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up his ears at the name of Magna Charta and of British liberties; whilst the youthful poet, fired with the beauties of Nature,

"loves the rural walk, O'er hills, thro'vallies, and by river's brink, And. truant-like, will gladly pass his bounds, T'enjoy a ramble on the Banks of Thames."

Perhaps most of your readers may recollect some early period of their lives, when every thing that was new produced in them an almost equal degree of pleasure, and when nothing exclusively, as in later years, was the masterwish to which their studies, their labours, and even their pleasures, were in a measure subservient, and they may be able to remember the suggestion of a friend, or the perusal of some author, which induced in them a new train of thought, and led them to the pursuit of objects before unheeded and unknown. -It never can be considered an un

interesting labour, and it may boast a considerable share of usefulness too, whilst we gaze with admiration on the meridian glories of genius, to trace the steps which have led to such perfection, to mark its rising, and to inquire as to the number and nature of the clouds that first obscured it, and how the mists

that surrounded it were dispelled. This has ever been the province of biography, and from this it derives a considerable portion of its interest; but in how few instances are noticed, and indeed now seldom can be discovered, the early motives that led to those pursuits the suc cess of which excites our admiration.

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean

bear;

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness in the desert air;"

is it not in many instances owing to the neglect of early search and original culture? Could the parent be convinced that his true interest lay in consulting the wishes, and confirming by his approbation, the choice of his son, should we not find a greater degree of fessions, and more frequent instances general excellence in particular proof attainment of knowledge in every branch of science?

Nothing that has been advanced can in any light be considered as recommending the gratification of every idle and romantic desire that youth may conceive, and of which longer experience has proved the futility:-we would only recommend that attention to the early bent of juvenile pursuits which might ensure the encouragement of talent, by permitting it to exercise itself in that manner which it has chosen for itself.

To what other cause shall we attribute the success of some of those ardent in

defatigable spirits whom no danger could dismay or difficulties fright, but the independent uncontrolled exertion of their own powers, launching forward into a tempestuous and stormy ocean, but steering the course that native will had pointed out to them?-What we are accustomed to style fortunate circumstances are oftener in our own direc tion than we are aware of; and if that

tune,"

is too often neglected by ourselves, ought it to be a matter of surprise that

Nor is this to be ranked amongst those subjects of comparatively triting im portance, which may, perhaps, afford pleasure in their consideration to the "tide in the affairs of men, mental philosopher, but are of little Which taken at the flood leads on to for or no practical utility-the present is one not merely of a speculative nature, but which may with justice demand attention from those employed in the education of youth, and more particularly from parents, whose object it should ever be to trace the progress of the opening faculties, to cherish and to fan into a flame the first sparks of genius, and to direct the studies of youth into those channels which Nature herself seems to have chosen, and where alone that self satisfaction can be experienced which affords so great assistance to exertion, and is so essential to success. If, as our elegant bard

says,

"all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in misery."

Should these few desultory remarks be deemed worthy a place in your valuable Magazine, the writer may take the liberty of extending the present subject in some future communication, by pointing out several striking instances, tending to illustrate the correctness of his observations.

ALFRED.

THE LITERARY GARDEN.

No. XVI.

·μὴ δηθὰ δόμωον ἄποτῆλ' άλαλησο, -pasi

-σὺ δὲ τηϋσίην ὁδον ἔλθης.

Ном.

Hence warn'd beware— -nor idly stand
Too long a stranger to thy native land;

Lest thou return, with disappointed toil,
From thy vain journey.

POPE's Odyssey. At a time when the rage for visiting the Continent is daily becoming more prevalent, it is hoped that the following narrative, which we owe to a friend who has occasionally assisted in the cultivation of the Literary Garden, may induce some persons to pause before they quit their native land, under the vain idea of finding fewer cares and more comforts in a foreign realm.

About three years before the termination of the late war, Mr. Goodward, a merchant of the first respectability in London, having sustained some heavy losses in business, resolved to withdraw from commercial concerns, and employ the remainder of his capital in agriculture. For this purpose, he took a farm of some magnitude in the county of Essex, and was at first highly delighted with his new undertaking, in which he flattered himself there could be no risk. But he held the farm at a high rent, and the produce of land fell in value the year following: so that at the end of two years he found he was losing instead of gaining money. This was a source of much uneasiness, as he had a Bumerous family, consisting of two boys and three girls, the eldest of whom, Harriet, was in her sixteenth year. A fit of the gout was occasioned by this anxiety; but while he was recovering from his indisposition, that peace which the nations of Europe had so ardently wished for, was at length announced "We'll give up farming," said Mrs. Goodward," and go and reside in France, when we shall live better for half the money that we spend here; besides, that country offers superior advantages in regard to the education of our children." Mr. Goodward could not bear the idea of residing abroad; he thought that by strict economy in housekeeping they might live very comfortably in England, and for his part he was not over-anxious that his daughters should speak French fluently, and dance

cotillions and waltzes in the first style. Mrs. Goodward, who had brought her 'husband some fortune, and who, in the days of their prosperity, had gone much into fashionable society, maintained that with the utmost management it would not be possible to live with any degree of respectability in England, and could not help expressing her astonishment that Mr. G. should object to a plan which so many English families were now adopting, which would lead to a considerable saving of income, and would be productive of essential benefit to the children. Mr. Goodward yielded ; the farm was let; and in a short time they set out on their journey. thought of taking up his abode at Rouen; but his wife preferred the interior of France, and had been told by a friend, that Orleans would be the best place for a fixed residence, as they would there have the advantages of a pleasant town and genteel society, with every accommodation in regard to housekeeping on more reasonable terms than at Rouen; besides, in their way thither, they would have an opportunity of seeing Paris; an object, in Mrs. G.'s mind, of no small consequence.

He

Our travellers reached Paris without any occurrence of moment. After they had spent about a fortnight in seeing every thing worthy of notice, they were preparing to leave the capital, when two of the youngest children, George and Maria, fell ill. The disorder was a fever and sore throat; the symptoms were at first slight; but in a few days the disorder increased to an alarming degree, and proved fatal to both. The other children escaped; but Mrs. G. caught the infection, and for several days was considered to be in the greatest danger; however, she gradually recovered; and as soon as she was equal to travelling, they proceeded to Orleans. Just as they were entering the town, one of the wheels of the carriage flew off, and Mrs. G. was dashed with so much violence against one of the glasses, that her face was cut in a frightful manner, and instantly streamed with blood. The children shrieked; Mrs. G. fainted; and Mr. G. called out for help. The parties were soon extricated from their unpleasant situation, and Mrs.' G. was conveyed in an arm chair to the nearest ian, while her husband and children followed on foot. A surgeon was immediately sent for, who, having examined the wounds, assured Mrs. G. that

they would soon be healed; indeed, so it turned out, but not without leaving a few scars rather detrimental to her pretty features.

They soon met with a house at the edge of the town suited to their wishes, and by change of air and scene Mrs. G.'s health and spirits were gradually restored. There were other English people at Orleans besides themselves, with whom they exchanged visits; but Mrs. G. was chiefly solicitous of cultivating an acquaintance with the French families, to give her children opportunities of attaining a perfect knowledge of the language of the country. This wish was amply gratified; for in the space of three or four months, they were invited to the evening parties of the most respectable inhabitants of the town. These parties were enlivened by cards, music, and dancing, and generally concluded with a supper, consisting of pastry and a profusion of delicious fruits.

The politeness of the inhabitants joined to the fineness of the climate, it was now autumn, and the pleasant walks along the banks of the Loire, gradually reconciled Mr. G. to his new residence, though, in consequence of his scanty knowledge of the French language, he kept away from most of the parties to which his wife and daughters went, and was more frequently troubled with gouty indisposition than he had been in England, which he was inclined to attribute to the quality of the wines. With regard to economy, he found, in consequence of his protracted stay at Paris, by the melan choly events before mentioned, that his first year's expenditure had equalled bis usual expenditure in England; but be calculated on a considerable saving the next year. In the mean time a new cause of uneasiness occurred. An officer of the rank of colonel, who had formerly served under Buonaparte, but on the restoration of Louis XVIII. had taken the oath of allegiance to his legitimate sovereign, belonged to the regiment of gens d'armes quartered at Örleans. He had met with Harriet Goodward at various parties, had often danced with her, and was captivated with her beauty and accomplishments. She possessed a most graceful figure, finelymoulded features, an intelligent and sweetly-expressive countenauce, much sprightliness in conversation, and could

sing and play upon the harp delightfully. As for the colonel, he was a man of good person and agreeable manners, and by his polite and unceasing attentions he had completely won Harriet's affections. Assured of this, he lost no time in soliciting her father's consent to their marriage. This proposal came so unexpectedly upon Mr. Goodward, that he begged time to consider of it. No. thing was ever more remote from his intentions than to marry his daughter to a Frenchman. He could give her no fortune, and the colonel had nothing but his pay; but the difference in religion was a still greater objection. His wife, however, thought otherwise. The colonel, she said, was a most agreeable polite man-a man who frequented the best circles—a perfect gentleman; and for her part, she thought a French gentleman as good as an English gentleman-aye, and better too, for he does not sit over his bottle so long. If his income was small at present, it would be larger by and by, for he had told her he had no doubt he should soon be promoted to the rank of a general. Then with regard to religion, Mr. G. must know many instances in England of catholics intermarrying with protes tants, and living together quite as happily as people of one religion generally do; besides, added she, military gentlemen do not trouble themselves much about points of religion. Finding the mother favourable to the match, and Harriet's affections too firmly engaged, Mr. G. to prevent worse consequences, consented to their union, giving with his daughter what money he could spare at the time, and setthing upon her an annuity of one bundred pounds They had been married about four months, when, one morning. as the colonel was going to mount guard, he was arrested. It appeared that he had occasionally corresponded with some officers of the disbanded regiments, but merely on the footing of friendship, and without any relation whatever to political matters. These letters had been opened, and some expressions used by his correspondent had been wrongly interpreted. On such grounds was Harriet's husband arrested and marched from Orleans to one of the prisons in the capitol. A few week after this distressing occurrence, Mr Goodward received a letter from hi agent in London, informing him, tha

V

the person to whom he had let his farm was become insolvent, and that the last half year's rent was unpaid.

It was now absolutely necessary that he should return to England immediately. Harriet, who was overwhelmed with grief, was determined on going to Paris in quest of her husband, and her mother could not think of leaving her in the midst of her affliction. Their only boy, William, was now about twelve years old, and their unmarried daughter, Charlotte, was turned fourteen. These, in spite of his wife's entreaties to the contrary, Mr. G. took with him, fearing, if he left them behind, they would both be completely frenchified; and, what would be still worse, that Charlotte might in time, like her sister, become attached to some French resident. The route which he took was through Rouen to Dieppe, where he embarked, and arrived at Brighton, after an absence of about two years and a quarter.

Every object which he had in view had been frustrated. By untoward occurrences his expenditure had been equal to what it had been in England, while his income had been reduced by the insolvency of his tenant. His health as well as his fortune had been impaired; two of his children had fallen victims to disease, and a third had contracted an unhappy marriage. Such was the result of an experimental residence in France!

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ACORRESPONDENT

on Mr. gazine for May, remarking on Mr. Kemble's manner of pronouncing the word aches, by which he makes it a dissyllable, has cited a line from the "Hermit's Meditations," in support of the reading adopted by that inimitable actor and classical scholar.

In addition to the very just remarks and apposite. quotation of your Correspondent, permit me to point out the following couplet from Swift's description of a City Shower, in which the metre evidently requires Mr. Kemble's reading,

"A coming show'r your shooting corns presage,

Old aches throb your hollow tooth will rage."

Another instance, equally strong, occurs in the following distich from Butler's Hudibras :

"The natural effects of love,

As other flames and aches prove." And in the line which follows from the same author, not only the metre but the rhyme also requires Mr. Kemble's reading :

"As no man of his own self catches The itch or amorous French aches." R. A. D.

Sit mihi fas audita loqui. VIRG. To the Editor of the European Magazine.

SIR,

SI know of no publication more A widely extended than the European Magazine, permit a follower of the Nine to offer up at their shrine, through your medium, a few lines of him who ever figured the foremost of their trainI mean Burns!

And who is there, Sir, I would ask, that does not feel his very soul roused to an elevation beyond this earthly scene at the very mention of this departed bard?- for the untimely loss of one who knew the inmost heart so well, and the finer fibres by which it is attenuated to a degree of absolute perfection which makes every thing valuable to the polite arts, as the means by which they flourish and are kept alive, who does not grieve?

Augustus, who was advised not to lament for the death of a person whom he loved, because his sorrow could not fetch him again-" It is for that very reason," said the Emperor, "that f grieve!"

I had what I am now about to transcribe from one who knew Burns well,

man,

and knew his bag at a tinue" thick he bore his blushing honours thick about him"-from the lips of a Scotchwho declared to me he heard them recited in propriú personâ at a convivial meeting where Burns was no stranger, and where he forgot

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Words so characteristic of Burns need no comment-they were uttered in a moment when the Muse might, or not, be favourable, to an extempore flight. That they were spoken by him, I can bring, if necessary, undoubted proof; and though I could wish that many objectionable parts composed by him were obliterated from his works, yet the pathos of his writings are such, I trust, as will warrant a communication from one who has had many of his melancholy hours brightened by his lively and affecting strains-to his manes be peace !-to whose memory a monument I could wish to raise of a far nobler construction than that which we see for a model in the British Academy-but when this and all others shall crumble to dust, the name of Burns shall be engraven in the heart of his admirers when time shall have defied the sculptor's art!

I have the honour to be, Mr. Editor (in haste), your obliged servant,

2, Goldsmith's-row, Hackney-
fields, 8th June, 1816.

For the EUROPEAN MAGAZINE.
SHAKSPEARE.

H.

"Dear son of Memory, great heir of fame." MILTON.

REMARKS on the MONUMENTAL BUST of

SHAKSPEARE. "Approach: behold this marble. Know ye not

The features? Hath not oft his faithful

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and in the history of man, so is that of Shakspeare; for though The English Poet is comparatively a modern, yet it is as difficult and doubtful to substantiate the authenticity of a portrait of him, as of the ancient Grecian hero, or poet, or of the more estimable English monarch. There is neither proof nor intimation that Shakspeare ever sat for a picture; and it must be admitted, that the whole host of presumed portraits “ come in such questionable shapes," and with such equivocal pedigrees, that suspicion

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or disbelief attach to all. Not so the Monumental Bust at Stratford : this appeals to our eyes and understandings with all the force of truth. We view it as a family record; as a memorial raised by the affection and esteem of his relatives, to keep alive contemporary admiration, and to excite the glow of enthusiasm in posterity. This invaluable "effigy" is attested by tradition, consecrated by time, and preserved in the inviolability of its own simplicity and sacred station. It was evidently executed immediately after the poet's decease and probably under the superintendance of his son-in-law, Dr. Hall, and his daughter; the latter of whom, according to her epitaph, was Witty above her sexe," and therein like her father. Leonard Digges, in a poem praising the works and worth of Shakspeare, and published within seven years after his death, speaks of the Stratford monument as a well known object. Dugdale, in his "Antiquities of Warwickshire," 1656, gives a plate of the monument, but drawn and eugraved in a truly tasteless and inaccurate style, and observes in the text, that the poet was famous, and thus entitled to such distinction. Langbaine, in his “Account of English Dramatic Poets," 1651, pronounces the Stratford Bust Shakspeare's "true effigies." These are decided proofs of its antiquity; and we may safely conclude that it was intended to be a faithful portrait of the poet. In the age this was executed, it was customary to pourtry the heads and figures of illustrious and eminent persons by monumental statues and busts. (See Gough's "Sepulchral Monuments," vol. 2.) Many were cut in alabaster, and in white marble, and others were formed of stone. In the reigns of Henry VI. VII. and VIII. some of the English monumental sculptare' is remarkable for a fine style; combining the essentials of breadth, simph

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