed, under the judicious management of Mrs. S. C. Hall. We have had the satisfaction of reviewing this work for several years past, and, when we admit that its claims on the public remain undiminished, any lengthened commendations on the present occasion would nauseate its amiable conductress. It is due to the Publishers, however, to notice the exquisite delicacy of the engravings, as well as the novel and far preferable mode of binding which they have this year adopted for their Annual.

Docility, the frontispiece to the book, is a sweet engraving in the dotted manner, by Thompson, after a painting by A. Robert

son.

Me and my Dog, is one of those happy delineations of juvenile archness and canine sagacity, which would excite the risible muscles of a Stoic.

The Twin Sisters, a beautiful picture, delicately engraved in the line manner. The Nut-Cracker, is pleasingly characteristic.

The Roman Beggar, exhibits an interesting fidelity of costume and feature in the persons of an aged female and her grandson.

Hebe, engraved by Engleheart after Westall, is finely conceived and delightfully executed.

The Foundling, is a perfect study, a truly rich subject; the painting by E. P. Stephenoff, engraved by H. Rolls.

The Bird's Nest, scarcely needed a descriptive Illustration, it tells its own tale more expressively than words can do.

On the list of writers we find the names

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Review.-Juvenile Forget-Me-Not.

of Walsh, J. Montgomery, Bernard Barton, Cunningham, Hoffland, Jewsbury, &c. &c., authors well known and highly esteemed. Any extract from the literary portion of the work, as recommendatory of the volume, is needless; but we must gratify ourselves and our readers by transferring one or two specimens to the pages of the Imperial Magazine.

The following stanzas, written by J. F. Hollings to accompany "The Foundling,"

are

"Sweet as the warblings of a seraph's lyre.”

"Oh, welcome to our lowly hearth, thou meek, forsaken child!

What eye could view thy gentle face, with dreamless slumber mild

Nor weep, that helpless infancy abandoned to behold, A bud upon the waters thrown-a lamb without a fold.

"Alas! the bright and sunny joys, life's dawning hours which bless

The murmur of affection's voice-its smile, and low

caress

A mother's watch-a mother's care, and love which passeth show,

All these and more should cheer thee now-but these thou canst not know.

"Unpitied at thine earliest need, by those who gave thee birth

Scorn'd by the eyes whose light should be thy free and artless mirth

Neglected at a stranger's gate, in want and cold to pine

Calm and unconscious innocent, how hard a lot is thine!

"But He who tempers to the flock the keen and wintry blast,

And deigns upon his feeblest works, a father's love to cast;

And clothes the lilies of the field, and hears the sparrow's cry,

Hath marked thee in that low estate, nor passed thy suffering by.

"We cannot give what thou hast lost-a parent's yearning heart,

Nor fill, as she who left thee thus, a tender nurse's part:

But much the friendly will can do, by word and action shown,

To soothe and raise the desolate-and this shall be thine own!

"Though feeble even our all to aid-the task at least be ours

To blunt the thorns upon thy path, and tend the opening flowers;

And when thy ripened years at length fair wisdom's fruit shall yield,

Thy grateful prayer to us shall be a blessing and a shield.

"And thou beneath our humble roof shalt lay thy graceful head,

And sport beside our cheerful fire, and share our daily bread;

Though small the hardly-purchased store our wonted tasks supply,

We think upon the widow's cruse-and ours will not be dry.

"Then, welcome to a love unclaimed!-yet not the less thy right;

To hearts, whose thoughts shall ever be, to make thy childhood light;

To friends, whose voice shall teach thy feet the tempter's path to shun,

And fit thee for a nobler state, when this of earth is done!" p. 169.

Our prose extract shall be part of “A Little Boy's Letter from London," by Miss Jewsbury. We are led to think that this lady had collected all the juvenile epistles within reach, to form this characteristic letter. Nature has certainly never been hit off more aptly.

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"O dear mamma, what a great, large, wonderful place this is!-as large as a million villages joined all in a row. I do think even our town could be set down in one of the squares; and if a hundred streets were swallowed up, I don't think the rest would miss them. I am very sorry, dear mamma, I did not write sooner, but I have been so busy all day, that at night I was quite tired; and my uncle has been so good to me, and has shewn me such a many, many things!And I will tell you now what I like best. But first of all, dear mamma, pray don't fancy I have forgotten you, or my sisters, or my pigeons and my rabbits, or any body; and I think Westbury a very nice place, though now I do live in London, and sit up every night till ten o'clock, and sometimes later. Don't be angry, dear manna, for I will be very good when I come home, and I will bring you a gold watch, and Jane and Mary a parasol apiece, for my uncle has given me three sovereigns, three, mamma, to spend in what I like.

Perhaps you know that we have got a new king now he is called William the IVth.-and 1 heard him proclaimed at Temple Bar, where the City gates are, and they were shut; and if the king himself had been there, he could not have been let through, without knocking and telling his name and errand; so the procession did so, and then it was let through, to proclaim that the Duke of Clarence was king. I saw him yesterday in a carriage, but I did not see that he looked any different from what he did last year, when he past through Westbury. In the procession there was the Lord Mayor's gilt coach-you may tell Mary it was nothing but glass and gold-and the heralds who proclaimed the new king, wore something like waggoners' frocks, made of stiff gold cloth; and I heard "God save the King" played by fifteen trumpets altogether; and you might have walked on the heads of the people, as old nurse says; and when they shouted, it was like the roaring of the sea; and my uncle says I shall go to Windsor, to see the dead king lie in state, before he is buried, for that is a very grand sight too.

First

Yesterday I saw a real live lion eat his supper, and several leopards, and tigers, and panthers, and a hyena, and many other animals too; and I was a little frightened just at first, for Exeter 'Change is no longer than our church, and the cages stand all round, and don't look so very strong; and when eight o'clock came, all the beasts began to grow impatient. there was a growling among them, and then they rubbed themselves against the iron bars of the cages, and the leopards put their paws through, but you may guess I did not offer to shake hands with the gentlemen, though their skin is covered with pretty spots, and they jump about like greyhounds. The keepers were very busy dividing the meat, which was legs and shins of beef, into proper parts, and at last they went up to the old lion, who is always fed first-and then what a roaring there was! I quite fancied I was in a forest, only I felt very glad I was not. The old lion and his wife had waited more patiently for their suppers than any other animals, but the keeper teased the old fellow a little, just to shew us what he could do, and when the bone was flung into the den-for they don't feed these animals by holding their meat to them, or they might chance to bite off a finger or two just by accident: well, when the bone was flung to the lion-oh, mamma, I shall never forget his eyes. for they flared just like two lamps !-and he crouched down and clutched the bone, and roared, as much as to say, take it back if you dare;' but his face was so grand, it made me tremble, though I knew I was safe. I felt, mamma, just as I did last year, when I heard the thunder amongst the mountains. I shall never forget that lion; there was another, but he was more snappish, and yet did not make me tremble half so much. The leopards, and tigers, and panthers, took their meat playfully, but it was very terrible play, I should not like them to play with me, I know. The laughing hyena, poor old fellow! was as tame as our Neptune, almost as stupid, he let the keeper plague him, and yet never grunted or grumbled: and he took his meat quietly from the keeper's hand. panthers had each a very tough beef-steak, but they Soou managed to tear it to pieces, and then lay down and licked their lips very merrily. There were two elephants, not fine fellows, but very funny ones: one was let out and walked down the hall, and rang a bell when he was desired, and opened his mouth, expecting, no doubt, that something should be put in it; and his trunk reminded me of a large, large leech, screwing itself about, and sucking hold of every thing within its reach. It is very odd; but when all the other animals were roaring, and jangling the bars of their cages, I thought that, if they had broken loose, I should have run to the elephants to protect me, and I think they would, though they were very ugly.

The

After the animals had been fed, the pelicans were let out, and they scuffled up, flapping their wings, just like great geese. They had each about three

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Review.-Temporis Calendarium.—Chronological Chart.

dozen small fish, put in a bucket of water, and they scooped them out as fast as I could count, for their bills are half a yard long, and the bottom one that has a bag to it is just like a shrimper's net. They made every one laugh heartily. And afterwards I saw the snakes; they are kept in boxes, and wrapt up in flannel, like little babies: but I am sure you will be tired, so I will tell you all about the birds and monkeys another time, and about the Zoological garden, which I like better than Exeter 'Change, because the poor things must be happier in fresh air, though many of them were starved to death last winter. And, mamma, I have seen the Tower. I can't awhile tell you all the history of it, but very likely you know that it stands upon twelve acres of ground within the walls, and that before it was used as a prison, it was a palace; and that now it is only a curiosity, but it is very curious indeed."-p. 138.

We would willingly have inserted the whole of this admirable epistle, but the claims on our review department are this month so numerous, that we must leave the young gentleman in the midst of his

narrative.

If there should be a family unacquainted with the Juvenile Forget-Me-Not, we beg to introduce the volume to their notice, as a book eminently calculated to instruct, delight, and, in no small measure, refine the youthful mind. Its highest praise reflecting the best encomium we could offer on its fair editor, is, that it contains no sentiment

"Which angels might not hear, or virgins tell."

REVIEW.-Temporis Calendarium, or an
Almanac for 1831. By William Ro-
gerson, Greenwich.
don.

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the Family Library, was then laid before the reader, and whilst we found no difficulty in admitting the utility of the intention, we felt gratified to state, that it had, so far as the work at that time extended, been carried into full effect. The review of the first part, therefore, anticipating in a great measure all that could be said of this dramatic series, any lengthened remarks on the present volume would be superfluous. It will be enough to say, that the same rigid scrutiny and judicious excision have been continued, and that another portion of valuable dramatic writing, unalloyed with occasional coarseness and obscenity, is to be found in this second volume of Massinger.

REVIEW.-A Chronological Chart, or Synoptic-Historic View of the Origin and Introduction of Inventions and Discoveries, from the earliest date to the present period. Darton and Harvey, London.

THIS chart, which is exceedingly curious, yet simple in its construction, is calculated much more for utility than for amusement. It exhibits on a longitudinally extended sheet an epitomized chronology of nearly all the great and memorable Stephens, Lon-inventions and discoveries that have distinguished the various ages of the world. It begins in the year 3885 before Christ, and ends with A.D. 1825, embracing, in its descent on the stream of time, nearly one hundred articles, such as letters, fire from flints, pottery, iron, measures, sun-dials, maps, glass, gunpowder, &c. &c. &c.

THE Success of this Almanac, now about to enter its eleventh year, is no bad criterion of its merit, especially when so many dealers in time are in the market. Inde pendently of the common routine of daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly occurrences, it contains in the margins of its pages, judicious observations on the passing seasons, the productions of nature, and the supposed influence of the stars. Many useful tables follow, with numerous observations on subjects of very general interest. The rank which this Almanac sustains among its contemporaries proves, that fortune-telling is not always necessary to secure the patronage of a British public.

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Its length, which is about three feet and a half, and divided into eight columns, is occupied in the following manner: 1. Date. 2. Inventions and Discoveries. 3. By whom invented or discovered. 4. By whom introduced. 5. In whose reign. 6. Cotemporary_sovereigns, or eminent men living. 7. Earliest mention. 8. Remarks. A portion of margin at the bottom is devoted to the elucidation of such articles or branches of them as seemed involved in obscurity.

With the construction and perspicuity of this chart we have been much pleased. It comprises a large body of chronological and historical facts, and furnishes at one glance a brief reply to many important questions which every one finds it needful at times to propose. Not only to youthful readers, but even to veterans in literature, it will be found serviceable. To every private study it will be a creditable decoration, and no well-furnished library can be said to be complete without it.

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Autograph of William IV.-Gleanings.

REVIEW. Specimens of Penmanship: By J. P. Hemms. Harding, London. 1830. WE are not, perhaps, acquainted with a more exquisitely delicate art than that of ornamental penmanship. The graceful ease of a bold and flowing line, struck by the pen of such a master as Mr. Hemms, affords the eye a gratification which it cannot derive even from a beautiful painting. To relish the excellences of the latter, some knowledge of perspective and picturesque effect is necessary; but every eye is sensible of the freedom and symmetry of fine writing.

The plate, containing a dedication of this "Original Penmanship" to the mayor, aldermen, and common-council of Notting

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ham, exhibits an effect in arrangement, and a richness in execution, which we do not remember ever to have seen surpassed. The representation of Hebe feeding the eagle is an astonishing effort of the pen, whether we regard the flourishing, or the delicately wrought portrait.

We cannot particularize the whole of these splendid specimens, which are thirteen in number; though we might easily find occasion to dilate on each one separately. They confer no trifling distinction on the Grammar School of Nottingham, where this talented penman is engaged; and the public generally will not, on inspection of his work, withhold from the artist that patronage he so justly merits.

AUTOGRAPH OF HIS PRESENT MAJESTY WILLIAM IV.

THE following Autograph has been procured for us from an exalted quarter, by especial favour. In very few instances, we apprehend, has His Majesty written his name in full since his accession to the throne, his general Signature being only W. R. Most of our readers, we doubt not, will be gratified at thus viewing the handwriting of our most gracious Sovereign.

Billiar

GLEANINGS.

Antiquity.-A Phoenician inscription has just been found in Sicily, of the year 2025 before our era, accompanied by a later translation in Greek. It speaks of a great famine in Canaan, and the emigration of part of its inhabitants, who fixed themselves in the dominions of an Atlantide prince, who was then reigning, bat whose name is unfortunately effaced.

Roman Coins.-A communication made to the editor of a north-country paper, from the Carlisle museum, gives an account of several coins, urns, and other vestigia of what appears to have been a Roman cemetery of some extent. These interesting remains have been laid open in the course of the excavations now in progress, for the purpose of improving the London road, at a place called Gallows Hill, about half a mile from the town of Carlisle. A small urn, containing sundry coins in fine preservation, is also mentioned. Among them are some of Faustina, very beautiful. The writer adds: "The bottom of the urn, in which were the silver coins, bears testimony to a very remarkable chemical operation of nature. It exhibits a fine green glaze deposit, evidently the precipitation of the alloy of the silver, and in consequence the silver appears fresh and free from alloy, the coins having on their surface, but little appearance of metallic oxide. This fine, silent, and secret operation of nature has never hitherto been either discovered, or made a subject of speculation. No doubt it merits the best attention of the chemist, the naturalist, and the antiquarian."-Literary Gazette.

Earthquakes in London.-In the month of February, 1750, a violent shock of an earthquake, announced as it were by coruscations of aurora borealis, with tem pests of thunder, lightning, rain, and hail, greatly terrified the inhabitants of London; and this terror was redoubled by a similar phenomenon the very same day of the following month, between five and six o'clock in the morning; the shock was preceded by low flashes of lightning, and a rumbling noise like that of a heavy carriage rolling over a hollow pave

ment; its vibrations shook every house from top to bottom, and in many places the church bells were heard to strike; people started naked from their beds, and ran to their doors and windows in a state of distraction; yet no house was overthrown, and no life lost. A fanatical soldier went about preaching repentance, and prophesying that a third shock, on the same day in April, would lay the mighty Babylon in ruins. The churches were now crowded, and licentiousness was awed for a time; those who were able fled from the city, and the highways were encumbered with horses and carriages. "On the 8th of April," says Smollett," the open fields that skirt the metropolis were filled with an incredible number of people assembled in chairs, chaises, and coaches, as well as on foot, who waited in the most fearful suspense until morning, and the return of day disproved the truth of the dreaded prophecy." Bishop Sherlock took occasion from this to publish a" Pastoral Letter to the Clergy and Inhabitants of London and Westminster, on occasion of the late Earthquakes," of which one hundred thousand copies were sold in a month!- Valpy's Divines of the Church of England.

Christianity.-Pure and genuine Christianity never was, nor ever can be, the national religion of any country upon earth. It is a gold, too refined to be worked up with any human institution without a large portion of alloy-for no sooner is this small grain of mustard seed watered with the fertile showers of civil emoluments, than it grows up into a large and spreading tree, under the shelter of whose branches the birds of prey and plunder will not fail to make for themselves comfortable habitations, and thence deface its beauty and destroy its fruits.- Soam Jennings: Disquisitions on several Subjects.

Strange Conveyance.-A bottle was lately found by some fishermen near Berehaven, Bantry Bay. It contained, in a letter addressed to a gentleman in Scotland, a bond for 6007.; also a note requesting the finder of the bottle to forward them as directed, which has been complied with.-Southern Reporter.

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