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troubles-when a sudden noise awoke him! Two Mussulman soldiers had entered the hut, and the trembling woodcutter was serving them with food. They were ferocious banditti of the infidel army, who had secretly escaped from the corps to which they belonged, for the purpose of pillaging the surrounding hamlets; and they now discover the Renegade, on whose head a price of ten thousand sequins has been set. The cowards rushed on their prey, and in spite of the convulsive efforts of Agobar, they succeeded in binding his hands and feet with cords which they found in the hut.

Without reflecting on the distance which separated them from Angustura, they hastily prepared a litter, on which they placed their victim. Leaving the hut, they with difficulty descended the mountain, and, overcome with fatigue,

they stopped at the brink of the torrent of Fontanias. Unable to proceed further, they renounced their impracticable design of conveying the Renegade to the plain of Angustura.-"Remain here, (said one of the Saracens to his companion ;) keep watch over the Renegade, while I go forward to procure assistance.--The soldier who was left in charge of the Prince seated himself on the brink of the torrent. Fatigue soon overpowered him, and he sunk into a profound sleep. Meanwhile the fresh breeze of the evening had in some degree revived the wasted strength of Agobar. His fever had considerably abated. He gradually recovered his senses, and reflecting on his horrible situation, he uttered a deep groan.... Ezilda was not deceived. Her heart had indeed recognized the voice of Agobar.

(To be concluded in next No.)

NEW VOLUME OF KIRKE WHITE'S REMAINS.‡
(English Magazines, &c. for July.)

THOUGH something in the way of
More last Words of Richard Bax-
ter, we doubt not but this small volume
will partake of the popularity of its
precursors, and be widely read by the
evangelical classes, to whose appetite
it is addressed. Nor has the sympa-
thy which hung like a dim halo round
the dying head of this amiable youth,
yet lost so much of its interest as to ad-
mit of aught of his being issued from
the press without exciting a feeling
more general in its behalf. The well
written preface to the present publica-
tion will augment that feeling, and help
these relics forward in the public esti-
mation. In our own opinion the con-
tents are hardly of sufficient weight for
a separate volume; but we willingly
in such a case surrender our critical
judgment to the tastes of a multitude
of readers with whom the productions
of Kirke White are held in reverence,
not merely as effusions of genius, but
as emanations of an apostolic spirit,
sublimed from earth to Heaven with a

martyr's glory. The first third of the volume before us consists of letters, which display the writer in the light of a very virtuous young man; but they are too immature to require comment as literary performances. The next division is of early poems, and in some of these the amatory and warm occupy the places afterwards held by the religious and enthusiastic. We cite two as examples :

SONGS.

Sweet Jessy! I would fain caress

That lovely cheek divine;
Sweet Jessy, I'd give worlds to press

That rising breast to mine.

Sweet Jessy, I with passion burn

Thy soft blue eyes to see;
Sweet Jessy, I would die to turn
Those melting eyes on me!
Yet Jessy, lovely as ***

Thy form and face appear,
I'd perish ere I would consent
To buy them with a tear.

The Remains of Henry Kirke White, with an Account of his Life. By Robert Southey. Vol. 3.

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Oh, that I were the fragant flower that kisses My Arabella's breast that heaves on high; Pleas'd should I be to taste the transient blisses,

And on the melting throne to faint and die.

Oh, that I were the robe that loosely covers Her taper limbs,and Grecian form divine; Or the entwisted zones, like meeting lovers, That clasp her waist in many an aery twine.

Oh, that my soul might take its lasting

station

In her waved hair, her perfumed breath to sip;

Or catch,by chance,her blue eyes fascination! Or meet, by stealth, her soft vermilion lip.

But chain'd to this dull being, I must ever Lament the doom by which I'm hither placed;

Must pant for moments I must meet with never,

And dream of beauties I must never taste.

The poems of a later date, which fill the next class, are curiously contrasted with these in matter; though it would not perhaps be difficult to trace a very intimate relationship between the glow of earthly loves and the fervour of divine hymns, which may be but different modifications of the same spirit. Be this as it may, we shall enable our readers, by a quotation or two, to compare or contrast them for themselves :

In every clime, from Lapland to Japan, This truth's confest,-That man's worst foe is man.

The rav'ning tribes, that crowd the sultry

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Man, man alone, no tenant of the wood, Preys on his kind, and laps his brother's blood;

His fellow leads, where hidden pit-falls lie, And drinks with ecstacy his dying sigh.

SONNETS.

Poor little one! most bitterly did pain,
And life's worst ills, assail thine early age;
And,quickly tir'd with this rough pilgrimage,
Thy wearied spirit did its heaven regain.
Moaning, and sickly, on the lap of life
Thou laidst thine aching head, and then
didst sigh

A little while, ere to its kindred
Thy soul return'd, to taste no more of strife
Thy lot was happy, little sojourner!
Thou had'st no mother to direct thy ways;
And fortune frown'd most darkly on thy
days,

Short as they were. Now, far from the low stir

Of this dim spot, in heaven thou dost repose, And look'st, and smil'st on this world's transient woes.

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Joins the full-pealing dirge, and Winter

weaves

Her dark sepulchral wreath of faded leaves.

We have few comments to add: the admirers of

Kirke White have seen higher efforts of his genius than this volume contains; but they will find in is much to confirm their admiration of that estimable Being, and augment the sorrow with which his pawmature fate has been so generally regretted.

TENDRILS.

ALL poets are not lights to all men and all ages, but many are soft stars above our heads, and blossoms shedding perfume beneath our feet."

And there is so much wild-flower sweetness, tender and genuine feeling, about this young poet, that we readily admit his plea of inexperience in ex

BY REUBEN.

cuse for ioccasonally careless diction, trifling, and a degree of affectation. Never do we feel more inclined to unbend from our critical severity than in pronouncing judgment upon a first ef fort. When totally unpromising, we would willingly pass it over in silence, without wounding that ambition wê

cannot in justice encourage; but when
taste, talent, or feeling are evinced, it is
our pride and pleasure to pour the sun-
light of fame over the youthful laurel.
Our first selection is from a fanciful lit-
tle poem, founded on the old tradition
of a mortal who has entered a fairy
ring by night; the spirits of air be-
come visible till the morning light
breaks on the beautiful vision. The
third Spirit sings-

Hast thou a serrow ?-come tell it to me;
Have I a comfort ?-thine it shall be.-

I seek where the tears of the mourner are flowing,
And breathe on his brow till its throbbing is calm;
I steal where the heart of the chastened is glowing,
And as rain to the flower, my smile is his balm:
Where the exile is wandering, my pinions are nigh,
Where the pilgrim is weary, to sooth him, am I ;
I whisper them tales of the home of their youth,
Of the hearts that are fond, and the prayers that are
truth!

I fly where the sailor-boy watches a'oft,

And though storms gather round him, his slumbers are soft;

Then I bear his young spirit away on my wings, Where the thrush that he loved in his childhood still sings,

Where the woodbine is "twining its wreathes on the wall,

And dear ones again on their wanderer call;-
There is one bending o'er him whose lip cannot
speak,

And the tear of affection falls warm on his cheek;
There is one standing near him with words in her eye,
And he seeks the embrace which she may not deny :
But the sea-bird sails past-and shrill is her scream,
And in tears he awakens, but blesses his dream.
The sigh of the lonely-the tear-drop of pain,
Where hope is wasted, and prayers are va n

The lips that are pale, the cheeks that are won,
Where joy is bitter-and comfort is gone,
The flowers that fade where the spring-blight is flying,
The leaves that are falling, the birds that are dying.
The blasted sapphing, the withering tree,
Are sacred to Pity, and cherish'd by me.
Peace to thee, peace!

Our second is from "Home."

'Tis worth an age of wandering, to return
To souls that stili can feel, and hearts that burn;
We have not bent the chasten'd brow in vain,
To hear the whisper, "Thou art mine again!"
To see in eyes we love the tear-drop swell,
With more of feeling than the lip could tell.
The weary pilgrim's wish,—the exile's prayer,
Breathe of their home-that they may wander there,
And like the sun when summer days are past,
Sink into rest, their calmest hour their last,
Heave the death-sigh where those around will weep,
And sleep forever where their fathers sleep.

We shall close our remarks with a pretty sonnet on leaving Home :

God bless thee! was the last endearing word
The lip could utter, or the heart could feel!
Many did pray for the young exile's weal,
But there was one from whom was only heard,
God bless thee!-and it was affection's knell
For many a lonely day-

The very phrase
Was oft repeated by the parting voice
Of youthful friendship; and the last farewell
Of some who lov'd me in my boyish days,
Was warm and tearful--

Yet there was but one,
Whose heart beat quicker than her eyes ran o'er,
Whose trembling lid refused to whisper more,
Than that warm prayer.

It was a hallow'd tone!

Stephensiana, No. VI.

ORIGINAL ANECDOTES, &c.

Monthly Magazine, July.)

CHARLES CALLIS WESTERN.

THIS HIS gentleman is descended from a family of Massachusetts governors, and the following anecdote is recorded of his infancy. His father and mother were taking a journey in a phæton, himself, an infant, being in his mother's lap they stopped to bait the horses at the door of an inn, when the hostler imprudently took off the bridles, and the horses, feeling their heads at liberty, set off at full gallop. The danger to all was imminent; but Mrs. W. with a happy presence of mind, threw the child into a thick hedge which they passed close, by which he

escaped injury; but the phaeton was broken to pieces, the father mortally wounded, and the mother much injured.

Mr. W. has since become an ornament of the House of Commons, and has proved himself an able economist and public writer.

DANCING SNAKES OF INDIA.

In every country there exists a class of men who found their means of existence upon the credulity and curiosity of others, but in no part of the world is this class so numerous as in India. Scarcely has a stranger disembarked on that shore, when a crowd of jugglers, dancers, leapers, and others

surround him, and solicit the honour of contributing to his amusement, for the trifling remuneration of a fanon, or about six-pence.

Amongst this crowd of people, who live by their wits, those who astonish, and at the same time terrify, the European the most, are the men who make the snakes dance; and this astonishment and terror is more increased, upon learning that the snake which serves for this spectacle is the second on the list of those which are the most venomous: the bite of it is followed by certain death, after an interval of generally not more than fifteen or seventeen minutes. On the Coromandel coast this sort of snake is very abundant, and there, as well as throughout India, is called a cobra capello, or hooded snake: its ordinary length is from three to four feet, and the prevailing colour of these reptiles is yellow, spotted with black; its form resembles that of other oriental snakes, with the exception of a pouch, which runs from the back of the head two or three inches down the back. This pocket is but little visible when the reptile creeps, or is in a state of tranquillity, but as soon as it is moved by anger or by pleasure, this becomes inflated, and stretches on each side the head of the animal: it then presents a flat surface, on which a pair of black spectacles are stretched upon a dirty yellow ground. The head of the creature appears to issue horizontally from the upper part of this pouch. The quality which distinguishes this snake from all the other species, is its excessive fondness for music; and this passion, if such a term may be used, is stronger in it than even in the white snake; this is so incontestable, that when the place of his retreat is known, he is invariably caught by these means. The Indians who gain a livelihood by exhibiting, are also those who take them; and,as the method which they employ for doing it is not generally known, the following scene, which took place at the house of the governor of Pondicherry, may be considered as interesting. During dinner a servant came to inform the family, that a large cobra capello had been seen entering the cel

lar: orders were given that a snakecatcher should be sent for, and every one repaired to the cellar when he arrived. After having examined the place, to be certain where the reptile was concealed, the Malabar squatted down upon his heels, and began to play upon an instrument, which in shape resembled a flageolet, but had something of the sharp sound of a bagpipe. Scarcely had a minute elapsed when a cobra capello, about three feet in length crept from under a mat, and placed himself at a short distance from the man, raising and giving a sort of vibratory motion to the upper part of his body, and extending his pouch,-an evident sign of the pleasure which the animal felt.

When all present had sufficiently witnessed this proceeding, a sign was made to the Malabar, who, seizing the animal by the end of the tail, took him up with rapidity, and placed him in an empty basket. Before admitting him into the troop of dancers, for one of them, he, as well as most of the cobra capellos that are taken, was destined to become,-it was necessary to deprive him of the means of being mischievous. To do this, he was placed at liberty upon the ground, he was then provoked by being struck with a piece of red cloth, fastened at the end of a stick, until at last he sprang furiously upon the cloth, which was then shaken with so much violence that his teeth were at length pulled out. He was then taken again by the tail, and placed in the basket.

The baskets in which the snakes are kept, and of which the Indians generally carry six, are flat and round; and fastened like scales at each end of a piece of bamboo, which rests upon the shoulders of the bearer. When the person who keeps the reptiles exhibits them in public, he commences by ranging the baskets before him in a semicircle, and makes the snakes come out in succession. At the sound of the instrument the animal becomes erect, resting with about one third of his body upon the ground; his pouch is extended, and he keeps up a balancing motion, the original impulse to which was given by the knee of the person

who plays the instrument. Before concluding the exhibition, it is customary to make the snake caress this instrument, which is done by keeping up the sound, and advancing the pipe towards the animal, who on his side rests his head upon a calabash, through which this pipe is passed. After this ceremony, the snakes are put into their baskets and carried away. A hardboiled egg is the nourishment which they daily receive.

LATIN AND GREEK.

These languages are now become obsolete, and perhaps useless; yet, while they constitute part of the eduction of gentlemen, it is infamous not to know them. At the same time, by a whimsical feeling of mankind, it is thought pedantic and ungentlemanly to use them in any well-bred society. Seven or eight years are therefore employed in the education of our youth to save appearances. Time will correct this

error.

SHERIDAN.

This was at once the most eloquent, the most ingenious, and most idle man of his time. I employed him to present the petition of the Grand Jury against Aris, and could not get him out of bed till half past four on the afternoon when it stood for discussion, and he then sat for half an hour with wet towels tied round his head,to relieve himself from a head-ache, occasioned by the previous night's debauch.

EMPLOYMENT.

The employment of the lower classes is to satisfy their hunger, and of the upper classes to discover medicines and consult doctors for the purpose of creating hunger. Many a rich man would give half his estate to feel as voraciously hungry as some of his meanest labourers.

GEORGE THE FOURTH.

The longest personal favourite whom the new King has ever kept is Du PACQUET, his dresser and chief valet. He is a Frenchman of the old school, and enjoys the unbounded confidence of his royal master. He is his caterer of small news, and of the chit-chat out of doors, and within the purlieus of the palace. At the same time it is just to add, that he has never been

charged with abusing a station, which in courts has often been the means of promoting dangerous intrigues.

The next domestic favourite is Wilmet, the chief cook, also a Frenchman, but familiarly called Jack Hammond (why, I know not;) but, in a luxurious court,a chief cook is a man who must be as often consulted as a minister of state.

Another royal favourite, and perhaps more harmless, is Nap the poodle dog, who was taken with Napoleon's carriage and was for many years the intelligent travelling companion of that great man. Nap now travels with his old master's more fortunate rival, to whom he is not less faithful, and whom he amuses by his numerous tricks and uncommon sagacity. It might have been hoped that the liberal treatment of the dog would have been extended to his illustrious master, who, by well authenticated accounts, is not only chained to a rock, but like Prometheus, is constantly tortured by a vulture.

THE WEST-INDIA ISLANDS.

These islands are ceasing to be desirable British colonies, except for purposes of ministerial patronage. Canada may supply them with lumber, but it cannot consume an equal amount of their produce. This, too, will in time be superseded by East-India produce under an open trade; for if we send our manufactures, and destroy the Hindoo manufactures, we must take their sugars and and other East-India produce. The West-India islands seem likely, therefore, either to become independent, or to be incorporated with some of the continental American states which can barter with them.

THE BOURBONS.

When I was at Paris,I went with Mr Serjeant B. (now a judge) to see the Bourbon family return from chapel, and he was the only person who cheered them. We were walking away, and I was rallying the worthy Serjeant at the circumstance, when a couple of Frenchmen passed us quickly, and loaded us and our nation with the foulest epithets.

FRENCH MANNERS.

The French are an elegant people, but are guilty of little indelicacies: they pick their teeth with a fork.-No fruit shops in Paris, but fruit cellars—

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