We have here called her Selvaggia, instead of Ricciarda, because after her death the poet seems to have preferred addressing her by that name in his verses. What was the glory he had won to him now compared with her gentle love? Ay, even with its memory, he would have bartered it for that only, and left himself rich in sweet thoughts! This occurrence gave rise to the most striking of all Cino's compositions, which abounds with passion and eloquence. What pathos there is in the description of his manly grief, as he mourned over the dream of their past happiness! The last stanza is particularly natural, and therefore affecting, telling, "how he arose up at length, and went sadly on his way, and passed the mountain summits where they had so often wandered lovingly together, crying aloud in accents of wildness and despair, Selvaggia!-my Selvaggia!'" 6 Oh! let us also treasure up, my fair readers, in our woman's hearts, the memory of that true poet and true lover! In the history of Italian poetry, Ricciarda de' Selvaggia is distinguished as the “bel numer una," the "fair number one," or the first of the four most celebrated women of that century; the others were Dante's Beatrice, Petrarch's Laura, and Boccaccio's Fiammetta. In the venerable and time-hallowed cathedral at Pistoia, built by the Countess Matilda in the early part of the twelfth century, and afterwards restored to even more than its original beauty by the famous Nicolo di Pisa, there is an ancient, half-effaced bas-relief, representing Cino da Pistoia, surrounded by his disciples, to whom he is explaining the code of civil law, which he might have done to all eternity without getting his name celebrated, but for that gentler lore-that sweet poesy to which he owes his fame. A little behind stands a veiled female figure in a pensive attitude, supposed to be originally intended for her whose name has become blended with his throughout all immortality Ricciarda de' Selvaggia! So ends a true history of woman's love and man's faithfulness. And we could have wished it a more able chronicler, for it deserves to have been written in characters of gold! A GLANCE AT GOWER AND "THE GOWERIANS." BY D. T. EVANS, ESQ. THE Peninsula of Gower, about sixteen miles in length, by seven in breadth, stretches far into the Bristol Channel, forming the south-west extremity of the county of Glamorgan. As it lies clear of the line of communication between any two important places, and contains no town, it is probably less perfectly known to the novelty-seeking world than any part of equal extent of surface, having pretensions to the picturesque, in the United Kingdoms. Yet to those who, relying upon the veracity of this notice, may, in their tour through the principality, be at the pains of visiting it, we can safely promise no small amount of gratification, if not of positive pleasure. The Geologist who examines its fossil-bedded mountains, its scarry, sea-fretted shores, and towering strata-bared cliffs, will find in them ample fields for observation and research. To him, also, the now celebrated caves at Paviland, so rich in osseous remains-which have been most minutely and ably described by Professor Buckland, must be objects of the highest interest. The Antiquary will discover in the tumuli druidic remains and ancient fortifications, which lie thickly scattered over the country, and attest its former importance, much that is worthy of, and will repay, investigation. The Sportsman will find game of all kinds abundant and the proprietors of land liberal. But to the Artist, and those who delight in the picturesque, above all, is the Seigniory of Gower interesting. Though tolerably acquainted with the principality, we do not at this present remember any part of such limited dimensions which presents a greater diversity of pictorial beauties. You are charmed at every advance with a fresh picture. Nothing can be bolder than its indented rocky shores; nothing more perfect than its inland scenes. Its lofty tempest-blackened mountains, with their girdles of mist; its sheltered hamlets besprent with cottages and churches-sweet evidences of rural peace and contentment! its rugged ravines, whose sides, clothed with birch and oak, overhang the water-brooks which brawl through their bottoms-now glittering in some natural cascade, now shining smoothly in a mill-dam, afford abundant and profitable employment for the pencil; whilst its numerous castles, from whose now crumbling portals, seven hundred years ago, the arbitrary and impetuous Norman rode proudly forth in his linked mail, strike the beholder with admiration, and impress him with a vivid sense of the transitoriness and vanity of mere worldly pomp and power. Nor are the people less interesting than the country they inhabit. They are the descendants of a colony of Flemings, who, having suffered from the partial inundation of their country, A.D. 1105, applied to King Henry I. for leave to settle in his territories, and received a grant of the tract they at present occupy. And with the soil (which they had frequently to defend by force of arms), they have singularly preserved, through subsequent ages, the manners, customs, and spirit of the nation whence they derived their origin. Though among the peasantry on the mainland adjoining Welsh is exclusively spoken, their language is English, or rather a peculiar dialect of it. It abounds in words, which, if ever they had a place in our tongue, are long since become obsolete; but its prevailing radical is the Saxon-a feature that would have delighted Swift. The difference in physical form, in costume, and cleanliness between this people and the Welsh, is not less striking than that of their respective languages. Devoted for the most part to pastoral and agricultural duties, the life they lead is as unsophisticate and simple, as was that of the Patriarchs recorded in the Scriptures. Temperate, hospitable, religious, they are superstitious to the last degree; hence, many are the tales of ghostly appearances and preternatural doings, which, to beguile time and gratify the natural cravings for excitement, circulate gravely round the evening fire. They intermarry almost entirely among themselves; and to this hour evince reserve and jealousy towards the CambroBritons, their neighbours. Their dress is chiefly of domestic manufacture. The women wear a garment called a whittle,-a kind of scarf either of bright scarlet or of white, which is thrown over one shoulder and carried under the opposite arm in a most picturesque fashion: within this they frequently bind their infants, whilst their hands are engaged in household duties, or in knitting, which latter occupation some of them do not remit even whilst walking. Again, the vehicles used for rustic purposes are of the most simple construction. The artist and antiquary will be delighted to find in constant use the most grotesque sledges, and carts with wheels of solid wood, rivalling in rudeness those of the primitive ages of vehicular invention. Persons who have long resided amongst them say, that the most prominent dark features of their character are cunning and a proneness to litigation-qualities which, where family interests are so intricately blended as here they must be, we can well suppose common. Formerly they had a bad name as wreckers, and though that stigma no longer attaches to them, there are reasons for believing they indulge occasionally in contraband trade. Having now reached the limits, we propose devoting to this notice of Gower and its interesting people, a few words more and we close it. The Cambrian tourist usually overlooks this remote and sequestered district, yet that it affords much that is worthy of examination is, we think, undeniable. He, then, who, weary of the inanities and follies of fashionable and artificial life, or of the fret and tumult of this businessdriving world, longs to refresh his thirsty soul with a draught from the calm and pure currents of Nature, cannot, in our opinion, do better than devote a few days to an excursion through Gower. Moving amongst a quaint and primitive-fashioned people, he will feel as though he had plunged into the heart of a former century: new scenes and grotesque characters will start up momently before him, which, if he be even a commonplace observer of men and manners, will afford him no small amount of edification and amusement; neither will he deem his time wasted, nor his money misspent-reflections which, however unwelcome, not unfrequently obtrude themselves on those who make more expensive but less profitable tours. MARTHA BEYNON: A STORY. CHAP. I. Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey. GRAY'S Bard. IT was Wednesday of the second week in April. The morn was such as when living Cuyp loved to paint, and one might suppose his disimbodied spirit to preside over and rejoice in. It might be about eight o'clock. The sun had already clomb several degrees of his matutinal journey he shone through a delicate pearly haze on a landscape quiet and beautiful as the eye could wish, giving colour to some light fleecy clouds, which were silently and imperceptibly ascending the blue vault of heaven-pale incense of Earth to the great spirit of the Universe. From this gentle acclivity of the Swansea-road, let us look westward. Imbosomed in a short and narrow valley beneath us, lies the humble village of Park-mill, in Gower. On our right, the road, skirted on the steep side by picturesque, yellow-washed cottages, and on the other by a low parapet-wall, runs (intersected in one place by a brook, over which is thrown a rude bridge for foot-passengers) the entire length of the hollow, and becomes lost to view among the oak-woods and moss-grown rocks which at the valley's end it encounters. Through the meadow which forms the centre of the dale, a noble trout-stream chafes and whirls impetuously along, receiving in its sinuous course, first, the waters from a mill, which, with a few houses, may be seen nestled under the pendulous cliffs on the left; and next, those which cross the road; together, these force their way through a disrupted outlet to the sea, admitting, in their passage through the sandbanks, a glimpse of that noble element, now heaving gently in the sunbeams. To these objects add the sprawling woods which clothe the hilltops, the scattered groups of cattle lying ruminating in the dewy pastures, their faces turned towards "the god of day," and the picture is faithfully complete. Lending animation to this quite scene, three persons ascend the hill and approach us. First comes a respectable-looking, elderly yeoman, mounted on a heavy, unkempt, black horse, and leading a more showy gray, ready saddled, by his side. He wears a low-crowned hat, a loosemade great-coat of a strawberry colour, and huge boots, which, judging by their long brown tops, appear to have had their origin in a fashion of some forty years back, since when, after the custom of thrifty people, they had probably been laid up to be used only on highday and holiday occasions, of which we may be assured this is one. He passes slowly in the direction of Swansea. His massive features, fringed by locks of snowy hair, have that easy, good humoured look, which belongs, as it were prescriptively, to those who, like Sordido in the comedy, have their purses heavy and their hearts light. Absorbed in his own agreeable reflections, he seems totally indifferent to the charms of the scenery through which he moves. Behind him, at a distance of some hundred yards, follow a young man and woman afoot. The summit of the road attained, they turn and look down the valley beneath them. Nor did a handsomer couple ever gaze on that lovely landscape. Their dress and carriage indicate them to be above the common people of the country. The young man is tall, with a figure firmly-knit, erect, and wellproportioned. His countenance, if physiognomy may be trusted, is the index of a noble and generous soul. His brow, as far as can be seen, is fair and ample, his nose aquiline, his yellow hair fringes a pair of downy, weather-tanned cheeks, with two natural ringlets; while his blue eyes, and finely-curved mouth, add great sweetness of expression to his smile. You would not say that he was seven-andtwenty years old; nor that he was accustomed to command; yet such is the case. His name is Benjamin Rowe; he is the son of a respectable man, captain and owner of a small schooner trading across channel, with iron, coal, and lime. So distinguished has been his character for intelligence, probity, and prudence, that he has been for these six years past first-mate of a large barque called "The Fav'rite of Fortune," trading, chiefly in copper ore, from Swansea to Valparaiso, and St. Jago de Cuba. About three months ago he quitted the merchant-service, and has since obtained a local appointment in the coastguard-measures he was prevailed on to adopt by the fair girl who now stands beside him, and whom he intends toj marry on the following Monday. It is to make the requisite arrangements for this event, that, in company with her father, he is now on his way to Swan sea. The girl who leans upon his arm is "exceeding beautiful and wellfavoured," like Rachel of old. Her name is Martha Beynon. She wears a "drawn bonnet" of a white fabric, with a deep curtain to screen her neck from the sunbeams. A lilac-coloured gown fitting closely, displays to advantage a somewhat slender, but most symmetrical figure. Long-sleeved mittens of a black material are drawn over her finely-moulded arms. Her neck, of which we get a glimpse in front, above the kerchief of blue gauze that covers it, is perfectly fair; but the charms of her face,-who shall adequately convey? It is one of those gleesome, laughing countenances that betoken, in the possessor, a large share of vivacity and good-temper. Her black hair is divided with scrupulous exactness over a lofty forehead, and carried in smooth shining bands behind her ears, imparting, by contrast, the greatest brilliancy to her complexion. Her large, dark, lustrous eyes have a remarkably arch and mirthful expression. Her nose is straight as that of a Greek maiden; her cheeks glow richly with the bloom of health, and her red tempting lips, which change form with every passing emotion, indicate the possession of an exquisite sensibility. After gazing some time in silence on the scene below, the young man exclaimed, "Was there ever spring morning more beautiful than this! To my thinking, the transparent mist that hangs over all things like a veil, gives them additional interest." |