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Forgive me that thou canst not love; and, if my hope is vain,

May Heaven, in pitying mercy, soon unloose thy heavy chain !

SONG.

TUNE" Maggie Lauder."

By Captain Charles Gray, of the Royal Marines.

THOUGH Boreas bauld, that carl auld,
Should sough a surly chorus;
And Winter fell walk out himsel',

And throw his mantle o'er us;
Though winds blaw drift adown the lift,
And drive hail-stanes afore 'em,
While you an' I sit snug an' dry,
Let's push about the jorum !

Though no a bird can now be heard

Upon the leafless timmer;

Whate'er betide, the ingle side

Can mak' the winter simmer!

Though cauldrife souls hate reeking bowls,
Wi' faces lang an' gloomy,
While here we tout the glasses out,

We want na' fields that's bloomy!

The hie hill taps, like baxters' baps,

Wi' snaw are white an' flowery; Skyte down the lum, the hailstanes come In Winter's wildest fury! Sharp Johnny Frost wi' barkynt hoast Maks trav'lers tramp the quicker; Shou'd he come here to spoil our cheer, We'll drown him in the bicker!

Bess, beet the fire-come big it higher,
Lest cauld sou'd mak us canker'd;
Be this our hame, my dainty dame,
Sae, fill the tither tankard!
Wi' guid ait cakes, or butter bakes,
And routh o' whisky toddy,
Wha daur complain, or mak a mane,
He's but a saulless body!

AN EXTEMPORE TO BESSY. LET puling poets vaunt their flame For Mary or for Fanny, My heart contains one only name— A name more dear than any; And if you ask that name from me, 'Tis not Jane, Anne, nor Jessie; It is a name worth all the three,What could it be but Bessy?

Gods! if you saw her hazel eye,
Her teeth like rows of pearl,
You'd own, I guess, with many a sigh,
That she might match an earl;
And if you saw her raven hair,
So ringlety and tressy,

I'll stake my honour you would swear
No earl could match with Bessy.

The number that her charms have slain
Exceeds my computation;

I'm sure no wonder were she vain,
For she has thinn'd the nation!
Though thousands fell at Waterloo,
At Agincourt and Cressy,

Those thousands would seem very few,
Beside those kill'd by Bessy.

Yet little does she think, I ween,
How deeply men adore her;

She knows not that she walks a queen,
With slaves bent down before her;
She is not given to idle show,
She is not vain nor dressy;
In pure and tranquil current flow
The thoughts and hopes of Bessy.
Long, long I've worshipp'd at her shrine,
I've wander'd from it never;

O! would to heaven that she were mine,
My own-my own for ever!
But I've not ask'd her yet;-I fear
To make the dreadful essay;

I'll cut my throat from ear to ear,
If refuse
you

me, Bessy.

H. G. B.

LITERARY CHIT-CHAT AND VARIETIES.

We understand that a new edition of the late Archdeacon Daubeny's celebrated work, The Guide to the Church, is in preparation. It will be published in November, in two volumes, and the profits will be applied to the Pantonian Theological Professorship in Edinburgh belonging to the Scottish Episcopal Church. A Memoir of the Author, by his son, Colonel Daubeny, of Bath, and a portrait, will be prefixed to this edition, which is in a state of very considerable forwardness.

In a few days will be published, Dr Calamy's Historical Account of his own Life, with some Reflections upon the Times in which he lived, from 1671 to 1731.

The work announced under the title of "Stories of Waterloo" is on the eve of publication.

The Novel called Herbert Milton has been translated into German, by Mr Richards, formerly a Lieutenant in the Hanoverian service; and the same gentleman is now employed on Devereux, having already given Pelham and The Disowned a German dress. These translations are said to be popular in Germany.

There will shortly appear an Account of Captain Mignan's Pedes. trian Journey in Southern Mesopotamia, Ul Jezira, and the Arabian Iråk. For some years past, the Captain has commanded the bodyguard of the East India Company resident in Turkish Arabia, and is the first and only Englishman that ever performed a tour on foot through these unfrequented countries, under the assumed garb and character of a Turkish officer, in the service of his Highness the Pasha of Bagdad. This indefatigable young traveller has traversed a great part of Arabia, Susiana, Chaldea, Assyria, Adiabene, and the whole of ancient Babylonia.

Mr and Mrs Lockhart are still on a visit to Sir Walter Scott, at Abbotsford. Mr L. has just finished his new edition of The Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, for writing which, it is said, Murray has given him five hundred guineas.

WILLS OF SHAKSPEARE, MILTON, AND NAPOLEON BONAPARTE -The last wills and testaments of the three greatest men of modern ages are tied up in one sheet of foolscap, and may be seen together at Doctors'-Commons. In the will of the bard of Avon is an interlineation in his own handwriting;-" I give unto my wife my brown best bed with the furniture." It is proved by William Bryde, 22d July, 1616. The will of the minstrel of Paradise is a nuncupative one, taken by his daughter, the great poet being blind. The will of Napoleon is signed in a bold style of handwriting; the codicil, on the contrary, written shortly before his death, exhibits the then weak state of his body.

FINE ARTS.-Campbell's colossal Equestrian Statue of the Earl of Hopetoun may be seen at the Rooms of the Royal Institution. The place does not do it full justice, for its proportions are calculated for an elevated situation. There is something fine and noble in the expression of the whole group. The neck and legs of the horse are beautiful.-The outline drawing from Macdonald's statues, litho graphed by Forrester, which we announced some time ago, has been put into our hands. It is no compliment to Lander to say that it conveys a perfect notion of the group, which is all it aims at; but we have been induced again to notice it in justice to the lithographer. He has succeeded in giving a sharper and clearer outline than we have ever before seen in a lithographic drawing.-The successful competitor for the statue of the Duke of York will not be announced till January. In order that the judges may be the better enabled to make up their minds, the models and sketches have been deposited meanwhile in a cellar! In Paris, when such competitions take place, the works of the competitors are publicly exhibited; but we suppose that our judges are not so confident as the Parisians in their power to remain uninfluenced by the small talk of small critics. Fraser and Edmonstone visited Edinburgh the other day; and a greater than both-WILKIE-is here just now. He has been making an excellent speech at the Lord Provost's inaugural dinner.

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LITERARY CRITICISM.

The Borderers, a Tale. By the Author of "The Spy," "The Red Rover," "The Prairie," &c. In three volumes, 8vo. Pp. 299, 311, & 316. London. Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley. 1829.

sisted.

THE materials out of which Mr Cooper has constructed this work, are not so new to his readers on this side of the Atlantic as those of which his novels have generally conA sketch-feeble enough, it is true of the history of King Philip, is to be found in Washington Irving's Sketch Book; the destruction of an out-settlement of Europeans, in which there was an Indian captive and a child, has already been described by Cooper's fair countrywoman, the amiable author of "Hope Lessly;" and the attack of a frontier village, with the interposition of one of the fugitive judges of Charles I., lured from his hiding-place by the danger of his countrymen, is a legend which Sir Walter Scott has put into the mouth of Major Bridgenorth. These, with the opportunities which they afford of contrasting Indian character with that of the white intruders, or of pourtraying the effect of converse with Europeans upon the mind of the natives, and of domiciliation in a wigwam upon a child of civilization, will go nigh to exhaust the contents of "The Wept of Wishton-wish." But, as Mr Cooper has wrought up his materials after his own fashion, it will be fair to give an outline of his story, and some specimens of his way of telling it, before indulging in further remark upon it.

Captain Mark Heathcote, a strict but conscientious Puritan, laid aside his sword at an early period of those civil wars which terminated in the temporary abolition of monarchy in England, and crossed the Atlantic with his family. But even in the non-conforming province of Massachusetts, he felt his peculiar notions restrained by the presence of divines, and resolved, at an advanced age, to remove his habitation farther into the forest, there to worship God entirely according to his own notions. After a pretty diffuse retrospective detail of these events, the author begins his story in good earnest, by introducing us to the old man and his family at their settlement of Wishton-Wish, so called after an American bird, the first that the new-comers saw in the valley. Mark is riding home from his harvest field when he encounters a traveller, on a sorely jaded horse, who entreated food and shelter. In a newly-planted colony such things are readily granted. The stranger was introduced to the family, and the night was wearing away in sober conversation, when a remark of one of the inmates, that the rumours of disquiets among the savages must be unfounded, since one from the source of information travelled unarmed, led him to produce his concealed weapons. A witless boy, employed in tending the cattle, immediately recognised, on the blade of his long hunting knife, the wool of a wedder which was amissing. The master of the family called upon the stranger to explain this circumstance; and was answered by a request that he would look at the pistols on the table, as he might find on them something still more astonishing. and family, understanding from old Heathcote that he

His son

PRICE 6d.

wished to be left alone with the stranger, removed from the apartment. When they returned, the stranger had disappeared. Next morning, a detachment of troops arrived. The contents of the search-warrant which they produced remained a secret with Mark Heathcote; but the manner in which the strict examination of every corner of the house was conducted, and some chance expressions which fell from them, impressed the household with the conviction, that the object of their pursuit was the mysterious visitant of the preceding evening. The soldiers remained about the settlement for some days, and to all appearance were inclined to have made a yet longer stay, had they not been frightened off by a jealous servingman's tales of the Indians.

On the night of the stranger's visit, an Indian boy had been taken prisoner, and had been kept on the settlement by Mark, in hopes that intercourse with his family might prove a means of civilizing and converting him to Christianity. Mr Cooper paints in a quiet and touching manner the boy's loneliness among strangers, and his yearnings after his native haunts :

The resolute

"Instead of joining in the play of the other children, the young captive would stand aloof, and regard their sports with a vacant eye; or, drawing near to the palisadoes, he often passed hours in gazing at those boundless forests in which he first drew breath, and which probably contained all that was most prized in the estimation of his simple judgment. Ruth, touched to the heart by this silent but expressive exhibition of suffering, endeavoured in vain to win his confidence, with a view of enticing him into employments that might serve to relieve his care. but still quiet boy would not be lured into a forgetfulness of his origin. He appeared to comprehend the kind intentions of his gentle mistress, and frequently he even suffered himself to be led by the mother into the centre of her own joyous and merry offspring; but it was only to look upon their amusements with his former cold air, and to return, at the first opportunity, to his beloved site at the pickets. Still there were singular and even mysterious evidences of a consciousness of the nature of the discourse of which he was occasionally an auditor, that would have betrayed greater familiarity with the language and opinions of the inhabitants of the valley, than his known origin and his absolute withdrawal from communication could give reason to expect. This important and inexplicable fact was proved by the frequent and meaning glances of his dark eye, when aught was uttered in his hearing that affected, ever so remotely, his own condition; and once or twice, by the haughty gleamings of ferocity that escaped him, when Eben Dudley was heard to vaunt the prowess of the white men in their encounters with the original owners of the country."

The winter passed tranquilly over the heads of the inhabitants of Wish-ton-Wish. They began to take an interest in their Indian boy, and many were the devices suggested by the good-natured yeomen for securing his return, with a view to admit of his joining in their huntAt last, on a day when the spring was ing expeditions. soon expected, the old Puritan declared that the boy might now be allowed to accompany them, for he was The hunting party were assured that he would return. late of coming back; and when they did come, the Indian was not with them. While they were discoursing of his disappearance, and of a portent which had present

lonists to be aware that it was the chief of the pale-faces holding communion with his God. Partly in awe, and partly in doubt of what might be the consequences of so distance, and silently watched the progress of the destrucmysterious an asking, the dark crowd withdrew to a little tion.

"The roof of the block rekindled, and by the light that shone through the loops, it was but too evident the interior was in a blaze. Once or twice smothered sounds came out of the place, as if suppressed shrieks were escaping the females; but they ceased so suddenly as to leave doubts among the auditors whether it were more than the deception of their own excited fancies. The savages had witnessed many which death was received with so unmoved a calmness. a similar scene of human suffering, but never one before in The serenity that reigned in the blazing block communica ted to them a feeling of awe, and when the pile came, a tumbling and blackened mass of ruins, to the earth, they avoided the place, like men that dreaded the vengeance of a Deity, who knew how to infuse so deep a sentiment of resignation in the breasts of his worshippers."

The family had not, however, all perished in this fiery destruction. Those of them who had found shelter in the block, took refuge, when all their efforts proved unavailing, in the exhausted well; and as soon as the Indians had withdrawn, they issued from their confinement, and set about burying their dead, and re-edifying their dwellings, with all the deep religious trust, and stubborn perseverance of their sect.

ed itself to one of their number, the conch-shell, which hung at the postern gate sounded, at first feebly, then with a more confirmed note. It proved to be the stranger who, on his former visit, had departed so mysteriously, and with him the Indian boy. The stranger demanded a conference apart with old Mark, which was just ended when the conch again sounded, at first feebly, then with a more confirmed note, as if it had been an echo of the stranger's summons. A party proceeded to the postern, but no answer was returned to their challenge. One of them remained in ambush, but no one appeared, nor was the summons repeated. Towards morning, as the whole family were assembled, debating what might be the meaning of this disturbance, the conch was again heard, and again, as formerly, at first with a feeble, then with a stronger blast. The stranger undertook to join the ambush this time. He had ensconced himself, along with one of the farm-servants in one of the out-houses, when, after a very interesting scene, it was found that the Indians were in the neighbourhood, and a hot rencontre was the result. They were worsted, however, and in conformity to their mode of warfare, when discomfited in a first attack, kept themselves quiet for a while. The stranger employed the interval in seeking to elicit some information from a captive, who, on its being discovered that he belonged to the tribe of the besiegers, was sent as an envoy to enquire their intentions and cause of quarrel. He brought back for answer The story now passes over several years in silence, and a bundle of arrows, wrapt in the skin of a rattlesnake, when we again get sight of Wish-ton-Wish and its inhaIt being now evident to those in the house that their ut-bitants, we find both considerably altered. The clearing ter destruction was contemplated, the men betook them selves to the outer defences. In a short time the attack was renewed: the Indians pressed on with ferocity; the Europeans defended themselves with dogged resolution. The besiegers applied fire to the out-houses, which lay at some distance round the palisadoes, and in a few moments they were in a flame. Still the war continued, till the heat, the flashing of the flames, and arrows tipt with fire, succeeded in spreading the conflagration to the dwelling-house and its defences. The family of the Heathcotes betook themselves to the blockhouse, a kind of citadel, the basement story of which was built with stone, the upper one, like all the rest of the buildings, of wood. Owing to the hurry of the moment, and the simultaneous irruption of the Indians, a grandchild of the captain, and a half-witted boy who was carrying her, fell behind, and were captured. The Indians strove to extend burning to the blockhouse :

The Pa

has been extended wide and broad into the forest; where once the solitary mansion of Mark Heathcote stood, there is now a gentleman's residence, and a populous village, with its church, and that indispensable appendage of a frontier settlement, a large defensible building. Many of old Heathcote's hirelings have become householders, and influential men in their little community. triarch himself has grown older, and the lapse of years has begun to tell its tale even on his son. But the most marked difference is on the bereaved mother, whose sorrow for her daughter's loss, formerly mentioned as having been captured when a child by the Indians, has paled her cheek and dimmed her eye. Her wasted form serves, like the scorched and blackened ruin in their neighbourhood, to keep alive the fearful past in the bosom of happier days. One Sabbath morning, an inhabitant of the village, who had been on the outlook, brought to Heathcote a European, who had adopted the dress and customs of the Inher brother, the same half-witted lad who had been taken One of the females recognised in the changeling captive on the night of the burning of Wish-ton-Wish. The mother's hopes to learn something of her child's fate were again excited; but in vain, for the weak intellects of the youth had been so engrossed and confused with the associations of his forest life, that no blandishments could recall the remembrance of his boyish days. As ineffectual were all attempts to discover what had brought him back.

"A is trying moment the appalling cry was heard indians. the block, that the well had failed. The buckets ascended as empty as they went down, and they were thrown aside as no longer useful. The savages seemed to comprehend their advantage, for they profited by the confusion that succeeded among the assailed to feed the slumbering fires. The flames kindled fiercely, and in less than a minute they became too violent to be subdued. They were soon seen playing on the planks of the floor above. The subtle element flashed from point to point, and it was not long ere it was stealing up the outer side of the heated block itself.

"The savages now knew that conquest was sure. Yells and whoopings proclaimed the fierce delight with which they witnessed the certainty of their victory. Still there was something portentous in the death-like silence with which the victims within the block awaited their fate. The whole exterior of the building was already wrapped in flames, and yet no show of further resistance, no petition for mercy, issued from its bosom. The unnatural and frightful stillness that reigned within was gradually communicated to those without. The cries and shouts of triumph ceased, and the crackling of the flames or the falling of timber in the adjoining buildings alone disturbed the awful calm. At length a solitary voice was heard in the block. Its tones were deep, solemn, and imploring. The fierce beings who surrounded the glowing pile bent forward to listen, for their quick faculties caught the first sounds that were audible. It was Mark Heathcote pouring out his spirit in prayer. The petition was fervent, but steady; and though uttered in words that were unintelligible to those without, they knew enough of the practices of the co

The time arrived for the community to meet together in a new church which they had built, but the service of the day was doomed to receive a fearful interruption. While it was proceeding, the mysterious stranger entered the building, and called upon the men to stand to their arms, for the Indians were upon them; a summons which was soon enforced by the whoops of the savages rising on all sides from under the arches of the forest. Under the command of this extraordinary man, to whom all yielded an involuntary obedience, the villagers divided themselves into three parties, two of which hastened to oppose the enemy, while the third proceeded to the rescue of the Heathcotes.

old Heathcote, his son, and grandson, with the stranger, This last division was defeated; and taken prisoners. A dispute arose between the allied leaders of the Indians, Metacom, (the King Philip of Washington Irving, and Conanchet, the young Sachem of the Narragansets, the same who had, when a boy, been.

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whispered. 'Let the spirit depart, if such be His holy the unwilling inmate of Heathcote's dwelling,) respect-will, in the blessedness of infant innocence.' ing the fate of the prisoners. The latter insisted upon saving them, and as his warriors had made the capture, The allies separated Metacom could not resist his will. in disgust, and their quarrel saved the settlement. The appearance of the beautiful creature, with whose picture we last week presented our readers, explained Conanchet's interest in the captives. She was the daughter of Ruth, and the wife of the Sachem. It was only, how-drew, unconsciously, with pain. ever, the body of her child that the afflicted mother regained the soul was that of an Indian.

"Why do Mark and Martha stay?' continued the other,' 'It is not safe, thou knowest, mother, to wander far in the woods; the heathen may be out of their towns, and one cannot say what evil chance might happen to the indiscreet.' "A groan struggled from the chest of Content, and the muscular hand of Dudley compressed itself on the shoulder of his wife, until the breathlessly-attentive woman with"I've said as much to Mark, for he doth not always remember thy warnings, mother; and those children do so love to wander together! But Mark is in common good; do not chide him if he stray too far-mother, thou wilt not chide?' "The youth turned his head, for even at that moment the pride of young manhood prompted him to conceal his weakness. "Hast prayed to-day, my daughter ?' said Ruth, strugThou shouldst not forget thy duty to His blessed name, even though we are houseless in the gling to be composed. woods."

While Ruth endeavoured to re-awaken in her child the memory of her infant years, Conanchet held converse with the stranger, who proved to be one of the fugitive judges of Charles I. on the rock where he had built his solitary eyry. The result of their communing was a journey in search of Metacom, with a view to win him to terms of peace. They encountered him, and he led them to the spot where he was lurking with a few fol"I will pray now, mother,' said the creature of this lowers. The appeals made to him by the white man were in vain; they elicited nothing but cutting sarcasms. The mysterious hallucination, struggling to bow her face into conversation was interrupted by the sound of musketry. the lap of Ruth. Her wish was indulged, and for a minute the same low, childish voice was heard distinctly reA disaffected warrior of Metacom had betrayed the secret of life. Feeble as were the sounds, none of their intonaof his lurking place, and led thither a body of Europeans peating the words of a prayer adapted to the earliest period and Pequods, a tribe of natives in alliance with the colo- tions escaped the listeners, until near the close, when a spenists. Metacom, after dashing out the brains of the trai- cies of holy calm seemed to absorb the utterance. Ruth Conanchet and the raised the form of her child, and saw that the features bore tor, retreated after his followers. the placid look of a sleeping infant. Life played upon them Englishman, endeavouring to retreat in another direcas the flickering light lingers on the dying torch. Her tion, were discovered and fired upon, but without effect. The allied Indians were, however, on their track, and the dove-like eyes looked up into the face of Ruth, and the anThe generous Indian bore guish of the mother was alleviated by a smile of intelligence European was old and stiff. and love. The full and sweet organs rolled from face to him to a hiding-place, then exposed himself to the view face, recognition and pleasure accompanying each change, of the pursuers, and thus drew the chase upon himself. On Whittal they became perplexed and doubtful; but when His strength failing, and his gun being unloaded, he turn-they met the fixed, frowning, and still commanding eye of ed to meet death like a chief, and allowed his enemies to seize him without a struggle. He fell into the hands of The captive asked only one faan hereditary enemy. vour-leave to revisit his wife, and if that were permitted, he promised to return to die. His request was granted he departed; found means to lure his beloved one from her father's house, and led her into the forest, where they might take their last farewell. plished, he returned and met his death. The relatives of the European bud which had blossomed in an Indian wigwam, seeking the fugitive, found her senseless on the There is something which to us body of her husband. is inexpressibly touching in the manner in which her fevered aberrations lead her back to childhood:

This accom

« The divine then lifted up his voice, under the arches of the forest, in an ardent, pious, and eloquent petition. When this solemn duty was performed, attention was again bestowed on the sufferer. To the surprise of all, it was found that the blood had revisited her face, and that her radiant eyes were lighted with an expression of brightness and peace. She even motioned to be raised, in order that those round her person might be better seen.

Look "Dost know us?" asked the trembling Ruth. on thy friends, long-mourned and much-suffering daughter! "Tis she who sorrowed over thy infant afflictions, who rejoiced in thy childish happiness, and who hath so bitterly wept thy loss, that craveth the boon. In this awful moment recall the lessons of youth. Surely, surely, the God that bestowed thee in mercy, though he hath led thee on a wonderful and inscrutable path, will not desert thee at the end! Think of thy early instruction, child of my love; feeble of spirit as thou art, the seed may yet quicken, though it hath been cast where the glory of the promise hath so long been hid.'

6

Mother!' said a low struggling voice in reply. The word reached every ear, and it caused a general and breathless attention. The sound was soft and low; perhaps infantile; but it was uttered without accent, and clearly.

6

Mother, why are we in the forest?' continued the speaker. 'Hath any one robbed us of our home, that we dwell beneath the trees?'

"Ruth raised a hand imploringly, for none to interrupt

the illusion.

Nature hath revived the recollections of her youth,'

the dead chief, their wandering ceased for ever. There was
a minute during which fear, doubt, wildness, and early re-
collections, struggled for the mastery. The hands of Narra-
Ruth.
Mattah trembled, and she clung convulsively to the robe of

"Mother, mother!' whispered the agitated victim of so many conflicting emotions, I will pray again--an evil: spirit besets me?

"Ruth felt the force of her grasp, and heard the breathing of a few words of petition, after which the voice was mute, and the hands relaxed their hold. When the face of the nearly insensible parent was withdrawn, the dead appeared to gaze at each other with a mysterious unearthly intelligence. The look of the Narraganset was still, as in his hour of pride,-haughty, unyielding, and filled with defiance; while that of the creature which had so long lived character of hope." in his kindness was perplexed, timid, but not without a

Long years after these events, a traveller found, in the valley where they had occurred, a rude stone, on which was engraven "The Narraganset ;" and nigh it one, more than half o'ergrown with moss, bearing the inscription"The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish!"

It will appear, even from this unsatisfactory abstract, that the Borderers consists properly of two tales, which are respectively wound up, the first by the Catastrophe of the Indian Siege-the second by the Death of the Narraganset Chief. The historical romance is, it is true, such a slip-shod lawless style of composition, that this mere want of unity might of itself be esteemed a trifling peccadillo.

As the author has, however, seen fit to preface either half with one of those prefatory descriptions of the social condition of the heroes, which begin to be recognised as the legitimate proemiums of all such works, the break makes the story drag almost as tediously as Virgil's broken-backed serpent. Moreover, the escape of the Heathcote family from the flames, is an incident within the range of possibility, but not sufficiently probable to admit of its being used in works of fiction, which ought always to compensate for their want of essential verity, by a stricter adherence to verisimilitude. Lastly, we think that we have occasionally caught Mr Cooper repeating himself in this work. His incessant compari

sons of the Indians to "pieces of dark statuary,”—the "streams of fire" which he throws out whenever a gun is fired, and some other pet phrases, come across our ear with a dreary consciousness of old acquaintance. The improbable escape of the Heathcotes, too, is an old stage trick, which we find repeated in more than one of his works, for the purpose of preserving a useful agent; and the Esculapius of Wish-ton-Wish is what an Irishman would call a resurrection of the botanical hero of the Prairie in an earlier age, as that worthy was, in his turn, but the reanimated dry bones of Dr Sitgreave.

These are the faults which we have to find with Mr Cooper's new work; and some of them are so inseparably interwoven with the very texture of the story, that they force us to pronounce it one of his less successful efforts. At the same time, it is but justice to remark, that many passages are worthy of the author. The spectral appearances of the old regicide, sure prognostics of impending danger, and the mystery which wraps him to the end, are finely conceived. Narra-mattah, the Indianised daughter of Content Heathcote, is one of the most lovely, fairy-like creations we have met with. The high religious feeling with which the principal actors are imbued, is worthy of those stubborn, but conscientious enthusiasts, who stamped upon American society that character of persevering enterprise, from which her greatness takes its rise. The humour, too, in the lighter passages, is softer, more chastened, and with none of that tendency to something strongly resembling vulgarity, which disfigured some of the author's earlier works.

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A NUMBER of people ridicule young ladies and gentlemen for keeping albums. We do not approve of this ridicule. An album is commonly the repository of certain pretty things in prose and verse, and however silly the selections may occasionally be, its unquestionable tendency is to refine the taste and soften the manners of its owner. An album is no doubt but a very small step in the belles lettres, but it is better than a monkey, a lap-dog, a black boy, or a peeroquet. On the same principle, though books bound in green and gold do not always contain the most strengthening intellectual food, they nevertheless put many people in the way of eating a little who would not otherwise touch a morsel. For this reason, therefore, we intend patronizing, more or less, the whole of the sixteen annuals for 1830; and we begin with the Souvenir, because, to confess the truth, it is, and has always been, our favourite. At present six annuals lie on our table, the first of the species for 1830 which have crossed the Tweed; and all we intend doing to-day is to give our readers a rapid coup-d'œil of the contents of each. Ere long we shall write one of the most dreamy and delightful articles about the whole of them that was ever penned.

Thou ask'st a fearful spell!

Yet say, from shrine or dim sepulchral hall,
What kingly vision shall obey thy call?
The deep grave knows it well!

"Wouldst thou behold earth's Conquerors?-Shall they
pass

Before thee, flushing all the Magic Glass
With triumph's long array?-

Speak! and those dwellers of the marble urn,
Robed for the feast of victory, shall return,
As on their proudest day.

"Or, wouldst thou look upon the lords of song?
O'er the dark mirror that immortal throng
Shall waft a solemn gleam!

Passing with lighted eyes and radiant brows,
Under the foliage of green laurel boughs,

But silent as a dream.'

"Not these, O, mighty Master!-Though their lays
Be unto man's free heart, and tears, and praise,
Hallow'd for evermore!

And not the buried conquerors! Let them sleep,
And let the flowery earth her sabbaths keep
In joy, from shore to shore!

"But if the narrow house may be so moved,
Call the bright shadows of the most beloved,
Back from their couch of rest!
That I may learn if their meek eyes be fill'd
With peace; if human love hath ever still'd
The yearning human breast.'

"Away, fond youth! An idle quest is thine:
These have no trophy, no memorial shrine;
I know not of their place!

'Midst the dim valleys, with a secret flow,
Their lives, like shepherd reed notes, fast and low
Have pass'd, and left no trace.

"Haply begirt with shadowy woods and hills,
And the wild sounds of melancholy rills,

Their covering turf may bloom;
But ne'er hath Fame made relics of its flowers,
Never hath pilgrim sought their household bowers,
Or poet hail'd their tomb.'

"Adieu, then, Master of the midnight spell!
Some voice, perchance, by those lone graves, may tell
That which I pine to know!

I haste to seek, from woods and valleys deep,
Where the beloved are laid in lowly sleep,
Records of joy and woe!'"

Mrs Mary Howitt is another female writer, who, we observe, contributes largely to the forthcoming annuals, and who, we think, has of late improved so much, that we are almost inclined to rank her next to Mrs Hemans. "The Sale of the Pet Lamb," and "The Faery Oath," both by her, in the Souvenir, are very favourable specimens of her abilities. Caroline Bowles is a poetess for whom we have also a great regard; we are not sure, however, that tion to the Souvenir, is one of her most successful efforts. "The Dying Mother to her Infant," her only contribuThe Hon. Mrs Norton has of late distinguished herself her, entitled, "Bring back the Chain," are striking and not a little as a worshipper of the Muses. The verses by spirited. Miss Jewsbury cannot perhaps be said to be improving greatly, but there is no need for it, seeing she contributed by authors of much respectability, though ing Bird at Sea" bears testimony to the power she pos is already well known as a clever writer; and the "Sing

The Souvenir now before us, which is the sixth of its race, opens with a very pretty prose tale, by Grattan, the author of "High Ways and By Ways," entitled, "The Love Draught," which is followed by upwards of seventy original pieces in prose and verse. Of these many are

none, perhaps, by authors of the very highest eminence, unless we except Mrs Hemans. The volume contains

sesses over the chords of the lyre. Miss Mitford, who is three of her poems, all of which are beautiful. As a spe- is a poem by Joanna Baillie "To Mrs Siddons," illustragood both in prose and verse, has also lent her aid. There

cimen, we select the one we like most:

THE MAGIC GLASS.

By Mrs Hemans.

"How lived-how loved-how died they?"

BYRON.

"The dead!—the glorious dead!-and shall they rise? Shall they look on thee with their proud bright eyes?

tive of one of the embellishments, which we should have quoted, had it not been merely a reprint from a volume of poems edited by that lady. It is full of that fine unaffected vigour of thought and sentiment which keeps Miss Baillie still at the top of our list of female writers. T K. Hervey has contributed two poems, "Oberon and Titania," and “ Inez ;” they are both sweet and tasteful,

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