young maiden was spoken of as dying in her prime, of fever, consumption, or a pining heart; and her lover, a gallant warrior, or a peaceful shepherd, killed in battle, or perishing in some midnight storm. In them, too, were sometimes heard blessed voices whispering affection beneath the greenwood tree, or among the shattered cliffs overgrown with light-waving trees in some long, deep, solitary glen. To Amy Gordon, as she chaunted to herself, in the blooming or verdant desert, all these various traditionary lays, love seemed a kind of beautiful superstition belonging to the memory of the dead. In such tales she felt a sad and pleasant sympathy; but it was as with something far remote- although at times the music of her own voice, as it gave an affecting expression to feelings embodied in such artless words, touched a chord within her heart, that dimly told her that heart might one day have its own peculiar and overwhelming love.

The summer that was now shining had been calm and sunny beyond the memory of the oldest shepherd. Never had nature seemed so delightful to Amy's eyes and to Amy's heart; and never had she seemed so delightful to the eyes and the hearts of all who beheld her with her flock. Often would she wreathe the sprigs of heather round her raven ringlets, till her dark hair was brightened with a galaxy of richest blossoms. Or dishevelling her tresses, and letting fall from them that shower of glowing and balmy pearls, she would bind them up again in simpler braiding, and fix on the silken folds two or three water-lilies, large, massy, and whiter than the snow. Necklaces did she wear in her playful glee, of the purple fruit that feed the small birds in the moors, and beautiful was the gentle stain then visible over the blue veins of her milk-white breast. So were floating by the days of her nine⚫ teenth summer among the hills. The evenings she spent by the side of her grey-headed father-and the old man was blest. Her nights passed in a world of gentle dreams.'

As Sir Hugh Evans says, "This is affectations." Nevertheless, considerable power is displayed in many parts of this story, which we regard as the best in the collection. It would have been well, however, if the exquisite simplicity with which Marmontel sketched his Shepherdess of the Alps, and the effect derived from that simplicity, had suggested to the present author a similar abstinence from the crowded and wordy phraseology which he mistakes for fine writing. With these exceptions, there is something pleasing in the loves of Amy and Walter.

There was no guile-no art-no hypocrisy, in the pure and happy heart of the Lily of Liddesdale. She took not away her hand from that of him who pressed it-she rose not up from the turf, although her gentle side just touched his heart-she turned not away her face so beautiful-nor changed the silvery sweetness of her speech. Walter Harden was such a man, as, in a war of freemen defending their mountains against a tyrant, would have advanced his plume in every scene of danger, and have been chosen a leader among his pastoral compeers. Amy turned her large beaming hazel eyes upon his face, and saw that it was over

shadowed.

shadowed. There was something in its expression too sad and solemn, mingling with the flush of hope and passion, to suffer her, with playful or careless words, to turn away from herself the meaning of what she had heard. Her lover saw in her kind, but unagitated silence, that to him she was but a sister; and rising to he said, "Blessed be thou all the days of thy life — farewell go, my sweet Amy — farewell."

--

"But they did not thus part. They walked together on the lonely hill-side down the banks of the little wimpling burn, and then out of one small glen into another, and their talk was affectionate and kind. Amy heard him speak of feelings to her unknown, and almost wondered that she could be so dear to him, so necessary to his life, as he passionately vowed. Nor could such vows be unpleasant to her ear, uttered by that manly voice, and enforced by the silent speech of those bold but gentle eyes. She concealed nothing from him, but frankly confessed, that hitherto she had looked upon him even as her own father's son. "Let us be happy, Walter, as we have been so long. I cannot marry you

oh nono - but since you say it would kill you if I married another, then I swear to you by all that is sacred,-yes, by the Bible on which we have often read together, and by yonder sun setting over the Windhead, that you never will see that day." Walter Harden was satisfied; he spoke of love and marriage no more; and on the sweet, fresh, airless, and dewy quiet of evening, they walked together down into the inhabited vale, and parted, almost like brother and sister, as they had been used to do for so many happy years.'

We have not room for more observations or extracts: but we cannot refuse our commendation to the short story of The Minis ter's Widow,' which holds in our estimation the next place to that of The Lily of Liddesdale;' and in these two tales, we think, the merit of the volume is comprized.

Art. 23. Sketches and Fragments. By the Author of "The Magic Lantern." Crown 8vo. pp. 139. Boards. Longman and

Co. 1822.

It is understood that this little volume is the production of the Countess of Blesinton; and it bears both in its matter and its manner the impress of the mind and hand of a woman of fashion. The preface, also, which refers to "The Magic Lantern," expresses a regret that any part of that work has been unjustly considered to cast personal reflections, which indicates a correct sensibility and right feeling. The tales before us shew a lively turn for observation and an amiable intention, and are written with ease and freedom: but they do not manifest any great depth or originality of reflection, nor present any novelty of incident.

In the tale intitled Marriage', a good lesson is given to beautiful and accomplished young women, who, when married, expect from their husbands too exclusive and too irrational a devotion; seeking only adulation and frivolous amusement, to the neglect of laudable occupation and mutual improvement. The heroine thus relates to a friend her fault and her reformation :

<<<When we parted, my dearest friend," she exclaimed, “ you left me the most disconsolate and discontented of women. My vanity mortified at finding my husband did not quite adore me, and nothing short of adoration would satisfy my self-love, -instead of endeavouring to render myself more worthy of his affec-. tion, I immediately concluded that the fault was his, not mine; and I gave way to peevishness, ill-nature, and satirical observations, taking every means of showing him that I could be as cold and careless as I fancied he was. If he rode out to view any improvements that were going forward on his estate, I felt myself slighted; if I accompanied him, I was dissatisfied if he thought of any thing but me. His visits to his old acquaintances also offended me; and his taking up a book, or devoting himself to his pen for an hour in the evening, gave me the greatest mortification. If I touched my harp or piano-forte, I expected him to fly to me, to lean over me with all the ecstatic delight of a lover, and to breathe nothing. but raptures. Each day, each hour, my vanity received fresh wounds; and at each wound it became still more sensitive and insatiable. His commendations appeared to me cold and common-place when compared, as they constantly were, with the remembered inflated plaudits of former admirers. In short, when I found that he could amuse himself for hours independently of me, I determined that as I could not be every thing to him, I would be nothing. I put on an air of coldness that was far from my real feelings, but which effectually imposed on him. I avoided his society; and, when in it, did all in my power to make him feel that I thought it irksome. This conduct fatigued and disgusted him; and he began to consider me as a selfish, empty woman, who was completely dependent on society and admiration for happiness, and who, having no ⚫ mental resources, could neither enjoy happiness herself nor contribute to the felicity of her husband.

To dispel the weariness of my solitude, I took to reading; and having a dislike to novels, I read only the best authors. By degrees I began to find that the hours glided so swiftly by, that I never felt the least portion of that tedium and ennui that had before oppressed me. My mind was so occupied by the studies I was engaged in that I ceased to remember my own grievances; and I could now excuse the ardour and constancy with which Lord T. devoted himself to reading. This produced a great improvement in my temper; and when my husband, as he frequently did, enquired with an air of interest what work I was perusing, I answered him with a kindness and complacency that induced him to advert to the merits of the author, and I felt gratified by the good taste and discrimination which his observations displayed; and still more so at discovering that his sentiments often accorded with my own. I had sought reading as an avocation that would render me completely independent of Lord T.'s society; but I now found that it formed a new and strong link to draw us together. Our books were frequently laid down in an evening to discuss the beauties of some passage that pleased us; an improving and rational conversation took the place of moody silence, or peevish re Kaczmarks.

marks. I ceased to desire adulation, and felt my self-respect increased by the attention which Lord T. evinced to my observations. By degrees, confidence was established between us, and affection restored."'

At the end of the fragment on Friendship, the fair writer quotes the well known maxim, "Live with your friends as if they might one day become your enemies," but the remainder should have been added, " and with your enemies as if they might one day become your friends:" for the frigid and apparently unamiable. advice, contained in the first sentence, is both balanced and explained by the more obvious morality and wise self-government recommended in the latter.

Art. 24. A Visit to Goodwood, near Chichester, the Seat of his Grace the Duke of Richmond; with an Appendix descriptive of an ancient Painting. By D. Jacques, Librarian of Goodwood. 8vo. 15s. Boards. Lackington and Co. 1822.

This short production is of a class which is privileged from criticism: for it is nothing more, and does not pretend to be more, than a description of the celebrated seat of the Duke of Richmond inSussex. It will be an useful and not unentertaining manual to those who happen to be making a tour in that delightful part of the kingdom, and whom taste or curiosity may dispose to visit one of its oldest as well as most beautiful mansions. The size of the rooms, the stair-cases, &c. &c. are described with much minuteness; and the catalogue of the pictures, few of which are by the great artists, appears to be perfectly correct.

The Appendix contains a document which, having never before been published, will be interesting to the antiquary. It is the description of a picture representing the cenotaph of the Lord Darnley, (Henry VI. of Scotland,) who was killed by Bothwell, The MS., from which this account is taken, was drawn up by G. Vertue: but the picture itself, in the possession of the Duke of Richmond, is only a copy of one on the same subject now in the collection of the Earl of Pomfret.

CORRESPONDENCE.

We shall gladly hear again from C. Z., and as often as he pleases.

J

·Upsilon is very right, we believe, and we shall endeavor to ascertain the fact.

Veritas must know that his note is of no authority, and that we are not of his opinion. We must therefore" agree to differ."

The letter from East Bergholt, dated 10th August, is only just now received, and without the accompaniment mentioned in it.

The APPENDIX to the last volume of the Monthly Review is published with this Number.

THE

MONTHLY REVIEW,

For OCTOBER, 1822.

ART. I. Journal of a Visit to some Parts of Ethiopia. By George Waddington, Esq., Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, and the Rev. Barnard Hanbury, of Jesus College, A. M. F.A.S. With Maps and other Engravings. 4to. pp. 333. 21. Boards. Murray, 1822.

As soon may "the Ethiopian change his skin" as the curiosity of British readers be sated, or the enterprize of British travellers be repressed, while distant regions remain unexplored or but partially known. We partake of this "longing after" knowlege, and with the public we give a welcome to all new books of travels, numerous as they have lately become, To Mr. Waddington, therefore, the writer of the volume before us, and to Mr. Hanbury his way-faring friend, we are now disposed to pay a ready and complacent attention.

Intending to visit the East, the former of these gentlemen arrived at Venice in January, 1820, where the latter had for some time resided, and was then making preparations for an expedition into Egypt and Nubia, with the view of penetrating as far as Dongola. Having resolved to become a sharer in the scientific labours of Mr. Hanbury, Mr. W. proceeded with him, (first making a short tour through Greece,) to Alexandria; where they learned that a military expedition had been already despatched by Mahommed Ali, the Pasha of Egypt, to reduce the countries beyond the Second Cataract. They hailed the circumstance as an auspicious omen to their long-cherished enterprize, and determined, if practicable, to follow the army. Accordingly they set off without delay, arrived at the Second Cataract, and at length reached the Turkish encampment: but, owing to impediments created by the intrigues and jealousies of those capricious and unmanageable barbarians, this spot became unfortunately the extreme boundary of their progress, and they were peremptorily ordered to return. The journey, which is the subject of Mr. Waddington's narrative, commenced and terminated for this reason at Wady Halfa; and we cannot abstain from bestowing some commendation on REV. OCT. 1822. I

the