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racts. And what may mean that sighing and moaning, and muttering up among the cliffs? See-see how the sheet lightning shows the long lake-shore all tumbling with foamy breakers. A strong wind is there-but here there is not a breath. But the woods across the lake are bowing their heads to the blast. Windermere is in a tumult-the storm comes flying on wings all abroad-and now we are

in the very heart of the hurricane. See in Bowness is hurrying many a light-for the people fear we may be on the lake-and Billy, depend on't, is launching his life-boat to go to our assistance. Well, this is an adventure.-But soft-what ails our Argand lamp! Our Study is in such darkness, that we cannot see our paper-and therefore in the midst of a thunder-storm we conclude our Article.

APHORISMS ON MAN, BY THE LATE WILLIAM HAZLITT, ESQ.

I.

Do not confer benefits in the expectation of meeting with gratitude; and do not cease to confer them because you find those whom you have served ungrateful. Do what you think fit and right to please yourself; the generosity is not the less real, because it does not meet with a correspondent return.

II.

It is a sort of gratuitous error in high life, that the poor are naturally thieves and beggars, just as the latter conceive that the rich are naturally proud and hard-hearted. Give a man who is starving a thousand a year, and he will be no longer under a temptation to get himself hanged by stealing a leg of mutton for his dinner; he may still spend it in gaming, drinking, and the other vices of a gentleman, and not in charity, about which he before made such an outcry..'

III.

The word gentility is constantly in the mouths of vulgar people; as quacks and pretenders are always talking of genius. Those who possess any real excellence, think and say the least about it.

IV.

The source of the love of nature or of the country has never been explained so well as it might be. The truth is this. Natural or ina20 ATHENEUM, VOL. 5, 3d series.

nimate objects please merely as objects of sense or contemplation, and we ask no return of the passion or admiration from them, so that we cannot be disappointed or distracted in our choice. If we are delighted with a flower or a tree, we are pleased with it for its own sake; nothing more is required to make our satisfaction complete: we do not ask the flower or tree whether it likes us again; and, therefore, can meet with the wherever we same or a similar object, we may reckon upon a recurrence of the same soothing emotion. Nature is the only mistress that smiles on us still the same; and does not repay admiration with scorn, love with hatred.

as we

She is faithful to us, as long

are faithful to ourselves. Whereas, in regard to the human species, we have not so much to consider our own dispositions towards others, as theirs towards us. A thousand caprices, interests, and opinions, may intervene before the good understanding can be mutual; we not only cannot infer of one individual from another, but the same individual may change to-morrow: so that in our intercourse with the world, there is nothing but littleness, uncertainty, suspicion, and mortification, instead of the grandeur and repose of nature.

V.

It has been objected to the soothing power of Nature, that it cannot

take away the sharp pang of vehement distress, but rather barbs the dart, and seems to smile in mockery of our anguish. But the same might be said of music, poetry, and friendship, which only tantalize and tor

ment us by offering to divert our grief in its keenest paroxysms; but yet cannot be denied to be enviable resources and consolations of the human mind, when the bitterness of the moment has passed over.

CARACTACUS.

BY M. A. BROWNE.

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"When Caractacus was taken as a prisoner to Rome, on entering the city and seeing the splendor around him, he exclaimed, What! could the Romans, with all this magnificence, envy me my little cottage in Britain?'"-English History.

SAY, wherefore have ye borne me here,
Away from mine own pleasant land,
And kept me thus with shield and spear,
And with this armed band?

I have no treasures to unfold,
No glittering hoard of gems and gold,
No royal robes to yield;

I only have my limbs and life,
A heart that quails not in the strife,
A trusty spear and shield.

Around me there are pillar'd halls,
Where sweet lutes sound and bright
wines flow,

And floats the voice of festivals

Around me as I go.

And could ye, who possess all these,
Envy my cottage 'midst the trees,

'Neath Britain's changeful sky? Where no fair eastern floweret blooms, Where naught save the wild rose perfumes

The fresh wind wandering by.

Ye have torn me from my quiet nest,
And deem you ye can force from me
The feelings that there made me blest,
Blessings for you to be?

Oh! these are treasures I have seal'd
Within my heart, deep, unreveal'd;

Nor racks nor tortures e'er

Can wrench them from the sacred hold
They have within its inmost fold,
Apart from mortal care.

Illumined is your city now

With myriad lamps in hall and bower; My home was fairer with the glow Of stars at midnight's hour.

Ye have hung wreaths on shrine and dome; Know, I have lovelier at home

Of dark green ivy leaves.

Ye have rich sounds of flute and horn;
I had as sweet ones every morn

From the swallows in the eaves.

And I have one proud thought that still
Gives me a triumph o'er ve all ;
My spirit's eye whene'er I will

On those old scenes can fall:
And I have deeper, dearer bliss,
In gazing on those memories,

Those pictures of the past, Than you in wearing victory's crown, In looking on your trophied town, Or listing trumpet's blast.

The spell is on my heart!-my land! My native home! my own dear isle! Now I can face ye, tyrant band,

With a defying smile.

My heart is strengthen'd in those ties, In trust, in love, that never dies!

Bring forth your chains, and bind And fetter every free-born limb. The spirit's light ye cannot dim,

Ye cannot chain the mind.

And if ye bear me unto death,What then? I have no slavish fear; I can resign this worthless breath Without a sigh or tear.

And there is something in my heart, That tells me I shall not depart,

And leave the world in vain; That whispers,-and it must be so! That friends, afar from earthly woe,' Shall surely meet again!

SUNSET, AFTER RAIN.

BY DELTA.

THE shower hath drifted o'er; the blue
Of cloudless heaven shines softly through;
Still is the air, the sea is calm,
The bright-bloom'd flowers outbreathing
balm :

And from the west, with orange ray,
Serenely clear and calmly gay,

The sun looks forth o'er ocean's isles,
O'er earth and heaven, and, setting, smiles.

What though the day in clouds hath pass'd,

Though dripp'd the rain, and roar'd the blast,

Though morning's orient flag unfurl'd
Scarce awed the shades that dimm'd the
world,

And fire-eyed noon's resplendent car
Plough'd vainly through deep mists afar—
This scene of beauty and delights,
And evening radiance, well requites
For dreary doubts and boding gloom,
And dreams whose dwelling was the tomb.

The murmuring bee from flower to flower
Is roaming round the bloss'my bower,-
The clustering bower, where jasmine
wreath

Is mix'd with odorous flowers; beneath
The creeping honeysuckle weaves
Its yellow horns with ivy leaves;
And round about, in many a row,
The lilies of the valley blow,
Upshooting snowy bells between
Luxuriant stems of darkest green.

How bright, how beautiful, the day
In its calm lustre dies away,

As if the clouds that wept the while
Now dried their tears, and turn'd to smile
Down on the verdant vales of earth,
Whose looks have changed from gloom to
mirth!

On every blade, and leaf, and stem,
Of diamond drops a diadem
Around is sprinkled, bright and clear
As beauty's sympathizing tear

When sinless sorrows cause its flow;
The fruits depend from every bough,
Mellow and ripe; the downy peach,
The purpled plum, and nectarine, each
Half-shaded by its leaves, in hue
Diversified, and varying too.-
With note melodious, clear, and free,
Upon the moss-brown'd apple-tree,
Within the ancient orchard's pale,
The blackbird, Scotland's nightingale,
Sits singing, and responses sound
From every grove and garden round.
When worldly strife is hush'd, and all
With Music's murmuring, dying fall,
The air is stirr'd, how sweet to rest,

Remote from men, with easy breast,
While scenes awake to Memory's eye-
Scenes, whose bright hues can never die-
As round the pictures of the past
Her more than sunlight glow is cast,-
Scenes 'mid Time's landscape far, but seen,
By distance, hallow'd, calm, serene,
And bearing in their mellow dyes
As 'twere the mark of Paradise ;-
So, over ocean's billows curl'd
Blue coasts, the confines of a world-
A world of hope, and love, and truth,
And beauty to the eyes of youth;
Some realm of fancy, which how fain
The feet would traverse-but in vain.

Yes! all of calm, and grand, and fair,
In iris hues are pictured there;
There, from terrestrial dross refined,
We see the shadows of mankind,
Beyond the clouds of grief and fear,
Bright wandering in a fairy sphere;
All low-born cares dispersed and gone,
Misfortune fled, and Pain unknown.

We look on valorous deeds, which raise
To ecstacy the voice of praise,
As youthful Wolfe sinks down to die
Within the arms of victory;

Or Moore, without a murmur, yields
His spirit on the last of fields,
And, by his mourning comrades brave,
Is laid, at midnight, in the grave,—
The wailing of the restless surge,
And cannon of the foe, his dirge :-
We listen to the words, whose glow
Makes nations like a river flow,
As Chatham's kindled lips dispense
The lava tide of eloquence,
Unmanacle the friendless slave,
Stir up the nerveless to be brave,
And bid his country's armies be
Unmatch'd on shore, supreme at sea;-
We marvel at the thoughts which climb
Above our nature, bright, sublime,
As of the immortal, Milton sings,
His muse on angel-pinion'd wings
Aspiring high, till Heaven above

Seens link'd to Eurth with chains of love.

LAW IN BARBARY.

FROM THE RECENT UNPUBLISHED JOURNAL OF S. BENSON, ESQ.

THE "law's delay" was never yet a subject of complaint in the Barbary States; here, on the contrary, it may be seen the "law's despatch" is the most to be dreaded; a great inconvenience in criminal cases, where the innocence of the party is sometimes made manifest only after the loss of a limb or a head. The sovereign here unites in his person the office of judge and

jury; if human judgment was less liable to error or the impulse of passion, perhaps amongst an uncultivated people, such assumption of authority would be less objectionable but it is generally attended with the worst consequences. Execution of the law also follows so hard upon the sentence, that the criminal is often hurried from the presence of the judge to suffer its

penalty. Decisions of Moorish bound to make good the sum on

law, both in civil and religious cases, are founded on the Koran. If litigants are dissatisfied with the interpretation of a cadi or bashaw, they can appeal to the emperor or head of the government, who has power to revise the sentence; but bribery is sure to attain a verdict, from which there is no appeal save in a counter bribe.

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The office of public executioner does not always pertain to the same person; the prince often confers this honor on his chiefs. The Moors say it is honorable "to use the arm of the faithful to destroy the unjust; thus the greatest men of the state are often employed in striking off the heads of malefactors. It is, in fact, deemed no bad qualification to power to be a good headsman; and not many years ago a dey of Algiers succeeded to the ihrone, merely on account of his dexterity in taking off heads.

The chopping off the hands is a common punishment in cases of robbery; the truncated parts are dipped in pitch to stop the bleeding, and the executioner, with the utmost sang froid, thrusts the severed hands into the culprit's bernoos, bidding him get out of the way to make room for another. Punishments of this kind may be considered strong proofs of barbarism; but this reproach will likewise apply to Europe, where there is by far too great a display of public executions, a practice at variance with our progress of enlightenment and the ends of justice. The relation of the sufferings of a criminal or the exposure of a corpse, without feasting the eyes of the multitude on the convulsions which attend an exit from life, would probably answer all the purposes of legislature, and be just as effectual a check on crime.

If a traveller is robbed in Barbary, the pacha or governor of the country in which he travels, is

proof of the value of the articles stolen. The pacha has his remedy against the inhabitants of the district, upon whom he immediately levies a fine of three times the amount he is bound to pay; this plan sets the whole population at work to discover the robber, in which case he can seldom escape. The Kobeyles, a hardy race of mountaineers in the Kingdom of Algiers, are proverbially known as great thieves. A friend of mine, during his residence at Oran, cmployed several of these men as servants; to avoid their depredations he would not allow them to sleep in his house. During a tempestuous night, however, the Kobeyles opened a mine from the street beneath the foundation, a thing by no means difficult, and carried off a casket of jewels. Mustapha Bey, who was then governor of Oran, having no clue to the robbers, levied a fine of three times the value of the property stolen, on the inhabitants, and likewise flogged the alcaid of the night-guard naked through the streets, bound on a mule. These severities led to the discovery of a string of pearls in the possession of a Moorish woman: she was brought into the bey's presence, and being reluctant to confess the manner in which she had obtained them, the pacha pricked her with his khanjear till she owned she had purchased them for a trifle from the Kobeyle servants. The jewels were recovered and the fine taken off, but the Kobeyles had fled to their mountains, where no power the bey possessed could take them.

The laws of the Koran require "eye for eye, tooth for tooth," &c., which in case of any wilful infliction of injury cannot be considered unjust; but a great difliculty exists in Barbary regarding the distinction between accident and design, the latter interpretation being generally placed on every act wherein a

The white mantle worn by the Moors.

foreigner may have the misfortune to offend or harm a native-as one or two examples will sufficiently prove. It is better, therefore, to submit to almost any imposition than go to law with a Moor, who is sure to be protected, to the certain sacrifice of the stranger.

An English merchant, Mr. D-, whilst on a shooting excursion in Barbary, fired at a Moor, and lodged a quantity of small shot in one of his legs. A Moorish surgeon performed the operation of extracting the shot with a bluntpointed knife; this process inflamed and irritated the wounds. During the time of the Moor's illness, he was maintained at the expense of Mr. D- —; this so well suited his taste, that whenever he approached a state of convalescence, means were employed to retard the cure, which at last rendered amputation necessary. At this crisis, Mr. D was arrested and thrown into prison, to wait the issue of the disaster, with the melancholy prospect of losing one of his own legs, or perhaps his life, in case the Moor should die. The wounded man, however, recovered at the expense of being crippled, and having pleaded his inability to gain a livelihood, Mr. Dwas obliged to submit to the exorbitant demand of three thousand dollars, to effect his liberation from prison.

There is no doubt that part of this money found its way into the pocket of the bashaw. Such is the satisfaction of being compensated for any accident like that just cited, that a Moor will rather place himself in the way, than avoid being injured by a person who can afford to pay for it. My own escape from an extortion of pretty nearly the same nature, will show that those cases are not of unfrequent occurrence in Barbary.

During my residence at Tangiers, I was accompanied in one of my accustomed rides by a person whom I shall designate as Geoffroy Gambado, jun. The treat of riding on

horseback being a novelty to this gentleman, his courage rose above the level of his abilities for managing the barb which he, in his vanity, chose for the display of his equestrianship. On arriving at a sand plain, my friend's joy burst forth in sundry useless checks and spurrings of his steed, impatient of which the horse dashed forward, heedless of the cries and struggles of his awkward rider to bring him to a halt! A party of Moorish women on their route to their gardens were in the advance, on coming up with whom the horse stopped, and (least mishap of all !) laid his unskilful rider in the dust! Unfortunately the forehead of a Moorish girl of the party was grazed by coming in contact with the horse. Having convinced myself of the extent of the accident, which proved to be nothing more than a slight scratch, I recommended Mr. Gambado to open his pursestrings, as the best remedy for healing the wound. This advice was, however, despised.

A telegraph could not have communicated the news of the disaster to Tangiers quicker than it reached the bashaw's ears by means of the Arab lazzaroni, who, like their brethren of Italy, are so distinguishedly employed under every bush and hedge about the country; nor did the story lose any part of its attraction by passing through their hands, for they magnified it into a report of both murder and violation!

The first intimation I received, on my return, of the coming storm was, the seizure of the guard who accompanied me; this fellow, contrary to my usual custom, I had picked up in the town, without thinking of the necessity of employing an officer of the line, whose inalienable perquisites are the fees for attending strangers. The guard was lugged off to the alcassaba of the bashaw, where he was disburthened of the reward of his day's labor, and received in exchange a hundred stripes on the feet, to ren

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