hope. She rushed on to catch him in her arms, crying out-Je veux le voir;―Je veux l'embrasser ;—Il est revenu pour m'emmener avec lui--"I will see him”—“ I will embrace him;"" he has come back to take me away with him." At the moment she had got near enough to distinguish clearly his person and visage, she uttered a piercing shriek, with the exclamation, Ah, non, ce n'est pas lui Ah! it is not he!" tottered, and fell swooning into the arms of two of the fugitives, whose concern for her had given them courage to return, and who were too much engaged in extricating her from her position to note, themselves, the common object of the panic. So interesting and extraordinary was her whole appearance; her mien so wild and ardent; the transition from sudden, elated expectation, to profound despair, so rapid and marked in her eye and accent, and so piteous in the entire expression-that the colonel, as he assured me, was transfixed and absorbed by this incident, until her companions had disappeared with her, and he was left again in complete silence and solitude. As soon as he was able to rally his thoughts, he resolved to explore the chamber, imagining that he might discover something, which would serve as a clue to the singular part, which he was playing in the enigmatical drama of the night. The taper being still in his grasp, he looked narrowly into the corners and closets of the apartment, under the bedstead, and, at length, broadly within the curtains, and there witnessed, what solved, at once, a part of the mystery. It was a corpse; the dead body of a man in a cap and shirt resembling his own, and placed near the wall on the bed. The position which he had taken on going to rest, and the quick approach of sleep, prevented him from touching, or noticing in any way, this unimaginable partner; and when he was roused by the two women-whose business will now be readily understood to have been that of watching by the dead body-his attention was engrossed by them and their proceedings.

He confessed to me that, familiar as his profession had rendered him with this exhibition of mortality, the spectacle, under such circumstances, startled and even af

frighted him for a moment. The cause of the alarm of the household, on seeing him, was then apparent. His candle bearer had conducted him to the wrong chamber, and he had been taken either for the ghost or the reanimated frame of the defunct. It occurred to him, after he had meditated a little, and began to comprehend, also, the conduct of the distressed female, that he would throw on his clothes and endeavour to find the right course to the lodging of the family, for the purpose of mutual explanation. He had scarcely dressed himself before the old peasant and his wife, followed by two or three men, ascended the stairs, and, though still quaking with fear, had no difficulty in recognizing him. They at first eagerly demanded his assistance in the awful emergency; but, contriving to obtain silence, he quickly opened their eyes to the true state of the matter. In the reciprocal eclaircissement, which ensued, he learned that the unfortunate girl, who had so strongly excited his sympathy, and so much increased his perplexity, was the niece of the old pair, and the corpse the remains of a young soldier to whom she was betrothed, and who had died that morning in the castle, of a sudden illness. The blundering rustic commissioned to lead the stranger to the chamber designed for him, had elected the first apartment in the same gallery, in which he saw the glare of a fire, and which happened to be the one where the body was deposited.

Our traveller retired, as quickly as possible, from the earnest apologies of his worthy hosts, to indulge his returning drowsiness on the right bed. He slept soundly, notwithstanding his double adventure; rose early, and lost no time in mounting his horse, and regaining, under their instructions, the turnpike of Pont-Saint-Esprit. Before his departure, however, he enquired after the bereaved niece, and suffered real affliction in being informed that she had passed the night in alternate stupor and phrenzy. On his return from Avignon, he was told by the master of the inn at which he stopped, that the poor creature, whom he could not fail to remember, as well as the whole night scene, had survived her lover only a very short time. She had become so disordered

in her fancy as to be unable to comprehend the explanations given, and to imbibe the strange and horrible impression that his spirit had, indeed, moved from the bed, but being offended with her, had, on her approach, taken an unknown form, in order to escape her embrace and her fellowship.

LITERATURE.
[From the same.}

THE English journals recently received here, give an account of a "New Royal Society" instituted by the king of England "for the encouragement of indigent merit, and the promotion of general literature." It is to consist of honorary members, subscribing members, and associates. The list of honorary members comprises some of the most eminent literary men of the three kingdoms, and the most eminent female writers of the present day. The class of associates is to be composed of twenty men of distinguished learning, authors of some creditable work of literature, and men of good moral character. Ten of these are to be considered as special proteges of his Majesty, who allots, to each of the ten, an annuity of one hundred guineas, payable out of the privy purse. He grants, besides, an annual premium of one hundred guineas for the best dissertation on some interesting subject. A volume of memoirs is to be occasionally published by the society, and each associate is to furnish, on his admission, a contingent to this volume.

It may be doubted whether an institution of the kind is wanted in Great-Britain. The booksellers of that country, possessed as they are of ample capital, keep constantly on the alert to discover literary performances of merit; they seize with avidity upon whatever has the mark or semblance of genius or learning; they usher their venture into the world with arts adapted to give it attraction and eclat; should it "take," they are able and willing to pay largely for other fruits of the same pen; they occupy themselves much with devising literary enterprises; they combine, where these are very expensive, to administer all the pecuniary means

requisite to full success; they concur in giving every facility to the circulation of new works of every descrip

tion.

The literary public is there completely formed, and extensive beyond all example in any single country; it is ample for every branch of liberal science and art; it is eager for novelty; lavish in expense; capable of immediately distinguishing merit, and, when it does, prone to deal out extravagant panegyric, and afford plentiful emolument, to the admired author. An hundred, or more, professed reviews and literary journals, some of which exert the utmost authority over the public judgement, await, or seek out, a new production, as their vital aliment; if it be condemned in one, it may or will be applauded in another, whether from diversity of taste or the spirit of rivalry; their criticisms, of whatever purport, give it notoriety, and provoke attention from the innumerable class of general readers; if it be decidedly approved by one of the higher tribunals, the propitious sentence is repeated by most of the heralds of fame, in the daily sheet, as well as the monthly magazine; there is no end to the note of praise, which swells, too, without bounds, and rings through every part of the world where the the English tongue predominates,

Great personal consideration, at the same time, attends the popular writer; in short, literature is one of the most fruitful sources of fame, social rank, and fortune. We do not think that, on the whole, a condition of society ever has existed, or, perhaps, could exist, more favourable to the developement of literary genius and the success of literary capacity; the remark might be extended to real talent and proficiency in any department of strict science, and art, either liberal or mechanical. We cannot imagine a combination of circumstances under which institutions specially devoted to the purposes for which the "New Royal Society" is designed, could be foregone with less prejudice, or, at all events, might be held less important.

Not only may a native Briton, or the fixed resident, ascend from the lowest stations of life, from the employments of the shoemaker and the peasant, to the heights

of literary distinction and favour, and succeed in filling with his name, we know not how many trumpets of renown, and in ultimately obtaining for his manuscript, elaborate or careless, we know not how many thousand pounds, but the mere stranger, a casual sojourner, has open to him, with little if any more obstruction, a similar

career.

The instances of our countrymen, Mr. Washington Irving, and Mr. Perkins, are striking as illustrations. Mr. Irving seems to have caught the trade winds, if we may be allowed the figure, of the sea so accessible to all adventurers. His writings-the greater or less merit of which does not enter necessarily into our subject—having been commended by the British reviewers, to whom personal intimacies, the circumstance of their being particularly relished in America, or that of their having fallen, by the common chance, into the drag-net of British periodical criticism, had made them known, the booksellers have, in the course of professional speculation adopted them, and put them into the most attractive dress; curiosity has been piqued; vogue has followed, and the author of the Sketches has now all the scope and incitement, which he could desire, sure, for some time, at least, of public attention, and the patronage of the trade, for whatever he may produce.

The recent celebration and republication, in London, of the novels of Charles B. Brown, after they had fallen into utter and unmerited neglect in his own country, where they first appeared, exemplify, also, that peculiar disposition of things in regard to literature, in GreatBritain, upon which we have dwelt, and which appears to us worthy of being signalized among the distinguishing traits of the present age.

We scarcely need add that an order of affairs approaching very nearly to the reverse, prevails on this side of the Atlantic; and that, in consequence, while Royal Societies for the advancement of indigent or obscure merit in intellectual pursuits, or generally for the promotion of literature, may be deemed unnecessary, and fit for little else than the object-now, perhaps, chiefly in view –of binding a company of writers to the service of roy