gives rise to the legend of the famous boar of the Djurjura: "A boar by day and a Jinn by night," of whom the refrain tells us that "A pitiless Jinn was he." This is an excellent ballad, and the story it tells is as full of life as any of Gordon Cumming's raids.

In the third canto we have a rapid transition from "Peace" to "War." The latter is prefaced by the arrival of Khaled's band, who are met by Abd-el-Kader himself, mounted on his coal-black mare Djerouah. Khaled claims the first adventure against the Franks, which is granted, and he is ordered to storm the blockhouse in the pass of Bibân. Before he sets out, he receives a message by Maynoun from one who follows him with loving eyes, bidding him prosper, and with the message is sent a scarf of silver tissue, to be dyed "scarlet-bright" in the blood of the Giaours. A fine description is then given of the Atlas mountains, with the stronghold of the French commandant La Harpe;-the march of the French troops, the ambush of the Kabailes, and the fierce contest which takes place in the pass called "El Mochtar," or "the Avenger," follow in quick succession, and Khaled dips his scarf in the blood of the French leader. There is a terrible and highly wrought episode of battle in this account, where Adolphe and Mesrour, the last who are left alive in the pass, finish their death-struggle with dagger and bayonet beside the fountain's brim where each has crawled to drink; it is full of the most thrilling interest. The canto closes with an energetic appeal to the better feelings of mankind against the "accursed teaching" of the "evil priest and unsex'd priestess" Sue and Sand, whose social doctrines Lord Maidstone justly holds to be the bane of civilisation, and but for whom, he says, Algeria's name would never have been a by-word among nations, nor the shame of a mighty country.

Our continuous account of Lord Maidstone's poem must be more summarily told. "Kabaïlia," the subject of Canto IV., tells of a rumour of battle and defeat, which Khaled hears returning to the camp of Abd-elKader after his successful onslaught. He returns to the accustomed spot, but no traces are there of the Emir and his band, but the tokens of a fray and the body of Maynoun in a death-like trance, from which she only recovers to die in reality without being able to proffer speech. Khaled causes her to be buried, and then follows the track of the French troops, meeting here and anon with some fragment of the plundered Deira in his path. At length he reaches the camp where the French have halted, and sees that they have his mistress prisoner, whom he instantly resolves to rescue. He creeps among the sleeping soldiers, reaches the tent where Khadidjah is captive, releases her, and together they mount the same steed for flight. The morning-star rises, and its sudden light awakens a Zouave, who sees the lovers flit by, and raises the alarm. Khaled cuts him down, and the pursuit begins. He is wounded, but escapes, and the lovers eventually reach a dashkra of the Kabyles, where Khaled recovers, and breathes his passion to Khadidjah, urging her to become his. But the princess tells him of a wondrous vision, and the secret mission of Abd-el-Kader; in consequence of which she had vowed herself to God and Islâm, nor could deem herself free till the Giaours were driven out of El Gharb.

Canto V. is called "Mulucha Flumen." The banks of the river Mollouïah, whither Abd-el-Kader has at last been driven, is the scene of this

portion of the poem. This was the limit in old time of Jugurtha's domain; it is the limit also of the freedom of action of Abd-el-Kader, who has found his Bocchus in the person of Muley Abd-er-rahman, the Emperor of Morocco, now his enemy. The Emir holds a midnight council, and tells his Deira that the emperor has urged him to surrender. They answer his appeal, and resolve to attack and fire the Moorish camp by means of camels loaded with pitch-prepared herbage. The enterprise is conducted by Khaled, to whom, in the event of success, Khadidjah promises her hand. The camp of Muley is very picturesquely described, as well as the scene of confusion and terror which follows. The Moors are beaten, but they muster again with renewed force, and the Emir is hemmed in on the brink of the Mollouïah. He daringly resolves to cross the swollen river, and safely effects the passage; but Khaled, who had kept the enemy at bay, performing prodigies of valour, falls beneath the murderous aim of a Riffian, who had lost two sons in the fight. Storms arise in Atlas,-the host is scattered, and Abd-el-Kader, with his family and a few followers, finally surrender on the terms which the French government subsequently refused to ratify,-not choosing to feel themselves bound by the verbal conditions made with Lamoricière and the Duke d'Aumale.

The sixth canto shows us Abd-el-Kader and the widowed bride, his sister, in the prison fort of La Malgue, depicting the pains of his captivity in a manner as touching as unfortunately they are real; and the poem concludes with the aspiration that in the progress of time the Numidian, converted to Christianity, may read this lament from a distant land over the fate of the great Numidian chief.

We here,

We have left ourselves no room for further extracts, though we had marked numerous passages, all of them of great beauty. therefore, give our farewell greeting to Lord Maidstone, in the earnest hope that this his noble effort may tend to rouse attention to claims which, for the sake alike of humanity and honour, should no longer be postponed.

We turn from Lord Maidstone's volume to the mournful tribute which next demands our attention. "Eustace"* is an elegy penned by a sorrowing father to the memory of a son who was in every respect worthy of a parent's love. Captain Eustace d'Eyncourt fell a victim to yellow fever, at the early age of twenty-five, a few days after joining his regiment in Barbadoes, in the year 1842. In one of the towers of Bayon's Manor, Lincolnshire, the family seat of the Right Honourable Charles Tennyson d'Eyncourt, M.P., a clock-bell was placed, with this inscription: "Me posuit Carolus de Eyncourt, Filium, flore ætatis abreptum, Eustachium dilectissimum deflens. Revocet vox mea dulces amoris horas: moneat quoque-quam fugaces! Quantula sit Vita!" The elegy contained in the volume which records a father's deep-seated grief, is an expansion of the above lines in English verse, graceful in construction, tender in sentiment, and sadly mournful in its general tone. The thoughts which they embody are full of earnest truth and sound philosophy, and none can close the volume without feeling that he is better, albeit graver, after its perusal.

Eustace: an Elegy. Second edition. Saunders and Otley, Conduit-street, 1851.

Our "Cento" is strangely composed. We have three more poems to complete the diverse collection, but of these we are not called upon to say much. The first of them is "Marican,"* a new Auracana, but not destined like that fragmentary Iliad to live beyond the hour. Indeed, the only resemblance between the two is in the scene where the story is laid, that small province on the coast of New Granada, whose warlike inhabitants yet retain the name and observe many of the religious traditions of their unconquered ancestors. The story of " Marican" contains some fairly written descriptions of an interesting country, but it has nothing in it of real poetry. The next on our list is "The Reign of Avarice," but the interest which this allegorical satire excited in us may be judged of by the fact, that when we had cut the leaves of the book, instead of reading the poem we read the advertisements at the end of it, nor did we find any reason in glancing at the volume to repent us of having done so. Tryphona" is the last of this batch, and as in the very first stanza of his poem the author informs us that he hardly hopes to improve the minds of his readers, he will not take it hard that we should confirm his ingenuous opinion. He also says that this is "his first poetical () attempt:" we trust it may prove his last. That we may not be thought captious, we give a specimen of Mr. Fletcher's style, only altering the manner of printing the lines. Our extract is a stanza (!) in which he describes his hero, and runs thus:

66

"Now to begin, there lived not long ago, no matter where, a youth full six feet high; a goodly size as you may say, and so he thought himself; he was not fat, nay, I may say that he was thin; indeed, I know he generally was considered by his friends as such, therefore there need not be more words on the subject, thin was he."

The Aldine press is honoured by two such productions as "Tryphona" and the "Reign of Avarice." A few more poems like these and we shall believe in the return of the Golden Age.

Clown loquitur-Miss Glascock's Oriental Quadrilles-Variétés: “La Ferme de Primerose," Mademoiselle Page, Charles Pérey, Mademoiselle Ozy-Gymnase Mademoiselle Brassine, Mademoiselle Luther-Eau de Portugal-Dialogue at an Elysée Ball-Chameaux-La Bacchante a-matelas-" Le Monstre et le Magicien❞ English Exhibition:" Hyacinthe, "L'Amant de Cœur," Mademoiselle Scriwaneck The "Folie Asnières:" Mabille, &c., Mademoiselle Rigolette, La Galerie, Mademoiselle Stucy, Mademoiselle Olympe, &c., Maria.

CLOWN LOQUITUR.-"Here we are again!" says the clown. Gentle reader, did it ever strike you that, in these four words, there lurked a profound Machiavellian subtilty, an ingenious evasion of a deli

* Marican, and other Poems. By Henry Inglis. Blackwood and Sons. Edinburgh and London. 1851.

†The Reign of Avarice, an allegorical Satire. In four cantos. London: Pickering. 1851.

Tryphona, and other Poems. By John William Fletcher. London: Pickering.

cate point worthy of M. de Talleyrand or Jack Bunsby? No? Well, then, expliquons-nous.

Observe that, by this simple announcement of his return, the enfant prodigue in no wise commits himself. His audience have ocular proof of his presence, and what he says does not advance them the hundredth part of a jot. It would not answer his purpose to let them into the secret of his temporary absence, or to confess the peccadilloes we may have committed in the interim. For all they know, he may have been flirting with Columbine, if he be a pantomimic clown; or tripping up the gentleman with the long whip, if he be a child of the circus; or swallowing a pilfered Bologna sausage, or any other dainty in which members of his profession traditionally delight; but he keeps his own counsel. He thinks that, however long he may have stayed away, or whatever escapades he may have been guilty of while absent, he more than atones for all sins by throwing a summerset, and uttering the four cabalistic words already quoted; and the public think so too, to judge from the reception they give him.

Even so, reader, does the habitué purposely conceal from thee the why and wherefore of his long silence; and, following the example of the party-coloured Azaël (barring the summerset), modestly recalls himself to thy notice with a truly cordial "Here we are again!"

MISS GLASCOCK'S ORIENTAL QUADRILLES.-And before I forget it, let me here discharge a debt under which my conscience has been some time groaning. Generally speaking, I am not troubled with dreams, but for some weeks past my slumbers have been animated by visions of fantastic beings, clad in Eastern garb, and all dancing as vigorously and as indefatigably as Petra Camara or Baron Nathan. And to the liveliest, most characteristic music imaginable! It was familiar to me, and yet when or where I had heard it I could not for the life of me remember. One morning lately, however, after having "assisted" at a more than usually boisterous exhibition of St. Vitus's art, a light suddenly flashed on my memory.

Mais, sapristi, je connais ça !

And I had been wondering all this time at the verve of my nocturnal visitors! Why, they couldn't help themselves; the music had been continually acting on their toes and heels quicksilver-fashion; and, like the magic fiddle, had not allowed them a moment's breathing time. In a word, they had been dancing to Miss Glascock's Oriental Quadrilles!

VARIÉTÉS. The theatres are, as is usual at this time of year, wholly dependent on the rise or fall of the barometer; the receipts vary according to the weather, a ray of sunshine throwing the managers into a fit of despondency, and a good smart shower towards six in the evening locating them temporarily in the seventh heaven.

The Variétés have lately reopened under a new administration, and the success of the present augurs well for that of the future. The hard, comfortless stalls have already given place to easy fauteuils, and the remodelling of the troupe is fast following that of the salle. A very neatly written little piece, "La Ferme de Primerose," the scene of which is laid in England, affords scope for some admirable acting on the part of pretty Adèle Page and Charles Pérey; the latter of whom, always an original and painstaking artiste, is gradually becoming a first-rate comedian.

Were I to omit, in my notice of the Variétés, a passing word of

homage to Mademoiselle Alice Ozy, I should be guilty at once of an act of lèse-beauté and lèse-talent. The time was when the latter term could hardly have been considered applicable to the lady in question, except by those whose penetration could discover real dramatic capabilities, intentionally allowed to remain inactive, but nevertheless only requiring to be developed at the will and pleasure of their fair owner. What may have at last induced Mademoiselle Ozy to exchange the provoking nonchalance which used to characterise her acting for a most attractive combination of grace, liveliness, and entrain, matters little: it is sufficient for us that she has done so, and in a manner which admits of no retrograde moveParts formerly joués sous la jambe, to use an expressive local term, must henceforth be invested and interpreted with the peculiar charm and finesse whose existence chez elle she has herself betrayed. Like the Juif Errant, she must perpetually advance; like the luckless horse in Mr. Pickwick's cab, she must go on, she can't help it. If ever vaisseaux were brûlés, hers are.

ment.

GYMNASE: MADEMOISELLE BRASSINE.-A great favourite of mine, and let me add of the public also, Mademoiselle Marie Brassine has recently quitted the Palais Royal for the Gymnase, where her place has been marked ever since the retirement of Mademoiselle Meley. An excellent and ladylike tenue, an easy and refined tone of comedy, and a host of personal attractions into the bargain, form an assemblage of qualities sufficiently rare in these days of dramatic dearth, and M. Montigny is not the man to let them go a begging. Nay, more; I have no doubt that, when Mademoiselle Brassine's engagement was duly signed and sealed, the worthy manager inwardly felt convinced that on that occasion at least his boulevard might well be said to merit its name of Bonne nouvelle.

MADEMOISELLE LUTHER.-Another promising young actress of this theatre, Mademoiselle Amedine Luther, is rapidly gaining ground in the estimation of all true connoisseurs, by her exquisitely natural impersonation of the ingénues. Biondina e grassetta, as Théophile Gautier aptly described Jenny Colon, with the sweetest of all possible smiles, and a most attractive and infantine manner, Mademoiselle Luther has every imaginable qualification required by her emploi. After a temporary sojourn at the Théâtre Français, where, notwithstanding a most brilliant début, she soon found herself condemned to vegetate in obscurity, owing to her refusal to comply with certain conditions imposed on all young and pretty pensionnaires by more than one of messieurs les sociétaires, she resolved on seeking a more limited but far more congenial area for her talent, and appeared in the "Grand' mère," under the fostering auspices of Rose Chéri, with immense éclat.

Charming and espiègle on the stage, she is equally lively and spirituelle in private life, with, moreover, a decided propensity to harmless badinage, in which, however, she on one occasion met her match. Voici comment:

Walking late one evening with her bonne, a worthy creature considerably past the meridian of life, she was followed very assiduously by a young man, whose attentions speedily became so marked that she determined to get rid of him in her own peculiar manner. Turning suddenly round upon him, and affecting to consider him as some fifty years older than he really was, she exclaimed with a look of mingled commiseration and reproach: