THE DEMON OF THE STORM. (TRANSLATED FROM A DANISH MANUSCRIPT.) THE spirit of the storm is walking upon the waters-he treads upon the waves and they boil beneath him-he plougheth up the waters with his feet-a thunder-cloud binds his hair-his wings divide the wind, and his face is as the form of death:-it reacheth unto the clouds of heaven -it looketh upon the stars and they tremble-it looketh again, and they flee away-his voice is terrible as the voice of the wind, when it laugheth at the cedars and mocketh the proud oak of the forest-his anger is fearful, like the earthquake which overturneth cities so that they are not, and palaces that they are buried in the dust. When he grindeth his teeth, it is as the striving of many branches, or the fierce contending of fields of ice, as they battle around the pole with his right hand he hurleth the red meteor stone, which falling to the earth with hideous groan makes a dreadful ruin of the proudest pile. He standeth in the east, and commandeth in the west, and the north and the south are obedient unto him. When his decree goeth forth, his own might establisheth it, so that he needeth not slaves to minister unto him. The great ships are hurried to and fro at his coming-they fly his presence as the white dove flieth the swift hawk. The leviathan seeth him, and hideth his head in the stones of the deep-the seabird hurries to her nest, and the cormorant flieth and droppeth her prey. He shaketh the nest of the eagle-he teareth up the lordly lion's lair, and scattereth it to the four winds of heaven-he maketh his pillow of the eddying whirlwind, but he slumbereth not. In his mildness he pusheth down the avalanche from its seat, and scattereth the mountains like flakes of snow. He bendeth himself and the whole earth is shaken. He dealeth out destruction as it listeth him. When he looketh at the sun it is darkened, and the moon withdraweth her shield from him. The harbinger of his coming is the stillness of the grave-he breaketh upon the reign of silence, and bindeth her in adamantine chains. He runneth to and fro upon the universe, and no one can controul him but THE GREAT GOD. Déjeuné. 12. Quoniam cum interierit, non sumet secum omnia, neque cum eo DEATH, in the character of a ragged and oppressed peasant, has despoiled the nobleman of his paraphernalia, and is dashing his shield or coat of arms to pieces. On the ground lie scattered a helmet, crest, and flail. (1o be Resumed.) THE LADY GODIVA OF COVENTRY.. THE city of Coventry is of ancient fame in saintly legends for the visit of the eleven thousand virgins, a number which is accounted incredible by an uncourtly writer. But the eleven thousand virgins have vanished with their credibility; and a noble hearted woman of real flesh and blood, affords Coventry its best recollections, and confers on it its immortality. VOL. III.] H [No. XV. The story of Lady Godiva is not founded on fiction, as many persons suppose it. It is recorded too distinctly to admit of doubt, and is, besides, not of a nature to have been a mere invention. The name of the lady, and that of her husband Leofric, are mentioned in an old charter recorded by several early historians. The story has innate evidence enough to give full weight to the accounts which have descended through the old legendary writers. The imagination of man can invent much, affection much more: but affection can sometimes do things such as the tenderest imagination is at least not in the habit of inventing; and the piece of noble heartedness described in this story, we consider to be one of them. In the time of Edward the Confessor, lived Leofric, Earl of Leicester, the lord of an extensive feudal territory in the midland part of England, of which Coventry formed a part. Leofric was so eminently a feudal lord, that the hereditary greatness of his dominion appears to have been singular even at that time, and it had lasted with unabated importance, and in an uninterrupted succession from the reign of Ethelbald to the conquest, a period of more than three hundred years. The city of Coventry was at this time subject to a very severe and oppressive tollage, by which it would seem that the feudal despot was in the enjoyment of the greater part of the profit of all marketable commodities. The progress of knowledge has shown us how full of mischief, and how unhappy for all parties, is an injustice of this description; yet it affords an extraordinary idea of a mind in those times, to see it capable of bursting through the clouds of custom, of ignorance, and even of self-interest, and bravely daring to petition an established tyrant to forego so important a privilege. This mind was the Lady Godiva's. The other sex, always more slow to admit reason through the medium of feeling, were then exclusively occupied in their warlike habits. It was thus reserved for a woman to anticipate many intire ages of liberal opinion, and to surpass them in the daring virtue of setting a rightful, virtuous principle above the usurpation of brutal custom. The countess entreated her lord to give up his fancied right to this cruel impost, but in vain; at length, wishing to put an end to her importunities, he told her, either in a spirit of bitter jesting, or in a playful raillery, that he would forego the accustomed tax for ever, upon the sole condition that she rode through the city of Coventry naked. One may imagine the astonishment of a fierce unlettered chieftain, not untinged with chivalry, at hearing a high minded, nobly born woman, instantly take him at his word-a woman of the greatest delicacy, and most unquestionable character for every feminine virtue. Such a man must have been in a manner thunderstruck to hear an adorable and beloved wife maintaining seriously her intention of acting in a manner contrary to all that was supposed fitting for her sex, and at the same time forcing upon him a sense of the beauty and the sublimity of her conduct, by the very excess of fine principle. It is probable, that as he could not prevail upon her to give up her design, he had sworn some religious oath when he made his promise: but be this as it may, he enforced every possible precaution, to secure her natural feelings of modesty from violence. The people of Coventry were strictly enjoined to keep within doors on the day, to close up all their windows and outlets, and not to dare even a glance into the streets during the procession, upon pain of death. The day came, and Coventry, as it may be imagined, was silent as death. The lady went out at the palace door, was set on horseback by her maids, and at the same time divested of her wrapping garment, as if she had been going into a bath; then taking the fillet from her head, she let down her long and lovely tresses, which poured around her like a veil; and so took her gentle way through the streets. Than this, what scene can be more touching to the imagination,-beauty, modesty, feminine softness, a daring sympathy; an extravagance, producing by the nobleness of its object, and the strange gentleness of its means, the grave and profound effect of the most revered custom. We may suppose the scene taking place in the warm noon; the doors of every house scrupulously shut, every window hermetically closed; the earl and his court serious and wondering; the inhabitants reverently listening to hear the footsteps of the horse, and many of them dissolved in grateful tears; and lastly, we may imagine the lady herself, with a downcast, but not shame-stricken eye, looking towards the earth through her flowing locks, and riding through the dumb and deserted streets, like an angelic spirit working their redemption. It was an honourable superstition in that part of the country, that one individual, who transgressed the injunction of retirement during the lady's progress, and ventured to look at the fair saviour of his native town, was struck blind. But the vulgar use to which this superstition has been turned by some writers of late times, is not so creditable. The whole story is, indeed, as remote from vulgarity, and as sweetly serious, as can well be conceived. Our poets have not done much with this fascinating subject, or, perhaps, have not seen it in its best light. Nor have any of our painters yet pourtrayed Godiva upon her horse. Let us hope that some artist of taste and feeling, will call up his recollection of the story, and fall in love with it. La Belle Assemblée. ON THE BURLESQUE FESTIVALS OF FORMer ages. THE parodies of our ancestors are in no wise indebted to contemporary literature for their preservation. They were chiefly the amusements of an ignorant populace, who, unendowed with abstract ideas of wit and pleasure, could only imagine them in the ridicule of ceremonies they were accustomed to respect. Selden and others consider them as relics of the Roman Saturnalia, but their existence was too remote from that period to confirm the supposition; and we must seek their origin in the numerous festivals of celebration observed by the primitive Christians, and which, in the hands of the ignorant or vulgar, were degraded, from loose representations, to indecent parodies. Yet, if no part of their system were derived from the annual feast of the Romans, their effects at least were of the same nature—a temporary removal of all subordination, ending in excess and riot. Some, indeed, of the ceremonies we purpose to relate, were not productive of such consequences, but they belong to the same class, and had their origin in the same cause, religious representation. Whatever their purport, tendency, or spirit, it was insufficient to attract the notice of the learned; while they existed in the mouths, or served to gratify the curiosity of mankind, no one was interested in their duration, or anxious to perpetuate his name by record |