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a heart possessed with exquisite sensibility; and the author has taken care to place her in a situation where love attacks her under his most dangerous and seducing form. It is not possible to describe the extreme interest of this part of the work in a mere sketch: it is requisite to peruse the whole of the novel, in order sufficiently to admire the unshaken constancy and devotedness of a being almost angelic, who is a victim to the most atrocious machinations, and to her inviolable regard to her conjugal duty. The character of Maria is marked throughout with a noble simplicity, and is drawn in the most masterly style: that of sir Lauderdale is touched with equal skill, though, perhaps, it is rather out of nature to find so marked a depravity in early youth. In the more trifling parts of this story there is a striking originality, and a most pleasing variety. Among the second-rate characters there are some very ably drawn: in particular, a Mr. Friendly, an austere philosopher, a character of a new kind, and rendered truly laughable.

The language of this work is peculiarly fine, at once pure and simple, flowing and striking: the style is mingled with reflections particularly analogous to the story, and evinces the pen of an author of observation and extraordinary talent. But if the execution of the most difficult parts of this romance, and the drawing of the characters, may be said to defy the shafts of criticism, it certainly is not free from fault, especially as to what concerns the development of the plot; and we naturally desire a little more appearance of probability and clearness in the explanation of some of the chief combining circumstances. But notwithstanding this, we cannot avoid declaring that Maria Neville is one among the very best novels which have lately been produced in French literature.



The reflections made by the editor of the Naval Chronicle, in the preceding pages of this number, on comparing the different destinies of the once imperial republics of Rome and Carthage, may remind the admirers of Italian literature of the fifteenth book of the Jerusalem Delivered; in which Tassothe Virgil of modern Italy—describes the voyage of Ubald and Charles in the enchanted bark. These warriors, it may be recollected, are commanded by Godfrey, and instructed by a Christian magician to proceed from Ascalon to the fortunate islands to recall to the Christian camp the hero Rinaldo, who lies in one of those blissful abodes, ensnared by the charms and enchantments of Armida, sunk in sloth, dissolved in pleasures, and forgetful of glory. As these adventurous knights sail along the coast of Africa, the poet takes occasion to designate the renowned places by which they pass, and to accompany his rapid and animated descriptions of them with lofty moral reflections, which are considered as forming the finest part of his immortal poem. We give the stanzas referred to, in the version of Hoole; the best we have, though it presents but a faint idea of the beauty and magnificence of the original.

“ Now from the bank their eyes around they threw,
And soon beheld the promis'd guide in view.
Amidst the stream a little bark appear'd,
A virgin, at the stern, the vessel steer'd:
Depending ringlets o'er her forehead stray,
And mild benevolence her looks display:
Her lovely features beams effulgent shed,
And heavenly glories blaze around her head.
Her vesture gay a thousand colours shows,
Now flames with red, and now with azure glows:
At every turn it shifts the transient light,
And cheats with momentary hues the sight!
Such various grace the billing dove assumes,
Whose gentle neck is clothi'd with glossy plumesi,
Forever new the varied feathers play,
Reflecting every tint of every ray;

While, as they move, successive beauties rise,
And fill with strange delight the gazer's eyes!

Favour'd of Heaven! ascend this bark (she cried)
In which secure i plough the swelling tide:
The stormy winds their wonted rage restrain,
While safe in this each freight may pass the main:
From him whose sovereigu mercies wide extend,
I come at once your pilot and your friend."

“By A scalon they pass'd; to left they veerd,
And tow’rd the west the rapid vessel steerd.
Then gliding swift, to Gaza next they came,
An ancient harbour not upknown to fame:
But now, from many a neighbouring ruin great,
An ample city, and a potent state.
Tbe warriors, from the bark, beheld the shore
With tents of various nations cover'd o'er:
There horse and foot along the crowded way,
Swarm thick between the city and the sea.
There loaded camels move in solemn state,
And the huge elephant's unwieldy weight.
Safe in the port they see the vessels ride,
Or floating loose, or at their anchors ty'd.
Some hoist their spreading sails, while others sweep,
With level strokes, the surface of the deep.
Then thus the guiding maid-'Though here we view
The thronging numbers of this impious crew;
Yet these, thai fill the seas and line the shore,
Compose not all the mighty tyrant's power.
These Egypt and the neighbouring lands supply:
But other aids he waits, that distant lie.
Far to the east extends his ample sway,
To realms that burn beneath the southern rayi
And hence I trust our swift return to make,
Ere these, departing, shall their tents forsake.'

While thus she spoke, as through th' aerial space
An eagle towers above the feather'd race;
Till, soaring in the sun, the sharpest eye
No more can trace his progress through the sky:
So 'midst the ships the bark its passage cleaves,
And far behind the lessening navy leaves.
Now, quick as thought, by Paphia's towers they said,
(The town that first Egyptian pilots bail
On Syria's land) then near the shore they fly,
And Rhinocera's barred sands espy.
Not distant far a mountain, crown'd with wood,
Casts a brown shadow o'er the subject flood;
Around its rocky foot the billows rave;
There hapless Pompey's bones obtain'd a grave.
Fair Damietta next the eye surveys,
Where ancient Nile his sacred tribute pays,
Through seven wide mouths, and many a stream beside,
His waters mingling with the briny tide.
They pass the city rais'd by him,* whose name
To latest times shall bear the Grecian fame.
By Pharos then they glide, an isle no more,
An isthmus, now projecting from the shora

Alexander the greata

Nor Rhodes, nor Crete, they to the north survey,
But near the climes of Afric speed their way.
Fruitful her coast: but more remote, her lands
Are fil'd with monsters dire and burning sands.
By Marmarique they steer'd, and now they pass'd
Where five fair cities fam'd Cyrene grac'd.
Here Ptolemäis stands, and here they view
Whence his slow stream the fabled Lethe drew.
The greater Syrtes next (the sailor's fear)
They leave aloof, and far to seawurd veer:
And now Judeca's cape behind them stood;
And now they left the mouth of Magra's flood;
Now Tripoli's high rising towers espy'd,
Now Malta scarcely o'er the waves descry'd.
The Syrtes past; Alzerbé they beheld,
Where once the race that fed on Lotos dwell'd.
Tunis they see, whose crooked shores display,
With circumjacent arms, a spacious bay:
Tunis the rich, a place well known to fame,
No Libyan city boasts a greater dame.
Near this Sicilia's fertile lands are spread;
There Lilybæum rears its lofty head.

Now to the knights the damsel-pilot show'd
The spot where once imperial Carthage stood.
III-fated Carthage! scarce, amidst the plains,
A trace of all her ruin'd pomp remains;
Proud cities vanish, states and realms decay,
The world's unstable glories fade away!
Yet mortals dare of certain fate complain;
O impious folly of presuming man!

From thence they see Biserta's spires arise;
Far to the right Sardinia's island lies:
They view, where once the rude Numidian swain
Pursu'd a wardering life from plain to plain;
Algiers and Bugia then they reach, the seat
Of impious corsairs: Next Oran they greet;
And now by Mauritania's strand proceed,
Where elephants and hungry lions breed:
Morocco here and Fez their cities reap:
To these oppos'd Granada's lands appear.
At length they came where, press'd in narrow bounds,
Between the capes the boiling deep resounds:
'Tis feigu'd, that first Alcides foro'd a way,
And gave this passage to the indignant sea.
And here perchance a lengthen'd tract of land
With one continued mound the flood restrain'd,
But now the furious main, with rushing tides,
From towering Calpe Abyla divides;
A strait 'twixt Libya now and Spain appear,
Such is the force of time and change of years!"

* In the original thus:

Giace l'alta Cartago: a pena i segni
De l'alte sue ruine il lido serba.
Muoiono le citta, muoiono i regni:
Copre i fasti, e le pompe arena et herba;
E huom d'esser mortal par che si sdegni:
O nostra mente cupida e supe ba!

Gierusalemme Libereta. Canto xy. St. 20. THE ROUND TABLE.-BY LEIGH HUNT.

No. 1. SUNDAY, JANUARY 1, 1815. It has often struck me, in common with other luxurious persons who are fond of reading at breakfast, and who are well-tempered enough, particularly on such occasions, to put up with a little agreeable advice, that there has now been a sufficient distance of time since the publication of our good old periodical works, and a sufficient change in matters worthy of social observation, to warrant the appearance of a similar set of papers.

Upon this design, with the assistance of a few companions, and with all sorts of determinations to be equally instructive and delightful, I am accordingly now entering; and must give the reader to understand, in their name as well as my own, that wishing to be regarded as his companions also, we act as becomes all honest persons under such circumstances, and profess to be no other than what we are: in other words, we assume no fictitious characters, or what an acquaintance of ours, in his becoming disdain of the original French, would call names of war.

A hundred years back, when the mode of living was different from what it is now, and taverns and coffee-houses made the persons of the wits familiar to every body, assumptions of this kind may have been necessary. Captain Steele, for instance, the gay fellow about town, might not always have been listened to with becoming attention or even gravity, especially if he had been a little too inarticulate over-night-he therefore put on the wrinkles and privileges of Isaac Bickerstaff, the old gentleman. Sir Richard might be a little better, but not perhaps during an election, or after the failure of a fishpool; and so he retreated into the ancient and impregnable composition of Nestor Ironside.

I do not mean to say, that we have none of the foibles of our illustrious predecessors. It would be odd indeed, (to speak candidly, and with that humility which becomes frail beings like men,) if our numerous and very eminent virtues had no drawback_but more on this subject presently. All that I say is, that we have not the same occasion for disguise; and therefore, as we prefer at all times a plain, straight-forward behaviour, and in fact, choose to be as original as we can in our productions, we have avoided the trouble of adding assumed characters to our real ones; and shall talk, just as we think, walk, and take dinner, in our own proper persons. It is true,. the want of old age, or of a few patriarchal eccentricities, to exercise people's patronage on, and induce their self-love to

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