VOL. 4] Windows in Men's Breasts. - gether with his strange countenance, forined such a spectacle, that even at this melting moment, it was impossible to check a laugh. Even Ernestine herself smiled for the first time, since her separation from Amurat precious smile-it was a prelude to the happiness she was about to enjoy. The Lord Abbot thrice opened his mouth to address Sabaoth, and thrice burst out into laughter he recovered himself, however, but it was not without difficulty, to say, "Sir Sabaoth, after the brilliant situation you lately occupied under a Zegris, it may perhaps be indecorous in me to offer you the less honourable employment of taking care of the mule, the ass, and two cart horses of the convent, together with my hackney-but it is all I can offer you, and the only employment that is now vacant." My reverend father," replied the old Moor," beasts for beasts, it is all one to me; and I shall like as well to curry asses and mules as Andalusian mares. My misery and troubles have cured me of ambition; I therefore accept your offer, and will be the head of your stud, whatever it may consist of." The marriage-day of Amurat and Ernestine was fixed, it was a holy day for all the vassals of the monastery of Vaucelles; and Amurat, on becoming a husband, did not cease being a lover. Ernestine recovered her good looks, and the gayety of her age. She had only one chagrin, when her husband departed with the young Cambresian, 421 of whom we have said so much in the course of this true history; but this chagrin was not of any duration, for the war in Finland was neither perilous nor long. The Minstrel gayly grew old under the shade of his serpent-the others began to taste happiness, but for him, he had always been happy. Feeling, however, an increase of happiness at the comfortable arrangements, he addressed his chaste companion in a dignified manner, which he knew how occasionally to put on. "I have been every thing that it has pleased you to make me— I have been cuckolded and beaten, and yet, my dear, I am happy." His wife continued to cook, in her best manner, for all the ladies who sought hospitality; and Ernestine had the attention to keep the apartments very clean, and the beds well made. The young boys now became as big as father and mother; passed one of them for the best chimer, and the other for the best raker of walks in all the country of Cambresis. The Lord Abbot felicitated himself on having attached so many worthy people to his monastery. There were none, not even Sabaoth, who did not feel pride in their employment, and he was quoted as the first of all grooms in that neighbourhood. The Abbot seeing them all so contented by his means, was happy himself from having been the cause-but we may search now, alas, in vain, for such worthiness in monasteries or elsewhere. Mr. Editor, THE From the Literary Gazette. WINDOWS IN MEN'S BREASTS. HE idea, though not new, of the effect of a little window in front of the human breast, was lately started in one of our public journals. The notion so pleased me, that it was continually running in my mind; I thought of nothing but Richeraud and Hervey reading the heart of a living man. How happy should we have been, thought I, had pature, more skilful than our sur geons and anatomists, made such a window before every heart? Ridiculous idea! for if the heart could be seen like the face, it would soon become deceitful and hypocritical, and we should gain nothing after all. Be that as it may, I could think on nothing else, and the consequence was, that the other night I had a dream on the subject, which, with your permission, I 422 Windows in Men's Breasts. will relate. I presume you have no objection to insert a Dream in your paper, for many large volumes contain nothing else; and I am sure it is no unusual thing to find a dream in a periodic journal. My dream was as follows:I thought I had become prime minister of a great and powerful kingdom. I gave a grand entertainment. The party was numerous, and every one present had, without knowing it, the little window above mentioned in front of his breast. I first observed two learned men, who were, to all appearance, on very good terms with each other, for they were inseparable during the whole evening. One was on the eve of publishing a new work. I complimented him on his production, and promised to speak favourably of it to the king. At that moment I observed a gentle swelling of his heart. The thing was perfectly natural, and it was only what I expected; but I was not a little astonished to observe a kind of contracting motion in the heart of the other. His breathing was suspended, and I may almost say that he appeared to be stifled by the success of his friend. Near me stood a man on whom I had conferred the greatest obligations, who hoped that I would render him still further acts of service, and who was continually talking to me of his gratitude. Now gratitude is the memory of the heart, and, like the mental memory,may be expected to leave some traces on the organ which it affects. So at least philosophers explain the matter. Though far from suspecting the sentiments of my friend, I was pleased with this opportunity of ascertaining that my obligations had not been bestowed on one who was unworthy of them, I looked at his heart; but what was my astonishment to find it was as smooth as polished marble,—my favours had made not the slightest impression on it. [VOL 4 dor was announced. Excellent! thought I, I shall now have the key to all the cabinets in Europe. But how was I disappointed! It was the most impenetrable heart that can be imagined—an absolute labyrinth. I beheld nothing but folds above folds-a mass of intrigues and subterfuges. I turned, and perceived another heart, which I hoped I should be able to comprehend with less difficulty. It was light and slippery, and continually in motion. I was curious to know whether it had ever received a wound; it had received a thousand-but they were all so slight that scarcely a scar was visible. They appeared merely like the pricks of a pin. Several gay gentlemen, however, flattered themselves that they had riveted this heart, but they were deceived. Cupid was out of humour with it, and resolved to be revenged. One of his arrows yet remained untried. It was a golden one, and golden arrows seldom miss their aim. The heart of the fair lady was pierced through and through. In one corner of the drawing-room sat a philosopher, who was far from being displeased at the notice he attracted. Philanthropy (formerly we should have called it humanity) was his whim. He thought of nothing but charitable institutions, Lancasterian schools, and soup establishments for the poor. A good action in which he did not parcipitate gave him pain. I looked through the little window: his heart was distended to the utmost, but like a balloon, it was filled only with air. I detest hypocrites in morality, and coxcombs in virtue; but cold and insensible hearts please me as little. I had now one of the latter class before me. It was as smooth and as hard as stone; and had never been moved by any generous sentiment. It was not the heart of a Jew of the Hebrew race (for they are no worse than other people, and do not deserve the insults that are directed against them,) but of a Christian Jew, a money-lender and A gentleman entered with his wife; their hearts were perfectly tranquil. A young officer appeared. The heart of one of the couple became agitated. It contractor. was not the husband's. It may naturally be supposed that in At this moment a foreign Ambassa- so brilliant a party, some distinguished literary characters were present. There was one author, with whose sentimental verses the company were delighted. He was an elegiac poet. I promised myself much gratification in observing of what elements his impassioned, delicate, and tender heart, was composed. But I could discover nothing remarkable. Indeed it cost me some trouble to find out whether or not he really had a heart. I turned to another, who was not a writer of poetry, but who took upon himself to judge of the productions of others. He was a philologist and critic by profession. I observed on his heart only a few livid spots, like those which are produced by envy; and some drops of gall were emitted on every motion of the organ. But though I was unfortunate enough to meet with so many black and impure hearts, it must be acknowledged that there were among the company some of a very opposite stamp. One person in particular deeply excited my interest, and whose heart I was for some time afraid to look at,lest it should not prove as amiable as I wished. She was a young lady about 17 years of age, beautiful as an angel, and as modest as she was beautiful. 423 She had not yet uttered a word. What was my joy and astonishment! Her heart was the purest and most candid of any one present. It scarcely appeared to throb, yet it was evident, that when the young lady opened her mouth, it would fly to her lips. I watched the motion of her eyes, and they at length met mine. I was young, for we are always young in our dreams. She blushed, and at that moment an arrow, darting from I know not whence, struck her heart, and inflicted a deep wound. It was the first she had ever received. The blood which flowed from it was like that of the Goddess wounded by Diomede. I wished to examine what was passing in my own heart, for I thought I felt the counterstroke of the dart which had pierced hers. I looked in vain through the little window in my own breast-the glass was obscure and tarnished-a thick mist seemed to be before it. Thus no mortal can read his own heart! Nemone in sese possit descendere! nemo! Perseus. This reflection vexed me: I became irritated: I awoke, and had the mortification to find that with my dream had vanished the sweetest illusion of my whole life!-From a Flemish Journal. PHILLIPS'S SPEECH.* From Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Nov. 1818. THI HIS is by far the best of all Orator Phillips's orations, and perhaps the chief cause of its excellence is, that the sole subject of it is himself. He keeps bis eye steadily fixed on that great personage, and the language of selfadoration becomes sublime. He speaks as if he were looking all the while into a mirror,—each new gesticulation creates new energies, his address to others thus assumes the impassioned character of a soliloquy, and he is perhaps the only orator who ever wholly forgot that he had an audience. *Calumny Confuted.-Speech, delivered at the Dinner, given by a Select and Numerous Party of Friends, for the purpose of Refuting the Remarks of the Quarterly Review, on the Character and Conduct of an Eminent Barrister. Milliken, Dub lin. 1817. We wish to speak in the most flattering terms of Orator Phillips, but we are aware, that he is a gentleman gluttonous of praise, and of ostrich-like power of digestion. It is impossible to satisfy such an appetite. He must have heaped up measure, and running over, or he gets sulky, and will have, none of it. He turned up his nose at the frugal and salubrious repast son promptly spread for him by the Edin h burgh Reviewer, nay, threw it some ed what unceremoniously into the face orn his entertainer. Can we, therefore of expect, that he will accept gracious from our humble hands, a treat, whicdohe contumeliously spurned at, whenot held out by the honourable and learne e Fas ted not 424 member of Winchelsea? Mr. Phillips's Speech. Yet, we are not without hopes, that he may be prevailed upon to accept our eulogies, who do not pretend to be orators ourselves, but mere critics of oratory in others. He despised, as it was natural for him to do, the envious calumnies of Brougham and Jeffrey, those little and disappointed men, of whose eloquence, as Mr. Phillips well observes, no one ever heard-low and pettyfogging practitioners, who look up with bitter hatred on the "Young Pride of Erin," from the hopeless abasement of their obscurity. What have such smail fork to do with Councellor and Orator Phillips? The world, who heard of them for the first time, when they gave a public opinion of that illustrious young man, has long since forgotten them-while, on the contrary, Mr. Phillips, who has taken the wellknown instrument out of the hands of fame, and boldly flown with it at his mouth across the Irish channel, makes a very great noise in the world indeed! and successfully acts the part of his own Trumpeter. The Speech, from which we shall now give our readers a few extracts, was delivered under circumstances of peculiar solemnity. A dinner had been given to the Orator in a tavern in Dublin, by a hundred select friends, who were desirous of expressing their admiration of his talents and respect for his character, at the moderate expense of half-a-guinea a head, including a bottle of port-wine. On the cloth being withdrawn, the Orator rose, and entered into a vindication of himself against the aspersions of the Quarterly Review. The grandeur of the occasion-the magnitude of the cause-the hsolemnity of the time-the magnificence toof the place-the nobility of the audience-the genius of the Orator-formed sli Altogether. such an assemblage of glory s has but rarely before been witnessed the this sublunary scene. It is enough you say, that the Speech spoken during One at high hour was worthy of Mr. washillips-of his audience-and of the Avern in which they had previously m ined. (VOL. 4 The chairman had, it seems, read (immediately after the cheese) the article in the Quarterly Review, which gave occasion to the august meeting. It is impossible not to be struck with the consummate skill with which the Orator steals upon the sympathy of his auditors. How calm, yet how energetic, is his commencement. "Think for a moment on the article ent chairman has just read, amid bursts of incontrol. I know not who this defame is dignation which even his dignity could not obscurity is his shield---oblivion is his safeguard; let him not flatter himself that he is the object of my wrath---let him not hope the honour of my revenge. I mean not to tinge the cloud that conceals him with the reflected brightness of my glory :---the ligat did the temple of Ephesus---in all the splen ning, that would destroy, lluminates: never dour of its primitive pride, in all the imposi graudeur of its architecture, in all the less edness of its beauty---attract such animated attention, as when it shone--the star of earth--the torch of heaven---a blazing be con--in rum awful!---in de-truction magnificent!---(Loud and repeated bursts of ap plause.)" Every thing is now swept away by the torrent. Hear how he revels and riots in his strength. "I like not that cold and cautious court of Criticism, where Spleen sits in judgment upon Splendour, where Prudence pleads against Passion, and the Orator is lost in the Rhetorician; I love not that barren and bounded circus, where the captious adversary entangles in his pitiful net the warrior, whose weapon he is too weak to wield;Oh, it disgusts the heart to see the sons of little men assume the proud port of the giant! Oh, it deadens the soul, to behold an object enthroned in ideal elevation, presenting us obscurity, for extent; for sublimity, darkness!--the waggon rumbling over a rugged and rutted road, might more successfully emulate the deafening peal of the thunderbolt--the meteor, whose birthplace is the swamp, whose home is the wil derness, might better vie in beauty and beatitude with the standing star, who rejoices for ever in the vaulted sky, and attunes in his rapid revolutions the song that first soothed the ear of infaut Existence." Having thus exposed the ignorance of the Quarterly Review, he next seizes on a stili more vulnerable point-his Envy; and the picture he draws of that demon, deprives Spencer of all claim to the character of a poet. How feeble his allegory to the living reality of the demon of Orator Phillips. "But Envy---this whispering demonthis pale passion of the wan and wasted mind---this sorceress, whose eye gazes with vain desire on the efforts of opposing genius till its beam deadens in the overpowering blaze, and its circle of vision becomes contracted and confined ;--- this self-elected rival, whose heart throbs with eager and idle emulation, till its aspirations assume a fretful fervour---a feverish rapidity;---this black crucible---in which our vices and our virtues ---our weakness and our worth---our rights and our reputation are amalgamated with all the dark and debasing ingredients, which the busy hand of Malice can collect, while, over the streaming and stupefying caldron, Hatred hovers with clouded brow, Ridicule sneers with writhing lip, and Scandal howls her hymn of idiot incantation. (Unprecedented applause for many minutes. )” But perhaps the finest, and certainly the most triumphant passage in this noble oration, is that where he destroys, by his eloquence, that "consistency" which he had formerly deserted in his " conduct." "But let us not be deceived by Declama tion, that fatal faculty, who flings over every object a prismatic profusion of delusive dyes; let us examine what are the merits of this boasted blessing? this courtly consistency?---Oh! well may she vaunt her parentage! well may she be vain of her connexions: the daughter of Obstinacy--- the sister and the spouse of Stubbornness---unholy was the hour of their horrid and hateful nuptials! accursed were the rites of the eternal ceremony---when Bigotry held the torch, whose Justre was the light of Hell, over the altar blackened and blushing with blood; and accursed are the children of their incestuous commerce !---Consistency ! !---how ignor ant are these maniacs---they know not that motion is the purpose, and the principle, and the power of life--they know not that but for his motion the beds of Ocean would sink into a sad and silent and sullen stagnation--a desert of death---a pit of putrefaction !--walk abroad in the terrific time of tempest and tumult, and mark how the ministry and motion of the winged whirlwinds cleanse's the vaulted amphitheatre of air! Look around on the objects of Nature--is not the cessation of motion the prelude of death? And shall Mind alone abandon the analogies of Nature? Shall Opinion alone remain chained, and unchangeable? Shall Age be imperiously governed by the principles, which Youth has impetuously adopted?" the assertion is a solecism against society--a sin against the soul !" Having thus gotten the Quarterly Review fairly down below the table, the Counsellor thus tramples on his fallen foe. Never was shillelah brandished with more merciless vigour at Donnybrook fair. "But this Alaric---this Attila---this Atrides of atrocity, questions my acquaintance with the long labyrinths of law, with the jargon of judgments, contradictory and con3F ATHENEUM VOL. 4. 425 flicting--and why? Because I have not in the pride of pedantry poured forth cold cataracts of Norman-French, because I have not showered down on the heads of an unprepared jury heavy hailstones of Sclavonian-Latin---because I have chosen rather a simple appeal addressed to the passions of men, than a detail dark and dull with complicated controversy with concatenated confusion.---I detest the veil of mysterious mummery, that would filing its folds over the porch of justice---I despise the legal learning, that, like the black sun of the Indian Mythology, wells forth rays of darkness---beans of obscurity.---My appeal is to a moral court of conscience---to the chartered chamber of intellect---to the throne of justice in the heart of man.an.---[Applause.] It is the Bank of Ireland to a mealy potato-on the head of the orator. The fight is taken out of the man without a name and Mr. Phillips thus throws a somerset over the ropes. "Need I now repeat what I have uttered in England and in Ireland---in London and in Liverpool--in Cork and in Kerry---REFORM!--radical, resistless REFORM!--- In the new birth of your Parliament you will hail the regeneration of your Country !---I have said it often and often---again and again, but I was not attended to; I have said it in Prose---I was not attended to: I have said it in Verse---I was not attended to. There is a peculiar and appropriate dialect-a language that is not Prose, that is not Verse, but which, while it possessess all the strength and sinew of Prose, charms with all the magic and melody of Verse, that com bines the energy of Eloquence with the eu phony of Song---in this dialect of Paradise I have said it, and---will after-ages believe the disgraceful narrative?---I was not attended to!!--[4 long pause of expressive silence.]" We are aware that the oracular wisdom of the following splendid passage must have the inevitable effect of throwing into the shade all the other Contents of our invaluable Magazine. Well-let them go. A page of Phillips is worth the sacrifice. Hear the Seer! "It is not without reason that the Pro phet mourns over the dangerous gift by which he beholds, in gloomy anticipation, the shadow of coming evil; and he who is reason to regret--when the imperial crown of France was crushed and crumbled beneath diadem of the deposed dynasty was dashed the might of banded barbarians---when the to dust---when the barbaric thrones of eastern tyranny trembled and tottered at the tread of England, there were those who said it was glory;---vain visions of ideal wealth floated before their eyes ;---dreams of universal dominion blest their repose. They listened not to the lessons of ages; they worshipped not endowed with superior intellect has not less |