THE WRECK OF A WORLD.-A DAY-DREAM.
By H. G. B.

specting the authenticity of which we decline giving an The hair, moustaches, and beard, are of the softest texopinion, until further examination. Four portraits, by ture; and their beautiful arrangement is evidently naSpagnoletto, are characterised by an exaggerated contrast tural and involuntary. The face is all thought and feelof light and shade, that would almost lead us at first viewing-all repose, and full of enjoyment-yet indicating a to set them down for mere daubs. A closer inspection capability of exertion far beyond ordinary mortals. shows, however, transparent colouring and fine drawing, with occasionally (as, for example, in the portrait of the starry Galileo and his woes) great nobleness of expression. A landscape, near the Bathsheba, is said to be by Salvator Rosa; and, whether genuine or not, is valuable, for its mellow tone, and admirable disposition of light and shade. The lover of broad and rich humour will find a high treat in the Flemish Epicure of Jordaens. His face, broad and round, literally shines (under the influence of music, rich dishes, and noble wines) with the oil of gladness.

The Saloon contains some pieces of sculpture, which do not afford much room for remark. There are two able paintings, of which I could neither learn nor guess the subjects, nor the master; for they are evidently from the same hand. Not the least interesting portion of the contents of this apartment, are some drawings by Sir Ro. bert Strange.

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Some say that gleams of a remoter world
Visit the soul in sleep-that death is slumber,
And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber
Of those who wake and live.--I look on high;
Has some unknown omnipotence unfurl'd
The veil of life and death? or do I lic
In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep
Spread far around and inaccessibly
Its circles?

SHELLEY.

THE impression it left upon my mind will never be effaced, yet I cannot describe it. It was a vision of fearful, but glorious sublimity. I know not whether it was a waking or a sleeping dream; it came upon me for the moment with all the overwhelming force of reality. There are mysteries in the unfathomable soul of man, over which, either in the calm of noon, or the solitude of night, we may well brood with awe, starting even from ourselves, as if we carried within us a spirit to whose omnipotence we were forced to bow, and over whose wild and wayward will we in vain attempted to assert an influence.

We now come to the drawing-room. The Vertumnus and Pomona of Rubens is a fine painting, but requires one far gone in the love of the art, not to be startled with the homely, though characteristic, features of the pair, and the anachronism of their dress. Near this is " composition"--fruit and game by Snyders, figures by Rubens-worthy of a longer perusal than I could afford it. It was Sunday, and I was up by myself among the There are two Murillos-one, the flight into Egypt-the mountains. Not a human habitation was in sight, not other, St John, the good shepherd. Both have the artist's a human sound was floating on the hushed atmosphere. warm colouring and delicacy of tint. The figures in the But, through the deep stillness, a low thrilling voice former are exact copies of every-day life—there is no ele- appeared to fill all space, a voice that seemed an inherent vation about the expression. It would have been a gem, part of the creation, for ever ringing on the finer nerves had it merely undertaken to represent peasants rest-of sense, like the distant and dying hum of bees, or the ing;" but there wants that dignity and grace which we far-off murmur of the summer ocean. The more you require in the incarnate Deity and his mother. The St listened to convince yourself of the profound quiet of John is more ideal, and betrays a finer feeling of the animated nature, the more you were aware of a certain poetry of the art, than any other work of Murillo's that rushing noise,-the whirl, perhaps, of a revolving world, we have seen. The "Elijah, fed by ravens," of Teniers, or the audible breathing of every living blade of grass, is chiefly valuable, on account of the beautiful clear land- and humble flower, and majestic tree, and primeval foscape which we see through the mouth of the cave in rest. Or might it not be the invisible passing of ten which the prophet is seated. There is also in this room thousand souls, eternally moving on and on in two unina landscape by Claude Lorrain, of which I could speak terrupted currents-the one towards the heaven they "from morn till dewy eve;" but my limits will not ad- have gained, and the other to lighten up for a while the mit, and he must rest unnoticed, till I can devote a whole pure shrine of infantile bosoms? It matters not; it is a essay to himself. sound to be felt, not reasoned on. I threw myself down at random upon a spot unshadowed by a tree, green and bright, under the immediate eye of Heaven. I lay like a swimmer afloat upon his back in the blue solitude of some favourite bay. The mighty skies seemed rolling on above me, with their gorgeous cavalcades of cloud, tier after tier, in every great and fantastic shape that imagination coins,—palaces with domes of diamoud and gold, immeasurable pyramids, thrones radiant with chrysolite, leviathans of the deep, monsters of the air, glorious and colossal forms of bards, and silver-haired prophets, and monarchs on their majestic steeds careering across the sun.

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There now remain only two paintings, of which I intend to say any thing; and they are both portraits. There are, no doubt, paintings of this class, which have an independent value of their own but their chief interest arises from the completeness which they give to our ideas of distinguished characters. The pictures, at present alluded to, are a portrait of Masaniello of Naples, and what is said to be an original portrait of Shakspeare. The former is a full-length. Masaniello stands with a matchlock in his hand, and a silver sword by his side, in a dress of many and strongly-contrasted colours. His body is not bent-only slightly inclined forward. There is " listening fear in his regard"—his eyes have the ferocity and keen watchfulness of the cat-his mouth wears a vacant animal smile. The brow is lofty and commanding. The upper part of the face indicates capacious and powerful intellect the lower, strong animal passions. His story forms the comment on it. He rescued his country like a hero he fell into habits of excess; and his followers had to kill him, like a mad dog, lest he should do mischief. I would give a good deal to know, upon good authority, that the other really is an original portrait of Shakspeare. It is just such a face as I could fancy him to have had. The brow is broad, high, and beautifully formed. The clear eyes beneath it swim in quiet delight. The mouth is rather large; the vermilion lips lie apart, indicating a quick perception of all pleasurable sensations.

Suddenly a change came over the face of the firmament. Its rainbow lights faded away. Its blue fields seemed to wither in the poisoned air. They grew pale, and yet paler; a filmy veil appeared to have been cast before them; and when I looked again, they had died away into a wan and sickly white. The whole firma.. ment was in rapid and tumultuous motion. The winds were still speechless; the same dead repose pervaded nature; but far, far above me, the stormy rack was wheeling round and round in its inextricable confusion. The brightness of the sun-lit empyrean had passed away for ever. Darker and darker;-every thing was quickly lapsing into gloom. Along the whole horizon my eye rested on the melancholy edge of a rising canopy of black. It spread upwards with a slow, regular, ominous

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motion ;-upwards, still upwards, across the whole arch
of heaven. The light fled before it, but it pursued, and
buried it up in its sullen folds. Not a ray, not a single
ray was left; not one luminous particle floated through
infinite space.
But a change had been wrought upon
my sense of sight. I could now distinguish objects in
the darkness, as well as I could do before in the light.
I turned towards the earth, and looked round.
scarcely knew it to be the same as that on which I had
lived. I could see for miles,-for leagues,-away through
the deep obscurity that overshadowed it; but it was only
one vast, unbroken, barren, lifeless waste. Its moun-
tains, its woods, its streams, its cities, its moving and
breathing things, were gone-gone like a cloud from the
surface of a lake. Of all the human race, I only survi-
ved. The desolation had been complete-too complete,
too terrible for tears. I felt that a curse was upon me
-the curse of loneliness. And the silence-that dread-
ful silence-worse, a thousand times worse than the roar
of earthquakes, still continued. There was nothing to
break it. The air had lost the attribute of motion; the
instinct of life had perished, and there was not even the
stirring of a growing flower to relieve the ear, though
but with the mockery of sound.

with a fierce and fiery glare. The solid earth heaved in convulsive throes. The pyramids were rent asunder, and the buried dead walked out. They were still dead, but their glazed eyes rolled horribly in mysterious meaning. Their cerements fell spontaneously from them, and their livid carcasses looked yet more horrible in the gloomy and dismal light. Their features were those of every nation and tribe that the sun had ever shone upon-the brown Arabian, the black African, the red Indian, and the white Frank. They formed themselves into a long, an interminable procession, and in the middle I could distinguish a bier covered with black. Upon it lay the body of one who had been alive for four thousand years-the wizard Time. He had witnessed the world's birth, and he had ceased to exist on that very hour in which it had been destroyed. They were carrying him to his tomb in eternity. They passed me, but I heard not the tread of their many feet; their lips moved, but the funeral chant came not to my ears. Perhaps it was the imperfection of my senses which cabined the powers of my soul. The meteor in the east moved on as if to meet them, flinging down at intervals a shower of dying stars. They journeyed away beyond the limits of sight, and all around me became again dim and uncertain. I saw no more. It was now evening-a thunder-storm was gathering on the mountains, and I hastened homewards.

These wild fancies, they say, are often the prognostics of coming madness. If so-the decrees of destiny must be fulfilled.

"WHAT'S A' THE HURRY?"

A REMINISCENCE OF THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.

Whither was I now to flee? Was I doomed to a wretched immortality, wandering over a shipwrecked and deserted world?—All at once a disembodied shape passed by me. For the first time fear fell upon my soul. The curtain of immateriality was withdrawn, and I stood in the visible presence of the mysterious dead, whose nature was different from mine, and in whose feelings I had no sympathy. Perhaps they were the evil spirits of the former world, who, now that it had My excellent friend, now generally known as the Etbeen changed into a charnel-house, were condemned still to trick Shepherd, was, some fifteen or twenty years ago, a flit along with it as it rolled its spectral and rejected form member of the Forum, then a popular debating society. through the remotest regions of chaos. I was left in He had taken it into his head that he was an orator, and, doubt, in ignorance, and I trembled. Shadow after sha-in order to give greater effect to his speech, had planted dow appeared in the distance, came rapidly through the dim air, and glided by me. All were of gigantic magnitude, and frequently a wild unnatural expression was on their unsubstantial countenances. Their numbers, too, seemed perpetually increasing, and the speed at which they went was becoming greater. It was a tremendous, but magnificent pageant. Some were mounted upon vi sionary steeds, black as ebony; others moved on in chariots and triumphal cars, like Roman generals at a triumph; unreal ships came sailing through the abyss above me, with all their white sails set, and apparently full in the wind. Noiselessly they came, and noiselessly they again vanished afar off. They were followed by prodigious birds, larger a thousand times than the South American condor, who soared in solitary pomp away into the

darkness.

I wandered over the illimitable desert, and these shapes and sights of awe grew familiar to me. Unexpectedly, like flakes in a snow-storm when its fury is wellnigh spent, they became less frequent and less confused. At length I saw no more. A faint red light, as if diffused from a few glimmering lamps that hung far up in the black concave, spread a dim sepulchral glare around me. I looked, and found that I was on a boundless plain of ruins, stumbling over huge fragments hid among the rank and withered grass. Heaped together in strange overthrow, I recognised the fallen towers of Athens, of Tyre, and of Balbec, the crumbling fanes of Jerusalem and of Babylon, the eternal pyramids, the sculptured obelisks, the mutilated sphinxes, and the jasper tombs of Palmyra, of Memphis, and of Thebes. They were all cast from their once immovable bases, and like the statues and images of a sacked city, they lay prostrate along the earth, disfigured, broken, dishonoured, and neglected. It was a world's churchyard, and these were the monuments that were piled upon the grave of man. I could see them all in the dim lurid light. Suddenly a meteor broke forth, far away in the east,

himself in a conspicuous and commanding situation in the gallery. The church (in Carrubber's Close) was crowded to excess. The President had proposed, and I had opened, the question ;-it was, as I well remember, upon the comparative happiness of the Married and Single State. Hogg was then unmarried, and a stanch antagonist. I had espoused the side of matrimony, and found that the cause I advocated was not unpopular. Hogg rose in reply. For a space, his appearance, though somewhat doric and uncouth, was rather imposing, and he dwelt amongst of the Gudeman of Auchtermuchty. I began, in fact, to "squalling weans and scolding Kates" with all the address fear that the audience was disposed to go along with him, when, all at once, he paused, and, after some instants of breathless suspense, pulled from his pockets the contents occupied a situation in the body of the church, having obof his seemingly extempore address. A gentleman, who served the pause, without seeing the occasion of it, and imagining that the speaker had stopped as a mill pauses— from the want of an encouraging moving force-exclaimed, in a tone and manner ludicrously resembling those of the orator-"Go on, honest man!" Hogg coolly snuffed the candle, which was attached to the adjoining pillar, and, opening out his papers slowly and deliberately, said, with the utmost composure, "What's a' the hurry?"

When I see the whole world agog, and a-drive, and a-push, and a-struggle, in every direction into which perverted genius has sent it a wool-gathering, I am ever and anon disposed to exclaim, with my old friend Hogg,"What's a' the hurry ?"

LINES FOR THE EYE OF MR JAMES HOGG, SOME- Gem of my soul! the ocean's pearl, though pure,

LITERARY CHIT-CHAT AND VARIETIES.

THE author of The Kuzzilbash has in preparation a new work, descriptive of Persian life and manners, under the title of The Persian Adventurer.

The author of Flirtation will speedily publish a tale of fashionable life, under the title of The Separation.

A novel, entitled Clifford, by the author of Pelham, may be expected in a few days.

Shortly will be published, Memoirs of the late Right Reverend J. T. James, D.D., Lord Bishop of Calcutta: gathered from his Letters and Memoranda, by E. James, M.A., Prebendary of Winchester.

There is in the press, Illustrations of the Exodus-consisting of six views, from drawings taken on the spot, during a journey through Arabia Petræa, in the year 1828, by W. H. Newnham, Esq., and engraved on stone by J. D. Harding. The scenes pourtrayed are those in which the principal events recorded in Exodus occurred. Proposals for publishing the Wycliffite versions of the Old Testament have been circulated, under the sanction of the Royal Society of Literature. The editors are the Rev. J. Forshall and Mr Madden, both eminent scholars, and connected with the British Museum.

The author of Rome in the Nineteenth Century, and of Continental Adventures, is preparing a new work.

Mr Ferrari, one of the oldest musical professors in London, announces Memoirs of his Life, and Anecdotes of his Musical Contemporaries. Ferrari was the intimate friend of Paesiello and Haydn, the preceptor of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, and of Madame Catalani.

MISS FANNY AYTON'S CONCERT.-This concert, which took place last Monday evening, was thinly attended. Miss Ayton particularly distinguished herself in "La Biondina," "Rise, gentle Moon," and a "Scena from Der Freischutz." She also sang very sweetly Mrs Alexander Kerr's very pretty song, "This is the hour." She prin cipally excels, however, in Italian music. Miss Ayton was assisted by Messrs Horncastle, Boyle, Murray, and Platt. Mr Horncastle must have had a cold, for his singing produced no effect whatever. Mr Boyle was encored in "How blithely the pipe." Mr Murray played a fine solo on the violin, and Mr Platt a very pleasant one on the flute.

MR KNOWLES'S LECTURES.-Mr Knowles concluded his course of Lectures on Dramatic Literature on Wednesday. He was attended on that day by a highly respectable and numerous audience. We are glad to perceive that he is to deliver one other lecture this evening. on the interesting subject of Elocution-hitherto too much neglected in this city-in the course of which he will introduce some favourite specimens of recitation.

MR DICK'S SUSPENSION RAILWAY.-The exhibition of Mr Dick's ingenious invention closes, we believe, this day, and the models are about to be taken to London. A good deal of attention has been excited by this new species of railway. Cheapness and rapidity of conveyance from place to place are of the greatest importance, and any invention which has these objects in view, is well entitled to the minute investigation of scientific men. If Mr Dick's plans were once reduced to practice, there is no saying what advantages might ultimately accrue from them. Traders and manufacturers would then be able to send their goods from one extremity of the country to the other, in nearly as little time as it now takes to transport them from one end of London to the other. The whole kingdom would thus be added to the tradesman's shop, and of course a great reduction would take place in the price of goods. The demand for them would consequently increase; the revenue would benefit accordingly; and the public burdens would be gradually reduced. This is a splendid prospect, and it may be realised if Mr Dick's plans are ever put into practice.

THOMAS CAMPBELL AND MISS CRUMPE.-We have been a good deal amused with the following little disclosure, which is made with the utmost naïveté in the New Monthly Magazine for April. A recent musical publication, entitled, "Hours Past, Present, and Future, the words by Miss Crumpe, the music by T. Cooke," is thus reviewed:" A very charming little morceau of composition, the words by the fair author of the novel of Desmond. While the music, we are persuaded, will be admired, the words are already familiar to our readers, having been published with the name of Mr Campbell affixed to them. This may seem to demand explanation. We believe the secret to have been, that their fair author, diffident of her poetical powers, submitted the lines to Mr Campbell's judgment, who expressed himself highly pleased with them. Whether the lady had still her doubts as to the sincerity of the commendation, we know not; but she so far probed it, that Mr Campbell, saying he should not object to publish them with his own name, he thought so well of them, was instantly put to the test, and fulfilled the truth of his declaration with becoming gallantry. This may account for the lines appearing at present under another, the real authorship." We do not know whether to admire most in this instance the good faith of Miss Crumpe or of Mr Campbell.

ROYAL INSTITUTION. We observe that the Exhibition of Ancient Pictures is to be closed on Saturday the 17th, and a Modern Exhibition to be opened early in May.

CHIT-CHAT FROM GLASGOW.-The "Bazaar" for the sale of Ladies' Work, in behalf of the Orphan Institution, was held last week, in a very handsome suit of apartments recently built, and called St George's Rooms. There was a prodigious turn-out of beauty and fashion on all the days, and £500 was realised for the charity. One family of young ladies alone contributed what brought a twentieth of the sum thus levied, chiefly on bachelors. Many celebitaires were tempted out of half-a-crown by the taking appearance of a sealed packet, labelled "Indispensable to a Gentleman." If they broke the scal in the room, another half-crown was the penalty of their imitation of Eve, and their reward, on unclosing the mysterious parcel, was A Wife-of gingerbread-value twopence. Some of the fair contributors used their pens, as well as their needles and pencils, on this occasion, with great effect. A catalogue, in verse, of the articles exhibited for sale, was particularly piquant and elegant, as you will judge by the following specimen :

Here are drawings and paintings, that jointly convey, What the Artist may learn, and the Moralist sayThat Taste, Talents, and Time, in such service employ'd, Are most by ourselves, and by others, enjoy'd. And these butterflies-look at their beautiful hues ! Their hazels, and crimsons, and brightest of blues,Yet, 'tis certain, that she, who imparted these dyes, Put their brightness to shame, by her lips and her eyes. That her fairy productions were sent to this place, Only proves, that her heart is as good as her face. "Here are Card-racks, assuming the form of the Lyre, Which, with rapture, might even cold Dulness inspire. For a purpose more noble, no Lyre was e'er framed, In the days when the fiercest of passions it tamedBy the boy who first found it, a shell on the shore, That charm'd into music the ocean's wild roar. "Here are Screens to defend blooming cheeks from the blaze, Which the hearth of their home in its comfort displays. Will you buy them ?-and thus by their presence be told, Of the Orphans who ask to be screen'd from the cold." -T. P. Cooke has created a sensation amounting to enthusiasm here, and drawn excellent houses. His benefit was quite a bumper, and deservedly so, for his William, in Black-Eyed Susan, is unique, and "albeit unused to the melting mood," it drew tears into my "lee scuppers."-Miss Jarman is expected with impatience, and we are well pleased to hear she will play in " Aloyse," which, although by a talented lady who has many friends in Glasgow, and is, we believe, a townswoman of our own, strange to say, has never yet been performed

here.

CHIT-CHAT FROM LONDON.-The great topic of conversation at present is Thomas Campbell's Defence of Lady Byron, and Castigation of Mr Moore in the last Number of his Magazine. The preva lent opinion seems to be, that Mr Campbell has thrown away a great quantity of excellent indignation, and left the matter very much where he found it. One thing is evident, that Moore was ignorant of the real or alleged cause of separation, and endeavoured to account for it in as favourable a manner for Lord Byron as possible. That he should have done so, was natural enough, and no defence which Lady Byron has yet made proves the biographer deserving of the opprobrious epithets heaped on him by Mr Campbell.-Leitch Ritchie has published a book, called "The Game of Life;" it is well written, but heavy.-The Foreign Literary Gazette, which has existed for three months, has stopped at the 13th Number, for want of sufficient encouragement. This is to be regretted, for it was conducted with much ability, and in an enlightened and candid spirit. -A new weekly periodical, called Le Representant des Peuples, in French, has made its first appearance. Another French paper has been for some time established in London, called Le Furet de Londres.-The indefatigable Mr Owen is about to hold a public meeting in the City of London Tavern, for the purpose of giving an outline once more of his new system of morals.-The "Panorama of the Maine and the adjacent country, from Mayence to Frankfort," which has just been published, is a very useful addition to Mr Leigh's travelling guide-books. It is a bird's-eye view, combining the map and panorama in one, and will be found a very acceptable companion to the English traveller.-A paper on the Siamese Youths has been read at the Royal Society, and the interest was much increased by the young men being present.-The Literary Union have decided, by a majority of 7, that cards shall not be admitted into their club.

Theatrical Gossip.-Covent Garden closes for the season about the 14th of June, when Fanny Kemble and her father will proceed upon a provincial tour.-Mrs Davenport is to terminate with the present season her professional life of thirty-five years' duration.-The new Easter piece at Drury-Lane is written by Planchè, and is upon a Chinese subject. At Covent Garden Peake is the author, and his drama is founded on Cooper's novel of the Pioneers.-An English version of Rossini's "Cinderella" is almost ready for representation at Covent Garden,-Miss Paton to play Cinderella,➡Young has been