The last we confess may still consist with the immutability of moral laws, as applied to the providence and moral government of God, but the whole renders the observation as applied to the moral laws of mankind, we think, inapplicable.

We are the rather inclined to consider this remark of our author a lapsus, because he has entered briefly upon the proof of the uniformity of physical laws; and has then joined organic and moral laws together in a succeeding sentence, without giving arguments to enforce his principle.

In this part only can we find a serious cavil. The book is well written, the philosophical doctrines generally sound, the reflections highly creditable both as from a Christian man and a scholar, the language is warm and energetic; and though the work is neither quite so methodical, nor the plan quite so extensive as we could have wished from such a hand, yet, what there is of it only leads us to wish for more, and induces us to hope that more is yet to come. We take leave, in that hope, and with feelings of sincere respect for the author.

STANZAS

ON THE ATHENIAN EXPEDITION AGAINST SYRACUSE.

I.

O! wo worth the voyage, O! wo worth the day,

When Attica's galleys in battle array,

With gilded prows glancing,

Through calm waves advancing

To Sicily sailed from Piræus's Bay:

II.

With the pride and the flower those galleys were manned,

The pride and the flower of Attica's land,

Their topmasts were gleaming,

With sacred wreaths streaming,

As they parted in pomp from their own native land.

III.

But the flower once plucked shall ne'er flourish again,

Nor the branch, where it blossomed, fresh blossoms sustain,

And the pride of the fountain

Summer-dried in the mountain,

Shall ne'er reach in gladness the depth of the main.

IV.

The warriors who parted all godlike and brave,

All free as the spray of the foam-crested wave,

The dark sea upturning,

With gay visions burning,

Have found in that dark sea a desolate grave.

V.

For the Peans that ushered the birth of the war,

A voice of repentance-a sigh-and a tear

For the fame passed away

In the breath of a day

For empire-for liberty ruined-despair.

THE EXILE.*

CHAP. I.

Childe Harold had a mother not forgot,
Though parting from that mother he did shun;
A sister whom he loved, yet saw her not
Before his weary pilgrimage begun;

If friends he had, he bade adieu to none.

Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel;

Ye who have known what 'tis to dote upon

A few dear objects, will in sadness feel

Such partings break the heart, they fondly hope to heal. BYRON. It was the earliest dawn of one of those lovely mornings, which sometimes break the melancholy monotony of gray fog, which has, not perhaps unjustly, given to an English November its universal character, as the most gloomy and heart-depressing month of the year. The atmosphere, although early on the preceding evening a slight hoar frost had crisped the yet verdant meadows, was as soft as spring, and so breathless, that the red and yellow leaves, which were beginning to drop fast from the many-colored masses of foliage that still clothed the woods in a rich garment of autumnal beauty, whirled round and round in the tranquil morning, as if doubtful whether to soar upwards, or to fall and perish on the deep wet verdure spread below.

The sun was just rising broad and blood-colored through the thin haze of the horizon, and his slant rays cast an interminable length of shadow from each gigantic tree, which singly or in scattered groups adorned the park-like scene of paddock, and pasture, glittering far and near under the bright fretwork of dewy gossamer,-a scene of cool and fragrant tranquillity, craving the pencil of a Van de Velde to arrest the thousand transitory visions of loveliness, gradually fading before the increased warmth of mellowing day.

Myriads of rooks, which had for generations cawed and nested in the mighty elms-till they had become, like those sons of the forest which afforded them shelter, a source of hereditary pride, and almost an object of affection to the family, which had transmitted that fair domain in undiminished luxuriance of woodland from the earliest ages of recorded historywere diving and wheeling far above the dwellings of men through the blue and boundless firmament. The timid hare hopped lazily over the dank herbage, leaving long tracks of deeper green among the leaves that glistened white in the smoothness of the night dew; the fallow-deer slumbered under the shadowy trees, or bounded to their feet in startled activity at the frequent splash of some overgrown fish, from many a pool which sent up each its smoky column of white vapor, undulating in folds thinner and thinner as it melted into the pale expanse that was stretched overhead so calm and cloudless.

The intention of the editors is to give successive chapters of this tale, in each number for some months to come, the objects of which will be to represent, in the course of a connected narrative, with the illustration of such incidents as may be deemed likely to impart interest, the feelings and ideas of an intelligent and educated foreigner, induced by circumstances to take up his abode among us. It is moreover the wish of the writer to delineate the opinions of honest, impartial, and highminded Europeans on the manners and advantages of our cis-atlantic republic, in contra-distinction to the false and malignant caricatures of soured adventurers, or party politicians.

It was one of those hours of exquisite stillness, which sheds a deep and melancholy feeling upon the hearts even of the happy,-which saddens, while it soothes the spirit. It was one of those hours, which lead the thoughts of those who think the least, to more lofty and purer imaginings than those which spring from earth, or earthly things; which we should expect to absorb all wild and heart-rending afflictions, even of the most miserable, in that pious and tender sadness, which ever looks forward to the peaceful immortality that the world taketh not away, and upward to the friend and father, who tempereth to the shorn lamb the wind of adversity. Such, however, were not the feelings of Lindley Harlande, as he gazed from the verdure-curtained porch of the old hall over that loved and lovely scene. There he stood alone, in the fragrance of morning, on his father's threshold, with his fine brow contracted, his breath drawn hard through his clenched teeth, and his arms pressing, as in a vice, his broad and manly chest; straining his eye-balls, as if the sight were about to leave them, over the beautiful haunts of his childhood. It seemed at times, as if some momentary glimpse of remembered happiness relaxed the frown upon his forehead, and lighted the spark in his clouded eye; but again the half stifled gurgle in the throat, and the spasmodic quiver, that rapidly convulsed the strong limbs, showed how brief was the forgetfulness, and how engrossing the misery that might not be repressed.

There had he stood, equipped for a journey, with spurs on his heel, and his hat cast listlessly at his feet, from the first dappling of the east, till the broad sun was now winking with bright glances through the upper foliage of the feathered elms; there had he watched every change on that well known landscape, as it brightened from the dark indistinctness of its blue horizon, till hedgerow and coppice, extended lawn, and forest glade, were glittering in all the joyful gorgeousness of light. There had he stood as firm and as motionless, as the ivied columns at his side; hours had passed away, since he paused, but for a moment, to snatch one last glimpse of his home; hours had passed away, and it seemed as if hours more might elapse unheeded in the deep oblivion of engrossing thought. He had not stirred, when the old clock had sent its familiar chimes, quarter after quarter through the half closed door behind him; nor yet when the louder clang of the village steeple had pealed the successive hours from among its tufted yews. Nay, more he had not heard or heeded, when the gloom announced the presence of his favorite hunter, snorting and stamping till the courtyard rang, as he shook in eager restlessness the staple to which he had been fastened; when the man sympathizing with the evident distress of his young master, had reluctantly withdrawn to watch from a distance the departure of him, who was loved by all within the sphere of his influence, as none are ever loved but by the poor of their birthplace, or the family of their bosom. Suddenly he started, as the faint clap of a distant door echoed within the house; it was not half, nay not a tenth part, as loud as the lowest of the noises, which had swept by him unregarded as the idle wind; yet now, whether it was that the slight sound stirred some secret association, or clashed with some overwrought feeling, or that some stronger and more hidden mystery of wonderful nature was excited, he sprang as at the near roar of a cannon.

His foot was already in the stirrup, his hand on the mane-another inVOL. I.

10

stant would have dashed the eager horse to his fullest speed-when a low rustling sound induced him to turn his head, and before he could move a step, he was clasped in the close embrace of a fair girl-"Lindley, dear, dear Lindley, what can be the meaning of this strange departure? Not now"-speaking in nervous and rapid excitement, as she saw his pale lips move in incipient speech-"answer me not now, brother; for I know you are deceiving me; and why should you dearest, why should you conceal any thing from me? Have we not been together from our birth-have we not rejoiced and sorrowed in common-have not your pleasures been my pleasures, and your tears mine-have I ever entertained a thought which was not known to you, or cherished a dream of happiness, in which you were not a partaker-have you not always let me share your joys, and will you not vent your griefs to me also? Do not deny it, Lindley, something terrible has happened, I have long seen it hanging over us, I have read it in your eye for weeks past-you are deserting us in secret; you are stealing in sorrow from the love of your nearest and dearest; and can you, can you be so cruel as to leave to them so bitter an addition of misery, as the hopeless, heart-rending knowledge that you are gone in lonely friendless affliction,-gone they know not whither,-gone perhaps never to return? Tell me the whole Lindley, tell me the whole and fear not. You used to praise me for my girlish courage, prove to me now that those praises were sincere."

More than once during her vehement and interrupted pleading, had that beloved brother striven to reply, and now, as she ceased, the big tear stood in his broad dark eye, and his words came in thick hollow gushes upon the ears of the excited listener. "I would have spared you," he said, "the anguish of this parting; you, whom I love more than all the world beside -you, who have believed that I could abandon you in doubts more dreadful than the worst reality. Your presages are too, too true! I go forth as you have said, in lonely, friendless, almost hopeless, grief; I go forth a penniless, dishonored outcast."

"Dishonored? Never, Lindley, never!" the blood from every vein in her body boiled at once into that cheek, lately as cold, and as white as the hoar frost beneath her feet, her eyes glanced as if about to burst from their sockets as she spoke-" You,-you dishonored?"

"Aye," he interrupted her, in a whisper so calm and clear as to be more appalling than his former agony—“ Aye, dishonored-my affections seared-my fortunes ruined-my good name blasted-by the faith and honor of a friend," (and a bitter sneer writhed his pallid lip,) "crushed beyond human aid or redemption-hunted like a felon from the house of my fathers-even now the bloodhounds are upon my traces; another hour would consign me to an endless misery of chains."

He stopped short, as the quick jingle of a distant carriage came on the still morning-" Away! they are upon me--you must be in bed, dearest, when they arrive; and remember that my safety depends wholly on your prudence-remember this! I am gone to Thornley Pasture; if I gain an hour I am safe-bless you, sister, bless you-I will write."

One long, straining embrace---he sprang to the saddle, walked the good horse, that had never failed his rider, noiselessly along the hard gravelled footpath for an hundred yards; then stirring his mettle with the spur, dashed him at a single bound over a deep sunk fence and ragged paling

which crowned it, and was lost to view in the thick foliage of plantations that stretched far away into the recesses of the neighboring moors.

"There he goes, God bless him, there goes the freest heart and the openest hand, the best sportsman, and the boldest rider, in the North Riding. Sorely, sorely will he be missed, and long will he be wailed by gentle and simple; he is gone and has not left his like behind! God bless him wherever he goes." Such were the half uttered thoughts of the groom, who had been gazing from his lattice, with eager affection, on the parting scene; and now flung himself on his low bed, in slumbers feigned, according to the last instructions of him, whom he regarded as a friend rather than as a master.

The heart of the sister was too full for words, her eyes were glazed and tearless, but her bosom rose and fell fast in the almost suffocating emotions of grief, too intense to evaporate by the ordinary vent of tears and lamentations. She also turned from the door, and fastening its defences with a noiseless hand, hurried silently away to muse in waking anguish on the couch, no more to her a place of repose and peace.

The front of the hall was again silent and deserted; no smoke at that still early hour curled from its chimneys; not a shutter was opened, not a sound was heard except the chattering of a dozen jackdaws, disporting themselves in short wheeling flights around the ivied pinnacles, and grotesquely carved spouts of the irregular mansion. Many minutes, however, had not elapsed, before its hundred echoes were roused into life, by the rattle of a postchaise whirled along at the utmost pace of four smoking overdriven jades, and stopping with a sudden jerk at the very porch, whence Harlande had so lately departed on his melancholy pilgrimage. Before the boy, who rode the leaders, had time to alight, the door of the carriage was opened from the inside, and two coarse-featured, vulgar looking men sprang out. After some muttered consultation, one of them applied himself to the bell with a violence, which produced a peal audible even without the building; loud however as was the summons, it had to be repeated again, and again, before a half dressed and not more than half awakened servant threw open the door, and gazed with undisturbed astonishment on the disturbers of his repose. To the question, "Was Mr. Harlande at home?" the answer was returned, that "the old gentleman was not yet awake, but that Mr. Lindley, as usual on hunting mornings, had gone out some two hours ago."-"It was Mr. Lindley Harlande they wished to see, when was it likely he would return ?"—"Perhaps sooner, perhaps later; according as they had a good or bad run---sometimes he was home by one or two o'clock, sometimes not till nightfall---but what did the strangers want? Any message would be delivered without fail."--"No, no message would do, they had business of importance with Mr. Harlande, and must have an interview with him---they must wait, if he were in fact from home." The implied doubt awakened the ire of the footman, who was about to shut the door in the face of the intruders, when the household servants came upon the scene, aroused by the protracted debate, and corroborating the statement of their fellow, finally convinced the myrmidons of the law that their presence was utterly unexpected. They ordered their chaise round to the stables, and took up their own abode in the hall, awaiting the return of their intended victim. Soon after, Julia Harlande, apprised by her frightened maid of the two strange men who wanted her brother, and who,