paid no regard to those false prophecies; you abolished that opprobrious traffic; and no such consequences have yet followed, nor is it probable that they ever will. eg your lordships also once more to consider, that every objection which has been or can possibly be urged against this bill might have been urged against the curates' bill of 1796; for there is in that, as I have already proved, the same violation of private property, the same discretionary power given to the bishops, the same proportion, (nay, even a larger) given to the curate, as in the present bill. Yet at that time no one ever thought of these objections. The bill was passed with little or no opposition, and none of the bad consequences now predicted have followed from it. Upon the whole, my lords, when I reflect on the many instances of regari which this house has shown to the interests and welfare of the Eng lish clergy; when I reflect on the many declarations I have heard in this house, from several noble lords of the highest distinction, that the revenues of the inferior clergy ought to be increased; when I reflect, more particularly, on that signal act of your liberality before mentioned, which gave no less than 5000l. a year to the clergy of London; I never can persuade myself that you will on this occasion shut your hands and your hearts against the poor curates of this kingdom; and that they, who stand most in need of compassion and relief, shall be the only class of clergymen in this kingdom to which your humanity and liberality are not extended. I never can bring myself to think that your lordships will say, by the vote of this night, that two or three thousand clergymen of the church of England shall be doomed to pine in helpless penury; that although they may be performing the whole duty of large, laborious, and populous parishes of very great value, although they may have large families of young children to support; although the price of all the necessaries of life is doubled and even trebled within the last thirty years; yet, under all these circumstances, the stipend of an English curate shall never exceed 751. & year. No, my lords, such a decision never can, I am confident, come from an English house of peers, from the supreme court of justice in this kingdom. Under this conviction, I sit down with the most sanguine hope of a favourable issue to this bill, and shall give my most cordial assent to its being now read a second time*. It was matter of extreme concern to me, that in the discussion of this bill I found myself under the necessity of differing from many noble lords and learned prelates (some of them in the highest stations and of most distinguished characters) for whom I entertain the highest respect and esteem. But I beg to have it understood, that if any strong expressions escaped me in the warmth of debate, I did not mean to cast the slightest reflection on those who opposed the bill, and who, I well know, opposed it on principle, and from a conscientious conviction that it would not answer the end proposed. I give them the fullest credit for the purity of their motives and the rectitude of their intentions; and all I have to ask in return is, the same candid interpretation of the part I have ROBIN HOOD. The true name of this personage was Robin Fitzooth. The addition of Fitz, comwards often omitted, or dropped. The th mon to many Norman names, was afterbeing turned into d, he was called by the common people Ood or Hood. This famous outlaw and deer-stealer, who robbed the rich and spared the poor, was a man of quality: grandson to Ralph Fitz-ooth, Earl of Kyme, a Norman, whose name is in a roll of Battle Abbey. He came into England with W. Rufus. His maternal grandfather was Gilbert de Gaunt, Earl of Lincoln; his grandmother was the Lady Roisia de Bere, sister to the Earl of Oxford, and Countess of Essex, from whom the town of Royston, where she was buried, takes its name. father was under the guardianship of Robert Earl of Oxford, who, by the king's order, gave to him in marriage the third daughter of L. Roisia. His At Kirklees in Yorkshire, formerly a Hear, undernead dis laith stearn, Obiit 24 Kal. Dekembris. 1247. On this communication we wish to make a remark or two. 1. That the name given to this famous outlaw by our best writers is Fitz-Hugh. This name is near enough to taken, and of the motives by which I have been actuated on this occasion. I can with the most perfect truth declare, that I had not any other objects in view than those I openly avowed and professed in the outset of the debate; namely the general interests of religion, the credit of the church of England, the spiritual welfare of the people, and the relief of a large, laborious, deserving, indigent, and suffering class of the inferior clergy; all which important ends I did, and do still most sincerely think, this bill was well calculated to obtain. I had not, and could not possibly have any other objects in view than these. Indeed no considerations of less moment than these could have had weight enough to draw me from my retreat, or to set in motion those springs of active exertion which age and indisposition had so much weakened and impaired ;for I can with but too much truth apply to myself, with a small variation, those affecting words of old Evander : "Mihi tarda gelu sæculisque effeta senectus Fitz-Hood, to justify inquiry whether it be the same;-whether succeeding times called that Hugh which was originally Hood, or vice versa? Hugh, or Hugues, was no doubt a name of French origin, witness the celebrated Hugh Capet, the founder of the French dynasty after whose time, probably, the name became popular. This ap ago, in a tinker's shop, an oaken pannel about two feet high, and twenty inches wide, covered with dirt and sinoke. Thinking that it might have been originally a picture, he inquired of the tinker what he would take for it. He replied that it had lain more than ten years in his shop, and that he thought of converting it into a table; but if the painter wished for it, he should have it for three livres. The painter paid the money and took it home. On cleaning it he discovered an inscription, with two tickets of printed paper, and at last could read very legibly the following lines: Our second remark is, that spoken language is not always to be judged of by written language: neither does it vary with the different characters adopted to express its sounds. The fact is, that D represents in Welch orthography to this day, the Saxon theta, TH and the Saxon theta (8) more resembles "This portrait of the Holy Family of our our d, than any other letter.-The Saxons Lord Jesus Christ was painted at Rome in wrote None, north; Su, south. This ap- 1514, by Raffaello Sanzio d'Urbino, for our pears also in the epitaph annexed: for under-glorious sovereign, the wife of our good nead, if properly pronounced, is under-king Francis I. by name, who afterwards neath and Dis, is THIS. Our inference is, presented it to the chancellor Duprat in 1516. that, the "common people" were perfectly In the same year the fellow portrait was correct in their pronunciation; we add, that, painted by the same Raffaello for the cardinal if we wish to discover any remains of the Julius de Medicis." real Saxon dialect in our island, it must be sought among that class of inhabitants which has preserved in the greatest degree of purity the traditional modes of their ancestors: and this, most certainly, is not the higher class, which has been exposed to liberal and corruptive intercourse with foreigners. DISCOVERY OF A PAINTING BY RAPHAEL. The printed tickets represent the arms of Duprat cut in wood, with the following Latin inscription: "Ex supellectibus Ant. Duprat domini Nantralieti, cancel. Fran. Brittan. Mediol. et ordinis regia, regina conjux Francisci primi Francorum regis, istam tabulam SS. Familiæ Christi, à Raphaele Sanzio, pictore Romano depictam, Ant. Duprat cancellario, dedit, anno MDXVI," "Hæc tabula facta fuità Raphaele Sanzio, pro Regina Franc. primi uxore anno MDXIV. Patente D. Arthur a Gouffiero tabu'a, ipsi similis, picta fuit ab eodem Raphaele, pro de cardinal. Julio Medicis. Anno MDXVI." Report has lately convulsed the Cognoscenti, by affirming the discovery of twelve pictures of Titian, the Caesars, which, after having-Boissi, olim principis F. institutore altera been Jaid aside as mere lumber, in the garret of an ancient mansion, were sold for less than twenty shillings to a country watchmaker, and by him for about £25 to a London dealer. The dealer, however, demands as many hundreds. We have not seen these pictures, nor is the name of the . present owner mentioned; we therefore can neither vouch for their authenticity, their merit, nor the accuracy of the history stated to the public. Whether they be originals or copies, we cannot tell. But as such discoveries really do occur from time to time, we deem it not improper to caution those who are in possession of old pictures, not to destroy them, without first taking' the opinion of some competent judge on their worth. The following incident, which, on account of the wonderful changes attendant un the French revolution, we think very credible, may add weight to our caution. A painter in Paris discovered, some months The above resolves an important question,-"Whether great masters copied their works?" They did copy them, it is true, (but very seldom) at the instigation of some distinguished personage, and almost always with some difference.-The above picture is in high preservation, and is evidently the ori ginal of the "Virgin asleep;" from which the one in the museum Napoleon, formerly belonging to the Medici, was copied by Raphael himself. The most striking difference between the two paintings is, that the nudity of the child is veiled in that painted for the queen, while in that painted for the cardinal the child is quite naked. This painting was engraved in 1625 by M. de Poilly in a superior style, and after in question was his original, and not that of inspecting the print we find that the picture the museum. A good impression costs from 40 to 50 livres: it is known to printsellers by the name of La Vierge au Linge. OBSERVATIONS ON SHAKESPEARE'S CHARAC might say by their familiarity, and their constancy. Every man cannot be a chief, a general, or a king; but, every man may be called to exercise the same kind of talent in his private concerns, as may be required in kings, or generals, or chiefs, in public matters. Though the object it respects be small, the sentiment of his mind may ennoble it; though the occasion be not extraordinary, the principle is no less beneficial or distinguishing. Should person be described as "well. bred, easy, sociable, good-natured; with abiliues enough to make him agreeable, and useful, but not enough to excite the envy of his equals, or to alarm the jealousy of his superiors" (for so Mr. Tyrwhitt describes Cassio) one might rationally conclude such a character May it not be deemed an exception against to be respectable. If to these qualities we the usual course of education, that a kind of add honour and fidelity, that his friend and fortitude adapted to meet the daily exigencies general esteems him worthy of personal con- of human life, is not sufficiently instilled into fidence as well as of official trust, that his youthful minds? A graceful manner of preenemy, who plots his ruin, allows him to senting, of accepting, of entreating, is taught; possess a cultivated understanding, and theo- but who lays adequate stress on the very necesretical, if not experimental, knowledge in his sary art of denial? Who takes care to separate profession-which he is far from obtruding on the harshness of the act, from the manner of public notice, but possesses with much modes- it, and to inculcate the necessary suavitèr in ty, our respect for him rises considerably. modo, with the indispensable fortiter in re? Superficial observation might be tempted to It has been said of some, that "they made conclude such a character complete; for enemies even in conferring favours; whereas wherein is it defective? But Shakespere knew, others made friends, while denying requests." that certain virtues, to an eminent degree, are Fortitude is neither churlishness nor severity; not inconsistent with failings that render them neither superciliousness nor insociability, neiof little avail to the possessor. The imperfec- ther haughtiness nor obstinacy. Perseverance, tion attendant on the good qualities of Cassio, firmness, decision, vigour, promptitude, and is his inability to say, "No!" His want of frankness (principles of this virtue), are perthe power of refusal. He knows sufficiently fectly consistent with kindness, liberality, well his infirinity, is conscious of his weak-millness, benevolence, dexterity, and address. The balance of virtues and defects in the ness; yet is not proof against seduction. He yields to artifice, although his better powers of human mind as well understood by our imreason remonstrate against deviation from mortal bard. Not one of his characters is strict propriety. He is not naturally addicted free from human failings, not one of them is to vice; but he suffers it,-he hesitates, wholly absorbed in iniquity. The grossness then endures it,-then adopts it,-till fasci- of crine may excite execration, but it cannot nated by its delusions, he sustains injury becreate interest: there must be a something to yond remedy. He does not solicit vice, (ex attract admiration, or the punishment of the mero motu) but he cannot resist intreaty: criminal becomes an object of public jurisalone, he meditates no evil, but his company prudence rather than of poetical justice. The is his bane. Whoever has seen mankind, ge- character of Cassio is a remarkable instance of nerally, has seen many who might stand as the combination of opposite qualities, and counterparts to Cassio; many who never ori- Shakespeare has drawn it in a manner that ginated harm themselves, but yielded to well may suggesrepay our investigation. tions from others; many whom one false step has degraded below others really much worse than themselves; whose virtues, however excellent and amiable, were reduced to mere imbecility by their deficiency in the FORTITUDE OF REFUSAL necessary to sustain them. Fortitude of mind is not a quality to be used merly on great occasions; when the fate of empires and kingdoms, of armies and communities, is at stake. It is a quality to be exerted not merely after the loss (or the gain) of a battle, after the ruin consequent on an earthquake, a conflagration, or a shipwreck. Occurrences so calamitous demand its noblest exertions; but the most useful station of this virtue is in the humbler walks of life, in ca- sual events, in hourly occurrences, those lesser eircumstances which are almost deprived of notice by the frequency of their return, we Iago, who gives nobody a good word, and whose villainous devices produce the perplexities of this drama, describes Cassio, in a mixture of scoffing and defamation, in conversation with his deluded associate Roderigo : "One Michael Cassio, a Florentine: Notwithstanding these invidious insinuations, when Iago is alone, he acknowledges other sentiments, and these are the more im pressive, as homage paid to integrity by knavery, and to courage by ferocity. "For I fear Cassio with my night-captoo:" U a Nor is any part of Cassio's behaviour tinctured with cowardice, or ignorance; so that Desdemona does him but justice when in treating for him to her Lord, she says......... ..Come, come, You'll never meet a more sufficient man." It appears by the story that Cassio had been entrusted by Othello with the secret of his courtship and "came a wooing with him, and many a time and oft had ta'en his part;" that he should therefore, at this period, possess a full share of the general's confidence and esteem is but natural: yet the confidence was dangerous, in proportion as Othello was susceptible of jealousy, and capable of revenge: in proportion as excess of affection, or of any other passion, is most likely to change to its contrary. We learn, also, from Iago, that Cassio possesses a handsome person, and pleasing address: "Cassio's a proper man :..... He hath a person, and a smooth dispose Tago persuades himself that these advantages are open to perversion: he affects to believe that Cassio loves Desdemona; he excites this proper man (though very covertly) to attempt that lady's honour, yet Cassio's integrity preserves him in happy and honest ignorance of the nature of the wiles employed by the iniquitous seducer. That he has his failings in this passion is true: but we learn from the reproaches of his mistress that he does not suffer an unworthy connection to domineer without controul over his mind, or to influence his conduct, in absolute opposition to his duty. There is an uniformity in virtue, which manifests itself in several instances: it is the same virtue in each, though placed in different conjunctures, and seen in different lights. The same defect of virtue, too, usually runs - through the whole deportment of an individual, and it is but rarely, that a simple, solitary failure, marks the conduct of a man otherwise perfect. Cassio's fortitude fails in several instances: first, in respect to his mistress Bianca, a connection which his heart confe ses is unfit to be avowed, au intimacy which he despises, when Iago challenges him respecting reports of his marriage to her; he owns that it rendered him ridiculous "when in company with certain Venetians," he acknowledges the vexations he suffers from her " haunting him" yet he endures this thraldom in spite of his consciousness of its impropriety; he continues to wear the yoke although he feels the severity with which it galls him. He cannot exert sufficient strength to escape-from the bondage of iron fetters?—no: from the captivity of the spider's web. The second, and eventually the most important, instance of Cassia's failure in fortitude, appears in his yielding to the temptation of lago to indulge in drink. This scene is treat ́ed by our unequalled dramatist, with uncommon powers: it is capital throughout. The refusal of Cassio to the first proposal, his sense of his own weakness, his former craft "in qualifying his cup," and his ultimate assent- I'll do't-but it dislikes me," are all extremely natural :-nor is it less natural, that having transgressed the rules of temperance, he should proceed to excess, and from excess to unrestrained indulgence of "To the health of our general." But perhaps nothing in this drama, or in all Shakespeare, more exquisitely natural, than that Cassio when drunk should intrude discourse on subjects from which sober reason shrinks, couscious of her incapability to investigate and treat them in a manner adequate to their depth and importance. Of the final appointments of Providence, and of the ultimate disposal of "souls," no man in his senses ever supposed himself competent to the determination: no man in his senses ever dreamed of rank and quality as bestowing pre-eminence on occasions so awful. It is truly remarkable, that this propensity to introduce subjects certainly not of their level, is but too frequent among those whose weakness it is to be vanquished by quor. Combined with this propensity, the idea of the soldier, though drunk, retaining sentiments of place and priority, the effect of discipline and habit, is among our poet's most happy touches; he contrives too to preserve an esteem mingled with pity for Cassio, by his half-consciousness, half self-condemnation, in spite of his intoxication; "I hold him unworthy of his place, who does these things." Such is the force of habit! such are the struggling alternations of vice and conscience, in minds not abandoned to guilt, though occasionally guilty; not totally depraved, though occasionally overcome by temptation That Cassio when drunk should quarrel, that in his broil he should distinguish neither friend or foe, but fight against his late companion Montano as readily as against the impertinent Roderigo, is but too correct a picture of man and manners: whether it be equally correct, that the devil Drunkenness should give place to the devil Wrath," may be doubted. Cassio's reflections on his drunkenness are, perhaps, too good to be so suddenly expressed. His scheme for restoration to his office, by means of Desdemona, is extremely plausible, and success by means of it appears to be almost infallible. Whether we may not reckon as a third instance of deficient fortitude in Cassio, his sudden retiring from Desdemona when Othello visits her, I will not determine. It seems, however, to be strictly analogous to the ge neral conformation of his mind. Had he sustained at this time in private the weight of the general's reprimand and displeasure, he had softened his severity against succeeding interviews. The poet has contrived with admirable address, that Cassio should be assaulted, and wounded, while returning from the house of Bianca; and at no great distance from it; it serves at once as a pretence to lago to transfer his guilt to Bianca, and to increase his hypocrisy, by ariful reflections, "this is the fruit of whoring!" beside which, the very narrowescape of Cassio with his life, and his actual sufferings, are calculated to invigorate his most vigilant resolution in future. Cassio's explanation of circumstances before Othello, is well conducted; and his concluding sentiment, as respectful to his friend, is conformable to his general manners. Far from reflecting on Othello as deserving of death, he regrets his suicide: "This did I fear-but thought he had no weapon, For he was great of heart." We are not therefore disposed to arraign the choice of the senate in their deputing Cassio to succeed Othello, as governor; nor do we with reluctance hear that "Cassio rules in Cyprus; for after such severe chastisement, iu punishment of inebriety, we may well presume that as the future governor he will be paratively easy to maintain a good character,— to regain it when lost, or to re-establish it when impaired, is extremely difficult. But chiefly, we learn the necessity of that steady fortitude of mind, that close adherence to principles, that determined attachment to what is right and becoming (may we not alo say of that inflexibility toward what is hazardous?), which, like an anchor to the mind, preserves it against the turbulence of tempest, against the dangers of quicksands and rocks. Good-nature is a quality amiable in the highest degree but when indulged at the expence of rectitude, good-nature becomes an occasion of misery. Sociality is congenial to a liberai mind; convivial intercourse and mirth too have their time and place; yet these must submit to the dictates of propriety, and be regulated by the duties of character and sta What! in a town of war, Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, "Tis monstrous." F. TRADE BETWEEN RUSSIA AND PERSIA. Whatever may be the fate of the Expedition projected by France and Russia through Persia, against British India, (vide Panorama, Vol. IV. p. 5) the question, as to the natural connection of Russia with its neighbour king dom, is not void of interest. Whatever alliances formed by their means are often more wary, and as the future man more circumspect. He will be extremely cautious of transgressing by inebriety, who when last in that condition was tempted to sudden wrath,to wrath equally vented on friend and foe;-whose misconduct was punished by the loss of his place and office, by the necessity of hum-greements and treaties may stipulate, the ble solicitation to be restored, and by conscious guilt, which forbad him from looking his superior in the face;-whose indiscretion contributed to promote the purposes of villainy; of villainy, which fathered upon him designs he never imagined, and rendered him the fatal occasion of depriving those he loved of peace, of happiness, and of life. The man thus punished, must be inexcusable, if he suffer his weakness to vanquish him again, even had he not had that narrow escape for his life, which Cassio had experienced so lately. In another of his plays Shakespeare has the exclamation, Is it possible he should know what he is, yet be what he is?" The charac ter of Cassio is a proof that much self-knowledge (the effect of mental strength) may consist with much wavering of resolution (the effect of mental weakness). We learn also, that to act in contradiction to the free feelings of the mind is not likely to be advantageous or fortunate: that enjoyments, which in moderation are innocent, are rendered injurious by excess; and that, however it may be com little more than nominal, and the intercourse |