about a hundred dead bees on the ground, and on the bench before the hive. I then directed a board about an inch thick to be laid on the bee-bench, and set the hive on this board with its mouth exactly on the edge of this board, the mouth of the hive was also contracted to about an inch in length, and a semicircular hollow was made in the board immediately under the mouth of the hive. By this means the assailing bees were obliged to alight on the bee-bench, and then to climb perpendicularly up the edge of the board, on which the hive was now placed; and thus appeared to act with great disadvantage; and a much less number of bees appeared to be slain in this day's battle; whence it would be advantageous always to place bee-hives in this manner. Nevertheless, as the war did not cease, I directed early on the next morning to remove the bee-hive to a distant part of the garden, and to a more easterly aspect, and found to my great satisfaction, that the hosts of the enemy did not follow; and that in a few hours the unassailed bees resumed their work, as appeared by their going into the hive with loaded thighs; and though a few of them were seen on the following two nights resting on their old habitation, these were carried early on the ensuing morning in their torpid state to their new situation, and the war ended without extermination of either society.' Some remarks on the art of catching rats and moles conclude the chapter. On the Production of Fruits, we find many interesting observations but they are such as cannot well be abridged; and the lovers of gardening will undoubtedly wish to see them entire. Some pretty verses are introduced, on the art of Pruning. The valuable section on the Production of Seeds must be passed over by us, for the same reasons with the former; and in like manner we shall just mention the titles of several succeeding sections; on the Production of Roots and Barks, of Leaves and Wood, and of Flowers. We could dwell with pleasure on many parts of these divisions, but we have already exceeded our limits. The work is closed with a plan for disposing a part of the vegetable system of Linné into more natural classes and orders. Dr. Darwin proposes to arrange them according to the proportions or situations of the stamina, alone, or conjointly with their number. The number of the sexual parts, he supposes, is more liable to be affected by differences of soil and cultivation, than their forms and proportions. There is, however, some obscurity in his mode of expression; and, we imagine, some mistake: I contend, that the number of the sexual organs in flowers is more liable to change by the influence of soil or climate, or by the progress of time, than their situations or proportions, or forms, and might therefore 7 therefore probably be more advantageously employed in distinguishing their classes and orders from each other, as well as in rendering them more natural combinations.' Dr. Darwin evidently means to say, that the least variable parts of plants ought to be used in classing them; and that the number of sexual parts being more variable, they will be less advantageous for this purpose. Some very doubtful doctrine is here introduced, respecting the power of organized beings to vary their own structure by volition. We observe a curious proposal in the additional notes: In the Transactions of the American Philosophical Society there is a paper shewing, that the water-rats in that part of the country are so liable to be affected with tape-worm, as is supposed much to di minish their numbers. In this country many animals, as I believe dogs, cats, and geese, as well as the human species, are afflicted with this intestine enemy. Could some of these diseased American rats be imported into this country, and propagate their malady amongst the native rats of this climate?' It is fortunate for our ingenious author, that the volition of rats has not yet extended to a knowlege of the alphabet. If they should ever will to become philosophical readers during his life, (and long may he live!) he must expect the fate of the German Bishop Hatto. It is now time to take leave of our agreeable companion in this excursion. Though we must candidly own that the information offered to us has not always been equal to our expectation; yet, as the Clown says, " travellers must learn to be contented." We can, however, recommend his work to our readers, as the most entertaining system of the kind hitherto published; especially to retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure. If Dr. Darwin had indulged less in theory, and had enlarged the number of his facts, our satisfaction would have been complete. ART. II. The Piccolomini, or the First Part of Wallenstein; a Drama in Five Acts. Translated from the German of Frederick Schiller by S. T. Coleridge. 8vo. pp. 214. 4s. sewed. Longman and Rees. 1800. The Death of Wallenstein. A Tragedy. From the Same, by the Same. 8vo. pp. 157. 4s. sewed. Longman, &c. "HE story of the aspiring Duke of Friedland, whose family name was Walstein, or Wallenstein, and who was the THE fortunate fortunate opponent of Gustavus Adolphus, has long been fami liar to men of historical knowlege. Lately, it has been introduced to general renders, in a Concise View of the Thirty-years-wars published by Schiller*. In Germany, the plot will naturally be interesting, as the poet has adhered pretty closely to the facts but in this country it is not calculated to excite much attention, especially under the disadvantage of the languid translation through which it is offered to our view. Mr. Coleridge, indeed, has spoken very modestly respecting the merits of his version, which he professes to have rendered as literal as the idioms of the two languages would permit. Perhaps, however, a judicious alteration of Schiller's work would have been more acceptable to readers of good taste. The division of the action into two plays renders the plot in sufferably tedious; and, even with the engrafted love-intrigue, the interest flattens extremely before the catastrophe. compensate for this defect, however, the pieces are more regular than many other productions of the German theatre; and they are at least free from absurdity. Wallenstein's belief in astrology forms a part of both tragedies: but this error was almost universal in that age. It is remarked by Mr. Coleridge, that these plays may be said to bear the same relation to the Robbers and the Cabal and Love of Schiller, with that which the historical plays of Shakspeare bear to his Lear and Othello. Yet, in the most meagre of Shakspeare's Histories, we occasionally meet with passages of uncommon beauty, which imprint themselves indelibly on our minds; and we have not observed any sentiments or expressions of this kind in the tragedies before use That we may do justice to the translator, we shall extract part of two scenes, which he has pointed out as singularly deserving of praise. First, from the first drama: Octavio. My son, the nursling of the camp spoke in thee! A war of fifteen years Hath been thy education and thy school. Peace hast thou never witness'd! There exists An higher than the warrior's excellence. Builds his light town of canvass, and at once * A translation of this work has been published, and we shall give an account of it in a future Number, The The whole scene moves and bustles momently, With arms, and neighing steeds, and mirth and quarrel! Are crowded with new freights, trade stirs and hurries! But on some morrow morn, all suddenly, The tents drop down, the horde renews its march. Dreary, and solitary as a church-yard The meadow and down trodden seed-plot lie, And the year's harvest is gone utterly. Max. O let the Emperor make peace, my father! Most gladly would I give the blood-stain'd laurel Pluck'd in those quiet fields where I have journey'd! Octavio. What ails thee? What so moves thee all at once? 'Max. Peace have I ne'er beheld? I have beheld it. From thence am I come hither: O! that sight, Which we have ne'er experienc'd. We have been Like some poor ever-roaming horde of pirates, That, crowded in the rank and narrow ship, Nor know aught of the main land, but the bays Where safeliest they may venture a thieves' landing. Of fair and exquisite, O! nothing, nothing, Octavio. (attentive, with an appearance of uneasiness)-And Max. 'Twas the first leisure of my life. O tell me, What is the meed and purpose of the toil, The painful toil, which robb'd me of my youth, Left me an heart unsoul'd and solitary, A spirit uninform'd, unornamented. For the camp's stir and crowd and ceaseless larum, The neighing war-horse, the air-shatt'ring trumpet, Word of command, and exercise of arms- There's nothing here, there's nothing in all this To satisfy the heart, the gasping heart! Mere bustling nothingness, where the soul is not This cannot be the sole felicity, These cannot be man's best and only pleasures! Octavio. Much hast thou learnt, my son, in this short journey. Max. O! day thrice lovely! when at length the soldier Returns home into life; when he becomes A fellow-man among his fellow-men. REV. OCT. 1800. K The The colours are unfurl'd, the cavalcade Marshals, and now the buz is hush'd, and hark! With green boughs, the last plund'ring of the fields. They need no longer the petard to tear them. Which they make breezy with affectionate gestures. O happy man, O fortunate! for whom The well known door, the faithful arms are open, speak Of such a distant, distant time, and not Of the to-morrow, not of this to-day.' Ö! that you should The other passages are taken from the last act of the second play, immediately before the murder of Wallenstein: • Wallenstein (rises and strides across the saloon). The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy chamber. Countess. Bid me not go, O let me stay with thee! • Wallenstein (moves to the window). There is a busy motion in The wind doth chace the flag upon the tower, White stain of light, that single glimmʼring yonder, Is Jupiter. (A pause.) But now The blackness of the troubled element hides him! (He sinks inte profound melancholy, and looks vacantly into the distance.) Countess (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his hand). What art thou brooding on? < Wallenstein. -Methinks, If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me. He is the star of my nativity, And often marvellously hath his aspect Shot strength into my heart. Countess. Thou'lt see him again. • Wallenstein (remains for a while with absent mind, then assumes a livelier manner, and turns suddenly to the Countess). See him again? O never, never again. Countess. How? Wallenstein. He is gone-is dust. • Wallenstein, |