New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1860-08-17

And voices seft and sweeg.
From NV study zee in the lsmphghi,
Descending the troad hall ssau,
Esrave Ahce and isngbiog Aiiegra,
And Edith with Colleen hair.
"A whisper, and then silence: =,
Yet know by their merry eyf
They gre plotting and planning ioge'fI
To take me by surprise
sudden rush from the stairway,
n sudden raid from the hal!
BY three doors left ungusIded
They enter my castle wall
They climb up into ny tnrret
Ger the srIns and back Of my chair s..
III Try 10 escape, they surround mel
g. They seem O. be everywhere.
y Thew almost devour me with kisses,
p Their arms abou; me eDtglns,
TIL think of the Bishop OF Blngen
In his Mouse-TOwer on The Rhine
Do you think, o blue-eyed bandiai,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache IA am
IL Lot match for you al !
have Won fast IN my fortress
And will not let You depart
But put you down into the dungeons
C In the round tower Of my heart.
And there will keep you forever,
Yes forever and day,
Till the walls shall crumble 10 ruin,
And moulder in dust away a..
Among The Otntr dTuClcs NtitHy VI huc All Wis
number Of the Atlantic are " Culture, by Mr.. En-
srson; "Some Notes on Shakespeare" by Fanny
Kemble; "Tbe Pilots Story" poem by VIM. ID.
Heweil: the Professor; and humorous article by
Mr. Lowell, in which he does penance, with peas
in his shoes remarkably well boiled, for an article
on Meteorology, which appeared in the July num-
Der, and which contained many gross bunders.
Mrs. Kemble's article contains the following plea
SAINT "reminiscences of her first acquaintance with
Shakespeare:
"Tbe opening Of this play THE Tempesn is con-
nected with my earliest lections In looking
the dark backward and ably m of time, 10 the period
when was but six years old, my memory conJures up
vision of stately drawinR-room on the groundhoor
of house. doubtless long since swept from the face OF
the earth by the encroaehing tide Of new houses and
streets that has submerged every trace OF suburban
beauty pcturesqueness rural privacy in the neigh
borhood of London converting IL all by hideous pro-
cess Of assimilation into more London, till London
seems almost more than England can carry.
" But in those years, long enough ago. TO which
refer somewhere between Lea and Backheath, stood
in the midst of wekept grounds goodly mansion,
which held this pleasant room. 1t was always light
and cheerful and warm for the three windows do gn
TO the broad gavelwalk before it faced SOUTH and
though the lawn darkened just in front of them
by two magnificent yew'rees the atmosphere of the
room ITSELF in its silent, sunny holiness was at
gay and solemn TO my small imagination and senses
much az the interior of ST. Peters of Rome has been
since to them. Wonderful large tall jars of precious old
CHINA stood IN 61cn WILLOW, dnQ nObo WAS Jubb
a level with the wide necks, whence issued the mellow
est smell of fragrant pot pourr,. Into this room,
with its great crimson curtains and deep crimson car
pet in viii IN my feet seemed to be buried as in wood
land moss, l used to be brought for recompense of
having been very good, and there l used TO find
lovely looking lady, who was TO me the fitting divinity
of this shrine of pleasant awfuness She bore asweet
Italian diminuiive for her Christian name, addsd to
of the nobest old ducal names Of Venice, which
was that of her family.
have since known that she attached 10 the per-
son Of and warmly personally attached to, the unfor
tunate Caroline of Brunswick, Princess OF Wales
then only unfortunate; that can now guess at the
drift of much sad and passionate talk with indignant
lips and fearful eyes, of which the meaning then
OF course ncomprehensible 10 me- but which can now
partly interpret by the subsequent history of that i'll
'Ths face of my friend with the great Venetian
was like one of Gorgiones pictures of that soft and
mellow colorlessness that recalls the poets line,
Z smsrrisce y bel volto in que colore
Che palidezzs, candore,"
or the EDglishman's version of the same thought,
:" Her face,-oh call it fair, not pale !"
1t seemed to me- as ! remembered it, cream-colored;
and her eyes, like clear water over brown rocks where
the sun is shining. But though the fir vsage was
like one Of the great Venetian masters portraits her
voice purely English low, distinct full, and soft,
and in this enchanting voice she used 10 tell me the
story of the one large picture which adorned the
room.
cover and over again at my importunate beseeching
she told t-sometimes standing before il, while held
her hand and listened with uDturned face, and eyes
rounding with big tears of wonder and pity to a tale
which shook my small soul with sadness and strange
meas far SURPRISING the interest of my beloved tragedy
The Babes in the Wood, though at this period of
my existence it has happened to me to interrupt with
frantic cree Of distress and utterly refuse TO hear the
end of that lamentable ballad.
" But the picture.-In the midst Of stormy sea,
which night seemed fast settling down, helmlees,
mastless saiess bark lay welteng gddily, and in it
sat man in the full flower Of vigorous manhood His
attitude was one Of miserable deec ion, and, Oh how
did long to remove the hand with which his eyes
were covered 10 see what manner of look in them
swered TO the bitter which the speeches. lips
expressed His other hand rested on the fair curs
of girl baby Of three years DID, who clung to his
knee and, with wide, wondering blue eyes and laugh
ing lips looked up into the hslfhdden face of her
father And that said the sweet voice at my side
was the good Duke of Milan, Prospero, land that
was his little child, Miranda.
There was something about the face and figure Of
the Prospero that to those Of my father
and this perhaps, added TO the pognancy with which
the representation of bis distress affected my childish
imagination. But the impression made by the picture,
he story, and the place where heard the one and
he other is among the most vivid that my memory
aIn;. And never, even now, do / turn the magic
that holds that marvellous history without again
,eeipg TIL lovely lady the picture full of cad dismay
md NY own sxyear-old self listening TO that eareet
,hakesperian lore that my mind and heart ever re-
eiyed suppose this is par ly the secret Of my love
or this above all other of the poets pl4ys;Iit was
nv first possession in the kingdom of unbounded de-
light which he bias since bestowed upon me-"
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Markefs-Repoy1ed IN Telegraph.