to quarrel about the partition of their income? them from this distress is the object of this bill, If this be so, and if this argument be pushed to and your lordships will, I am sure, think such an jts utmost extent, the curates ought to have no object worthy of your most serious consideration. salary at all; for as long as there is any salary, You will not, I am confident, suffer light obany pecuniary transaction between the incumbent jections, and merely possible inconveniences; and curate, be it ever so small, they may still you will not suffer surmises, conjectures, suppoquarrel about it. For it is not the quantum, it is sitions, forebodings, and groundless apprehensimply the augmentation itself, which is the ground | sions, to outweigh and overthrow that solid, subaf dissension, if there be any; and itis well known, stantial, extensive, and certain good which this that the sharpest contentions sometimes arise from bill is intended, and, in my poor judgement, the slightest causes. well calculated to produce. I beg your lordships to recollect, what a multitude of objections were made, and with what extreme violence were urg ed, against the abolition of the slave trade, and what dreadful and alarming evils were confidently predicted as the inevitable consequences of that measuret. Yet, to your immortal honour, you for speaking in such strong terms as I did, of the extremely distressed state of the curates, I will produce here one case, among many others which have come to my own knowledge. A memorial has lately been presented to me, in behalf of a curate (not in my diocese) who has been thirty years in orders, and has had no less than five different pieces of preferment: and that the reader may judge of the labour he undergoes, I will give the outline of one Sunday's wok in the month of April last. Having now, as I conceive, answered what seem to be the chief objections that have been made to the principle of the bill, your lordships will, I trust, allow it to be read now a second time. In the meanwhile, allow me, my lords, before I sit down, to recommend most earnestly the curates of this kingdom to your favour and protection. There is no class of men in this country that want it, or deserve it more. I know, my lords, and have very good reason to know, that even in this opulent diocese there are many of them at this very moment struggling under the severest difficulties; and that, with families of six, eight, or ten children, they are plunge in the deepest distress. It has indeed been asserted by a noble lord, that the distressed state of the curates of this kingdom (which was stated as the ground of the bill before your lordships) was not sufficiently proved; that the case was not made On that day, he began with marrying a couple out; that the curates, as a body, had presented at one of his churches, at eight in the morning. no petition, nor had any cases of individual disAt half past nine he walked to a chapel at three tress been laid before the house. It is very true, miles distance, read prayers and administered the my lords, the curates have not importuned your sacrament to about fifty communicants. He relordships with petitions; and in this, I think, turned to his church at two o'clock, and there read they have done right. They could have made out, and preached. He then attended a lectureship at God knows, too strong a case; but, out of resthree o'clock, and came back to his church at pect to your lordships, they forbore. Their disfour; there he had three funerals. He also baptiztress is not importunate, clamorous, and obtrusive, ed eight children, and churched two ladies sepabut silent, modest, meek, and patient; which is rately. He returned home for eight minutes to the true and genuine character of real and deep tea. And, lastly, went again to the chapel, and distress. The curates did not feel the misery the read prayers, and returned home at half past nine less for not expressing it. They felt it, on the o'clock at night. During this day, he was speakcontrary, to be so strong and obvious, and so uni- ing six hours, walked fourteen miles, and had no versally acknowledged, that they thought it perfect-refreshment from nine in the morning (his duty ly needless to trouble your lordships with their complaints. They left their cause to your own humanity and justice. They thought they might safely trust it in your hands. They flattered themselves, that they should have a powerful advocate in your own bosoms, an advocate that would plead more powerfully for them, than they could for themselves; and in this, I trust, they will not be mistaken. 5. But it is said that no individual cases of distress have been produced. My lords, you must be sensible how difficult and how delicate a thing it is to mention names and circumstances, in cases of distress, which the sufferers wish perhaps to conceal from all the world and shrink from their being exposed to the public eye. Were it not for this, I could cover your lordship's table with cases of distressed curates, known to myself and within the precincts of my own diocese.+-To extricate The reader will find a still more effectual answer to almost all the objections here stated, in Mr. Perceval's most masterly letter to Dr. Mansell. (See Panorama, Vol. IV. p. 209.) + In order to shew that I had very good grounds allowing no time for it) till five in the afternoon, and then could take eight minutes only for tea. These are his general official occupations on Sunday, beside a constant attendance on the chaity schools the rest of the week. For all these occupations, he has only 791. 17s. a year. He has a wife and six children, and is now old and infirm. June 28, 1808. The opponents of the abolition, among other things, foretold that it would be the loss of four or five millions a year to this country; that it would be the utter ruin of the British West India islands; that it would impoverish ourselves and enrich our enemies; that it would excite perpetual insurrections of the negroes against their masters; and, lastly, that it would occasion a general revolt of the British West India islands. These are a few of the terrible consequences which it was predicted in the house would infallibly follow the abolition of the slave trade. How far these predictions have been fulfilled, I need not inform your lordships; and I am persuaded that the mischievous effects, predicted of this bill, will prove just as visionary and as vain as those respecting the abolition. paid no regard to those false prophecies; you abo lished that opprobrious traffic; and no such consequences have yet followed, nor is it probable that they ever will. I beg 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 regard 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. a year. * 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 bighest 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 Ro bin Fitzooth. The addition of Fitz, common to many Norman names, wards often oinitted, or dropped. The th 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 Kynie, 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. Earl of Oxford, who, by the king's order, father was under the guardianship of Robert gave to him in marriage the third daughter of L. Roisia. His At Kirklees in Yorkshire, formerly a Benedictine nunnery, R. Hood lies buried. The inscription at present is not legible; but Thoresby, from the papers of Dr. Gale, gives the following epitaph. Hear, undernead dis laith stearn, Obiit 24 Kal. Dekembris. 1247. 3 Rev. R. Lambe. 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 1 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 "Invidet eloquium seræque ad fortia vires." 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 Caper, the founder of the French dynasty: after whose time, probably, the naine became popular. 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 () more resembles bur d, than any other letter.The Saxons wrote Nono, north; Sud, south. This appears also in the epitaph annexed: for underneaD, if properly pronounced, is underneaTH and Dis, is This. Our inference is, that, the common people" were perfectly correct in their pronunciation; we add, that, if we wish to discover any remains of the 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. ago, in a tinker's shop, an oaken pannel about two feet high, and twenty inches wide, covered with dirt and 'smoke. 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 tote 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 : "This portrait of the Holy Family of our Lord Jesus Christ was painted at Rome in 1514, by Raffaello Sanzio d'Urbino, for our glorious sovereign; the wife of our good king Francis I. by name, who afterwards presented it to the chancellor Duprat in 1516 In the same year the fellow portrait was painted by the same Raffaello for the cardinal Julius de Medicis." 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 regis, regina conjux Francisci primi Francorum regis, istam tabulam SS. Familiæ Christi, à Raphaele Sanzio, pictore Romano depictam, Ant. Duprat cancellario, dedit, anno MDXVI." anno "Hæc tabula facta fuità Raphaele Sanzio, Report has lately convulsed the Cognoscenti, Franc. primi uxore by affirming the discovery of twelve picturesMDXIV. Patente D. Arthur a Gouffiero Regina of Titian, the Cæsars, which, after havingBoissi, olim principis F. institutore altera been laid aside as mere lumber, in the garret tabu a, ipsi similis, picta fuit ab eodem of an 'ancient mansion, were sold for less Raphaele, pro de cardinal. Julio Medicis. than twenty shillings to a country watch- Anno MDXVI." maker, and by him for about £25 to a London 'dealer. The dealer, however, deWe have not mands as many hundreds. 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 snch 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 on 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 trae, (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 original 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 diffe fence 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 inspecting the print we find that the picture in question was his original, and not that of the museum. A good impression costs from 40 to 50 livres: it is known to printsellers by the name of La Vierge au Linge. might say by their familiarity, and their constancy. Every man cannot be a chief, a gene OBSERVATIONS ON SHAKESPEARE'S CHARAC ral, or a king; but, every man may be called TER OF CASSIO. Should a person be described as "well. bred, easy, sociable, good-natured; with abiLites 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 to be respectable. If to these qualities we add honour and fidelity, that his friend and general esteems him worthy of personal confidence as well as of official trust, that his enemy, who plots his ruin, allows him to possess a cultivated understanding, and theoretical, if not experimental, knowledge in his profession which he is far from obtruding on public notice, but possesses with much modesyour respect for him rises, considerably. Superficial observation might be tempted to conclude such a character complete; for wherein is it defective? But Shakespere knew, that certain virtues, to an eminent degree, are not inconsistent with failings that render them of little avail to the possessor. The imperfection attendant on the good qualities of Cassio, is his inability to say, "No!" His want of the power of refusal. He knows sufficiently well his infirmity, is conscious of his weak ness; yet is not proof against seduction. He yields to artifice, although his better powers of reason remonstrate against deviation from strict propriety. He is not naturally addicted to vice; but he suffers it, he hesitates, then endures it,-then adopts it,-till fascinated by its delusions, he sustains injury be yond remedy. He does not solicit vice, (ex mero motu) but he cannot resist intreaty: alone, he meditates no evil, but his company is his bane. Whoever has seen mankind, generally, has seen many who might stand as counterparts to Cassio; many who never originated harm themselves, but yielded to suggestions 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 merely 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 casual events, in hourly occurrences, those lesser circumstances which are almost deprived of notice by the frequency of their return, we 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. May it not be deemed an exception against the usual course of education, that a kind of fortitude adapted to meet the daily exigencies of human life, is not sufficiently instilled into youthf.. minds? A graceful manner of presenting, of accepting, of entreating, is taught; but who lays adequate stress on the very necessary art of denial? Who takes care to separate the harshness of the act, from the manner of it, and to inculcate the necessary suaviter in modo, with the indispensable fortitèr in re? It has been said of some, that "they made enemies even in conferring favours; whereas others made friends, while denying requests." Fortitude is neither churlishness nor severity; neither superciliousness nor insociability, neither haughtiness nor obstinacy. Perseverance, firmness, decision, vigour, promptitude, and frankness (principles of this virtue), are perfectly consistent with kindness, liberality, mildness, benevolence, dexterity, and address. The balance of virtues and defects in the human mind was well understood by our im mortal hard. Not one of his characters is free from human failings, not one of them is wholly absorbed in iniquity. The grossness of crime may excite execration, but it cannot create interest: there must be a something to attract admiration, or the punishment of the criminal becomes an object of public jurisprudence rather than of poetical justice. The character of Cassio is a remarkable instance of the combination of opposite qualities, and Shakespeare has drawn it in a manner that may well repay our investigation. Lago, 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: A fellow almost damn'd in a fair life, Notwithstanding these invidious insinuaother sentiments, and these are the more imtions, when Iago is alone, he acknowledges pressive, as homage paid to integrity by kuavery, and to courage by ferocity. "For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too:" Nor is any part of Cassio's behaviour tinc- The second, and eventually the most importured with cowardice, or ignorance; so that tant, instance of Cassio's failure in fortitude, Desdemona does him but justice when in-appears in his yielding to the temptation of 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 confence 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 To be suspected; fram'd to make women false..... 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, an intimacy which he despises, when lago 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. Iago to indulge in drink. This scene is treated 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'li 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, is more exquisitely natural, than that Cassio when drunk should intrude discourse on subjects from which sober reason shrinks, conscious 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 qua lity 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 liquor. 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, 100 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 |