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And wonder'd where she'd left her sparrows.

She talk'd of politics or prayers;

9 Of Southey's prose, or Wordsworth's sonnets; Of danglers, or of dancing bears;

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Of battles, or the last new bonnets.

By candlelight, at twelve o'clock,
To me-it matter'd not a tittle;
If those bright lips had quoted Locke,

I might have thought they murmured Little.

"Through sunny May, through sultry June, I loved her with a love eternal; I spoke her praises to the Moon,

I wrote them to the Sunday Journal; My mother laugh'd: I soon found out That ancient ladies have no feeling; My father frown'd; but how should gout Find any happiness in kneeling?

"She was the daughter of a Dean,

Rich, fat, and rather apoplectio ; ^-^^ She had one brother, just thirteen, Whose colour was extremely hectic ;Her grandmother, for many a year, Had fed the parish with her bounty Her second cousin was a peery& 397 And Lord Lieutenant of the county. "

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"She smiled on many, just for fun,I knew that there was nothing in it; I was the first, the only one

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Her heart had thought of for a minuter at I knew it, for she told mesoje *

In phrase which was divinely moulded;
She wrote a charming hand; and, oh!
How sweetly all her notes were folded)

"Our love was like most other loves,-
team lead solved de
A little glow, a little shiver;
A rosebud and a pair of gloves, to enram yd battut
And Fly not yet' upon the river; sqowd bes.
Some jealousy of some one's heir,ltis ovunq e es #ha tu
Some hopes of dying broken-hearted;161 vłowczyn
A miniature, a lock of hair, din

The usual vows, and then we parted.

"We parted-months and years roll'd by it at han h We met again four summers after; Our parting was all sob and sigh

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Our meeting was all mirth and laughter; o'l
For, in my heart's most secret cell 706 „bisay
There had been many other lodgers; dos digasi h
And she was not the Ball-Room's Belle, to

But only Mrs Something Rogers. di- tai xiqqe Had space permitted, we should have liked to have quoted Miss Landon's highly poetical stanzas about Robert Burns and his Highland Mary; but these and other good things we must leave for the private gratification of those who have the good sense to procure fer themselves a copy of the Literary Souvenir arm snab Volts esiwiss od of bir iqmi sdt

History of the War of Independence in Greece, || By Thomas Keightley, Esq., Author of " Fairy Mythelogy," "Outlines of History," &c. Two volumes. Vol. I (Being Volume LX. of Constable's Miscel lany.) Edinburgh. 1830.

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We neither are, nor ever were, of the number of those who raved about the independence of Greece. The peculiar claim to our sympathy urged by the Philbellenist, on the ground that Greece was at one time distinguished as the seat of letters and the citadel of freedom, we conla never admit as valid. Such an argument, if indeed argument it may be called, we have always regarded as puerile, and rather a theme for the declamation of schoolboys than a rational ground for sympathy. The Greeks lost their liberty at an early period of authentic history. Ther high intellectual character was soon lost also, and their morals became so utterly degenerate, as to subject them to the reproach of their barbarian neighbours. Even after their country had been restored to more than its former consequence, by Constantine's transferring to the East the seat of all but universal empire, they retained the vices of a degraded and a conquered people, till, aftér a long course of dissension, luxury, treachery, and cowardice, they fell a prey to the arms of the encroaching followers of Mahomet. It is unnecessary to refer to their national history and character for the last four haudred years;—even the descent of the modern Greeks froth the wise and the brave, who, in ancient times, inhibite

their land, is, for the most part, extremely questionable. In short, in the history and character of the Greeks, for nearly two thousand years, there has been less to deserve our regard, or to excite our admiration, than in the case of almost any other people; and we should think the banditti of the Abruzzi, and the Copts of Egypt, not since the Ro

tion, but we heartily deprecate the iteration of a senseless anti-patriotic clamour against a ministry whose name will ever remain honourably connected with the brightest period of our history; and especially we deprecate the attacks upon the distinguished statesman who, without being responsible for the commencement of the war, gave vigour to its progress, and success to its events; and, after

less entitled to our sympathy the world, and science bringing it to a glorious conclusion, by his moderation

mans were at one time the lords o first dawned on the banks of the Nile.

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But though we could not persuade ourselves to regard the modern Greeks as demi-gods, or engage in a crusade to expel the domineering Turks from the sacred soil of Marathon, we never confounded the cause of the Greeks with the ordinary revolutionary movements of a discontented people, rising in rebellion against legitimate government. They were a conquered nation, bound to the Turks by no tie of mutual interest, affection, or obligation force alone had riveted their chains, and they had clearly a right to shake them off, whenever they should possess the means of effectual resistance. Besides, with all their degradation, political and moral, the Greeks were our fellow-Christians, and there was reason to hope, that, if once fairly emancipated from the service of their misbelieving task-masters, a happy regeneration might be effected by means of a free intercourse with the rest of civilized Europe. Temporary insurrections, however, do not always prove either a heartfelt rational love of liberty, or capacity for making a proper use of it when obtained. Such experiments, enthusiastically undertaken and hastily abandoned, have frequently agitated a country with civil war, and ended by riveting the chains which it was their object to break. But the late war in Greece was supported by a strong and general feeling of impatience under Turkish domination, and a determination, at all hazards, to relieve themselves from the yoke. They have at length nobly earned their independence. A protracted struggle of more than seven years has enabled them to appreciate the strength of their own resources; and we trust it has also taught them to attach a proper value to that freedom which they have secured by many heroic efforts, True, that struggle has been marked on both sites with too many instances of barbarous cruelty and breach of faith, but, upon the whole, the Greeks have done much to wipe away the blot of infamy which for centuries attached to their name; and we are now entitled to hope, that if their country do not at once assume that imposing attitude which some enthusiasts have absurdly anticipated, it will at least attain, at no very distant period, a respectable place among the second-rate states of civilized Europe.

A

Mr Keightley has given us a very happy sketch of the origin and progress of the war. His narrative is clear and spirited, and as satisfactory as the character and limited extent of his materials will probably admit. full and perfectly authentic history of the Greek war of Independence cannot be expected at the present time, when, as our author himself observes, a sufficient number of memoires pour servir have not appeared. He has, how ever, done all that can be done under such disadvantages; be has collected such materials as were to be had, and has made a judicious use of them, making a proper distinçtion between those which seem entitled to credit, and those which are of more questionable authority: and although he cannot be considered as altogether free of prejudice, we have no reason to believe that he has allowed his partiality to affect his narrative, so far as facts, not opinions, are concerned. His enthusiasm for the Greek cause is natural for many reasons, and perhaps unavoidable, considering the sources of information to which he was limited, the accounts, namely, published by the Greeks themselves, and by their volunteer partisans. But he is much less excusable when he digresses into ultra liberal speculations about Irish politics, and the character of Lord Liverpool's cabinet. For our own part, we are not fond of volunteering political opinions of any descrip

and wisdom, established the peace of Europe upon a solid foundation, which has secured to us uninterrupted tranquillity for the long space of fifteen years. At this able minister, since his melancholy death, it has been the fashion for every " puny whipster" to have a hit-and we are only sorry that a gentleman of Mr Keightley's good sense in other matters, should join in the vulgar cry. His own very unnecessary digressions, have provoked this slight digression of ours. We are, however, much pleased with the general spirit of Mr Keightley's narrative. We have no doubt whatever that his little work will be popular, both because the subject is an interesting one, and because the work itself is spiritedly and ably written. As yet, only the first volume has appeared. We shall close our present notice with two short extracts, as a specimen of the work. The following is the style in which an Eastern pasha issues his orders:

A BOYOORDI, OR ORDER OF KOORSHEED-PASHA.

"We, kaïmakan of the mighty Moreh Valesi Khoorsheed-pasha, (to whom God grant prosperity and a happy end!) by the advice of our great council, order you, archbishops, bishops, coja-bashees, and notables, Rhomeans of the towns and villages of the Morea, to arise, on receiving yourselves immediately to our residence at Tripolitza, to the noble firman which we address to you, and to transfer enjoy there the incomparable happiness of the protection which we will grant you, and the contemplation of our magnificent power. We enjoin the rayas who live beneath the shadow of the golden wings of our glorious monarch, instantly to lay down their arms, to give up those which they possess to our voivodes, without raising their heads, which they are permitted to keep this year, on paying a of the enemies of our holy religion, and of the glorious Khan, double kharatch, and not giving ear to the seditious discourses son of Khan Sultan Mahmood. Let this be performed without delay.-Feb. 12, (25,) 1821."

Our next extract is a tolerably fair specimen of the character of the many skirmishes by which the Greek patriots distinguished themselves in the course of the

war:

"Asammunition was failing in the Turkish camp, Ismaël had sent the selictar (sword-bearer) of Mohammed Dramali to Arta and Prevesa, with directions to collect all the powder and ball in these towns, and all the public money, and to bring them to the camp. The selictar having performed his task, formed a caravan of 130 loaded mules, guarded by 250 Spahis, and an equal number of Asiatic soldiers, armed with musquetoons. The approach of this caravan having been very pompously announced, the intelligence had reached the ears of Nothi Botzaris, and he directed his nephew to lie in wait for it, previous to attacking the Five Wells; he charged him, moreover, when he should have taken this last place, to fortify himself strongly in it, in order to cut off the communication between Arta and Jannina, and to burn it to the ground if he should find himself unable to maintain it.

"The Turks, having left Arta with their convoy, proceeded over the plains of Amphilochia, amusing themselves, according to their usual custom, with galloping and caracoling their horses. When they came to the defile of Koomakhades, they began to shout and fire their guns to scare away any robbers who might happen to be there. The whole caravan and escort were hardly completely engaged in the defile, when they found themselves assailed in front, in rear, and in flank, by Mark Botzaris and his Sooliotes. At this sudden discharge of musketry from all sides, the mule-drivers threw themselves on the ground,the soldiers, in disorder and consternation, fled, some back to Arta, others on to Jannina. The Sooliotes, quitting their ambush, rushed forth and pursued them. The whole convoy fell into the bands of the victors; the Turks left twentyfive men dead, forty wounded, and five prisoners. The

wreath" in which the flowers of Europe and Asia bloom alternately, heightening, by force of contrast, each other's charms. The Indian paper too, upon which the book is printed, gives it an exquisitely exotic look. The effect of English types upon its glossy brown surface, is in harmony with that half. ludicrous, half-imposing mixture of British matter-of-fact with Oriental show, which characterizes every thing connected with the “wholesale and retail" Kings of Leadenhall Street. Among the contents, "Highland Superstitions" nod responsive to a tale of Brama's devotees, (" The Sage and the Nymph"

peasants were directed to drive their mules to Sooli; forty bold palicares escorted them, taking with them the prisoners and the heads of the slain A party, sent on by Mark Botzaris towards the Five Wells, found the khan abandoned by its garrison, and took possession of it. "Nothi Botzaris, accompanied by a train of women and children, came down from the mountain to meet the caravan, for a perodrome (runner), sent forward by Mark Botzaris, had informed him of his success. He allowed the peasants to return home with their mules, without ransom, and the women, putting the loading of the mules on their shoulders, carried it up the mountain. Among the prisoners were two beys, two mollas, and a cadi: these were in derision sold to gipsies, for an ass and some tobacco-the-the best in the book), while Nawal Mhooli Khan spins cadi, as he could find no purchaser, was set at liberty; the other prisoners were ransomed by the Turks of Paramythia."

We take leave of Mr Keightley and his amusing work for the present, in the hope of meeting him again when his second volume appears.

The Bengal Annual, and Literary Keepsake, for 1831.
Edited by David Lester Richardson. Calcutta. Samuel
Smith and Co. 1830. 8vo. Pp. 352.

his long yarn side by side with an account of the plague of Milan, The last piece in the volume, "An Ode of Anacreon, literally translated by Mr Harachandra Ghose," into a language which, as far as we can guess, is Sanscrit, is exceedingly to our taste, and we should have quoted it for the benefit of our readers, had not our printer unluckily run out of his Devangari characters a very rare circumstance in Mr Ballantyne's office. We thought of re-translating into English Mr Harachandra Ghose's translation, that we might thus give some idea of his manner, but we find that our Devangari dictionary has also most unaccountably fallen aside.

On the whole, the contents of this Annual show that there is a great quantity of literary talent existing in our Indian territory. Yet we agree with the able editor, in his preliminary sketch of the literati of British India, that as long as the present system of management in that country is maintained, there can, by no possibility, exist an Anglo-Indian literature. We at the same time add, that we hope it never may exist. We are told, and told truly, that such a state of society as could give birth to Indian literature, can only be brought about by "colo

THIS is exactly what a Bengal Annual ought to beEnglish feelings amid Indian scenery. India is a gorgeous land, and gallant are the deeds, and stupendous the enterprises, of our island's sons who rule her-but still she is not their home. In their proudest and happiest moments, they turn their eyes to a little spot of earth, far away among the waters-it is there alone that they hope for repose. The fate of Tantalus was a faint prototype of theirs, which is to endure toil, and the blight of a sickly climate, in youth, in order that they may be able to spend a peevish and joyless old age in their native land, sur-nising British India." We suspect that those who speak rounded by luxuries for which they have no appetite. Little wonder, then, that the Editor prefaced his Annual with these dirgelike lines:

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"Fondly we gaze upon the west,
As sunset dies away;

For then-those lands we love the best,
Smile in the noon's glad ray.

"Night comes-and the jackal's dreary yell
Salutes the rising moon;

The death-fog creeps along the fell,
And cloaks the wide lagoon.

"Shuddering we turn from such a scene,
To seek a fever'd sleep;

We dream of home-and wake between
Those happy dreams to weep.

"Perhaps bright eyes may scan these tales,
Where honeysuckle weaves

Cool bowers-while violet-scented gales
Play o'er our Indian leaves.

"Then-where our flowers less sweetly bloom,
Our gems less brightly shine,
Think, Beauty-think, 'tis Exile's gloom
Lies dark upon the line.
"Home! Home! there, there alone
The minstrel's harp gives all its tone.

In strict accordance with the feelings expressed in these verses, the editor has, to use his own words, "twined a

But

of colonisation, use the word, like many other wiseacres
of the day, without being aware of its full import. A
colony is a corporate body which, under the protection
of a mother state, settles with a view to cultivate lands
which have never been occupied by any tribe, and thus
to constitute for themselves property in that land.
every inch of land in India is property, and property too
which is very minutely subdivided. If they who hold
this language mean that British subjects ought to be al-
lowed to purchase and hold lands in India, only one re-
mark need be made with regard to such a proposal. In
every instance where the white European race bas settled
among any of the other races of men, their co-existence
has been found impossible. The aborigines have gradually
disappeared. Were India now governed by native princes,
and did they know the interest of their people, it would
be their duty to prevent the settlement of white men.
The same duty is laid upon the Company which has
come in their place, and ought to be the more strictly
attended to, as the executive power which is at present
in the hands of the whites, adds fearfully to the strength
of that caste.

The Water Witch; or, the Skimmer of the Seas. A Tale.
By the Author of the Borderers, &c. In three vols.
London. Colburn and Bentley. 1830.

MR COOPER, in this work, makes the rather hazardous
attempt to create a heroic character out of the 'unpro-
mising materiel of a mere dealer in contraband goods."" Of
the success which has attended his efforts, the reader will
be better able to judge after perusing a short summary
of his story. It is but justice, however, to our authér
to remark, that from this summary are excluded many of
the charms which the skilful involvement of the 'plét
communicates to the novel.
* ad2f a#af,p*

The scene of the story is the great estuary at the mouth of the Hudson; the time, is the commencement of the 18th century. A naval officer in the British service had

been induced, during the reign of one of the last Stuarts, to retire, in consequence of unjust treatment, to private life, and ultimately to leave his country, His poverty rendered the adoption of some profession necessary; and, viewing himself as expatriated by the injustice of the government, whilst he was careless of obtaining the right of citizenship in a new country, he commenced trader Independent of any national connexion, and regardless of the commercial laws of any state. He had with him an only daughter, arrived at the years of womanhood, and an orphan boy, the son of a deceased friend, whom he had taught to call him father. On one occasion, projecting a voyage attended by circumstances of unusual danger, he confided his daughter to the hospitality of one of the wealthy Dutch families of New York. One of the sons of this family falls in love with the fair stranger, and prevails on her to consent to a secret and rather irregular marriage. Not daring to acknowledge to the world a connexion of so questionable a character, he ungenerously allows his wife to depart with her father on his return; she, on her part, fearing to confess, to a parent so proud and stern, and so soured with mankind, what had taken place. The natural consequences of the alliance she had so rashly formed, betray, in time, her secret. The father, indignant at the notion that any man should feel otherwise than proud to proclaim her as his wife, resolves that the young Dutchman shall never know he has a child. The injured woman soon after died, intrusting her daughter to her father's care, who, after a lapse of years, died in his turn, surrendering the guardianship of his grandchild to the young man whom he had educated, and whom we have already mentioned. At the time the story of the novel commences, this youth, now arrived at the years of confirmed manhood, is lying off Sandy Hook, waiting for an opportunity to slip in, unnoticed by the queen's cruiser, at anchor in the roads. Since the death of his patron, his wealth has increased so as to enable him to deal only in the most costly goods. Cargoes of such a nature being of small bulk, he has found it for his advantage to perform his voyages in an extremely light and slender vessel, whose swiftness, aided by his own daring and adroitness, enables him to bid defiance to all pursuit. The orphan girl, left to his care, he has attentively educated; but, being pressed by circumstances, he can at present afford her no fitter home than his vessel;-seeing the inconveniences to which she is there exposed, he has resolved, notwithstanding the prohibition of her grandfather, to deliver her into the hands of her natural protector, with whom he has kept up a close intercourse. In order to baffle the servants of the customs, he has been in the habit of playing off some legerdemain tricks upon them, of which he has, at the same time, availed himself to secure a more complete influence over his superstitious crew. It may be farther mentioned, that his own taste, and, still more, the presence of his ward, have caused the brigantine to be fitted up in a manner at once luxurious and elegant.

Old Alderman von Staats had at this time living with him a pretty niece, "la belle Barberie," for whose good graces a sturdy scion of an old Dutch stock, and Ludlow, the captain of the cruiser already mentioned, were stoutly contending. This tended to keep the queen's ship in a proximity to the alderman's residence, which was favourable neither to the objects of the free-trader nor his customer. But, confident in his good bark, his own address, and doubly anxious for his cargo and his ward, he manages to run into the land, in despite of the sharp eyes that are on the look out for him. Fearing "la belle Barberie", may be a hiuderance to the daughter's recognition, by her father, Von Staats, he carries her off; but finding her generously disposed to yield her claims to the zight owner, he engages her to farther his schemes, and restores her to her uncle's house. In the meantime, Eudora (the free-trader's ward) has been encountered in male attire by Captain Ludlow, upon whom she passes

herself off as the Skimmer of the Seas, the commander of the far-famed Water Witch-the names by which her guardian and his vessel are known. Jealousy, as well as duty, impel Ludlow to the pursuit of the contrabandist; and the greater part of the novel is occupied by a succession of chases, in which the free-trader mistifies, eludes, and outsails the cruiser, always returning, after making his escape, to the point from which he started, in order to ensure the acknowledgment of his ward by the alderman. The tale is wound up by a general explanation of all mysteries, and the union of "la belle Barberie" and the gallant captain. But Eudora refusing to part with him who has so long protected her, they sail away together, and are never more heard of.

Many of the characters in this novel are, taking them as individual sketches, admirably conceived. The alderman, the sailing-master in the cruiser, an old and faithful attendant of "la belle Barberie," and the Skimmer of the Seas himself, are splendid and masterly portraits. The Water Witch, too, is a most beautiful contrast to the ship of the Red Rover. She carries no hostile equipment,-light, beautiful, and tricksome, she rides on the waves like a witch's egg-shell, and slips from the grasp of her pursuers like an eel.

Still, with all these recommendations, we must say that there is a want of originality and of pervading depth of feeling in the texture of the story. The involvement of the plot is an arbitrary decree of the author-it does not seem to spring necessarily from the workings of human passions. With one or two exceptions, the characters are not native to the localities in which they are placed, and do not bear their stamp upon them. The great charm of this novel-as in others of the author's best-unquestionably derives itself from his unequalled conversance with the power and presence of the great waters

He

from the magical sway he exercises over the spirits of the sea. This is a department of literature which he has struck out for himself, and in which he knows no equal. places us in the midst of the tempest-he hurries us along in the chase-he realises the sea-fight with intensity and truth, which no other has ever been able to give. We are most anxious that he should cultivate to the utmost this extraordinary power. Let him only seek to people his water-borne palaces with beings as real as his elements. Let him be on the waters what Sir Walter is on the land. The great author we have just named has hung out the flag of defiance on board his "Pirate;"-let the true " Rover" stand to his guns, and beat the freshwater sailor back to the shore. We want no more sentimental, voluptuous gentlemen. We want the reality. Let his heroes be as enthusiastic as the old French buccanneer, who vowed eternal hatred to the Spaniards for their cruelties to the Indians;--let them be as alive to the beauties of nature as Dampierre: but let them be true human beings-rough as the element they live upon not altogether made up of conscience and tender heart -not all alumni of Harvard and Yale.

As a specimen of the novel, we give the account of the free-trader slipping out of the cruiser's clutches under the cover of a thunder gust. Ludlow has been out in his boat reconnoitring the mysterious image under the bowsprit of the Water Witch:

"A single dash of the waters was heard, and the yawl was already twenty feet from the mysterious image. Then followed a desperate struggle to regain the cruiser, ere the gust should strike her. The sullen murmur of the wind, rushing through the rigging of the ship, was audible some time before they reached her side; and the struggles between the fabric and the elements were at moments so evident, as to cause the young commander to fear he would be too late. The foot of Ludlow touched the deck of the Coquette at the instant the weight of the squall fell upon her sails. He no longer thought of any interest but that of the moment, for, with all the feelings of a seaman, his mind was now full of his ship.

"Let run every thing!' shouted the ready officer, in a

voice that made itself heard above the roar of the wind. • Clae down, and hand! Away aloft, you topinen ! lay out! pull away!'

"These orders were given in rapid succession, and without a trumpet, for the young man could at need speak loud as the tempest. They were succeeded by one of those exciting and fearful minutes that are so familiar to mariners. Each man was intent on his duty, while the elements worked their will around him, as madly as if the hand by which they are ordinarly restrained was for ever removed. The bay was a sheet of foam, while the rushing of the gust resembled the dull rumbling of a thousand chariots. The ship yielded to the pressure, until the water was seen gushing through her lee scuppers; and her tall line of masts inclined towards the plane of the bay, as if the end of the yards were about to dip into the water. But this was no more than the first submission to the shock. The well-moulded fabric recovered its balance, and struggled through its element, as if conscious that there was security only in motion. Ludlow glanced his eye to leeward. The opening of the cove was favourably situated, and he caught a glimpse of the spars of the brigantine rocking violently in the squall. He spoke to demand if the anchors were clear, and then he was heard shouting again from his station in the weather gang-way

"Hard-a-weather!'

"The first efforts of the cruiser to obey her helm, stripped as she was of canvass, were laboured and slow; but when her head began to fall off, the driving scud was scarce swifter than her motion. At that moment the sluices of the cloud opened, and a torrent of rain mingled in the uproar, and added to the confusion. Nothing was now visible but the lines of the falling water, and the sheet of white foam through which the ship was glancing.

Here is the land, sir,' bellowed Trysail, from a cathead, where he stood, resembling some venerable sea-god, dripping with his native element; we are passing it like a race-horse!'

6

"See your bows clear!' shouted back the captain. Ready, sir, ready.'

Ludlow motioned to the men at the wheel to bringthe ship to the wind; and when her way was sufficiently deadened, two ponderous anchors dropped, at another signal, into the water. The vast fabric was not checked without, a further and tremendous struggle. When the bows felt the restraint, the ship swung head to wind, and fathom after fathom of the enormous ropes was extracted by surges so violent, as to cause the hull to quiver to its centre. But the first lieutenant and Trysail were no novices in their duty, and, in less than a minute, they had secured the vessel steadily at her anchors. When this important service was performed, officers and crew stood looking at each other, like men who had just made a hazardous and fearful experiment. The view again opened, and objects on the land became visible, through the still falling rain. The change was like that from night to day. Men, who bad passed their lives on the sea, drew long and relieving breaths, conscious that the danger was happily passed. As the more pressing interest of their own situation abated, they remembered the object of their search. All eyes were turned in quest of the smuggler, but, by some inexplicable means, he had disappeared. "The Skimmer of the Seas!' and 'What has become of the brigantine?' were exclamations that the discipline of a royal cruiser could not repress. They were repeated by a hundred mouths, while twice as many eyes sought to find the beautiful fabric. All looked in vain. The spot where the Water Witch had so lately lain was vacaut, and no vestige of her wreck lined the shores of the cove. During the time the ship was bending her sails, and preparing to enter the cove, no one had leisure to look for the stranger; and after the vessel had anchored, until that moment, it was not possible to see her length on any side of them. There was still a dense mass of falling water moving sea-ward, but the curious and auxious eyes of Ludlow made fruitless efforts to penetrate its secrets. Once, indeed, more than an hour after the gust had reached his own ship, and when the ocean in the offing was clear and calm, he thought he could distinguish, far to seaward, the delicate tracing of a vessel's spars, drawn against the horizon, without any canvass set. But a second look did not assure him of the truth of the conjecture."

Forget-Me-Not a Christmas, New Year's, and Birthday Present for 1831. Edited by Frederick Shoberl, London. R. Ackermann.

THE Forget-me-not, which is the oldest of all the Annuals, and which now appears before the public for the ninth time, is not so good this season as it was last. Among the engravings, of which there are thirteen, there are only three which strike us as at all remarkable. The first of these-Queen Esther, from a painting by Martinis as gorgeous and as unmeaning as Martin's paintings generally are;-the second-The Cat's-Paw, by Graves, after Landseer is one of the cleverest of the latter artist's productions, representing a monkey forcing, with the most wicked gravity, a cat's paw down upon a heated oven, while the poor cat yells in agony, half to the astonishment and half to the amusement of a couple of kittens who look demurely on ;-the third-the Boa Ghaut, engraved by Finden, after Westall is a magnificent Indian scene, represented in a manner which reflects much credit on both artists. The rest, we regret to say, are mediocre enough; and we especially wonder that such poor things as The False One, and The Painter Puzzled, should have been admitted into the Forget-me-not.

As to the literary contents, or what it is now fashionable to call the letter-press, there is great inequality of merit. The best things are a " Sea Story" by the Ettrick Shepherd, an amusing Sketch by Richard Thomson, the ingenious and clever author of the "Chronicles of London Bridge,"-" The Sacrifice, an Indian Tale," by Captain M'Naghten," The Painter of Pisa," by Derwent Conway, and "The Death of Charles First," by Miss Mitford. The poetry, on the whole, is particularly indifferent, and has, indeed, been contributed, for the most part, by persons whose names we have a sort of dím res collection of having seen in Annuals before, but certainly nowhere else under the sun. We have a host of such amiable writers as Mrs Perring, Charles Bickmore, Esq., the Rev. Richard Polwhele, (evidently a great creature,) H. F. Chorley, Esq., Miss S. E. Hatfield, (quite a gem;) Captain Longmore, Miss Susanna Strickland, (a very great creature, who writes, we observe, in all the Annuals,) Nicholas Michell, Esq., George Downes, A. M., Mrs Abdy, (another gem,) Henry Brandreth, Jun. Esq., Miss Mary Anne Cursham, (a striking poetess,) Mrs Eliza Walker, (a sweet composer,) and, though last not least, J. F. Hollings, Esq. (Heaven bless him!)

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"O, fond attempt to give a deathless lot sd

To names ignoble, born to be forgot!"

Yet all these ladies and gentlemen no doubt consider themselves splendid individuals, and distribute on an average eight copies each of the Forget-me-not among their friends and admirers. Loath should we be to break into their dream of bliss, were it not that we hold Mr Frederick Shoberl responsible for their somniferousness, and are afraid that the magnetic sleep into which he lulls them may be attended with dangerous consequences. Wa fear that they may get possessed with visions of glory; and that Miss S. E. Hatfield, or the Rev. Richard Polwhele, may die in the erroneous belief that their names will descend to all posterity, although the unquestionable fact is, that they will not live one hour longer than those of Captain Longmore or Mrs Eliza Walker. If J, F. Hollings, Esq. has a moment's better chance than Charles Bickmore, Esq., it can only be because Hollings has comitted just one contribution, whereas the unfortunate Charles Bickmore has been tempted to do two. And as for thee, Miss Mary Anne Cursham, much do we wish that thou wert married either to H, F. Chorley ori Nicholas Michell. Has not the celebrated Mrs Bowditch become the no less celebrated Mrs Lee? and why may not the effulgence of a Cursham be absorbed into · that of a Chorley or a Nicholas? Why not follow the Take him for all in all, Cooper will ever rank among example of Mrs Abdy? She is already a wife, and her the best novel-writers of the age.

maiden name is forgotten for ever,

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