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and steam-engines, and rail-roads. The divine Nonsensia must sometimes be invoked, and can we do it more innocently than by a few annual billet-doux, filled" with laughing cupids, hearts and darts, kisses and blisses, and %o forth 1 For the honour of the worthy saint, then, (who, it is said, was beaten through Rome with dubs,) here is a Valentiue, or two, fbr the good of Old England, and the use of our young and sprightly readers.

'. - Valentine.'

I.

(To the Tune of Rousseau's "Dream.)

Health to thee, my own sweet lady!

Health and blessing, first and last!
Now may heaven, all hounteous, aid me,

Round thy path new spells to cast:

Blessed be thy early morning 1
Blessed be thine evening' close!

Bless'd thy going and returning
Summer-hours and winter-snows.

Not to thee, all undeceiving.

Pure of spirit, frank of heart,
Shall the Mus«*, her fictions weaving,

Act the faithless flatterer's part.

"Win and wear thy prize, sweet lady!

Faith as true, as pure as thine i
Love and service ever ready, . "*
From thy well-known Valentine.

n.

Specimen of an Ancient Valentine.

It is the hour of morning's prime,
The young day of the year,
. The day of days, before the time
When brighter hopes appear.

It i3 the time of early love,

Win i) Muis I.ni faintly .-him:;
It is the day all days above,
;The sweet St. Valentine!

The cold snows on the meadows lie,
. And not a leaf is green,
Yet here and there, in yonder sky,
A gleam of light is seen:

So love, young love, ,inid storms and snow,

Darts forth a light divine;
So darker days the brightness show

Of thine, St. Valentiue.

III.

THE VALENTINE WREATH. BY MB. MONTGOMERY.

Rosy red the hills appear,

With the light of morning,
Beauteous clouds, in an her clear,

All the East adorning; «

White, through mist, the meadows shine;
Wake, my love, my Valentine!

For thy locks of raven hue,

Flowers of hoar-frost pearly,
Crocus cups, of gold and blue,'

Snow-drops drooping early,
With mezereon sprigs combine:
Rise, my love, my Valentine,

• Cer the margin of the flood,
Pluck the daisy creeping^;
Through the covert of the wood

Hunt the sorrel creeping; With the little celandine, . Crowning love, my Valentine,

.Panties* on their lowly stemfc

Scattered o'er ttte fallows f
Hazel-buds, with crimson gems.

Green and glossy sallows,
Tufted moss and ivy twine,
Deck my love, my Valentine,
Few and simple ftow,rets these;

Yet to me less glorious
Garden-beds, and orchard-trees 1

Since this wreath, victorious,
Binds you now for ever mine,
O, my love, my Valentine!

We have got another choice one—but must reserve it for private use. -

Colarden, when on his death-bed, was visited by his friend Barthe, who requested his opinion of his comedy of "The Selfish Man," which he came to read at his bed-side. "You may add an excellent trait to the character of your principal personage," replied Colarden; "say that he obliged an old friend on the eve of his death, to hear him read a five-act comedy."

Modern Rome.—A letter from Rome states that some valuable copper-plates, engraved by Dorigny and Aquilla, from several of the choicest works -of Raphael, Annibal Carracci, and other great masters, have been lately destroyed, by order of the librarian of the Holy See, on account of their, profane exhibition of the human form divine!

GEOLOGY.

Woe to the man whose witdisclaims its use,
Glittering in vain, or only to seduce. -.
Who studies nature with a wanton eye,
Admires the work, but slips the lesson by.

Cowper.

A Roundless prospect of bill and dale alike delights and interests the admirer and the student of nature. Vegetation charms the eye with exhaustless variety of tints and shades, and gratitude gladdens the heart with unspeakable ecstasy, which tends to awaken curiosity and research. Thus, the changes which, are constantly taking place on the earth's surface, are but part of the chain of operations which are working simultaneously within. Hence, the leaf which embellishes the gay scenes of summer, falls at the approach of winter, and becomes resolved into the kindred element, or parent soil, and accounts for the composition of the superstratum of our island, which is called vegetable mould.

But the more important parts of the earth's surface, and which appertain to our present subject, are the solids, or rocks and mountains, which have been divided by geologists into several Glasses or divisions. Each class has its distinct character; but the general divisions may be reduced as follows: • I. Primary rocks.

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2. Intermediate, or transition rocks.

3. Secondary rocks.

4. Alluvial ground.
6. Volcanic products.

Primitive rocks are so denominated because they are supposed to have been formed previous to the creation of animals and vegetables; which theory is corroborated by the absence of organic remains. They consist of crystallized substances lying under the rocks of the upper surface, and form the lowest part of the earth with which we are acquainted; but in many instances they pierce through the incumbent rocks and strata, and form likewise the highest mountains in alpine districts, as for example that of Mont Blanc. With equal probability we may infer that they were formed antecedent to the existence of animals or vegetables on our planet in its present state, the intermediate rocks which cover them being found to contain the organic remains of zoophytes, or such animals as form the first link in the chain of animated nature. Metallic ores are, however, found in great abundance in primitive rocks, particularly tin, wolfran, and molybdena, which occur oftener in these rocks than in others. Here also are found gold, silver, lead, copper, iron, cobalt, zinc, manganese, arsenic, and mercury, either disseminated in beds or veins, or imbedded. Many primitive districts are likewise characterised by their metalliferous repositories; as Strontian, by its galena or lead-glance; Konigsberg, in Norway, by its silver ore; and the gneiss rocks of Arendal and Lapland, by their magnetic iron ore.

Geologists have ascertained the number of primitive rocks to be eight: 1. Granite, composed of quartz, which, combined with alumine and iron, forms the substance of entire ranges of mountains in Asia; with feldspar, one of the most abundant minerals, and of which there are several varieties and mica, better known as Muscovy glass. When these three bodies occur in regular layers in the rock, they are called gneiss; which structure is called by Werner granular-slaty, from the predominance of mica scales. Most of the Saxon, Bohemian, and Salzburg mines are in gneiss. In Lewis, in the Hebrides, is a curious specimen of curved gneiss, which proves that it must once have been elastic, and that the action of water must, in certain places, have carried off the alluvion, and left the primitive rocks bare; and that this stupendous specimen of gneiss must, in remote ages, have been covered with other strata. 2. Micaceous schistus, composed of quartz and mica. 3. Sienite, consisting of hornblende.which connects the primitive and volcanic rocks• and

of feldspar. 4. Serpentine, of feldspar and resplendent hornblende, which abounds with steatite, or soapstone, with which Cornwall abounds, and which forms a principal constituent of Worcester porcelain. Humboldt says the savages of Orinoco consume large portions of steatite as their daily food. 5. Porphyry, or crystals of feldspar. 6. Granular marble, or crystals of carbonate of lime. 7. Chlorite schist, analogous to mica and feldspar. 8. Quartzoserock, composed of quartz, sometimes combined with small portions of crystalline elements belonging to the other rocks,

The preceding enumeration of the classes and varieties of primitive rocks is sufficient to illustrate their importance in adding to the arts and luxuries of social life. Man, the proud lordling of the creation, when compared to these stupendous masses, becomes reduced to his proper level. But they serve as excitements for his intellect and industry. Thus, from their depths he extracts materials for fabrics which stand for centuries, but at length crumble into kindred atoms, and by interchangeable processes revert to their former state; from their abysses he obtains the most valuable metals, which enable him to raise such monuments to his skill, and which hourly minister to his enjoyments. From these "rocks rich in gems, and mountains big with mines," he draws the diadem which glitters on his brow, and which the baseness of ingratitude too often teaches him to pervert to sinister views :* and from their dark retreats he digs the spotless marble, on whose surface human vanity loves to display the last records of self-convicting frailty:

. the pillar'd dome, magniflc, heaves

Its ample roof; and Luxury within

Pours out her glittering stores:

-the statue seems to breathe,

And soften into flesh beneath the touch
Of forming art, imagination flushed.

What theme can be better calculated to impress man with sentiments of rapture and gratitude to the Parent of all nature?

Granite, as we have already shown, is the most important of all primitive rocks. It is not stratified, as has been supposed,

* Nothing can, be more beautiful than the cavities in primitive mountains, the walls of which are studded with topaz, beryl, and rock crystal; the gneiss, gramte, and mica-slate glitter with their imbedded grains and crystals of sapphire, chrysoboryl, and garnet; and the veins in other primitive rocks with emeralds axinitc, and spiral ruby! Alas! how lamentable is the perversion of such treasures by the wiles of ambition and sordid avarice I

but. is sometimes divided into tabular masses, which have been mistaken for strata. It is also found in masses or blocks, . and in a state of decomposition, probably owing to the potash in feldspar, which is a constituent part of that mineral. Cornish and Scotch granites are observable at every step in our metropolis: in the former of which kind the feldspar is white, and in the latter of a reddish brown. The Strand or Waterloo-bridge, the most stupendous structure of its kind in the world, is built of granite,* and had equal care been taken in the selection of the materials for the neighbouring bridges and public buildings, the're would not liave been so much cause for animadversion on their founders.. The exterior of the Strand-bridge is built of Cornish gramte, except the balustrades, which are of Aberdeen granite. Altogether, Ihis^bridge is a triumph of human labour in one of the most ingenious inventions, and its erection is one of the proudest eras .in the history of art and science.

Nothing can be said to enhance the glory of Mont Blanc, the highest granitic points being 16,680 feet above the level of the sea. Here gneiss, micaceous schist, and .other slate rocks rest. fac,card,Saussure, and more recent travellers, have already celebrated this stupendous mountain. . Many of the Andes in South America rise much higher, but this is iowing to the accumulation of volcanic matter on their summits; granite not being found there higher than 11,500 feet. It forms the principal .mountain ranges in Europe', Asia, and Africa, but - the occurrence of granite at a lower level in America than in Europe, is one of the most remarkable facts in its history.

dfttu %rts.

BRITISH INSTITUTION.

No. 125. PANBOBA CROWNED BY The ^ . SEASONS. BY W. ETTY A.

, In allegorical and mythological subjects, perhaps,no. living artist is superior to Mr. Etty, and the Pandora in the present exhibition, is a flue specimen of his style. The figures, which are naked, are

* Blackfriars-bridge is of Portland stone, and Westminster of Portland and Purbeck. The credit for the preference, of granite for the titrand-bridge is due to the persevering ganius of Mr. Kennie, whose memory Englishmen cannot too highly respect. Casual passengers often halt to admire the glitteiing of'the materials of this structure, when reflected on by, the potent rays of the sun; and they woutu do well to "extend their stay to an examination of those beautiful specimens of Cornish and Scotch granite. ..,

finely drawn, though not in the pujest taste, and are beautifully penciled, and the whole compositipn is rich and splendid, resembling the Venetian school. Reynolds has observed, that what has been so often said to the disadvantage of allegorical poetry—that it is tedious and uninteresting —rcannot with the same propriety be applied to painting, where the interest is of a different kind. If allegorical painting produces a greater variety of ideal beauty, a richer, a more various and delightful composition, and gives to the artist a greater opportunity of exhibiting his skill, all the interest he wishes, for is accomplished. Such a picture not only attracts, but fixes the attention. Notwithstanding the opinion of so high an authority, who was at that time defending the conduct of Rubens in his Luxembourg pictures, it must be acknowledged, that pictures of this class are far from giving complete satisfaction, though they possess an advantage over poetry in presenting visible objects, and not wearying the imagination. Mr. Etty's pictures, which are some of the best of the style, are instances how unsatisfactory any extensive composition is, be it ever so beautifully executed, or splendidly coloured, which is devoid of fine sentiment, or the expression of human passion. The opportunity of displaying these allegorical and mythological subjects, rarely or never presents. If we turn our attention to the drama, we may perceive that no splendid spectacle can excite the deep interest of a fine tragedy, or comedy, even though the latter derive but little aid from scenery and dresses. The present picture of Mr. Etty's has been purchased by sir Thomas Lawrence.—As a picture of familiar life, the Review, by Robert Farrier, is one of the best in this exhibition, it exhibits a number of children playing at soldiers. The varied actions and countenances of these, admirably express the joy and simplicity of. childhood. One, to make himself a grenadier, stands in pattens ;—another, to become formidable, places a dish-cover on his head.—-A variety of little- incidents of this sort are introduced. They are ingeniously imagined, add great humour to the piece, while an old pensioner is looking on with a smile of approbation. This picture does not possess that crudeness so often seen in the works of the artist, but is penciled with more freedom, and is finely coloured. . There are two pictures at this gallery by II. Fradelle. Othello relating the history of his life to Brabantio and Desdemona; and the Earl of Leicester's visit to Amy Robsart. The former of these has been previously before the public. These pictures are far from being attractive at

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first sight, from their vivid colours and laboured and highly polished style. It is, indeed, no small part of the art of the painter, to conceal his art. The painter, like a great orattr, should never draw the attention from the subject to himself. In the present instance, he engrosses the attention at first sight, to the exclusion of the story. Tjpon a minuter inspection, however, we have been surprised into many unexpected beauties, and beauties too of the highest character; the expression of intense interest and growing passion, in the countenance of Desdemona, is admirable, the action is feminine and lovely, and perfectly accordant with the features. The passion portrayed in Amy Robsart, is of a more playful nature, and the struggle between pride and affection in Leicester, well represented; but this picture is, in the telling of the story, in composition, and ;in'harmony of colour, much inferior to the former one, which, indeed, possesses charms rarely seen in small works, in our'exhibitions. The pictures of the battles of the Nile and Trafalgar, are exhibited, but since they are presented for premiums, any comment would be improper.

•Blt&ttfo anO Shtalgaia. .

MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE OF JOHN PHILIP KEHBLE, KSQ. &C BY JAMES BOADEn,

Esq. 2 vols. 8vo. pp. 1072.

Mr. Boaden is a gentleman well known off the stage. He is, too, a playwright himself, and for the last half century has been a regular frequenter of the theatres, and the associate of play-actors. With these propensities he seemed well qualified for the task of dramatic historian; but we have a strong objection to biographers who are not resolved to make a full and true confession. We can tolerate no reserve—no suppression of important truths, from a fastidious veneration for the "sanctuary of the grave," or the " feelings of the living." Biography, to be either just or useful, should contain a full and impartial disclosure of the history of the individual; without this it is only a romance— a tale " founded on facts."

Something of this prudish delicacy may be discerned in the present " Memoirs;" which, however amiable in the writer, we think hardly justifiable on sound principle. Notwithstanding this blemish, Mr. Boaden's labours are entitled to considerable praise; they comprise a regular history of the stage from the days of Garrick to our own eventful times; they are a fund of

anecdote, and regularly chronicle the* exits and the entrances of those "ttars" which formerly blazed in the theatrical firmament—of Henderson, Abington, Farren, Bannister, Dicky Suett, "gentleman" Smith, oblivious Palmer, and numberless others, who have long since been gathered to their fathers, but who formed in their day an exbanstless reservoir of gossip and amusement to their contemporaries. There is also interspersed a great deal of dramatic criticism, often, it is true, more curious than important; and a glance at those halcyon days-—which must always be interesting—-when Johnson1 and Burke, Loughborough and Foxy were regular play-goers, and when such horrors as " bears in their own skins," with a dozen capes, like beadles or coachmen, standing up in the side-boxes with their hats on, insensible of the respect due to the gentler sex, and ready to crown their insolence by a boxing-match in the lobby, were unknown. .. ,„: r ,

. As tothegreattrage'diah,on whose herculean form this dramatic galaxy has been appended,, he forms neither a' very striking nor very interesting figure. Mr. Kemble, indeed, did not afford much scope for entertaining biography; there was nothing eccentric nor adventurous, either in his history or genius; he was a prudent, grave personage, who commenced his career without any particular eclat, and at last attained eminence, and carried off the plaudits of the town, rather through persevering study, long service, and dutiful and respectful solicitude, than the irresistible claims of native talent.

It seems Mr. Kemble was a Lancashire man, born in 1757; and that his father, lloger, was manager of a provincial company. His mother, the daughter of an actor, had been a distinguished beauty in her youth; both the elder Kembles were remarkable for that dignity of form and expression of countenance which appeared in their children. None of the younger Kembles were intended for the stage by their parents; but such was the force of the natural bent that they all, at some period of their life, attempted the dramatic line, though with various success.

After receiving a classical education at the catholic seminary at Uouay, the subject of these memoirs made his first appearance in the part of Theodosius, before the rustic inhabitants of Wolverhampton, without exciting any particular astonishment. This was the most obscure, and uphill period of Mr. Kemble's career. His biographer, however, will not alow that he was ever reduced so low as to be obliged to make one ruffle do double duty; or that he and his fellow-strollers made free with the apples and pears in a gentleman's orchard to eke out their slender commons. In 1778, Mr. K. enlisted under the banners of the celebrated Tate Wilkinson, with whom he continued three years, filling up his leisure with writing dramatic pieces, and the delivery of public lectures on sacred and profane oratory. His great rival in the York company was Mr. Cummins, a performer whom we well knew, and whom we happened, some years since, to see expire on the stage, under rery sudden and peculiar circura•tances. At York, the society of Mr. K. was much courted; he had the reputation of a scholar, and the respectability of his private demeanour lessened that obloquy which, especially in the country, attaches to the histrionic character. A volume of his poems was published at York, in 1780; against these Mr. K. ever after waged a war of extermination, carefully Consigning to the flames every copy he could procure.

Leaving the York company, Mr. Kemble proceeded to Ireland, where he played with his sister, Mrs. Siddons, who had attained a much higher dramatic reputation than her brother. In 1783, he made his first appearance on the London boards, in the character of Hamlet; from which period his progress is so well knuwn that we shall drop our narrative.

At the time Mr. Kemble arrived in the metropolis, the theatres could boast many distinguished ornaments; of whom Mr. Boaden takes an interesting survey, and also of the manners of the times. "The fine gentleman, in comedy," we are told, "was then very different from what it has since become—it was regulated by higher manners, and seemed, indeed, born in polished life, and educated in drawingrooms. The dress kept the performer up to the character. It was necessary to wear the sword, and to manage it gracefully. As the hair was dressed and powdered, the hat was supported under the arm. The mode of supporting the lady was more respectful; and it required the most delicate address to lead and seat her upon the stage. It will be recollected, that ladies wore the hoop, and, in all the brilliancy of court dress, appeared very formidable beings. The flippancy of the modern style makes a low bow look like a mockery: it does not seem naturally to belong to a man in pantaloons, and a plain blue coat, with a white or a" black waistcoat."

Though Mr. Boaden does not say as much, we think he has some hankering after a more modish garb, which would exhibit a more visible line of demarcation between the gentle and plebeian race.

We should wish, however, to discourage any such feeling. A gentleman of education will always possess that which will distinguish him from the vulgar, without the aid of the lace and jflmbrojdery, the swords and bags of the last age: and if he is not an educated man, he is only one of the commonalty, whatever may be his birth, possessions, or outward adornments. It is not a confusion of ranks we fear in the present day, but a confusion of sexes—or, what is nearly as awful, lest our aspiring youths, with their fistic heroics, swaggering air, coloured cravats, and other ourang-outang embellishments, should mistake the bully and braggadocio of a formerperiod, to whom they approximate, for the gentleman of real courage and polished manners.

We return to Mr. Kembie. On his first appearance before a London audience, the general exclamation was, " How very like his sister!" "Apart," says Mr. B., "from the expression called up by the situation of Hamlet, there struck me to be in him a peculiar and personal fitness for tragedy. What others assumed, seemed to be inherent in Kemble. 'Native, and to the manner born,' he looked an abstraction, if I may so say, of the characteristics of tragedy.—He was of a solemn and deliberate temperament—his walk was always slow, and his expression of countenance contemplative—his utterance rather tardy, for the most part, but always finely articulate.•'

Mr. K. was some time before he attained his meridian. Meanwhile his studies were ardent, and embraced every thing collateral to his art. He wrote out his parts accurately from the authentic copies; he possessed himself by degrees of every critical work on the drama. He saw that much was to be done in the representation of Shakspeare's plays, and determined, when he should acquire the necessary power, to exert every nerve to make them perfect.

In 1784, a case occurred of considerable importance in theatrical history, and which we shall notice because of its bearing on a recent event. Macklin had fallen under the displeasure of the audience, and nothing would satisfy them but his discharge from the theatre. He brought an actiou against his annoyers for a conspiracy; when Lord Mansfield laid it down that, "Every man that is at the playhouse, has a right to express his approbation or disapprobation, instantaneously, according as he likes either the acting or the piece."

Mr. Kemble accepted the management of Drury-lane theatre in 1788, and as we have not much more room to spare, we

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