Demons heroio Demons who wore Shadows of power! The spirits of the departed heroes of Greece and Rome arise. offered his choice of bodies, and he selects that of Achilles. His wish is complied with; his own body falls senseless on the ground, and his soul animates that of the Grecian hero. The demon now possesses himself of the lifeless form of Arnold, which he effects by the following highly poetical incantation, in which the full powers of the noble Bard are displayed in their brightest lustre. Clay! not dead, but soul-less! Though no man would choose thee, An immortal no less Deigns not to refuse thee. Clay thou art; and unto spirit Fire! without which nought can live; Howling for a drop of water, Burning in a quenchless lot : Fire! the only element Where nor fish, beast, bird, nor worm But must with thyself be blent : Fire! Man's safeguard and his slaughter: Fire! Creation's first-born daughter, And Destruction's threatened son, When Heaven with the world hath done: Fire! assist me to renew Life in what lies in my view Stiff and cold! His resurrection rests with me and you! One little, marshy spark of flame And he again shall seem the same; But I his spirit's place shall hold. He now informs his victim that he must be his constant companion in his travels; and advises him for concealment to take the name of Count, and join the army of Constable Bourbon, who is about to lay siege to Rome; while he goes by the name of Cæsar, and acts his squire, or attendant. He summons two pages, who appear with four coal-black steeds, on which the party mount and vanish. We next find him in the camp of Bourbon, before the gates of Rome, where a dialogue ensues between himself, Constable, and Cæsar, on the scene before them; which closes the first part. The second part opens with a chorus of spirits in the air, who are watching the important moment when the assault commences. Its length precludes our inserting it entire : we shall, however, indulge ourselves with quoting the opening passages, which are eminently beautiful. 'Tis the morn, but dim and dark. Harken to the steady stamp! As the tides obey the moon! On they march, though to self-slaughter, Whose high waves o'ersweep the border Harken to the armour's clank! The assault now commences, Bourbon is killed, and the troops are led into the city by Arnold. The carnage with which the sacking of the town is attended, leads to many demoniacal commentaries by Cæsar. The slaughter is carried on through the streets, and even into the sacred fane of St. Peter, where a Roman lady, Olympia Colonna, rushes into the church, where, in horror and despair, and defiance of the promises of Arnold, to protect her from the brutal assaults of the soldiery, she dashes herself from the altar on which she had sprung for protection, and is borne from the church to all appearance a corpse. This incident con cludes the second part, and the fragment ends with the opening chorus of part three. OTWAY. It is the common belief, that Otway, the dramatic writer, was choked by a morsel of roll, which he was eagerly eating after having long suffered from extreme hunger. This, however, is not the fact. He fell a victim to the warmth of his friendship. An intimate of his, a Mr. Blakiston, was murdered in the street; to revenge the deed, Otway pursued. the assassin, who fled to France. Otway followed him on foot as far as Dover, where he was seized with a fever, occasioned by the fatigues he had undergone. On his arrival in London, in this state, he imprudently drank water, which accelerated his end, the 14th of April 1685. He expired at an obscure public-house, the sign of the Bull, on Tower-hill, at the early age of 34. THE LOCALITY OF IMAGINATION. WHETHER the movements of the soul are differently performed in different men, it is beyond our power to ascertain; it is probable, however, that similar operations of the mind are conducted universally in a similar manner. Although the imagination possesses the faculty of acting independently of sensible objects; yet the primary source of its materials is the external world. It is generally received that we possess no innate ideas; but that upon our entrance into the world, the mind presents, as it were, a smooth, unimpressed surface: called into action by the communications of the senses, it gradually unfolds its powers, acquires vigour, and lays up internal aliment for the imagination. As the senses, therefore, are the only medium by means of which we converse with nature, much of the vividness of the impressions which we receive, and of the consequent strength of the imagination, depends upon the susceptibility of those organs. Mankind, like plants and animals, appear subject to the influence of situation, and acquire a distinct mental, as well as physical, character from climate. The countries which approach either of the extremes of temperature, appear to be particularly unfavourable to the progress of human nature towards perfection; but upon the inhabitants of warm and temperate regions, where the outward form has attained its greatest beauty, and the intellectual powers have been most successfully developed, nature seems to have bestowed peculiar advantages. The Laplander and the Negro are, in general, equally incapable of enjoying the pleasures of imagination; the one from a deficiency, the other from too great an acuteness of sensibility. But under temperate and generous skies, the organs of sensation are susceptible, without being effeminately passive, and strong without being obtuse. These impressions are transmitted with the most glowing vehemence, and imagination exerts its most potent energies. Although warmth of imagination is by no means inconsistent with strength of understanding; and the two qualities, as in individuals they are often united, so among nations they are seen to flourish together under favourable circumstances; still we may observe in general, among the natives of warmer climates, greater extravagance in matters relating to the imagination, and less activity in regard to truth. Science is but little indebted to the southern world; almost all the great discoveries, and real advancements in philosophy, have been effectuated by the sages of the north. But for the labours of Newton and his successors, whether in England, Germany, or France, who have raised their system upon the solid basis of fact and experiment, we had still dreamt with Aristotle, and in the place of reason, had blindly followed the fictions of the imagination. Upon no subject has the fancy delighted to set itself to work so much as on religion; that is, on speculations concerning the nature and worship of superior invisible beings. Correct notions of the Deity, without the assistance of Divine revelation, are beyond the capacity of human reason; though faint ideas of him may be gathered from the studious contemplation of nature, and enlarged views of the harmony of the universe. But the imagination quickly supplies this defect; and under the operation of pleasure, or the apprehension of evil, invests the most prominent objects of the creation with the attributes of divinity. Viewing in this light the superstitions of the Teutonic tribes, and of the ancient Greeks, we remark a striking dissimilarity. The former being possessed of a stronger understanding, and less tender sensibility, the objects of their adoration were comparatively few. Their reason, though rude, taught them to revere their deities, without reducing them to the level of the senses, and controlled the wild monstrosities of the imagination. They deemed it derogatory to the divine dignity to represent their gods in visible forms; and accordingly their religious worship was comprised in a few simple solemnities. But among the latter, superstition assumed quite a different complexion. Their ardent and enthusiastic temperament led them to deify nearly every portion of the creation. Temples adorned with the finest works of art, splendid festivals and processions, mysterious and sensual rites, mark the spirit of Grecian mythology. Not content with assigning a presiding genius to every hill, fountain, and grove, they embodied in sculpture even abstract qualities. Youth, beauty, love, terror, each had its peculiar altar and appointed ceremonies. The pomp and grandeur of the Romish church, its saints, martyrs, and legends; the dominion which it asserts over departed souls, are peculiarly adapted to captivate the imagination. Accordingly the successors of St. Peter have always found their most devoted adherents in the southern nations of Europe; whilst in the north a purer form of worship is established, in unison with the chaster genius of the climate. It is moreover worthy of remark, that the doctrines of Mahomet, and of the Hindoo mythologists, have struck root only in the east and south. False philosophy is another offspring of the imagination, rather than of the understanding; and the occult sciences have, therefore, more particularly flourished in warm and glowing atmospheres. Astrology owes its existence to the Arabians; engrafted on a slender knowledge of astronomy, it soon corrupted the parent stock. Fancy pleased itself with casting nativities, anticipating the decrees of fate, and identifying the fortunes of man with the revolutions of the celestial bodies. The magicians of Egypt, from the days of Hermes Trismegistus, have claimed dominion over the world of spirits; whilst in the south of Europe, and in the east, the philosopher's stone, and the elixir of life, have been sought with indefatigable perseverance. The furnace and the alembic were in constant employment, and adepts boasted, and were believed, to have met with success. By the progress of civilization the feelings are refined, and the imagination is elevated; and hence the natives of colder climates make great advancement in the useful arts, and derive from the imagination a pleasure, differing indeed in degree, but not in kind, from that experienced by their southern neighbours. But it must be confessed, that only in the south have painting, sculpture, and music, attained that perfection, which will probably never be surpassed. The admiration which an English amateur evinces at a grand display of musical talent, sinks into indifference, when contrasted with the raptures into which the sensitive Italian is hurried by harmonious sounds. But poetry is the theme on which the imagination most loves to dwell; and in the cultivation of which, it most readily unfolds its powers. And here again it cannot but be observed, that the southern nations have not only produced a greater share of poetical talent, but that among them the spirit of poetry is also more earnestly felt, and more duly appreciated. Virgil, Dante, Ariosto, Tasso, with a vast variety of inferior, yet highly glowing spirits, fully justify whatever commendations of this kind have been lavished on their cele brated land. There even the vulgar are alive to the tender beauties of poetical excellence; the poets are constantly in their mouths; and the genius of the people is at once characterized, fostered, and gratified, by the effusions of the wandering improvisators. A style teeming with metaphors and hyperbole, with animation of gesture and earnestness of expression, has always distinguished the oriental nations. Their poetry is still impassioned, enthusiastic, wild. Amidst all their privations, they still listen with transport to the recitals of their bards; and the Ionian tales which, two thousand years ago, delighted the children of the east, to this day, preserve their spirit in the romances of the modern Arabs. SADDER. In the second chapter of the Sadder of Zoroaster, it is mentioned, that a bridge is erected over the great abyss where Hell is situated, which leads from the Earth to Paradise; that upon the bridge there stands an angel, who weighs in a balance the merits of the passengers; that the passenger whose good works are found light in the balance is thrown over the bridge into Hell, but the passenger whose good works preponderate, is allowed to proceed to Paradise, where there is a glorious city, gardens, rivers, and beautiful virgins, &c. In the fourth chapter of this system of the Persian mythology, good works are recommended by the following parable:-Zoroaster being with the Deity, saw a man in Hell, who wanted his right foot. " O, my Creator," said Zoroaster, "who is "that he had that man who wants his right foot?" The Deity answered, been king over thirty-three cities, had reigned many years, but had never done any good except once, when observing a sheep tied where it could not reach its food, he with his right foot pushed the food towards it, and on that account, the right foot was saved out of torment." IMITATION OF AN EPIGRAM OF TYMNÆUS. "THE traitor now shall die," the mother said, |