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ed it into her bosom. A painful and concentrated murmur, but without any convulsive movement, accompanied her last sigh. So perished this unfortunate."

A notice of the humorous or mixed articles, particularly of those in the fourth part, which contains several admirable tales in a style of genuine Knickerbockerism, we reserve for a future opportunity, on which occasion, we shall freely enter our objections to some of the lighter stories in the three first parts.

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Pleasures of a Country Life.
Happy the man, remote from toil and care,

As in the golden age men were ;
Who ploughs his native field with his own team,

And hath no debts of which to dream!
Who starts not to the trump's shrill reveillée,

Nor views with fright the raging sea ;
Shuns the hoarse forum and the haughty gate

Of wealth, and of the vulgar great:
Well pleased around his poplars tall to twine

The tendrils of the wedded vine;
To prune the useless shoots, and in their place

Engraft a more prolific race.
In the far deepening vale, wandering at ease,

Joyous his lowing herds he sees ,
In shining jars the clear pressed honey pours,

Or gathers in his fleecy stores;
Or when dame Autumn rears her honoured head,

With her ripe fruitage garlanded,
Large drooping from the boughs, the yellow pear

And purple grape reward his care ;
Thy votive gift, Priapus ! Sylvan, thine,

Protector of the bounding line!
How sweet to lie, neath some old oak reclining,

Or where the tall grass round is twining;
Through its tall banks the still stream glides along,

Birds wake their sadly pleasing song,
And fountains near their murmuring descant keep,

Inviting calm and boly sleep!
But winter comes, at thundering Jove's command,

With storms and snows in either hand :
Then on the savage boar the dogs are set,

And drive him to the entangling net;
Or for the glutton thrush he lays his snares,

And light extended gins prepares ;
Here caught, the trembling puss, the stranger crane

Give sport in hoary winter's reign.
Who thus employed, has time or wish to prove

The pangs and cares of cruel love?

But ah! should some chaste dame adørn his hall,

Whose home and children were her all,
(Like fair Sabina, or the browner bride,

Gracing the swift Apulian's side.)
Who bids the sacred hearth more brightly burn,

Against the weary man's return,
Folds up the herd right glad her cares to meet,

And drains each well distended teat,-
Then from the well loved cask the wine draws forth,

Cheering, though of little worth,
And joyous, for her lord, with active zeal,

Prepares the frugal, unhought meal-
With such, nor Lucrine oysters more I'd prize,

Nor turbot of majestic size,
Nor scarcer fish, if any.winter bore,

From eastern waters near our sbore.
Not Afric's fowl could prove a daintier treat,

Nor Asia's partridge seem more sweet,
Than the ripe olives hanging thick and low,

Plucked from the most luxuriant bough;
Or wholesome mallows, or green sorrel, still

Wandering o'er the meads at will;
Or the kid rescued from the wolf's fell bite,

Or victim lamb at festal rite.
And at the feast, how pleasant to behold

The flocks swift bounding to the fold;
To mark the weary oxen dragging slow,

With drooping necks the inverted plough ;
And all the household slaves, a swarming band,

Around the glittering lares stand.
Thus spoke the usurer Alphius, in his thought

His house and farm already bought,
He called in all his funds in the Ides ; but when
The Calends came-he loaned them out again.

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LIBRA

NEW YORK

--UGTET We have this moment been favoured, by the kindness of a

friend, with the London Edition of the Tales of a Traveller, in which to our surprise we find a preface, and four tales not contained in the American Edition. In the preface, (which is dated from the Hotel de Darmstadt, cidedant Hotel de Paris, Mayence, we are informed that the circumstances in the Adventure of the Mysterious Picture, and in the Story of the Young Italian, are vague recollections of anecdotes related to the author some years since, and that the Adventure of the Young Painter among the banditti, is taken almost entirely from an authentic narrative in manuscript.

The four tales are, the Adventure of the German Studenty related by the old gentleman with the baunted headNotoriety," • A Practical Philosopher,' (these two can scarcely be called tales, being little more than short essays of no great value,) and a story—inferior in interest and finish to very few among them all - The Benighted Travellers.'

As our readers may not have for some time an opportunity of seeing the parts omitted in the American edition, we take the liberty of presenting them an abstract of the Adventure of the German Student, the latter part of which is founded, says our author, on an anecdote related to him, and said to exist in print.

Gottfried Wolfgang is a German Student of a visionary and enthusiastic turn of mind, and obstinately impressed with the belief that there is an evil genius hanging over him, seeking to ensnare him and ensure his perdition. He is sent to Paris by his friends, in hopes that his mental malady will best be cured by the splendour and gayeties of the metropolis. First captivated, then disgusted by the false doctrines of the day, (for the stormiest period of the Revolution had just commenced,) he secludes himself in a solitary apartment in the Pays Latin. Here, again and again he dreams that he sees a woman of transcendent beauty, of whose image he becomes passionately and desperately enamoured. Returning home late one tempestuous night, he finds himself close by the guillotine. As he shrinks back in disgust and dismay, he perceives seated at the foot of the scaffold, a female figure, her face hid in her lap, and her long dishevelled tresses streaming with the rain. He approached her, and she raises her head, and gazes wildly at him. To his amazement, he sees the very face which has haunted him in his dreams, pale and disconsolate, but ravishingly beautiful. He conducts her to his lodgings, where he has a better opportunity to contemplate her exquisite and dazzling beauty. Her dress is black, and of great simplicity. The only ornament she wears, is a black band round her neck, clasped by diamonds. They are impelled towards each other by the influence of irresistible passion. Wolfgang was tainted with the new philosophy. “Why should we separate,” said he, (we give the rest in the words of our author,)

Why should we separate? Our hearts are united ; in the eye of reason and bonur we are one. What need is there of sordid forins to bind high souls together?”

The stranger listened with emotion; she had evidently received illumipation at the same school.

“ You have no bome nor family," continued he; “ let me be every thing to you, or rather let us be every thing to one another. If form is necessary, form shall be observed there is my band. I pledge myself to you for.

Forever?" said the stranger solemnly. “ Forever!" repeated Wolfgang

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Vol. II. No.

ever."

The stranger clasped the hand extended to her: “ Then I am your's, murmured she, and sunk upon his bosom.

The next morning the student left his bride sleeping, and sallied forth at an early hour to seek more spacious apartments, suitable to the change in his situation. When he returned, he found the stranger lying with her head hanging orer the bed, and one arm thrown over it. He spoke to her, but received no reply. He advanced to awaken her from ber uneasy situation. On taking her band, it was cold-there was no pulsation-ber face was pallid and ghastly.- In a word, she was a corpse. Horrified and frantic, he alarmed the house. A scene of confusion ensued. The police was summoned. As the officer of police entered the room, he started back on beholding the corpse.

“ Great heaven!” cried he, “how did this woman come here?" “Do you know any thing about her," said Wolfgang eagerly. “ Do I?” exclaimed the police officer :-“she was guillotined yester

He stepped forward; vodid the black collar round the neck of the corpse, and the head rolled on the floor!

The student burst into a frenzy. The fiend! the fiend has gained possession of me!" sbrieked he: "I am lost forever!"

They tried to soothe him, but in vain. He was possessed with the frightful belief that an evil spirit had reanimated the dead body to ensnare him.. He went distracted, and died in a mad-house.

Here the old gentleman with the haunted head finished his narrative. “ And is this really a fact?” said the inquisitive gentleman.

• A fact not to be doubted,” replied the other. “I had it from the best authority. The student told it me himself. I saw him in mad-house at Paris."*

day!”

A Midsummer Day's Dream. A Poem, by Edwin Atherstone,

Author of the Last Days of Ilerculaneum, and Abradates and Panthea. London. 1824.

This a wild and somewhat incoherent collection of indescribable imaginings.' The idea of deriving from a vision, a knowledye of the beauties and the mysteries of the fairy world of Fancy, is as old as poetry itself. The mformation obtained from such a source can seldom be very satisfactory, we think ; and where the dreamer sees nothing but incongruous magnificence and gorgeous incompatibilities, we can scarcely expect to be much instructed or even much amused by his empyreal excursions. Mr. Atherstone, however, has contrived to atone for the offence of inutility by the charms of an easy, graceful, and spirited versification. The language is, for the most part, poetically beautiful, and the imagery striking, and even dazzling. Forthose who are willing to be pleased without a reason, and are ready to approve without a rule, the Dream, we have no doubt, has wherewithal to stimulate a kind and sensitive imagination into a state of agreeable excitement. For ourselves, we freely acknowledge that we are very much afraid that the perusal of this poem has delighted us beyond the limits which a cold and wary criticism would allow. There is a freshness and brilliancy in the descriptions, and a wild and careless vigor in the fictions, that captivate our judgment, and suspend the execution of its sentences. Even in the most capricious passages, there comes whispering from the poet's wayward muse, a voice of deprecation, which disarms us of our wish to be severe or even just, and contrives, by its dexterous interference, to subdue us into what we fear to be very unbecoming approbation. As the work has not been hitherto republished in this country, we ought to put it in the power of our readers to judge how far our disposition to be pleased with Mr. Atherstone bas deceived us into false and culpable complacency. The description of the noon of a midsummer's day, bating some little affectation, is eminen*ly poetical. A beautiful shape, of stature more than man's,' appears to the dreamer. It speaks, and its tones have

* We have this moment been informed that the difference in the two editions is owing to some delay which attended the transmission of the omitted articles to the American publishers. Ed.

a charm Like woman's voice, when in the deep repose

Of summer's twilight she first owns her love.' The object of this angel's visit, is to inform the sleeper of the splendors and wonders of the invisible world; and having done so in language somewhat mystical, le offers to make the thing more plain by giving bim to see these inconceivable beauties. He is accordingly made percipient of celestial shapes invisible else to man.' The poet has here availed himself freely of this glorious opportunity to indulge a wild and fanciful imagination in the license of unlimited creation. After the dreamer is favoured with a sight of the invisible tribes of air, he is told that he has only seen the marvels and the mysteries of nature; and that there are sounds, that earthly ears are not allowed to hear, as beautiful as these fine sights. His ears are opened, and he hears music of unutterable and inconceivable sweetness. There is perpetually, throughout this poem, an attempt to describe the indescribable, which involves, of course, inevitable failure. But the difficult may sometimes be attained in attempting the impossible ; and the poet very frequently succeeds in spiriting up, by the potency of poetical incantation, a beautiful but indistinct assemblage of indefinite imaginings.

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