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It is too generally true that those who enlarge the territories of their country, who adorn it with public works, and add to its physical resources, are held in perpetual remembrance, while those who enrich its language, and adorn its literature, are comparatively neglected and forgotten. This, however, can scarcely be alleged of Petrarch and his countrymen. All their nationality seems to be enlisted in favour of his fame, and every thing and every place which can be brought into even a conjectural connexion with the poet, derive their chief interest from that circumstance.

ment than that of this beautiful spot. It
may not be uninteresting to the reader to
meet with a somewhat minute description
of the place to which Petrarch has, by this
and many other events of his life, at-
tached so much interest. The following
is from the pen of Ugo Foscolo:-

The valley of Vaucluse is one of those works of nature which five centuries have been unable to disturb. On leaving Avignon the eye tiful meadow till he arrives on a plain varied by numerous vineyards. At a short distance the hills begin to ascend, covered with trees, which are reflected on the Sorga, the waters of which are so limpid, their course so rapid, and their sounds so soft, that the poet describes them truly when he says" that they are liquid

of the traveller reposes on an expanse of beau

figure in this profession, and sent him, not yet fourteen years of age, to study at Montpelier, a town finely situated for health and pleasure, with a university famous for the skill of its professors, both in physic and law. The Roman law had been taught there from the twelfth century. Petrarch studied here four years; but it was so much lost time, for he could not be brought to fix his attention on such dry subjects; I could not, says he, deprave my mind by such a system of chicanery as the present forms of law exhibit.

Petrarco, perceiving his slow progress, sent him to Bologna, a place of still higher renown for persons of this profession; but he succeeded no better there than at Montpelier. What a grief to Petrarco, to find that, instead of applying to the law, his son passed whole days in reading ancient authors, and, above all, the poets, with whom he was infatuated! He took a journey to Bologna, to remedy, if possible, this evil, which he apprehended would be so fatal to his son. Petrarch, who did not expect his father, ran to hide the manuscripts of Cicero, Virgil, and some other poets, of whose works he had formed a little library, depriving himself of every other enjoyment to become master of these treasures.

Petrarco having discovered the place in which they were concealed, took them out before his face, and cast them all into the fire. Petrarch, in an agony of despair, cried out, as if he himself had been precipitated into the flames, which he saw devouring what was most dear to his imagination.

Petrarch was born at Arezzo, in Tuscany, of a respectable Florentine family; and his father being banished during the crystal, the murmurs of which mingle with the songs of birds to fill the air with harmony." infancy of his son, the latter was taken Its banks are covered with aquatic plants, and to Ancise, in the valley of Arno, fourteen in those places where the falls or the rapidity miles from Florence. Here he was brought of the current prevent their being distinguished, up by his mother till he was seven years it seems to roll over a bed of green marble. old. After this period the father, losing Nearer the source, the soil is sterile; and, as all hope of settling himself again in Flo- the channel grows narrow, the waves break against the rocks, and roll in a torrent of foam rence, from which the violence of a poli- and spray, glittering with the reflection of the tical faction had removed him, departed prismatic colours. On advancing still farther with his family to Avignon, whither the up the river, the traveller finds himself inholy see had been transferred from Rome. closed in a semicircular recess, formed by rocks Here young Petrarch first commenced his inaccessible on the right, and abrupt and prefriendship for Gui Settimo, the son of a cipitous on the left, rising into obelisks, pyraGenoese, with whom his father was acmids, and every fantastic shape, and from the midst of them a thousand rivulets descend. quainted, and a youth of about his own The valley is terminated by a mountain, perage. From Avignon, however, both fa-pendicularly scarped from the top to the botmilies shortly removed to Carpentras, a tom, and through a natural porch of concenpleasant town a few miles distant; and tric arches he enters a vast cavern, the silence here Petrarch was placed under the care and darkness of which are interrupted only by of Convenole, a Tuscan school-master, of the murmuring and the sparkling of the waters whom Petrarch said, many years after, in a basin, which forms the principal source of the Sorga. This basin, the depth of which that he resembled the whetstone which has never yet been fathomed, overflows in the sharpened knives, but remained dull it- spring, and it then sends forth its waters with self. Under him, however, and by the such an impetuosity as to force them through aid of the elementary instruction which a fissure in the top of the cavern, at an elevahe had received from him, Petrarch soon tion of nearly a hundred feet on the mountain, left his companions behind him in his whence they gradually precipitate themselves scholastic studies, and particularly in his from height to height in cascades, sometimes showing, and sometimes concealing, in their proficiency in the Latin language; and foam the huge masses of rock which they from the age of ten to fifteen he learned hurry along. The roar of the torrents never as much of grammar, rhetoric, and logic, ceases during the long rains, while it seems as as could be acquired in the schools of if the rocks themselves were dissolved away, that day. At about this age he appears and the thunder re-echoed from cavern to caeither to have first received the germ of vern. The awful solemnity of this spectacle poetical genius, or, at least, to have experienced that which chiefly effected its development, from a visit to the celebrated fountain and valley of Vaucluse. He appears to have been inspired with all the enthusiasm which beauty of na- In this beautiful solitude did the sus- The professors soon discovered the tatural scenery can infuse into a young and ceptible mind of Petrarch become in-lents and the poetical genius of Petrarch, ardent mind; and in many of his poems, spired with that fancy and sensibility and directed their endeavours to the culin after life, he kindles, at the recollec- which constituted through life the source tivation of the latter. But while he was tion of the sweets of that sequestered of all his pleasures and all his sufferings. thus vacillating between his inclinations spot, into a strain of poetry by which The time, however, shortly arrived when and his duty, he received intelligence of they and he are alike immortalized. Nor his father thought it necessary to seek an his mother's death, and his father, unable need we wonder at this effect. The power establishment for his son. Science and to support his loss, survived her but a few of sympathizing with nature may be con- letters were held in contempt even at months. sidered as one of the most distinctive Avignon, though the residence of the features of the poetic character; and, most polite and witty court in Europe. supposing this to have existed, perhaps Law was the only study which led to there was no natural scenery which was fortune, and Petrarco, observing the tamore calculated to promote its develop-lents of his son, hoped he would make a

is varied by the rays of the sun, which, towards
evening particularly, refracts and reflects its
various tints on the cascades. After the dog-
days the rocks become arid and black, the
basin resumes its level, and the valley returns
to a profound stillness.

Our poet, however, yielded to the dictates of filial duty, and, in the teeth of all his predispositions and tastes, pressed forward in the study to which his father had appointed him. But nature was always stronger than his efforts, though prompted by so powerful a motive. At this time he became acquainted with two of the best poets of that day, among the professors at the University of Bologna, Cino de Pestoye, and Cecco de Asoli. It was rather singular that Cino had three pupils who have done him, and their country, and themselves, the highest honour-viz., Petrarch, Boccace, and Bar

tholi.

Petrarch, therefore, and his brother, being suddenly left in this unprotected state, put their affairs in order, and entered together on the profession of divinity, as the most promising path to that eminence which they alike thirsted for.

(To be Continued.)

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other. His dogs were so blinded by them, as to be obliged to lie down and scrape themselves. About 9 A. M. these films, some an inch broad and six long, fell from a height, and continued to do so the whole day, with a velocity which proved their weight. When the most elevated parts of the country were ascended, the gossamers were seen to fall from higher regions; and, twinkling and glitshower, fixing the attention even of the most tering in the sun, they appeared like a starry incurious.

These are now known to be the work of a

"that

WONDERFUL INSTINCTS IN INSECTS. been clearly ascertained. Thus clothed, and A SPECIES of spider (Mygale cementaria), in- shining like a ball of quicksilver, it' darts habiting the south of Europe, constructs a cy- through the waters, to the spot in which it had lindrical cavity more than two feet long, in fixed its habitation, and disengaging the bubsome sloping bank, calculated to let the water ble from under the pellicle, it dexterously inrun off; the inside is lined with a web of fine troduces it into a web formed at the bottom. silk. But, in addition to the sagacity of choos- After repeatedly moving from the top to the ing a steep bank and the luxury of furnishing bottom of the water, and at each journey fillits retreat with silk, this spider has the power ing its habitation with a fresh bubble of air, of constructing a regular door: for this pur-heavier fluid, and the insect takes possession of at length the lighter completely expels the pose it joins and cements layers of clay or chalk with its glutinous secretions, and thus an aerial habitation, commodious and dry, contrives to make a door exactly circular, and finished in the very midst of the waters. It is so nicely fitting into the aperture of the cell, about the size and shape of half a pigeon's spider, for they have been either caught in as to prevent its being distinguished by the caegg. From this curious chamber the spider their balloons, or been seen to take flight. To sual observer from the surrounding earth. But hunts, searching sometimes the waters, and produce such effects, their numbers of course the most marvellous circumstance yet remains sometimes the land for its prey, which, when must be prodigious. Dr. Strach says, to be told-the sagacious creature positively obtained, is transported to this sub-aquatic twenty or thirty often are found on a single fabricates a hinge of silk, which it invariably mansion, and devoured at leisure. The male stubble;" and adds, "that he collected two fixes to the highest side of the aperture, so as well as the female exhibit the same in-thousand in half an hour, and could easily that it can very easily be pushed open from stincts. Early in the spring, the former seeks have got twice as many had he wished it."within by the insect, and shuts by its own the mansion of the latter, and having enlarged | The Family Library. weight. Thus barricadoed, the gallery fur- it by the introduction of a little more air, nishes a secure habitation for the male and fe- takes up its abode with its mate. About the male, with twenty or thirty of their young. middle of April, the eggs are laid, and, packed No noise, however loud, no thumping, how up in a silken cocoon in a corner of their ever violent, will bring the cunning inhabit- house, are watched with incessant care by the ant out of its cell; but if the least attempt be made to force the trap-door, a curious scene takes place the spider immediately runs to it, and fixing some of its legs to the silk which lines the door, and the rest to the walls of the gallery, it pulls with all its might against the intruder. Observers have convinced themselves of the fact by lifting up the door with a pin, when they have felt the counter tugs of the spider endeavouring to shut it. As soon as the creature is convinced that further efforts are useless, it relinquishes the contest, and retires to the bottom of the gallery. All attempts to observe the manners of this creature in captivity have proved fruitless, as it soon perished. These spiders prowl about at night, and, having secured their prey, drag it within their den, and consume it at their leisure.

The water-spider (Aranea aquatica) is an other which spins no web to catch its prey; but, nevertheless, offers one of the most singular objects of contemplation. If we possessed no other evidence that the world had been planned and created by an Intelligent Being, the habits, proceedings, and instincts of this little creature would be alone sufficient to prove the fact. As soon as it has caught its prey on the shore it dives to the bottom of the waters, and there devours its booty. It is, therefore, an amphibious animal; although it appears more fitted to live in contact with the atmosphere than with the water. The diving-bell is a modern invention; and few facts excite our wonder more than the possibility of a man's being enabled to live and move at the bottom of the ocean. This triumph of reason over the unfriendly element, however, was anticipated by an insect, the spider in question.

This creature spins some loose threads, which it attaches to the leaves of aquatic plants; it then varnishes them with a glutinous secretion, which resembles liquid glass, and is so elastic as to admit of considerable distension and contraction; it next lays a coating of this same substance over its own body, and underneath this coating introduces a bubble of air. Naturalists conjecture that it has the power of drawing this air in at the anus, from the atmosphere at the surface of the pool; but the precise mode in which it is separated from the body of the atmosphere, and introduced under the pellicle covering the insect's body, has not

female.

In modern times, much interest has been
excited by the elevation of bodies in the air
by means of a balloon. The discovery consist-
ed in finding out a manageable substance
which was, bulk for bulk, lighter than air;
and the application of the discovery was to
make a body composed of this substance bear
up, along with its own weight, some heavier
body which was attached to it. This expedi-
ent, so new to us, proves to be no other than
what the Author of Nature has employed in
the gossamer spider. We frequently see this
spider's thread floating in the air, and extended
from hedge to hedge across a road or brook of
four or five yards' width. The animal which
forms the thread has no wings wherewith to
fly from one extremity to the other of this line,
nor muscles to enable it to spring or dart to so
great a distance; yet its Creator hath laid for
it a path in the atmosphere; and after this
manner, though the insect itself be heavier
than air, the thread which it spins from its
bowels is specifically lighter. This is its bal-
loon. The spider, left to itself, would drop to
the ground; but, being tied to its thread, both
are supported. By this contrivance, the crea-
tures mount into the air, to such immense
heights, that when Dr. Martin Lister ascended
York Minster, he still saw these insects much
above him. In the fine summer days, the air
may be seen filled, and the earth covered with
filmy webs:-

The fine nets which oft we woven see, of
scorched dew.
SPENSER.

Most nations have associated something po-
etical with their presence. The Germans, from
constantly observing them in the beginning of
the autumn, have styled the phenomenon "the
flitting summer." The French, unable to ac-
count for the existence of such pure films, in
the open and beautiful autumnal skies, called
them the threads of the "Virgin." And we
the gossamer-

Lovers who may bestride the gossamer
That idles in the wanton air.

Mr. White gives a curious account of a shower
of these gossamers. In September 1741, being
intent on field sports, he found the whole face
of the country covered with a coat of web
drenched in dew, as thick as if two or three
setting nets had been drawn one over the

MY GRAVE.

FAR from the city's ceaseless hum,
Hither let my relics come!
Lowly and lonely be my grave,
Fast by this streamlet's oozing wave,
Still to the gentle angler dear,
And heaven's fair face reflecting clear.
No rank luxuriance from the dead
Draw the green turf above my head;
But cowslips here and there be found,
Sweet natives of the hallowed ground,
Diffusing Nature's incense round;
Kindly sloping to the sun,

When his course is nearly run,
Let it catch his farewell beams,
Brief and pale, as best beseems;
But, let the melancholy yew
(Still to the cemetery true)
Defend it from his noon-day ray,
Debarring visitant so gay;

And, when the robin's boding song
Is hushed, the darkling boughs among,
There may the spirit of the wind
A heaven-reared tabernacle find,
To warble wild a vesper hymn,
To soothe my shade at twilight dim!
Seldom let feet of man be there,
Save bending towards the house of prayer;
Few human sounds disturb the calm,
Save words of grace, or solemn psalm!
Yet, would I not my humble tomb
Should wear an uninviting gloom,
As if there seemed to hover near,
In fancy's ken, a thing of fear;
And, viewed with superstitious awe,
Be duly shunned, and scarcely draw
The sidelong glance of passer by,
As haunt of sprite with blasting eye!
Or noted be by some sad token,,
Bearing a name in whispers spoken:
No-let some thoughtful schoolboy stray
Far from his giddy mates at play,
My secret place of rest explore,
There pore on page of classic lore;
Thither let hoary men of age
Perform a pensive pilgrimage,
And think, as o'er my turf they bend,
It woos them to their welcome end;
And let the woe-worn wandering one,
Blind to the rays of reason's sun,
Thither his weary way incline,
There catch a gleam of light divine
But, chiefly let the friend sincere
There drop a tributary tear-
There pause in musing mood, and all
Our by-gone hours of bliss recall-
Delightful hours! too fleetly flown!
By the heart's pulses only known!
Aberdeen.

R*

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THE TOURIST.

MONDAY, MARCH 11, 1833.

OF THE BAHAMAS.

Having notified to the Assembly the facts of this case, the Governor received a very disrespectful communication in reply. A Committee was appointed to inquire into his maladministration, certain resolutions were adopted by thirteen members, they constituting a

SIR J. C. SMYTH AND THE ASSEMBLY majority of the House; and a petition was
drawn up, and agreed to, requesting his ma-
jesty to remove Sir J. C. Smyth from the gov-
THOSE of our readers who perused the Ex-ernment of the islands. The reasons of this
tracts which we gave in No. 28 from the Cor-violent procedure will be apparent to our
respondence of the Governor of the Bahamas readers if we make another extract from the
with the Colonial Secretary, will not be sur- despatch of June 23, 1831.
prised to learn that strenuous efforts have
been made by the Colonists to obtain his re-
moval. Indisposed to reformation themselves,
they cannot endure the presence of a public
officer who is honestly disposed to correct
whatever is vicious in their system. Their
praise and censure have usually been given in
an inverse proportion to the merit and demerit
of those on whom they have been conferred. Such
as have been willing to connive at injustice have
been represented as equitable and enlightened
rulers; while others who have brought out the
latent evil to public view, and have sought its
correction, have been described as prejudiced,
visionary, and despotic. Such is the enviable
position in which Sir J. Carmichael Smyth is
now placed. In a despatch to Viscount Gode-
rich, June 23, 1831, he says:-

"In the despatch which I had the honour to address to you on the 3d May last, I recapitulated, as proofs of the necessity of taking away the power of flogging female slaves, a variety of instances of severe and improper punishments which had been inflicted. Amongst others, I mentioned the

"As I have not seen the documents or evidence
upon which the committee founded their report, I
am not aware if there are any particular instances
To the general
of misconduct imputed to me.
charge of superintending the proceedings of the
Slave Court with more vigilance and attention,
and of interfering in the treatment of slaves, by
listening to their complaints, and seeing that the
proper authorities investigate the same with more
attention than is agreeable to the majority of the
assembly, I plead guilty. I had occasion to as-
certain, shortly after my arrival in this colony,
that the proceedings of the Slave Court were car-
ried on in the most slovenly and disgraceful man-
ner. When the transactions relative to Lord

Rolle's slaves took place, and five men, eight women, and one boy were so severely flogged for endeavouring to avoid the illegal and cruel removal to which they were about to be subjected, I sent for the records of their trial, in order that I might see, not only what was the nature of the become acquainted with what they had said in misconduct of which they were convicted, but also their defence. There was no record or any minute of the trial or conviction of these poor people, becase of a person who keeps a retail spirit shop, and yond the warrant to the executioner to inflict the who is unfortunately a member of the Assembly, ceedings of the Slave Court had assumed a differpunishment. From that day, however, the prohaving caused thirty-nine lashes to be given to a female attendant, in the gaol of the town. The ent appearance; the minutes of each trial are laid man, whose name is Wildgoose, since the date of before me by the police magistrate, and no senmy despatch, caused a female slave belonging to tence is carried into execution until forty-eight his mother to be similarly treated; and, having hours after it has been passed, and the report forpersonally gone to the prison, he, after some alwarded to me, in order that I may have time to tercation with the first unfortunate victim of his read the evidence, to make such inquiries as I violence, in which she was induced to say she did may think proper, and extend his Majesty's parnot deserve such treatment, ordered her another don, should any favourable circumstances repunishment of thirty-nine additional lashes, which specting the prisoner appear to me to call for merwere inflicted accordingly; this poor girl, who is Cy. This power is not, as the assembly assert, of a very delicate and slender figure and make, an illegal and unconstitutional exertion of authothus receiving seventy-eight lashes with a cat-o-rity, but it is vested in the Governor, as the nine-tails, by order of this ruffian, a treatment from which it is impossible but that her health and constitution must very seriously suffer, indethe proceeding. As soon as I was acquainted pendent of the cruelty, injustice, and indecency of with the particulars of this case, I sent for the Attorney-General, and directed him to take with out delay any legal means to bring Mr. WildAs the unfortunate girl, when the second flogging was inflicted, was still in prison, and was consequently under the charge and authority of those magistrates who have charge of the place where she was confined, I am in hopes that Mr. Wildgoose will be found to have been guilty of a misdemeanour, in punishing her for any imputed offence stated to have been committed whilst in confinement. Such is the violence and prejudice, however, that prevails, and the anger which is excited at any attempt to curb the authority of the owner over the slave, that, excepting Mr. Wildgocse has a proportion of coloured people upon his jury, he will in all probability escape."*

goose to trial.

In this apprehension the Governor was justified by subsequent events. In his despatch of March 6th, 1832, he says,-" Your Lordship will observe with great regret, that the bills which the Attorney-General prepared and preferred against Mr. John Wildgoose, were ignored by the Grand Jury."

King's representative, by the laws and by the
constitution. I beg very respectfully to refer your
Lordship to my speech to the assembly of the 21st
his Courts is inherent in the Sovereign, but have
instant, in which I have explained to them,
not only that the power of extending mercy in all
stated to them the fact that it has been occasion-
ally exercised by my predecessors. It is very
true, that the pardons which have been granted
by my predecessors, at least all those I have seen,
have been in cases of transportation, in which
cases the small sum allowed by law to the master
for the loss of his slave is stated not to be an
equivalent, and pardon granted to the slave was
very agreeable to, and was often solicited by, the
master, as giving back his slave. No cry was
raised by the assembly as to an illegal stretch of
the royal prerogative, when the exercise of it suited
their own views. In the present case, I have par-
doned three slaves, who were sentenced by the
Slave Court to be severely flogged. My letter to
pardon, a copy of which I beg to enclose, will
the police magistrate, forwarding his Majesty's

explain the views and motives by which I was ac-
tuated, and which I make very little doubt will be
approved of by your Lordship."

In opposition to the petition of the Assem-
bly, two others were presented to his majesty,
one from the most respectable and wealthy
proprietors of the colony, and another from the
people of colour. It is almost unnecessary to

say that the King has continued this faithful and diligent public officer in his service. It would have been disgraceful in the last degree if his virtue had been rewarded with dismission. Such might have been the case in former days; but the times are now changed, and both the government and people of this country have gained a clearer insight into the value of colonial testimony. There is a disgusting uniformity in the slave system of our colonies. Its accidents may vary, but it is essentially the same in every island. It degrades the slave, and brutalizes his lord. It is alike inconsistent of the human heart. Though administered by with the principles of religion and the charities an angel it could not fail to entail degradation and suffering: what, then, must be its effects in the hands of men whom despotic power has hardened and depraved? From the past, it is

some consolation to turn to the future. The

signs of the times are indicative of good; the
national conscience is aroused; the virtuous of
every party are combining against this mon-
strous evil; and his Majesty's government,
there is good reason to believe, are about to
effect what justice and policy alike enjoin.
Let not the friends of humanity, however, re-
mit their exertions. Things may yet take an
There is no meanness to
unexpected turn.
which our enemies will not submit,-there is
no deficiency of principle which they are not
capable of evincing. They may yet protract
the struggle, though they cannot hope ulti-
prepared for strenuous and persevering efforts.
mately to triumph. We must, therefore, be
Every abolitionist should gird himself for bat-
tle; and be ready, whenever their leaders shall
require, to render the most prompt and effective
service.

COURTSHIP.

From Friendship's Offering.

"O LAURA! will nothing I bring thee

E'er soften those looks of disdain ?
Are the songs of affection I sing thee
All doomed to be sung thee in vain?

I offer thee, fairest and dearest,
A treasure the richest I'm worth;
I offer thee love-the sincerest,

The warmest e'er glowed upon earth!"
But the maiden, a haughty look flinging,
Said, "Cease my compassion to move,
For I'm not very partial to singing,
And they're poor whose sole treasure is love."

"My name will be sounded in story-
I offer, thee, dearest, my name;

I have fought in the proud field of glory—
Oh, Laura! come share in my fame.
I bring thee a soul that adores thee,
And loves thee wherever thou art,
Which thrills as its tribute it pours thee,
Of tenderness fresh from the heart."
But the maiden said, "Cease to importune,
Give Cupid the use of his wings;
Ah, fame's but a pitiful fortune,
And hearts are such valueless things!"

“Oh, Laura! forgive if I've spoken

Too boldly!-nay, turn not away,
For my heart with affliction is broken-
My uncle died only to-day!
My uncle the nabob-who tended
My youth with affectionate care,
My manhood who kindly befriended,

Has died, and-has-left-me-his-heir."
And the maiden said, "Weep not, sincerest,
My heart has been yours all along;
Oh! hearts are of treasures the dearest-
Do, Edward, go on with your song!"

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scure;

ON THE PICTURESQUE. strong deviation: beauty should not be obthe great ought to be dark and gloomy: THE arts are no less unfortunate than beauty should be light and delicate; the great the sciences in being retarded by the ought to be solid, and even massive. They vagueness and laxity of their technical are, indeed, ideas of a very different nature, terms. In various branches of philosophy, one being founded on pain, the other on pleaa single word has imposed on the notions sure; and however they may vary afterwards of an age, or constituted the distinctive from the direct nature of their causes, yet these badge of a school. It has paralyzed in-causes keep up an eternal distinction, never to vestigation, and held the minds of men be forgotten by any whose business it is to affect the passions. as in a spell; and, even in more mcdern and in the present times, an observer will frequently be struck with the extended and unhappy influence of some conventional words and phrases, to which the example of an individual or long habituation has attached a factitious importance. Nor, as we have said, are the arts exempted from a like disadvantage. Different meanings are sometimes attached to the same terms; and, where this is not the case, there is an indeterminateness in their application which is at once the source of much confusion and much con

troversy. Of this class may be specified such words as sublime, beautiful, picturesque, &c., the precise meaning of which, it would seem, can only be fixed by a reference to some acknowledged standard, of which we seem to be in want. Some authors, however, have laid down, both by definition and illustration, their views of the just application of these terms, and we propose to lay them before our readers in a selection from their writings. The distinction between sublime and beautiful objects is thus generally stated in Mr. Burke's treatise on that subject:

Sublime objects (says he) are vast in their dimensions; beautiful ones comparatively small: beauty should be smooth and polished; the great, rugged and negligent: beauty should shun the right line, yet deviate from it insensibly; the great, in many cases, loves the right tine; and when it deviates, it often makes a

disguised by an appearance of splendid conIn the doors and fusion and irregularity. windows of Gothic churches, the pointed arch has as much variety as any regular figure can well have: the eye is not too strongly conducted from the top of the one to that of the other, as by the parallel lines of the Grecian; and every person must be struck with the extreme richness and intricacy of some of the principal windows of our cathedrals and ruined abbeys. In these last is displayed the triumph The distinction between the picturesqueer's eye are often so great as to rival those of of the picturesque; and its charms to a paintand the beautiful is stated in the same beauty itself. So in mills, such is the extreme general manner, though with much in- intricacy of the wheels and the wood-work; teresting illustration, by Mr. Uredale such is the singular variety of forms, and of lights and shadows, of mosses and weatherPrice, in his Essay on the Picturesque. in its perfect and entire state, and its surface springing from the rough joints of the stones; A temple or palace of Grecian architecture, stains from the constant moisture-of plants and colour smooth and even, either in painting such the assemblage of every thing which or reality, is beautiful; in ruin, it is pic-without the addition of water, an old mill has most conduces to picturesqueness, that, even turesque. Observe the process by which time the greatest charm for a painter. (the great author of such changes) converts a It is owing to the same causes that a buildbeautiful object into a picturesque one. First, by means of weather-stains, partial incrusta- ing with scaffolding has often a more pictions, mosses, &c.; it at the same time takes turesque appearance than the building itself off from the uniformity of its surface and its when the scaffolding is taken away-that old, colour; that is, gives it a degree of roughness mossy, rough-hewn park pales of unequal and variety of tint. Next, the various accidents heights are an ornament to landscape, espeof weather loosen the stones themselves; they cially when they are partially concealed by tumble in irregular masses upon what was thickets; while a neat post and rail, regularly perhaps smooth turf or pavement, or nicely-continued round a field, and seen without any trimmed walks and shrubberies, now mixed interruption, is one of the most unpicturesque, as being one of the most uniform, of all and overgrown with wild plants and creepers, boundaries. that crawl over and shoot among the fallen ruins. Sedums, wall-flowers, and other tables that bear drought, find nourishment in the decayed cement, from which the stones have been detached; birds convey their food into the chinks; and yew, elder, and other berried plants, project from the sides; while the ivy mantles over other parts, and crowns the top. The even, regular lines of the doors and windows are broken, and through their ivy-fringed openings is displayed the ruined interior of the edifice.

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In Gothic buildings, the outline of the summit presents such a variety of forms of turrets and pinnacles, some open, some fretted and variously enriched, that, even where there is an exact correspondence of parts, it is often

Among trees, it is not the smooth, young beech, or the fresh and tender ash, but the rugged old oak, or knotty wych elm, that are picturesque; nor is it necessary that they should be of great bulk; it is sufficient if they are rough, mossy, with a character of age, and

with sudden variations in their forms. The
limbs of huge trees, shattered by lightning or
tempestuous winds, are in the highest degree
picturesque; but whatever is caused by those
dreaded powers of destruction must always
have a tincture of the sublime.

"As when heaven's fire
Has scathed the forest oaks or mountain pines;
With singed top their stately growth, tho' bare,
Stands on the blasted heath.'

If we next take a view of those animals that are called picturesque, the same qualities are found to prevail. The ass is eminently so, much more than the horse; and, among horses, it is the wild forester, with his rough coat, his mane and tail ragged and uneven, or the

SCENERY IN ABYSSINIA, &c. from this spot, the view over the country we WHILST public curiosity has been directed of mountains, one below the other, the tops of had passed became exceedingly grand; ranges to the less civilized portions of central Africa, which seemed to rise from what might be which a more humanized spirit has long pre-horizon, where we fancied we could discern we seem to have overlooked those parts in termed a sea of clouds, extending far into the worn-out cart-horse with his staring bones. vailed,-not at one time exhibiting brilliancy, the line of the ocean bounding the distant

Among savage animals, the lion with his shaggy mane is much more picturesque than the lioness, though she is equally an object of

terror.

at another darkness, as in Egypt and Numidia, -but shining out meekly and steadily,

prospect. and

"From this point we had a considerable descent to make before we again mounted; when, in about half an hour, we reached one of the summits of the mountain, near a station bordering on a small pool of water, called Turabo. By this time no more than two hours

preserving the light of Christianity (dimly and darkly, if you please, but still preserving it) The effects of roughness and smoothness in when almost all the other parts of the world had either quenched it for ever, or blended its producing the beautiful or the picturesque is again clearly exemplified in the plumage of pure radiance with the obscurity of heathenism. birds. Nothing more beautiful than feathers In Mr. Salt's Travels in Abyssinia-the most and a half had been occupied in the ascent authentic information we have respecting that in their smooth state, when the hand or eye country and its inhabitants-are some traits of since we left our station, in the morning, at

glides over them without interruption; nothing more picturesque, as detached ornaments, or when ruffled by any accidental circumstance, by any sudden passion in the animal, or when they appear so from their natural arrangement. As all the effects of passion and of strong emotion on the human figure and countenance are picturesque, such likewise are their effects on the plumage of birds; when inflamed with anger, the first symptoms appear in their ruffled plumage. The game-cock, when he attacks his rival, raises the feathers of the neck, and the purple pheasant his crest. Birds of prey have generally more of the picturesque, from the angular form of their beaks, the rough feathers on their legs, their crooked talons: all this counterbalances the general smoothness of the plumage on their backs and wings, which they have in common with the rest of the feathered creation. Lastly, among our species, beggars, gypsies, and all such rough tattered figures as are merely picturesque, bear a close analogy, in all the qualities that make them so, to old hovels and mills, to the wild forest horse, and other objects of the same kind. More dignified characters, such as a Belisarius, or a Marius in age and exile, have the same mixture of picturesqueness and decayed grandeur as the venerable remains of past ages.

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WHENEVER I have met with any of those bright spirits who would be smart on sacred subjects, I have ever cut short their discourse by asking them if they had any lights and revelations by which they would propose new articles of faith? Nobody can deny but religion is a comfort to the distressed, a cordial to the sick, and sometimes a restraint on the wicked; therefore, whoever would argue or laugh it out of the world, without giving some equivalent for it, ought to be treated as a common enemy.-Lady M. W. Montague.

66 we

the primitive Christianity of Africa, so simple and characteristic that we shall detail them, with descriptions of the scenery, that we may bring together, in a brief article, as many circumstances of that little-explored country as can render a short narrative interesting:"On March 3, 1810, at ten minutes before six in the morning," says our traveller, commenced our journey up the mountain of Taranta. Our attendants, who were habituated from their youth to such expeditions, passed merrily on with their burdens, and some of the more light-hearted among them amused themselves and companions by singing extempore verses, in a manner somewhat similar to that which I have been informed German soldiers frequently practise on a march. The person who composed each distich first sang it alone, when it was immediately taken up and repeated in chorus by the rest of the company. One of the songs, composed on the present occasion, was translated literally to me, as we proceeded, by Mr. Pearce, which I shall here insert as a characteristic specimen of the very rude poetry in which the Abyssinians delight:

Our fathers are soldiers of the Badinsáh, Each of them has killed his foe. We are young, and carry his burdens, But shall in time fight as well as our fathers. We now are journeying in a desert country, Surrounded by wild beasts and savages ; But it is in the service of the Badinsáh, And who would not die for him? "The sharp air of the morning, and the wild landscape through which we were passing, together with the shrill cries of partridges and guinea-fowl that rose up, at every instant, startled by our approach, greatly contributed to enhance the effect of this novel and interesting scene.

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Shortly after, we reached a point where a road branches off on the left, leading to Halai. A little beyond, stands a high rock, or overhanging pinnacle, called Gorézo, respecting which the Abyssinians entertain the tradition of a young maiden having leapt from it to avoid a marriage into which her father threatened to force her. The abyss below the rock is frightful to behold. Above this part of the mountain the vegetation begins to change its character; and, instead of kolqualls and kantuffa, clumps of trees are found called wàra, of a moderate height, bearing leaves resembling those of a willow, the branches of which were profusely covered with lichens. Further on, for a short distance, the road appeared to have been cut through a bed of chalkstone, and, wherever this prevailed, an extensive grove of a hardy kind of cedar, called túd, flourished in abundance. After having passed over another moderate ascent, we arrived at a lofty height called Sarar. On looking back

exertion we encamped in the plain, enjoying one of the finest mornings that can be imagined, the thermometer standing at 61o.

Tak-kumta. To refresh ourselves after this

he begins to decend the southern side of Ta"The view that bursts upon the traveller as ranta, is one of the most magnificent that human imagination can conceive,-extending over the abrupt mountains of Tigri to the pinnacled and distant heights of Adowa, which, though singularly diversified with patches of vegetation, extensive forests of kolquall, and numberless intersecting valleys,—were so harmoniously blended together by a luminous atmosphere, as to form one vast and unbroken expanse. On my former journey we descended this mountain in the midst of a heavy and incessant storm: we were then entering upon an unknown country, with dubious steps, and no very certain assurance of the reception that we were likely to encounter; the recollection of our feelings on that occasion formed a pleasing contrast to our present sensations;-for now every thing promised success, the sun shone bright on the landscape before us, and we were surrounded with tried and faithful

followers.

"As the steepness of the path we had to descend rendered riding unsafe, we dismounted from our mules, threw the reins over their necks, and left them to make the best of their way down the mountain, as is customary with travellers in Abyssinia: an hour's walk carried us down the worst part of the road, and we then remounted, and proceeded forward through a wild and rocky district, along a winding pathway towards Dixan. The change of climate here began to be very apparent: the heat of the sun became intense and scorching, compared with what we had experienced on the other side of the Taranta; the vegetation looked parched, the brooks were dry, and the cattle had all been driven across the mountain in search of pasture. This remarkable and sudden change of the seasons is noticed in one of the earliest accounts respecting Abyssinia; for Nonnosus, an ambassador from the emperor Justinian to the ruling sovereign of the Axomites, remarks that from Ave to the court he experienced summer and harvest-time, while the winter prevailed from Ave to Axum, and vice versa.

"At one o'clock we arrived near Dixan, and rode up immediately to my former habitation, situate at the bottom of the hill on which the town is built. Here Baharnegash Yasous came out to receive us, and greeted us with the hearty welcome of an old acquaintance. The venerable aspect of this respectable chief, his mild and agreeable manners, and the remembrance of the services he had rendered us on a former occasion, added a peculiar gratification to our meeting; and the plentiful stock of maize, and other good cheer hospitably pro

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