ship bore her away from a country where the venial indiscretions of youth and unsuspicious gaiety had been so cruelly punished, upon these towers she fixed her eyes, and stood upon the deck, obstinately gazing toward them till the last speck had disappeared.' "During her imprisonment in the Castle of Cronenburgh, it was Queen Caroline Matilda's chief enjoyment to ascend the square tower, which commands one of the finest prospects in the world. No spot could better sooth the anguish of her mind. The animated appearance of the Sound, in which the English flag is so frequently displayed, would fill her mind with cheering images of the greatness and prosperity of her native land. And, in gazing on the beauties which nature has scattered with so lavish a hand over Denmark, her = contemplations on the great First Cause of all good would create in her the best disposition to forgive her enemies, persecutors, and slanderers." it 6 The ruins of the Monastery at Esrom are particularly interesting, and Mr Feldberg devotes several of his pages to an account of their antiquities, and the traditionary miracles with which they are connected. The devil, had appears, a wonderful antipathy to the monks of this pious establishment, and did his "possible" to corrupt them. As favourable opportunities of temptation occurred, he occasionally converted himself into a bottle of claret, a haunch of venison, a dressed turtle, or a fine woman, in order to seduce the ghostly fathers from their usual continence and sobriety. Never were a poor set of monks so persecuted. Did they fast, their nostrils were continually saluted with the savoury fragrance of roast beef and Maintenon cutlets; were they satiated with food, goblets of the finest wine appeared to court their lips, and the drawing of corks was in their ears;-was their hide galled by the sackcloth of their order, garments of silk, and shirts of the finest Holland seemed to court their acceptance; were they inclined to sleep, behold a down bed and cambric sheets appeared to invite them to repose. The only drawback to these enjoyments was, that in case they accepted them, they ipso facto became proselytes of the devil, and gave up all hopes of heaven, which on the whole was not so advantageous a bargain as "The remains of the monastery at Esrom deserve to be visited, as they may shew with what good taste the monks selected one of the most beautiful situations in the island for their residence. It was originally one of the most opulent and considerable monasteries in the North, and of the Cistercian order. Its name, perhaps, might, in the following lines: without much impropriety, be substituted O the monks of Melrose made gude kale As long as their neighbours' lasted.'* "Indeed the monks of Esrom led a very merry life, through the wicked agency of the devil, who had gained admittance to the monastery by the name of Friar Ruus, and served in the capacity of cook. The legendary history of this remarkable personage is sufficiently amusing. Mr Thiele, in his work already spoken of, gives it in the following manner: "It is related, when the devil once saw how piously and virtuously the monks of Esrom lived, that he assumed the human form, knocked at the gate of the monastery, saying that his name was Ruus. Pretending to be a cook's apprentice, as such he was engaged by the abbot. But, being once alone with the master-cook, he shewed disobedience, for which he received chastisement. At this he felt very wroth; and as he had previously put a kettle of water when he perceived the kettle boiled, and on the fire, he laid hold of the master-cook, thrust him into it head foremost. He then ran about and screamed, lamenting the misfortune that had happened to his master. Thus he deceived all the friars of the monastery in such a manner, that they thought him perfectly guiltless, and made him master-cook. This was exactly what he had aspired to, so that afterwards he might work out their destruction. He now dressed their victuals so lusciously, that the monks forgot both fasting and gave themselves up to good living. Nay, it is even said that he brought women into the monastery, and thus ingratiated himself highly with the abbot, who even prevailed upon Ruus to become a friar, wishing nothing so much as to have such a cook about him. From that time quarrels prayer, and Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto the First, Note XXII. Kale, Broth. In Danish Kaal, a very popular dish. and wickedness spread to such an extent in the monastery, that it certainly would have come into the power of the Evil One, if the monks had not seasonably left off their vicious ways. It so happened, that Ruus was once in a wood, where he observed a fine fat cow. He killed her, taking a quarter along with him to the monastery, and hanging up the remainder on a tree in the wood. The peasant to whom the cow belonged came soon afterwards; and when he saw the three quarters hanging on the tree, he determined to watch in another tree, until the thief should come to fetch the rest. While he was sitting there, he observed how the devil's imps played their pranks in the wood, talking much about Ruus, and how he designed to invite the abbot and his monks to an entertainment with himself in hell. The peasant was terribly frightened at this, and went nex: day to the abbot, relating all that he had seen and heard in the wood. On this the abbot called all the monks together in the church, and began to read and sing. Ruus, who had never shewn any particular relish for such devotional services, attempted to sneak out; but the abbot seized him by the cloak, and exorcised him into the shape of a red horse, committing him to the power of hell. For a long time after this occurrence, the iron kettle and gridiron belonging to Ruus were still shewn in the monastery of Esrom. "The gridiron, which is thus said to belong to the chattels left behind by the exorcised devil, at no distance of time was preserved at Esrom, and shewn as a piece of great antiquity. Indeed it was consider ed of such importance, that the celebrated Petrus Resenius deemed it worthy of being represented in his "Atlas Danicus." The intelligent Professor Molbech, in his "Juvenile Wanderings," adds to our information regarding the personal adventure of Ruus:- After being exorcised, the abbot constrained him, by way of punishment for his wicked intentions, to proceed to England, and without intermission to return, bringing with him through the air as much lead as amounted to 320,000 poundweight, for the roof of the monastery." Although Mr Feldberg alludes to Professor Molbech in the above extract, yet he does not seem to be aware that that gentleman has composed a ballad on the very tradition which it narrates. Mr Lewis, in one of his notes, alludes to it as one of the finest specimens of the "terrible sublime" with which he is acquainted. The ludicrously terrific would perhaps have been a happier epithet; but be that as it may we heartily join the author of the Monk in his admiration of the poetical power which it displays. We are anxious to introduce this piece to the notice of the partial translation which we have our readers, though we confess that in attempted, it is but too probable that we have furnished rather evidence of our feebleness, than of the beauties so prominent in the original. It begins thus: Once when the morning breezes blew o'er Esrom's cloister'd walls, And when his golden beams went down, they still were kneeling there. And short and scanty the repasts these holy men partook, But the spring supplied their beverage, the crust of bread their dine. Η Such was the simplicity of their fare, and such the ardour of their devotions! In the original Mr Molbech enlarges on these at considerable length, and informs us, that by their extraordinary abstinence and mortification of the flesh, they had reduced themselves to the same spareness of body, characteristic of a personage well known in a neighbouring city, by the appellation of " Death run away with the mort-cloth." The following gives us further insight with regard to their habits and personal economy: Like modern beaux, these holy monks, in iron stays were laced, What blessed dreams came over them, what visions did appear, "A life so holy, such serene repose," must appear beautiful to all, and enviable at least to those whom an intercourse with the world has not yet deprived of all relish for purer enjoyments. It was, however, but of short duration. The devil sets his head at work to seduce them, and judiciously observing that the belly is not the worst avenue to the head, gets his services accepted in the kitchen of the convent, as is duly set forth in the following stanzas. The Devil saw their holiness, and straightway set his head When two bestride a horse, there's one that needs must ride behind; For the Devil soused him in the broth when it was boiling hot, Having thus far succeeded in his diabolical career, as may be anticipated, the convent dinners begin very suddenly to improve, and Oman himself could not cater better for his guests than the devil did for the monks at Esrom. The consequences are likewise what may be anticipated. The jolly friars now began to relish better cheer, And pickles hot and sauce piquante did at their board appear; The chapel bell with grief they heard, the dinner bell with glee aye, We close this mournful example of human depravity with the following stanza, which shews the monks of Esrom reduced, we think, to the very lowest step in the scale of moral degradation. Thus every holy monk was soon transform'd into a sot, And they waddled through the cloisters all as fat as Doctor Scott, For they sung their Ave Marias to the tune of "Moll in the Wad!" If our readers are pleased with these extracts, we can assure them the ballad is not carried on with less spirit in the sequel; and we refer them to the account of the remainder of the devil's exploits to the extracts we have already given from Mr Feldberg's volume. We fully intended, on commencing this article, to have afforded less space to our own observations, and more to the extracts from the work before us. But the evil of our loquacity cannot now be remedied, and we must only gratify our readers with one further quotation, selected in orVOL. X. der to display Mr Feldberg in the character of a courtier, a role which he appears to fill with as much grace and ease as any of our indigenous members of the Leg-of-Mutton School. The account of his interview with Prince Christian is extremely characteristic, we think, both of the Prince and the Savant. "With somewhat similar feeling I saw the young Prince of Denmark. He had just returned from a cruise on the lake, with two lads of about his own size and age, sons of Count Schulin. There had been a fight, and I rather suspect the Prince had Ꮓ come worst off. His attention was wholly When that is flying ships need not strike their flags and sails to the King of Denmark. Prince. What! must ships strike flags and sails to the King of Denmark? Author. They must do more: the captains are obliged to come on shore, and pay a toll to the King of Denmark. The other day, an English ship, with a cargo of cotton twist, paid L.1500 in toll. "Prince. Indeed! that was a fine ship. I wish such an one would come every day. But how is it that ships pay this toll? "Author. They do so to refund the expenses his Danish Majesty incurs on account of lighthouses, beacons, &c. It is an old custom, of which the English, in particular, are very fond. The English mariners are very partial to Holland's gin, which they get cheap, and in great perfection at Elsinore; besides, they buy knickknacks there for their wives and sweethearts, and the passengers have an opportunity of visiting Hamlet's Garden. "Prince. Hamlet's Garden! Where is that. "Author. Close to Elsinore. "Prince. Who is Hamlet? "Author. According to Shakespeare, the most accomplished prince Denmark ever produced. "Prince. I do not know him. "Author. Your Highness has not yet, I presume, begun to read English. "Prince. No. I have not. "Author. But French? "Prince. O yes! "Author. Your Highness is probably a great Frenchman ? "Prince. No, indeed, I am not. Author. And shall I tell you, that you never will be. "Prince. (Smiling, and looking at me with earnestness.) How so? Why? "Author. You are too fond of the sea, as I have been told by a naval friend of mine. "Prince. (With enthusiasm.) Yes! I do love the sea. "The Prince looked over the other drawing, and then proceeded to his carriage, which was drawn up to the grand entrance of the palace. As he was going to step into the carriage, he pulled off his hat, and, making a polite bow, exclaimed, I thank you much, sir, for the sight of those beautiful drawings; I hope they will like them in England, and I wish you a prosperous voyage.' We have now discharged a public duty, in calling the attention of the literary world thus early to a work which is undoubtedly destined to render the name of its author immortal. We once more call upon Mr Feldberg to proceed fearlessly in his high career, till he reaches the goal of glory and of fame, to which the completion of his labours must inevitably conduct readers due notice of the future prohim. We shall not fail to give our gress of a work, of which it would be unjust to the discernment of the public to augur any thing but the most splendid success. WHY ARE POETS INDIFFERENT CRITICS? MR EDITOR, THE variorum notes on Shakespeare are entertaining reading, and have probably been the cause of many a man's looking into the works of the great poet, who would never have troubled them from pure love of the sublime or pathetic. It is not, then, too much, perhaps, to presume, that most general readers will pretty well recollect Warburton's elaborate note on the players' speech in Hamlet, as well as the much controverted passage to which it is appended. "The greatest poet of this and the last age," says Warburton, "Mr Dryden, in the preface to Troilus and Cressida, and Mr Pope, have concurred in thinking, that Shakespeare produced this long passage with design to ridicule and expose the bombast of the play from whence it was taken, and that Hamlet's commendation of it is purely ironical. This is become the general opinion. I think just otherwise; and that it was given with commendation, to upbraid the false taste of the audience of that time, which would not suffer them to do justice to the simplicity and sublime of this production." Warburton goes on, as usual, through a variety of ingenious and unsatisfactory arguments in support of his opinion; but I must own, that in his conclusion I am inclined for the most part to agree. Not that I can bring myself to think, as he does, the style of the speech a good style, nor that his reasoning, as to what Hamlet says of it, however subtle, appears to me at all convincing; but because it is very possible that Shakespeare may have been fond of the lines, although they are not good in any point of view. Nor is it improbable that he was so. That he himself wrote them, there cannot, I think, be much doubt. The Shakespearian vein shews itself here and there. The style, indeed, exhibits much more of his nerve and manner than that of some of the plays which are attributed to him. Titus Andronicus, for instance, which it is a wonder, by the bye, that the critics have never attributed to Marlow, for the turn of the versification, and the atrocity of the characters, are in exact keeping with the "Jew of Malta." But that the players' speech is not turgid, and in bad taste, and as unlike the style of the ancients as "Hyperion to a satyr," Warburton will succeed in persuading few readers. His parallel quotations, as he would have them thought, from Troilus and Cressida, and from Anthony and Cleopatra, are utterly worthless; the piece, in which the first occurs, is only half in earnest throughout; and the last nobody but Warburton would have produced as a similar passage. Still Shakespeare may have liked the players' speech, though he never wrote it, as the learned doctor supposes, in imitation of the ancients; as a player, it is the very thing that he would be likely to deem attractive; and poets are, in truth, seldom good critics, that is to say great poets are seldom judicious critics of poetry. Nor is it natural that they should be, for which the reasons are tolerably obvious. Whether poets are inspired beings or not, does not much alter the bearings of this question. We have, to be sure, their own word for it that they are, and they should know best, as Count Caylus argued when he assured his officious ghostly advisers, to their great perplexity, that he had no soul. But then the word of a poet is none of the most credible, especially upon jects like these. Be this as it may, however, still it is impossible to conceive of a great poet but as being, sub whether intuitively or by a series of acts of the understanding, filled and saturated with the delight which springs from some favourite poetical style. This style must be his own; and it is only by the perfect comprehension, and intense admiration of its peculiarities and its beauties, that he can have become an original poet. This feeling of delight, in a particular style of poetry, may have arisen, as it no doubt often arises, unconsciously. The numberless steps, of perception after perception, and of association after association, may have been originally so imperceptible, or so completely forgotten ultimately, as to give the whole process the appearance of instinct,-or it may have been a decided creation of the understanding. It may have originated in the nicest discrimination and the most profound analysis. It may have been artificial in its conception, in its birth, and in its essence. Still the style so doated on, must be truly the "chosen one" the "only beloved;" and the modes of choice can only differ as the romantic "love at first sight" of the stripling differs from the gradual and intelligent affection of the man. Under the first supposition it is nearly impossible to imagine that a mind, influenced by such exclusive and deeply-seated feelings, should not be disqualified impartially to compare the effusionswhich produce them, with others which do not. In the second instance, it is difficult to imagine this. When we have long and steadily preferred any thing, especially in poetry, that preference, almost necessarily declines, (or if the term displease,) improves into a sort of amiable but unreasonable dotage. The lover may be brought to own that his mistress is, in the abstract, less handsome than some other woman; but he cannot practically think that she is so, because he cannot feel that she is so. Her name must ever be to his ears "more musical than is Apollo's lute," let him play what tune he pleases. As it is in love, so is it in poetry. We are infatuated with a word, a very sound. The poet may exclaim, "What's in a name!" as long as he will, but it is a mistake to say that, to the poet, |