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Hoticing these early processes of nature, and limit my, selt to the second division of natural history, hoping from the prominent features of my country that remain still undefaced, and from its curious facts, to trace and demonstrate the great effects, that have been produced upon our surface; and though I do not presume to advance farther, I perhaps may assist in clearing the way for future naturalists, and by establishing effects en ; courage them to proceed to causes, and help them to dis cover the powers and agents, by which these grand operations have been executed,
THE UNFORTUNATE RECLUSI .
(Continued from page 189.) "Ah," said the Count, “this is what I wished for :his innocence is proyed, and a wonderful But I do wrong-Rest, my injured love :-we will quit this apartment. I see Signor Mercutio is impatient for a solution of our story.
"You have already understood the nature of my attachment to the dear sister of my heart; and, from what you have seen of her in the hour of persecution and distress, will readily believe my assertion, that she was once a most lovely woman. Those charming tressés, thát delicate complexion, and expressive features, now so worn---so faded-so disheyelled-were universally admired. Her mind was well informed, her temper sweet, her disposition friendly. Her spirit occa sionally took a melancboly turn, which was generally attributed to an enthusiasm bordering on superstition. In this she was encouraged by Stephano, a Monk of the Dominican order, whose gloomy air and forbidding manner disgusted every one but the gentle Sabrina. His occasional penances were strictly observed, and she would fast for sine of which her pure soul had bụt a very faint conoc ption. The addresses of Signor Leoni, a brave and worthy character, were received by Sabrina with that chaste diffiderice which rendered her so inter. esting: not a shadow of an objection could be raised
against such an union, and for two years Leoni was one of the happiest of beings. The birth of Rinaldo (for thou art tbe son of that invaluable woman) could not increase (although it was of consequence to such felicity as theirs. And I well remember Sabrina's spirits were visibly enlivened by the acquisition; but how was this serene and rational enjoyment of domestic harmony over-clouded-not suddenly, yet unaccountably! it betrayed itself on the part of Sabrina in a mournful, silence; or, if obliged to speak, her answers were, short, chilling, and unsatisfactory. The sight of her infant rather disgusted than amused. Lonely walks, long and frequent absenses from her husband, sighs, tears, and short ejaculations, were the general effects of this awful change. At first we hoped it might proceed from a defect in constitution, but her health was pronounced as convalesent. The only persons whose. visits seemed acceptable, was Father Stephano; and the only person whose attendance she permitted, when abroad was Durandor. Yes, Mercutio, that Durandor --and-but I will not anticipate--Distracted by a change. so terrible, Signor Leoni came to my palace, near Leg. horn (his own residence was at Florence), and entreated my company back with him; as the evident par. tiąlity his Lady had ever shewn me might, he hoped, on this occasion, be an inducement with her to commit to a beloved brother the subject of her anguish. Hapo py to sooth the Signor by my hearty concurrence with his wishes, I directly hastened our departure, and had scarcely entered upon the jonrney, when a servant of Leoni's abruptly stopped us. His haste, countenance, and whole appearance, denounced something fatal. Never can I forget the unfortunate husband's distress, when told, his wife had—eloped !-That Durándor was her companion.
When Signora Leoni was cautiously informed of her beloved husband's fate, her grief more than kept pace with her joy at finding in Rinaldo her son, and in part, her deliverer. Languid from long confinement and the trials she had met with, happiness, although possessed of so many unexpected blessings, seemed to reject her sait, and she almost despaired of obtaining that fleeting good : but she was resigned, and forgiving. To Durándor sho accorded a ready pardon, nor would hear of
Schabraco's emissaries in the Calabrian mansion being brought to justice : agreeably, therefore, to her wishes, they were suffered to depart, and the house, with all its intricate and subterranean appartments totally de to reside with her son at Florence, where Sig. Leoni's stroyed. It was the chief desire of her Seed heart estates were situated. Count Piozzi had no choice as to place of abode, therefore readily accompanied the Signora to that noble city, where he saw Rinaldo Le oni (no more Piozzi) invested with the rich possessions of his murdered father, and took a melancholy pleasure in soothing his unhappy sister. Sabrina was thankful for his fraternal attention, but lier chiefest consolation arose from the hope of being soon re-united to the be, loved husband of her tenderest affections. I have reason, she would
"to know that trouble is the lot of humanity !--but I also know, that patience and resignation will smooth the asperitics of that rugged path, and I trust my submission will be aeceptable to Him, who thus prepares his children for a blessed eternity.
Her conduct justified those sentiments, and in a few months she left a world (to her) so full of sorrow, in the full assurance, that all her pious expectations would be verified; nor could the Count and his nephew mourn for her emancipation from griefs, so lasting, and (as to this earth) so irremediable.
The friendship of Mercutio now shone forth in its fullest: radiance: he was the friend, the companion, (and the consoler in such moments as would sometimes occur) of Rinaldo and his valuable uncle ; proving, by his attention, that friendship is, indeed, the
True balm and rich sweetener of life!
COVENT GARDEN AND DRURY LANE.
MR. KEMBLE AND MR. KEAN.
On Monday last we were present at Mr. Kean's representation of Richard the Third, and on Tuesday we saw Mr. KEMBLE perform the part of King John ;--so that we are now pretty well qualified to speak
of the comparative merits of the two great tragedians. Mr. Kuas as the crook-backed tyrant, was by no means so great as we have at other times seen him;-at least, in the early, and sileutly guilty scenes ;---but in the last act, in which Richard's mind is torn with the desertions of high friends and the workings of powerful thought, he was as great as ever. We do not think Mr. Kean can repress his feelings when once they are grandly called upon ;-indeed we have heard from good authority, that he never perforins a noble and am. bitious part, without being stirred into a belief, by his own mental impetuosity, that he is the very character he assumes:--and indeed all his actions prove it to us. There never was any thing on the stage equal to his whole figure and attitude in Richard the Third on the eve of battle. He stands more like a grand picture from the pencil of one of the old masters, than any thing living in this common place age:
-That is, his features are more keen,-more intense in their complexion, more quietly impressive,-than those of any modern English face. There is very little expression, generally speaking, in the countenances of the present race of men,
-certainly none in comparison with those calm, eloquent breathing faces of the early Italians, which are brought down to us by the hand of Titian. Mr. Kean stands, in the scene we have alluded to, surrounded by his generals, but communing only with his own gigantic thought. His ege,--dark, wild, and piercing, -is fixed, but on no visible object ;It looks upon the air, and seems to live upon things past, or to come. It seems to hold the concentrated rays of the mind, and to have a deep and desolate feeling of its own. His eyebrows come down edgy and contracted :-his face is pale and full of loneliness ;-and his lips are compressed with an immense feeling. The effect of all this is perfected by a fine flow of hair, falling round his face upon
his shoulders, and lying there in rich black curls. This scene ought to be longer, the beauty of it is too fleeting. We are convinced; now that we have seen Mr. Kean and Mr. KEMBLE so closely together, that the style of the former is the warm, the nioving, the intellectual, the true one ;-and that the style of the latter is the fixed, the cold and the false one. 'Kean impresses us with all the enthusiasm of life,
KEMBLE. yields to us only a picture of dignified decay. Kean fills the stage with a mental gaiety, and spurs the souls of his bearers into a. delightful madness : wbile KEMBLE only becomes elaborate in giving all the methodism of acting, and raises in his audience nought but a stately indifference or a stoical delight. Kean'is all spirit and life, and could " wallow naked in December's snow, by bare remembrance of the summer's heat;'-he never chills,—but hold on, in his matchless race, untried. KEMBLE must give his limbs a quarter of an hour's notice ere they will consent to stir,-and prepare for the turn of his head five minutes before it is required. His mind appears to have been kept cold all the day, for the use of the summer night, in that ico-house his body,--and is served up as a chilling luxury to the helpless senses of people of fashion. KEMBLE could " hold a fire in his hand, by thinking on the frosty Caucasus." He never forgets himself, -and so become lively by mistake,-nor suffer his voice by accident to give up its conventicle sing-song,' and take to natural speaking. He is of marble,-and therefore never disgraces the stuff he is made of, by any undue warmth, lightness or motion. Of all characters, however, which Mr. KEMBLE acts, there is none so heavy,
stiff, Hard and unweildy as his King John ;--and we very much wonder that he should not have had more respect for his fame than to have chosen this part to play in the night after Kean's Richard the Third. This change from violent heat to excessive cold, may be very national, but it is extremely trying and dangerous. Mr. KEMBLE will do bimself more mischief, by sticking up these pillars of ice in the very face of Kean's fire, than by any other unwise thing he could do: they will thaw, and run to waste. In this remark on Mr. KEMBLE we have noticed the defective side of bis style only,—and in comdaring his style with Mr. Kean's, we can only do so ;-but in a future paper, we shall take an opportunity of remarking upon his performance of one of his Roman characters, and consequently pointing out what we consider the merits of his acting. In parts, such as Penruddock, or Brutus, or Coriolanus, which are in themselves settled, cold, or lofty, there is no one to equal Kemble. His Penruddock is the only specimen of baffled affection surviving the strife of time, on the stage. His heart there, though broken, seeins to “brokenly live on. He strikes sorrow into us by the dint of his very frozenness. He looks like some magnificent creature hurled out by the hand of Despair into a fearful solitude, to which his spirit, by its own greatness, becomes reconciled. His Brutus and Coriolanus are great and majestic, and remind us of the most high and palmy state of Rome.” These kind of characters, however, are in themselves artificial, and of course quite secondary to those of natural feeliog and passion. If a Temple were erected in honor of the drama, the difference between Kean and KEMBLE would be immediately seen ;-KEMBLE would take his stand by the side of some great column, at the head of the steps, and look down upon the crowds beneath him with an eye of confident grandeur:-Kean would come down from the pillars, and bustle amongst the people.
From Mr. Southey's letter to Mr. W. Smith, we give the following extracts :
For the book itself, (Wat Tyler), I deny that it is a seditious performance; for it places in the mouths of the personages who are introduced nothing more than a' correct sťatement of their real principles. That it is a mischievous publication, I know; the errors which it contains being especially dangerous at this time. Therefore I came forward without hesitation to arow it; to claim it as my own property, which had never been alienated ; and to suppress it. And I am desirous that my motives in thus acting should not be misunderstood. The piece was written under the influence of opinions which I have long since outgrown, and repeatedly disclaimed, but for which I have never affected to feel either shame or contrition; they were taken up conscientiously in early youth, they were acted npon in disregard to all worldly considerations, and they were left behind in the same straight-forward course, as I advanced in years. It was written when