ex it grammatically, that his occasional letters to his British friends were complete specimens of French-English. Thus, he talks of his studying "ingenery" (engineering) in France, and says he is "very fond to make a 'lecture of" (to read) a book his friend had sent him; besides all sorts of mis-spelling, and small letters in place of capitals with proper names, actly like a Frenchman with a smattering of English. If this young man had been taught by system and theory the languages he acquired by rote, he would never have been reduced to the necessity of learning again the language of his childhood, after he had grown up, nor ever have forgotten that which he had learnt in his youth. NAPOLEON'S DOMESTIC VIRTUES.-The pitiful scandals that certain Anti-Gallican scribes used to spread abroad during the late contest, respecting Bonaparte's treatment of his wives, have been pretty well refuted by the great rectifier of such misrepresentation-Time. The world now know, that both the ladies who successively shared the conqueror's bed and throne, were warmly attached to him, although the second was married under circumstances very likely to produce mutual discontent. His own account, given to his friend at St. Helena, of his connubial fortune, is interesting, and bears every mark of truth and sincerity. The fallen Exile may be pardoned by all readers the natural piece of self-exculpation at the conclusion, and will be believed by many: "I have been twice married. Political motives induced me to divorce my first wife, whom I tenderly loved. She, poor woman, fortunately for herself, died in time to prevent her witnessing the last of my misfortunes. Let Marie Louise be asked with what tenderness and affection I always treated her. After her forcible separation from me, she avowed in the most feeling terms to *** her ardent wishes to join me, extolled with many tears both myself and my conduct to her, and bitterly lamented her cruel separation, avowing her ardent desire to join me in my exile. Is this the result of the conduct of a merciless unfeeling tyrant? A man is known by his conduct to his wife, to his family, and to those under him. I have doubtless erred more or less in politics, but a crime I have never committed.-Las Cases' Journal. It does not throw any discredit on the assertion respecting Maria Louisa's desire to join her husband in his banishment, that she played a rather ostentatious part in the congress of Promise-breakers and Ungratefuls at Verona, and actually took the Duke of Wellington's arm at a grand public entertainment. Affection, and constancy in adversity, are two distinct qualities. Besides, there is no knowing what sort of - secret influence may have been used on the part of the Austrian father, - to compel this display. To say the least however, it was dishonourably weak, and deserved the reproof, at once bitter and pathetic, which Lord Byron has given in the Age of Bronze : The imperial daughter, the imperial bride, * She comes! The Andromache (but not Racine's Do more,---or less ---And he in his new grave! Her eye, her cheek, betray no inward strife, So much for human ties in royal breasts: Why spare men's feelings, when their own are jests? The career of Addison, as an individual, might be entitled the life of a man of discretion; possibly a greater proof of the value of extreme prudence, connected with high moral character, was never afforded than by the elevation and success of this distinguished man. That nicety of tact, which led him to so much refined observation on the modes and manners of society, there can be little doubt, was in no small degree the cause of his own advancement, by showing him the dulce et decorum-the engaging and becoming in every stage of human intercourse. Addison, as contemplated in his life, always struck us as the Chesterfield of discretion; and if his success be contemplated in comparison with that of the noble lord's pupil, or even with his own, it evinces that prudence will do as much as the graces. We fear that, in either case, something valuable is likely to be sacrificed. He who is never indiscreet, like him who is never ungraceful, is too artificial for the operation of natural impulses; and nature is never entirely repressed with advantage. Addison was by no means generous, either as a friend or an enemy; he arrested Steele, and certainly envied and detracted from Pope. This says nothing against prudence or coolness of conduct, but only that it is sometimes an equivocal praise, and that selfishness occasionally assumes the name. The discretion of Addison is to be admired, nay recommended;-but let the blood flow: we cannot help fearing for the heart of the man who is invariably wise. Henry Fielding, in his "Journey from this World to the Next," paints such a character as truly despicable; but that was caricature. Upon the whole this consummate prudence is valuable as an intimate, but not always estimable as an inseparable companion. EDINBURGH REVIEW. The Number about to be published is a very interesting and clever one. It is headed by an article on Literary Property, and exposes very completely the Chancellor's miserable and pernicious affectation about the purity of Chancery protection.* Another article is on a subject which we have often been surprised that nobody has thought of before; we mean "the Periodical Press." It is a description and character of all the principal Reviews, Magazines, and Newspapers; done in a bold, vigorous, and discriminating manner, and will certainly make "a sensation." The public will not be at a loss to attribute it to the right author,-one who "knows all the qualities" of the journals he describes "with a learned spirit." His first sentence is very comprehensive and charitable:-" Let_Reviews flourish-let Magazines increase and multiply-let the Daily and Weekly Newspapers live for ever." * By the way, it is curious that the two great reviewing rivals should agree so entirely on this question, and that the Quarterly in fact should have taken the lead in reprobating the canting injustice. TRANSLATION.-Perhaps the extreme nicety required in the translation of poetry cannot be better exemplified than by comparing the versions by different hands of a short passage. Take for instance the celebrated opening of Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, which being a simple enumeration of subjects, and capable of almost literal rendering, will show the difference in a more striking manner. Mr. Stewart Rose and Mr. Leigh Hunt are both very faithful to the original, yet differ from each other a good deal in point of style. Hoole's we give, purely in order to illustrate his vicious way of spoiling an author, both in sense and sound. He takes unwarrantable license in filling out by phrases of his own, and yet how dry and insipid he contrives to make it! JOHN HOOLE. DAMES, knights, and arms, and love! the deeds that spring What time the Moors from Afric's hostile strand Had crost the seas to ravage Gallia's land, By Agramant, their youthful monarch, led In deep resentment for Troyano dead, With threats on Charlemain t' avenge his fate, 94 LEIGH HUNT. (Liberal, No. III,) WILLIAM STEWART ROSE. a ERRATUM:-In our last, Dr. Barnet was erroneously printed instead of Burnet. LONDON: Published by HENRY L. HUNT, 38, Tavistock-street, Covent-garden, and 22, Old Bond-street; (price Fourpence; or, if stamped for country circulation free of postage, Sevenpence.) Sold by all Booksellers and Newsvenders in town; and by the following Agents in the country: Edinburgh, Messrs. Bell and Bradfute. Glasgow, W. R. Macphun. Exeter, R. Cullum, Alfred Office. Leeds, James Mann, Briggate. Birmingham, J. Drake. Liverpool, T. Smith. Bath, at the London Newspaper Office. Sunderland, T. Chalk, High-street. Printed by C. W. REYNELL, Broad-street, Golden-square. THE LITERARY EXAMINER. No. VII. SATURDAY, AUGUST, 16, 1823. THE INDICATOR. No. LXXX. There he arriving, round about doth fly, Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly.SPENSBÉ, ON THE SUBURBS OF GENOA AND THE COUNTRY ABOUT LONDON, DEARN,-I could bear my large study no longer; so I have mounted into my third story, and entrenched myself, as usual, in a little corner room. It is about the size of the study in where we all adjourned on the morning of Twelfth Night, to take breakfast. Do you remember that night? how we sung "To ladies' eyes a round, boys;" and how the eyes were as sparkling and triumphant at six o'clock in the morning, as they were at six in the evening? Can I forget it?" say you: "Can any body forget it?" I think not. The very walls must remember it. A living poet, whom we were near killing with laughter at two in the morning, has doubtless written his best things upon eyes since the appearance of that ocular constellation. I am sure a living novelist would have made his heroines equal to the rest of his characters, and done himself a world of good into the bargain, had he not had that extra-judicious hackney-coach call for him at one. assured, that pleasant spirits have haunted that house ever since. I know (without the maid servants informing me) that a noise of chrystal ringings, and sweet voices is heard every Twelfth Night through the rooms; and that the gallant occupier and his wife cannot sleep for the life of them, for exquisite imaginations. Be But you must know I have another reason for mounting into this nest of mine, in addition to those I have given to B. It lifts me above a sense of the lanes and stone walls of this suburb of Genoa. Albaro is a pretty name, and a very pretty looking hill at a distance. It has also some fine retreats and gardens, for those who can afford them. But for a place to walk about in, and enjoy one's neighbours' goods (to which you know I have a propensity) it only shows me how very pretty some hills as well as women can look at a distance, and what stonyhearted creatures they turn out upon inspection. When you behold Albaro from the sea, you cry out, "What a delicious place to live in!" Imagine a gentle green hill, full of olive trees, vineyards, and country seats, beheld from a blue sea, glittering under a blue sky, and with the Appennines at the back of it. Enter it, and the charm is dissolved. Eternal lanes, with eternal stone walls, intersect it in all directioną. VOL I. 7 The best are paved like the carriage part of the London streets, with a stripe of smoother walk in the middle, made of tiles laid edgeways. The worst are compounded of bits of broken walls, stones, and occasional pushings forth of the native rock. Some are merely the beds of torrents : but all are lanes, lanes, lanes, -all stone, brick, and mortar, with seldom even a hole to look through. Your only resource, as in the worst passages of human life, is to imagine what may be on the other side; but then the tantalization is in proportion. In the summer, the vines look over the walls, here and there, and afford a relief: but the lanes for the most part are then hot and close, and in those that lead down to the sea the footing is still a nuisance. Furthermore, the sea has no beach. In winter (which is quite severe enough in this quarter of Italy to make you feel it) the promenade is intolerable. Sometimes a wind comes down from the snowy mountains, sharp set as a wolf, and more searching than any East wind with us. Besides, Genoa being situate between the sea and the mountains, is famous for wind; and Albaro, I suppose, is the most famous place for wind about Genoa. Last winter one would have thought the whole army of tempests had come by sea to pass over the mountains, and go and trample down some incorrigible tyranny. The whole cavalcade seemed to sweep over us with their "sightless horses," their whistling hair, and mad outcries. It is little better, for the most part, in the rest of the suburbs : in some of them, not so good. There is one good road, which circles the hill; and on the other side of Genoa, there is a wider piece of plain to get footing upon. But generally speaking, your path lies up and down hill, through the stoniest of all stony allies. Even the road which I speak of, round Albaro, and which would make a beautiful figure in a picture, presenting depths of olive grounds below, and the sea in the distance, tantalizes you with the sight of pleasant places in which it is impossible to enter, and which, if you did enter, it would be impossible to walk in. The olive grounds are all walled in, as usual, and all raised upon terraces of artificial earth, lest the torrents should wash them away. But what care the Genoese? Nature, with them, is but a slave in the hands of the slave merchant. All her beauties consist in what they will fetch. Their olive trees produce nothing but quattrini and minestra; their bunches of grapes are but so many purses of soldi. They care for nothing but care itself, and a good oleaginous dinner to make it worse. Now tell it not in Scotland, lest the Cocknies of the Canongate rejoice; but give me, dear N., before all the barren suburbs in the world (bits of mountain included) the green pastures and gentle eminences round about glorious London. There we have fields:-there one can walk on real positive turf: there one can get trees that are of no use, and get under trees, and get among trees; and have hedges, stiles, field-paths, sheep and oxen, and other pastoral amenities: Sometime walking, not unseen, By hedge-row elms on hillocks green; |