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near the metropolis, just on the eve of the Restoration. The characters are various, and form a complete representation of nearly all the classes and sects of that strange and agitated period. Challoner, a loyalist, is the principal personage, and about him the others are clustered with considerable ability. His public and private feelings are beautifully mingled, and render his story and his actions singularly interesting. But the most original and best drawn character is one Johnson, the son of Guy Fawkes,-an awful compound of hu-coverer stalked forward. He wore a cloak surmounted by a man and fiendish passions, who plays a high part throughout all the events of the romance. Matthew Hopkins, a famous witch-finder of his day, is a curious historical personage. It is almost impossible to credit the extent to which the belief in witchcraft, and the art of witch-finding had reached, about this period. Nothing but the clearest evidences of history can convince us of it. We will extract a few passges illustra-pyramidic hat, gave his upper part an air of grim authority, tive of this prevalent folly. Hopkins had been invited to St. Alban's, to detect a supposed witch :

"Thorpe left the house, accompanied by Hopkins, to superintend the preliminary experiment. A crowd had assembled for the double sport of hunting a cow, and detect- || ing a witch. The rabble divided their stares between the oddly disfigured animal they were about to torment, and the important personage by whose advice this foolery was to be practised. The signal was given by Hopkins, who for that purpose waved his high-crowned hat to the mob. At once a thousand voices were heard in hoarse, but jocund || discord, and as many sticks and goads were applied to the poor animal's back and sides. The cow bellowed, the mob shouted, and by the judicious directions of Hopkins and his man, every thing went on very favourably. The lecture which Thorpe had given to those who baulked him on the former occasion, was not thrown away. It was indeed so well understood in which direction they were to go, and Thorpe's labourers were so anxious to atone for their former failure, that unusual discipline prevailed, and the frantic object of their cruelty was soon seen desperately rushing through all obstructions towards the humble residence of the suspected female.

"The wide-spreading tumult was heard afar, and reached the poor retreat of Dame Neville. Little imagining the cause of the disturbance, the unusual clamour induced her to walk to the extremity of the enclosure belonging to her cottage. She saw a multitude of persons in motion, but the noise which they made had so much mirth in it, that she felt quite satisfied no one was in danger. She perceived the riotous merry makers, one and all, bend their steps towards the place where she stood, and at length she discerned the goaded animal which they followed. Raging with the intolerable torture inflicted by the blows of the multitude, the creature happened at this moment to shake from its horns the tatters which had till then adhered to them. A yell of strange exultation burst from the mob; and, stunned by the uproar, Dame Neville hastened to conceal herself from the advancing rioters.

"See you there,' said Hopkins to Thorpe, who kept close to him nearly in the front of the mob. See you with what shame and confusion she tries to hide herself.' "I marked it well.'

"Does not this show guiltiness of heart?' "No doubt,' Thorpe replied.

"Had she not known that she was guilty, she would never have fled thus precipitately.'

"Certainly not. This of itself is in my mind enough to condemn upon.'

"It tells me, Master Thorpe, that she knows the devil is disposed to abandon her.' "But little talent and exertion were now required to drive the cow close up to the door of the cottage. The welkin again rung with the acclamations of the rabble, and the poor beast was now honoured with the senseless plaudits of her followers, many of whom approached, and would fain have patted her to show their kindly feeling, if the irritated state to which she had been brought had not made her too startlish to admit of their coming near with safety. "And now every-thing being adjusted, the witch-diswhite linen collar, which spread over each shoulder. The cloak was thrown open by the elbow of the right arm, which was placed a-kimbo, while the left was half extended, the hand grasping astaff as tall as himself, which was somewhat larger than a common halbert stick at the top, but came of a man. From time to time he majestically waved this, tapering downwards till it was not larger than the fore-finger the sceptre of command, to direct those near him to advance or retire. His bushy hair surmounted by a tall and rather and his boots, the tops of which presented the semblance of two funnels beneath his knees, were furnished with formidable spurs, which, however inconvenient, he would not put off on such occasions, from a wish to retain all the importance of hurry, while following his vocation.

"Arriving at the place to which it had been proposed to adjourn, the females who had consented to assist on this grand occasion were found ready to perform their part. Hopkins craved some pause, while he addressed them as a ju e would a grand jury, directing them how to proceed in the enquiry which they had been called there to make. He told them they were to ascertain whether or not the accused had three teats, but he remarked to them that they must not expect the third one to be precisely like the others. Sometimes the devil caused that which he provided for the accommodation and nourishment of his imps, to resemble a pimple; at other times it wore the appearance of a mole, and very frequently it would appear no other than the prick of a pin. These varieties, and the possibly minute size of that for which they sought, made it necessary to use great diligence in the search.

"Dame Neville was taken into the cottage. At this moment a sparrow flew over the crowd, and settled on the roof of the house. The people generally took no notice of it, but the moment Hopkins saw the bird he perceived a new proof of guilt, and called out,

"You see yon thing, neighbours?' pointing to the spar

row.

"Mean you that bird?'

"That thing in the shape of a sparrow is no true bird. This is one of the witch's familiars, who wanting suck, has followed her from her home.'

"So I judged,' said Thorpe. But tell me, good Master Hopkins, by what indubitable sign shall the familiar be known, from the thing of which it wears the resemblance.'

"By observation, and especially by noting the time, place, and circumstances of its appearance. Why, I pray you, should a sparrow, which is naturally a timid and modest bird, come here in presence of this congregation? Why should it settle on the very top of this dwelling?'

"Pooh!' said James, I have sometimes marked sparrows to be so saucy, that I could hardly scare them away by shouting with all my might and main. Is this the form in which imps, as you call them, always come?'

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Certainly not. I have seen a familiar wear the shape of a butterfly.'

"Why then I suppose any bird, beast, or insect, found near the abode of one accused of witchcraft, may be made a familiar.'

"The devil is not nice about the vehicles he selects for his offspring to travel in to work his will.'

"The cry was now up, that the sparrow was no other than one of the witch's familiars, and a volley of stones was sent towards it by the mob, to mark their indignation against the devil and all belonging to him. This salutation induced the sparrow to take wing, and he immediately proved that his quality had not been mistaken by flying out of sight. It was unanimously resolved that the familiar, terrified by the holy proceedings then in progress, had vanished-with a noise like thunder, some said, but all were not agreed on this point."

But we cannot proceed any further in this melancholy demonstration of human folly and wickedness. Lilly, the astrologer, is likewise introduced, and his absurdities and ignorance are ridiculed with great powers of sarcasm and derision. We have no room for extracts relating to the dramatic part of the work. This is full of novelty, and throws a light over an obscure portion of theatrical history. The author is evidently well read in the subject, and practised in the art of conveying his information to the public. Not the least interesting pages of this romance, are those which contain anecdotes connected with local history of London. We are at this moment writing on a spot which, till now, we did not know to be graced and enriched with any associations more dear than those connected with ourselves. The dialogue is always smart, lively, and often witty. This is the author's forte, and perhaps he has occasionally indulged in it a little too far. Altogether we regard the "Witch-Finder" as one of the most amusing and instructive romances of the time rich as the time is, in productions of the same class.

"But the gem of Ashford is yet untold. Passing the village on the Manchester road we enter a gently marked hollow way, bounded on the right by a steep orchard-slope, and on the left by a high wall over-hung with lofty trees, that skreen the roof and chimnies of a house apparently the residence of some of the gentry of the country, to which the close folding gates that open from the road present an access. If by favour or presumption you pass their barrier, and proceed a hundred paces down a confined carriage way, you will arrive in line with the front of the house, and peep within the casket where lies the emerald treasure.

"The house, above a cot, below a seat,' is not alone the property of his Grace the Duke of Devonshire, but the occasional residence. It stands under the shadow of those lofty trees that exclude all objects but those they surround. The capacious bow-window of an oblong dining-room exthat almost imperceptibly slopes to the water's edge; not pands upon the gravel walk adjoining the soft green turf an artificial lake or forced fish-pool, but the sounding, sparkling Wye, that, with all the freshness of a mountain stream, with all the windings of its characteristic course, with all the beauty of its living waters, rushes through the sylvan domain.

"Fronting the windows a light bridge unites the two savannas; the opposite turf rising gradually to its extremity, is also bounded by its grove of trees, that skirts the extended bank. The lawn on each side the river is broken only by little patches of the choicest flowers, and the mould from whence they spring is covered with mignonette, whose rich perfume fills the sweet air with its fragrance, rising as the lucid deities. The house is covered, from the base to incense to hallow this temple of the Floral, of the sylvan, of the chimney's topmost ledge, with trellis; and when the climbers begin to ascend, and the creepers to run, the passion-flower to sanctify, and the clematis to empurple, it will indeed become a perfect bower of beauty; and it is a sweet reflection that he, who a prince in the palace of his forefathers, upon the banks of the Derwent, who is in possession of all that rank, and station can bestow, that wealth can give, and ambition desire, selects and adopts this rustic Vignettes of Derbyshire. By the Author of "The Life of bijou, this verd-unique, this little fishing-house, on the banks a Boy." London: G. and W. B. Whittaker, 8vo. 1824. of the winding Wye; which, after having run its race with mountain swiftness, through the sylvan hamlet of King's THIS is a delightful little book. It is the outpour- Sterndale, by the wild solitudes of Chee Torr, the rocky ing of a deep and fervent enthusiasm for the beauties passes of Miller's Dale, the deep clefts of Cresbrook, and the fairy scenes of Monsal, wantons and sports beneath the of nature and a lively sensibility to all the influences eye of the Lord of Hartington, from whence its native waof local attachment and native associations. Derby-ters spring, before it takes its final way to the shining east, shire is one of our most romantic districts, and the and mixes with the classic waves of Derwent. author of these "Vignettes" has described its beauties with the feeling and language of a poet. We will make a single extract-not the best-but the shortest we can find. It is entitled, "Ashford-in-the-Water."

"During a short autumnal visit, in 1822, amidst the sweetest and most sylvan part of the Peak of Derbyshire, the little village of Ashford-in-the-Water was not the least attractive. Possessing those requisites that adorn and accommodate a village residence-requisites that, whilst they contribute to the conveniences of its inhabitants, are pleasing to the eye of the traveller, and gratifying to the heart of humanity-a corn-mill, with its appendages of water-wheels and water-falls; an ancient church, with its grass-grown burial ground; a long-extended bridge, neat cottages, and a village green, with wood and water interspersed, as its significant name denotes. Though placed at the extremity of one of the wildest of the dales, Demon's Dale, and in the vicinity of those mountain fractures, through which the Wye forces its rocky channel, it is cheerful, open, and airy; presenting amidst and aloof from its village houses, two or three of a superior order, the association of whose inhabitants must be of a higher nature.

around, and say with complacent feelings subdued from the "There, perhaps, may the Duke of Devonshire look world; with the hereditary feelings of she who bore him, and whose memory he sanctifies: Here is enough for the heart of man, the rest is my country's and my forefathers'!' Perhaps, like the great statesman of Elizabeth, may, after he has passed the humble gates, take off his courtly robes, and say, "There lie, my Lord Chancellor !" and in sport, even as I did in thought, amplify comparison upon the sweet enchantment.

"To Chatsworth, gorgeous Chatsworth, it is but a light trinket hung to a costly watch; or a single blossom of the jasmine by the side of the imperial rose; or a solitary star, sailing in the wake of the resplendent moon; or the scent of the violet, that rises upon the air, which the perfumes of Arabia have exhausted; or the song of the robin, after the full choirs of the groves had died away; or the emerald light of the glow-worm shining upon the darkness that succeeded the blazing torches; or the shepherd's pipe upon the mountains, when the echoes of the brazen trumpets had ceased; or the still small voice of grateful praise, when the pealing anthem, and the loud response no longer filled the cathedral's lofty arches:-it was all this, and more; it was nature's lullaby from the tumult of the world; the eye re

velling in its beauty, and the mind reposing in its quietness whilst its balmy sweetness pervaded the purest joy of sense, and all its green attractions, and its lucid animations, took captive the heart of woman, who saw in its combined delights the reflection of her primeval home."

Mementos, Historical and Classical, of a Tour through part of France, Switzerland, and Italy, in the Years 1821, 1822, &c. London: Baldwin, Cradock, and Joy, Svo. 1824.

He must be a bold man who would set about publishing two thick octavos upon France and Italy, after so many (and some of them very complete) works had been already compiled upon the same subjects. It argues a self confidence of no ordinary character. The writer must believe himself in possession of great powers of observation, or singular felicity of description, if he can hope to say much that has not been already said. At present we know almost every inch of France, Italy, and Switzerland, as well as we know our own garden. They have been described over and over again, until half the value of even a really good book is lost in its wanting the charm of novelty. Forsyth, Eustace, and Matthews, have, each in their way, written extremely amusing and instructive accounts of Italy, and Coxe's Switzerland (in the edition of Mons. Raimond) is excellent. We doubt whether the volumes before us will supersede either of the above named works. The author seems to be deficient in many of the first requisites of a traveller, and even were he possessed of them all, they would be greatly impaired by the injudicious style which he frequently adopts, and the habit of overlaying all his descriptions with tedious compilations from other books.

The author begins his travels at the beginning; for he sets out with his departure from London. We have no room to give any extracts from his descriptions of a Stage Coach, Brighton, the Packet Boat, Dieppe nor Rouen. These places and things are not altogether unknown to the reader, and that which is new is not well told. The account of Paris is made up from guide books, or at least resembles them greatly, except that it is considerably duller. The best passage, by far, that we can find, is the following :

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or, a la Somnambule,' a pretty girl walking in her sleep,
and night dress, and followed by her gallant.
"In ludicrous things a barber will write under his sign-
La nature donne barbe et cheveux;
Et moi, je les coupe tous les deux ;'

or,

'A toutes les figures dediant mes rasoirs
Je nargue la censure des fideles miroirs.'
"Also a frequent inscription with a barber is-
Ici on rajeunit.'

"A breeches maker writes up,

M.- - Culottier de Madame la Duchesse de Devonshire.' “A Perruquier exhibits a sign very well painted of an old fop trying on a new wig, entitled.

'Au ci-devant jeune homme.'

"A butcher displays a bouquet of faded flowers, with the inscription Au tendre souvenir.'

"An eating-house exhibits a punning sign in an ox dressed up with bonnet, lace, veil, shawl, &c. which naturally implies-Bauf a la mode.

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A pastry-cook has a very pretty little girl climbing up to reach somie cakes in a cupboard, and his sign he callsA la petite gourmande.'

"A stocking-maker has painted for him a lovely creature trying on a new stocking, at the same time exhibiting more who is on his knees at her feet, with the very significant charms than the occasion requires to the young fellow

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It were vain to attempt to describe the glorious appearance that this huge mountain and its stupendous upon it; the splendour of its colours; its green furrows; heights make;-the varieties of tints as the sun rises or sets its blackening granite; its silvery ice, and pinky, roseate hues; a mount specially sacred to the wintry, rigid Deities of Frost, but around and about which beneficent Apollo, as if for contrast, loves to show and play his brightest rainbow beams."

"Frost, which in our moderate clime, and generally, binds with its adamantine fetters all nature in inaction, stopping the roaring of the torrents, and the gurgling of the brook;-and snows that hide all the things upon the earth with a silvery mantle, and bring a creeping silence o'er all, till nothing is heard save their gently dropping, sliding -things animate and inanimate teem with thy wonders;sleet;-yet here, in the wilds of Switzerland, do these snows produce in their terrific rage, thunders that deafen the loudest artillery; and avalanches that in a moment tear away whole forests, villages, all, at one fell swoop!

Nevertheless, barring these, and some other inconveniences, I know of nothing more amusing than a walk in Paris streets. Some of the shops, particularly those for clocks and china, make a superb display, while all have a very diversified and numerous collection of articles; but it is the signs that so amuse, and absolutely arrest, a stanger. This is a practice that has grown into a mania at Paris, and is even a subject for the ridicule of the stage, since many a shop-keeper considers his Sign as a primary matter, and spends a little capital in this one outfit. Many of them exhibit figures as large as life, painted in no humble, or shab- || by style; while history, sacred and classical, religion, the stage, &c. furnish subjects. You may see the Horatii and "Oh Nature! Nature! where'er we court thee, how subCuriatii-a scene from the Fourberies de Scapin of Moliere lime, how expanding, how immeasurably grand, how mi-a group of French soldiers with the inscription- A la croscopically beautiful! All the most ardent human imavaleur des soldats Francois,' or a group of children inscrib-ginations combined cannot conceive or fashion the least of ed- A la reunion des bons enfans,' or, a la Baigneuse,' depicting a beautiful nymph just issuing from the bath :

the beauties which thou every where lavishest! nor can the deepest philosophy or reasoning fathom thy awful ways

and operations! Earth, water, air, fire, all the elements: there is perfection of beauty and utility in the speck and the atom which is too fine for mortal eye to see ;-and here, in this land, thou hast piled mountain upon mountain even to the skies; and has given to icy frost, and to the simple snow-ball, all the majesty, and all the terrors of the earthquake and volcano!"

Italy naturally awakens all the sensibilities of the traveller, and gives him ample scope for displaying his talent in description. One fault we cannot avoid noticing it is this, he never mentions the name of a Heathen deity, but he must give a long account of his mythological character, till the book is made quite a Pagan pantheon. To those who are in possession of Lempriere, this is somewhat superfluous. In his account of works of art, he occasionally makes blunders as for instance, where he speaks of Fuseli's celebrated picture of the Death of Ugolino. We are sure that Mr. Fuseli feels no desire to strip Sir Joshua of any of his laurels. But our traveller is not particularly strong in criticism. He is much more at home in the sentimental walk, as the concluding portion of the following extract will show :

"If it be allowable to speak of pains proceeding only from disappointed anticipation, I may be allowed to speak of mine arising from the absence of the British Ambassador, Lord

Burghersh.

"To Florence at large his present stay in England is matter of regret; to Englishmen his loss is more severe. To his mansion all who were worthy were welcome, and to his own countrymen, once properly introduced, a reception there was naturally a passport to the circles of the other English and Florentine nobility. For myself, I had that introduction which I may justly think would have brought me within the sphere to which His Excellency extended his favours; and as I know of few objects more valuable to a traveller than an insight into the manners and modes of foreign society, I must proportionately lament the chance which has thus deprived me of this range of visiting. Nevertheless, I have had the advantage of admission into some other superior circles, and from the circumstance of being directed by chance into a house where I became very intimate with its most agreeable inmates, I have less felt the want of, or the wish for, a more extended circle of visiting. I am happy here to record Miss W. daughter of General Sir Charless W. whose amiability deserves more than this brief notice; nor do I forget Miss H. who, to the advantages of birth, unites the charms of person and of talent, with the vivacity of the liveliest of dispositions. "Intimacy with Mrs. H. and the young lady, led to some gallantry from a certain young gentleman of the party to Miss H., and it having been reported, whether truly or no, I cannot tell, that the said lady had exercised her skill in miniature painting by a sketch of his portrait, on the ensuing morning, this effusion was accordingly presented to her. Address to a Young Lady who drew the Author's Portrait.

'Matilda deigns her talents bright
To bid the pencil trace

A Head; and, thus, recall to sight
Th' expression of the face.

To fading colours she refers
The features to impart :-
To me such aid needs not;

For Hers are graven on my heart.'"

(To be continued.)

Conrad and other Poems. By T. A. TEMPLEMAN, L.L.B. of Trinity College, Cambridge. London: G. and W. B. Whittaker, 1824.

THAT young masters at school, and young gentlemen at College, should now and then indulge in the construction of verses, is to us a matter of no surprise. The amusement is genteel, and not very unintellectual. At any rate it is an amusement, and serves as a relaxation from the sterner pursuits of digging out Greek roots, and squaring the circle. But we marvel at the dreadful mistake which these persons commit, when they send forth these productions to the world, in the idea that the world will ever care two straws for them. People are too earnestly employed in business or pleasure to be able to afford any time for the perusal of bad poetry. If they read poetry at all, it must be of a prime quality, bearing the stamp of genius, and such as is universally current. Of this high order we have poetry enough, and even to spare. It is in vain therefore that Mr. Templeman and writers of his class, deluge the town with such things as "Conrad, and other Poems." They will never do. They have no direct and positive claim to admiration, and therefore they are without apology. His friends have been very unkind in recommending their publication. As a piece of advice, we recommend to him, and to all other ambitious youths, not to trust-nor even to consult their friends upon such perilous questions, as the propriety of publishing the offspring of their fanciful leisure. For ourselves we have an utter detestation of friends. They are sure to flatter one into the perpetration of some gross blunder. But to Mr. Templeman.

Conrad is a short tale of some youth-exiled from his native land-and becoming the leader of a band of pirates. As a story it is without interest, and as a poem without merit. The versification is loose and hobbling, the images very common place, and the general cast of thought sufficiently indifferent. Egbert, the next in the collection, is pretty much in the same way. Mr. Templeman, in fact, is no poet. His comic verses are better than his serious. This is not very good, but it is not bad ::

"To pass a tedious winter's morn away
Grim to a gospel warehouse went one day;
Priestley appear'd, high mounted on his chair;
He named his text, and then he quoted Blair,
Nor gave he Blair the credit (cheating elf),
But modestly he took it to himself.
Grim mark'd it, and with scrutinizing air

He ey'd the preacher, and exclaim'd, that's Blair:'
Not yet abash'd, the minister went on,

Quoted again: says Grim, that's Tillotson?'

The preacher redden'd, hemm'd, but, mustering strength, He brought another passage out at length.

Cooper,' said Grim; the man of God no longer

Could hold his passions, which, being held, grew stronger, He boil'd with rage, then, with an angry air,

'Sexton,' said he, turn out that fellow there :' Said Grim (retaining gravity of tone,

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And an unalter'd visage), That's his own.'

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"Tom once invited me to dine,

And taste some excellent port wine-
He ask'd and I embraced it:
A more exact man I ne'er knew;
His invite literally was true,—
He only let me taste it!

How is it kings and poets live so long

Within the annals fame puts forth to-day?
By his own works,' cries Tom, the child of song
Survives his dust; how kings live I can't say :'
'O!' cries another, standing by the while,

That poets by their works survive 'tis true; "Their names we laud whilst we admire their style, But by their works survive not monarchs too?' "I know not,' cries the first, but pray explain;' What!' cries the second, don't you truly know it, 'The king's and poet's fames survive the same?

For 'tis the monarch's work to fee the poet.'
'Sure mortal never saw through eyes like thine,'
Cried William to an old coquetting lass:
The speech of Will, indeed, was mighty fine,
And very true, for they were made of glass."

ON GAS, THE BOXER.

"Death fought unfair with Gas; chance laid him low; When he was down, Death gave the fatal blow!"

Ourika. Paris: chez Ladvocat, 1824.

THIS little story has excited a good deal of attention in Paris, but "why or wherefore" we are wholly unable to say. It does not appear to possess any particular merit, except that of simplicity of material. The in- || cidents are by no means affecting, and they are encumbered with a copious interlarding of sentimentality. In these days of excessive humanity, perhaps, it is some reason why a story should be popular, that it should turn upon the fortunes of a pretty negress.

For our own parts, we are not so susceptible of dark influences-nor so fatigued with the old associations, as to suffer our humanity-or rather our philogurry to disturb the serenity of our critical functions. Ourika-is the story of a young negro girl, told by herself, in the intervals of disease, to her medical attendant. Brought at the early age of two years from Senegal by the Chevalier de B- governor of that settlement, she becomes a kind of adopted child in his family, and grows up a model of personal grace and intellec. tual accomplishment, but her complexion is an unhappy obstacle to her establishment in the world-disquieting the affection of her patrons, and filling her own bosom with apprehension and sorrow. Her reflections on first learning the necessary misery of her situation are prettily written.

"Oh, how I felt my whole existence changed! How lost I was when the illusions I had so constantly dwelt in vanished! they resembled the light of day, and when they fled, utter darkness succeeded. So great was the confusion of my mind under the new thoughts that assailed it, that not one of my usual ideas ever occurred to me. I was struck with terror. To be an object of pity to the world! Not to be fit for the rank I lived in! Perhaps to meet with a man who for the sake of money would consent to have negro children! These thoughts kept rising successively over my mind, pursuing me like phantoms. But the bit

terest of all, was the certainty of belonging to no one in the world. To be alone! Ever, and for ever alone! Madame de B. had owned it, and I repeated the words over and over. What cared I to be alone, but a few minutes before. I knew it not, I felt it not; I had need of the beings that I loved, but I was unconscious of their not wanting me. Now my eyes were opened, and with misfortune came mistrust into my soul.

"When I returned to Madame de B.'s apartment, every body was struck with the change in my appearance. I pretended to be ill, and was believed. Madaine de B. sent for her physician, Barthez, who felt my pulse, questioned me carefully, and then abruptly declared that nothing ailed me. This quieted the uneasiness of my benefactress about my health; but she sought every means of diverting my mind. I dare not own how little gratitude I felt for her care. My heart seemed withered in itself. As long as it had received favours with pleasure, it gladly acknowledged the benefit; but now filled with the bitterest feelings, it had no power to expand. My days were spent in the same thoughts, differently combined and under various forms, but still the blackest my imagination could invent. Often were my nights passed in weeping. I exhausted my whole pity upon myself-My face was becoming odious to me.-I no longer dared to look in a glass-and my black hands struck me with horror;-They appeared to me like a Monkey's. I dwelt upon the idea of my ugliness, and my colour appeared to me the sign of my reprobation: it was that alone which separated me from the rest of my fellowcreatures, and condemned me to live alone, and never to be beloved. That a man should perhaps consent for the sake of money to have negro children! My blood rose with indignation at the idea. I thought for a moment of entreating Madame de B.to send me back to my own country; but even there I should have felt isolated. Who would have understood me? Who would have sympathized with my feelings? Alas! I belonged to no one--I was estranged from the whole world!"

In the midst of all this affliction she falls in love with Charles, the grandson of her protector. We ought to have stated that the epoch of this tale was in the earlier stages of the French Revolution. Much of her hope of being rescued from the miseries of her condition, was placed by Ourika in the possibility of her finding some better resting-place in the changes and upturning of society, which that Revolution caused. The characters of the actors in that sad and guilty drama, soon destroyed her hopes, and dispersed the gay visions which her imagination had engendered. was royalist, and consequentThe family of De Bly suffered in the struggle. All that portion of the narrative which details the privations, terrors, oppressions, and fortitude of the different persons of that family is not without interest. It is a representative history of all the Royalist families of France. The passion of Ourika for Charles goes on increasing in tion of marriage between him and a young lady of force-till it receives a dreadful check, from a proposifortune, and their subsequent union. Then come a long tissue of sentimental reflections-not at all to our goût, though the distress of Ourika is not ineffectively described

"Days and months passed on thus. I took no share in conversation. My talents were neglected. The only books I could endure were those in which a feeble picture of my own sufferings was traced. I fed upon these poisons-I

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