brother and sister; etiquette obliged her to accept this invitation, but so ill was her husband that they were obliged to remain in transitue at Pisa, for one month. At length they embarked for Barcelona, and the Queen says, "we had not been more than two days at sea, when I was taken in labour and delivered of a daughter," and two days after she arrives at Barcelona, after the marriages had been celebrated. Considering all these contre-tems, and the mention of four days for a voyage, which might be performed in twelve hours, we may make an estimate of the bad management of these indolent princes of the south. In Nov. 1807, whilst she was en joying herself in the country, the French minister comes to inform her, that her father had ceded her kingdom to France, and that she must depart instanter; she says, "I immediately dispatched a courier to my father, for I had not received the least intimation on the subject." Subsequently, on meeting with her father, he abruptly communicates to her," you must know, my daughter, that our family has ever ceased to reign." Such was the indelicacy and churlish inhumanity of Charles IV. of Spain to his daughter. But in France she had been treated with great respect by Napoleon; and on her subsequently arriving with her parent at Valency, in 1808, she relates that "they had been allowed the entire service of the Impes rial Court; gentlemen, ladies, and guards, all were at their disposal.” Napoleon settles on this lady a pension of 33,000 francs a month, and yet she tells us, that for some time she could not afford to buy a horse, but was compelled to walk about with her children, “although it was the hottest season in the year, and all the world went out either on beautiful horses or in a carriage." She importunes the Emperor for an increase of pension, who gallantly complies with her request, and grants her 50,000 francs (2033 pounds sterling) a month; with a palace and its dependencies, and he moreover writes her a letter, wishing her a pleasant voyage (journey) to Parma. In spite of this, she immediately after calls Napoleon "an atrocious tyrant," and

bestows upon him many other epithets, which in our ignorance we had conceived had been exclusively in vogue with the profane vulgar. Now that Napoleon was no niggard in his allowance is evident from the fact, that when this Queen was in other hands her pension was reduced to only 10.000 francs a month. In April, 1811, this lady made an attempt to escape to England, but her plot had been discovered by the French police, and she was ordered into a monastery, and detained there until the restoration of the Bourbons, in 1814, replaced her in independence; and we suspect, in greater poverty than she had been under the Emperor Napoleon. These memoirs are intended as a memorial or petition to the Allied Sovereigns for remuneration of the memorialist's losses, and she modestly ends the document by stating, that as she had intended to honour England by seeking a refuge amongst us, she trusts that John Bull will be the "support and protection" of her family.

These memoirs are written with great naïvete, and they display all the features of a mind rendered effe minate, and sickly by pride and indulgence. They are of no general importance whatever, but derive the little interest which they possess from the simplicity of their style, and from the portraiture which they afford of the effects of misfortunes and reverses upon minds bred in luxury and absolute power.

Tales of Old Mr. Jefferson of Gray'sinn. Collected by Young Mr. Jefferson of Lyon's-inn, London. 2 vols. 12mo. 1823.

QUAINTNESS of title seems to be the order of the day, and there is no doubt if it does not insure readers, it at any rate commands a certain de gree of attention. Thus we have the Sketch Book, High-ways and Byways, the Inn-keeper's Album, &c. &c. and surely it will be acknow ledged, our author has, at any rate, equalled his predecessors in this respect, not that we consider the work in question at all requiring such adventitious assistance.

The preface to this little work is written with much feeling and know

ledge of human nature, and is certainly calculated to disarm criticism as much as a preface can do. Towards its termination the author says, "Of the volumes now offered to the public, I might plead that they were written under circumstances that precluded a digestion of plan or any attempt at excellence: they were written under the pressure of affliction, and in all the uncertainty and agitation which misfortune can produce; but I am aware that such pleas are too easily made to be attended to by the public, and that the world in general cannot reasonably be expected to pay any attention to the disadvantages under which an author may compose his work; the reader solely concerns himself about the merit of what he reads; and pleas of haste or any untowardness of circumstances are

With merit needless, and without it vain.'

This simple statement probably accounts for the many errors of style with which the work abounds: in short, there are grammatical inac curacies which convince the reader beyond a question, that they entirely arose from carelessness, it being totally impossible to conceive an author who evidently unites the scholar, politician, and gentleman, to the man of the world, could ever be guilty of such inaccuracies but from the before-mentioned cause.

The tales are three in number: "The Welch Cottage; or, the Woodman's Fireside," "Mande ville, or the Voyage," and "The Creole; or, the Negro Suicide." The first tale, he says, "is more completely the invention of my fancy than any of the others," and certainly after the careless, we might almost say, slovenly, manner in which this tale is introduced, we were agreeably surprised to find it abounding with originality of style, much pathos, and the characters well conceived; evidently from a profound knowledge of the world, obtained, we fear, in the school of adversity, as there is throughout a disposition towards the shadowy side of human nature: at any rate we are willing, for the sake of mankind in general, to hope such is the

case.

The scene is laid in one of the most romantic situations in Wales, selected by the hero (Mr. Ashford) for the erection of a rustic cottage, where he resides unknown, under the garb of poverty, although you are enabled to trace throughout, that he possesses a finely educated mind, added to the best of all philosophy, that of the power of well regulating it. Here from the advice he gives, in addition to the many little acts of kindness he bestows, he acquires a considerable degree of consequence over the minds of the peasants and yeomen, which, as may easily be supposed, excites the envy of the lesser gentry to no inconsiderable extent in the description of which our author is particularly happy.→→ Having married a beautiful girl of his own rank, and their family increasing beyond his means of sup port by his little farm around the cottage, he is obliged to resort to the neighbouring forest to cut wood, by the sale of which he supports them in comparative comfort. The effect this produces on the minds of the unlettered peasants, whose respect for him decreases as his poverty increases, is well conceived.

At last a letter from an old friend arrives, informing him his miseries will soon cease, his father, a baronet, with whom, on account of his mar riage, he is not on terms, being on the point of death; and this friend requests him to meet him at a neigh bouring post-town. This leads to the most dreadful catastrophe: he goes with one of his younger chil dren.The meeting between the friends is affecting: he declines pecuniary aid, having so long done without it, and sets off to return on foot, in an inclement December night, among all the dangerous ravines incident to a mountainous country. He falls with his darling charge into one of these dreadful pits, rendered invisible by the drifted snow. The description of this scene is really beautiful; and, although our limits will scarcely allow it, we cannot forbear quoting one or two of its passages. Having lost his way he endeavours by calling to attract the attention of some inhabitants, but" there was no human response; and hardly had its last echo died upon the gale, than the boy, feebly

throwing his little arms round his father's neck in the tone of exhaustion, cried Papa I can't bear the cold." Here he is induced to put down his precious burden, in hopes that exercise might renovate his stiffning limbs. "The child scarcely reached the ground, when he uttered a faint shriek. The alarmed father rapidly snatched at him, but in the effort lost his balance. They had been standing on the very brink of a precipice, and were now hurled to its base. The father held the child above him in his fall, lest, falling on him, he might have crushed him to death. But although the depth was terrific the great body of snow was frozen to a degree which broke their fall, nor were they hurt when they reached the bottom." After the most ineffectual efforts to ascend the sides of the pit, the scene is thus described:

"He had only a frock coat on, and this he had deprived himself of to wrap the child in. All the time he was using his active exertions to get out of the pit he had instinctively pressed little Harry to his side for warmth. Now his efforts were over, he thought of the boy. My son, my dear Henry, my child, Oh, God!' cried the father, in an agony of grief, he's dead! cold! for ever lost to me. What, are your little cheeks never to revive? Will your pretty lips never kiss me more? Speak to me, Harry; utter one sigh: speak to your poor father? No, not even a murmur-dead- for ever dead. Oh, God!--my child! my child! my child!" In the following page his feelings for his family and death is pathetically described. "Even his firm and robust frame was now yielding to the fate which had befallen his child. He thought of his own blazing hearth, and of all the joys of home. My wife, my poor wife left destitute to labour for her children: nobody to sustain her spirits, and to partake her toil. Oh! I picture you widowed, forlorn, and hopeless; labouring for the common food of nature. My children, my girls, no father to guide, to protect you; your youth exposed to the scorn, the contempt, the snares of an unfeeling and merciless world!' His heart was broken, the cold stiffened his nerves — he sunk upon the earth never to reani

·

mate!"-His dying words were prophetic. She was left to all the poverty and wretchedness the human mind can suppose: and after selling every little elegance, and at last every necessary of life, after having applied for assistance to her family without success, she is at last visited by a Mr. Williams (the supposed narrator of this tale). This Mr. Williams had known poor Ashford, he being the principal inhabitant of the neighbourhood; but, his mind having been much occupied by a contested county election, the circumstances of his death, with the probable distress of the family, had entirely escaped his notice. Having relieved the family, the widow commences the relation of her own and her husband's early history. This story is well told, abounds with interest, and some remarkably well-drawn characters; and the lady in question proves to be the daughter of a poor Earl, the title then being in the possession of her brother. Mr. Williams, therefore, set off for town immediately, resolving to visit all the rich relations of the two families. These interviews are admirably drawn: his working upon each of their darling passions to obtain his object is certainly well conceived; and he at last collects about 5000l. of the whole of which not one shilling appears to be given from real charity, but from pride, envy, or fear of exposure; in Lord Argentfield, the younger brother of the late Ashford, we find a religious fanatic; and cer tainly some of our authors cuts at the Calvanistical doctrines of the day are remarkably well managed. ·

Mr. Williams having thus far succeeded, and having through his parliamentary interest provided for the boys, leaves the widow and daughters in comparative happiness: and here must end our remarks on this pretty little tale.

We have said that our unknown author was a scholar and a politi cian, and we may with equal truth declare, he is at least no Tory; there is a decided dissatisfaction with the present order of things running through the whole of the next tale, in our opinion by far the best of his production. He seems to be most thoroughly acquainted with nautical matters; not as a tame

observer in these times of peace, but during that period when our arms swept old Ocean to the very Poles, -not as a generalizer of events gone by, but as one who was acquainted with the very minutiae of its affairs at the time of their occur

rence.

There is less carelessness of style altogether in this production: 'tis better introduced, and evidently better digested, which the very commencement indicates. "I was descended from a gentleman whose fate it was to flourish, or rather to fade, in the middle of the seventeenth century; that epoch of English history, when liberty, like a virgin ray from heaven, first spread her genial influence over the hearts of our countrymen.”

Our author particularly excels in conception of characters, and awful descriptions: he would, therefore, materially suffer by any attempt of ours to give a sketch of the story; but we will endeavour, by a few extracts, to give the reader some idea of his powers of description. In this tale, we are enabled to trace many of the naval heroes who have flourished in our time; but he has also touched, not very lightly, upon circumstances so little to the credit of parties still in existence, that we must forbear giving any thing like a key to their real names. The death bed of a beautiful girl, who had been seduced by a dissipated Colonel, is, perhaps, as moving a scene as we ever read. In short, it abounds so much in the pathetic, that we have some difficulty in selecting a passage that would give the reader the best idea of it.

"By the invitation of the mother, we entered the adjoining roomthere was a cradle with a sleeping female infant, and on a small tent bedstead, with dimity curtains as white as the driven snow, lay the once innocent and happy, but the now lost, pale, and emaciated, Emma Belton. My heart ached at the sight! She was asleep, and looked like a statue of faded loveliness. I held my breath in silent sorrow,lest I should disturb her. In a few minutes she uttered a deep sigh, and starting in her dream, exclaimed, "Great God, forgive, it was my youth's error' again she was calm Eur. Mag. Nov. 1823.

and placid: Her night gown was close to her chin, the shadow of its frill was reflected on her mouth, or else her lips were slightlyconvulsed. The tear-drop fell from the mother's eye-I was absolved in sorrow Heaven's, thought I to myself, what a sad contrast to a few months ago, when you were the picture of youthful loveliness. Life's brightest scenes were in prospect for youall was joy and hope; now, scarce eighteen, an outcast, a sacrifice, flying from infamy, dying under a fictitious name, in solitude, in secrecy; and that poor helpless infant, with the stigma of its birth, doomed never to feel a parent's caresses, or a parent's care."

There is a touching simplicity in the following description, which will, we think, strike all our read

ers.

"We kept poor Emma's coffin open as long as possible: at length I followed her to the grave. A mound of earth covers her once young and lovely body, and at her head is a simple tomb-stone, engraved with the inscription of

Emma Belton, aged 18,'. and over this tomb have I shed the copious tear-over this tomb has my heart ached with the recollection of Emma, from the days of her virgin purity, to the hour of her hapless exit."

Our author excels particularly in descriptive powers. He evinces not only an intimate acquaintance with a naval life, but à most happy genius in describing a naval engagement, and a shipwreck. We cannot help observing, that although this country has long been the greatest naval power in Europe, we have few, if any, works that give any thing like a correct idea of a naval engagement and its bustle, confusion, and horror. This arises probably from the describers seldom or ever having been eye-witnesses. This is not the case in the present instance; the animated manner in which he describes it, evidently denotes his having not only been present, but also his having borne an active part in some similar scene of carnage. In the character of Captain Valerton, we have one of the finest specimens of an English seaman combining the greatest heroism

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with that cool intrepidity and judgment so necessary to ensure success.

These animated descriptions occupy so many pages that it would be useless to attempt extracts, which could give the reader only a faint idea of the whole. After the success of the day, Captain Valerton's orders relative to the interment of his foes, is simply, yet beautifully told: he is himself mortally wounded, and his death, with the contemplations of the supposed narrator, is so happily related, that we can't forbear making a few extracts.

He is described as having his hand on the heart of his noble commander. "I pressed firmer to his noble breast; he had breathed his last; and almost breathless myself, I continued my hand long in its position, gazing on this wreck of all that was great and magnanimous. Day broke and found me still in the same position, and by the dawning light once more surveyed the noble features of the departed Hero. Yester-morn he was walking calmly amidst the destruction of the cannon, surveying every wreck and accident, and directing the prompt and efficacious remedy; or his eyes were flashing fire at his terrified foes, whilst his mighty arm was arresting the progress of defeat, and hurling it back again on the enemy; now a huge and inanimate corpse, the mere wreck and type of majesty, and prowess, alone remain ed to remind us of what he had been."

A shipwreck, unlike a naval engagement, is a hackneyed subject, and one in which several of our best authors have admirably succeeded. We have all dwelt with delight on that beautiful poem of Falconer's, and few but have admired the elegant manner in which Lord Byron has poetized the description of his uncle, in the first cantos of Don Juan. In short, writers of both sexes have succeeded in it, and our author is eminently happy in one where the vessel is represent ed as abandoned by all but one individual, the narrator, who resolves not to leave the almost sinking ship. He witnesses the sinking of the boat containing all his shipmates. The vessel is at last driven on shore, against an inaccessible

rock, and here he remains the only inhabitant of a large wreck for a considerable time. The ship, before the, storm, contained the sick and wounded of the recent action; and after he recovers from a dreadful fit of sickness, produced by the heat and inclemency of the weather, he resolves to visit the cock-pit, containing the remains of his poor wounded shipmates; and the description is certainly most appalling. "I now assumed resolution, and descended to the scene of so much torture; and what was my horror on finding that every hammock contained a human body, in the most revolting state of putrefaction."

He then describes the dreadful task of freeing the vessel of such infectious matter, and having dragged up the bodies, he says,—“I Taunched each of them throngh the port-holes into the sea; most of them fell into the water and were soon washed out of sight; but about a dozen, unfortunately fell upon the ledges of the rocks, immediately below the ship, where they lay a loathsome spectacle; the large and ravenous birds of prey, tearing the hammocks asunder, and gorging on the green and putrid carcases, fighting for the last morsel. The bones of these unfortunate victims, cleansed by the beaks of the birds, and whitened by the air, remained within my view as a memorial of all I had suffered and enjoyed in my voy. age with those skeletons, once my animated associates."

His patience at last being exhausted, he determines to attempt the ascent of the huge rock by which the coast is bounded; and although the attempt at first seems impracticable, in a fit of desperation he succeeds; and the first part of this tale closes with the accomplishment of his design. The tale is so well executed in all its parts, that we sincerely hope, ere long, the public will be gratified by its completion.

Of the "Negro Suicide"our limits will not allow us to say more than that it is preceded by a very inge nious and ludicrous argument, relative to the emancipation of the slaves, The tale itself is apparently intended to shew the dreadful state of morals in our colonies: and we have much reason to fear, that horrible