the offering of a most grateful and overflowing heart. At such a moment I may crave pardon for referring with pride to the royal countenance which has been bestowed upon my art, albeit through the medium of the very humblest of its votaries.

A VERY good comedian and estimable man, Mr. Bartley, bade farewell to the stage on Saturday, the 18th of December, at the Princess' Theatre, after acting Falstaff, in a speech admirable for its propriety and good taste, and for the unaffected manner of its delivery. The sentences we now quote will claim a corner in some future history of the theatres, to which, for so long a time, Mr. Bartley's jovial presence and hearty manner of acting (how effective was his General Damas in the Lady of Lyons!) contributed not the least good-humored of their attractions.-Ex

aminer.

Ladies and Gentlemen :-This night, fifty years ago -this very night, the night of the week, and the date of the month-I had the honor to appear in London, and to make my bow before your sires and grandsires. Believe me, it is something more than mere vanity that induces me, now that the long play is over, to offer one parting word to their children. The years behind me are very many-those before me are few indeed; and I quit the mimic scene to prepare, as is the common lot, for another-a more real and a

final leave-taking. As I stand before you here, grate ful for the kindest appreciation of the poorest services, it is impossible for me not to recall vividly the expectation and hope with which my boyish heart, half a century ago, beat when I first trod the London boards. The hope I entertain now is that, whatever may have been my imperfections as an artist, I have not thrown discredit upon my art. The expectation that I feel-not, I trust, an unwarrantable one-is, that I may at length retire into privacy with the good wishes of my latest, but certainly not my coldest and least indulgent, patrons.

A few years ago, ladies and gentlemen, soldiers were still living who could tell of their deeds when they were out in "the '45." I am one of an old company made up of names which sound traditional in your ears. John Bannister was my brother actor, Mrs. Jordan played Rosalind at old Drury when my youthful ambition was gratified to the top of its bent, and I was permitted to act the part of Orlando. I will not weary you by reference to other worthies, and I mention these two because, while to my latest hours it will be a source of the deepest pride to me that I have acted with some of the most renowned of English players, it is also my highest pleasure to feel that I was honored with their confidence and friendship to the last. That I have been so favored-that I have, furthermore, received here from Mr. and Mrs. Kean, at the close of my labors, tokens of personal regard and esteem to which I cannot be insensibleis matter of little moment to the public; but my fellow-players, whom, on retiring this night, I leave behind me, will, I am sure, value at its full worth the parting legacy which assures them that no position in a theatre is too humble to exclude a man from respect, if he will only persevere, take pains, and respect himself.

For the gracious and illustrious patronage which has cheered my declining days, and which sheds hap

Ladies and gentlemen, I have no right to presume instant. I could not deny myself the satisfaction of upon your indulgence by detaining you for another saying "Good-by ;" and, having said it, I have only further to thank you most heartily and sincerely for your kind remembrance of one whom you might easily have been pardoned for forgetting, and to wish you all happiness and prosperity. Farewell!

A first-rate Notice from Tait's Magazine.

Yr Ynys Unyg; or, the Lonely Island. A Narrative for Young People. London: Simpkin, Marshall, and Co., Stationer's Hall Court: George Routledge and Co., Farringdon street. Newcastleupon-Tyne: F. and W. Dodsworth. 1852.

Ir would puzzle the author of this singular narrative, we imagine, to inform us in what latitude the " Lonely Island" is to be found. The tale purports to be the history of a family group, consisting chiefly of ladies and children, who set forth in a well-victualled yacht in search of adventure on the ocean. They are driven by a storm to the island with the ugly name, where they are compelled to take up their abode, while the captain and crew, unloading the damaged yacht, proceed with her to a distant part to get her repaired. During the absence of the crew, the ladies and children lead a sort of Crusoe life in the desert island, where they run the risk of being devoured by a monster snake, who bolts their cow at a to digest it. After the snake come a gang of meal, but is fortunately killed before he has time pirates, who are kept at bay by the valor of the ladies and children. By and by the yacht returns in the hands of pirates, who have captured her, bringing back the captain and gamekeeper (!) who contrive to rejoin the ladies. The family party is at length besieged in their refuge on the top of a high rock; but the pirates, not being able to get at them, threaten to sweep the surface of the rock with the cannon of the yacht, lying some hundred feet below! However, just as they are all going to be blown to atoms by the cannon, a man-ofwar's boat is heard rowing round the point, and the pirates are overpowered by British tars. happy conclusion winds up the story. This volume is the joint production of an author who cannot write, of an artist who cannot draw, and of a printer who cannot print. The ladies talk slang, and are described as muttering "horrible imprecations" against their adversaries; they are vulgar in manners, and degraded in mind; at the same time they are described as pious and prayerful, and held up as religious examples to the young. The only respectable portion of the book is its binding, which is neat and substantial; all within the covers is rubbish of the first water.

From Punch.

"TO THE EDITOR OF NOTES AND QUERIES.

A

"Sir-Will you be pleased to inform the Members of our Reading Club, whether or not the Rev. Mr. Northcote, the miracle-monger, is a distant relation of the late Miss Joanna Southcote, who was formerly in the same line of business?

"Yours, in a state of wonder,

"IGNATIUS GULLIBLE BOLLIR.”

"Almighty God!"-'t was thus Gustavus spoke,
Kneeling the first of twenty thousand Swedes
On German soil-"No thirst for conquest leads
Us here. Behind no subterfuge we cloak
Our aims. Again would Rome impose her yoke

On our freed souls. Brother to brother pleads For aid; but what avail all mortal deeds Without Thy aid—the aid we here invoke?" Steadfast they rose. No soldier idly chats

To his comrade; but from rank to rank there ran, From breast to breast, from kindling eye to eye, A flame, might startle Ferdinand of Gratz, In the Schonbrun, Wallenstein, a kinglier man Might scare, as if a meteor crossed his sky.

Lost in Bohemia! Yet another moon,
And France to the Lutheran's will her part attune;
And, 'gainst such odds, what force have I to bar
His way to Ulm? or, if he cross the Aar,
His march on Vienna?" Amid papers strewn
Confusedly in his cabinet, you may see

The Emperor's pale, quivering lips betray
These torturing thoughts. Erewhile, oft in his
mouth

The Swede went coupled with a jeu d'esprit"We'll never catch this snow-king," he would say'He'll melt before he reaches so far south."

66

IV.

TILLY'S MARCH UPON MAGDEBURG.

But Tilly saw the danger, and he took

His measures promptly. In appearance, still He strikes and parries, his foes' hands to fill; But secretly, his well-laid projects look To Magdeburg. 'T was written in Fate's book His plans should prosper. With unconquered will,

Through wood and wild, o'er valley, stream and hill,

A horde, unpaid, untaught restraint to brook,

"General, 't is time to stop the sack," cries one
In the retinue of Count Tilly. "No, my friend,
Our soldiers would not gladly so soon end
Their pastime. Many a comrade fell upon
Those trenches." Thus replying, he looked on

At rape and butchery, and heard shrieks would
rend

His heart, if 't were not stone. But he could
spend

An hour in such a scene, as if joy shone
On all around him. He was a small man,

Meagre and thin; his cheeks like yellow leaves; But over them was spread a forehead graved

With anxious thought. His eyes were trained to

scan

Far objects. A green doublet, with slashed sleeves, He wore, and one tall feather o'er him waved.

VII.

MAGDEBURG BEFORE THE SIEGE.

Short time ago, and as he passes through
Thronged thoroughfares, full warehouses, rich
shops,

The booted traveller reins his steed, and stops
To gaze on all they show. Here, two by two,
On high days, all the trades, in doublets new,

Each with its badge, marched by, while belfry-
tops

Shook with their chimes. Here, reared on mas-
sive props,

Pillared and arched, to just proportion true,
Bulwark of freedom! rose the stately halls

Of audience, council-chambers, courts of law,
Where native genius, taught by her own light,
Grouped her creations. On those smouldering
The old cathedral struck the mind with awe-
There Luther's Column marked a century's flight.

walls

O'erhead, a cloud of pestilence and smoke

Almost excludes the light; the putrid air Sickens the sense; the flames reduce their prey To ashes; but those ashes cannot soak The blood of thirty thousand butchered there"Butchered to make a Roman holiday!"'

IX.

THE BATTLE OF LEIPZIG.

"T is sunrise in September. Hark! the boom

The walls of Nuremburg the king secures

His faithful Swedes; the citizen, with joy, Cries, "God save good Gustavus ! our last loaf

We'll share with him." Outside, the foe en-
dures

Like famine. Who starves longest will destroy
The other; but such warfare soon tires both.

XIII.

BOTH ARMIES BREAK OFF.

Swedes

RICHELIEU DISCLOSES HIS THOUGHTS TO FATHER JOSEPH.

"By our Lady, Father Joseph, 't is not well

This Swedish bravo should make havoc thus
Of half our creed-he 'll show his teeth at us

Ere long. What if our heretics rebel?
A thing has happened; how their flight would swell
His rank and file. When minus becomes plus
'Tis time to change relations, and discuss
New measures and new men. If we would fell
This oak, we'll work with the invisible strokes
Of policy; supply Bavaria's king

Through Spanish channels; mould the coming shock

Of Wallenstein's fury; with a raven's croaks Appal the Saxon. Thou the leading-string

Of all, meek pilgrim, in thy friar's frock !"

XI.

THE EMPEROR SOLICITS WALLENSTEIN TO RESUME THE

COMMAND.

Courier on courier-from the Danube's bank

To Zsnain there's naught but hurrying to and fro.

Proud man! these courtiers wait on you, and Back to the emperor scouted; he hath drank Humiliation to the dregs, and sank

To be his subject's subject. "There will flow From private life, at least, no second blow To crush me to the earth. Return, and thank The emperor in my name. It is his way,

In danger's hour, to fawn upon the man

He knows can save him; when the storm blows by,
Dismissal and contempt the debt repay-
Thus was I treated. "Tis my present plan

For a better recompense to live and die."

XII.

WALLENSTEIN MARCHES TO BLOCKADE NUREMBURG.

On, Wallenstein-roll on the deafening din

go

Of war wide-wasting; for thy cannon's wheel Snatch from the plough its team, their scanty

meal

From trembling peasants. If Bavaria win
Thy tardy aid, her master has a sin*

Still unatoned for; and he soon shall feel What private hate, making the common weal Its pretext, can inflict. Meantime, within

The king of Bavaria was a principal agent in constraining the Emperor to dismiss Wallenstein from his first command.

Expect the issue. Here two chiefs are met That never knew defeat-both equal yet, But still how different. One-brave, good, and wise; The other, who can paint-what wing can rise

High as his thoughts-what plummet Lottom get In that dark soul?-a midnight black as jet, Flared up with lightning. On! a sumless prize Is cast between you; both the foremost men

Of the age ye live in-both ordained to live Forever. One may teach what steady light

That man receives, who works by sword or pen, From the Word of God; the other, too, might give A warning, if weak men could read aright.

XIV.

BATTLE OF LUTZEN-VIEW IN THE

BEGINNING.

The high road parts both armies. Wallenstein,
'Ere dawn, had planted it with musqueteers
And cannon.
The fog 's thick, but as it clears,

A hymn well chanted, a sweet native strain,
The Swedes pour forth-then charge, opposed in vain
By trench and fire; regiment to regiment cheers,
"Brave Upland, Smaland, Finland, cross the
spears
Of these skirmishers with your bayonets." Ha! again
The enemy reels-the cannon 's taken. Lightnings
flash

From Wallenstein's eye-himself's already there. "Ho! Tersky-Illo, charge with trampling steeds Their flank. All cowards infamy shall lash Upon the recreant backs they turn-who 'll spare His life, or doubt the event, where Wallenstein leads ?"

The ear, ere seen. But see! as on they come,

A hedge of pikes starts up. They cannot shake

That serried mass, to all impressions numb

As adamant, that to no odds will yield;

All's carnage-quarter neither give nor take.

field.

Grim warriors weep o'er all their hearts hold dear

Weep o'er that form their swords from outrage won,
Mid heaps of slain. All now beneath the sun

Indifferent to them. But soon draws near
Another mourner, to which these appear
But passing shadows. Speaking not, that none,
In turn, vain words might offer; wrapt in weeds,
Pale, but revealing such a depth of love
As earth hath now no object left to fill,

Eleonora, for the last time, feeds
That grief an angel soon will soothe above,

On what lies there pale, silent, cold, and still!

XIX. PAPPENHEIM.

On Pappenheim's forehead Nature's hand had drawn Two sanguine strokes. A soldier from his choice, War was his element-his eye, his voice,

"T was thus from him his soul indignant fled

XXII.

BERNARD, DUKE OF SAXE WEIMAR.

"Courage, Father Joseph, Breysach will be ours-
Saxe Weimar is no more. "Your eminence,"
Replied the Capuchin softly, "may dispense
With Protestant allies now." Amid the flowers
That memory strews before our vacant hours,
None raise the feelings to a livelier sense
Of valor never backward in defence
Of injured right-of love that owns no powers
Save the heart's dictates-than thy stirring tale,
O Bernard, early-lost and long-deplored!

The Cardinal urged him to a marriage suit

dawn

A mind congenial to those scenes where yawn

Flames and convulsions. Oft did he rejoice
To lead the hope forlorn, the first to hoise
His flag upon the ramparts. Though to fawn
On princes he disdained, in faith firm-set,

He deemed Heaven served by all the blood he
spilled.

From Spain the order of the Golden Fleece

Had almost reached him, when his death-blow

met

Him first at Lutzen. "Since the Swede is killed, The Catholic's foe," he gasped, "I die in peace!"

XX. OXENSTIERN.

Alas! that spirit is no more that swayed

All councils, bent all wills, and awed all minds. One hangs aloof, or one a leader finds That serves mere personal ends. To be obeyed By princes, who sit down beneath the shade

Of a great fame and will that bends and binds All others to itself, amid mankind's Events, has not been oftentimes displayed.

Their arms in a school that genius could supply
From imitation. Planets in the sky

Of memory, a reflected light they yiel 1.
Amongst this group Kniphausen may be named;
Brave Horn, Falkenberg, Tott, Bandissen,
Wrangel, who last of all these leaders shone ;
Banner, whose follies oft his glory shamed:
Greatest of all, the rival of Turenne,

Gustavus' pupil, Bernard Tortensohn.

XXIV.

THE PEACE OF WESTPHALIA.

Thirty long years of war, and ruin spread

O'er hamlet, town, and field! But worse-far
worse!

By moral blight, by killing, withering curse
Of foul misdeeds in lawless license bred,
The sanctities of faith, the marriage bed

Polluted and profaned! Time, gentle nurse, Heals Nature's wounds; but can it reimburse The losses of the heart-revive the dead

* Seni was the name of the astrologer to whose skill in the "occult science" Wallenstein so much trusted.

Recall to pristine health, truth, charity,

And stainless love? At length war's thunders

cease:

The sword now yields precedence to the pen,
That leaving much the argument to be *
Of future broils, builds up Westphalia's peace,
And Germany's crushed spirit breathes again.

XXV.

CONCLUSION.

Thus musing on some features of the past

That still irradiate that exhaustless mine Of human aims and passions, I combine The scattered fragments, and the whole recast Into one picture-there connect, contrast, Compare them with each other, and assign

Due place to all, till harmony divine Breaks on the patient, mental eye at last. What's the great moral that the sum conveys ? Alas all times have told it oft in vain : Build not for glory-if thou dost, essay

No work unhallowed. Prefer not man's praise To the smiles of Heaven-much less, thy hands dis

tain

With guilt that tears will never wash away.

From Chambers' Journal.

CONSTANCY IN INCONSTANCY:

A YOUNG MAN'S CONFESSION.

SHE hath a large still heart, this lady of mine-
(Not mine, i' faith! though fools might deem she were) :
She walks the world like some old Grecian nymph,
Pure with a marble pureness; moving on
Through the foul herd of men, environéd
With native airs of deep Olympian calm.

I have a great love for this lady of mine:

I like to watch her motions, trick of face,

And turn of thought, when she speaks high and wise,
The tongue of gods, not men. Ay, every day,
And twenty times, I start to catch

Some tone, geste, look, of sweet familiar mould;
And then my panting soul leans forth to her,
Like some sick traveller who, astonied, sees
Slow-moving o'er the distant twilight fields-
The lovely, lost, beloved memory-fields !—
Pale, ghostly people of an earlier world.

I have a friend-how dearly liked, heart-warm,
Did I confess, sure she and all would smile!
I mark her as she steals in some dull room
That brightens at her presence, slow lets fall
A word or two of wise simplicity,

Then goes, and at her going all seems dark.
Little she knows this! little thinks each face
Lightens, each heart grows purer 'neath her eyes;
Good, honest eyes-clear, upward, righteous eyes,
That look as though they saw the unseen heavens,
And drew from thence their pity and their calm.
Why do I precious hold this friend of mine?
Why, in our talks-our quiet, fireside talks,
When we, like earnest travellers through the dark,
Grasp at the threads that guide to the other world-
Seems it a spirit not her own looks out

From these her eyes? until I pause, and quake,
And my heart groans as when some innocent hand
Touches the barb hid in a long-healed wound.
Yet still no blame, but thanks to thee, dear friend;

Amongst the omissions of the Treaty of Westphalia may be cited two, from which the "seeds of discontent rapidly germinated." "The relative proportions of taxation, not only in regard to each state, but to the different social classes of each, was one. Another was the regulation of the Diets of Deputation."-See Dunham's His. Ger. Em., Cabinet Cyclopædia, vol. iii., p. 229.

Ay, even when we homeward walk at eve,
Thy careless hand loose linked beneath my arm-
The same height as I gaze down-nay, the hair
Of a like color, fluttering 'neath the stars-
The same large stars which lit that earlier world!

I have another love-a gentle love,

Whose dewy looks are fresh with life's young dawn;
God keep it to its setting! I foretell

That streak of light now quivering on the hills,
And edging the dusk vale where mute I watch,
Will broaden out into a glorious day.

Thou sweet one, standing where life's cross-tides meet,
And dipping into both thy timid hand,
Wise as a woman, harmless as a child-

I love thee well!-And yet not thee-not thee,
God knoweth. They know, who sit among the stars.
As one, whose sun was darkened before noon,
Creeps slow and silent through the twilight land,
Snatches at glow-worm rays and tapers pale
Of an hour's burning, lifts them to his breast,
Saying: "Thank God!" yet never calls them day-
So love I these, and more. Yet thou, my Sun,
That leaped unto thy zenith, sat there throned,
And the whole earth was day-Oh, look thou down
From thy veiled seat, and know how dark I kneel !
How all these lesser lights but come and go,
Poor mocking types of thee! Be it so. I keep
My soul's face to the eastward, where thou stand'st-
I know thou stand'st-behind the purpling hills;
And I shall wake and find morn in the world.

From Chambers' Journal.

THE TORRENT OF ARABIA.

BY THE REV. JAMES GILBORNE LYONS, LL. D.

The mountains of Arabia contain numerous springs, which, fed by the yearly rains, send streams of water through the valleys that descend towards the low country. Most of them, however, are lost in the sand as soon as they enter the plain. It may be well to add, that an Arabian tent is, in general, black, and that

Ahkaf is the name of an extensive desert.

ALL foaming down its native hills
The torrent of Arabia leaps,

When showers have swelled its fountain rills

Far up the blue and airy steeps ;

Like some chafed steed that spurns the rein,
In raging fulness swift and free,
It rushes to the fiery plain,

Bounding to reach the distant sea.

And now those deep cool waters glide
Along the green and narrow vale,
Where broad trees arch the crystal tide,
And fragrance breathes in every gale ;
The dusky tent and flowery slope

Lie mirrored in that wave at first,
And there the timid antelope

Oft stoops to quench her noonday thirst.

But, ere the wide and wild expanse

Of Ahkaf's burning sand is crossed,
That stream, so full and foaming once,
Sinks on its rough way spent and lost;
Lost in its sultry wanderings,

And hushed in an eternal sleep,
It wastes unseen, and never brings
One tribute to the mighty deep.

Weak as that torrent's failing wave

Art thou who, born for Heaven and Truth,
Hast lived a false world's meanest slave,
Shaming a blest and glorious youth;
Who, vowed in life's first happiest day
To generous faith and deeds of worth,
Hast fainted on thy heavenward way,
Pressed by the vain low cares of Earth.