1822.] 
and pronounces the doom of Cain, con- 
cluding by setting the mark upon his 
brow. Seed then prepare to go forth 
into the wilderness, and Cain turns to 
apostrophize his murdered brother. 
Oh ! thou dead 
And everlasting witness! whose unsinking 
Blood darkens earth and heaven! What 
thou now art 
I know not! but if thou see’st what I am, 
I think thou wilt forgive me, whom his God 
Can ne’er forgive, nor his own soul. Fare- 
well! 
I must not, dare not touch what I have 
made thee. 
I, who sprung from the same womb with 
thee, drain’d 
The same breast, clasp’d thee often to my 
own 
In fondness brotherly and boyish, I 
Can never meet thee more, nor even dare 
To do that for thee which thou should’st 
have done 
For me—compose thy limbs into their 
grave— 
The first grave yet dug for mortality. 
But who hath dug that grave? Oh earth! 
Oh earth! 
For all the fruits thou hast rendered tome,I 
Give thee back this. Now for the, wilder- 
ness ! 
Adah [Stoops down and hisses the body 
of Abel.| 
A dreary and an early doom, my brother! 
Has been thy lot! Of all who mourn for thee, 
I alone must not weep. My office is 
Henceforth to dry up tears, and not to shed 
them. 
But yet, of all who mourn, none mourn 
like me, : 
Not only for thyself, but him whoslew thee. 
Now, Cain! 1 will divide thy burthen with 
thee. 
The extent of our extracts from the 
Mystery, leaves us no room to enter par- 
ticularly, at present, upon the merits 
of the two tragedies. The whole vo- 
lume, however, is equally open to the 
remark, which is forced upon us by re- 
ated instances, that the author in- 
dulges in a license of versification be- 
yond all fair limits; and which would 
almost lead us to conclude that he first 
sketches his subject in prose, and after- 
wards reduces the composition, by a 
summary process, into blank verse. In 
his finest passages, however, his mea- 
sure always improves into smoothness 
and harmony; and we see no reason 
why, in any pace, he should affect a 
prosaic ruggedness, which is quite inad- 
missible into any composition which 
eres to be governed by even the 
oosest laws of poetical rhyme. 
Before we conclude, we shall briefly 
Management of Apple Trees. 
16 
make our readers acquainted with the 
story of the two tragedies, which we 
cannot more minutely detail. ‘The fate 
of the two Foscari is interesting. The 
-elder is Doge of Venice, and in that ca- 
pacity is called upon to sit in judgment 
on his son, who is accused of having 
infringed the laws of the state, and is 
subjected to cruel tortures. The sen- 
tence finally pronounced is that of ex- 
ile, against which the feelings of the 
victim revolt so strongly as to occasion 
his sudden death. The father perishes 
in the same way, when the malevolence 
of his enemies has succeeded in divest- 
ing him of the ducal dignity, after en- 
joying it for upwards of thirty years. 
With respect to Sardanapalus, it will be 
sufficient to observe, that he was King of 
Nineveh, and much addicted to an in- 
temperate indulgence in his pleasures ; 
aud that he was deprived of his life and 
crown by the issue of a successful con- 
spiracy. 
ee 
To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine. 
SIR, 
ian correspondent, Henry S. 
Mitchell, in your Magazine of 
Noy. 1. page 306, makes a call for 
further explanation from me on the 
management of apple trees. When I 
observed many were unacquainted with 
trees having three rinds, I meant no 
reflection on gardeners, but it arose 
from a gentleman having stripped his 
trees of the three rinds, so that the sap 
could not rise in cireulation to nourish 
and support life; in consequence the 
trees all died. 
In my instruction in the way I ma- 
nage my very o/d trees, 1 thought the 
mode I gave was perfectly clear, but 
your correspondent thought otherwise, 
therefore I shall endeavour to make my 
method more clear. In my address 
your correspondent, on reading my 
instruction, will find I was only observ- 
ing upon very old trees ; I shallnow en- 
deavour to explain myself more clearly. 
It is observable in very old trees the 
greater part of the outward rind is 
mostly loose, so that it will easily peel 
off, and what will not come off, I take a 
bill and cut away, taking care to in- 
jure the middle rind as little as pos 
sible, though not to be preveuted in 
a small degree. I took a small hoe, 
and crossed every branch to clear away 
the moss, in doing which you will 
scrape a little off the thin coat of the 
outward rind, which will rather be of 
service than an injury; and all can- 
kered 
