pardoned the disproportion between my club-feet and spindle-shanks, and my general resemblance to a skeleton hung in chains, in consideration of my conversational talents as an excellent listener. In this way, my mind, from youth upwards, has become stored with matter deep and perilous to read or narrate, which, with due effect, the hand of the clock should point to twelve, and the candles be in the snuff.

The time now approaches, Sir, that I must expect, in the course of nature, to fade away into that unknown and obscure state in which, as there is no light, there can of course be no shadow. I am unwilling so much current and excellent information should go with me to the darksome bourne. To your veiled and mysterious character, Sir, you are indebted, as I have already hinted, for the preference which I give to your work as the means of recording these marvels. You must not be apprehensive that I will overwhelm you with too many marvels at once, for I am aware, by experience, of the indigestion which arises after having, like Macbeth, "supp'd full with horrors." Farther, you may place absolute reliance upon the statements which I may give concerning my authorities. Trust ing this offer may be acceptable, and that at a time when you are moving heaven and earth for furnishing instruction and amusement to your readers, you will not think the assistance of the inferior regions to be despised, I send you the first article of my treatise, which, with your permission, I entitle

Phantasmagoria.

"Come like shadows-so depart."

No I.

The incident which I am about to narrate, came to your present correspondent through the most appropriate channel for such information, by the narration, namely, of an old woman. I must however add, that though this old lady literally wore the black silk gown, small haunch-hoop, and triple ruffles, which form the apparel most proper to her denomination, yet in sense, spirit, wit, and intelligence, she greatly exceeded various individuals of her own class, who have been known to me, although their backs were

clothed with purple robes or military uniforms, and their heads attired with cocked hats or three-tailed periwigs. I have not, in my own mind, the slightest doubt that she told the tale to me in the precise terms in which she received it from the person principally concerned. Whether it was to be believed in its full extent, as a supernatural visitation, she did not pretend to determine, but she strongly averred her conviction, that the lady to whom the event happened was a woman not easily to be imposed upon by her own imagination, however excited; and that the whole tone of her character, as well as the course of her life, exempted her from the slightest suspicion of an attempt to impose on others. Without farther preface, and without any effort at ornament or decoration, I proceed to my narration, only premising, that though I suppress the name of the lady, out of respect to surviving relations, yet it is well known to me.

A lady, wife to a gentleman of respectable property on the borders of Argyleshire, was, about the middle of the last century, left a widow, with the management of an embarrassed estate and the care of an only son. The young gentleman approached that period of life when it was necessary that he should be sent into the world in some active professional line. The natural inclination of the youth, like most others of that age and country, was to enter into the army, a disposition which his mother saw with anxiety, as all the perils of the military profession were aggravated to her imagination by maternal tenderness, and a sense of her own desolate situation. A circumstance however occurred, which induced her to grant her consent to her son's embracing this course of life with less reluctance than it would otherwise have been given.

A Highland gentleman, named Campbell (we suppress his designation), and nearly related to Mrs, was about this time named to the command of one of the independent companies, levied for protecting the peace of the Highlands, and preventing the marauding parties in which the youth of the wilder clans were still occasionally exercised. These companies were called Sidier-dhu, i. e. black soldiers, to distinguish them from the Sidier-roy, or red soldiers,

of the regular army; and hence, when embodied into a marching regiment (the well-known forty-second), the corps long retained, and still retains, the title of the Black Watch. At the period of the story the independent companies retained their original occupation, and were generally considered as only liable to do duty in their native country. Each of these corps consisted of about three hundred men, using the Highland garb and arms, and commanded by such gentlemen as the Brunswick government imagined they might repose confidence in. They were understood to engage only to serve in the Highlands, and no where else, and were looked upon rather as a kind of volunteers than as regular soldiers.

A service of this limited nature, which seemed to involve but little risk of actual danger, and which was to be exercised in his native country alone, was calculated to remove many of the objections which a beloved mother might be supposed to have against her only son entering into the army. She had also the highest reliance on the kindness and affection of her kinsman, Captain Campbell, who, while he offered to receive the young gentleman as a cadet into his independent company, gave her his solemn assurance to watch over him in every respect as his own son, and to prevent his being exposed to any unnecessary hazard until he should have attained the age and experience necessary for his own guidance. Mrs, greatly reconciled to parting with her son, in consequence of these friendly assurances on the part of his future commander; it was arranged that the youth should join the company at a particular time; and in the mean while, Mrs, who was then residing at Edinburgh, made the necessary preparations for his proper equip

shire, and driven away a considerable creugh, or spoil of cattle. Captain Campbell, with such of his independent company as he could assemble upon a sudden alarm, set off in pursuit of the depredators, and after a fatiguing march came up with them. A slight skirmish took place, in course of which the cattle were recovered, but not before Captain Campbell had received a severe wound. It was not immediately, perhaps not necessarily, mortal, but was rendered so by want of shelter and surgical assistance, and the same account, which brought to Edinburgh an account of the skirmish, communicated to Mrs the death of her affectionate kinsman. To grief for his loss, she had now to add the painful recollection, that her son, if he pursued the line which had been resolved on, would be deprived of the aid, countenance, and advice, of the person to whose care, as to that of a father, she had resolved to confide him. And the very event, which was otherwise so much attended with grief and perplexity, served to shew that the service of the independent companies, however limited in extent, did not exempt those engaged in it from mortal peril. At the same time, there were many arguments against retracting her consent, or altering a plan in which so much progress had been already made; and she felt as if, on the one hand, she sacrificed her son's life, if she permitted him to join the corps: on the other, that his honour or spirit might be called in question, by her obliging him to renounce the situation. These contending emotions threw her-a widow, with no one to advise her, and the mother of an only son whose fate depended upon her resolving wisely— into an agony of mind, which many readers may suppose will account satisfactorily for the following extraordinary apparition.

I need not remind my Edinburgh friends, that in ancient times their forefathers lived, as they do still in Paris, in flats, which have access by a common stair. The apartments occupied by Mrs were immediately above those of a family with whom she was intimate, and she was in the habit of drinking tea with them every evening. It was duskish, and she began to think that her agitation of mind had detained her beyond the hour at which she should have joined her friends, when,

opening the door of her little parlour to leave her own lodging, she saw standing directly opposite to her in the passage, the exact resemblance of Captain Campbell, in his complete Highland dress, with belted plaid, dirk, pistols, pouch, and broad sword. Appalled at this vision, she started back, closed the door of the room, staggered backwards to a chair, and endeavoured to convince herself that the apparition she had seen was only the effect of a heated imagination. In this, being a woman of a strong mind, she partly succeeded, yet could not prevail upon herself again to open the door which seemed to divide her from the shade of her deceased relation, until she heard a tap on the floor beneath, which was the usual signal from her friendly neighbours to summon her to tea. On this she took courage, walked firmly to the door of the apartment, flung it open, and-again beheld the military spectre of the deceased officer of the Black Watch. He seemed to stand within a yard of her, and held his hand stretched out, not in a menacing manner, but as if to prevent her passing him. This was too much for human fortitude to endure, and she sunk down in the floor, with a noise which alarmed her friends below for her safety.

On their hastening up stairs, and entering Mrs -'s lodging, they saw nothing extraordinary in the passage; but in the parlour found the lady in strong hysterics. She was recalled to herself with difficulty, but concealed the extraordinary cause of her indisposition. Her friends naturally imputed it to the late unpleasant intelligence from Argyleshire, and remained with her till a late hour, endeavouring to amuse and relieve her mind. The hour of rest however arrived, and there was a necessity, (which Mrs felt an alarming one,) that she should go to her solitary apartment. She had scarce set down the light which she held in her hand, and was in the act of composing her mind, ere addressing the Deity for protection during the perils of the night, when, turning her head, the vision she had seen in the passage was standing in the apartment. On this emergency she summoned up her courage, and addressing him by his name and surname, conjured him in the

name of Heaven to tell her wherefore he thus haunted her. The apparition instantly answered, with a voice and manner in no respect differing from those proper to him while alive,Cousin, why did you not speak sooner,-my visit is but for your good, your grief disturbs me in my grave,

and it is by permission of the Father of the fatherless and Husband of the widow, that I come to tell you not to be disheartened by my fate, but to pursue the line which, by my advice, you adopted for your son. He will find a protector more efficient, and as kind as I would have been; will rise high in the military profession, and live to close your eyes.' With these words the figure, representing Captain Campbell, completely vanished.

Upon the point of her being decidedly awake and sensible, through her eyes and ears, of the presence and words of this apparition, Mrs declared herself perfectly convinced. She said, when minutely questioned by the lady who told me the story, that his general appearance differed in no respect from that which he presented when in full life and health, but that in the last occasion, while she fixed her eyes on the spectre in terror and anxiety, yet with a curiosity which argued her to be somewhat familiarized with his presence, she observed a speck or two of blood upon his breast, ruffle, and band, which he seemed to conceal with his hand when he observed her looking at him. He changed his attitude more than once, but slightly, and without altering his general position.

The fate of the young gentleman in future life seemed to correspond with the prophecy. He entered the army, rose to considerable rank, and died in peace and honour, long after he had closed the eyes of the good old lady who had determined, or at least professed to have determined, his destination in life upon this marvellous suggestion.

It would have been easy for a skilful narrator to give this tale more effect, by a slight transference or trifling exaggeration of the circumstances. But the author has determined in this and future communications to limit himself strictly to his authorities, and rests your humble servant,

SIMON SHADOW.

FOURTH CANTO OF CHILDE HAROLD.*

It would be worse than idle to endeavour to shadow out the lineaments of that Mind, which, exhibiting itself in dark and perturbed grandeur, has established a stronger and wider sway over the passions of men, than any other poetical Intellect of modern times. We feel as if there were a kind of absurdity in criticising the power that hurries us along with it like a whirlwind. When standing within the magic circle, and in the immediate presence of the magician, we think not upon his art itself, but yield ourselves up to its wonder-working influence. We have no wish to speculate on the causes which awoke and stirred up all the profoundest feelings and energies of our souls,-the deep pathos, the stormy passion, has been enjoyed or suffered, and, in the exaltation or prostration of our nature, we own the power of the poet to be divine, and, with a satisfied and unquestioning delight, deliver ourselves up to his gentle fascination, or his ir resistible dominion.

We do not say that Byron stands above criticism-but that criticism seems to be altogether foreign to the nature and to the purposes of his genius. It is impossible to speak of his poetry without also speaking of himself, morally, as a man; and this, who shall dare to do, who has had even a feeble glimpse into the haunted darkness of the human soul? In his poetry, more than any other man's, there is felt a continual presence of himself -there is everlasting self-representa tion or self-reference; and perhaps that, which to cold and unimpassioned judgment might seem the essential fault of his poetry, constitutes its real excellence, and gives it power, sovereign and despotical.

Strictly speaking, and according to the rules by which great poems have been builded, it cannot be said that Byron has ever created a great Poem. He has celebrated no mighty exploit, or event, or revolution in the destinies of mankind; nor brought before us one majestic portion of the history of our species, in which, as in a course perfect and complete, the mind of man

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto the Fourth; by Lord Byron, 8vo. pp. 258. London, Murray. 1818.

has been seen to run a career of power and glory. He has brought forward from the darkness of past times, no shining spectres-no immortal ghosts. One Figure alone is seen stalking through the city and through the solitude over the earth and over the sea and that Figure, stern, melancholy, and majestic, is still no other than Himself, on the same dark, mournful, solitary, and perplexing Pilgrimage.

"The wondrous Childe" passes before our eyes, and before our hearts, and before our souls. And all love, and pity, and condemn, and turn away in aversion, and return with sympathy; and "thoughts that do lie too deep for tears" alike agitate the young and the old,-the guilty and the sinless,-the pious and the profane,-when they think on the features of his troubled countenance,when they hear the voice of his lofty mournings,-when they meditate on all the disastrous chances that his youth has suffered." There is round him a more awful interest than the mere halo round the brow of a poet. And in his feelings, his passions, his musings, his aspirings, his troubled scepticism, and his high longings after immortality, his eagle-winged raptures, his cold, dull, leaden fears, his agonies, his exultation, and his despair,-we tremble to think unto what a mysterious nature we belong, and hear in his strains, as it were, the awful music of a revelation.

We have no hesitation in saying, that Byron's creations are not so much poems, as they are glorious manifestations of a poet's mind, all irresistibly tending towards poetry. Having in himself deep sense of beauty-deeper passions than probably any other great poet ever had-and aspiring conceptions of power, the poetry in which he expresses himself must be full of vivid portraiture of beauty, deep spirit of passion, and daring suggestions of power. It is obvious that he has never yet soared to his utmost pitch. He is the poet of the age from whom most is to be expected. For there are things in his poetry-strong and irregular bursts of power, beyond the strength of the strongest. At times he seems possessed and over-mastered by an inspiration. A spirit is then in him that works at will, and it is a spirit that in its perfect grandeur