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rally speaking, the modern writers who compose histories on the events of distant times, are pretty much out of the case! I look upon them as mere compilers, and consider their pro ductions but as the works of bad translators.

CHARACTER OF GOODWIN.

A Kentish Parson of the last Century.

WHERE hop-crown'd Medway laves the lapwing'd brook,
And Snodland's Torr immures the brooding rook,
Old Goodwin dwelt, he was the parish priest,

More wise and humble as his years increas'd;
Mild was his aspect as the op'ning morn,

When Junc's white blossoms deck the hedge-row thorn.
To him around the village matrons came,
Or rich or poor to Goodwin 'twas the same,
Alike to all he shew'd the ways of Truth,
Taught age content, and modesty to youth,
Upheld no doctrine shocking to the sense,

Shew'd vice, tho' screen'd by kings, had no defence,
The paths he pointed were with rev'rence trod,
For Reason knew they led the way to God:
Four simple rules he briefly held to view,-
Be just! be lib'ral! to yourself be true!
And do by others, as you'd have them do!
To these he liv'd, for he sublimely thought
Example went before what precept taught;
Nor this alone-'twas his, the patriot flame,
And much he gloried in our Kentish name;
He lov'd our story, and would often tell
How Hampden suffer'd and how Sidney fell.
A virtue out of date, to charm too cold,
For love of country now read love of gold.
He urg'd at all times, it should be our pride,
To aid the cause for which our father's died.
All venal knaves he vow'd were England's curse,
And when the country claim'd the lib'ral purse,
Those who had plenty should resign their store,
To keep taxation from the lab'ring poor.
Our ancient laws he lov'd for all he felt,
And free, as heav'n its dews, the patriot dealt;
He knew the world-and knew it with a sigh,
For he had felt its wrongs, nor knew for why;
Taught by the cunning knave's delusive part,
He knew each dark avenue to the heart!

And knowing thus, it was by all confess'd,
'Twas his to caution or advise the best:
To all that sought him in their sad extreme,
He comfort gave and left a hopeful gleam;
All lov'd the man, for tho' his locks were grey,
With youth he smil'd, and would be often gay,

But, ah! what raptures charm'd, when white and clean,
The duplicated 'leven spread the green!

When Dearing! Honeywood! (both Kentish bred),
And noble Dorset, round the wickets spread ;
With lynx-like eyes, the ample space survey'd,
To stop the ball from Mann's unerring blade;
Then would the rev'rend pastor urge his claim,
And like a Nestor arbitrate the game.
The game, that exercis'd our village train,
And made an Hercules of ev'ry swain
A game, I fear, of late on the decline,
Since fiery spirits rule o'er barley wine;
Yielding (while manhood frowns the change to see)
To cruel slander over black bohea.

All rural sports he lov'd, and held no doubt,
That life was worthless idly spent without.
E'en games, he'd say, a moral might convey,
Provided always Justice rul'd the play;
For this, low seated on the grassy plat,
He'd keep the score while others wield the bat,
The bowler's skill he'd mark with eager eye
And smil'd like youth to see the wicket fly,
And if perchance, before it met the ground,
The ball was caught and eager cast around,
Erect he'd stand, and thought of age no more,
But seem'd an active strippling at four score;
For well he ween'd, and I believ'd him right,
The mind employ'd receives the best delight:
This said he lov'd, and for its truth he stood,
"Where snore the idle there can be no good."
If age in sickness pin'd, or wish'd relief,
Goodwin was first to stop the tears of grief;
Tho' small his income he had still to spare,
The hungry knew it, and the shiv'ring bare.
Where worthless pride assail'd the humble breast,
This was the man to see the wrong redress'd;
Meanness he scorn'd (by him a vice abhor'd),
Or in a clown, a parson, or a lord ;
One lib'ral hand, I've often heard him say,
"Shall all the hands of selfishness outweigh."
So mild his temper he could none offend,
Truth found in him an everlasting friend.

(To be continued.)

HARLEQUINADE.

THE SYLPH OF THE OAK, OR THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BETHNAL GREEN.

This Pantomime is too tedious in its opening;-It lingers too long at Hackney and Bethnal-green. At the commence ment a set of topers-among which Grimaldi cuts a conspicuous figure,-sing a stupid glee to "the beautiful Bess," the daughter of the Blind Beggar, who is "a Knight Templar in disguise."-Queen Elizabeth next enters on a white horse, for the sake of crossing the stage, and throwing a red purse to the Beggar. One of her majesty's morrice dancers falls suddenly in love with this same "beautiful Bess."-and much tenderness ensues. The topers attack the cottage to carry off Bess (not the queen) the blind man, and the amorous morrice dancer, and the dog, fight with laudable courage. The girl is at last carried away, the topers seize the dog, and kill him at the foot of an oak; when lo! a sylph appears, who changes the tree into a temple, and Bess into Columbine, and the Morrice dancer into Harleqnin. The scene of the Park was laughable enough; Lord Wellington stood before us on horseback, and close behind him was the Regent's bomb. Mr. I. King, who performed the Beggar, has a sweet voice, but its change is too evident, when it passes into the falsetto. It requires cultivation. Young Barnett sang very delightfully. The three Misses Dennett, however, were the charm of the evening;-their dancing realizes all that can be fancied of grace and harmony. They are three young sylphs. Every thing that is pretty and light reminds us of them. It is impossible to look up at the three stars that form the belt of Orion, and not see the three Misses Dennett. They lurk about rosy places. They are perpetually dancing over the mind. Their forms float about like music. They seem formed of three thoughts, picked from the most flowery parts of the Midsummer Night's Dream. The pantomime is worth seeing, if only for these three young girls.

ANECDOTES.

Frederick the Great was extremely fond of making the im mortality of the soul a topic of discourse, and generally ad

verted to it, when learned men, whose opinions and princi ples he was inclined to sound, were presented to him. It was seldom, however, that he allowed any one to differ from him on that point, and it was still more dangerous for any one to attempt to support an opinion adverse to his own. He soon lost his patience, and always confounded his antagonist by some sudden sally, which was seldom couched in the most gentle terms. A Berlin academician was once advancing a chain of arguments in favour of the immortality of the soul, when Frederick suddenly interrupted him by exclaim, ing:-"What sir, you wish to be immortal? Pray what have you done to deserve it?"

During the reign of Henry II. who was elected Emperor of Germany upon the death of Otto III. and swayed the imperial sceptre from 1004 to 1024, the German clergy, enriched and emboldened by the blind devotion of this bigoted prince to their interests, began to assume an authority, even paramount to his own, over the temporal affairs of the empire; insomuch so, that their friendship was as eagerly courted, as their displeasure was dreaded by every prince in Germany. An historian of the eleventh century relates of Meinwerk, Bishop of Paderborn, "that there was no meanness to which he did not descend, in order to enrich his diocese, and that, whenever the emperor refused to grant him what he demanded, he forcibly possessed himself of the ob ject of his desires. The emperor, being once on a visit to him, Meinwerk caused all the ewes, big with young, that could be found on his estates, to be killed, and a mantle made of the skins of the unborn lambs, with which he decked the emperor on his return from the bath. Henry, however, desired to have a better mantle; upon which the bishop replied, "I have stripped my poor bishopric, its clergy, and its farmers who derived their livelihood from their sheep, in order to clothe thee: and God will chastise thee, if thou do not make good the loss." The emperor smiled, and shortly after bestowed on him the valuable estate of Stein,

Henry having once sent the bishop a costly vessel for his inspection, Meinwerk immediately caused it to be melted down and converted into a cup, which he consecrated on the altar. When the emperor reproached him with the theft, he answered, “I have been guilty of no theft, but have piously consecrated to the service of God, that which was dedicated to feast thy avarice and pride, and if thou darest to

take away this offering of my piety, thou wilt ensure thine own damnation."

On another occasion, Meinwerk stole a costly robe out of the emperor's chamber, and answered Henry's reproaches by saying, "It is fitter that this garment should be kept in the temple of God, than adorn thy mortal body as for thy threats I despise them."

S. D.

AN ACCOUNT OF THE ROMAN GLADIATORS.

Every one in the least acquainted with antiquity, knows that Gladiators were persons who combated with others, or with wild beasts, for the entertainment of the people; and it appears that the Romans borrowed from the Asiatics, this cruel and detestable custom, which was no doubt substituted for the horrid practice of sacrificing captives, at the tombs of those who had fallen in war. Homer tells us, that Achil les sacrificed twelve young Trojans to the manes of Patroclus: and we read In Virgil, that the pious neas sent prisoners to Evander, to be sacrificed at the funeral pile of his son Pallas.

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The Trojans imagined, that it was necessary to shed blood at the tombs of the dead, iu order to appease them, and so prevalent was this superstition amongst them, that even the women made incisions in their bodies with their own hands, and with their blood besprinkled the sepulchres of those who were dear to them.

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When people became more civilized, and conceived a more just aversion to such horrid actions, they resolved, in order to avoid the imputation of cruelty, that slaves and pri soners of war devoted to death, according to their laws, should be made to fight one with another, and do their best to save their own lives, and to take away those of their adversaries. This establishment appeared to be less barbarous, because those who were the objects of it, might, by their dexterity and skill, avoid death, and in some respects could. only blame themselves, if they did not avoid it. To this therefore, we may refer the origin of Gladiators.

The first exhibition of these unhappy wretches, given at Rome, was in the year 490, after its foundation, under the Consulship of Appius Claudius, and M. Fulvius. At first, such shews were allowed only at the obsequies of the Con

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