evanishing of Old Cerberus, "with a melodious twang, leaving behind him a strong smell of brimstone." The Green-Room, wonderstruck at his minute acquaintance with all their doings, and the sagacity of all his criticisms, had long come to the conclusion that" the devil was in him:" and when they learn this strange event, they may perhaps attribute to him a closer connexion, verging on identity, with that very respectable person. The commencement of our career is nearly coeval with that of the new patent, and happens, at least, before the company has been completed in all its departments. It would be gross flattery to call it a good one as it stands. It needs both filling up and weeding; and some of the most talented among them will be nothing the worse of a little drilling. But, in regard to this requisite, they need not be in the least alarm-with the Manager behind the scenes, and with us before them, they shall, please the pigs! have no lack of that. Of this, however, we can assure them, that our criticisms, though unceremonious, shall be offered in a friendly spirit; and we believe that, with occasional bickerings, such as become friends, we shall drag on as pleasant a sort of a cat-and-dog life together, as can be expected between a bird of prey and those he is born to prey upon. We shall have ample time to pay our respects to our resident friends hereafter-although we do not intend to keep company so long with them as the "Bottle Imp" pleasantly proposes to our namesake—so they must not be offended if we this week devote our attentions principally to the stranger.

And

We have long liked Young, and never more than now that we are about to lose him. He and Charles Kemble are the only remaining representatives of a school of actors, who had already begun to die out when we first became play-goers-who live in our remembrance with all the freshness and brightness of childhood's recollections—who are to us floating half-way betwixt the legends and the realities of the stage, with all the distinctness of the one and all the imagined glory of the other. now the stronger of these two remaining links which bind us to a prouder age, is about to be torn from us. We feel deeply the loss even of a commonplace actor-it is as if a book had crumbled to dust, or a favourite statue been broken. It is not a mere man who dies, but the creations of the poet embodied in him, which we had fancied must long outlast us. How much more then must this be the case, when one retires, around whom genius has shed her ennobling spell, and whose private worth and urbanity have completed the charm? We pay this tribute to Young -it is no lip-homage, but the honest feelings of our heart. As yet we have only seen him in Hamlet, Don Felix, and Beverley-but we must see him as a Roman before he goes. There are other Hamlets, as far as Hamlet can be acted, other Dons, and other Beverleys, but when he is gone, the last of the Romans has left us. We must see him too as Iago-his masterpiece. But let us look, in the meantime, to what we have seen.

His Hamlet kept the house in more breathless attention than we have witnessed this winter. When those disturbers of all scenic illusion-the liveried removers of chairs and tables-made their appearance, instead of being greeted with a general roar, as usual, they excited only one solitary laugh, which was instantly repressed by a deep, earnest hush. Hamlet is so perfectly a creature apart from all coherences of time and place, that we did not feel Young's age at all. Then, he has by long practice made himself so completely master of all the points, that nothing was lost. There was just enough of energy, the dignity of the prince, and the urbanity of the gentleman. His manly and graceful avowal that he had wronged Laertes, ought to have saved him. The most striking passages in his performance were :-his manner of receiving the ghost's tale-the scene at the play-the interview with his mother-and the churchyard scene. could only discover two erroneous readings in the course of the evening. "Oh my prophetic soul! my uncle".

We

was given as a triumphant appeal to his informant it ought to have been uttered as an involuntary groan at finding the black suspicion, against which he had combated, confirmed. His directions to the player were given with the emphasis of one who, belonging to the profession, thinks them all important: not with the ease of a gentleman, who throws them out casually, and with a certain degree of indifference.

Don Felix was a more trying character-youth is there all but indispensable in the actor. But the man of genius and the practised performer rose superior to the difficulty, although occasionally the careless lounge struck us as betraying that want of elasticity it was intended to conceal. The most triumphant scene was that of his quarrel with Colonel Britton. The haughty air at his first introduction, occasioned by the tidings Lissardo has just brought him,-the eager listening to the Colonel's thoughtless disclosures, the forced laugh,-the peevish contortion, the final explosion of rage, hatred, and revenge-bore the audience triumphantly along, and were succeeded by loud and prolonged applause.

It is no slight consideration that leads us to see the "Gamester." For the matter of entertainment, we had almost as soon make one among the intellectual crowd that gathers to see a hanging-match, or, what is perhaps a still more appropriate simile, a man broke upon the wheel. True tragedy should stir up all the emotions of the heart; but the pitiful aim of this drama is limited to the exciting of tears. Now, of all the emotions of our nature, the grief and pain which find vent in tears are the most enfeebling, and the most unredeemedly painful. The "Gamester" afflicts us with one petty, paltry misery after another, unredeemed by any gleam of poetry or heroic endurance. It is no small compliment, then, that we pay to Young, when we say, that in as far as his character is concerned, he entirely overcame the disgust with which we have been accustomed to regard the play. He stood before us a man and a gentlemen, the victim and the sport of powerful and conflicting passions. In general, these were expressed by low, broken tones, and suppressed shudderings, which convulsed his frame. It was the struggle of an impetuous nature with a determined will, schooled in the restraints of polished society. But when he gave way—as in the scene where he enters with Stukley, after having lost every thing at the gamingtable-his energy was overpowering. It was terrible to see him hurry away, eager for irrevocable ruin.

Have we omitted any thing we wished to say? Yes. It is not often that we can get over the feeling that the scenery is mere pasteboard and canvass. We could more easily fancy a dingy wall to be forests, towns, and towers. But Young's Hamlet effected this wonder. Caught within his spell, the walls seemed to recede, and assume the reality of what they merely represented. We have left ourselves no room for the other performers at this bout.

A single star in heaven serene,
Shone like a solitary queen,
Pale, pensive, lone.

They paused beside a ruin grey,
That on the wave look'd down;
Its mouldering turrets mirror'd lay,
Fantastic in their green decay,

With wild flowers grown!

All silence round-but soft and low
A voice of sweetness broke
Upon the hush, like music's flow
To weary hearts oppress'd with woe,-
'Twas Zilla spoke;

"Thy land, beloved! is o'er the sea,

Where thy brave fathers sleep,

And thou must wander far from me!
Ah! when I bid farewell to thee,
I cannot weep!

"Oh! think what I to thee have given, All, all I value dear

A heart whose faith is fix'd as heaven, Eternal as yon star of even,

Now burning clear!

"Even as the flower will droop and die, When light and heat are taken,—

My soul, that beats in youth so high,
Would wither swift and silently,
By thee forsaken!

"We part!-and life is link'd with death, 'Tis sure alone-to die!

An hour may stop the warmest breath,
And all we love at last beneath

The turf must lie!

"We part!--but shall we meet again On this green earth as now? How many days and nights of pain Before that hour may fling their stain On thy young brow!

"We part! we part!-I know no more— We see not future years;

But, oh! may we, when life is o'er,
Together tread that blessed shore
Unknown to tears!"

One moment on the deepening sky
Young Albert fix'd his look,

And then, methought, his starlike eye
A light as from the throne on high
All glorious took!

"Oh! Zilla, the omniscient Lord

Of heaven and earth and sea,

To whom our prayers so oft we've pour'd, Now looks from where he dwells adored, On thee and me!

"Even as the page of nature lies

Outspread to mortal sight,
Our souls are open to His eyes,——
With Him whose home is in the skies,
There is no night!

"While rocks endure in ocean wide,
And stars rise o'er the sea,
No dearer joy-no purer pride—
This heart can own-whate'er betide-
Than loving thee!"

IN the press, Vol. I. of a " Complete History of the Christian Church," translated from the German of Dr Augustus Neander, of Berlin, under the inspection of the author, by the Rev. James Hamilton; with a preface, and copious notes, and illustrations, furnished to the translator by Dr Neander himself.

The author of "The Nineteenth Century," announces a new novel under the name of "At Home and Abroad."

Illustrations of the rarer plants contained in the Herbarium. collected by Dr Horsfield in the island of Java, selected and de. scribed by Robert Brown, Esq., are about to be published.

Speedily will be published, a poem, in three cantos, entitled, "Fitz-Raymond, or the Rambler on the Rhine," a metrico-politi. cal sketch of past and present times; written during an excur sion in 1830.

The lovers of Ornithology will, we are sure, rejoice to learn. that Mr Rennie, author of "Insect Architecture," will publish, in the course of this month, a second edition of Montagu's Ornitho. logical Dictionary, enlarged and modified according to the latest improvements of the science, We have seen some of the wood. cuts intended to illustrate this work, and incline to think them equal, in truth, to those of Bewick, and much finer and clearer in the engraving.

We are requested to inform such ladies and gentlemen as con. template a tour through Wales during the ensuing summer, that Leigh's Guide through Wales and Monmouthshire, and Roberts' Welsh Interpreter, have just been published, and are much at their service for CON-SI-DER-A-TI-ON.

It is estimated that there are above fifteen hundred learned and scientific societies in the world; above half of which are occupied in the encouragement of agriculture, mannfactures, and commerce. EDINBURGH.-The Professional Society of Musicians have an. nounced their intention to give a Morning Concert.—Tableaux have been quite fashionable at evening parties this winter. We are very fond of Tableaux. They gratify the vanity of the performers, and strike the rest of the company with ennui. The most successful Tableau of the season has been that which was got up under the special countenance of the Lord Provost on Monday night. The performers gave, with great effect, Retsch's beautiful illustration of Guy Mannering :

"Gin by pailfuls, wine in rivers, Dash the window-glass to shivers." LONDON.-Ridgway has published the majority and minority on the Reform Question, in black and red ink: Hewlett and Brimmer have given them in black and gold.-Hummel, the celebrated musician, is to visit us in the latter end of this month-about the same time that Paganini is expected.-All last week, Evans's Rooms in Pall Mall were crowded with the curious to view the splendid collection of books, the property of the Duchess de Berri. They are splendidly-perhaps too gaudily bound. The Albums were the principal attraction, they contain specimens of all the most celebrated French artists. To us they seem as inferior to our own, in power and truth to nature, as they are superior in the choice of subjects. The collection of works on natural history is extremely valuable.-The Queen has regularly attended the Wednesday lectures delivered by the Bishop of London in St James's Church. For the benefit of the curious in these matters, we subjoin the account of the dress worn by her Majesty last Wednesday:-" A black velvet pelisse, trimmed with swansdown, and a white bonnet with a plume of feathers."-The House of Commons was so crowded during the discussion of the Reform bill, that the roof was crowded with the wives and daughters of members striving to hear or see something through the ventilators.

CORRECTED TO FEBRUARY, 1831.

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the time of Fielding and Smollett, as have, like the productions of those great delineators of nature and manners, taken their rank among English Classics.

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rank by the side of reality, and are appealed to as evidence in all It has been truly observed that well-wrought novels " take their questions concerning man.". It follows, therefore, that as manners change, and character (which often depends on manners) varies, "the mirror held up to nature" must change also; and that, valuable as the older fictions are, it is necessary to study also those which have succeeded them, and which enable us to contemplate with advantage that" which before us lies in daily life," and which has been designated by a great authority as " the prime wisdom."

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AN ESSAY ON FLIRTS.

DEDICATED TO THE LADIES OF EDINBURGH.

FLIRTS are especial favourites of ours, and we hold ourselves bound, as good knights and true, to do battle for their reputation, at all times, and against all comers. Be it understood that we speak now of Flirts in the restricted acceptation of the term, and not of Jilts, who are immoral, nor of Coquettes, who are heartless personages. true Flirt is quite a different sort of person.

The

The appellation is the same with that used to designate a certain sudden, but not ungraceful, mode of unfurling a fan; and if we may credit the tradition embodied in one of our most venerable "Joe Millers," there is some mysterious analogy supposed to exist between the character of the motion, and that of the class of the fair sex to whom the name Flirt has been applied. A Flirt is a girl of more than common beauty, grace, and amiability, just hovering on the verge which separates childhood from womanhood. She is just awakening to a sense of her power, and finds an innocent pleasure in exercising it. The blissful consciousness parts her lips with prouder breath, kindles up her eyes with richer lustre, and gives additional buoyancy and swan-like grace to her motions. She looks for homage at the hands of every man who approaches her, and richly does she repay him with rosy smiles and sparkling glances.

There is no passion in all this. It is the first trembling into conscious existence of that sentiment which will become love in time. It is the heart of woman venturing timidly to inhale imperceptible portions of that atmosphere of devoted affection in which alone she can afterwards breathe and exist. There is nothing of vanity in it, nothing of selfishness. She thinks not of her beauty while thus triumphantly wielding its spell, any more than does that young greyhound fetching his graceful gambols before us. She feels only the delight of exercising a newborn power. She regards not her own indulgence; happy herself, she sees others happy to sun themselves in her smile, and feels yet more happy in consequence. It is the rich gush of young existence that mantles at her heart, and overflows in loveliness. Oh! blame it not, nor regard austerely. Like the first blush of morning, it dies away before we can well note its surpassing beauty, and all that is to succeed of after life is dull and tame in comparison.

That a girl chances to be a Flirt at a certain age, is no proof that she is incapable of enduring affection, but rather the contrary. Beauty is the exuberance, the falness, the overflow of nature. And the richer, the more dazzling the beauty at the moment, when, like a butterfly bursting from its hull, the girl passes insensibly into the woman, the more reason there is to expect a ripe store of affection beneath. It is, indeed, warmth of heart alone that can give the finishing grace to the gay and playful creature we have been describing. If there be beauty, and elegance, and sportiveness, and wit at will, and yet the beholder feel himself obliged to confess that there is some charm awanting-he cannot exactly say what, although he feels its absence--he may depend upon

it that closer search will show him minute, but sure signs of heartlessness.

A Flirt is, however, a dangerous creature: not that she means any harm, but that she unconsciously and involuntarily turns the heads of all who approach her. Boys she strikes down by dozens, wherever she moves. If, while tripping along the street on a windy day, the increasing vehemence of the blast force her to turn away from it to adjust the set of her bonnet, the sweep of her laughing eye to see whether any one observes, and the ready blush when she marks all eyes turned upon her, make captive at least six juvenile swains. In the turn of a waltz, her aerial gliding (vera incessu patuit dea) draws the attention of all. She cannot ask for a glass of lemonade, without making an involuntary conquest. Nay, " tough seniors"-men inured to business-are not safe. They look with complacency on a thing so lovely

with a paternal placid benignity-but longer conversation awakens warmer thoughts, and, in proportion as the infusion of the passion is more difficult into such toilstrung thewes, so is its eradication more difficult.

But the danger does not stop here. By a retro-active influence, all this lip and eye homage may well at times turn the head of a giddy and inexperienced girl. This, however, is a danger not to be avoided; and cure we know of none, save a generous, deep-rooted affection, which, sooner or later, is the lot of every true woman. It is beautiful to see the effect of serious love upon the gayest of these creatures!-how completely all their little vanity is melted away by its engrossing warmth. Not that we think love, any more than the feeling we have been describing, an enduring passion. It is only more intense and absorbing. That affection alone is lasting, in which love has, upon further acquaintance, been confirmed by esteem, and which has been heightened by common sympathies, strengthened by the endurance of common trials, rooted for eternity by mutual forbearance. No one, we will be bold to say, has read the romance of Undine without pleasure, and yet we suspect, that to the majority of readers (to ourselves we know) its supernatural mysteries constitute the least part of its attraction. The interest centres in Undine. And what is she? A shadowy type of every beautiful and amiable woman, in the successive stages of her mind's developement-the Flirt, the Lover, and the Wife.

In our opinion, however, the period of flirtation is of very brief duration. It is (we beg our fair readers not to imagine that any improper insinuation is couched under this simile) an ebullition of momentary excitement, akin to that of the pointer when loosened from his chain on a fine September morning. It excites admiration only so long as it is unconscious. The instant a woman plays off these little airs with foreknowledge and predetermination, their innocence is gone. They are to be reprehended as indications of a designing mind. Their exercise is on a par with the use of cosmetics and dress to repair or conceal the ravages of age. Our fair friend has ceased to be a Flirt, and has become a Coquette.

We have already stated that there exists a distinction between these two characters, and that this distinction is