official intercourse, direct or indirect, verbal or by letter, with the Chinese Provincial Government," to which official intercourse, almost every privilege which, by connivance or express concession, the trade (American as well as English) at present enjoys, may in fact be attributed, instead of its being left, as it otherwise must have been, "at the mercy of the interested combinations of a few privileged Hong merchants, and of the unchecked violence and rapacity of a corrupt magistracy 1,500 miles from the seat of the empire."*

When the above facts were considered, which are too notorious to be denied, I think the comparison which has been drawn between the duties of the Supracargoes and those which fall to the lot of the American Consulship, an office which is little more than nominal, and generally performed by some of the American agents in China, with little or no salary, for the sake of the name, may safely be left to the contempt and ridicule it merits.

Having thus, I hope, successfully vindicated the Supracargoes from the charge of deriving excessive emoluments from sinecure places, little else remains to be said on the subject; for the Reviewers themselves distinctly disclaim any intention of insinuating any thing to their personal prejudice. The following passage is taken from a former article on the same subject: "It is needless, we hope, to say that nothing can be further from our intention than to insinuate any thing whatever to the personal prejudice of the gentlemen of the factory in China. Some of them, we know, are persons of the greatest talent and respectability; and all of them, we believe, too good for their employment." No. 58, p. 440.

Miscellaneous Notices relating to China, p. 194 and 306.

Concluding what the employment of the Supracargoes really is, this is certainly high praise. The Appendix to the Report of the Committee of Foreign Trade of the House of Commons furnishes us with a similar testimony in their favour, from an eye-witness, and (one might suppose) a hostile one, as he was a strenuous advocate for a free trade. He was naturally asked by the Committee whether he had not seen "any laxity or inattention to business on the part of the Company's servants;" but he was too honest and candid to attempt to bolster up a false theory with a personal calumny, and immediately replied,“ No, CERTAINLY NOT." P. 279.

I cannot conclude this letter without contrasting the proceedings of the English and the Americans at Canton in cases of homicide. When we consider, on the one hand, "the disinterested, fearless, and (in every instance for these last thirty years) successful exertion of the Supracargoes in protecting British subjects who may happen to become the innocent and unhappy object of unsubstantiated and unproved charges, and thus preventing them from falling victims to the unprincipled and undistinguishing severity of Chinese law;" and when we see, on the other, the miserable and humiliating sacrifices of life and honour to which the unhappy Americans (in their disunited state, under what is called a free trade) are compelled to submit; I think we shall want no other testimony of the superior excellence of that system which not only places our trade in such honourable hands, but which strengthens those hands with an influence capable of being applied to such beneficial and important purposes.

Abdallah: an Oriental Poem, in three Cantos; with other Pieces. By HoRACE GWYNNE. London, 1824. THE small space we are able to allot in our present number to subjects of a light and entertaining character will oblige us to be very brief in our notice of this volume.

The scene of the poem is Arabia; and the poet has certainly chosen the most interesting period of Arabian history-the reign of the Prophet, when fanaticism was at its height, both amongst his own followers and the tribes which opposed him. The poem opens with a description of a defeated band of Sabæan* Arabs who had escaped from a severe skirmish, in which the troops of Mohammed had been successful. Their leader, Abdallah, the son of a chief named Al Melech, is described as racked with all the fanatical fury of a fiend. He reproaches his followers for their cowardice, and declares his resolution of going instantly alone to Mecca, and assassinating Mohammed, though surrounded by his guards. In his way he passes over the field of the late battle, where he performs the last offices for a dying enemy, from whom he receives one of the Prophet's standards, with a request that he would deliver it to Mohammed himself, as sent from the dying Hamsa.

Immediately after this Zoharah, or the planet Venus personified, appears to him in a vision, as related in the following extract:

Low by the dead man's side Abdallah sate; before his eyes there came, Borne on a cloud of bright ethereal flame, A form of Heaven, to whom the Grecians

For mother, fair Aphrodita, whose shrine Rose bright in every clime, her doubtful line

Obstructing not her worship. Loosely

thrown

Over her shape of snow, to which the

stone

Of Pharos, when compared, were dark, there flowed

Drapery of ether; in her face there glowed Beauty and heavenly youth; her full dark

eye,

Her hair, her bosom heaving with the sigh

Of ecstacy, her lips, her gait, her air, Spoke her the queen of all that's bright

and fair.

To this ethereal form the youth had knelt
From infancy, and in his soul there dwelt
Ecstatic harmonies of love, that none
But those who bask beneath the burning

sun

Of Araby can feel. Zoharah's eye Beamed on his awe-struck visage raptu

rously,

And searched his soul, where in combustion lay

Strange elements, and thoughts, in one of clay

Seeming divine; then speaking in a tone
Mellifluously rich, and flowing on,
Like the soft murmur of the vernal wind
Rippling the waters. "Nerve thy daring

mind,

Son of Al Melech, for the hand of fate
Is strong upon thee: dark and desolate
Hath he of Mecca sworn to leave my
shrine,-

A dwelling for the solitary stork! 'tis thine,

Thou child of piety, to work the will
Of all-foreseeing Heaven: my banner still
Shall, as from infancy, be o'er thy head,
In constant, holy, watchful fondness
spread!

Thou seest in yon dark arch my purer home

Of everlasting brightness; down the dome Of night it shoots its sparkling argent

There shalt thou live, when loosed from clay, and there,

When pain, and grief, and long-remembered care

Molest not, revel in the perfect bliss
God has so wisely banished from this
Most wicked world. The maids who

bloom on high,

In the aerial bowers of yon sweet sky, From the gross taints of this gross world

are free,

Perfect and beautiful,-resembling me!"

With the standard committed to

him by Hamsa, and under the disguise of an Emir, Abdallah proceeds to Mecca, and readily obtains admittance, though not unsuspected, even into the presence of Mohammed. His firm resolve had been to pierce him to the heart; but the first view of the Prophet not shewing him as the monster which he had pictured to his imagination, he hesitates; and Mohammed recognizes him as the son of his oldest and once most intimate friend. Notwithstand

ing Abdallah's firm belief in fatalism, his heart is softened, and he accepts the proffered invitation to remain as the cherished guest of the very man for whose blood he was, but a moment before, thirsting with the savage fury of a demoniacal fanatic. Mohammed has a lovely daughter named Leilah. Abdallah, of course, conceives an affection for her, and she for him. Difference of faith prevents, for some time, an open declaration of his feelings; at length, however, he woos her in the eastern style by presenting her with a rose-bud, and quickly perceives that his affection is returned.

An incident which occurs shortly after, recalls him from these tender scenes to the ferocious habits of his early life.

One night, as on the caverned height Of Arafat he stood, a light Sparkling and glowing, large and bright, Gleamed on the distant plain; the wind Roared through the caverns, Heaven re. signed

Its radiance, and the sulphurous clouds
Spread wide and low their sable shrouds ;
The thunder growled o'er head, the flash
Of lightning, heralding its crash,
Shot forth its vivid flame, and rent
The dark womb of the firmament;
But still the flame on earth burned on
Its steady course, and moved and shone,
As if in mockery of the storm
That raged through Heaven-its change-
less form

Was like the world's-and in the pause
That followed when their fiery jaws
The clouds had rent, there seemed to rise
Wild, broken music, faint replies
Were whispered from the rocks, till o'er
The plain the bursting thunder's roar
Echoed-all else was buried then
In its deep voice.

Down through the glen,
Lit by its lambent flame, he flew
Towards the fire, the storm still blew
Tempestuously, and every blast
Howled through the rent rocks as it passed.
When on the plain, the even view
Was unobstructed, and the hue
Of the bright flame still brighter grew.
Abdallah's heart was brave as e'er

Beat in man's breast, but a strange fear
Mixed with his feelings, as he came
Nearer this wild portentous flame:
Beneath its brilliant rays there moved
A sable group; the wish approved
By reason to inspect the deed

That thus in darkness veiled its head

Urged him along.

The yielding sand Received his silent footsteps, and Even had it not, the rushing wind, Shaking the desert palms behind, They now

were leaving, would have drowned

All traces of a milder sound.
With beating heart and indrawn breath,
Fearing to wake the air, lest death
From some unearthly hand might fly
Upon its murmur; drawing nigh,
Upon a palankeen where flowers
That once had graced the loveliest bowers
Lay strewed in robe of white,
With countenance turned on the light,
A female corpse he saw; on high,
Flaming and hissing through the sky,
On a dark massive pillar reared,
The orb of living fire appeared.
Surrounded by such awful gloom,
Like the lone lamp that lights the tomb

Of mausoleum'd kings, that throws
Its everlasting light, it rose;

Or like the infant sun, which cast
At random through the infinite waste
Of night, created in his flight
Heaven's fairest forms of laughing light.

The silent train passed swiftly on,
Mounting the ridgy heights of stone,
That form Arabia's mural crown,
From which proud Liberty looks down
On groves, and streams, and plains, and

towers,

Glittering with gold, and gemmed with flowers,

And smiles to think the sacred spot
Has never been a tyrant's lot.
As up the steepy hills he climbed,
Abdallah felt his soul sublimed:
The storm that raged did seem to give
Part of its own prerogative

To those who felt it; fierce and strong
The rocks' rude pinnacle it swept ;
And the first drops it strewed along
Seemed burning tears by demons wept.
At length the torrents poured; the still
Moss-bedded, crystal mountain rill
Swelled to a torrent, roared and dashed
To meet the lightning as it flashed.
Still did the hissing fire erect

Its long and trembling conic crest;
Through rival elements, unchecked,
Scattering its seeds that never rest.
And still the Ghebers, for 'twas they
Who trod this pathless mountain-way,
Bearing the symbol, pure and bright,
Of him who called the world from night,
Moved on, and felt nor dread nor fear
While God's vicegerent blazed so near.

The corpse is conveyed to a cave, which is in fact a Gheber sepulchre. Abdallah is discovered as an intruder, and is about to be sacrificed to the sudden fury of the band, when its chief interposes, and demands an explanation of his reasons for thus prying into their sacred mysteries. On relating his history he is at once excused, informed that his father is near at hand, and speedily conducted to him. The admonitions of his parent, and the fanatical and vindictive feeling pervading all around him, urge him to renounce his tender feelings, and turn his thoughts to vengeance. Leilah, however, he cannot wholly forget.

The Ghebers and Sabæan Arabs who, notwithstanding their mutual animosities, had associated in common cause against Mohammed, immediately after advance against Mecca.

The poet now returns to Leilah, whom he describes, with somewhat too much warmth of colouring, as reposing in her garden bower. Abdallah suddenly appears before her, and urges her to fly with him. She hesitates: but finally consents. At this moment she is stabbed by Omar, Mohammed's principal general, who had accidentally discovered the interview. A combat ensues between Omar and Abdallah. The latter is successful, and on the point of dispatching his adversary, when he is surrounded by the guards of the Prophet, and only rescued by the sudden and unexpected appearance of the Gheber chief.

In agony of soul Abdallah returns to his friends, and prepares for instant vengeance. Advancing in front of his troops, he observes an arrow drop at his feet with a letter attached to it. He opens the letter and reads as follows:

"Thy Leilah sleeps! Her spirit, ere it passed

The mortal bourne, upon thy image last Dwelt with a fearful clinging. Eager death,

Ere it absorbed the small remains of breath, These words permitted:- Go, Honaiah,

flict. Abdallah is again triumphant; but is treacherously pierced with an arrow when on the point of accomplishing his victory. Omar returns in time to save his master and completely to defeat the infidels.

It is evident, from this hasty outline, that the plot of this little poem is very simple; indeed it is somewhat barren in incident. The performance, however, shews traces of genius, which we shall be glad to see better cultivated on a future occasion. The extracts we have given are perhaps the best specimens we could have selected, and are very creditable to the writer. Mr. Gwynne possesses an imagination which is certainly rich and vivid. He seems to have adopted intentionally an impetuous and careless style, as being characteristic of Eastern poetry: in our opinion, however, he has carried this principle too far. Much of his versification is exceedingly harsh. But we must notice a still greater fault, and that is an inverted style. Whenever the natural order of a sentence is changed, whether in prose or poetry, obscurity is the consequence; and no writer can be read with interest who is hard to be understood. We are sure that, if our author would follow with more filial obedience the instructions and example of the old and standard masters of British verse, his productions would command more general interest, for his ideas and language would then become more simple, chastened, and correct.

We do not think it probable that poems on eastern subjects will ever become popular in England. Popular poetry will always be found to contain a large infusion of national sentiment. Now, as there is little or no accordance between the habits and feelings of Eastern and Western nations, there can be little in Oriental fictions, even though founded on historical facts, to awaken the sympathies of a British public. If there are any tribes of Asiatics which command much interest in a British bosom, they are the

relics of the ancient followers of Zoroaster. Mr. Gwynne has availed himself of the subject; but it is one which has been often handled, and the interest of it cannot last for ever. But although Eastern tales, in the dress of British poetry, may never become popular, they will not be without their benefit; for they cannot fail to render us, in some measure, more familiar with the characteristic peculiarities of nations with which, though at the distance of half the globe, we are intimately bound by national ties and Christian obligations. With this feeling, we shall welcome Mr. Gwynne on any future opportunity.

Sketches in India. By Wм. HUGGINS.

London, 1824.

AN historical work consisting of twenty tomes could scarcely have commenced with more pompous language than that which Mr. Huggins has employed in the first pages of his thin volume. He professes, within the space of about two hundred pages, to inform the minds of his European readers upon every important question of Indian policy, and to render them as intimately acquainted with every thing relating to our Eastern empire, as if their whole lives had been spent in that quarter. We do not much quarrel with him, however, for what he has not told us; such discrepancies we willingly lay to the charge of his 200 pages: but we are seriously disposed to question his right of relating circumstances which never happened. Let him be cautious how he tampers with the characters of other people; and whenever, as an impartial historian, he mentions circumstances that are not creditable to the parties concerned, let him be sure that he possesses the necessary proofs to substantiate his assertions. It may be very well for a common newspaper to talk about General A. and Colonel B., but we would whisper in Mr. Huggins' ear, that it would be far more respectable