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out their days in undisturbed forget- more distinct points of view, the mild fulness, I confess that I am a play, and lovely features of what we see goer,--a confession, which certainly spread around us. I go to the theatre demands no extraordinary share of purposely as a recreation, and I deresolution to make, as a thousand termine, from the moment I enter the people do the same every day. But pit door or box lobby, not to suffer I persuade myself, that I enjoy many anything to divert me from my obpleasures in my theatrical hours, ject.-I remember, with great dewhich other people do not experience. light, the feelings I used to experiI have not a greater number of ence in my childhood, on a visit to senses than the rest of my species, the theatre. It was but seldom that but I possess, perhaps, in theatrical I went, but it was a real treat, and pleasures, a more lively power of I know scarce anything that could association than the di pollo who equal my joy when I found myself throng the gallery, pit, and boxes fairly seated the portentous green around me. Very probably, there curtain, on which I was wont to gaze may appear in this a great degree of with expecting wonderment, before over-weening egotism, but this I do me, while I waited with impatience not much regard. All people are for the moment that should reveal egotists in their hearts; the only the hidden scenes. Then, there was difference is between those who keep the multitude of company; the lights it pent up, and those who let it loose of the house; the painting, gilding, when occasion offers, without caring and other decorations, which, to where it flies, or whose habits or my youthful eye, seemed gorgeous prejudices it runs a tilt against. To magnificence. Then, too, when the proceed—the primary object with prompter's bell sent forth its silver most frequenters of the theatre is, accents, and was immediately sucI presume, at least nominally,
ceeded by the agitation of the dark THE PLAY.
curtain, as it folded itself up'as if by No one goes, or at any rate ac its own voluntary motion, disclosing knowledges that he goes, to sit in the scene behind_I felt my heart a box, or on a bench. But many bound within me at the sight of the make going to see a play an excuse varied scene, where castles and rocks, for passing away a portion of time, and woods and cataracts, and trees, which they would not otherwise know spread forth in mimic beauty-the how to occupy. Some go to meet heroes and kings of gorgeous tragedy their friends others, for less lauda- went sweeping by—I loved with ble meetings with “ fair mischiefs," Romeo-smile not, gentle reader, at as that facete personage, Master a lover of twelve summers-I then Janus Weathercock hath it--some but thought I loved, and my imagito clap-_others to hiss--these go to nation was ever on the wing. With applaud, and those to damn-some Juliet I wept for her sad mischance, few, perhaps, go out of real love to and listened with mingled feelings dramatic entertainments, and a mul- to the “ meaning in his madness” of titude, because they have nothing the Denmark prince. But it was in else to do.
Lear, that my soul was then most As for myself, I go out of many strongly excited. There was pity motives. There are a variety of cir- for his misfortunes-hatred for
the cumstances which conspire to fur- unnatural daughters to whom he had nish the satisfaction I experience. given his all-wonder and commiI am not cursed with that disposition seration for the maniac whom the to be displeased, which throws the foul fiend torments and pity, addarkest shade on every thing in life. miration, and esteem for her, who I derive pleasure from that, which exposed her tender limbs and deliany one else may derive pleasure cate frame to the “ peltings of the from by using the same means by pitiless storm,” to shield his head, absolutely banishing from the mind and give solace to his misery, who all inclination to cavil and find fault, had driven her from his home and by looking on the golden side of from his heart. thershield, by encouraging that spirit Amongst the advantages, and disof optimism, which softens down the advantages of increasing years, may harsh, and elevates, or brings into be reckoned as one of the latter, that
familiarity with the scenes and plea- Who is that peaceful, but cleversures of our youth, which takes away looking little man? That is Camptheir sweetest bloom. The promp- bell, the Minstrel of Hope, and the ter's bell is no longer delightful to Editor of the New Monthly. By me it is no more the “ sweetest the way, speaking of editors, turn achromatic,"
your eyes that way, yonder is a the rarest and most exquisite,
bench full of them. You see the Most spherical, divine, angelical.
man with the sharp, quick eye, and
the black cravat that is our PrinciThe mystery of the green curtain has faded away-the scenes are fa- pal,
the magnus parens_beside him, miliar to me and the multitude of
is Galt, the Northern Editor, with company (for I never can bear to two of his coadjutors, Lockart and stay to look on empty benches,) with
W-n.-That young beauish man the lights and music and bustle, fail
with his hair curled up in thick so powerfully to excite in me.
But ringlets, rather dark complexionstill I am fond of occasionally taking d'ye see? that is a limb of the law, my accustomed seat on the fourth a barrister expectant, the head man
of the Gazette of Fashion.—Next to bench of the pit.'Tis to me like frequenting Wills' coffee house, the him, is a man of much repute,-the Metropolitan academy of Queen
Editor of the Examiner, and with Ann's time-where Pope and
Addi- him, his brother Leigh, -" par noson, and Wycherley and Steele, and
bile fratrum. As somebody calls their fellow wits, enjoyed the feast them,—" Arcades ambo." of each other's converse, and laughed
But the play hour approaches, and at the puny critics, the Dennises of I'must give up my ideal visionings, the day. They are gone-but at the in order
to enjoy the realities of the theatre, and some other favourite
I hope to God there will be haunts of mine—the Old Hummums
a full house abominate empty in Covent-garden is one I can some
benches—to sit alone on a whole times meet with a circle of men,
bench, whose very vacuity increases whose conversation is not inferior,
its infernal extent-the house like a I imagine, to that of the author of desert—the musicians scraping away the Dunciad, or the writers of the their rosined bows with careless Spectator. There is my friend hands, creating harsh discords-actproud am I to call him my. friend ors looking about them, kicking Charles Lamb, that sportive child
their heels, and looking, with a most of fancy; “ Quem qui non prorsus
sleepy and insolent indifference on amet, illum omnes et virtutes et ve
the rari nantes discernible in the neres odere.” With his endless fund house, with here and there a stray of anecdote derived from his ac
wanderer like myself, lolling at full quaintance with the old fellows-his length, or wandering in discontented various reading-his skill in using other; and in the boxes, the ex
solitariness' from one side to the his resources and his free and open pected bright circle of splendour, to says, and not rejoiced in their strong spy occasionally a gloomy face lookand energetic application, the full, ing abroad, or, perhaps, a group of ancient, lovely quaintness of his
a dozen, forming a balf, probably, style, and then turned, with disgust, in one box, to have something like
of the whole set, gathered together from the mawkish, vapid, flat medium insipidity of writers like me
the appearance of close neighbour
hood." I would rather see the face and my brethren? Then there is that wild, hair-brained English opium- of a printer's
devil, importuning for eater, De Q
-y; and there, in yon article.-Rap, rap, rap !-Zounds ! der box, in his black coat and silks, Speak of the devil, and he's at your and venerable placid-looking countenance, is Bowles-what is he think- elbow—'tis he, by all the gods ! – ing of? Of Pope's follies with Martha
And so, kind and fair readers, and
you readers who are neither fair nor Blount, think ye?-or of a sharp “ rubber" for his titled and gifted
Good night. opponent, the wandering Harold ?
Query.- Meaning ourselves ? Ed.
She sighed in her singing, and after each grone,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him downe,
O lay bis cold head on my pillowe;
The Braes of Yarra.
The evening breeze wakes loud and shrill
Among the distant western isles; But yet upon yon sea-beat hill,
The beaming sun in splendour smiles.
Disordered clouds of aspects wild,
Beneath the vast concave of heaven, Fleece upon fleece in mountains piled,
About in rapid chace are driven.
Dark ! dark! the islands lie beneath,
Encircled by the rolling waves ; The wind moans on the lonely heath,
Wild in the wave-worn cavern raves.
On yonder cliff appears a form,
A lovely maiden robed in white ; Wandering amid the beating storm,
Though gathers fast the blackening night.
Against the cliff's broad base of rocks,
The roaring, dasbing billows come; The breezes, from their rugged shocks, Bear
up in Aakes the milk-white loan.
Louder and louder roars the wind,
Arid darker hues the clouds assume; The lone bleak islands lie reclined
In awful solitary gloom.
Yet, on the beach the maid appears,
Her hair loose floating to the breeze; Her dark blue eyes, suffused in tears,
Rove anxious o'er the stormy seas.
List to her wild and plaintive tone,
That wanders on the blast in vain,
Perchance he's deep beneath the main!
“ I see not yet thy bounding sail;
O! Ronald! why so long delay? Must Dora still thy absence wail,
And pass in grief and tears the day?
“ Full many a day I've sought this cliff,
Since that thou promised I should see,If here I watched-thy white sailed skiff
Returning gaily o'er the sea.
« Another chieftain seeks my hand,
But pledged to thee is Dora's love; And though my sire should stern command,
Faithless to thee she cannot prove.
“ The sun, that gilds to-morrow's sky,
Should on thy Dora's bridal rise O hated day! where shall she fly?
But e'er she gives her hand she dies !"
With wild and hurried step she paced
The beach, unmindful of the storm ; And many a low-white cloud she traced,
That distant bore of sails the form.
And as the night began to fall
Darker on mountain, moor, and dell; Full oft did she on Ronald call,
And to the seas her sorrows tell.
“ The howling tempesls ou me break
In gusts alternate from the sea-
And oh! 'tis all for loving thee!
“ Ye furious storms that lower so dark !
Awhile your awful powers restrain; O spare the valiant chieftain's bark,
Return him to my arms again!
“ Thou comest not yet! oh didst thou fall !
In battle slain among the brave; Or has some sudden stormy squall
Hurried thy bark beneath the wave ?
“ 'Tis night--the sea-gulls scream around
I'm wandering on the cliff alone; The sun is sunk in deep profound,
That on the mountains faintly shone.
“ And with that sun my hopes are past,
That glanced as sun-beams bright and fair ; With fears my soul is overcast;
I sink in darkness and despair."