Truly, as Charles Mathews says, "we are losing all our amusements." Then follow about thirty pages of Holiday Notices; a sort of running commentary on the Calendar. The spaces of the days, however, are sadly disproportioned. Shrove Tuesday occupies upwards of two pages; Good Friday and Easter are pruned into the same space; May Day has upwards of four pages, more than half of which are taken up with the author's own embellishment: still, not a word has he on the poetry of the Day beyond his motto from Herrick. Field Sports, as Hawking and Archery, occupy the next thirty pages; but Mr. Smith is wofully deficient in the latter department: for instance, how is it that he has not even mentioned the archery at Harrow School,[4] and the existence of archery clubs in the present day.—Bull-fights and Baiting of Animals occupy the next forty pages in two chapters, one of which has been mostly transcribed from the Encyclopaedia Britannica. An original account of a Spanish Bull Fight occupies twenty pages, and is interesting, but rather out of place among English sports. Dancing has thirty pages, for which the Encyclopaedia Britannica has also been very freely taxed. Morris Dancers have ten pages. Jugglers have about the same space, chiefly from Strutt and Brand: Beckmann's chapter might have been added. Music and Minstrels have thirty pages, from Hawkins and Burney. Mr. Singer's curious work has furnished about twenty pages on Playing Cards. Chess is compressed within ten pages! The English Drama, thirty pages, is acknowledged from Hawkins's History of the English Drama, Cibber, and Victor; but "more especially from the Biographia Dramatica," we should say, the weakest source of the four. Malone's Supplement to his Edition of Shakspeare has entirely supplied thirteen pages of Playhouse Notices;—and here the curtain falls—sans Index, or the Author's Farewell.
There are three Engravings—a stunted Frontispiece from Wouverman's Hawking Party, a Plan of Olympia, and the Tomb of Scaurus—the two latter belonging, to use Mr. Smith's words, rather to "learned lore and antiquarian pedantry," than a book of popular interest. Even had Mr. Smith selected cuts of the Archery Meeting at Harrow, or the Staffordshire Morris Dance Window, he would better have consulted the gratification of his readers. In short, there are few subjects that admit of more delightful illustration, literary or graphic, than the "Festivals, Games, and Amusements" of "Merry England;" yet, to do these topics justice, requires careful compilation, condensation, and tasteful arrangement, upon neither of which points can we congratulate Mr. Smith's judgment in the specimen before us. Probably the author has been so long accustomed to indulge his fancy in ten shilling volumes of "historical tales," that he finds it difficult to restrain himself to books of facts: if this be the case, we should say that Mr. Smith is not just the person to furnish the "nation" with a history of "Festivals, Games, and Amusements, Ancient and Modern."
LORD BYRON.
(From Moore's "Life," Vol. II.)
To those who have, from his childhood, traced him through these pages, it must be manifest, I think, that Lord Byron was not formed to be long-lived.—Whether from any hereditary defect in his organization—as he himself, from the circumstance of both his parents having died young, concluded—or from those violent means he so early took to counteract the natural tendency of his habit, and reduce himself to thinness, he was, almost every year, as we have seen, subject to attacks of indisposition, by more than one of which his life was seriously endangered. The capricious course which he at all times pursued respecting diet—his long fastings, his expedients for the allayment of hunger, his occasional excesses in the most unwholesome food, and, during the latter part of his residence in Italy, his indulgence in the use of spirituous beverages—all this could not be otherwise than hurtful and undermining to his health; while his constant recourse to medicine—daily, as it appears, and in large quantities—both evinced, and, no doubt, increased the derangement of his digestion. When to all this we add the wasteful wear of spirits and strength from the slow corrosion of sensibility, the warfare of the passions, and the workings of a mind that allowed itself no sabbath, it is not to be wondered at that the vital principle in him should so soon have burnt out, or that, at the age of thirty-three, he should have had—as he himself drearily expresses it—"an old feel." To feed the flame, the all-absorbing flame, of his genius, the whole powers of his nature, physical as well as moral, were sacrificed;—to present that grand and costly conflagration to the world's eyes, in which,
"Glittering, like a palace set on fire,
His glory, while it shone, but ruined him!"[5]