1829.] NOR Ancient Screen at Norton Fitzwarren. Mr. URBAN, East Devon, April 5. WORTON Fitzwarren is a village in Somersetshire, distant about three miles north-west from Taunton on the road to Wiveliscombe. It gives title to the hundred and derives the adjunct to its name from the ancient and honourable race of the Bourchiers Lords Fitzwarren, the ancestors by female heirs of the Earls of Bath and many other distinguished families. This manor, with those of Novington, Huntshill, and others in Somersetshire, and those of Bampton, Tavistock, Kingston, Nymet-Tracy, and others in Devonshire, formed in the reign of Edward IV. part of the extensive possessions of the Fitzwarrens. That family had, in all probability, a residence in this place, for there are some remains nearly adjoining the church-yard which indicate the former existence of a mansion-house of considerable consequence. The interior of the ancient church of. Norton Fitzwarren presents an interesting object which, connected as it is with an existing tradition, appears worthy of being rescued from oblivion. This is an ancient screen which divides the chancel from the nave, and like those still existing in many churches of the west of England, is carved in oak in a spirited and elegant style. It forms six open arches adorned with foliage and tabernacle work, and it is surmounted by a long pannel or compartment, which forins the subject of the accompanying sketch. (Plate II. fig. 1.) The figures are in high relief upon a ground of vine leaves, and are severally gilded and painted of various colours, producing a striking effect. Commencing with the subject at the northern end we have three hunting dogs of various breeds; the first is a greyhound, the others are hounds, one yellow and the other black; next is a man in a yellow jerkin with red hose and cap, holding in his left hand a circular implement; he seems either on the point of falling a sacrifice to the monster which forms the next figure, or employed in at tempting to entrap him. This animal is carved with great spirit, and is painted black with a golden stripe on his back. A man is next represented with a bow in his hand, and seems to be making his escape; he is dressed in red, with a yellow hat and shoes. We GENT. MAG. April, 1829. 305 have then three yoke of oxen dragging a plough, which is remarkable for the rudeness of its structure; the ploughman and driver are painted in a similar' manner to the other human figures; next follows a seedsman with his seedlip or box: the figure which is next is naked, and appears to be meant for a female; her hands are joined in the attitude of prayer, and she seems a resigned victim to the black monster, which is in the act of devouring her. Then come the letters which seem to record the name of the churchwarden: of the period, “Kaphe harue C. W.” and these are succeeded by the three naked figures whose attitudes and employment it is difficult to interpret; the last two hold each other by the hair, and appear to have each a piece of rope in their hands. On inquiry to what event this remarkable sculpture is said to relate, I was informed that it records the fact of a man at plough. having been devoured by an enormous serpent, and a field on the south side of the village was pointed out to me as the spot where the circumstance oc curred. Yours, &c. Mr. URBAN, J. D. April 6. SEND you the details of a very beautiful door-way, (Plate II. fig.. 2,) in the Saxon style of ornament, lately discovered in the wall of the church of St. Mary Overy, (now St. Saviour's,) Southwark. It is situated. near the western side of the north transept, and was concealed by the coating of modern brick-work which has long deformed the exterior of that. venerable building. The opening of this door was about six feet in width, the breadth of the surrounding ornamental masonry three feet; presenting altogether a receding front of twelve feet. The height of the whole from. the ground is about ten feet: this latter point, however, I could not accurately ascertain, the plinths of the small supporting columns not being visible. Some portions of the ornamental mouldings are much decayed, appa-: rently by the operation of the weather before the portal was bricked up. The ornaments No. 3 and No. 4. are designed in a very beautiful style; the latter is particularly remarkable, from its being the Grecian honeysuckle pattern, tastefully combined with: 306 Saxon Door-way at St. Mary Overy's. banded circles, having shoots of foliage proceeding from the flower, elegantly interlaced with the circles. This honey-suckle moulding is sharply sculptured in the reddish stone, commonly called Caen stone. It is composed of separate pieces about eight inches in length; and the parts of the pattern being in many places mismatched, they must have been put together by very careless or ignorant workmen. Stowe alludes to the foundation of this church, according to a popular tale long before the conquest, by a maiden named Mary, who endowed it with the profits of a neighbouring ferry over the Thames. A legendary story, composed in all probability for the sake of a fanciful etymology, deducing Overy from "of the ferry," when "over Rhie," over the river, is so much more obvious and natural. The historian then informs us that it was refounded for regular canons, anno. 1106, by William Pont de L'Arch and William Dauncy, Norman knights, being in the seventh year of the reign of Henry I.; that William Gifford, bishop of Winchester, was a great benefactor to the undertaking, and built at his own cost the body of the church. The figure of a knight attired in chain mail, carved in a spirited manner, and now placed upright in the north transept of the church, perhaps represents one of the Norman founders. The-door way I have described, is probably part of Gifford's edifice; and, as I trust we may shortly look forward to the entire restoration of this beautiful church, on principles derived, as far as any authority may remain, from the style of the ancient dilapidated pile, we may hope that among the portions to be restored this truly elegant example of Saxonormanic decoration will not be overlooked. [April, event which every lover of literature must contemplate with the most lively feelings of satisfaction. At a moment when the advantages of such an institution are so generally acknowledged, and its establishment so warmly patronized, it may not perhaps be useless to call attention to the fact, that we are as yet unprovided with any similar Society for enriching our language with the masterpieces of modern Europe. It will, doubtless, be alleged that we stand in need of none such-that the activity of our literary men, and the spirited enterprise of our booksellers, are sufficient without any extrinsic aid. We shall be referred to our spacious libraries of English books, rich with the translated treasures of many a foreign tongue, and it will be indignantly demanded wherefore the efforts of any exclusive' Society are required. This argument has prevailed with many, but a very slight examination will, I think, suffice to convince us that it is much more plausible and specious than true. Many of these pretended translations are in fact disgraceful to the nations and literature to which they belong. Those of voyages, travels, &c., have generally been executed by some obscure hack, often hurried into error by the haste of some mercenary bookseller, looking only to his profits, and are consequently replete with foreign phrases, with errors in grammar, and with gross mistakes. Even such as they are, however, if any taste had been exercised in their selection, they might have been allowed some praise; but it is needless to observe to any one who has had an opportunity of investigating the subject, that a perverse ingenuity seems to have been exercised in choosing the most flimsy and unauthentic works for the purpose of translation. In addition to this, the northern and less known languages are, unless on very rare and particular occasions, indeed never resorted to, and consequently some of the most interesting information on foreign countries still lies to us inaccessible and unknown. Works of geographical erudition also, in whatever language published, are generally left to themselves. Hitherto, only voyages and travels have been spoken of; other departments of literature are in a condition equally deplorable, and their respec 1829.] Italian and Spanish Writers worthy of Translation. tive deficiencies could be easily pointed out, did time permit. In order, how ever, to prove in the most distinct and regular manner to the reader, how much an institution of the nature already mentioned is required, it will perhaps be best to lay him a short list of the translations most needed in the department of Polite Literature, (the same which a ridiculous fashion has accustomed us to hear denominat ed the Belles Lettres.) to With respect to Italy, the first country of modern Europe which awoke from literary lethargy, we are in a much better condition than usual. We have an excellent translation of Dante by Mr. Carey, (it is to be regretted however, that it is not in the same singular rhyme as the original,) and we have a still better of Ariosto by Mr. William Stewart Rose, which is now rapidly approaching to a conclusion. Of Tasso, a version has lately been given us by Mr. Wiffen ; but that gentleman having chosen the Spenserian or nine-lined stanza translate a poem written in what is called Ottava Rima, consisting of only eight lines and of a totally different construction, the effect produced has been such, that a first-rate translation of this excellent poet is still "to come." Petrarca (as it is now, and very properly, becoming the fashion to denoninate him whom we formerly, in imitation of the French, misnamed Petrarch,) has met with an excellent translator, (as far as can be judged from the specimens given in Ugo Foscolo's Essay,) in Barberina Lady Dacre; but as the fair Petrarchist has not yet given to the light the chief part of her labours, we cannot as yet be said to possess an adequate English version of the Italian bard of love. The minor poets have, perhaps, met with rather more attention than they deserve, when it is considered how much we have neglected even the masterspirits of less famous countries. We have two specimens of a translation of Fortiguerra's Ricciardetto, a whole one of Tassoni's Secchia Rapita, and a select one of Berni's Re-formation of Boiardo's Orlando Innamorato. All these are sufficiently well executed, especially when the second-rate fame of their authors is considered; but the delightful Pastor Fido' of Guarini, and the Aminta' of Tasso, its still more delightful prototype, have cer 307 tainly not appeared in an English garb of their fame and of their merits, although Leigh Hunt's translation of the latter, published a few years ago, is a very creditable effort, and certainly superior to his noble friend Lord Byron's somewhat careless first canto of the Morgante Maggiore. Lloyd's Alfieri has left us nothing to wish for in that respect; but it is much to be regretted that we have not before now seen Englished a selection from the comedies of Goldini. In lyric poetry, where are we to seek for versions of Pastorini, Chiabrera, or Filicaja ? When we turn to Spain the prospect becomes infinitely more dreary. Where are our translations of Lope de Vega, of Calderon, of Antonio de Solis, of Tirso de Molina, of Moreto, the glories of the ancient Spanish stage? We have not even selections or specimens to offer. These deficiencies are really disgraceful. With the exception of our own Elizabethan age, the whole history of literature presents us with no brighter era of dramatic genius than that contemporaneous one in which these illustrious authors flourished. Sir Richard Fanshaw translated, more than two hundred years ago, 'Querer por solo Querer,' (Loving for Loving's sake,') and this, be it spoken to our shame, is apparently the only Spanish play that we have translated at length. Surely, when our booksellers and our literary men have been so inactive, as in this instance they are proved to be, a Society of some sort or other is required to supply omissions, so glaringly important. The Spanish lyrists have been treated with almost equal neglect. Garcilasso de la Vega has indeed met with a translator, and an able, though occasionally an incorrect one, in Mr. Wiffen; but Boscan, the predecessor of Garcilasso, Luis de Leon, pronounc ed not only by native but by foreign critics, to be the most successful imitator of Horace in any modern language, the two Argensolas, Herrera, Villegas, and 'last, but not least,' Melendez, all these are at once worthy of many translations, and destitute of any. In epic poetry Spain has not much perhaps to boast, when compared with Italy, Portugal and England; but surely the Araucana of Ercilla, and the Mexico Conquistada of Escoiquiz, are worthy of an English dress,-the former was highly admired by Hayley, no bad judge perhaps of poetry, though |