THE ALTHORP PICTURE-GALLERY—LADY ALICE, THE FLOWER OF OSSORYE.
IT is said by musicians, that many persons with a natural ear and taste for music, after acquiring a slight knowledge of the art,
amuse themselves by writing down notes, calling them, in pure innocence, original compositions, though in reality they are nothing more than snatches of melodies floating in the mind, and repro- duced by an unconscious recollection. From a tolerably exten- sive acquaintance with modern verses, we are inclined to think that this accomplishment is not confined to music alone, but
obtains in every art in which sound is a chief or obvious element. At least we can account on no other principle for the wonderful general resemblance which all the pretty little volumes of so- called poetry bear to each other, and to BYRON, or Scow, or both. The subjects and sentiments may be different or opposite; so may the thoughts and images, when there happen to be any ; but there runs through all of them one pervading strain, which, to compare small things with great, reminds us of the attempts of an amateur upon the piece of a master—containing just enough of the origi- nal to suggest odious comparisons. One advantage, however, the musicians possess—they confine their productions to their per- sonal friends ; the poets thrust theirs upon the public. But having now stumbled upon the truth, we shall in future cease to be any party to the advertisement of such mental vomitiones.
Both the volumes before us are of the character described. The writers have mistaken the love of poetry for the capability of producing it ; they have confounded critical enthusiasm, excited by excellence, with a natural inspiration of the muse. It may not perhaps be positively asserted that but for BYRON they would not have written, but it may safely be said that they would have written like the fashionable writer of the day.
As regards comparative merit, the pas must be assigned to the "lady." If she has less novelty she has more skill, and her works exhibit more care. The Althorp Picture-Gallery, not- withstanding, is even less original in its plan than Lady Alice. The idea is taken from Mrs. JAMESON'S Althorpe : but in noticing the pictures of that noble mansion, this author mingled reality with fancy. Her prose not only contained the writer's feelings of what the fate and face of each portrait suggested, but gave a description of the portrait itself, and the striking points of the original's biography. In the poetry there is nothing but the impres- sions made by the paintings, and the thoughts to which they give rise, expressed in well-scanning and rather elegant verses. But, independent of the general echo we have spoken of, there is occa- sionally an almost ludicrous contrast between the original and the imitation. The cast of thought, the turn of expression, which Chtlde Harold applies to the masterpieces of Grecian sculpture, or to the heroes and tyrants of the mistress of the world, are at least out of place when addressed to the inferior persons of history or the mere butterflies of a court. Even the portrait of the amiable Lady JANE GREY is not fitly, perhaps because imitatively, apos- trophized in such stanzas as these—
We turn, o'erpowered with beauty—gladly turn From the luxuriance of the rounded form ;
From that resplendence which pure minds e'er spurn—
And feel refreshed, as when cool breath of morn Plays o'er the cheek flushed from the heated room,
Where niidnight glories and bright follies shine,
In rich confusion and unnatural bloom ;- While Art, and all her witcheries combine To draw Youth, Beauty, Grace, within her fumy line!
We turn, as from the tulip's gaudy swell, Whose flaunting colours catch the wandering eye, To the sweet gracefulness of the harebell, Whose modest bead waves, gently drooping, nigh. Yes! thus we turn to thee, most beauteous Jane ! Whose placid gaze calms troubled thoughts to rest. On thy meek innocence there dwells no stain— Thou 'rt pure as when thy baby form was pressed
In new-born loveliness to the maternal breast.
Lady Alice is a dialogue—for it can scarcely be called a story— which is supposed to take place in the middle ages. The interlo- cutors are a lady, a lover, and a bishop. The subject of the talk is the unlawful studies of Lady Alice; who has been trying magical experiments upon Naesa, her knight. He accordingly brings her to the churchman to exorcise; and the lady takes the opportunity of inflicting upon both parties an autobiographical account of herself, and dies almost in the act of avowing her recan- tation,—the Bishop says, by the will of Heaven ; and as there is no human reason for the catrstrophe, we are willing to believe him. If the author had any decided plan, it was to show the baseless fabrics which the mind is liable to build when it quits the sober realities of life in search of knowledge that is unattainable. In- stead of this, however, he has merely put forward the notions ." which only heads refined from reason know."
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