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quite petrified us; "you can do the like, if you choose to take the trouble."

The general took advantage of the permission with the haste and fervour of a soldier's devotion. We carried off a considerable quantity of this precious relic; and valuable, indeed, it was, if the preciousness of a relic is to be estimated by the feelings its contemplation excites. Two or three months afterwards these two pieces of furniture had followed their other parts all over the continent, to the great despair of the English tourists and curiosity hunters.

A fortnight after our expedition to the house in Ajaccio, the sloop bent its course to the island of Elba, and sailing along the shores of Rio Longone, glittering with iron rocks, we anchored in front of the city of Porto-Ferrajo, which seems ready to be crushed by the weight of the superincumbent mountains. The Elbese boats, with their cargoes of vegetables for Leghorn and Plombino, and the fishing smacks, filled with the rich supplies of that part of the Mediterranean, saluted, as they passed, the French flag, which had now become their own. The captain lowered his boat, and in five minutes, we 'trod the soil of the island of Elba, the first gaol of the illustrious prisoner of Europe. What an immense distance-what a deep gulf there is between the house in Ajaccio, and this in Porto Ferrajo, which, to common eyes, seem to be in so close a juxta position! Brienne, Toulon, the Pyramids, Austerlitz, the Tuileries, the Kremlin of Moscow, Fontainbleau, and the island of Elba-what a starting-point- what resting-places-what a sad termination! From the house in Ajaccio, Buonaparte rushed forth to conquer the throne of France, and to subjugate Europe; from the house in Porto-Ferrajo, Napoleon escaped to be conquered at Waterloo, and to die at Longwood!

GERMAN LITERATURE,

TIECK.

Yesterday afternoon, I took an opportunity of calling on the Hofrath, Ludwig Tieck, who, next to Goethe, is the most renowned litterateur in Germany. Having learned that he lived in the Neumarkt, I proceeded thither; and on ascending the stair of one of the corner houses of the square, soon found myself within the poet's habitation. I had taken the precaution of sending my card of introduction, an hour or two before claiming an audience; and when I again

presented it to the domestic, I was at once ushered into a handsome apartment, adorned with several very good engra vings, among which was a portrait of Tieck himself. His daughter, a young lady of rather pleasing demeanour, received me very politely, and told me that her father would be occupied for a few moments, but that I should see him almost immediately. Whether or not this was the fair personage whom the splenetic Müllner so grossly attacked, I know not; but if so, and should it be allowable in such a case to judge physiognomically, her appearance certainly affords presumptive evidence of the little fellow's utter want of conscientiousness.

A pair of stiff-starched fräulein, the very beau ideal of stale aristocratical virginity, occupied a sofa on one side of the room; while I seated myself opposite to them, on the other. The conversation, which, on the part of the ladies, was conducted in terms of the coldest politeness, was fortunately soon cut short by the appearance of the poet himself, who, on entering the apartment, saluted me kindly, and took a seat by my side.

Tieck, if I may judge from appearances, must be on the wrong side of fifty. In face as well as person he exhibits all the usual indications of that stage of life, and he does not seem to be at all in good health. His countenance is open, and his large forehead bespeaks a mind fraught with thought and intelligence. There is an unaffected nobleness in his speech and demeanour, which is as impressive as it is pleasing; while the style of his conversation, at every turn, indicates the poet-mind, rich in imaginative conceptions, and soaring from earthly to ethereal things.' My remarks upon his works naturally led him to inquire how they were appreciated in England; a question which, I confess, I could not well answer. I told him, however, that I had seen translations of several of his romances, and also of his Marchen; and by way of fillip to his self-love as an author, I hinted that his two tales, entitled 'The Betrothed' and 'The Pictures,' had won him some celebrity among English novel-readers. He put many questions to me respecting Sir Walter Scott and his works, with all of which he appeared to be peculiarly conversant; and it struck me, that he entertained the pleasing conviction, that his own fame, like Sir Walter's, rested much on the acquaintanceship, displayed in his writings, with the manners and feelings of the past.

On Tieck's alluding to Shakspeare, I took occasion to thank him for the pleasure I had received from the perusal of his able preface to the works of the unfortunate Lenz, which he published about three years ago. Poor Lenz, you know, was the first in Germany who advocated the poetical and dramatic character of Shakspeare, in opposition to that of Racine; and may justly be said to have fallen a victim to the enthusiastic attempt which he made to reform the drama of his native land.

During my interview with Tieck, the ladies seemed to listen to him as an oracle; and it was not without reason. His conversation is even superior to his writings. I could not help being gratified with the manner in which he spoke of his literary contemporaries, and even of those who were his declared foes. Aware of his being one of that celebrated critical clique, of which Schlegel and Novalis were confederates, and whose admiration of Catholic mysticism Tieck had abetted and advocated, I took care to avoid the dangerous whirlpool of polemics. His religious prejudices, like those of Dr. Johnson, are incurable. They are displayed in an obvious hostility to the spirit of Protestantism, and may be said to be constitutional. This is, perhaps, the only blot in his character.

Among other particulars, I learned from Tieck that there are five periodicals at present published in the Saxon capital, viz., the Merkur, published six times a week, being a selection of short literary papers, consisting of tales, poetry, anecdotes, &c. ; 2d, Der Sachsiche Stadtverordnete und Communalgardist, another literary paper, published weekly; 3d, Anzeiger Dresdener, an advertising paper, published daily; 4th, Tageblatt von Arnold, another collection of tales, criticisms, &c.; and, 5th, Denkwurdigkeiten fur Sachsen, which appears four times a week, and gives an account of passing events, extracted chiefly from foreign prints, together with original papers. The whole of these publications, how ever, are rather of a tea-table sort, and, according to Tieck's account, have very few pretensions either to learning or philosophy.

CENSORSHIP IN AUSTRIA.

I am told (says Mr. Strang) that no work whatever can be put to press, until it has actually undergone the revision of three distinct officers. For example, the manuscript is sent first to the office of Police, where there are censors appointed for every department of art,

science, literature, politics, and religion. One of the censors, of course, immediately sits in judgment on the various passages of the work. This functionary having made his remarks upon the margin, it is next submitted to another officer to consider these remarks. If the work be political, it is then sent to the Chancery-office; and if religious, to the Consistorial-office. On being sent back from either, it is then returned to the office of Police, where it is again revised, and the passages that are permitted to be printed, and those to be condemned, are finally fixed upon; when, to crown the whole ordeal, it is necessary that either the Graff Von Sedlmitzky or the Hofrath Von Ohms, the two individuals at the head of the censorship, append their permissive seal of imprimatur.

GRILLPARZER.

Yesterday, when passing through St. Stephen's Platz, he was pointed out to me, and you cannot imagine how happy I was at the circumstance. I assure you I had all the wish in the world to run up and salute him, and to tell him how much 1 had been pleased with the representation of his " Ahnfrau," in the Prussian capital; but just as I was about to follow and accost him, a friend stepped forward, and hurried him through a large gateway. I had time enough allowed, however, 'to take a slight map' of him, as a friend of mine used jocularly to say; and here it is:-Imagine, then, a pale, attenuated countenance encircled with dark hair; the features strongly marked; particularly the eye, which, in spite of a pair of spectacles, seems to sparkle with intelligence; and a finely formed mouth, which, whether it were reality or imagination, I fancied bespoke the romantic sensibility that characterizes the fine feeling of his own creation-Bertha. Next, suppose this head placed on a pair of high shoulders, surmounting a tall spare figure, and you will be able to form some notion of the full-length portraiture of Franz Grillparzer. The author of the 'Ahnfrau' is, I am told, about forty-one years of age, and his appearance does not belie it. As I gazed upon him, I could not help regretting, that the fine sarcastic spirit which breathes in every line of the poetical diatribe that he wrote amid the ruins of Rome, should have been repressed or extinguished by the various deadening influences which must have encompassed him since his return from the Eternal to the Imperial City.

THE ALLGEMEINE ZEITUNG.

Having got the regular sights over, I hurried to pay my respects to Mr. Stegmann, the editor of the well-known journal, entitled the Allgemeine Zeitung, one of the ablest and most judicious political organs in Europe. This newspaper was originally printed in Ulm, but was removed from that town to Augsburgh in 1810. When I entered the editorial sanctum, Mr. Stegmann was busy writing; but on stating the object, of my visit—which I said was to satisfy a wish I had long entertained, to meet an individual whose extensive views and varied knowledge had raised the newspaper he conducted, to the rank of the leading journal of Germany-he immediately laid aside his pen, and was all attention. He is a man, as I should suppose, about sixty; but still hale and active. His countenance is a good index to his character, as illustrated in the management of his paper. It bespeaks shrewdness and caution, as well as quick perception and decision, which you will allow, are, of all other qualifications, the most important for a political writer. Mr. Stegmann is the son of a most respectable but unfortunate man, and was at a very early age left to shift for himself. After many vicissitudes, and passing through various situations, he became editor of the Allgemeine Zeitung, as far back as the year 1804; and since that period, he has laboured most industriously to sustain its high character. You are perhaps aware that this is the only political journal of Germany, which is allowed freely to circulate in Austria and its dependencies; but the reason for so gracious a toleration, which I am about to explain, will no doubt be new to you. Since my arrival here, I have heard it repeatedly asserted, that the edition for Germany is often very different from that which is circulated in Austria; in other words, that while in the former there are frequently articles of the most liberal description admitted, it universally happens, that from the latter these are carefully excluded, and their place supplied by a quantity of Balaam. I threw out some hints on this subject to Mr. Stegmann, but he had too much tact and prudence to make any confession.** It may be said to be the mirror of the policy of the great Northern Powers, and it is well understood to be the medium through which Prince Metternich not unfrequently pours forth his political sophistry, to charm the conservatives of the Continent. In the

editorial chamber, there were four persons busily employed in translating the English and French newspapers. Of the English journals, the Times' and the 'Courier' were those that seemed to be the most patronised and esteemed by the editor. The Allgemeine Zeitung, as you may well suppose, has a very extensive circulation. It is published daily, and is printed by a steam-press. The establishment, altogether, is on a large scale, and I believe is generally considered one of the first in Germany.

MILITARY ENTHUSIASM.

Immediately before the 42nd disembarked in Egypt in 1801, under the command of General Abercrombie, orders were given not to fix their bayonets, nor to load their muskets, till they were all on shore, although the enemy's shot was falling in and round the boats like hail.

On landing, Major Stirling gave the word, "Fix bayonets." In a moment every bayonet was fast to its musket. The major next followed with "Prime and load;" but the words had scarcely escaped his lips, when an individual in the ranks vociferated, "No prime and load, but charge bayonets and that immediately!" The entire regiment, as one man, instantly ascended the heights at the charge, and carried the French position with cold steel in the most gallant style. On inquiry it was found that the person who had assumed the command, was no other than Donald Black, a private soldier and an old smuggler from the island of Skye. General Moore reprimanded the regiment for not obeying the commanding officer, and spoke to Colonel Dickson rather severely of the irregularity of his men. Colonel Dickson replied, "I might have held one man, but, by Heavens, general, it was impossible for me to hold a whole regiment.' But Donald Black's (in Gaelic Dhu), Highland blood was in a flame, and being indignant at what he thought unnecessary loss of time, his impatience to close upon the foe in the Scottish manner, made him lose sight entirely of the humble station which he occupied in the corps. As Shakspeare says, "all is well that ends well;" but, had this furious charge failed, it would have been a black day for poor Donald.

Unpublished Notes of a General Officer.

Great men even in distress are not viewed but through the shades of prejudice, as the sun in eclipse cannot be gazed on, save through glasses darkened.

LONDON:

Published by Effingham Wilson, Junior, 16, King William Street, London Bridge, Where communications for the Editor (post paid) will be received.

(Printed by Manning and Smithson, Ivy Lane.]

OF FICTION, POETRY, HISTORY, AND GENERAL LITERATURE SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1836. Price Two-Pence,

No. 114.

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THE SHEIK'S REVENGE.

AN EASTERN TALE.

(For the Parterre.)

THE palace of Kishen Kower, Sheik of Istamboul, was one of the loveliest spots in Asia Minor. Overlooking the most enchanting gardens in the world, where green bowers impervious to the heat of the noontide sun, preserved fresh and unwithered the bloom of flowers the fairest that ever perfumed the eastern air, rose the Zenaud, or summer residence of the powerful chief, and surrounded as it was, on all sides, by the lofty range of mountains extending to the sea, which raised high the peaks of their topmost hills, as if proud of the place they cherished, seemed as 't were a fair and dazzling gem, set in a rough casket; the sides of the hills were robed with waving forests, of the deepest brown, in the thickets and recesses of which, the sprightly antelope skipped along, and the bright-eyed gazelle made its bed; in the shady groves beyond those hills was another, and loftier range, gradually lessening till the shade of blue was at last so faint as to be lost in the convexity of the heavenly vault.

P. 125.

The light breeze sighed gently, through the bowers of the gardens, and as the wind bent the foliage it displayed the fairy scenery; built on a small island, rising from the brink of the clear sheet of water, with its white marble domes and turrets, it looked at first like some magic city-around were smiling vistas of acacia, amarynth, and delicious musk rose, long avenues of citron, bright golden orange, and drooping vine: having passed the portico, was a beautiful colonnade, the pillars of which were jasper, enriched with pale amethyst; at the end of its long corridor, rose, like a majestic swan from its liquid element, the light dome, raised high into the bright sky above, its fantastic cupolas glittering in all the gorgeous architecture of the east; a carved trellis or lattice work of ivory, ran round the hall, and through its interstices the bright perfumed creepers were suffered entwine;-here grew in a manner unknown to Europeans, the cleander and clematis, flinging, from end to end, their silvery buds, and wooing to their thick cover, the humming birds, the plumage of which, when glistening in the sun

114

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shine, is too dazzling for the eye to behold; and the lilac doves, with their mournful notes, were a solemn accompaniment to the soul-entrancing bulbul. The floor of this fairy dwelling was paved in Mosaic work, spreading like a richly variegated carpet to the gilded pedestals of twenty pillars of yellow marble, supporting the dome; their capitals were silver, beaten into lotus flowers, and as they wound into each other, formed a wreath of foliage round the dome; eighty marble steps led to the garden beneath, from the peculiar lulling sound of the ever-falling waters, called the "Abode of Sleep."

The Sheik's family consisted of himself, as numerous a retinue of wives as was consistent with the dignity of his title, a son and daughter. He was a man past the prime of life, and habituated to command; his demeanour, though calm, was stern and decisive; he was a warrior used to fields of strife-at peace when let alone, but one who in his anger was a lion. At the sound of his saukh two hundred warriors were at his command, and the neighbouring chiefs came to the decision, that the lord of Istamboul was a far safer friend than foe; he therefore was considered as the chief of the entire province, and he who dare murmur against one who was so universally reverenced, soon had reason to repent of his temerity.

Yet o'er his rough mind, the influence of the mild climate was not unfelt; he felt gratified that his abode stood unrivalled; at times he was

A lover of music, and of scenes sublime. A pleasure in the gentle stream that flowed Past him in crystal, and a joy in flowers, Bedewed his spirit in their calmer hours. Byron. The son was much the counterpart of the sire, taking into account the difference of years; the excitements of the chase, and shooting parties, were all that interested him: 't is true he would listen to Leila's song, when reclining on a couch, tired after the fatigue of the day, but not one tender sentiment it contained, found its way into his bosom. What ever was of tenderness reposed in the daughter; her fair brow was finely contrasted with her dark hair, which fell in long, luxuriant tresses o'er her grace ful neck; her fairy feet, entwined in gems, flashed when she moved; the flush of innocence spread its crimson bloom over her cheeks, and gave life and expression to her lovely countenance her hazel eyes beamed from beneath their pencilled brows, with the pride of

* War-shell.

a Sheik's daughter. All of love that remained in the father's breast, unsubdued by the ruthless acts he daily executed, was lavished on that fair girl; she it was who fed the remaining spark, and kept alive the flickering fire of humanity; and many a released captive, and pardoned slave, blest from his heart the beauteous Leila. She, in return, loved her parent with all the tender affection of a heart formed to love him and her brother, for she knew none else; her antelope, gazelle, she loved, for they loved her, and were her chief companions.

It is night, but such a delicious, quiet, bright one, that 't would seem as if the sun had not yet hid his beams, but still lingered behind the shade of some envious cloud : had not the young moon shone forth, the etherial beauty of her crescent brow, too manifest to be mistaken, light and shade were so blended as to resemble the day of northern climes; the tremulous and silvery beams melt on the domes and pinnacles, and the flowers relieved from the oppressive heat of the day, wear other beauty-lay aside their gorgeous tints, and look all pale and lovely. Leila, the fair mistress of the scene, looks o'er the fair expanse of waters trembling in the moonshine, till the voice of her brother claims her attention.

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"Ha! Hassan," she playfully said, are you come to watch the shining moon light up the glossy surface of the lake, while the breeze wafts the sweetest perfume, and the air re-echoes to the bulbul's song?"

"No, dear Leila; but to bid you farewell."

"Farewell! Hassan," she quickly uttered, as the colour left her cheek, and her words faltered at the idea of this their first separation, "what mean you?”

"I go to-morrow to the war of Iran." "Allah preserve my brother! Goes our father with you?" inquired Leila. "No; I depart alone.

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That night was one of sorrow to Leila; it was the first time she had ever known anything like sorrow,—her only brother, the playmate of her infancy, the companion of her childhood, was about to be taken from her, she did not know when he would return, if ever, the heart of Leila was troubled.

Hassan was too much taken up to attend to her, if he had been so inclined; he ransacked the *Sillah-Khauch for swords and javelins; frightened the inhabitants of the tRawula, by sounding a blast of the large tourraye, and detained

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