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burg, Tico Brache's rare gardens at Vraneburge, the garden at Copenhagen. Tho. Duke of Hostein's garden, &c.

In Turkey, the East and other Parts.---The grand Signor's in the Serraglio, the garden at Tunis, and old Carthage; the garden at Cairo, at Fez, the pensal garden at Pequin in China, also at Timplan and Porassen ; St. Thomas' garden in the island necre M. Hecla, perpetually verdant. In Persia the garden at Ispahan : the garden of Tzurbugh; the Chan's garden in Schamachie neere the Caspian sea, of Ardebil, and the citty of Cassuin or Arsacia : the garden lately made at Suratt in the East Indias by the great Mogoll's daughter, &c.

In America.-Montezuma's floating garden, and others in Mexico. The king of Azcapuzulco's, the garden of Cusco; the garden in Nova Hispania. Count Maurice's rare garden at Boavesta in Brasile.

In England - Wilton, Dodington, Spensherst, Sion, Hatfield, Lord Brook's, Oxford, Kirby, Howard's, Durden's, my elder brother George Evelyn's in Surry far surpassing any else in England, it may be my owne poore garden may for its kind, perpetually groene, not be vnworthy mentioning.

The Gardens mentioned in Scripture &c. Miraculous and extraordinary gardens found upon huge fishes' backs, men over growne with flowers &c.

Romantique and poeticall gardens out of Sidney, Spencer, Achilles Statius, Homer, Poliphele, &c. All these I have already described, some briefly, some at large, according to their dignity and merite.

But this paper, and my reverence to your greate patience minds me of a conclusion.

Worthy Sir
I am your most humble and
most obliged Servant

Lond. 28. Jan.

Co. Garden.

Sir, I beg the fauour of you when you see Mr. Paston to make my service acceptable, and to let him know how greately I thinke my selfe obliged to him for this civillity.

I make bold to send you another paper of the chapters, because I have there added another chapter concerning Hortulan entertainements; and I intend another for wonderfull plants &c.

If you thinke me worthy of the continuance of these fauours to your servant, your letters will infallibly find me by this addresse “ For Mr. Iohn Euelyn at the hauke and feasant on Ludgate Hill, London.”

In the foregoing Letter we have scrupulously followed Evelyn's orthography, which will sufficiently account for the singular appearance that some very well-known places make in our present article. The Letter altogether may be considered as very curious, chiefly as it gives the most perfect list of celebrated gardens any where to be found, and again as it affords a fair idea of the plan of what, if executed, would have been one of our author's most interesting and delightful works. Among the MSS. at Wotton there are parts of two volumes with the running title of Elysium Britannicum, consisting of miscellaneous observations on a great variety of subjects, but nothing digested, except a printed sheet of the contents of the intended work. So Mr. Bray, who has given a copy of this printed sheet at vol. ii. pp. 90, 91. of the Memoirs, which shews that it is evidently the same alluded to more than once in the Letter to Sir Thos. Browne.



The two poets, that seem to share on any lady's book-case, married most largely with Delavigne the po- or single; while Beranger suggests pular suffrage in France, are De Be- the cautionary adage « touch not, RANGER and De La MaRTINE. The taste not." He is, in fact, the Capformer, whom court-disfavour and tain Morris of the neighbour nation: legal persecution have kindly assisted he writes drinking-songs, and he to lift into notoriety, must not writes love-songs* (not to profane be confounded with Berenger the the name), and he writes political author of some pleasing fables and squibs and pasquinades on the fugitive pieces; for he is quite an- Jesuits, distinguished by more wit other-guess sort of person. Sooth to than reverence. Take a specimen : say, Berenger may lie unquestioned

Hommes noirs, d'ou sortez-vous?

Nous sortons de dessous terre,
Moitié renards, moitié loups ;

Notre règle est un mystère :
Nous sommes fils de Loyola ;
Vous savez pourquoi l'on nous exila ;

Nous rentrons; songez à vous taire,
Et que vos enfans suivent nos leçons :

C'est nous qui fessons,

Et qui refessons,
Les jolis petits, les jolis garçons.

Les Reverends Pères.

And this saucy burden, I grieve to infants from swaddling clothes, (consay, runs through the ballad with a trived, slily hints the poet, to show Caleb Quotem pertinacity of interca- them. “ qu'ils sont nés d'être eslation. He has also a jeu d'esprit claves,”) are laid at the door of Rous(that will not throughout bear quo- seau and Voltaire. I shall give one tation) purporting to be a proclama- stanza, from which it will be seen tion at the time of Lent: in which all that the author is not of the Deliverthe ills of mankind, from the murder ance-of-Europe side in politics. of Abel to the emancipation of our

Pour avoir des gardiens sûrs

On prodigue l'or aux Suisses ;
Nos soldats ne sont pas purs,

On voit trop leurs cicatrices :
S'ils étaient à Waterloo
C'est la faute de Rousseau :
S'ils meurent de misère,
C'est la faute de Voltaire.

Mandement des Vicaires-Generaux de Paris.

The “Champ d’Asyle” is free a poet, if he had not made it his amfrom moral objection, and shows that bition to be sung in the cabarets. I Beranger could have done better as think it may bear translation.

There is less mischief in these, because less disguise and insidious refinement, than in Parny's. The latter is the French Little. The same remark applies to the licences which these two poets take with religion. Highly wrought and polished blasphemy has in it more of malignity and guilt than burlesque irreverence. Beranger affects an Epicurean air ; but his ridicule is pointed rather at the abuses of religion, as exemplified in the practice and preaching of the monkish priesthood, than at religion in itself. Dec. 1824.

2 Q


Un chef de bannis courageux, &c. 'Twas a chief of valorous exiles

a Sought a shelter o'er the wave, From a jealous savage nation

An asylum for the brave: “ Europe banişh'd us ! ye children

Of the forests! hear our story ; Indians ! listen-we are Frenchmen,

Take ye pity on our glory! “ That it is still quails the monarchs,

Drives us from our straw-roof'd shed: Thence we sprang our rights avenging;

Twenty kingdoms bow'd the head: Peace we conquer'd, long retreating

As our banners onward came; Indians ! listen—we are Frenchmen,

Take ye pity on our fame. “ Albion trembled in her Indies,

When our soldiers' joyous shout From the pyramids' dark chambers

Forced the ancient echoes out: Centuries are too short to number

These exploits so high in story: Indians ! listen-we are Frenchmen,

Take ye pity on our glory. “ From our ranks a man emerging

Said, « The God of earth am I: Vagrant kings in haggard terror

Crouch'd before his lightening eye; From afar they hail'd his palace,

As their God conjured his name: Indians ! listen-we are Frenchmen,

Take ye pity on our fame. “ But he falls--his veteran soldiers

With one comrade plough the deep ; Wandering to your distant climate

They their country's blessings weep : May that country rise for ever

From the Loire's fierce wreck and shame! Indians ! listen-we are Frenchmen, Take

ye pity on our fame, “ He was silent. Then a savage

Answer'd, God the storm hath stay'd :' Warriors ! share ye in our treasures

Rivers, fields, and forest-shade : On the tree of peace inscribe we

Words of one of warlike name;
“ Indians ! listen-we are Frenchmen,

Take ye pity on our fame.”
Soil of refuge! thou art hallow'd!

Here th' asylum-city place :
Haven sure 'gainst faithless fortune

For the hapless of our race:

Here, perchance, our sons, relating

Deeds that shall transcend our story,
Shall exclaim “ Lo! we are Frenchmen!

Take ye pity on our glory!” De la Martine, author of the Me- blends adroitly loyalty and devotion : ditations Poetiques, is, as his title his address to the infant Duke of intimates, a serious poet. He is the Bourdeaux will supply an instance in most in vogue, as times are, for he point.

Quand des pasteurs la troupe errante
Parlait d'un Moise nouveau,

De la nuit déchirant la voile

Une mystérieuse étoile
Les conduisit vers un berceau :
Et comme ces rois de l'Aurore,
Un instinct, que mon ame ignore,

Me fait adorer un enfant !! No doubt the instinct of legitimacy. the “ incense” in which he particuThere is a strange rhapsody with larly delights. This dashing tone of the title of Desespoir : a title which Manicheism is, indeed, discovered by is meant, I suppose, to give out that our modern poets and romanceit is all pretend, as the children say.* writers to be the grand secret of the Truly I am glad of it. The poem is true sublime style: but I am at a a sort of railing remonstrance with loss to perceive by what right the the Deity for his permission of moral author of “ Desespoir takes Lord evil and human suffering ; groans, Byron to task, and calls him “ fallen tears, shrieks,—and what is odd angel.” Let us look a little at this enough, blasphemies, it is broadly mentor of Childe Harold. asserted in no very chosen terms, are

Lorsque du créateur la parole féconde
Dans une heure fatale eut enfanté le monde

Des germes du chaos,
De son ouvre imparfaite il détourna la face,
Et d'un pied dedaigneux le lançant dans l'espace,

Rentra dans son repos. This it is to be a loyalist and a de- This glitters; and so does ice. He votee: if poor Beranger had written sometimes rings the changes on the this superb effusion, all the saloons same thought by way of eking out a in Paris would have cried out ah stanza: and in his elegiac musings, l'impie!"

he gets too often upon stilts, and tires De la Martine has the credit with himself with striving after great and our English critics of profound surprising thoughts. Thus he talks thoughts. The above, I take it, is of leaping up and clinging to the one of them. I should rather call sun, and whirling with him round them far-fetched conceits. There is the hemisphere: and this is merely to something of false sentiment and la- tell us that however wide his light borious artificial prettiness in his ge- extends, it can discover no spot neral poetry which betrays effort, and which is joyous in his eyes. A very consequently weakness. His inquiry common thought, which did not reof a moonbeam, that straggles through quire all this contortion to express it, the rift of a cloud, is in this taste, On another occasion, having comand, I doubt not, is quoted and pared himself to a withered leaf, he petted with much lisping approba- suddenly puts on a stout air, as if he tion :

meant to be sublime in earnest; and, Je songe à ceux qui ne sont plus accordingly, he calls on the north

Douce lumiére! es-tu leur ame 3 winds to snatch him, Monsieur de la


* The poet relieves himself of a good portion of this hypothetical scepticism in the piece entitled La Foi ; and then makes all square by describing himself as “ exhalant la doute et le blasphème;" of which the following is a tolerable sample:

Reponds moi Dieu cruel! s'il est vrai que tu sois,
J'ai donc le droit fatal de maudire tes lois.

Martine, from the face of the earth. sophy of his mistress, while soliloThis profound way of writing has a quizing and apostrophizing time in a name among us, and we call it Della boat on the lake by moonlight. His Cruscan. Readers have been struck best pieces seem to be those of a reat first sight with an appearance of ligious and argumentative cast. The more observation of natural imagery poem on Prayer, indeed, is embroithan is common with French poets. dered here and there with his chaThere is a solemn soothing tone in racteristic affectations. Thus having his colouring, and a sort of romantic conceived the idea of the universe effect in his local scenery, which in- being the temple of Deity (he had dicate pictorial and poetic feeling ; not far to reach for the conception), but in the associated reflexions there he goes on to designate earth as the is, as I have before hinted, a poverty altar, the skies as the dome, the of sentiment. There is a mixture of stars as the tapers, and the evening frippery and common-place in many clouds as the fumes of frankincense. of those lyrical meditations, which What follows is better, and will not are intended to record either his own suffer by being taken out of its orisolitary reveries or the tender philo- ginal dress.

But is the temple voiceless? where the hymns
Raised to the monarch of this marvellous world?
All round is silent. "Tis the heart alone
Speaks in that silence : 'tis the reasoning thought
That gives the universe a voice ; that mounts
On night's pale gleams and on the breeze's wing,
A living incense to the God on high;
Gives language to creation, and with things

Material interbreathes th' adoring spirit.
A still more favourable extract shall be given in the original verse.

La mort m'entoure en vain de ses ombres funèbres,
Ma raison voit le jour à travers ces ténèbres.
C'est le dernier degré qui m'approche de toi,
C'est le voile qui tombe entre ta face et moi.
Hâte pour moi, Seigneur, ce moment que j'implore ;
Ou si dans tes secrets tu les retiens encore,
Entends du haut du ciel le cri de mes besoins :
L'atome et l'univers sont l'objet de tes soins :
Des dons de ta bonté soutiens mon indigence ;
Nourris mon corps de pain, mon âme d'espérance ;
Réchauffe d'un regard de tes yeux tout-puissants
Mon esprit éclipsé par l'ombre de mes sens ;
Et, comme le soleil aspire la rosée,
Dans ton sein, à jamais, absorbe ma pensée.

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There would, indeed, be a wea- Française, odes, and other things. riness of the flesh ” were I to com- In tragedy he was the pupil of Volment on all the miscellanies in verse taire, who said of him that “ he which catch the eye on the book- could heat the oven, but did not stalls of the Palais Royal in red or know how to bake.” Il sait chauffer blue marble covers, with plates in le four, mais il ne suit pas cuire. which whiskered French poets, bene His best play is the “ Comte de ocreati in Hessian boots, and with Warwick," in which, however, he rigidly bent hats, are occupied, to the makes Warwick die fighting for the glory of Parisian costume and of house of York instead of for that of lithography, in taking down lyres from Lancaster. In his “ Cours de Litcypress-trees. It will suffice to no- terature,” (for which the French call tice a few. Some are emeriti; others him their Quinctilian, as they call still eat salad.

Marmontel their Longinus, on the La Harpe has put together enor- credit of his « Elemens de Litteramous bundles of verses : Discourses ture,") La Harpe bestirred himself to in Verse, crowned by the Academie show that French literature was all


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