properties, whereof we have no ideas, as the species of sensible things are distinguished one from another, by qualities, which we know, and observe in them. That there should be more Species of Intelligent creatures above us, than there are of sensible and material below us is probable to me from hence, that in all the visible corporeal world, we see no chasm or gaps. All quite down from us, the descent is by easy steps, and a continued series of things, that in each remove differ very little one from the other. There are fishes that have wings, and are not strangers to the airy region: and there are some birds, that are inhabitants of the water, whose blood is cold as fishes, and their flesh so like in taste, that the scrupulous are allowed them on fish-days. There are animals so near of kin both to birds and beasts, that they are in the middle between both: amphibious animals link the terrestrial and aquatic together; seals live at land and at sea, and porpoises have the warn blood and entrails of a hog, not to mention what is confidently reported of mermaids, or seamen. There are some brutes, that seem to have as much knowledge and reason, as some that are called men: and the animal and vegetable kingdoms are so nearly joined, that if you will take the lowest of one, and the highest of the other, there will scarce be perceived any great difference between them; and so on, till we come to the lowest and the most inorganical parts of matter, we shall find every where, that the several species are linked together, and differ but in almost insensible degrees. And when we consider the infinite power and wisdom of the Maker, we have reason to think, that it is suitable to the magnificent harmony of the universe, and the great design and infinite goodness of the architect, that the Species of creatures should also, by gentle degrees, ascend upward from us, toward his infinite perfection, as we see they gradually descend from us downwards; which, if it be probable, we have reason then to be persuaded, that there are far more Species of Creatures above us, than there are beneath, we being in degrees of perfection, much more remote from the infinite being of God, than we are from the lowest state of being, and that which approaches nearest to nothing.

LOCKE.

which

and

Note The following Verses have not only been attributed to the pen of Lord Byron, but are actually inserted among his Works, by some of the French editors. I remember having read an able disquisition upon the subject, in The Times, some years ago, convinced me that they are the composition of Charles Wolfe I have, in the confidence of my memory, changed several words, which were pointed out in that Criticism as belonging to the Reverend author, in contradistinction to other words contained in the Copy attributed to his Lordship.

On the Burial of Sir JOHN MOORE;

Who fell, at the Battle of Corunna, in Spain, in 1808.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his Corpse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewel shot,
O'er the grave where our Hero we buried.

We buried him darkly, at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning,
By the straggling moonbeam's dusky light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Not in sheet, nor in shroud, we bound him;
But he lay, like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.

Few, and short, were the prayers we said,
And we spake not a word of sorrow;

But we mournfully gazed on the face of the dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow:

We thought, as we hollowed his confined bed

And smoothed down his narrow pillow

That the fo and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
While we should be far on the billow.

Lightly they'll talk of the Spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him;

But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where his Soldiers have laid him.

Not half of our heavy task was done
When the bell tolled the hour for retiring;
And we heard the distant and random gun
Which the fo was sullenly firing.

1

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the Field of his Fame, fresh and gory;
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
But we left him alone with his Glory.

Rev: Mr. WOLFE.

On TATE'S Alteration

of

SHAKESPEARE'S Tragedy of King Lear.

The great critic, Dr. Johnson, says, "Cordelia, from the time of Tate, has always retired with victory and felicity. And, if my sensations could add anything to the general suffrage, I might relate, I was, many years ago, so shocked by Cordelia's death, that I know not whether I ever endured to read again the last Scenes of the play till I undertook to revise them as an editor."

Gen. Obs. on Shakespeare's Plays.

Notwithstanding Johnson declares in favor of Tate's alteration, I must say, with Addison, "King Lear is an admirable Tragedy, as Shakespeare wrote it; but as it is reformed, according to the chimerical notion of poetical justice, in my humble opinion it has lost half its beauty."

Spectator, No. 40.

Schlegel and Hazlitt alike condemn the "happy ending," as it is commonly called; and I am desirous of adding my disapprobation to theirs: for I have seen King Lear with Tate's alteration, in different theatres, and was invariably disgusted with it; I have seen it also according to the original text at Drury-lane, where Kean gave Shakespeare to the letter very and was gratified. But that I may not seem to cast Johnson's judgement aside for the mere honor of daring to differ with so able a critic, much less for contradiction's sake, I shall transcribe a paragraph from the writings of an acute observer, which appears to me unanswerable.

"The Lear of Shakespeare cannot be Acted. The contemptible machinery with which they mimic the storm which he goes out in, is not more inadequate to represent

the horrors of the real elements, than any actor can be to represent Lear. The greatness of Lear is not in corporal dimension, but in intellectual; the explosions of his passions are terrible as a volcano: they are storms turning up and disclosing to the bottom that rich sea, his mind, with all its vast riches. It is his Mind which is laid bare. This case of flesh and blood seems too insignificant to be thought on; even as he himself neglects it. On the stage we see nothing but corporal infirmities and ,weakness, the impotence of rage; while we read it, we see not Lear, but we are Lear; we are in his mind; we are sustained by a grandeur, which baffles the malice of daughters and storms; in the aberrations of his reason, we discover a mighty irregular power of reasoning, immethodised from the ordinary purposes of life, but exerting its powers, as the wind blows where it listeth, at will, on the corruptions and abuses of mankind. What have looks or tones to do with that sublime identification of his Age with that of the Heavens themselves, when in his reproaches to them, for conniving at the injustice of his children, he reminds them that they themselves are Old! What gesture shall we appropriate to this? What has the voice, or the eye, to do with such things? But the Play is beyond all Art, as the tamperings with it show it is too hard and stony: it must have Love scenes, and a happy ending. It is not enough that Cordelia is a daughter, she must shine as a lover too. Tate has put his hook in the nostrils of this Liviathan, for Garrick and his followers, the showmen of the scene, to draw it about more easily. A happy ending! as if the living martyrdom that Lear had gone through the flaying of his feelings alive, did not make a fair dismissal from the stage of life the only decorous thing for him. If he is to live and be happy after, if he could sustain this world's burden after, why all this pudder and preparation why torment us with all this unnecessary sympathy? As if the childish pleasure of getting his gilt robes and sceptre again, could tempt him to act over again his misused as if, at his years and with his experience, any thing was left but to die."

:

station

CHARLES LAMB.

I

Ten years ago, I should have thought Mr. Lamb's paragraph as ridiculous as I now think it excellent mean in matter, not in manner, for it is very unhappily expressed. Since I have become a little better acquainted with Shakespeare, and have been at the pains to acquire

for, till very recently,

I cannot

a little of the Art of Thinking — I was contented to let others think for me persuade myself that Shakespeare's Lear can be personated by any actor whatever. Garrick I never saw, John Philip Kemble I never saw, but I have seen Kean, and Others, in Lear; and have been highly gratified by Kean's personation of the character; yet I never saw Shakespeare's King Lear till I beheld him in Amsterdam, where I saw him "in my mind's eye."

B. S. N.

King LEAR'S Soliloquy,

in the Storm.

Blow winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout

Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing (a) fires,

Singe my white head! and thou all-shaking thunder
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's mould, all germins spill at once,

That make ingrateful man!

Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughter's blessing: here's a night pities neither wise men nor fools.

Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! Spout, rain !
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my Daughters!
I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness,
I never gave you kingdoms, called you children,
You owe me no subscription; (b) why then, let fall
Your horrible pleasure? Here I stand, your slave;
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man -
But yet, I call you servile ministers,

That have with two pernicious (c) daughters joined
Your high-engendered battles 'gainst a head

So old and white as this. O, 0, 'tis foul!

Kent. Alas, Sir, are you here? things that love night
Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark,

And make them keep their caves: since I was a man,

(a) Thought-executing, snel als de gedachten.
(b) Subscription, gehoorzaamheid, onderdanigheid.
(c) Pernicious, fell; onmenschelyk, snood, wreed.