Vit. Welcome, avengers, welcome! Now, be strong! [The conspirators throw off their disguise, and rush, with their swords drawn, upon the Provençals. Eribert is wounded, and falls. • Pro. Now hath fate reached thee in thy mid career, Thou reveller in a nation's agonies! [The Provençals are driven off, and pursued by Con. (supporting Eribert.) My brother! oh! my brother! A leader in the battle-fields of kings, - To perish thus at last? Ay, by these pangs, Voices. (without.) Remember Conradin ! none ! spare none, spare Vit. (throwing off her bridal wreath and ornaments.) Full and indignant scope. Now, Eribert ! Prince, ruler, conqueror ! didst thou deem Heaven slept? Their everlasting attributes for thee?" Oh! blind security! - He, in whose dread hand • Con. Oh! reproach him not! His soul is trembling on the dizzy brink Of that dim world where passion may not enter. Leave him in peace! "Voices. (without.) Anjou! Anjou ! - De Couci to the rescue! Eri. (half-raising himself.) My brave Provençals! 'do ye combat still? And I, your chief, am here! That death indeed is bitter! • Vit. Now, now I feel Fare thee well! Thine eyes so oft, with their insulting smile, Have look'd on man's last pangs, thou shouldst, by this, • Raimond enters. Away, my Constance! • Rai. Now is the time for flight. Are scatter'd far and wide. And thou shalt be in safety. That low sweet vale, where dwells the holy man, Anselmo? He whose hermitage is rear'd 'Mid some old temple's ruins? -Round the spot His name hath spread so pure and deep a charm, 'Tis hallow'd as a sanctuary, wherein Thou shalt securely bide, till this wild storm Con. I will not fly! While in his heart there is one throb of life, Eri. The clouds are darkening round. There are strange voices ringing in mine ear That summon me to what? But I have been Used to command! But on the field Away! I will not die [Exit Vittoria. [He dies.' We had intended to institute a short comparison between the present drama and a recent French tragedy on the same subject, but we have not been able at the moment to procure a copy of the latter. MONTHLY CATALOGUE, FOR DECEMBER, 1823. POETRY and the DRAMA. Art. 11. An Elegy to the Memory of the late Rev. Henry Martyn, and other Poems. By John Lawson, Missionary at Calcutta. 12mo. pp. 40. Westley. 1823. However laudable and disinterested have been the motives which produced this little tribute of regard to the memory of a man of worth and genius, and a zealous and exemplary Christian, (in whatever degree we may dissent from his peculiar tenets,) we cannot say much for its poetic merit: but occasionally we meet with some good and touching passages, which, divested of a certain wild religious tone and character, are deserving of commendation. Of the excellent character of the individual whom the elegy is written to commemorate, while we regret the fatal zeal and and mistaken views to which he fell a sacrifice, we are fully sensible; and not less from the affection and regard evinced towards him by his friends, than from the narrative of his exertions and sufferings, written by Mr. Sargent, from whose memoirs of him we extract this introductory remark: Whilst some shall delight to gaze upon the splendid sepulchre of Xavier, and others choose rather to ponder over the granite stone which covers all that is mortal of Swartz, there will not be wanting those who will think of the humble and unfrequented grave of Henry Martyn, and be led to imitate those works of mercy, which have followed him into the world of light and love.' be We cannot but feel that a strong interest, to which we should sorry if we did not sometimes yield, attaches to the lives and to the death of men devoting their WHOLE LABORS to SUCH a cause; and it is not diminished by reading lines like the following: O thou worn pilgrim, though no moss-green stone Live in unnumbered hearts. Whether in lonely sadness thou didst find That loves the sacred silence of the dead, Constant as night doth fall,' &c. Art. 12. The Bridal of Armagnac; a Tragedy. By the Rev. T. Streatfield, F. S. A. 8vo. 7s. 6d. Boards. Harding and Co. 1823. - The Bridal of Armagnac' is precisely one of those dramas which every man of education, talent, and feeling, might produce without having received any extraordinary gifts from Apollo. There are three species of composition which may be said to defy criticism, the very good, the very bad, and those which occupy the exact medium between these two extremes; and to class such productions is all that can be done with them. To that which is eminently excellent, praise can add nothing; blame cannot touch that which is below animadversion; nor can the reviewer's pen be properly put in requisition where praise and blame are alike inapplicable to his author. We are unfortunately in this. dilemma with regard to Mr. Streatfield's drama, which merits neither commendation nor censure; though, were we compelled to give it a positive character, we should "sneakingly approve" of it. Art. 13. Men and Things in 1823. A Poem in Three Epistles, with Notes. By James Shergold Boone, M.A. 8vo. 58. Boards. Hatchard and Son. 1823. That Mr. Boone is a man of high talents, no one who is acquainted with his career at the University can for a moment doubt. REV. DEC. 1823. Ff Gifted Gifted with strong powers of acquisition, and with a correct literary taste, a highly honorable road lay open to him as a scholar: but, not satisfied with the promised trophies of the muses, he has deviated into the doubtful paths of a political course. It is much to be regretted that a man of his age and acquirements should thus have mistaken his true destination and interest; and, even more, he has not only rushed at once into the arena of public disputes, to signalize himself as a partizan, but has assumed the character of a censor and a leader. Archimedes did not attempt to move the world because he had no place on which he could rest his machinery: but Mr. Boone, without any fulcrum, is striving to turn the political world out of its course. He imagines that he has discovered the path which it behoves our statesmen to tread, and he even seems to think that his pen is powerful enough to induce them to pursue it. As a poem, these epistles have no very distinguished claims to merit, nor does the author arrogate it for them. His prosewritings, indeed, are much preferable to his poetry, and exhibit an elegant, sensible, and very English style. We would much rather see Mr. Boone's pen engaged in some creditable literary work, than in lauding the Foreign Secretary, and teaching him how to steer his vessel through the shoals which surround him. Indeed, according to him, Mr. Canning is to guide the state-bark with more profound skill than even the great "pilot who weathered the storm." The following are some of the marvels which are to be thus achieved: • 'Tis thine to view all systems, and unite From various schemes by various minds pursued, Or much of ill must wait on minds half taught, That Mr. Boone, however, has liberal and patriotic sentiments, we need only copy the following note as a proof: I pass indignant, the base servile crew, 'If If some of these gentlemen had their deserts, they might well find a place in some honest satire, as Sacred to ridicule their whole life long, And the sad burden of some merry song. 'But an Englishman, after all, is but ill qualified to sit in judgment upon men who have been educated in different principles and have imbibed, with their mothers' milk, prejudices opposite to his own. It is possible that the Metternichs, and Nesselrodes, and Bernstoffs, and Poggo di Borgos, and Chateaubriands, and Montmorencies, may really imagine themselves to be very wise and praiseworthy persons, who are doing a service to mankind as well as their masters, and contributing, forsooth, to the preservation of tranquillity and good order. Surely, however, the duty of a minister is, at the risk of his own station and power, to advise a monarch for the common welfare of the nation and mankind, rather than be subservient to his arbitrary desires, and passions, and caprices. He stands in the double relation of counsellor to the sovereign, and servant of the country. Must he then only say, like old olus to Juno, Explorare labor: "Tuus, o Regina, quod optes mihi jussa capessere fas est;" · nobis obsequii or like the worthy in Tacitus, to his master, gloria relicta est." NOVELS. 148. Art. 14. Self-Delusion; or, Adelaide d'Hauteroche, a Tale. By the Author of "Domestic Scenes." 12mo. 2 Vols. Boards. Longman and Co. 1823. This is certainly a better novel than the public might suppose from the title, which savours too strongly of " the Minerva press;" yet the work has evidently not emanated from the manufactory in Leadenhall-street. It is a clever second-rate production, most clearly the effort of a female mind, and displaying considerable knowlege of the female heart. The writer's object is to warn all young ladies against the dangers of Platonism; and the Platonist is proved, on undoubted evidence, to be " at best no better than a go-between," according to the words of a noble poet. The story of Adelaide is in truth an awful example of the evils arising from the "confounded fantasies" of this system: for the heroine, without the slightest intention of injuring those around her, and even proud of her own integrity of heart, alienates the affections of her guardian and benefactor, a well-looking moral man of the age of forty; destroys his peace of mind for ever; kills his wife with grief and a consumption; and robs her guardian's daughter of the affections of her lover. There is a great deal of vivid, and, we believe, correct painting in the characters of Adelaide and her guardian; while that of Lady Delmaine is very skilfully touched; and, as a comic portrait, Dr. Cosby is by no means an unsuccessful attempt, though, |