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These poems breathe a delicious “ odour ;" and those who have tasted Sir William Jones's paraphrase of one of the Persian Hafiz's exquisite songs, or felt the beauty of Professor Wilson's translation of a fragrant little poem-The Cloud Messenger-which is well known at Hailesbury College, will joyously avail themselves of this treasury of Eastern gems. If we should really have no summer this year in “Merrie England,” this sweet book may make a sunshine in the shady place of many an English home.
Castle Deloraine, a novel, in three volumes, published by Mr. BENTLEY, and written by a cousin of Miss Maria Jane Jewsbury's, (who married the Rev. Mr. Fletcher, and died at Bombay, when all who knew her looked for the fulfilment of the rich promise of her youth,) is a very remarkable book,penned in the fervour and enthusiasm of a frank young spirit, eager to arrive at truth, but mistaking the bubble on the surface for the jewel at the bottom of the well - misled by a desire to say all she thinks, without considering that she may not always think correctly, and that it is possible to argue wrong from right principles. The mere story, though an often told tale, is well conceived, and well developed; the characters are skilfully drawn, and cleverly contrasted; the scenes are natural and forcible ; there are occasional passages of great power and pathos, and the interest continues even through long political and religious disquisitions, which recal a passage in one of Lady Dufferin's clever songs
“What a pity when charming women
Talk of things that they don't understand." The author, Miss MARIA PRICILLA SMITH, makes vigorous war with what she calls prejudices, and doubtless in many cases she has reason on her side ; but she is too impetuous and too unskilful to bring about social reformations, even if a novel were the legitimate arena for political contention. Every Christian mother in England would avoid a heroine of seventeen who eulogises Shelley to a young man during their first interview. There is no doubt Shelley would have recanted his heresy ; he had the fashion only of infidelity, and his manly spirit, when he put away his childish and sinful follies, would have acknowledged its error. There is a strange opinion expressed by the young philosophy school--that great minds are prone to doubt. The contrary is the fact-poor minds, uncomprehensive minds, weak minds,“ doubt," because they can neither comprehend nor trust. The author of Castle Deloraine has studied, at tiines, in a dangerous school. She has not been true to her better nature. Her desire to throw off what is old and feeble leads her into the danger of shaking off what is venerable, frequently mistaking boldness for strength, and rashness for bravery. We had almost forgotten to mention her Irish scenes, which are vigorous and life-like. We shall look anxiously for this author's next book, convinced that all she requires to become one of the ornaments of our literature, is a more extensive acquaintance, not with theories, but with life, and greater patience to “mark, learn, and inwardly digest," before she takes up a cause or a party.
We believe it is not generally known that Mr. AGUILAR, who has been gaining so much on the public as a pianiste, is brother to the late Grace Aguilar, whose recently-published tale of The Days of Bruce we have just noticed. Despite the sums we pay for music, we are as yet only on the threshold of this ennobling art : we understand but little of its philosophy, and are seldom thoroughly roused by its humanizing sympathies, our popular idea of an “artist” is connected with painting, and even now—with two Italian Operas, and concerts innumerable—the great body of the English people consider music neither an art nor a science simply a trade. May we not hope for better days ? when music, in its highest and holiest sense, will be appreciated as it deserves, and its professors—no longer undervalued as “mere musical men”-take their places amongst “the teachers” of a noble science the propagators of an enlightening artveritable artists, as in truth they are. We avail ourselves gladly of this occasion, to render to the accomplished brother of our lamented friend homage akin to that he has so abundantly received in Germany-indeed, in all parts of Europe—and which he is gradually but surely obtaining in England, as the reward of genius combined with industry.
Messrs. Addey & Co. are aiming to sustain the reputation which Mr. Cundell, their predecessor, acquired by the publication of juvenile books. We are greatly indebted to those publishers who introduce good taste into our nurseries. We should not have been so far behind our neighbours in Art, had it not been for the distorted quality of the socalled “establishments" of children's books. Well do we remember when the art of such publications taught nothing that was not evil : distorted forms in daubs of colour were the “ familiar friends" of the very young, with pernicious lessons to eye and mind. We cannot be over-grateful to Mr. Cundell for largely assisting to introduce a better state of things. In his children's books-those more especially which bear the name of “Felix Summerly'--the best artists were auxiliary to instruction; and those who learned from them had nothing to unlearn in after-life. But the most important step Mr. Addey has yet taken is in the publication of a Magazine, " for boys and girls," and boys and girls “putting away childish things”this being rather a magazine for the schoolroom, with tales which may be read aloud in the nursery, The first numbers are pleasant and profitable. The editor gives an assurance that The Charm, (the title given to the magazine), shall ever have *the charm of PURITY ;" that its moral tendency shall be plainly apparent ; that it shall incul. cate brotherly love, gentleness, and kindness to all God's creatures; that it shall endeavour to instil
The publishers of this Magazine have issued a curious volume, and one for which the scholar and the poet must be deeply indebted to them-Specimens of Old Indian Poetry, translated from the original Sanscrit into English verse. We must refer to the gracefully printed little book all those who have the good taste to appreciate the learning and poetic feeling which Mr. Griffith, of the Royal Asiatic Society, has brought to bear upon this “labour of love ;" for such it has undoubtedly been. It cannot fail to enlighten and interest those who have hitherto considered Indian poetry-like Eastern flowers, « In climes full of sunshine, though splendid their dyes,
Yet faint is the odour the flowers shed about."
into young minds the love of the beautiful, and lead them to appreciate “the smiles of Nature and the charms of Art.” So far all is well ; but, while we would carefully avoid all cant or sectarian teaching, we cannot altogether approve of any publication for the young without a devotional principle pervading and hallowing the whole. It may be felt, though unseen;" never intrusive, but always influencing ; inculcating all the virtues—none of which can ever have a solid foundation, where Religion is not the corner-stone.
It will, we are assured, give many of our readers much pleasure to know that Amelia OPIE is still living and enjoying life, her bright affectionate spirit creating sunshine in the pretty home where she resides, opposite to the time-honoured Castle of Norwich.
Mr. WILLIAM Howirt has left, or is about to leave England, to visit Australia-for a few months to visit the “diggings," to place there two of his sons, perhaps under the charge of his brother, who ranks among the highest physicians of the colony-and, we take for granted, on his return, to publish a book. Such are the wonderful facilities for travelling in modern times, that this voyage, to and from Australia, is about upon a par with what a journey to Ireland was some fifty or sixty years ago. There will be little or no time lost to a busy man--for Mr. Howitt will have pen, ink, and paper in his cabin on board ; and he may see, with his practised eye and observant mind, a vast deal in half a year or so on shore. Of a surety, the world will derive much profit from his trip; and we heartily and cordially bid him bon voyage.
The author, in many scenes, assumed the wisdom of age ; but the freshness of youth at once endeared the volumes to the reader ; and, followed as they were, fleetly and bravely, by Merkland, they established an almost new generation of Scotch novels in our hearts and homes. Adam Graeme, of Moss Gray, will not be as popular with the “general reader” as either of those we have mentioned ; though, in many respects, its tone and feeling are higher than the tone and feeling of its predecessors. There is something painful in commencing an acquaintance with the hero of a novel when he is old; the burden falls on memory, and not on hope. It is pleasanter to pass through life, and its adventures with our hero of the hour, than to hear how he suffered and triumphed—won or lost-when his oil is nearly burnt out, and the flickering light shows that the world, and the things therof, must soon pass away. Those who read merely for amusement, and enjoy the whirl of " novel life”-going hand in hand with its activity, its hopes, its fears, its miseries, its excitementsmay lay these volumes aside, and declare that the author has “fallen off ;” but those who love to trace patiently the workings of the “ actual," and note how this brought that to pass—will enjoy to sit with us at the feet of the Scottish Gamaliel, and learn the gentle, loving, and unselfish lessons of a wellspent life. The author, we imagine, felt that she commenced Adam Graeme in an unpopular fashion : the volumes are divided into “books,” and, with considerable skill, the second “book” brings forward a new generation, with whom Moss Gray is linked, and to whom, as well as to the conduct of the story, he is necessary. This introduction of new life was certainly indispensable, as the tale was trembling beneath the malediction of three volumes, which has brought many a finely-conceived story to an untimely grave; but, despite the fascinations of the young and the trials of the good, the old man is the hero and the interest. Adam Græme, of Moss Gray, is a perfect treasure to mothers who dread the influence of careless modern novels in their domestic libraries : every page is sanctified by the pure spirit of its author : it might be read on a Sabbath evening, beneath the shadows of the “ ivied tower" of an old church.
We presume that there is no breach of confidence in mentioning that the author of these books -Miss Wilson-has very recently changed her name, and is now Mrs. Oliphant.
A very charming book has been issued by Messrs. CONSTABLE, of Edinburgh-Art and Nature under an Italian Sky. There is nothing strictly new in its pages, yet much that is fresh, while all is pure : many well-known objects are placed in a novel light. Occasionally it recalled to us passages in that most graceful of all books of travel, in which Mrs. Jameson made her debut in literature-The Diary of an Ennuyée. In Art and Nature we have a happy mingling of both : Nature is felt and Art is understood by the writer. The tone of the volume is healthy : the observations are generous and full of true sympathy; and, as a contribution to a class of literature far too scanty, it is of no ordinary value. Moreover, the book is welcome, as again bringing before us the time-honoured name of Constable. The publishers are the representatives, in blood and station, of those whose repute is inseparably associated with that of Sir Walter Scott.
We believe it is not generally known that | John HOWARD PAYNE, U.S. Consul at Tunis, who
died lately, was the author of Home, sweet home, a song that made the celebrity of Mary Tree, now Mrs. Bradshaw, and which Madame Otto Goldschmidt has been singing in America to the delight of all hearers. In his early life Payne was a dramatic performer, and a man of versatile genius. He was appointed consul in 1851, and had just established himself under his flag, when he was called “HOME.”
England will be inundated with “Christmas Books" at the close of the present year. Information has already reached us concerning at least ten of them. We cannot say that any one of their authors is of the highest literary rank, although they each and all enjoy a share of popularity. There may be so many of these books, however, as to elbow one another out of the way : and the chances that would be very favourable to two or three may be as nothing when divided among a dozen. It may be well to put forth this warning in time.
Few books of its class came to us more unex. pectedly than did Mistress Margaret Maitland.
When we read in the dedication to The Head of the Family, that it was the “ last novel the author would write for some time,” we hoped she might not be tempted to break her resolve ; yet we learn that another tale, of altogether different construction from those before the public, is nearly ready for the press. This is hardly doing herself justice : her forte lies in the development of sympathies and feelings; and to develope them well entails not only a great deal of thought and comparison, but much positive suffering, on the writer.
fearful discount, to spring into the breach, and stand forth its champion. The Bristol Mirror has published the lecture, and we hope to see it in the second edition of a most valuable book, just given to the world by the Griffins, of London and GlasgowThe Importance of Literature to Men of Business ; a Series of Addresses delivered at various popular Institutions.
We are indebted to Mr. HORATIO TOWNSEND, an Irish barrister, for a singularly interesting account of the great HANDEL'S Visit to Dublin. The book is published by James McGlashan, the proprietor of our able and brilliant cotemporary, the Dublin University Magazine. No musical library should be without it. Its pages contain undoubted proofs that the Messiah was first performed in Dublin. This fact Mr. Townsend has placed beyond the possibility of doubt, and he has drawn together, with a judicious and sympathising hand, all that is of interest (and what is not) connected with the great high priest of music—the Milton of sound. We might extract pages from this charming book, all tending to elevate HANDEL's moral character and benevolent heart to the height of his genius ; but we have said enough to create a desire to possess it ; and we expect the thanks of our readers for showing where they can obtain so much pleasurable information at easy cost.
They know how to honour great men in the United States. An “association has been formed, with the view to erect a worthy monument to the memory of FENIMORE COOPER ; and not that only, a volume has been printed, which contains the tributary speeches and eloquent letters of a very large proportion of the “men of mark" of America- Bryant, Bancroft, Washington Irving, Webster, Emerson, Prescott, Dana, Longfellow, and others. Such “ testimonials" are, truly and indeed, the best excitements to a career of glory in letters." In England, perhaps, a triumphant soldier, or a successful sailor, might have as many from his contemporaries,“brothers in arms ; " but the writer of a hundred books occupies here a very different position from the victor in a hundred fights: it is much, if he go down to the grave glorified by half a dozen newspaper paragraphs to keep his memory green for a month.
Those who desire to take note of the Irish superstitions, once so popular, but now passing rapidly away before the utilitarian spirit of the age, will be more than pleased with a volume-one of the Readings in Popular Literature from the versatile penof DOCTOR WILDE, of Dublin. He says truly, in his animated preface, that had not Shakspeare embalmed, in the Midsummer Night's Dream, the popular superstitions and fairy lore current in England at the time of Elizabeth, the present generation could form but a very faint idea of the ancient belief of our forefathers, in the witcheries of their sylvan deities and household gods. “No man in Ireland” was better able than the brilliant Doctor to gather these things together : his knowledge of, and well-known sympathies with, “the people" — his wanderings among them — his partisanship with whatever is quaint or peouliar -- his national enthusiasm-his energy, and the terms of intimacy he has been on, at one time or other, with everybody who was anybody-rendered “Willie Wilde," as he is affectionately called in Dublin, the fittest of all chroniclers for these Irish Superstitions. He is up to " fun and frolic, as well as to those graver disquisitions on all manner of things-antiquarian, social, medical, and political-which are not half so pleasant to deal with as that which he has here so skilfully set forth. We shall endeavour to make room some day for an especial article on these superstitions—where all is not mirthful. Doctor Wilde is too true to his subject, and understands his country too well, not to mingle tears and smiles together.
We are glad to read the announcement of a THIRD edition of The Physician's Holiday, by Dr. FORBES. It is a charming and very useful work : it was literally the result of that rarity to the physician-a holiday ; and it is so full of genuine nature, of the love of the beautiful and good, that the reader is continually tempted to regret that the excellent Doctor has not had his month's relaxation at least once a year. The name of Dr. Forbes is so intimately associated with so many Metropolitan Charities-he is so well and so widely known for pure philanthropy-he has so many friends, because he is the friend of so many—that no wonder his book has obtained popularity: but it is valuable for itself; and if it had been written by an apprentice to virtue, instead of by one of its highest professors, it could not but have found favour with all who love the pure and the true.
THOMAS WRIGHT, M.A., F.S.A., has added another to the many useful and instructive books he has produced. It is entitled The Celt, the Roman, and the Saxon, and is published by Messrs. VIRTUE, Hall, and VIRTUE. To collect, condense, and render available for the uses of the general reader, the mass of scattered facts which have been given from time to time to the world through the explorations of the antiquary, and thus to construct a history of early Britain from the facts its relics adduce, was a worthy labour; it was more than usually necessary, inasmuch as it was avoided by the general historian, as the few pages devoted to this portion of the subject in ordinary histories of England will show ; even this seanty detail generally abounding in errors which modern research has refuted. As a clever resumé of all that has been done in this way for many years past, Mr. Wright's book is without a rival.
Mr. MACREADY, whose early retirement from the dramatic world, will long be deplored by all who remember his exertions before, as well as behind, the curtain, to maintain the honour and purity of the stage, has given an eloquent lecture, at the Victoria Rooms, in aid of the Bristol Athemeum : the subject was -- On the Influence of Poetry as an Element of Popular Education. It was heroic in Mr. Macready, when poetry is at such a
A LADY'S NARRATIVE OF CAPTIVITY AMONG ALGERINE PIRATES. In the early part of the month of June, 1827, ! line that bounded the watery field. I felt I embarked on board the trading brig, “ Per- | lighter and better than I had done since we severance," to accompany its captain, my hus- had left England. I remembered to have read band, in a voyage to Seville. Although we somewhere of a king, who could only recal sailed at the commencement of summer, the to his mind eight happy days out of a life of weather proved boisterous and winterly in the sixty years; and I thought, as I had already extreme : continued heavy gales and incessant | enjoyed three calm and peaceful sunsets in rain attended our progress. I have been a succession, how much more favoured I had bad sailor under all circumstances, but upon been. But this state of pleasurable repose this occasion I suffered even more than I was not to be long continued. I was lying on usually do. My husband himself, though long the sofa in the cabin, about noon the following inured to the exposure and hardships of a sea day, when I was suddenly startled by the relife, was not insensible to the unpropitious port of a heavy gun. I felt the concussion as circumstances that attended the beginning of well as heard the sound, and in an instant I our voyage; for before we had been many was on my feet. A second report followed, days out of sight of English shores, he was and then a third ; at the same instant, my attacked by a severe form of ague and fever, husband called to me down the companion not and the mate assured me that his master to be alarmed, as it was a French man-of-war would not hold out long if the same dreadful that was firing the guns, and he supposed they fits persisted in returning daily. Aroused wanted some information from him. I had from the lethargy of sea-sickness by this just reached the foot of the cabin stairs, when alarming assurance, I betook myself to the a fourth explosion shook the vessel, and one of medicine-chest, and learned from the book of the sailors exclaimed, " That was a shot, sir, directions accompanying the drugs, that pow- and pretty near us too." Creeping up the dered bark was the only remedy. On ex stairs, and looking out from the companionamining the contents of the bottles, I found, hatches, I saw all the ship's company gathered to my great relief, an abundant store of the round their master, upon the quarter-deck, in precious substance. For twelve long days I consultation. Immediately afterwards, the gave the bitter dose, without the slightest sign carpenter, who had been eyeing our noisy of good resulting from its use : at the self-same neighbours suspiciously, shouted out, “They hour, the chills, and then the burning ncats, are Algerine pirates, sir, by ----!" returned. But afterwards I had the exceeding How little can we tell beforehand how cirjoy to see the severity of the fits decline: at cumstances will affect us! As I stood there, a first they were slighter, and lasted a shorter conversation of the previous day flashed across time; soon they came but on alternate days, my memory, in which I had stated my belief then the intervals lengthened, and at last my | that I should die of terror if we were stopped patient was his own strong self again.
by pirates. I did not now die, however, when During the progress of this cure, external I heard the carpenter's exclamation; on the circumstances were keeping pace with my contrary, I was impelled by an anxious desire inner experiences. We had now crossed the to gaze upon the object I had imagined I Bay of Biscay, and had done with its storms. | should so much dread to see. Accordingly, I The air was getting warm, the weather became cautiously advanced under cover of the high gradually fine, and the adverse tempest was rails, and peeped through a small aperture in changed into a balmy and propitious breeze. the quarter-boards. There, close under our On the 6th of July, the ship's officers conversed lee, I beheld a large brig of war, with crowds at breakfast regarding the beautiful sunrise of strange-looking figures upon her deck. they had witnessed over Cape Finisterre, then | Most of them were of large stature, with dark ten leagues east of us. The sunset proved as copper-coloured, naked limbs, wearing long fine. Even now I can see, in fancy, the clear- beards, and turbans and sashes of scarlet ness of that evening atmosphere, the glory of colour, after the Moorish fashion. Now, inits fleecy clouds with their crimson and gold | deed, a sensation of sickening horror crept fringe, and the fulness of the vast undulating l over me. Our brig had been lying-to from the waves, that swept, with their little load of time we were favoured with the third shot. rippling billows, onwards towards the circular The captain had taken his speaking-trumpet,
and he now commenced a bellowing duet, in Italian, with the question, “ What do you want?” A seven-foot high negro answered in the same language, “Send your boat on board.”
I found that I had seen enough, and, during the little bustle occasioned by getting out and manning the boat, I made my escape to the cabin. The boat was placed under command of the chief mate, who was ushered, when he reached the stranger's deck, into the presence of a dignified Moor, reclining upon a couch, and surrounded by a staff of officers standing. This potentate managed by some means to make the mate understand that he was high admiral of the Emperor of Morocco's fleet, and he further told him, that he held a commission under the British Government, and examined all ships he fell in with to ascertain whether they had with them a proper Mediterranean pass. The mate's captain must, therefore, himself come on board, and bring his papers with him to be overhauled.
The boat came back with the mate, and then went again to the Algerine with the captain and his papers. Soon, however, the captain returned, and brought with him some of the Moors. They descended at once into the cabin, and entered upon a polite system of plundering. They requested the steward to oblige them by handing out his stores of tea, sugar, and vinegar, and they unceremoniously took possession of some articles of wearing apparel and a looking-glass. A few dozens of wine, and some fine salt and eggs, they considerately seized in the name of the admiral. I remained concealed in the state room until these unwelcome neighbours were again on deck; I then went out to my husband, who had remained behind them. He told me we were certainly in the hands of pirates, but that they seemed inclined at least to carry on their depredations civilly, and under the pretence of legal authority. They had not, however, done with us yet: he had returned merely for some document he had omitted to take with him the first time, and was going back with it to the Moorish vessel; the Moors on deck were waiting for him.
I know not how I passed the period of his second absence. I shut myself up in the state room, and knelt down and prayed fervently for divine protection. I then took a large draught of wine, and endeavoured to feel resigned and patient; but apprehension for my husband's safety, and lengthened suspense, were too much for me, and I was just going up on deck again, when the steward met me,
and told me that the captain was returning with what he called “a boat-load of Turks." I looked out, and there I saw a larger second boat accompanying our own, with two-andtwenty Moors on board. The ship's company were gathered round the companion, and the second mate was detailing to them his know
ledge of pirate proceedings. “First,” said he, | “they murder all on deck, then they go below.”
When stout-hearted men quailed at the prospect which was before them, it was hardly surprising that a woman should find herself quite unnerved. Terrified and trembling, I hastened back to my hiding-place, and tried to collect my scattered thoughts and reason down my fears. I endeavoured to convince myself, that the Moorish admiral would not have taken so long to decide upon his proceedings if his purpose had been open violence and plunder.
The boats reached our ship just before sunset, and the Moors, as they jumped on board, performed their evening devotions, prostrating themselves, and bowing with their faces towards the east. The captain immediately came to me, to tell me how matters stood. The suspicious-looking ship he had left so recently was really in the service of the Emperor of Morocco, although under French colours when it stopped us. During the previous winter, the “ Perseverance” had lain beside it at the Mole of Gibraltar, and its commander used frequently to cross our decks. Upon one occasion, he jestingly said to my husband, as he passed, that he should very much like to have his brig as a prize. My husband remembered his face the instant he entered his presence, and also recognised some of the surrounding officers. The Moorish ship had been fitted out in the Government dockyard of Gibraltar, but had been slightly altered in the appearance of her hull, by the substitution of two red streaks along the side for one white one. The selfstyled admiral, after pretending to examine the ship's papers presented to him, had held a long consultation with his officers, and then reprimanded my husband in a vehement tone for coming to sea without a formal Mediterranean pass. The captain answered as vehemently that he did not need any such license, seeing that he was bound to a port without the straits. The reply to this remonstrance was, that he had better not cause them any trouble, as his ship and crew were the rightful prize of the Emperor of Morocco, and he must, therefore, forthwith receive an officer, a prize-master, and twenty men on board the