"It was on board this brig I got the sorest heart I had have now perused this poem, and are glad to say that we ever had, and suffered anguish so keen that for a time I have not been disappointed in the effort which Mr Aird's was bereft of reason. We took on board some passengers genius has made. We knew that in the solitude of his to carry to Grenada; my heart beat high with hope; I was to be within sixteen leagues of Carriacou; surely an oppor- trains of association, and we therefore also knew, that own thoughts Mr Aird was fond of nursing peculiar tunity would occur by which I might reach this haven of my hopes. We scudded along; at length Grenada hove in whatever he wrote would be something out of the beaten sight, but we did not enter the port; the brig only lay to, track,-something minted in the mint of his own indiviand sent the passengers on shore. At the return of our dual feelings, and not alloyed by the intermixture of that boat, the captain stood for the island of St Vincents. Soon sparkling but worthless dross which at present passes but the island of Carriacou gradually began to rise into view. too current in the republic of letters. A mode of thinking, The feeling I had only before indulged in by anticipation, and consequently a style of expression, differing to a conassumed an overwhelming force. I stood rooted to the quarter-deck; we approached so close to Hillsborough 1 siderable extent from any other mode or style, are among could recognise every object, and the house that contained the invariable marks of a superior mind—a mind capable all that my soul held dear. I implored Captain King to of remaining steady in its own strength, and not to be enter the harbour, or allow me to go on shore for a few swayed from side to side by every uncertain and shifting hours. He looked surprised at the intense anxiety I dis- breeze of doctrine, fashion, and opinion. This higher played in making my request, but refused, and said, if he characteristic belongs to all Mr Aird's writings. Alcould, he perhaps would do so at our return from St Vin-though it is evident that their author has read and encents. Shame made me conceal my bitter regret, though it was allayed by the hope of being soon set on shore; yet Ijoyed the works of his illustrious predecessors and most had not made up my mind to any particular line of conadmired contemporaries, it is no less evident that the duct; only I wished to know if Mademoiselle was alive, channel of his own thoughts runs too deep to be thoroughly and get one glance of that lovely face that was never out of tinged by any accidental hue which they may throw over my thoughts. I had resolved, in my poor and penniless its surface. The fountain from which his conceptions state, not to make myself known if I could help it, to any flow, hid though it may be from the common eye, re one on the island, captain of marines as I was. tains its crystal transparency uncontaminated.

"Thus I stood gazing until night shut out from sight the object of my longing; sadly and slowly I went below, and threw myself down, not to sleep, but to review my life, which had been spent in pain and disappointment.

"We remained a few days at St Vincents. Long and heavily they hung upon my hands, yet the inhabitants were very kind and civil to us. At our departure, we fired a salute, which was not answered; but they hoisted their colours in reply. The evening was setting in as Carriacou came in sight the second time; I humbly requested Captain King to put into Hillsborough, or set me on shore. His reply now was, he had no business whatever there, or he would be happy to oblige me; neither could he think of sending a boat from the brig during the night. My heart sank within me. I looked so much disappointed, he enquired what could make me so anxious to get on shore. I told him I had been on the island in my youth, and wished to know if any of my friends were still alive. He laughed and said, 'O, captain, it must have been in the year one when you were there,' alluding to my aged look. No,' I said, it was in the year 1800, when I was only eighteen years of age. Why,' said he, I thought you were sixty at least. Again I asked him to indulge me, but he peremptorily refused. I rushed from his presence almost frantic. As soon as I reached my berth, Î seized a jar of rum that stood at hand, and placing it to my head, drank in desperation, I knew not how much; but I sank overpowered upon my cot; my body was rendered by it inert, but my mental energies were fearfully increased. Such a night and day of agony I trust never to pass again; but my anguish gradually died away, and I resumed my usual train of thinking."-Vol. ii. p. 134-7.

There can be no state of existence at all to be compared with that which the poet enjoys when his whole mind is engrossed with his first poetical undertaking. To him the world is the mere platform over which he walks ;— he is as much beyond its miseries as he is independent of its pleasures. His universe and his eternity are within his own soul. He communes with thoughts, which he like groups of friends with bright and holy faces. For can summon at will, and which congregate around him him nature is lovely with her myriad dyes, and full of enchantment with her thousand voices; but it is not the external nature, visible at morn and eve to every vulgar gaze, it is the essence of its beauty, treasured up and refined in the alembic of his own feelings, and equally vivid before him in the darkness and the storms of night, as in the balm and the brilliancy of noon. To him humanity, with all its varying attributes, is a study fraught with deep delight; and over that mighty miracle-the frame and the constitution of man-he casts the mantle of his inspiration, until he almost penetrates into the heart of the mystery, and catches glimpses of what is yet to be. And never are his judgments severe; nor are his doubts that the good preponderates, ever triumphant. The poet who turns misanthrope, ceases to be a poet. Love, in the most extended acceptation of the word, is the grand ingredient of all poetry,-a something which softens and improves, which melts and purifies, which, stronger than the love of woman, pervades all space and illuminates every idea. And if, at times, this very condition of his being appears to intensify itself in one particular direction, who shall say how gloriously bright the conceptions which then chase each other, like summer wave on wave, through his whole soul, and which, though unknown to all the world beside, and of momentary duration, even within himself, nevertheless achieve the purBy pose of the Almighty, and, like the showery sparkles of the shooting star, leave a gleam upon the memory, even after they have themselves disappeared? Then, as time rolls on, and brings with it the duller years of life, how does the poet look back upon his first dream of high enthusiasm, and, like the evening traveller through the hillencircled vale, turn round upon his own shadow, still far up on the mountain's brow! Alas! many of the golden lamps that burned within are already gone out, and though the poet still worships at the altar of his god, the shrine looks less glorious than it did of yore. Woe to the cold critic, who would hasten the coming on of this sterner period, and, by the flinging of a few senseless stones, shatter into fragments the magic mirror in which the poet sees his visions arise, numerous as the hosts of the ever

After speaking as we have done of this book, it is a work of supererogation to say we recommend it to our readers. The frontispiece, engraved from a portrait of Alexander by Watson Gordon, is beautiful and characteristic.

The Captive of Fez; A Romance, in Five Cantos. Thomas Aird. Edinburgh, William Blackwood, 1830. 12mo. Pp. 213.

THEY who have read Mr Aird's "Religious Characteristics" are aware that it is a work which contains many fine passages,much acute reasoning, and much imaginative writing of a high character. The readers of the Literary Journal are also aware that Mr Aird has contributed to our pages, as he has done to those of Blackwood's Magazine, several powerfully-written prose sketches, indicating a reflective and original mind. We learned, therefore, with pleasure, some months ago, that Mr Aird was engaged with a poem, upon which he intended to expend all his energies, and to which he trusted as a stepping-stone to lift him higher up the road of fame. We

shining stars. Defects there must be wherever words are had recourse to as the symbols of thought; but if, through the mistiness of words, bright ideas are seen to shine, then has a poet's soul been at work, and better to break the golden bowl of life at once, than to fling a shadow over the spirit which glitters within.

To watchful sailors o'er the trackless main,
To little birds, to desert-beasts of night,
To lover hasting by her glimpsing light,
To hearts oppress'd, is, as thou art to me,
So passing dear, whose fair young brow I see!
Ave Maria! bless this lovely one,

Mother of Heaven! and Thou, her gracious son!"

Zenone also visits Julian in his cell, to tempt him with

We have been accused of severity towards young poets; bat the plausibility of the accusation rests upon the misuse of the term. We confess we are severe towards rhyme-life and liberty if he will fly with her to Italy, and to sters, but never towards poets,-towards those in whom we see, or think we see, traces of that higher susceptibility and finer nature which carry a man out of the herd, because they enable him to think and feel more readily, more acutely, and more intensely. On the contrary, we believe that we have, in one or two instances, allowed our anxiety to do every thing in our power to encourage and advance individuals of this kind, to induce us to bestow upon their efforts a higher degree of commendation than they were perhaps strictly entitled to. This is an error, however, of which we can hardly say that we repent. Mr Aird's poem is in heroic verse, of which he has an excellent mastery, his lines being at once flowing, vigorous, and well varied in their pauses. The scene, as the title imports, is laid in Africa, and for the most part in the city of Fez. Young Julian, the son of the King of Portugal, is the "Captive." He was made prisoner by the African General Zemberbo, and delivered over as a hostage to Abusade, King of Fez, who is at war with Portugal. Julian's captivity, however, is rendered less irksome by the mutual attachment which has sprung up between him and Geraldine, the King's daughter by an English captive now dead. To Geraldine the reader is introduced in the following fine lines:

"Behold this daughter of a Moorish king;
Yet say, how lovely in her life's young spring!
So well has Nature lit along her face
The blood that beautifies her mother's race,--
An English captive, who, to Abusade

Her lord, the Fezzan monarch, bore the maid.
O! Geraldine, thy locks are dark as death!
Fair as the moon of heaven thy brow beneath!
What shall be done for thee, young Geraldine?
On golden manna and celestial wine,

The food of angels, wert thou fed, to win
That clear embalming glow thy cheek within?
Nay, wert thou sprung from the sun's shining loins,
Child of all beauty, that all love enjoins?
In lightest play, in arch sweet raillery,
Out glanced the swift young arrows of her eye,
To need a thousand pardons, and to win,
In fast relapses of their beauteous sin.

Yet did that eye, when aught was heard to grieve,
Gleam softly, lightening as the star of eve;
Nor less, o'er villain wrongs, could flash bold ire,
Could burn with holy and indignant fire."

threaten instant death if he refuse. Julian, however, is
But ere
firm, and Zenone departs intent on vengeance.
she can put it in force, Geraldine succeeds in winning
over the jailor, and the first Canto ends with the escape
and flight of the Captive. The second Canto introduces
us to Abusade holding a nocturnal feast in his palace.
His revels are interrupted by the unexpected return of
his General, Zemberbo, bringing Julian with him, whom
he had intercepted in his flight, and from whom he had
learned the severity of the imprisonment to which he had
been subjected; although Zemberbo, when he left him at
the court, had bargained that his captivity should be made
as light as possible. The haughty warrior now rebukes
the king, for his breach of faith, in no very gentle terms.
Zenone, for her own purposes, determines to foment the
quarrel, and, in the course of the night, raises the citizens
against Zemberbo, who naturally supposes that they at-
tack him at the instigation of the king. He escapes the
danger, however, and carrying Julian off with him, he
has him conveyed, by a secret passage, into the palace of
Zara, Zemberbo's sister, who lives in Fez in the utmost
seclusion.

Her appearance is that of one who has once been beautiful, but is now much wasted with grief. Her manners, however, unlike those of her brother, are still, soft, and gentle. Seeing Julian, she thus enquires concerning him :

"But let me not be selfish: Is not this
Some captive child of sickness and distress,
Ta'en in thy wars, and, by thy special care,

Thus brought my spells and healing skill to share ?—
Come near, thou young and pale, nor sue in vain,
If I can heal thy wounds and spirit's pain.
Thou weep'st: perchance thy mother dwells afar,
And little sisters claim thee from the war.
Gay vests they sew for thee, the loved; and still,
To look for thee, they climb the green cleft hill.
Lo! one afar-'tis thou; but O! regret!
The stranger passes on: thou coms't not yet.
And they must ask, to verge of modest shame,
The brave returning warrior for thy name-
Must ask from morn to noon-must watch for thee,

Till gleams the sweet moon through the chesnut-tree,
But weep not; for that worn attire of thine
This hand shall sew a garment soft and fine;
Well shall we care for thee, and heal thy pain,
And send thee to thy native land again-
Thy sister's joy;-nor long thy captive smart
Shall drink the sweet blood of thy mother's heart.”

Za

On the death of Geraldine's mother, Abusade had espoused Zenone, an Italian princess of great personal attractions, but of unbounded passions. She soon ceased to love the king, a weak and luxurious tyrant, and transferred the whole of her guilty attachment to Julian, who, however, was incapable of returning it. Enraged at his coldness, she so contrived, that even the show of liberty was taken from him, and he was immured in a dungeon.ther, and it is of him that Zemberbo speaks : He is here visited by Geraldine, who assures him of her continued affection, of which, in his misery, he had begun to doubt. Restored to new joy, the Captive breaks forth into the following highly poetical lines: "This-this is to be free; and I am free! My star of good, young princess, shines in thee. Yon moon in heaven, how many hearts have bless'd, As on she calmly journeys to the west!

Thus prepared to love the stranger youth, Zemberbo at length informs his sister that he is her own son. ra's previous history, explaining how this should be, is thus spiritedly told to Julian by Zemberbo. The reader will recollect that the King of Portugal was Julian's fa

She lights the white ships o'er the untravell'd seas,
She soothes the little birds upon the trees,
And cheers the creatures of the solitudes,

And leads the lover through the glimmering woods,
And gives to weary hearts unworldly calm,
When slumber comes not with its priceless balm;
But not yon moon in heaven without a stain,

"He, prince, in early youth was captive made,
And, wounded sore, in Zemra's palace laid;
Beyond the leech's aid there languishing,
Fast o'er him closed dread Azrael's sable wing.
Came then to Zemra, Lilla Zara, child
Of loftiest charity, my undefiled!
She heard-was moved-his life she will recall;
For, wiser than the desert daughters all,
Rare stones she knew of veins and spotty eyes,
And starry witchcraft, that within them lies;
The precious bleeding rinds, and weeds of might,
Far look'd into by sovereign eyes of night,
All virtual flowers; and how to win them knew,
On Atlas gather'd in their nightly dew.
And in the wild and planetary hour,
A talisman she framed of sovereign power ;

opinion, that "The Captive of Fez” is a production which will give Mr Aird a status of no mean kind among the poets of the day, and that it evinces powers which, when a little more matured, may yet make efforts of the very highest description.

Travels through the Crimea, Turkey, and Egypt; performed during the Years 1825-28; including Particulars of the Last Illness and Death of the Emperor Alexander, and of the Russian Conspiracy in 1825. By the late James Webster, Esquire, of the Inner Temple. 2 vols. 8vo. London. Colburn and Bentley. 1830. Pp. 162, and 435.

friend.

We

Thus, though it appears by his work that he had an indomitable longing to see Mount Sinai, it was as a lawyer to stand upon the spot whence the earliest code of law was promulgated. Another striking peculiarity of Webster was, his tolerant spirit. There is but one thing of which we remember him to have spoken with habitual indignation, and that was, servility of any kind. have already alluded to the delicacy of his constitution. The ardour of his mind was too much for his frame, and frequently led him to attempt exertions beyond his physical force. To this, alas! we owe his premature death. He was, however, far from a weakling. We have seldom known one whose nerves stood better the shock of unforeseen danger, or who was more quick-witted and fertile in resources for evading it. He was also fond of the more gentlemanly exercises, and was an excellent swordsman.

We have perused these volumes with a melancholy interest. We knew the author well during the happiest days of life-when the earnestness of approaching manThe greater portion of the two volumes now published, hood first gives solidity and worth to the flow of youth- under the friendly superintendence of Mr Frazer, is ocful spirits—and never have we met with one more ardent cupied by Webster's notes of his travels in the Crimea, in his love and pursuit of whatever was good and great, Turkey, and Egypt. The account of the latter country or of a purer mind. Our acquaintance commenced at is the most complete, filling almost the whole of the sethe University of St Andrews. Webster was at that cond volume. It contains a narrative of Mahommed time rather diminutive in stature; of a slender frame ; | Ali, Pacha of Egypt, and of his sons Ibrahim and Ismael; and appeared to be of a delicate constitution. Though together with notices of the proceedings of the French younger than the greater part of his fellow-students, he and English armies in Egypt; the destruction of the was remarkable for a sedateness and uniform propriety of Mamelukes; and the fortune of the Wababees. Along demeanour, which might have been looked for in vain with these important matters we find occasional descripin the most advanced among us. At the same time, there tions of the character of Egyptian scenery, of the manwas nothing morose or secluded in his disposition. His ners and moral condition of the inhabitants, and although desire for literary distinction was unbounded he tried the author was neither a professed antiquarian, nor ever every thing-in many classes he stood foremost-in all showed much interest in the pursuits which engross that he stood high. We have no desire to make use of that class of persons, we find many notices and shrewd guesses absurd strain of panegyric we sometimes hear employed which must be interesting and instructive to them. towards boys at that time of life; but a thirst for knowFrom this account of the book's contents, it will be eviledge, unwearied application, and a power of turning dent to the reader who is in the least degree acquainted what he learns to account, are always encouraging symp-with Oriental politics, that the work contains a rich fund toms. Webster's debut at college was strikingly illustrative of his character. At St Andrews, a certain number of bursaries are yearly adjudged, by public competition, to the most deserving entrants. They are the poorest bursaries on the establishment, and are, in general, only competed for by the poorest class of students. Webster was, however, averse to lose any opportunity of obtaining distinction; he entered himself as candidate, carried the highest honours, and resigned the bursary to the next in order. Another occurrence, during his last session, shows that his ardour had in no degree relaxed. Principal Playfair had offered a premium for the best essay on some subject of Political Economy. There were but few of the students who had turned their attention to this science, and only one or two essays were lodged. | Webster was walking with one of the competitors on the South Street, when a Professor encountered them, and, entering into conversation, asked Webster why he did not contend for the prize. His companion observed, jestingly, he supposed Webster thought it needless, as he himself had lodged an essay. Webster's face flushed; he said nothing; but, in the course of two days, his essay was composed and given in; and it puzzled the Professors to decide whether it, or some of the more leisure-lost ere they had time to mature and develope themselves. ly-fabricated productions of the other candidates, was entitled to the prize.

of materials for the history of Egypt in the nineteenth century, digested upon a more philosophical and comprehensive plan than is to be met with in any other English work. We have also found, in turning over these pages, what we certainly have not met with elsewhere, incidental notices of the state and prospect of manufactures in Egypt. Since the death of Webster, much and more accurate information has been obtained respecting many points he touches on, but we are not aware that any of his successors has shown the power indicated in his notes, of correctly apprehending the insulated phenomena submitted to his notice, joined with so great a facility of condensing his several experiences into a comprehensive system. It is true, that we have here merely the journal—the note-book of the commencement of his travels. But even in these comparatively hasty fragments will be recognised the ardent and the opening mind-genius fluttering and proving her young wings. They who knew him long and intimately will feel, at the same time, how inadequate these volumes are to show what was in him. Not the least bitter ingredient in the cup of our regret, is the thought that so much of those qualities the world is but too poor in, should have been

The King's Own. By the Author of "The Naval Officer." 3 vols. London. Colburn and Bentley. 1830.

We are doubtful whether Webster possessed much imagination. The bent of his mind lay towards the abstract, the mechanical, and practical sciences. But the enthuCAPTAIN MARIOT, the author of this work, is a very siasm of his temperament caused him to pursue them clever man, and has written a very clever book. It is with a passion, and a belief in the power of the human not to be regarded so much in the light of a novel, though mind to extend and apply them, that bordered on the ro- its pretensions in this way are highly respectable, as conmantic. An adventure which he had at Malta, and af- taining a succession of nautical sketches, written by one terwards the wild grandeur of Egypt's gigantic monu- who thoroughly understands what he is writing about, ments, seem to have awakened a chord of romance, which, and who, moreover, has a nice eye for those parts of a long and intimately though we knew him in this coun-picture which are most calculated to tell, whether the try, appeared always to be dormant. Yet even under its gayer or the graver principles of our nature be appealed influence, we recognise the solid disposition of our old to. "The King's Own" is a name given to the hero in

"They had not remained there many minutes, when a "The cutter had now run down within half a mile of poodle dog, bien tondu, and white as a sheep from the river the lugger, who had continued her course with the most before the day of shearing, walked up to them with an air perfect nonchalance, when she rounded to. The commander of sagacious curiosity, and looked M'Elvina steadfastly in the of the vessel, aware, at the first discovery of the lugger, that face. M'Elvina, taking his cigar from his mouth, held it she could be no other than an enemy, who would most to the dog, who ran up to it, as if to smell it; the lighted probably give him some trouble, had made every prepara-end coming in contact with his cold nose, induced the anition for the engagement.