"From a farmer in the neighbourhood I enquired concerning this family; and he told me, that they had once a son, a most promising young man, their chief, and indeed their only delight. He had been pressed on board a ship of war, and as he had never been since heard of, it was conjectured that he had either fallen in some engagement, or been lost in the waves. He shewed me also a likeness of him, which he had received from himself, a great friendship having existed between them but as I soon after went to a distant part of the kingdom, I speedily forgot the cottage and its inhabitants. "I exchanged the calm repose of the country for the bustle of a seaport town, and the songs of birds for the creaking of cordage and the melody of the boatswain's whistle. One day, turning hastily round the corner of a street, I was struck by the figure of a man who sought relief from his distress in the charity of his fellow creatures, but his wan countenance and extended arm alone pleaded for him with mute eloquence. I thought I knew the features, but vainly endeavoured to recollect where; and giving him a halfpence, passed on. His idea still haunted me, and I returned in the afternoon resolving to enquire who he was, but he was not there. The next day, however, I was more successful: he thanked me for my assistance the day before; his name he told me, was S. It struck me in a moment. It was the son of my old cottagers. I took him home to my lodgings; and telling him what I knew respecting his family, desired to hear from him the remainder of his history. It is a narrative of little but misfortunes,' he answered; but if the relation will in any way please you, Sir, I owe it to your kindness not to refuse.

"The night when I was pressed, I was as one stupified. The next day, however, I became composed. I prevailed on a friend who had obtained leave to see me to carry a message to a young woman whom I was attached to, and to desire her, if possible, to visit me before my departure. He did so, and to the last moment I cherished the hope of seeing her. But it was in

vain ;-she did not come, and our vessel set sail. The neglect from one I had so tenderly loved was more cutting than all the rest. 1 believed her unfaithful; I deemed myself cast off by all mankind, and left unfriended and alone to traverse over boundless seas. My dejection of spirits, together with the new life I led, destroyed my health, and I lay for weeks a prey to a raging fever; during which I was nursed with the greatest care and attention by a young man with whom I had contracted a friendship on board the ship in which I was.

He seemed ill suited to the life he had chosen, for he was extremely delicate; but he had something in his countenance which reminded me of Elinor; and this, perhaps, attracted me to him, for I still loved her, notwithstanding her neglect: under his care, I at length recovered, and was allowed to venture upon the deck to inhale the refreshing breeze.

"Here I gazed, with a strange and awful feeling of astonishment, on the immense plain of waters, from which I was separated only by a few boards, and listened with pleasure to the rushing of the waves by the side of the vessel as she cut through the deep. How great, I thought, must be the ingenuity of that being, who can pass in safety over this mighty expanse. But I was shortly to see that ingenuity exerted for purposes, and in a manner from which the soul revolts.

"One night, when the crew had retired to their hammocks, I had been talking to my friend; I had dropped a few words of anger against my neglectful Elinor. He sighed deeply, and once I thought he was weeping; but I attributed it to his compassion. On a sudden, we were alarmed by a loud call from the mast head, and a bustling confusion on the deck. I sprang up, for I was then almost recovered from my illness, and went to enquire into the cause of the tumult. One of the sailors pointed out to me a dusky object which floated on the waves at a considerable distance; and told me, that it was an Algerine vessel which was bearing down upon us. The uproar had by this time subsided, and every one was called to his post. My sen

sations at this instant were almost indescribable. In a few moments, I should be called upon to face death, and perhaps to deprive others of existence. This interval, as it were, between life and death, was filled with an awful feeling it was not fear, nor hope, but a confused mixture of both, which was augmented and sustained by the silence which prevailed,but the first shot dissipated all feelings but those of energy and activity. The hostile vessel now approached, hove to, and summoned us to surrender. A broad-side was the reply, and in a moment all was smoke, fire, and destruction. The enemy were much superior to us in strength, and at length they boarded

us.

We fought hand to hand ;-it would be in vain to describe the horrors of the scene, they can only be imagined by those who have witnessed them. Their captain happened to come near me. I aimed a blow at him with all my force; which he parried, and my sword broke short in my hand. The barbarian lifted his sword to strike me, when my friend, whom I had not seen during the action, sprang between us, and received the stroke which was aimed for me. I caught him as he fell; but that dying shriek, that last expiring glance, that soft pressure, told me all. It was Elinor! noble, generous, self-devoted being, who, while I was upbraiding her with neglect, had

braved all the dangers of a sea life to follow me,-to nurse me, to watch me, and last, worst, and bitterest,—to die for me!

66

"I have little else to relate. We were taken,—and afterwards retaken by an American; by whom we were well treated, and carried to New York, where we had some clothes and other necessaries given us. Some of my companions remained there; but I wished to return to my native country. I worked for some time as a joiner, a trade to which I had once been a little accustomed in England; and at length gained sufficient to pay for my passage to England. I was landed here without money or friends. My fatigue had also destroyed my health, which I had not perfectly recovered, so that I was unable to gain any thing by labour. I had, therefore, subsisted on charity; in soliciting which, I was so fortunate as to meet with you, sir, who have so kindly relieved me."

He

"Here his narrative concluded, and I will hasten to the conclusion of mine. I conveyed him home, restored him to his parents, and was amply rewarded with their boundless gratitude. is now in an eligible situation, which does not require any great bodily exertion; he is comfortable; and, could he forget the unhappy fate of his Elinor, he might be happy."

Sir,

To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine.

ITAKE the liberty of sending you some affecting extracts from a pamphlet entitled "Information on the Slave Trade," hoping thereby to call the attention of your benevolent readers to this nefarious traffic in our fellow creatures, and I think it will appear that it is carried on at the present time to a very great extent, notwithstanding the treaties of France, Portugal, &c.&c, and it likewise appears that the Portuguese government indicates great indifference respecting the abolition of the trade, as the following facts will shew.

On the 2d of October, 1817, a letter stated, that during the two preceeding

months, twenty-seven vessels had sailed

from Rio de Janeiro for slaves, capable of carrying nine thousand four hundred and fifty, a number nearly equal to half the supply of any former year, and there were at that time several other vessels preparing.

From the 1st or January, 1817, to the 1st of January 1818, about six thousand and seventy slaves were imported into the captaincy of Bahia, from Africa, in sixteen ships.

In the same space of time, the number imported into Rio de Janeiro, was eighteen thousand and thirty-three, in forty-two ships, and two thousand and forty-two died on the passage, making

a total of twenty-seven thousand four hundred and eighty-three slaves imported into Rio de Janeiro, not including those who perished on the voyage, and making an importation into the two above-mentioned Portuguese provinces of thirty-three thousand five hundred and fifty-three.

On the 9th of March, 1818, the slave trade had increased beyond all former example; twenty-five vessels having arrived since the beginning of the year, many carrying more, and none less, than four hundred slaves, making an importation of ten thousand (in four months) of our fellow-creatures, torn from their homes, and to be made miserable during the remainder of their lives, to gratify the avarice of their inhuman masters.

The number of slaves imported into Rio de Janeiro, from the first of January, 1818, to the 31st of December in the same year, was nineteen thousand eight hundred and two; the number embarked from the African coast was twenty-two thousand two hundred and thirty-one, in fifty-three ships, of whom two thousand four hundred and twentynine died in the passage. One vessel, the Pelora de Norta, lost 161 out of 421; another, the Uniào Feliz, lost 229 out of 659; a third, the San Jose Deliginente,lost 238 out of 464,more than half.

It is to be regretted that this account has not been continued, and also that the importations into the other captaincies of the Brazils, has not been mentioned; but I think the above facts are sufficient to shew that this trade is not discouraged by the Portuguese govern

ment.

"With respect to France," says Sir G. Collier, commander of the British ships of war on the African station “France, it is with the deepest regret that I mention it, has countenanced and encouraged the slave trade almost beyond estimation. France is engrossing nearly the whole of the slave trade; and she has extended this traffic beyond what can be supposed but by one only who has witnessed it. In truth, France now supplies the foreign colonies north of the Line, with Africans. I exaggerate nothing in saying that thirty ves

sels bearing the colours of France, have nearly at the same time, and within two or three leagues distant, been employed slaving; and, I will add, that in the last twelve months, (the letter was dated 16th Sept. 1820,) not less than sixty thousand Africans have been forced from their country principally under the colours of France; most of whom have been distributed between the islands of Martinique, Guadaloupe, and Cuba. France has certainly issued her decrees against this traffic, but has done nothing to enforce them. On the contrary she gives the trade all countenance short of public avowal."

The vast extent to which the slave trade is carried on under French colours, will be seen in an account received from the river Bonny, on the western coast of Africa, dated July 1819, which states, that from March to that time, there had been usually from nine to sixteen vessels slaving at the same time in the river Bonny, each capable of carrying from three to seven hundred slaves, and that two of these vessels, which were there in March, had sailed to the West Indies, and had returned on a second voyage; and during the above period of five or six months, 120 sail of French, Spanish, and Portuguese had visited the river Bonny.

A letter received from a gentleman on board the Cyane American sloop, which was sent to cruise on the coast of Africa, to suppress the American slave trade, states that the number of vessels engaged in this inhuman traffic is incredible; and, that not fewer than two hundred sail were on the coast at the date of the letter, all of them fast sailers, well manned and armed, and that the Cyane had been chasing night and day since her arrival on that station, and had five or six slave ships in sight at the same time.

A letter received from a resident at Gaudaloupe, states, that on the 29th of October, 1820, were landed there two hundred and nine slaves, eight having died on the voyage, and were disposed of at 1501. per head. On the 18th of November in the same year, were landed at Capisterre, in Gaudaloupe, about two hundred slaves. There can be

WE trust that we are not deficient in gratitude to the great Scottish novelist for the abundant delight which he ministers to us, even in the lowest of his works; but we cannot quite join in the shout of boundless exultation, nor subscribe to all the tremendous eulogies with which some of our cotemporaries hail every production of his genius. With some of these it is the mere cant of criticism to suggest that there is any falling off, or any repetition in his works, and it is an audacious heresy to "hint a fault or hesitate dislike" respecting any of his creations. We are more reasonable, we frankly confess, in our idolatry: though we admire "The Pirate" it is "with a difference;" nor are we quite convinced that if none of its predecessors had appeared, it would excite exactly the same sensation which was produced by "Waverley."

Without resorting to the ordinary and shallow theory, that the powers of observation and invention in an original writer are necessarily exhausted by frequent publication, we may, we think, easily perceive why his works should alter for the worse as he proceeds in a rapid career. His first love of the employment grows naturally cold, or degenerates into a mere craving after the excitements of applause, or a desire for the more solid rewards of his labours. His own peculiar feelingthe "primal sympathy" with his works-wears out as his tact of authorship advances. He writes not to indulge his genius, but to please his booksellers, and to satisfy the expectations of the public. This new inspiration excites him to a different course, and produces more stiffness, more constraint, and more nicely-balanced incident and character, than would be found in the voluntary pouring forth of a free and exuberant mind gliding at "its own sweet will" through the fair regions of imagination and of humanity which it has chosen.

The peculiar excellences of our author-his power of conceiving and delineating character-his command of descriptive allusion-and the "mighty

In

magic" of his commune with the wild superstitions of the North-are not of casts likely to endure, through successive works, in their original vigour. characteristic delineations, the very recollection of previous success is unfavourable to continued excellence. As the author becomes conscious of his own skill, he unavoidably infuses something of a kindred consciousness into the persons whom he draws. They have less of truth and unaffected nature, and more theatrical pretension, than those which were hit off in the first moments of his inspiration. They become, though it may sound paradoxical, too consistent; that is, they are too perpetually intent on their own peculiarities, and these are obtruded on the notice of the reader far more frequently than are the most characteristic traits of any whom we meet with in actual life. There is also an evident design to fill up and heighten previous sketches; to add the pomp of circumstance to figures which are only encumbered by the apparel, and to push every hint, which has once succeeded, to a dangerous extreme. That which before was made visible by a single glowing flash, is now brought out "into the light of common day," and we are invited minutely to examine and admire its proportions. As there is more stiffness in individual figures, so there is an elaborate art in the grouping, which destroys the effect of the picture. Each finely elaborated creation revolves in its own separate orbit instead of joining in the mazy round in linked union. The creatures do not come tumbling into life, fresh from the teeming brain, in glorious confusion, but are coldly arranged in picturesque attitudes. Instead of the perpetual undulation of thought, the gay variety of healthful forms, the perpetual melting of things into each other, all is carefully distinguished and contrasted. We feel no more the careless plenitude, we revel no more in the unbounded prodigality of genius; we have leisure to admire the author, instead of luxuriating delighted in his creations.