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appropriated for the ceremony; and on every eye being turned in intense and wondering pity upon her, her's alone,-yes, I may say alone, of all around her, glanced fixedly before her on the scene, without a tear to. moisten it. She was in her usual dress of deep mourning, and the only sign of life or intelligence that she betrayed, beyond the mere act of approach towards our group, occurred when she had taken her place beside the Captain, and when with a convulsive shudder, she seemed first to discover that, over her wonted dress, some friend, ere she quitted her Cabin, had thrown a shawl. It was a faded shawl, of litile value, but one lately employed during the illness of her lost infant in at times protecting its feverish frame from the air, and any undue exposure. On perceiving it, its present use about herself seemed strangely unpleasing to her, and she hastily attempted to take it off, and on their removing it, she followed it with a speaking glance of pain and agony. They now proceeded with the ceremony, but it did not seem to touch her. Her looks were frequently turning with an enquiring and fearful expression towards the Ensign, which by this time, pall-like, completely concealed the Coffin, as the hatch stood partly supported on the gangway itself:she started, however, at one part of the service, and her glazed eyes opened, if possible, wider and more strangely, when they prepared to move the haich; and when the word was uttered to consign the corpse to the deep, and they commenced lowering it, her soul seemed to awaken to a sense and full conception of the scene before her, and she suddenly bounded forward to prevent the act. They caught and supported her, and never shall I forget the sudden though harrowing look and attitude of intense listening, which she then wildly assumed, while her soul seemed to hang for an instant on the noise of the descending Coffin. In spite of every care of those employed, it sunk into the waves with a slight plunge,—then followed immediately a cry, or shriek, piercing as horror itself, from the Widow, as she caught the sound! They immediately conveyed her below in a breathless and death-like swoon, which, at the same instant, had overpowered her; and it is almost unnecessary to add, that this poor afflicted young woman quitted not her cabin for the remainder of the voyage. But, though unseen by us, she was not less an object of our deepest pity, and sincerest sympathy.'--pp. 393-399.
England in sight once more, all the Bengalee's feelings of joy are summoned to the scene. Landing at Deal, he pursues his way to town, and gives in bis own proper person a highly amusing picture of a newly returned Nabob.
We were soon clear of the town, and in a fine open country. While among, and near to, the houses, at Deal, their first strangeness and seeming novelty had worn off, and on leaving it, ere we had proceeded a few miles, whether the long torpid series of reminiscences were beginning to recover themselves in my mind I know not, but suddenly it seemed as if there was an awakening within me from a long dream-like sleep of absence and estrangement; and the whole character of the scenery before me, the cottages, fields, trees, living and other objects, burst upon my almost overpowered recollection, as things familar, well-known, and fondly welcome to me! I laughed outright, joyously and audibly, though with a feeling of pleasureable fulness at my heart, which almost wildly resolved itself into a fit of tears at the very saine moment. Every turn of the road, every litile village, barn, or clump of well remembered description of trees, now
wrung from me new bursts of childish delight. Every cart and team that passed us, I put out my head to watch and welcome it as an old friend. The post horses and boys of our chaise were all matters of glad and ad. miring wonderment; and the first stage-coach that few past us, with its - crowd of passengers, capital cattle, and corresponding equipments, forced
from me so evident and loud an exclamation of joyous and astonished recognition, that they all looked back, and stared on me as on a person demented; though, I must say, the good natured, sympathising, yet, at the same time, undisguised amusement of the Captain by my side, made him look like anything rather than my keeper.
At Canterbury we breakfasted, and what with the ride and lateness of the hour, I managed to eat more heartily than was consistent with the proper sensibility, methinks, of a returned exile ; but the first buoyancy of my feelings was beginning to subside into calm, continuous, and joyous happiness, at finding myself once more truly and positively on shore in my own native land. Nothing particular occurred after quitting Canterbury; till, in less than seven hours and a half, we reached London, from Deal, a distance of seventy-two miles, which piece of celerity in travelling, including in it very nearly an hour's delay for the breakfast, was no small matter of astonishment, after my most leisurely Indian habits of locomotion. But I soon found that wonder and admiration were to have no respite. As we approached the Metropolis, every new turn of the road brought with it a new succession of novelties to allure my gaze, -such hosts of Europeans !
(for thus my Asiatic mode of describing my countrymen, presented those - here also to my view,) such numberless well-dressed maidens, with their
roseate and blooming cheeks; though, by the bye, I must observe that
this last distinguishing trait of my countrywomen at first struck me as - uppleasing and excessive. For after the pallid, tintless features of my sister
exiles, which I had for so many years been accustomed to in the East, the present bloom and ruddiness around me seemed almost painted and unnatural. The various equipages, the large, strong, and well-made cattle on the road, the ceaseless frequency of passing stage-coaches, the thronged pathways, and continuity of the buildings and houses by the way side, as we still nearer advanced to town, all had a' full share of my constantly attracted view ; till, at last, the Post-chaise pulled up at the Captain's own residence, at the distance of a mile or two from the bridges. Under his late amusement at all my wild and unrepressed enjoyment of the new scenery thus brought before me, I had begun, for the last stage or two, to discover a share of excited eagerness and impatience also in my fellow traveller himself. He was thinking of the rapturous and happy reception now awaiting him, in the house of his wife and family. As we pulled up, he waited not for the post-boy to alight and release him from the chaise, but Ainging open the door himself, he bounded out with almost the lightness of youth:
- his own street-door was as quickly opened for him ; -a joyous-looking face or two were seen rushing away from the window for the stairs, and, ere a servant had taken away the portmanteau from the chaise, I caught a glimpse of a glad group of female forms and children, clinging wildly and affectionately around my worthy friend!
God bless him ! I ejaculated, as alone and solitarily I left his door, after desiring the post-boy to drive me to the Bath Hotel, in Piccadilly. It is meet, thought I, he should have some bright moments to repay him
for the many, many annoyances of his little-enviable command of an Indiaman, and of his perpetual separation, in a sea life, from those he lovos.
• I would not, at this time, allow my thoughts to pursue this subjec farther, and reflect that I, alas ! like too many of the old, isolated sojourners of the East, had not, like him, a house or welcome to receive me on my return at last to the spot of my birth. And yet, at that moment, when I gave the order for my conveyance to an Hotel, I could have sighed deeply, aye, deeply indeed, at the houselessness and seeming state of desertion that now awaited my old age, on this its escape from the far scenes that had wasted away and consumed its manhood.
On reaching the Hotel, I was led to believe, by the attention, and bustle, and respectfulness, which marked my entry, that I was esteemed a person of no mean consequence; and yet I almost conjectured that I discovered the sly signal of an inter-communicating glance between the two waiters, while my ear half caught a remark in the passage, which sounded much like * yellow Nabob." I looked in the mirror; alas, the character was there too evident : but I did not remember at the same time, also, the chain of intelligence kept up in these matters by the post. boys on the road, where our over-liberal payment at each stage to these gentry, served to sanction and confirm the unhappy and expensive dis. tinction of “just arrived from Ingee !”
“The Bill of fare was soon handed to me for dinner; “ Why, let me see,” exclaimed I, while examining it, "'a turbot,'—of course, some * salmon,'-yes, yes, some salmon also, and oyster sauce, and lobster sauce, and shrimp ditto."
«« Would you like all, Sir?” demanded the waiter, looking at me.
66If you please : and, what meat have you ? mutton,'--pshaw! too much of that on board :— poultry,'-quite physic to me ;-wild ducks,' - -give me a couple of these; — Beef,' ---aye, a sirloin of beef! and some beef steaks!”
6“ Both Sir?” enquired the man; “and pray, Sir, what vegetables ?"
«« Why, Sir, of all kinds, that you have in the house," was my Asiatic and en prince style of reply.
““ Very well, Sir," said the waiter, and away he went, but returned in an instant with a fresh enquiry, which he thought very necessary, of “ How many covers am I to lay, Sir ?"
I stared at him. • « How many gentlemen dine with you, Sir?”
•“ None; I dine alone,” was my answer. And the man went off in evident astonishment, mingled with his apology of “Oh! I beg pardon, Sir.”
• Too tired to go out before dinner, I amused myself at the window. All the world seemed to me to be travelling, or on the move. Stage-coach after stage-coach, at the different coffee-houses and hotels in front; and the many private carriages, with their tall, handsome cattle, and appointments; so superior to our Indian equipages, with their pigmy, though certainly beautiful Arab horses. Then the hackney-coaches, my old, old friends; the very identical drivers, the very same old crazy vehicles, it seemed to strike me, of my thirty and more years' recollection. When the dinner made its appearance, in an hour or two, I soon found myself unable to attack, or touch even half of the contents of the crowded table. Either my appetite had failed me, or the excited nature of my nerves and feelings had induced a state of feverishness that utterly incapacitated me for enjoying the first English dinner that greeted me, after so long a portion of my life. I could not help smiling, when I looked at the table, and recollected how often in India, and on shipboard, during pauses of idleness and listless conversation, with others as idle and listless as myself, we were wont to fancy what should be our chosen viands for dinner after landing. And now, like the toys of boyhood, or the many hapless realizations of manhood's hope, and anticipations, the often wished-for means of enjoyment were before me, all uncared for and untouched! My dinner, in its quality and selection, was not much dissimilar to one I have since heard of, which was ordered by four gentlemen, who disembarked at Southampton from India. They each agreed to order their respective disbes. Thus, in the fish way, there was a huge salmon before one, soles in front of a second, cod a third, and turbot the fourth. Then followed separate joints of meat, for they agreed in no single description,-a round of beef, a fillet of veal, a quarter of lamb, and a haunch of venison. An equal variety and abundance betrayed itself in the game and pastry; as also in the fruits, wines, and dessert, till at last there was not a person about the hotel, from the landlady down to boots and the helper in the yard, who did not contrive to steal in, to peep at the newly arrived foreign gentlemen, at their plenteous and diversified repast.—pp. 427-433.
We have not thought it necessary to pay attention to several of the poems which this miscellaneous and entertaining book contains. One of these entitled the • Cadet,' of considerable length, and in the Don Juan style, may, however, be recommended to those of our readers who are in a humour for laughter.
d, in the progrcein they sed,) whicuceoli,” in
Art. III.-La Monaca di Monza. By Giovanni Rosini. 3 vols. 8vo.
Pisa. 1829. The unprecedented rapidity with which the Romance of Giovanni Rosini, published last spring, ran through eight editions, and the sensation it has caused, induce us to give a more particular account of this work, as showing the progress lately made by the Italians in those minor prose works, (wherein they were hitherto little skilled, and indeed almost wholly unpractised,) which, in the absence of superior compositions, shine like their “luceoli,” in the night, shedding likewise, as fire-flies, a glittering and uncertain light. Far, very far, during past years, have those portions of the continent, favoured in so high a degree by climate and stirring recollections, departed from their former glories; and comparing present northern activity, with the inert state of the presses, in lands so fertile in brilliant reminiscences, we do not think the figure too strong, or entirely unmerited, when we term the South of Europe the dead sea of literature.
It certainly appears strange, that in a land so rich in fitting matter, so abounding in beautiful and corresponding scenery, so few good romances have hitherto seen the light; hardly any, worth
en; very far, dürias fire-flies, like their
quoting, can be named, and it would seem the musical genius of the South has, in a measure, obliged all tellers of legendary tales or fictions, to betake themselves to poetry and metre; but the transcendent success of those historical romances, which have wafted the fair fame of that eminent person, who first framed their model, to the four quarters of the globe, in addition to calling forth sympathy and admiration in Hesperia's sunny clime, summoned up there the spirit of rivalry ; and Manzoni of Milan, whose literary reputation deservedly ranks high in Italy, first boldly took the field with “I Promessi Sposi,” in four volumes. After due breathing space, and having allowed astonishment at the novelty to subside, affording also ample opportunity for the properly comprehending, digesting, and criticising its various faults and merits, both to "I Signori Cruscanti dell'Accademia,” and to foreigners, -Giovanni Rosini, Professor of the University of Pisa, more modestly followed with “ La Monäca di Monza,' in three 'volumetti.'
The Pisan Professor, timidly distrusting, as it were, his proper force at the outset of the undertaking, and resolved not to deviate rashly from the new path his illustrious forerunner in the race had so fortunately struck out, begins by imitating Manzoni so closely, as to adopt for some of his actionis persona, the characters of the former, and select as his heroine the Nun of Monza, whose history is in the “ I Promessi Sposi,” slightly outlined in episodean form. Rosini's introduction shortly repeats the leading features of this precedent narrative, which may be thus still more concisely detailed. İn 1628, the youngest daughter (Gertrude) of a noble Spanish family, resident in Milan, is forced to take the veil :-whilst in the convent, in consequence of the facility of communication afforded by a garden, she becomes engaged in an amour with a young Bergamot, (Egidio,) at whose instance she afterwards assists in placing Lucia (the heroine of the “ I Promessi Sposi”) in the power of the “ Nameless." Immediately subsequent to this, Rosini, aided by a manuscript of the 17th century, takes up the continua. tion of her history, and opens his tale. Egidio prevails on Gertrude to escape from the convent, but, when on the eve of departure, receives a challenge from her brother. In the second chapter, we have a description, after the fashion of Sir Walter Scott, of the duel, which, in the minute manner of recounting its circumstances and conduct, rather reminds us of that author's guerric style, although the idea, we are told, in a note, was originally taken from the fatal meeting between Lovelace and Colonel Mordaunt, at the end of Richardson's “ Clarissa Harlowe:"
Prince Frederick (as Gertrude's brother was entitled) was already on the ground, accompanied, like the other, by two bravos, and Egidio secretly rejoiced on perceiving them inferior in appearance to his own; not that he desired to use unfair means, but because he was anxious to feel secure from treachery being practised towards himself. Prince Frederick eyed him on his approach with a wild and disordered glance, token