beautiful and terrible as sin, arrayed in a vest of green shells, with flashing eyes and glowing hair, bore the bow of Time, for eternity seemed written upon it. These were girded round as with the darkling embryo of storms, all ready to rush forth at their command. Behind and around them, in all directions, whirled a host of spirits, decked out in the most brilliant manner. Some appeared mounted on dolphins and sharks; others resting upon the continued fountain which sprung from the nostrils of the whale; others darted javelins, made of the tusks of the hippopotamus, in mock warfare, at each other; and eternally sounds were produced from conchs of the most singular form, terrible, yet grand. Here rolled the immense floundering form of the leviathan, the shaggy sea lion, the tusked walrus, and the fleshy blubber fish:all the monsters of the deep seemed called into action. It was now almost upon us, when I, stung to despera tion, and determined to do some thing ere I perished, seized a small harpoon, and running to the end of the vessel which fronted this tre mendous host, threw it with all my might at the form of the Miner. So true was my aim, that it pierced him exactly in the centre of his temples; our crew set up a wild shout of horror at the deed, but the consequence was astonishing: the vast wave sunk and subsided immediately, and one loud wail echoed from the sea to the sky. All became as black as midnight, and the air, thick, choaking, and almost palpable. Nothing could be seen for a yard before us; a general commotion took place; and, in the darkness, many fell overboard; it was, indeed, a night of terror: low bursts from the sea: the weltering of the waves : prayers, groans, and curses, were heard every where. Could the heart of man bear long such an accumulation of horror? But the worst was yet to come. The black overhang ing canopy of clouds, that muffled up the beautiful sky, were rent open at once, and a broad streak of dusky lurid light spread from one extremity to the other; it was of a deep blood red colour, and reflected every thing like a mirror: in it we could see Eur. Mag. Vol. 83.

the ocean, working and lashing itself, to foam like a boiling cauldron; and the ship, like a lost thing, feebly encountering the rage of the world of waters. Streams of light now gushed from the clouds, that, like pillars, supported the glaring sky; and we saw, as it were, a fleet moving towards us, in the form of a crescent. The spectral thing advanced, and we beheld on board stately warriors, as pale and as coldlooking as marble, with fixed eyes and motionless limbs; they passed by on each side of us, with unbroken order, in all their terrible pomp.— Then, again, the ocean rolled up, and swallowed us; the figures we had seen before, danced their terrible dances, and sung and revelled, and dashed about in the waves, till one tremendous clash shook heaven and ocean. Forms came striding on towards us, and sunk, of every shape and magnitude: headless and horrible monsters extended their arms to seize us, and the teeth of the sea lions glistened to devour us. These things vanished each instant, and their places were as quickly supplied: but the water soon stifled us, and took away all perception.

When I recovered from the long insensibility into which I had fallen, I found myself lying on a rough wave-worn rock, and heard the sea dashing beside me. I looked around: I had been thrown by the waves into a vast cavern, whose extent, by reason of the impenetrable darkness, I could not discern; it was extremely lofty, and the crags that jutted down seemed like outstretched hands, ready to bear me away. It gradually widened and expanded from the nar row entrance, near which I lay, into prodigious width and height. A rapid stream of salt water rushed furiously past at my feet, and, joining with some other currents which forced themselves through similar inter stices in the rock, was dashed down in an immense fall, whose roarings and bellowings, like those of some enraged giant, were echoed and reechoed by the deep and spirit-like voices of the lofty cavern.

I lay here awhile, ruminating upon the prodigies I had lately been a witness of, and upon means of escape from my perilous situation,

2 R

which I well knew could only be effected by exertion, and, therefore, determined to set about it instantly, ere another relapse should preclude all chance of success. The darkness which enveloped every thing, at once prevented me from choosing to penetrate deeper into the cavern, so I resolved to look to the entrance. I found great difficulty in raising myself; my limbs were stiffened and cramped by the moist cold stone, and I had likewise sustained innumerable bruises, by being thrown against the sharp rocks, so that it was no easy matter for me to crawl along, even at a slow pace. This platform of rocks, I found, shelved down to the sea, which rose considerably higher than the entrance, and only could force itself in by a small aperture, through which it gushed to the cataract. Weak as I was, I scarcely hesitated a moment, but rousing every energy, and collecting every remaining portion of strength, I dived through the narrow chasm; I cut through the waves as long as my breath lasted, and when I rose high above the water, was greeted by the sheen of the bright sun and the blue heavens. I looked towards the land; crags and precipices met my eye every where; I however swam on: escape from death, which had appeared in the gloomy place I had just left to be yawning for me, gave me hope and spirits, and vigour. I prayed for deliverance, nor were my prayers unheard. Between a narrow slip or cleft of two rocks, I perceived green fields; my heart leaped within me: I swam towards it; I crawled up the sides with a preternatural strength; I rushed through the opening; I bounded on the field; I gave one look, but that one was sufficient; I knew, I knew where I was: I saw my own dear Zetland; but it was too much I fainted.

The first words that I heard uttered after this was from a well known voice," How are ye, my brave heart?"

I looked up: I knew the fine venerable features: the smile tempered with sorrow: the keen blue eye, that had somewhat lost its fire: the scant grey locks; it was my old friend, Martin Skelder.

I raised myself as well as I could from my resting place; I seized his hand; and, in an almost inarticulate voice, exclaimed,—“ Martin!”

We both were equally affected, and there was a long dead pause, which was at length broken by MartinRaymond, I rejoice, yet I sorrow to see ye-ye are sairly-sairly altered-many a wearisome care ye mann ha' had sin ye left us, to have wrinkled that once smooth brow, and grizzled that black hair. Ye hae seen nae common perils." I mournfully replied in the affirmative, and informed him of the extraordinary manner in which I found myself cast into the cavern at Zetland, when the storm had happened far off in the Atlantic.

Skelder shook his head: "You were wrecked off our coast," said he; "Feldspar's vessel is too well known here not to be easily recognized. Three nights since it was seen hovering among the blue mists about a mile from the shore; it came nearer, but mist and darkness clouded round it. We got upon the rocks to watch her motions, for the weather was hazy, and every thing boded the coming storm. We wondered that she sent out no boat, for she floated along and never cast anchor. Presently a growling squally wind arose, and all the clouds rolled out, and darkened the whole face of the sky: the sea swelled and splashed the black crags upon the beach: night drew on, and it was an awful one; but the ship never sent out a boat.

"We saw the poor labouring and struggling thing tossed by foaming breakers: such a skirling and roar ing there never was, and such flashing and gleaming of lightning: and then the howling of the wind, and the pattering of the sleety rain; but the greedy waves soon sucked in their victim: they cast themselves up, and gloried over, as she went down,-poor fated souls! We heard their shrieks and cries, but could not help them. Feldspar buffeted the waters a moment, but it was unavailing; he was dashed against yon red rock, and his head cloven in twain."

Such then had been the fate of the gallant, the daring, the heroic Feld

spar; a man whose sense of honour, whose generosity of spirit, and whose frank and free humour was unequal led: I loved him as a brother.

Old Martin here paused; and his emotions were so overpowering, that he rushed out of the apartment. I wept at the fate of my friend like an infant; and soon fretted myself into a slumber which, contrary to my expectations, was sound and refreshing.

I awoke from some cause or other about the middle of the night, nor did I again feel inclined to sleep; I therefore raised myself up on my truckle bed and looked around. The mild beams of the moon flooded round the small chamber, and rendered every thing plain and distinct. It was hung round with nets and small plaited spears, with here and there a dusty seal-skin cap and blue jacket; and on the floor were laid some rudelyfashioned chests and other lumber. As I was gazing upon these objects, inanimate tractors of the soul,' as some one would call them, and thinking upon my own fishing exploits, I cast a careless glance towards the foot of the bed;-all the blood curdled in my veins as I saw in a slip of wan moonlight, that gushed through the narrow window, the figure of George Harvey; he stood there even as I had known him when alive, only pale as a corse, and moveless; his eyes were fixed and unmeaning, and a dim blue lambent fire seemed to encircle him round like a halo, but his dress was exactly the same, and his hair, his black and crisped locks, divided in the centre, still grew and curled: not a feature was altered; but there was something about him that breathed of the grave; something that caused all the flesh to creep on my bones: my eyes were fixed intensely on his, and a damp cold sweat burst out on my brow: I tried in vain to utter a word, my faculties were entranced and enchained in horror, and my tongue stuck fast to the roof of my mouth; at last, by a mighty effort, I compelled myself to speak, and though it was unlike the sound of any thing earthly, hollow and rattling, it was sufficient.

66

Harvey," said I. The shade came nearer; it seemed a thing of air: so light, so noiseless, that I could not hear its approach: it stood

"Ray

by me, and smiled upon me. mond," said it, in a soft musical voice,-so soft, indeed, that I never heard its like, save in the breathings of the summer-wind over an Eolian lyre," Raymond, I may now visit thee; my pledge is now also redeemed; I would have been with you sooner, but it was not permitted ine. There has been a fearful strife for ye, Raymond, but your good fates have got the better; the demon who has so long persecuted you, will now trouble you no more. There have things occurred, but I may not reveal them; your good and your evil deeds have been weighed in the balance; had they been found wanting

but you shall see as far as my power extends; arise, and follow me." I obeyed him. We passed through another apartment, there lay old Skelder sleeping; his breathing seemed, however, to stop; and the hair bristled up on the back of the whining dog that lay at his feet, as the spirit passed. The door flew open, and we stood in the open air; we passed along till we came to a remarkably green patch of ground. Here the spirit paused; I watched its slow and solemn movements in speechless awe.

It raised its head upwards toward heaven, and that smiling heaven seemed to grow brighter as the pure and etherial being gazed upon it. The ground at our feet now began to move and tremble, the grass blades untwined and separated, and a yawning chasm lay open before us; I looked down it; it seemed a gradual sloping descent, as far as it was visible, to which there was no termination. The spirit descended, and I followed; we passed on long in utter darkness, and seemed to be penetrating the very bowels of the earth, when suddenly a dazzling brilliant flash of light burst upon us, almost too intense for mortal eye to bear; we still kept on, and the light grew brighter and brighter, and the fissure in the earth widened each instant. We now emerged into a vast illimitable hall, silent, but shining with reflected light; it was hot and stifling; but no sounds were heard, not so much as the tread of my footsteps; it seemed the hall of death. The vasty walls were of clear bright beaming chrystal, and one immense

column of the same substance descended from the roof to the floor. To this, girdled with brazen chains, was fastened my hated foe, the Miner, of a huge size, and foaming and struggling with impotent rage; when he beheld me, his efforts were terrible his eyes glared: and he churned and gnashed his teeth, and shook his everlasting chains; but he

could not break his bonds, and he shrunk back in sullen and moody silence. The spirit gazed upon me, "Thy foe is fast for ever," said it; "he shall pursue thee no longer; thou art safe: remember this, and live. Farewell." The spirit-the entombed prison sunk, and I found myself lying near the cottage of old Martin Skelder.

IT is well known that the Metempsycosis, or the doctrine of the transmigration of the soul into the body of some animal, is believed in several Pagan nations. Pythagoras, who taught this doctrine, derived it from Egypt, or the Indies. Those, who profess it, think that their future state will be happy or miserable, according to their conduct whilst they continued in their human shape.

The Bramins pretend to understand a science, called Kurrembeypack, by which they divine the character of a man in his first state of existence, and they prescribe a particular expiation for every crime. This art is divided into four kinds, and several examples of each may be found in the Ayeen Akberry, from which are taken the following ex

tracts:

"Diseases which are the punishments for crimes committed in a past state;

"Losing the use of the limbs is the punishment for having killed a Bramin. Treatment.-Make the sick person take a tolak of gold, in the shape of a horse, and distribute it in charities, and let him maintain 150 Bramins.

"Fever is the punishment for having killed an innocent Kheterie. Treatment. -Repeat a hundred times the incantation of Mahadeo, maintain thirteen Bra

mins, and sprinkle the image of Ma

hades one hundred times with water.

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"A wife, whose husband dies before her, having been, before her marriage, of a high family, and leaving it to live with a stranger, for whom she burns herself, when he dies. Treatment.➡ She must pass her life in religious severities, or bury herself in snow.

"A wife, whose children are all girls, is punished for having been too proud in her former existence, and for not being respectful enough to her husband. Treatment.-After having covered a white ox with cloth of gold, she must maintain 100 Bramins.

"The wicked, who have committed

many sins, are exposed to all sorts of

diseases. He who has robbed a Bramin, has whitlows on his nails; he who drinks strong liquors, has black teeth; the murderer of a Bramin, the maras. ma; a liar, stinking breath; a stealer of corn, pains in his limbs; a stealer of cloths, the leprosy; a stealer of horses is lame, &c."

According to this doctrine, it is necessary to expiate one's crimes during life; for if not, we shall be born again with disgraceful marks of it.

THE admirers of Spenser are more numerous at present than they have been at any former period; indeed, so numerous are they, that our language seems in some danger of being broken into two dialects by them. In a great portion of our modern poetry we have the idiom, phraseology, and diction of Spenser; so that if this rage should happen to continue to the middle of the present century, it is a question whether we shall not have a dialect peculiarly appropriated to poetry, and clearly distinct from the language of prose. Two questions, therefore, naturally present themselves to us at setting out, which are not only of import ance in themselves, but inseparably blended with an inquiry into the genius of Spenser. The first is, whether the encreased admiration of Spenser should be attributed to the improved taste of the present day, or to one of those revolutions in literature which are brought about by silent and imperceptible causes; causes which, though slow in their operations, are eternally impressing a new character on the literature of every age. In attempting to resolve this question, it is obvious we do not digress from the nature of our proposed subject; for we cannot tell how far the admiration of Spenser is just, without investigating, at the same time, the extent and character of his intellectual endow ments. The second question naturally arises from the first; admitting the superiority of Spenser's genius, and the justice of the admiration in

Warton's Pleasures of Melancholy.

which he is held, would it still be wise or natural to adopt his style and manner at present?

The qualities of style, which confer excellence on poetry, are so numerous, that no one writer was ever known to excel in them all. It is not, however, to be supposed that a poem cannot be excellent unless it possess the whole aggregate of these qualities. The qualities which constitute the excellence of one poem, cannot be transferred to a poem of a different nature. The excellence of Butler's Hudibras consists in its wit: the excellence of Pope's Eloisa to Abelard consists in its pathos. The pathos of Eloisa, however, cannot be transferred to Hudibras, nor the wit of Hudibras imparted to Eloisa, without destroying the excellence of both. It would, therefore, be absurd to say that Hudibras excels Eloisa to Abelard, because it has more wit, or that Eloisa excels Hudibras, because it is more pathetic. Accordingly, if we would form a proper idea of Spencer's genius, particularly that idea which will enable us to form a just comparison between him and others, we must enquire what are the qualities of style that properly constitute the excellence of the subjects in which he engaged, and how far he has attained these qualities of perfection. In estimating afterwards his comparative merits, it is obvious, from the reasons which I have already assigned, that he must be compared only with such poets as engaged in similar or kindred subjects with himself; and who,