thou say,' said the king, 'if thou seest him come back?' 'Marry,' said the jester, 'I will take off the fool's cap which I set on thy head for sending him thither, and place it upon the King of Spain's head for letting him come home again.' Lear fondly loves and values his fool, and regrets his absence. Sir Thomas More wished to advance Pattison, and when he resigned his chancellorship, gave him to the Lord Mayor of London, upon condition that he should be attached to the office, and not to the person of the mayor, When Wolsey was disgraced, he loved and cherished his fool, Patch, as one of the few friends and comforts he had left; and wishing to appease his royal master's wrath, he at last sent him to the king, as the most valuable present he could bestow, and costing him the heaviest grief to part with. An equally fond affection for his fool caused Lear to strike the gentleman of Goneril for chiding him.” The lecturer then proceeds with a touching description of Lear's miserable situation, in consequence of the disobedience of his daughters. The following scene is powerfully drawn: "And now the battling elements, with whom the king contends, seem to conspire with his unnatural daughters to assail his person and confound his mind. But not the lightnings' flames that whizz about his head and play about his feet-not the loud thunder's roar, whose deafening peals seem to convulse and shake the heavens and earth, and threaten nature's dissolution-not the fierce winds that yell and howl, and rave like to the wailing of despairing spirits, driven to an endless doom-no swelling of the rain that falls in sheets on his defenceless headnot all the shrieking combat of the skies can drive him in alarm to seek a shelter from the stormThe tempest, in his mind, Does from his senses take all feeling else. His wits begin to turn-he is cold-he'll seek the straw that Kent has noticed in the hovel; The art of our necessities is strange That can make vile things precious. Yet shaken to the brain-his mind a wreckdrenched to the skin with the unceasing rain, and chilled and numbed by the tempestuous blasts-he cares not for its shelter when he gains the wretched shed-the storm is nought to him-he can endure it. Persuaded in the end to accept the miserable shelter; before he enters it, his benevolent thoughts recur to those, who undefended from the awful storm, have none to sympathize their woe or aid their need. Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, Your loop'd and window'd raggednesss, defend you I fear no painter, adequately, could pourtray-no actor, certainly, ever did, or ever can, embody all the glorious energies of this most wonderful of scenes, and I believe, no human imagination, save the poet's own, could ever fully comprehend the awful majesty of such a picture. Eveloped in the confusion of the elements that shriek and roar, and flash on every side, confounding and o'erpowering every sound, except their own-upon a heath as bleak and bare and withered as the reverend monarch's heartthe real madness of the injured king, upon whose broken heart and wildered brain is deeply, fearfully impressed, with the one overwhelming sense-his daughters' base ingratitude-the assumed madness of Edgar, raving from thought to thought, and subject to subject, in any strain, save that of real insanity -the oracular and sarcastic witticisms of the foolthe devoted affection of Kent-the lurid glare of Gloster's torch-all these combine to form a picture, which, full charged with high imagination and poetic strength, almost defies description's power, and requires a life to analyze it. Well may Gloster exclaim,' in such a scene, I am almost mad, myself!" We are necessarily compelled to omit many portions of Mr. Stuart's lecture which are replete with new and striking illustrations of the excellencies of this masterly production of Shakspere's muse. We, however, cannot take our leave of this subject, without expressing our admiration of the lecturer's zealous exertions to enable the public fully to appreciate the merits of this most extraordinary tragedy. The author of these eloquent commentaries and warmhearted panygerics has not allowed his judgment to sleep while his memory was being exercised for the purpose of his vocation. He has, evidently, imbibed that earnest attachment and enthusiastic admiration which characterise all authors possessing real genius who undertake to comment upon the merit of Shakspere's plays. Our readers may easily perceive, in the glowing language of Mr. Stuart, that, in his breast, the same fire is kindled which warmed and animated the celebrated Hazlitt, while occupying his upon the same inexhaustible theme. If this be evident to the reader, from perusing the few extracts we have chosen, how much more so was it to the audience, who listened with breathless eagerness to the whole lecture. pen 1988 36 GAWTHROP'S JOURNAL OF BY MARIA EDGEWORTH. Concluded. One faint hope remained in his wife's heart-she imagined, that if she could but prevail upon Colonel Pembroke's servants, either to obtain for her a sight of their master, or if they would carry to him a letter containing an exact account of her distress, he would immediately pay the fourteen pounds, which had been so long due. With this money she could obtain her husband's liberty, and she fancied all might yet be well. Her son, who could write a very legible hand, wrote the petition.-Ah, mother!' said he don't hope that Colonel Pembroke will read it he will tear it to pieces, as he did one that I carried him before.' 'I can but try,' said she; 'I cannot believe that any gentleman is so cruel, and so unjust he must and will pay us when he knows the whole truth.' Colonel Pembroke was dressing in a hurry to go to a great dinner at the Crown and Anchor tavern. One of Pembroke's gay companions had called, and was in the room waiting for him. It was at this inauspicious time, that Mrs. White arrived. Her petition the servant at first absolutely refused to take from her hands; but at last a young lad whom the colonel had lately brought from the country, and who had either more natural feeling, or less acquired power of equivocating than his fellows, consented to carry up the petition, when he should, as he expected, be called by his master to report the state of a favourite horse that was sick. While his master's hair was dressing the lad was summoned; and when the health of the horse had been anxiousely inquired into, the lad with country awkwardness scratched his head, and laid the petition before his master, saying-Sir, there's a poor woman below waiting for an answer; and if so be what she says is true, as I take it to be, 'tis enough to break one's heart.' Your heart, my lad, is not seasoned to London yet, I perceive,' said Colonel Pembroke, smiling; 'why your heart will be broke a thousand times over by every beggar you meet.' 'No, no: I be too much of a man for that,' replied the groom, wiping his eyes hastily with the back of his hand-not such a noodle as that comes to neither-beggars are beggars, and so to be treated-but this woman, Sir, is no common beggar-not she; nor is she begging any ways-only to be paid her bill so I brought it as I was coming up.' 'Then, Sir, as you are going down, you may take it down again, if you please,' cried Colonel Pembroke, and in future, Sir, I recommend it to you, to look after your horses, and to trust me to look after my own affairs.' The groom retreated, and his master gave the poor woman's petition, without reading it, to the hair dresser, who was looking for a piece of paper to try the heat of his irons. I should be pestered with bills and petitions from morning till night, if I did not frighten these fellows out of the trick of bringing them to me, tinued Colonel Pembroke, turning to his companion. That blockhead of a groom is but just come to town; She does not know yet how to drive away a dun--but he'll learn. They say that the American dogs did not know how to bark, till they learnt it from their civilized betters. Colonel Pembroke habitually drove away reflection, and silenced the whispers of conscience, by noisy declamation, or sallies of wit. At the bottom of the singed paper, which the hair-dresser left on the table, the name of White was sufficiently visible. 'White!' exclaimed Mr, Pembroke, as I hope to live and breathe, con it these Whites have been this half year the torment of my life.' He started up, rang the bell, and gave immediate orders to his servant, that these Whites should never more be let in, and that no more of their bills and petitions in any form whatever should be brought to him. 'I'll punish them for their insolence-I wont pay them one farthing this twelvemonth, and if the woman is not gone, pray tell her so- -I bid Close the tailor pay them: if he has not, it is no fault of mine. Let me not hear a syllable more about it I'll part with the first of you who dares to disobey me.' "The woman is gone, I believe, Sir,' said the footman; was not I let her in, and I refused to bring up the letter.' 'You did right. Let me hear no more about the matter. We shall be late at the Crown and Anchor. I beg your pardon, my dear friend, for detaining you so long.' Whilst the colonel went to his jovial meeting, where he was the life and spirit of the company, the poor woman returned in despair to the prison where her husband was confined. We forbear to describe the horrible situation to which this family were soon reduced. Beyond a certain point the human heart cannot feel compassion. One day, as Anne was returning from the prison, where she had been with her father, she was met by a porter, who put a letter into her hands, then turned down a narrow lane, and was out of sight before she could inquire from whom he came. When she read the letter, however, she could not be in doubt it came from Mrs. Carvex, and contained these words: 'You can gain nothing by your present obstinacy-you are the cause of your father's lying in jail, and of your mother's being, as she is, nearly starved to death. You could relieve them from misery worse than death, and place them in ease and comfort for the remainder of their days. Be assured, they do not speak sincerely to you, when they pretend not to wish that, your compliance should put an end to their present sufferings. It is you that are cruel to them it is you that are cruel to yourself, and can blame nobody else. You might live all your days in a house as good as mine, and have a plentiful table served from one year's end to another, with all the dainties of the season, and you might be dressed as elegant as the most elegant lady in London (which by the bye your beauty deserves,) and you would have servants of your own, and a carriage of your own, and nothing to do all day long but take your pleasure. And after all, what is asked of you?-only to make a person happy, that half the town would envy you, that would make it a study to gratify you in every wish of your heart. The person alluded to you have seen, and more than once, when you have been talking to me of work in my parlour. He is a very rich and generous gentleman. If you come to Chiswell-street about six this evening you will find all I say true-if not, you and yours must take the conse¬ quences.' Coarse as the eloquence of this letter may appear, Anne could not read it without emotion? it raised in her heart a violent contest. Virtue, with poverty and famine, were on one side -and vice, with affluence, love, and every wordly pleasure, on the other. Those who have been bred up in the lap of luxury; whom the breath of heaven has never visited too roughly; whose minds from their earliest infancy have been guarded even with more care than their persons; who in the dangerous season of youth are surrounded by all that the solicitude of experienced friends, and all that polished society can devise for their security; are not perhaps competent to judge of the temptations by which beauty in the lower classes of life may be assailed. They who have never seen a father in prison, or a mother perishing for want of the ahsolute necessaries of life-they who have never themselves known the cravings of. famine, cannot form an adequate idea of this poor girl's feelings, and of the temptation to which she was now exposed. She wept-she hesitated-and the woman that deliberates is lost.' Perhaps those, who are the most truly virtuous of her sex, will be the most disposed to feel for this poor creature, who was literally half-famished before her good resolutions were conquered. At last she yielded to necessity.. At the appointed hour she was in Mrs. Carver's house. This woman received her with triumph-she supplied Anne immediately with food, and then hastened to deck out her victim in the most attractive manner. The girl was quite passive in her hands. She promised, though scarcely knowing that she uttered the words, to obey the instructions that were given to her, and she suffered herself without struggle, or apparent emotion, to be led to destruction. She appeared quite insensible-but at last she was roused from this state of stupefaction, by the voice of a person with whom she found herself alone. The stranger, who was a young and gay gentleman, pleasing both in his person and manners, attempted by every possible means to render himself agreeable to her, to raise her spirits, and calm her apprehension. By degrees, his manner changed from levity to tenderness. He represented to her, that he was not a brutal wretch, who could be gratified by any triumph in which the affections of the heart have no share, and he assured her, that in any connexion which she might be prevailed upon to form with him, she should be treated with honour and delicacy. Touched by his manner of speaking, and overpowered by the sense of her own situation, Anne could not reply one single word to all he said-but burst into an agony of tears, and sinking on her knees before him, exclaimed-'Save me! save me from myself!-Restore me to my parents, before they have reason to hate me.' The gentleman seemed to be somewhat in doubt, whether this was acting, or nature; but he raised Anne from the ground, and placed her upon a seat beside him,- Am I to understand, then, that I have been deceived, and that our present meeting is against your own consent? No, I cannot say that--O how I wish that I could-I did wrong-very wrong, to come here --but I repent-I was half-starved-I have a father in jail--I though I could set him free with the money- -but I will not pretend to be better than I am-I believe I thought, that, besides relieving my father, I should live all my days without evermore knowing what distress is-and I thought I should be happy-but now I have changed my mind-I never could be happy with a bad conscience-I know-by what I have felt this last hour.' Her voice failed; and she sobbed for some moments without being able to speak. The gentleman, who now was convinced, that she was quite artless and thoroughly in earnest, was struck with compassion; but his compassion was not unmixed with other feelings, and he had hopes, that, by treating her with tenderness, he should in time make it her wish to live' with him as his mistress. He was anxious to hear what her former way of life had been, and she related, at his request, the circumstances by which she and her parents had been reduced to such distress. His countenance presently showed how much he was interested in her storyhe grew red and pale-he started from his seat, and walked up and down the room in great agitation, till at last, when she mentioned the name of Colonel Pembroke, he stopped short, and exclaimed-'I am the man-I am Colonel Pembroke-I am that unjust, unfeeling wretch!-How often, in the bitterness of your hearts, you must have cursed me!'-'O no-my father, when he was at the worst, never cursed you; and I am sure he will have reason to bless you now, if you send his daughter back again to him, such as she was when she left him.' That shall be done,' said Colonel Pembroke; 'and in doing so, I make some sacrifice, and have some merit. It is time I should make some reparation for the evils I have occasioned,' continued he, taking a handful of guineas from his pocket: but first let me pay my just debts.' 'My poor father!' exclaimed Anne-Tomorrow he will be out of prison.' 'I will go with you to the prison, where your father is confined-I will force myself to behold all the evils I have occasioned.' Colonel Pembroke went to the prison; and he was so much struck by the scene, that he not only relieved the misery of this family, but in two months afterwards his debts were paid, his race horses sold, and all his expenses regulated, so as to render him ever afterwards truly independent. He no longer spent his days, like many young men of fashion, either in dreading or in damning duns. THEATRE ROYAL. The Amusements of this favourite place of public resort, which have been conducted on such a liberal scale by the worthy lessee, have continued to draw good houses. The talented Opera company who have so delighted their numerous audiences during the last three weeks, brought their engagement to a close on Friday evening sen'night by the performance, for the third time, of the Postillion of Longumeau, and the burletta of Midas; in the opera Mr. and Mrs. Wood drew down hearty plaudits by their clever and vivacious personation of the parts allotted to them, and the approbation of the audience was freely extended to Messrs. Giubelei and Brough, both of whom exerted themselves most successfully in their several characters. This opera is of a light comic description, the plot is far superior to the generality of operas and abounds in amusing situations and smart, agreeable dialogue. The most successful Musical pieces were the Postillion's song by Mr. Wood, accompanied by the crack of the whip, and a very entertaining sort of a trio-duett, between Mr. and Mrs. Wood, in which the singers are supposed to be in the dark, and the lady passes herself off as two different persons; her imitation of each, and her constant changing from one side to the other of her bewildered husband, causing great diversion. A pas de deux followed, which was danced very neatly by Madame Giubelei and Miss Webster. Miss Poole appeared as Midas, and was exceedingly well received; pessessing a very pleasing person, and being a most accomplished and delightful singer and actress, it is no wonder that she has left a very favourable impression on this, her first visit to Liverpool. As the performances were for the benefit of Mrs. Wood the house was, of course, crowded to the ceiling. During the present week our old favorite, Mr. Vandenhoff and his beautiful daughter, have sustained their usual characters, in Dramas of great merit and popularity. Richelieu, the Bridals of Messina, the Wife, and other Plays, have attracted very respectable houses. K. Last evening, Mr. Vandenhoff took his benefit. The favorite plays of Cato, and Money, were performed on this occasion. Mr. Vandenhoff is an excellent actor of Roman characters-his noble figure, and "big manly voice," are great natural advantages. His Cato, in our opinion, has never been surpassed on the stage. The stern, unbending patriot, invariably dignified in word and action-temperate but firm in the senate-affectionate but severe at his home-cautious and brave in the field-inflexible in his pride and principle to the last hour, commands our feelings of awe and admiration. Mr. Vandenhoff's delivery throughout, was beautifully correct and expressive—during his recital of the celebrated soliloquy on the immortality of the soul, he kept his audience in breathless attention, at the conclusion of it he was deservedly rewarded with repeated rounds of applause. INSTITUTIONS. MECHANIC'S, MOUNT STREET. On Saturday, Oct. 23rd, the members of the Vocal Musical Classes of this Institution, gave a Concert, under the superintendence of Mr. G. Eyton, their teacher, and as might be expected the Lecture room was very much crowded. The Selection consisted of some of the first rate Glees, Choruses, &c., of Bishop, Parry, Knyvett, and others, and were received in the most favourable manner. Knyvett's, Glee "The bells of St. Michael's Tow'r" was encored, and deservingly so. It is a very pleasing composition, the words run thus: MERRILY rang the Bells of St. Michael's Tow'r, When Richard Penlake and Rebecca, his wife, arrived at Richard Penlake was a cheerful man, But "he had a sad life with Rebecca, his wife, Richard Penlake a scolding would take, 'Till patience avail'd no longer; Then Richard Penlake a crabstick would take, Bishop's well known chorus "Now tramp," was performed in a most masterly manner, and received an encore, the Soprano Obligato, was executed by Miss Bell, (a pupil of Mr. Eyton) with considerable taste and feeling. Constantius Festa's Madrigal “Down in a flowery vale" written in the year 1541, was also sung in a very praseworthey manner, the words are: Down in a flow'ry vale, all on a summer's morning, O! Shepherdess, have pity, His passion true discover; Ah! why art thou to me so cruel? If gold thou hast, fond youth, 'twill speed thy suing : But if thy purse be empty, come not to me a wooing. Bishop's beautiful Glee, "Sleep Gentle Lady," and chorus "The Tiger couches in the wood," also received considerable applause. The instrumental performance consisted of Haydn's renowned Quartett, the Prayer, which was performed by Mr. Eyton, Mr. Mackenzie, Mr. Armstrong, and Mr. Davies, two Violins, Viola, and Violincello, in a most delightful manner, also Miss Mackenzie, (Pupil of Mr. Eyton) played De Beriot's 7th Solo for the Violin. In the course of the Evening a song and chorus, composed by Mr. Geo. Eyton, and dedicated to the Directors of the Institution, was sung by Mr. G. Lunt and the classes. The composition is good and we have no doubt will receive public approbation. With respect to the classes great praise is due to Mr. Eyton for his exertions, and though we heard not the voices of a Lablache or Staudigl, they sang both in time and tune, two essential requisites for he production of good music. On Wednesday, Oct. 27th, James Sheridan Knowles, Esq., commenced a course of Six Lectures on the Drama, at this institution; and, as might be expected, from the renown of the lecturer, in a quarter of an hour after the opening of the doors, the room was literally crammed. "The origin of the Drama may be traced from the imaginative faculties of man; and we find the child hardly able to speak forming to itself a figure, endowing it with speech, and holding with it dialogues. As adult age approaches, these faculties are characterized by more important results, and yet the thoughts of the child are not dissimilar,-when maturity is assumed he is still at work. What is castle building but the construction of a drama in which we are the heroes? No wonder then, if in the rude and simpie data of society, we find the study of this art-no wonder then, we see it in the valley and the school. Baccheus, you know, was the joyous parent of the Grecian husbandmen, who erected tents and sung hymns in chorus to his praise, and between the acts of these hymns, recitations were delivered. Such was the study of the drama some hundred years before the christian era; and it only required a true dramatist to raise it to an eminence-so great was the love of novelty. Of the recitations not a single example has been handed down to us, but we have an illustration of the hymns." The lecturer then recited in most-masterly manner, the hymn to Baccheus, and proceeded—but it is to Æschylus we owe the second stage of the drama. The plain where the performance was conducted, no doubt, would suggest the scenes, and the scenes an inclosed stage; and it was with Eschylus this was accomplished, who also invented the mask. About this time, the rage for the theatre was so great among the Greeks, that a sum of money was provided by the government to allow the people the advantage of seeing the performance. One of the great disadvantages among the Greek plays, and one upon which the lecturer dwelt with great eloquence and truth, was the unity of time and place, namely-that the performance should take up nearly the same time as the real and be situated in the same place; and he showed that though the Greek authors held up this rule, they violated it in various places. He then proceeded to compare with these Greek plays the standard productions of Shakspere, showing that though the space of twenty years passed over in two hours, yet the interest was retained. F. W. ECONOMY. "A slight knowledge of human nature will show,” says Mr. Colquhoun, "that when a man gets on a little in the world he is desirous of getting on a little further." Such is the growth of provident habits, that it has been said, if a journeyman lays by the first five shillings, his fortune is made. Mr. William Hall, who has bestowed great attention on the state of the labouring poor, declares he never knew an instance of one who saved money coming to the parish. And he adds, moreover, "those individuals who save money are better workmen; if they do not the work better, they behave better, and are more respectable; and I would sooner have in my trade a hundred men who save money, than two hundred men who would spend every shilling they get. In proportion as individuals save a little money, their morals are much better; they husband that little, and there is a superior tone given to their morals, and they behave better for knowing they have a little stake in society." ORIGINAL POETRY. LINES, Written in a Lady's Album, on noticing that all previous contributions had been written exclusively on the coloured leaves, leaving the white, among which was the first page, unnoticed. WILL no one write on poor page one? Oh, prithee, kind sir, do! I'm pearly white, and equal quite To either pink or blue. Yes, poor page one, it shall be done, Nor make the pink ones blush: For thus in thee, we plainly see, The world will pass, and give to dress, But thou art blest above the rest, Come, kind consoler of our earthly cares Hail! hail! sweet hope, for I have felt thy charms, Oh, what should I have been were't not for thee? What done, if thou hadst not supported me? The fiend Remorse would now my heart-strings tear. THE POET AND THE CRITIC. HE within whose breast is glowing Ev'ry truly noble feeling; Who is happy when bestowing Balms, to mental wounds are healing; He who ever sympathises With all beings in creation, He who more than all things prizes That which causes exultation, He who lessens human cares, Seeks to mitigate distress, When such you see E'en though he never wrote a line, He is one favoured by the nine. And he who ever loves to stray By lofty hills and fertile dales, Who loves to watch the lambkins play- Who loves to stray by pale moon-shine, Can trace in all things hand divine, Whoe'er he is His hand I kiss, For nature owns him as her Poet, Unfailing are these proofs that shew it. He who delights in none of these, And who no greater pleasure knows Than with ill-natured scoffs to tease, And ev'ry trivial fault t' expose, ON SLEEP. 'Tis sweet to the ploughman who cuts the tough soil, 'Tis sweet to the youth who is panting for fame, |