discordant materials, of such strong lights and shades, of so much good, and of so much evil, of so much beauty, and of so much deformity, was the mass, taken together, composed; and so easy is it, by only selecting partially upon this side or upon that, to render the mirror in which it is reflected a display, either of all that charms or of all that repulses. Nor is chivalry itself exempt from the same variety of feature, as Mr. Mills's pages abundantly testify. Upon the basis of chivalry in general, arose orders of chivalry of two classes; the one commonly called religious, which was formed upon the model of the religious monastic or conventual orders, and the other military, which was an imitation of the former. More strictly, the first was military-religious, and the second religio-military in the one, military prowess was dedicated exclusively to the interests of religion; in the other, religion directed the general military dedication, or object of service. Among the most celebrated of the religious orders is that of the Templars, under so many aspects an institution of interest to English readers, and, among these, to the numerous class of readers of Ivanhoe and the Tales of the Crusaders, as well as of the History of the Crusades, in which work Mr. Mills had previously entered with fulness into its history: his addition to that detail possesses much interest. To his remarks on the Templars, Mr. Mills subjoins, from a French work published in 1817, an account of the successive Grand Masters, from Jacquade Molai, the grand master at the time of the persecution, to the dignitary now living. "The order," adds Mr. Mills, " has now its Grand Master, Bernardus Raymundus Fabré Palaprat, and there are colleges in England, and in many of the chief cities of Europe !" The connexion of the order seems to have been always peculiarly French; several princes of the house of Bourbon have been among its modern grand masters, and the statutes, &c. are kept at this day in Paris. "Thus," continues Mr. Mills, "the very ancient and sovereign order of the temple is now in full and chivalric existence, like those orders of Knighthood which were either formed in imitation of it, or had their origin in the same noble principles of chivalry. It has mourned as well as flourished; but there is in its nature a principle of vitality which has carried it through all the storms of fate. Its continuance, by representations, as well as by title, is as indisputable a fact as the existence of any other chivalric fraternity. The Templars of those days claim no titular rank, yet their station is so far identified with that of the other orders of knighthood, that they assert equal purity of descent from the same bright source of chivalry. Nor is it possible to impugn the legitimate claims to honourable estimation, which the modern brethren of the temple derive from the antiquity and pristine lustre of the order, without, at the same time, shaking to its centre the whole venerable fabric of knightly honour." Still pursuing, with an honourable zeal, the vindication of the order of the Temple, Mr. Mills remarks, in a note, that " the Templars find no favour in the eyes of the author of 'Ivanhoe,' and the 'Tales of the Crusaders.' He has imbibed all the vulgar prejudices against the order; and, when he wants a villain to form the shadow of his scene, he as regularly and unscrupulously resorts to the fraternity of the Temple, as other novelists refer to the church, or to Italy for a similar purpose." Now, the sentiment of historical justice (perhaps justly excited) which moves Mr. Mills to make himself a zealous champion of the Templars, does infinite credit, both to his heart and to his pen; but it is a point which seems to solicit the reconsideration of the author, as to whether, in the work before us, there is no encouragement afforded, upon the subject of the feudal system, to increase those "vulgar prejudices" which are elsewhere in motion against the church, against Italy, and against the Templars. Mr. Mills is everywhere unsparing of his reproaches upon the feudal system and name, and yet it will be found, that in the present work they are doubly out of place, as the very temper, general inference, and great bulk of detail, of his two present volumes, compose an eulogy, not, indeed, upon the vices, but upon the virtues, and upon the general character of that same feudal system. Nay, as a test, a challenge may be offered to the vindicator of the Templars, and to the historian of the Crusades, and of Chivalry, to continue his researches into the several component parts of the history of the middle ages; to write the history of the feudal system-not the dry, or, rather technical history of feudal law-but the history of feudal manners, morals, and transactions, and see whether he can make that history very different, in its general moral tone, from the "History of Chivalry!" Feudalism and chivalry are two equal ema nations from a previous and coexistent substratum of society; the fendal lords and the knights of chivalry are the same persons; it was their wealth as lords, that enabled them to exhibit the splendour, the accomplishments, the gay and joyous sports, the song, the music, and the dance. These attributes attach to the same individuals, who must be alternately viewed as knights and lords. Feudalism and chivalry were equally built upon the extreme distinction of ranks, and there is nothing either good or bad, which can be justly said of the one, that may not as justly be said of the other! It is by referring the reader to Mr. Mills's own pages, that the foregoing remarks may be best supported by the facts. Mr. Mills has himself shown, that chivalry, as chivalry, did not always produce the virtues which are justly to be expected from its institutions, and which, in point of fact, they frequently did produce. Where its "times" were unfavourable, chivalry had little or nothing, comparatively speaking, to recommend it. It was in France and in Eng. land that it flourished in purity. In Spain it was more romantic or oriental. In the north of Italy, the "hard" character of the people was not subdued by it. In Germany, every thing was "ferocious" in spite of it. What, then, constituted the glory of the "times" of chi valry? Not chivalry alone; it had its influences, but there were other influences at work also, and among them was the feudal system, which Mr. Mills seems to have a higher opinion than that in which we, even relatively, are inclined to indulge. of Passing over what may be called the philosophy, to the facts of these volumes, we find a succession and variety of anecdote, information, adventure, and agreeable images, so that the choice is embarrass ed as to those of which, by preference, to make mention; but the account of the festival and vow of the peacock must not be unnoticed, ،، Knights were wont, on these occasions, to repose on couches, or sit on benches.. The guests were placed two by two, and only one plate was allotted to each pair; for to eat on the same trencher or plate with any one was considered the strongest mark of friendship or love. Peacocks and pheasants were the peculiar food of knights on great and festival occasions; they were said to be the nutriment of lovers, and the viand of worthies. The peacock was as much esteemed in chivalric as in classic times; and as Jupiter clothed himself with a robe made of that bird's feathers, so Pope Paul, sending to King Pepin a sword, in sign of true regard, accompanied it with a mantle ornamented with a peacock's plumes. The highest honours were conferred on those birds; for knights associated with them all their ideas of fame, and vowed by the peacock, as well as by the ladies, to perform their highest enterprizes. A graceful splendour often characterised the circumstances in which the vow of the pheasant or peacock was made. "On a day of public festival, and between the courses of the repast, a troop of ladies brought into this assembly a peacock or a pheasant, roasted in its feathers, in a golden or silver dish. The hall was adorned with scenes, and wooden or other semblances of men, animals, or nature, all being expressive of the object for which the vow of the peacock was to be taken. If the promotion of religious wars was in view, a matron, clad in habiliments of woe, entered the room, and approaching the dais, or lofty seat, which the chief lords and knights surrounded [should not this rather read, the raised floor upon which the lords and knights were at table?] she recited a long complaint, in verse, on the evils she suffered under the yoke of infidels, and complained of the tardiness of Europe in attempting her deliverance. Some knights then advanced, to the sound of solemn minstrelsy, to the lord of the * castle, and presented two ladies, who bore between them the noble bird, in its splendid dish. In a brief speech, the ladies recommended themselves to his protection. The lord promised to make war upon the infidels, and sanctioned his resolution by appealing to God and the Virgin Mary, the Ladies, and the Peacock. All the knights who were in the hall drew their swords and repeated their vow; and while bright falchions and ladies' eyes illuminated the scene, each knight, inflamed by the thoughts of war and love, added some new difficulty to the enterprise, or bound himself, by grievous penalties, to achieve it. Sometimes a knight vowed that he would be the first to enter the enemy's territory. Others vowed that they would not sleep in beds, nor eat off a cloth, nor drink wine, till they had been delivered of their emprise. The dish was then placed upon the table, and the lord of the festival deputed some renowned knight to carve it in such a manner that every guest might taste the bird. While he was exercising the talents of carving and subdivision, a lady, dressed in white, came to thank the assembly, presenting twelve damsels, each conducted by a cavalier. These twelve represented, by emblematical dresses, Faith, Charity, Justice, Reason, Prudence, Temperance, Strength, Generosity, Mercy, Diligence, Hope, and Courage. This levy of bright damsels trooped round the hall, amid the applauses of the assembly, and then the repast proceeded." Mr. Mills has conferred a great additional favour upon the reading, if not equally so upon the aldermanic and epicurean world, by taking the trouble to turn to a French author, where he finds the receipt for that piece of cookery which had previously perplexed the present transcriber, namely, the peacock, "roasted in its feathers," a performance upon which it may be doubted whether even Dr. Kitchener could make an improvement. Mr. Mills's author is M. Le Grand, in his "Vie Privée des Français ;" and the passage is here copied, both because it seems necessary to the explanation suggested, and because the public has lately heard of the discovery of an ancient Roman fresco painting, in which a luxurious table is represented as groaning under (among other choice dishes, apparelled very much in the taste that follows) four peacocks, with their tails set, cater-corner! The peacock, according to M. Le Grand, was generally served up roasted. Instead of plucking the bird, skin it carefully, so as not to damage the feathers; then cut off the feet, stuff the body with spices and sweet herbs, roll a cloth round the head, and then spit your bird. Sprinkle the cloth all the time it is roasting, to preserve its crest When it is roasted enough, tie the feet on again, remove the cloth, set up the crest, replace the skin, spread out the tail, and so serve it up. Some people, instead of serving up the bird in the feathers, carry their magnificence so far as to cover their peacock with leaf gold! Others have a very pleasant way of regaling their guests: just before they serve up, they cram the beak of the peacock with wool. rubbed with camphor; then, when the dish is placed upon the table, they set fire to the wool, and the bird instantly vomits out flames, like a little volcano! In tracing the history of several chivalric institutions, Mr. Mills introduces us, incidentally, to the Italian origin of the name of blue stocking, as applied to coteries of literary ladies, to which ladies, by the way, as seen in so many estimable examples, like a courteous knight, he pays due and formal homage. Of the pleasant and attractive reading of the present work, the foregoing remarks may lead to the expectation, that nothing remains in the way of recommending to it very extensive perusal. LONDON LYRICS. An Actor's Meditations during his First London Season. How well I remember when old Drury Lane First open'd, a child in the Thespian train, I acted a Sprite in a sky-colour'd cloak, And danced round the cauldron which now I invoke. Speak, Witches! an Actor's nativity cast! Ye laugh, jibing beldames!-Ay! laugh well we may ! 'Tis a breath of light air from Frivolity's mouth; The Actor, who tugs half his life at the oar, Thanks, provident hags; while my circuit I run, Then let me the haven of competence reach, " HUMANITY AND MR. MARTIN. Of all the functions with which man is endowed, that which he exercises the most rarely and .mperfectly is thought. Very few of the species have their ideas sufficiently at command to express themselves clearly upon paper; and of these few, a still smaller proportion exercise their powers; except upon the ready-made generalities which language has prepared for them, without originating a single new conception for themselves, either by analysis or combination. The great mass only make believe to think, and speak without understanding either their interlocutors or themselves. How otherwise could we explain the conflicting opinions afloat in society concerning the personage whose name stands at the head of this paper, or the striking inconsistencies into which both his friends and his opponents have fallen in the conduct of their arguments? True it is that this worthy individual is much addicted to some of those absurdities of language and of action of which his countrymen in general stand accused; and that his bulls, practical and oral, may well unsettle the opinions of the nothinkers; yet is the idea of his blunt practical humanity so simple and obvious, that it is difficult for one who really uses his brains to be led astray even by these. Such, however, seems to be the fact: and since R. Martin, Esq. and M.P. has determined to add a new clause to the decalogue, and to force man, by Act of Parliament, not only to love his neighbour as himself, but his ox and his ass, and every (living) thing that is his likewise, it may not be amiss to let fall a word or two upon the subject, for the benefit of those country gentlemen upon whose shoulders the liberties of England are said more peculiarly to rest. We are told in the Book of Genesis, and mankind for the most part very potently believe, that all the fowls of the air and all the beasts of the field were given to man for his service; and there is scarcely an individual, when he has, or imagines he has, an use for the said fowls and beasts, who scruples to convert them, living or dead, to his purpose, let the process put them to what torture it may. There are thousands of tender mothers of families, who would not in the least be shocked at pulling the quills from the wings of a living goose, when they wanted to write a letter; and though barbecued pigs are now out of fashion, the most kind-hearted magistrate that ever committed a sick prostitute to the tread-mill, would have few "compunctious visitings of nature," in popping a lobster alive into hot water. The arrangements of society, it is true, enable the rich to throw the coarser horrors of butchery upon their inferiors; and the sight and smell of a good roasted saddle of mutton are very completely dissevered in the imagination from the blood, and the convulsions, the bleatings, and the struggles of a slaughter-house; but, if things were otherwise disposed, the aforesaid rich would go as coolly to work, to knock down an ox, or to skin an eel, as they now go forth, sympathies and all, to shoot woodcocks, dangle a trout on a string, or kill a score of horses and dogs to obtain a fox's brush. The most refined of us all look no further in our humanity than to obtain the animals we want by putting them to death (as old Isaac Walton has it)" as tenderly as if we loved them;" and to abstain from cruelty in all cases in which there is no |