To and fro, as the wild waves go, Over a dead man's corpse-just so By this specimen you will perceive that Miss Bathos belongs to that very numerous The wind did sweep, and would have hush'd to class which now infest all literary parties sleep, Did it not keep The prisoner wild in his jeopardy, Who could not, dared not, must not cry, In the thrilling fear of his agony : From his forehead pour'd the sweats of death, He heard, as he thought, a horrible yell, In lurid cloud uprose, Till faint with toil, and feeble grown, He reeled and fell Howled and hissed in a boiling steam, with their mawkish and unnatural imitation of him, the inimitable; fancying, that if they can but catch a similar clink of rhyme, they immediately become possessors of the same bright and redeeming spirit of originality; thus wasting their ink, and wearying out our patience by their flat sublimity and senseless bombast. Not so thought, or appeared to think, the rest of the Blue Stocking sisterhood; for at the close of the recitation Miss Bathos was overwhelmed with laudatory ejaculations, such as-" novel idea-climax of interest—refreshing naiveté—emanation of intellect," and a thousand other equally vapid and hacknied expressions. A cockney poet, and a laker, each added their scintillations of genius to this “banquet of high poesy." All this, you will say, is very stupid, but to me it is sufficiently amusing. My brother abominates blue stockings, I only laugh at them. Just alighting in the Strand, near Somerset-House, I thought I should have fainted; you will guess the occasion. My dear Count, linked with two or three dashing creatures, was on the point of passing the carriage; he saw me-broke from them→→ While nerveless waxed his sinews, but the dread and in the next minute we were together. Of being number'd with the dead, Join'd flesh and bone in one awful struggle, Ere rose in his throat the strangling guggle, Ere failed his strength. Ob, God!—a boat, For so his outstretched ken did note. Short was the distance where it lay, And gasping on he sped his weary way. Or rose it from beneath, Or wafted by the breath My gallant brother observing that I was under his protection, ensconced himself in one corner of our vehicle; pulled out the last new French romance, and slept over it, I suppose, for he declared that we remained in the shop two hours. I reckon ed them as two minutes; " tempus fugit," said my brother. Ah! my dear Lisette, when two hearts attract each other, the duration of time has small chance of being regarded. He is undoubtedly a most bewitching man; he presented me with the sweetest URLING's lace dress in the world; which, on his account, as well as the extreme beauty of this new lace, I shall wear with more pleasure than any other part of my wardrobe. And in answer to your inquiry respecting this lace, I assure you I have seen some articles not a thousand years behind the chef d'œuvres of Brussels. But what has lace to do with love? To you, my coquet, both themes are equally acceptable, however, you must F give me credit for my forbearance, when I tell you that I refrain from entering upon a more delicate analysis of my feelings. Methinks I see you turn up your eyes, and exclaim, with a provoking yawn-" Now pour les sentiments ennuyants." Heaven forgive you, mad-cap, you would never do for the confidante of a boarding-school young lady! And, so he says, I am to meet him at the masquerade, on Friday-Shall I go? No; yet, after all, I suppose I must-destiny will compel me. Lastly, called at- in Bond-street. Life Guardsmen, Exquisites, and belles tittering and sneezing. My brother now declared himself quite weary of chaperoning me, and drove off to dress, in order to exhibit his travelling knowledge at Lord Cognoscenti's. I am dressing myself for Earl B's dinner and the Opera.-Expect to hear from me again shortly, and receive the affectionate adieus of your JULIA M MONTHLY MISCELLANY; INCLUDING VARIETIES CRITICAL, LITERARY, AND HISTORICAL. Montalto, by marrying Julia, has become the Sovereign of a principality in Italy, to the exclusion of Laura, the cousin of Julia, whose affection, at an early period of her life, had been slighted by Montalto: irritated by this slight, and urged by ambition to obtain possession of those honours possessed by Montalto, in right of her cousin Julia, she determines on revenge; and, as a preliminary step to obtaining it, marries Durazzo, a favourite and confidential officer of Montalto; and, having succeeded in seducing Michael, the brother of Durazzo, to become a party to her designs, she makes use of the inAuence which he has over his brother, to prevail on him to betray his benefactor and friend Montalto. Such is the situation of the parties at the opening of the piece, at which time Montalto, who has been absent on an expedition against a neighbouring Prince (Count Bassanio), arrives suddenly and unexpectedly at his own castle, induced to do so by a mysterious written warning, effect this diabolical purpose, which is thus defeated; and his suspicions of her guilt are somewhat shaken by her conduct on this occasion. Laura and Michael having, in the mean time, prevailed on Durazzo to come into their plans, the latter, in the night, opens the gates of Montalto's castle, and admits Count Bassanio. Montalto is roused, and opposes the enemy, but, in doing so, receives a mortal wound. In this situation his passions are again wronght on by Laura and Michael, and he is persuaded that it was by Julia's treachery that Bassanio was admitted into the castle, and Durazzo induced to become a traitor; and, under this impression, he, in the agonies of dissolution, curses his innocent wife. At this period, however, Laura is informed that Durazzo and Michael have fallen victims to their treachery; and, struck with remorse, she then confesses her own guilt, and the arts which have been used to deceive her unsuspecting victim. Montalto thus undeceived, revokes his curse, and dies, blessing the innocent object of his unjust suspicions. COVENT-GARDEN. At this Theatre an interesting drama has been produced, entitled Mirandola. The following is a sketch of the plot :— Guido and Isidora have long entertained a mu which he finds on his table in his tent, cautioning him to be careful that, during his absence, his honour was not betrayed by his wife. The busi-tual passion, unknown to the Duke of Mirandola. ness of the piece then consists of the endeavours of Laura, aided by Michael's base insinuations, to increase and strengthen the seeds of jealousy already sown in the mind of Montalto by the contents of the paper found in his tent, and which had been placed there by their contrivance. In these plans they were aided by the unsuspicious and open character of Julia; and the jealousy of Montalte is at length raised to such a height, that he is led to attempt to poignard his innocent victim whilst sleeping in her bed. She awakes, however, at the instant he is about to The young Prince, called away to defend his country in arms, is desperately wounded, and it is reported to his mistress and his father that he is dead. The Duke, in an evil hour, sees Isidora, loves her, and, under the impression that Guido was no more, obtains from her a weeping and cold consent to marry him. Guido writes to his father and his mistress the news of bis recovery; but the letters are intercepted by Isabella, the sister of the Duke, a sort of female Iago, who labours, in concert with the miscreant monk Gheraldi, to ruin Guide, for the purpose of placing in the hands of her own son the sceptre of Mirandola; and, in ignorance of Guido's existence on this side the grave, the fatal union takes place. It is at this distressing moment that Guido returns. He meets Isidora, and the interview is full of tenderness. Then follows the meeting with his father, exquisitely wrought, which, after a conflict of filial, paternal, and jealous feeling, ends in an affectionate reconciliation. Isabella persuades Isidora to give a ring to Guido as a token of friendship. The Duke, at a banquet, whilst holding Guido affectionately by the hand, recognizes the ring. It was his marriage present to her. He conceives a horrible suspicion, and is stung to madness. Guido now determines to depart for ever-ignorant of what had caused his father's jealous paroxysm. The father is again reconciled to him. But another interview, under the most innocent circumstances, and against Guido's will, is produced between him and Isidora, in a garden. The father, led by Isabella, surprises them; and, in his fury, or rather in the fixed fearful calmness of despair, passes sentence of death upon Guido, and orders him to instant execution. Casti, in the mean time, has discovered the intercepted letters, and reveals to the Duke the horrid treason of Isabella and the monk. The wretched father invokes heaven to save his son from the house he flatters himself that (thanks to the name of Valcour, which he has taken, and the alteration that time has made in his features) he shall be incognisable to his uncle, and for still stronger reasons, by Clementina. His hopes are not deceived; but the pleasure that he experiences in again beholding his dear uncle, and his still dearer cousin, is embittered by the arrival of one Florival, who accompanies the elder Dorville, and to whom he intends to give the hand of Clementina. This Florival is a fashionable fop, who is continually dealing about his jests and his pleasantry, some of which gave great amusement to the pit on the first night that this piece was performed. Florival suddenly becomes enamoured of Denisa, Dorville's female servant, who is betrothed to Blaisot, the gardener. Caught in the act of breathing out his protestations at the feet of Denisa, he is treated and dismissed according to his deserts; and just at this juncture, a servant brings in a letter addressed to M. Dorville: as the uncle is the only one who is known by that name, he opens it, and reads as follows:"My dear Friend,-Your success goes on fatal stroke; and issues a mandate to arrest the execution, but in that moment the dread volley is heard from behind the scenes, and the Duke, agitated with a super-human pang of remorse, expires distracted with the horror of having de-swimmingly, but it prevents my keeping your prived a beloved son of life. FRENCH THEATRICALS. THEATRE ROYAL DE L'OPERA COMIQUE.-Sketch of L'Auteur Mort et Vivant ('The Dead and Living Author); a comicopera, in one act. secret any longer; I have told every one that you are alive; your last piece of three acts has inade a prodigious noise at the Academy, and, in concurrence with the public, they have appointed you to the place that is now vacant, &c. &c." "I am a member of the Academy! I know not how to contain myself for joy! Let me Quick! quick! an arm-chair! practice! Give me the letter!"—This letter, and still more the joy that bursts forth from Dorville, lets the uncle at once into the secret his nephew had lost his favour by turning poet, but old Dorville now forgives him, embraces him, and bestows on him his daughter Clementina. The music does not strike by its origin. ality; it is chiefly in the pastoral style. Dorville, it may be justly said, is dead to the world: as all Paris is astonished at his periodical lethargy, he thinks he will reap some advantage from it, as the Parisians sincerely regret this unrewarded talent cut off in its very blossom, and which, in its fall, left fruits of such promising ripeness! This welcome intelligence, imparted to him by his only confidant, comforts him during his first reverse of fortune, and the absence of a young female cousin, whom he knew when a child in America, and of whom he always entertained the most tender remem-medy, in four acts. brance. He was himself very young, for he is informed that his uncle, the father of Clementina, is returning home with his amiable daughter, who arrives the same day that his nephew is lying dead in his SECOND THEATRE FRANCAIS.-Eugene et Guillaume, ou les Amis d'Enfance; a co Two youths, who have been playfellows and companions from childhood (one rich, and of noble descent-the other poor, and the son of an honest husbandman), are sent to Paris to the same seminary of edu The fortune of war has suffered to fall into the power of Mahomet a beautiful Venetian, named Anna, the daughter of the overseer Erizzo, the most mortal enemy of the Turks. The Sultan, who is much occupied with the charms of Anna, and who thinks very little about her birth, is so violently enamoured of her, that he is resolved on violating, in her favour, the charter of the seraglio, by making her his wife. But Anna does not return his love; her heart is already given to a young Italian painter, named Bellini, whom one of those incidents, so rare in real life, but so frequent on the stage, has also conducted to the seraglio. He happens to be Mahomet's chief painter; and the Sultan, desirous of having a portrait of Anna, introduces her to Bellini. The two lovers forget how requisite it is for them to dissemble, and they would be lost were it not for the fool Roberti, who, according to custom, is the wisest person in the cation: the first, as an opulent boarder, has his apartment to himself, and a particular tutor to instruct him. M. Eugene de Senneville, as the descendant of an ancient house, merely studies for form's sake; || and when his scholastic career is at an end, he launches into the great world, where, in the vortex of dissipation and debauchery, is soon swallowed up the magnificent patrimony transmitted to him by his parents. || William Delorme, a simple burser, renders, while at college, the greatest services to his splendid friend, M. de Senneville; he assists him when he is idle, and spares him the trouble of composing his themes and his versions; and he even finds means to spare, from his scanty pittance, enough|| to repair the breaches that the prodigality || of the extravagant boarder has made in his own ample purse. When these young men enter the world, they conduct themselves, as may well be imagined, in a very opposite manner. Senneville is soon ruined; Delorme has enriched himself abroad, || piece. Roberti helps the young people and arrives just in time to save him.Such is the general plan of the fable, while numerous amatory incidents fill up the rest of the piece. The scene opens by Edward and Sa batier, who are each employed in attacking the corner of a paté de foie d'oie gras, and in lightening the cellar of their master of a few superfluous bottles. Armand, the valet-de-chambre, comes in, and after having given a lecture to these gentlemen on their want of fidelity and on their gluttony, sets down with them to table, without further ceremony. On the first night of representation there was much hissing during this scene, and the first act passed under every appearance of marked hostility on the part of the pit. || very cleverly out of the scrape their imprudence had nearly brought them into, and promises to favour their escape during the darkness of the night, so favourable to lovers. In order to succeed in this difficult project, he joins in a conspiracy with some Janizaries. The Janizaries, furious against Mahomet for his being about to take a Christian to wife, are resolved to strangle the innocent Anna. Roberti, by his eloquence, obtains, as a mitigation of this punishment, that it shall be changed into a banishment from the Musselman territories. The second act shews us the gallant Mahomet giving a splendid ball for the amusement of the unfortunate Anna. When, to her misfortune, she has been thus di The imprudence of the author's friends, || verted for about five-and-twenty minutes, and of the performers, in seeming resolved to cram this piece, as one may say, down the throats of the audience, will, we fear, notwithstanding it has merit and interest, render it an unpopular performance. THEATRE DE LA PORTE ST. MARTIN. || This theatre has lately brought out a new melo-drama, the hero of which is Mahomet II.; that Prince so brave, yet at the same time so cruel, and whom a contemporary historian styles, with reason, Alexander always drunk an unforeseen reverse takes place: Erizzo has been made prisoner, with his Venetians, by the Sultan's troops, and is brought in loaded with chains. Erizzo, to the surprise of all, recognises his daughter: Mahomet himself feels deeply interested; he gives orders to loosen the chains of the overseer, and leaves him alone with Anna. Erizzo then forbids his daughter to marry this Turk, who is, nevertheless, one of the best of men, for he grants liberty to all the followers of Erizzo. traits of the different characters are ad, mirably drawn; and the trials undergone by the lovely and virtuous Isabella, the heroine of the piece, are great indeed: she rises superior to them all, and is, throughout the work, entitled to our warmest admiration, love, and esteem. The writer of this interesting work as first attempt; we sincerely hope it will not be the last; and we do not scruple to say that we discover first-rate abilities for the writing of a modern novel; for fashionable parties, and other scenes in modern life, are striking likenesses. In the third act, the prudence of the fool Roberti has prepared every thing for the flight of Bellini, Erizzo, and Anna.According to his instructions, they all meet together in a gallery of the seraglio: Roberti takes with him Bellini and Erizzo; there seems no reason why Anna does not follow them-it is a great fault in her, as well as in the author, and she is punish-sures us, in a short Preface, that it is a ed for it. Mahomet, like all other tyrants, cannot, neither ought he to sleep; he arrives, discovers his mistress in this plot, and commands his soldiers to pursue the fugitives; they bring them back, and Mahomet dooms them to death. He is resolved to strangle Anna with his own hands, when he soon finds other employment: the Janizaries have revolted, and are rushing in by numbers; but Erizzo and Bellini bring in their Venetians, and put the rebels to flight. Mahomet, struck with this important service, unites the two lovers, with that generous sensibility which always characterized the good Pasha of the Caravan. THEATRE DE VAUDEVILLE-Les Folies du Jour (The Follies of the Day). The story of The Follies of the Day is very simple: M. Lesage, an honest provincial, and a fanatical partisan of reason, has caused to be constructed several immense buildings, in which he wishes to bring together all the follies that have taken place in Paris; and M. Lesage is less embarrassed in peopling his vast mansion of real follies, than Socrates was in filling his small house with true friends; and such a petite maison may well be deemed a bedlam. His correspondents at Paris do not fail to visit him: there are politicians and wise men, with beautiful Corisandres: and this German kind of nonsense excited much laughter. LITERARY INTELLIGENCE. REVIEW OF NEW PUBLICATIONS. Traits and Trials; a Novel. London, 2 vols. 12mo. We have seldom perused a work of this kind that has given us more satisfaction than the volumes before us; so short, The character of Isabella's father is well sketched, as is that of Frederic Westbourne, which occupies a more prominent part of the canvass: Miss L'Estrange yet lives in many a modern beauty, who acquires talents only for their display. The hero, Lord Clanneron, the future husband of Isabella, discovers many traits of the Grandison school: that of Sir Allen Mowbray is too highly coloured, nevertheless it is amusing; but we think no man in his senses would write such an offer of mar riage as that contained in his letter to Isabella Harcourt. The most striking scenes in the work are, when Isabella finds her father dead, the impetuosity of Frederic Westbourne when he finds Isabella for ever lost to him, and the happy transition from sorrow to joy, on the well-established claim of Lord Clanneron to his riches with his title, the former of which appeared suddenly snatched from him by a presumptive heir. We hope the author will pardon us for pointing out some defects; as it is a first essay, we trust the critique will not be taken amiss. There are too many smatterings of French from almost every character, both in their letters and couver so full of incident, and the events so agree-sation; and as the writer adapts them well, ably told and so pleasingly diversified. The "and seems thoroughly acquainted with the |