Читать книгу: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 276, October 6, 1827», страница 3
During a great portion of the time I was acquainted with Ugo Foscolo, he was under severe pecuniary distress, chiefly indeed brought on by his own thoughtless extravagance, in building and decorating his house. I have frequently in those moments seen him beat his forehead, tear his hair, and gnash his teeth in a manner horrifying; and often left him at night without the least hope of seeing him alive in the morning. He had a little Italian dagger which he always kept in his bed-room, and this he frequently told me would "drink his heart's blood in the night." "I will die," said he, one day, "I am a stranger, and have no friends." "Surely, sir," I replied, "a stranger may have friends." "Friends," he answered; "I have learnt that there is nothing in the word; I assure you, I called on W–e, to know if there was anything bad about me in the newspapers; everybody seems to be leagued against me—friends and enemies. I assure you, I do not think I will live after next Saturday, unless there is some change." At another time he said, "I am surrounded with difficulties, and must yield either life or honour; and can you ask me which I will give up?" I have now before me a letter of Foscolo's, which, after enumerating a long series of evils, concludes thus:—"Thus, if I have not underwent the doom of Tasso, I owe it only to the strength of my nerves that have preserved me."
The following sonnet was written by Ugo Foscolo, in English, and accompanied the Essays on Petrarch, in the edition of that work which was printed for private circulation. It was omitted when the volume was subsequently published, and is consequently known to very few:
TO CALLIRHOE, AT LAUSANNE
Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd.
But, oh! I wak'd.
——MILTON.
I twine far distant from my Tuscan grove,
The lily chaste, the rose that breathes of love,
The myrtle leaf, and Laura's hallow'd bay,
The deathless flowers that bloom o'er Sappho's clay;
For thee, Callirhoe! yet by love and years,
I learn how fancy wakes from joy to tears;
How memory, pensive, 'reft of hope, attends
The exile's path, and bids him fear new friends.
Long may the garland blend its varying hue
With thy bright tresses, and bud ever new
With all spring's odours; with spring's light be drest,
Inhale pure fragrance from thy virgin breast!
And when thou find'st that youth and beauty fly,
As heavenly meteors from our dazzled eye,
Still may the garland shed perfume, and shine,
While Laura's mind and Sappho's heart are thine.
Literary Chronicle.
ENGLISH FRUITS
The Strawberry.—Many varieties have been imported from other countries, and a far greater number have been obtained in this, chiefly from seeds properly prepared by cross impregnation; by which means, the strawberry has been wonderfully improved; instance the hautboys, scarlet, chilli, but particularly the splendid varieties, called "Wilmot's superb," and "Keen's seedlings."
The Raspberry, is also found wild in the British isles, on its native site, (with its companions, the bramble, and dewberry)—its shoots and fruits are diminutive, though the flavour of the berry is rich. No plant requires the skilful hand of the pruner more than this; of all others, it is, perhaps, the most viviparous, throwing up, annually, a vast redundancy of shoots, which, if not displaced at the proper season, would impoverish not only the fruit of the present, but also the bearing wood of the next year. The Dutch fruiterers have been successful in obtaining two or three fine varieties from seeds; and as this field of improvement is open, no doubt further exertions will bring forth new and valuable sorts.
The Gooseberry.—No domesticated fruit sports into greater variety than this: the endless lists of new sorts is a proof of this, and many large and excellent sorts there are, particularly the old Warrington red.
The Cherry.—Cultivation has accomplished wonders in the improvement of this beautiful native fruit. Instead of a lofty forest-tree bearing small bitter fruit, it has been long introduced to our orchards, is changed in appearance and habit, and even in its manner of bearing; has sported into many varieties, as numerous as they are excellent—nor is such improvement at an end: several new varieties have lately started into existence.
The Plum.—The lowest grade of this class of fruits is the almost useless sloe in the hedge; and none but those in some degree acquainted with the matter could, on beholding the acidous, puny sloe, and the ample, luscious magnum bonum plum, together, readily believe that they were kindred, or that the former was the primitive representative of the latter. The intermediate links of this connexion are the bullace, muscle, damacene, &c., of all which there are many varieties. In nurserymen's lists, there are many improved sorts, not only excellent plums, but excellent fruit,—the green gage and imperatrice are admirable.
The Pear, was originally an inhabitant of European forests: there it grew to be a middle-sized tree, with small leaves, and hard, crude-tasted, petty fruit: since its introduction and naturalization in the orchard, it has well repaid the planter's care. The French gardeners have been long celebrated for their success and indefatigable perseverance in the cultivation of the pear; almost all our superior sorts are from that country. The monastic institutions all over Europe, but particularly in France, were the sources from whence flowed many excellent horticultural rules, as well as objects.
(To be concluded in our next.)
THE MONTHS
On the woods are hung
With many tints, the fading livery
Of life, in which it mourns the coming storms
Of winter.
PERCIVAL.
Change is the characteristic of the month of October; in short, it includes the birth and death—the Alpha and Omega—of Nature. Hence, it is the most inviting to the contemplatist, and during a day in October, the genius of melancholy may walk out and take her fill, in meditating on its successive scenes of regeneration and decay.
Dissemination, or the sowing of seed, is the principal business of this month in the economy of nature; which alone is an invaluable lesson, a "precept upon precept" to a cultivated mind. This is variously effected, besides by the agency of man; and it is a satire on his self-sufficiency which should teach him that Nature worketh out her way by means that he knoweth not.
Planting, that agreeable and patriotic art, is another of the October labours. Here, however, the pride of man is again baffled, when he considers how many thousand trees are annually planted by birds, to whom he evinces his gratitude by destroying them, or cruelly imprisoning them for the idle gratification of listening to their warbling, which he may enjoy in all its native melody amidst the delightful retreats of woods and groves. This leads us to the October economy of birds. "Swallows are generally seen for the last time this month, the house-martin the latest. The rooks return to the roost trees, and the tortoise begins to bury himself for the winter. Woodcocks begin to arrive, and keep dropping in from the Baltic singly or in pairs till December. The snipe also comes now;" and with the month, by a kind of savage charter, commences the destruction of the pheasant, to swell the catalogue of the created wants and luxuries of the table. "One of the most curious natural appearances," says Mr. L. Hunt, "is the gossamer, which is an infinite multitude of little threads shot out by minute spiders, who are thus wafted by the wind from place to place." In this manner spiders are known to cross extents of many miles.
The weather becomes misty, though the middle of the day is often very fine. Hence it is the proper season for the enjoyment of forest scenery. The leaves, which, towards the close of September, began to assume their golden tints and gorgeous hues, now lecture us with their scenes of falling grandeur; and nothing is more delightful than in an autumnal walk to emerge from the pensive gloom of a thick forest, and just catch the last glimpse of an October sun, shedding his broad glare over the varied tints of its leaves and branches, for the sombre and silvery barks of the latter add not a little to the picture. "The hedges," says the author already quoted, "are now sparkling with their abundant berries,—the wild rose with the hip, the hawthorn with the haw, the blackthorn with the sloe, the bramble with the blackberry; and the briony, privet, honey-suckle, elder, holly, and woody nightshade, with their other winter feasts for the birds."
October is the great month for brewing—that luxurious and substantial branch of rural economy; and many and merry are the songs and stories of nut-brown October to "gladden the heart of man," with the soul-stirring influence of its regalings. Hops, too, are generally picked this month.
October in Italy is thus vividly described: "It was now the beginning of the month of October; already the gales which attend upon the equinox swept through the woods and trees; the delicate chestnut woods, which last dare encounter the blasts of spring, and whose tender leaves do not expand until they may become a shelter to the swallow, had already changed their hues, and shone yellow and red, amidst the sea-green foliage of the olives, the darker but light boughs of the cork-trees, and the deep and heavy masses of ilexes and pines."
