or streamed in the wind as the breeze advanced or subsided. "Ah," said she, in a low tone of voice, "'tis very cold, but you sha'nt go by yourself." She clasped her hands to her bosom, stretched them out as if to avert some danger, and fell back on the turf. I hasted to her, but it was too late; she was gone; the spirit had departed, and had left the former beauteous habitation, cold and lifeless. My readers will, by this time, have discovered this personage to be none other than the maniac described in the aforementioned advertisement. Of the cause of her derangement, of the mode of her arrival in this place, and of her near connection with him, part of whose grave she now occupies, future papers will speak. It is now about ten years since the same turf first enclosed their remains. By the side of their resting place is another grave, of more recent date, which contains the body of the honest, frank, old Adam Earnest; and I hope that when my journey through life shall be concluded, I shall sleep in the small space, which is unoccupied on the right hand of the unfortunate subjects of the present lucubration. There shall I enjoy a sleep, uninterrupted by days of sorrow, while I trust my soul will spring from its decayed habitation, to join my departed friends in the dwellings of bliss and glory. As we ascended the hill from the bridge, some persons began to sing a psalm, and continued their music, till, attended by an increased number of people, we entered the church-yard, and shortly after were met by the clergyman, who commenced the service in the usual way. After going through the forms prescribed by the church, the coffin was lowered; and just as Mr. B. had concluded, by pronouncing the closing benediction, and as I was stooping to look into the grave for the last time, I heard one of the shrillest and most piercing shrieks, that I believe was ever uttered by mortal. It was not the mere expression of misery, it was a sound indicative of phrensied agony. On hearing a sound so startling, I involuntarily dropped my handkerchief, with which I had hitherto shaded my eyes, and I pressed my fingers to my ears. I turned to discover whence the sound arose, and perceived a female, dressed in a long grey cloak, which was torn in various places, and which, as it waved in the wind, afforded me an opportunity of observing a black silk gown, which covered as fine a figure as ever I beheld. Her clenched hands, extended foot, heated cheeks, and, above all, maniacally sparkling black eyes, told us that reason had departed from her throne. She wore a straw bonnet, and a modest looking cap, under which her black hair was almost concealed, and only one solitary curl sported on the lovely neck now tinged by an exposure to the sun. She unclenched her hands, and, putting one of them to her head, looked at the coffin, at the same time exclaiming in a tone of affecting distress, "And you will go, and leave me, and what will become of poor Fanny? Oh, Fanny, Fanny, what will you do!" The audience were softened; even the sexton stood leaning on his spade, and gazed on the lovely form. She started, and, clapping her hands before her eyes, uttered a scream, surpassing, if possible, the former one. "Oh! look, look, look," The supercilious may sneer at the she cried, "what will you do? murhumble tribute to affection of a country der! save him, save him," and, lift-schoolmaster; but I have had the ing up her hands, she tore off with satisfaction, when entering the church vehemence her bonnet and cap, and yard, of seeing village maids, who her lovely hair, released from its con- previously had been making the echoes finement, floated over her shoulders, answer to their mirth, stop at the No. 43.-VOL. IV. A small mound, encircled with osiers, and in summer enriched by wild flowers, marks the tomb of these two unfortunates, united to each other by the closest ties of friendship, who, in their lives were amiable, and in their deaths were undivided. At the head of the grave is a plain stone, on which is engraved the following Epitaph. Reader, tread lightly on this spot, Where sorrow's winds can never blow. 3 B humble grave, read the simple epi- | Bethlem seventeen years. I know his taph, and utter such exclamations of insanity was disputed; but it could pity, as were amply deserved by the only be disputed by those who were silent and unconscious occupants of ignorant of what insanity is. that habitation, which is frequently watered by the tears of the lovely and sensitive rustic. REMARKS ON MENTAL AFFECTIONS. (Continued from col. 626. ) That insanity has no direct reference to the mental faculties, is proved, by those of the highest intellectual energies and attainments being only subject to it in common with those of the lowest. Even idiots, and infants, in whom the reasoning powers have not been developed, are occasionally afflicted with this disease;-and those of the most exalted intellects, who are visited by insanity, frequently retain the use of those powers, in which their chief excellence consisted, even while under the malady. There was for many years a clergyman in the Manchester asylum, of this description; and it was thought there was not a person in that large town, at all equal to him in arguing upon theological subjects. His reasoning powers were so acute, and his knowledge of the scriptures so great, and his application of texts so apt, that no one could refute him and yet there could be no doubt of his insanity. He fancied himself a duke, though kept there upon charity; and often in the midst of the most interesting conversations, when his auditors were delighted and astonished with the emanations of his mind, he would suddenly break off with, "but, gentlemen, my carriage and servants have been long waiting, and I must bid you a good morning." He would then bow very politely to the company, and leave the room. Norris, who was kept in an iron crib for nine years, in the same house, was a man of very superior intelligence in political matters; it was thought he knew more of the news of the day than any other man in all London, and yet there could be no doubt of his being a dangerous maniac. It is well known that one of our stock plays was writtten by a patient in Bethlem, of the name of Lee;and there is no doubt with me, that the hero of this play, Alexander the Great, was a real madman; and so, I am persuaded, was Charles the 12th, of Sweden; and so, in all probability, at times was Bonaparte; at least there is no proof to the contrary, for these men did nothing but what the insane might do, and they did a great deal, which, as I think, none but the insane would have undertaken. None of those authors who have written expressly upon mental affec tions, have given a clear delineation of the lunatic or insane character, agreeably to truth and nature; and the only writers who have discovered an intimate knowledge of the subject, are Dr. Smollett, in his character of Sir Launcelot Greaves; Shakspeare, in his character of Hamlet; and Dr. Johnson, in his character of the Astronomer, in his Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia. In these characters we are taught to respect the virtues, and intellectual powers, and attainments, of real lunatics. I am tempted to give a long quotation from the philosopher, Johnson; and had he given us his analysis of the human mind, and this with the same ability with which he has described the operations of the mental functions, he would, I venture to believe, have left me nothing new to say upon this part of my subject. Imlac had been giving an account of the Astronomer's believing that he had the command of the clouds and the weather, when it is said "The prince heard this narration with serious regard; but the princess smiled, and Pekuah convulsed herself with laughter. Ladies, said Imlac, to mock the heaviest of human afflictions, is neither charitable nor wise; few "This, Sir, is one of the dangers of solitude, which the hermit has con→ fessed not always to promote goodness, and the astronomer's misery has proved to be not always propitious to wisdom." It is to be observed that Dr. Johnson has only described the indulgence of pleasurable imaginations, as the origin of mental delusions; but it is a lamentable fact that involuntary despondency, or miserable imaginations, are the most general forerunner, if not the origin, of insanity; or what the common people aptly enough call, a sinking of the heart. THOS. BAKEWELL. Spring-Vale, near Stone, 4th July, 1822. can attain this man's knowledge, and intellectual gratifications are rejected; few practice his virtues, but all may the mind, in weariness or leisure, resuffer his calamity. Of the uncertain- | curs constantly to the favourite conties of our present state, the most ception; and feasts on the luscious dreadful and alarming is, the uncer- falsehood whenever she is offended tain continuance of reason. The prin- with the bitterness of truth. By decess was recollected, and the favour- grees, the reign of fancy is confirmed, ite abashed; Rasselas, more deeply she grows first imperious, and in time affected, inquired of Imlac, whether despotic. These fictions begin to opehe thought such maladies of the mind rate as realities, false opinions fasten frequent, and how they were con- upon the mind, and life passes in tracted?-Disorders of intellect, an- dreams of rapture or of anguish. swered Imlac, happen much more often than superficial observers will easily believe; perhaps if we speak with rigorous exactness, no human mind is in its right state. There is no man whose imagination does not sometimes predominate over his reason, who can regulate his attention | wholly by his will, and whose ideas will come and go at his command. No man will be found, in whose mind airy notions do not sometimes tyrannize, and force him to hope, or fear, beyond the limits of sober probability. All power of fancy over reason is a degree of insanity; but while this power is such as we can control and repress, it is not visible to others, nor considered as any depravation of the mental faculties; it is not pronounced madness but when it becomes ungovernable, and apparently influences speech or action. To indulge the power of fiction, and send imagination out upon the wing, is often the sport of those who delight too much in silent speculation. When we are alone, we are not always busy, the labour of excogitation is too violent to last long, the ardour of inquiry will sometimes give way to idleness or satiety; he who has nothing external that can divert him, must find pleasure in his own thoughts, and must conceive himself what he is not,-for 66 The New Zealanders have been at who is pleased with what he is? He war with a distant tribe, and those, then expatiates in boundless futurity, under whose protection we are to dwell, and calls from all imaginable condi- have gained the victory. They are tions, that which for the present now preparing for a second war. We moment he should most desire; amu- suppose that not less than two or three ses his desires with impossible enjoy-thousand fighting men have gone from ments, and confers upon his pride the Bay of Islands since we arrived. unattainable dominion. The mind We are, however, happy to say, that they never attempt to disturb either us or any Europeans. We are thankful for this, and we have no doubt that the blessed gospel of peace will effect a great change among them. dances from scene to scene, unites all pleasures in all combinations, and riots in delights which nature and fortune, with all their bounty, cannot bestow. ideas fixes the attention, all other "In time, some particular train of (To be continued.) Extract of a Letter from the Rev. Samuel Leigh, Missionary, dated New Zealand, February 25th, 1822. "WE rejoice in having the pleasure of writing to you from New Zealand. We left Sydney, New South Wales, on the 1st of January, and landed in the Bay of Islands in three weeks, in good spirits, and in hopes of being useful to the poor degraded heathens. "You will learn from my letter to that the New Zealanders position to that of Plato, who, notwithstanding his veneration for Ho have been at war among themselves, and continue so to be, but we hope itmer, and the adoption of a highly figuwill soon come to an end. I am fully rative style of composition, thought persuaded that nothing but the gospel so unfavourably of the moral tendency of the Son of God will do them good. of poetry, as to exclude its professors Oh that it may be soon made known from a place in his perfect repabto them in its fulness and power! lic. -"The late war at Mercury Bay, and the River Thames, has been dreadful. Shungee and his party slew three thousand men, three hundred of whom they roasted and ate before they left the field of battle!!! Can any good come out of New Zealand? Oh, yes. Grace can effect great things.-In the gospel day, all nations whom the Lord hath made shall come and worship before him, and shall give glory to his name, and his name shall be great among the Gentiles, for the Lord hath spoken it. Severe as this judgment may seem, it has been defended in an express treatise "De futilitate Poetices," by Tanaquil Faber, the brother of Madame Dacier; and there have been other writers, both French and English, who have viewed poetry in a light equally disadvantageous. The question is curious and interesting to morals and literature; but whoever shall undertake the discussion of it in the same spirit of philosophical criticism, must expect to raise a host of adversaries, who will allow no middle course, or any thing short of unqualified praise. "Since the New Zealanders have returned to the Bay of Islands, they have killed more than twenty slaves, The poetic art, in the estimation of and have roasted and eaten several; its enthusiastic devotees, is transcenand some of the human flesh the na-dental to every other power of genies, tives brought to one of the settlers' table; and it was there some time before it was discovered by the Europeans. This morning a New Zealander brought a man's head to me to sell it. This is frequently done; and I always seize the opportunity of speaking against such a practice. I have found that they are much ashamed of such traffic, and I hope it will soon cease amongst them." "New Zealand is become a great place for ships, Whalers.' There have been twelve ships at a time in the Bay of Islands, and I understand there are at this time twenty-five ships upon the coast. "The Lord is going on with his work at Otaheite, and in the South Sea Islands; great good is doing among them, and there is great encouragement for missionary labours. Glory be to God." MEMOIRS OF THE LIVING POETS OF Lord Byron. AMONG the paradoxical assertions of the Younger Scaliger, one of the most singular is this, that "no person was ever a poet, or an admirer of poetry, who was not at the same time a honest man." This opinion is in direct op not only in the display of invention, but in practical utility. Not content with claiming for their favourite pursuit, the merit of enriching language, and polishing the minds of men, the admirers of poetry assume the lofty tone of superiority, and make it an arbiter of principles, and a regulator of actions. According to them, there is no excellence, literary or moral, but what is possessed and promoted by this matchless art, which, like Lord Peters's brown loaf, has, in itself, all the essential properties of elegance and nutrition; containing, in short, beef and mutton, flesh, fowl, and fish; solid food for the support of life, and luxuries for the indulgence of a delicate appetite. They, on the other hand, whose imagination is less lively, scruple not to aflirm, that poetry is an art, which only serves to corrupt the judgment; and, as a natural consequence of that deception, to vitiate the heart. Whatever may be thought of these discordant sentiments, thus much will be agreed on all sides, that in every country where letters have been cultivated, poetry has had a preponderating influence on the public mind. Of its effects in Greece and Rome, we have numerous evidences; but since the invention of printing, and the diffusion of knowledge by education, poetry has become more extensively powerful than it ever was among the ancients; for though its professors were distinguished by extraordinary honours, their works were necessarily confined to a particular circle, and those in the higher order of life; whereas in our days, the productions of Shakspeare, Milton, and Pope, are familiar even to the husbandman and mechanic. Till of late years poverty and poetry were considered as synonymous, which only proves that the popularity of the art was limited, and that books, however well written they might be, had too contracted a sale to enrich their authors. The case is now strangely altered; and if our modern bards are not quite equal to the Spensers, and Butlers, and Drydens, of former times, they have the satisfaction of seeing genius better rewarded than it was a century ago. Byron has obtained in the temple of Fame, it seems perfectly just that his memoir should take precedence in this collection, without meaning thereby to give him a superiority over those poets who are of older standing in the republic of letters. The family of Buron, or Byron, is of Norman origin, and came in with the Conqueror, who bestowed upon two lords of that name considerable estates in the counties of Lincoln, York, Nottingham, and Derby. From the latter branch is the present peer descended, being the grandson of the famous Admiral Byron, who sailed with Anson, and afterwards commanded an expedition sent out to explore the southern extremity of America, and the islands in the Great Pacific Ocean. His son, John Byron, a captain of the guards, married first the divorced Marchioness of Carmarthen, and next Miss Gordon, a lady of small fortune, but of noble descent, in the county of Aberdeen, where she had two children, a son, George Gordon, now Lord Byron, and a daughter, who died some years since. Captain Byron died at Valenciennes, in 1791, just as his lady was preparing the process for a divorce, on account of alleged adultery and ill treatment. She lived till 1810, having seen her son established in the title and estates, though these last were considerably encumbered by the late Lord William, who died without issue at a very advanced age, in 1798, at which time his nephew was ten years old, being born January 22, 1788. This is the golden age of letters, if we are to judge of it by the extraordinary popularity of its poets, and the munificent sums which they receive for their performances; but there is some reason to fear that this avidity for new things is a sign of a capricious, rather than a correct, taste; and that the liberality of publishers is not governed so much by the intrinsic merit of the works which they purchase at an extravagant rate, as by the celebrity of the writers. It would be very easy to support this position by many pointed facts; and it would be as easy to shew that the fame of modern authors has, in too many instances, risen more from artful con- Hitherto this last male representatrivance and adventitious circumstan- tive of a noble line, had lived in ces, than from any just discrimination Scotland, under the immediate care of merit on the part of the public. of his mother, a woman of superior This shews that a view of the present intellect, well educated, and strictly, state of English literature would be a though not superstitiously, religious. most valuable work, if conducted in a She was a great sufferer by the misspirit of honest freedom, by a man conduct of her husband, but strength well acquainted with ancient and mo- of mind, and purity of principles, endern learning, and above being preju-abled her to bear her troubles with fordiced in favour of individuals or parties' opinions or institutions. Subsidiary to such a desideratum, it is proposed to give, in the Imperial Magazine, a series of biographical and critical sketches of the living poets of greatest eminence, whose history will be narrated with a sedulous regard to truth, and their talents appreciated with impartiality. From the distinction which Lord titude, and to discharge the parental In |