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Bonaparte had been raised to the imperial throne, has probably rendered it irrevocable.

To dispel her sadness and gloom, Madame de Stael determined to travel over the fine countries of Italy. The constant serenity of the sky, the variety of the landscapes, a delightful music, and the contemplation of the ruins of that superb Rome, formerly mistress of the world, insensibly revived her talents and her enthusiasm, and even gave renewed elasticity to her genius. It is to this journey that learned Europe is indebted for Corinna or Italy, that splendid monument of the fine state, the profound erudition, the lively sensibility, and the ardent imagination of its author. The mind finds some difficulty in conceiving the combination of talents which that work possesses. It is written with an eloquence bordering on the sublime; it breathes throughout the purest attachment to the true principles of civil liberty; and England and Italy are contrasted in a manner little calculated to please those who would wish to destroy every free country. The exclamation of Corinna at the sight of the Roman forum, “Honour then, everlasting honour to all courageous and free nations, since they thus captivate the attention of posterity!" resounds disagreeably in the ears of despots.

After this effort of genius, Madame de Stael, by way of relax. ation, amused herself first with performing in tragedy at Geneva, and afterwards assumed the modest office of an editor. Some time after the appearance of Corinna, she published two volumes of Letters and Reflections of Prince de Ligne, and enriched them with a short preface worthy of her talents. I have given an English translation of this work, to which I attach some little value, because it has afforded me an opportunity of associating my name with that of such an editor; it is only in this character that I may be allowed to aspire to that honour. The literary world is anxiously expecting the work which Madame de Stael had commenced in 1804, upon Germany.

Far be from me to imitate the numerous slanderers who have taken particular delight in publishing the errors of Madame de Stael, and falsely adding to their number. It belongs only to the pen of history, which will immortalize her merit, to reveal the weaknesses by which that merit may be obscured. It is possible that Madame de Stael, as has been observed by her father, may be "very susceptible of being misled:" she may sometimes have been guilty of "an amiable thoughtlessness," as Marmontel calls it; but she never can be dispossessed of the first rank among female authors, who, in our times, have shed a lustre on French Literature.

FROM THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE,

MINSTER LOVEL.

Sir,

HAVING lately seen, in the newspapers, the estate at Minster Lovel, in this county, advertised for sale, it brought to my recollection an extraordinary story, which I well remember to have heard in my youth, respecting this place. I am not aware that it has ever appeared in print; but if it has, in all probability it is in one of those ponderous volumes, in which topographical history is generally communicated, and which are too expensive for private libraries in general. But, even should I be in an error in this respect, I think the chances are much against its having been correctly stated. If you think it worth a place in your Monthly Miscellany, it is at your service. The tradition is to the following effect; and, if the unsettled state of the times, in which the events are said to have happened, be taken into consideration, it will seem less improbable than, perhaps, upon the first impression, it may appear.

This place was, for some centuries, the seat of the Lovels, between whom and it there was, if I may so express myself, an appellative reciprocity; for this family first communicated their name, by way of addition, to that of the place; and, subsequently, the place furnished the family with the foundation for their title of Viscount. The last of them is said to have met his fate in a most singular and extraordinary manner, in his mansionhouse at this place; which, according to the fashion of the age, was a baronial castle, with large vaults and many secret recesses, constructed as well for the reception of prisoners, as for the securing of the persons and property of its possessors. Francis, the last lord of this family, and chamberlain to King Richard the Third, was one of the noblemen who raised an army, in the beginning of the reign of Henry the Seventh, under the command of the Earl of Lincoln, to support the pretensions of the impostor, Lambert Simnel, against that monarch. The decisive battle, which gave security to Henry's usurpation, was fought near the village of Stoke, on the banks of the river Trent, in Nottinghamshire. The slaughter of the insurgent army was immense, especially among the officers; an uncommon proportion of whom were slain. The Lord Lovel, however, escaped, by swimming his horse across the river, and retiring by unfrequented roads, well known to him, into Oxfordshire. As the story proceeds, he took care to arrive at the gates of his castle in the dead of night, and so disguised as to be known to no one, except a single domestic, on whose fidelity he could rely. Before the return of

day, he retired to a subterranean recess, of which the faithful servant retained the key; and here he remained for several months in safety and concealment; but the estates being seized by the king's orders, the castle dismantled, and the inhabitants dispersed by authority, some in confinement, and others to great distances, the unfortunate prisoner was left to perish from hunger in the place of his voluntary imprisonment. So late as in the last century, when the small remains of this once-stately edifice were pulled down, in order to make use of the materials, the vault was discovered, and the unfortunate nobleman in it, seated in a chair, as he had died. So completely had the external air been excluded by rubbish, at the time of dismantling the building, that his apparel, which was gorgeous in the extreme, and a prayer-book lying before him upon a table, were discovered entire. On the free admission of the air, it was said the whole crumbled into dust; but it is not improbable the sanctuary was considerably profaned by the rude hands of the persons who discovered it, either from ignorance or curiosity.

While I was committing to paper this extraordinary narrative respecting Lord Lovel's death, it brought to my recollection a story I met with a short time since, bearing a strong resemblance to it, and communicated in a history of Southwell, in Nottinghamshire, lately published. Though already in print, for the reasons I have before given respecting topographical works, as it will not occupy much room in your pages, it may not be an unacceptable addition to many of your readers: It runs thus:

"About the year 1740, a discovery was made in one of the vaults of the archbishop's palace here (Southwell), which has been thought to confirm, in an extraordinary degree, one of those many pieces of traditional history, to which the residence of King Charles I. and his army here, gave occasion. A story was current, that the last time but one the king was here, a few weeks before he came to deliver himself up to the Scotch, the several armies of the parliament pressing forward to surround him, news was brought by a deserter, that a party of the enemy were approaching; but, some of the king's guard suspecting the pretended deserter to be a spy, forced him into one of the wells of the palace. Soon after the restoration, when a small part of this building was again converted into a dwelling-house, one of the wells was covered over, upon the supposition that it had been the scene of this transaction, and therefore, with a very natural prejudice, that its water would be unfit for use. About the year before mentioned, however, the tenant of a garden contiguous to the side of this building, obtained permission to break a doorway into one of the small turrets with which it abounded, to make a place of reception for his tools. This being done, it was

found to have been a vault belonging to a temple of Cloacine. On cleaning it of a considerable quantity of earth and rubbish at the bottom, there was discovered the entire skeleton of a man standing upright, with boots and spurs on, and some parts of the arms, usually borne in those days, lying at his feet. Near to this skeleton was a skull, with the iron part of an axe, with which the person had been slain, still remaining in the cleft of it. The spurs were very lately in the possession of one of the gentlemen of the church. No facts can be better attested, as some of the persons, who were present at the discovery, have only lately died. The tradition had long been considered as only an idle tale, which the vulgar are apt to adopt without examination, and report without hesitation; but now there can be no longer any doubt of the fact." OXONIENSIS.

Oxford, Sept. 26, 1811.

FROM THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

AN ACCOUNT OF PERNAMBUCO.*

THE great jealousy which the Portuguese have observed from time immemorial, in all their commercial dealings, has induced them to prohibit foreigners visiting this coast; and before the period when the Prince Regent emigrated with his court to Rio Janeiro, if any foreign vessel was discovered upon it, she was liable to confiscation, and her crew to imprisonment. But since this has taken place, as mankind in general go from one extreme to the other, we have had free access to all their ports; and to say the truth, we are now allowed, like the Jews in Turkey, to monopolize nearly the whole of their trade, even the coasting part of it. Previous to this event, we were so little acquainted with the Brazils, that in most of our maps, this place is called "Olinda, or Pernambuco," though those are in fact two separate and distinct places, the first a city, and the second a populous town, distant from each other at least three miles. As I believe no one has ever yet favoured the public with an account of either of these places, I shall be more explicit in my description, which cannot fail of being interesting, especially as it is composed from my own observations during a stay of six weeks.

Pernambuco is a large town, containing 60,000 people, and carrying on a great foreign and domestic trade. The coast near

* We heartily wish our readers in general, in foreign settlements, would imitate the conduct of this intelligent correspondent,

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it is very low, and the country well clothed with woods, in perpetual yerdure, which, contrasted with the white cottages scattered along the shore, the Indians fishing in their jungadas, or canoes, and the beautiful serene sky, affords to the European as he approaches it, a most pleasing prospect.

The town stands on a great extent of ground, and many of the houses are well built, chiefly of stone. The streets are wide and spacious, the churches are truly magnificent, and the images they contain are immensely valuable. It is supposed that the religious form one eighth part of the population; and of the continual crowd passing through the streets, they make no small portion. These people are dressed according to the order they profess, whether Carthusians, Gray Friars, or whatever it may be. One of these orders is particularly distinguishable, not only by being externally clothed very well, but by their fair round bellies, which appear to be in general well lined, and much of the same cut with that of Sir John Falstaff. These are the Carmelites.

Nearly half of the inhabitants are slaves, who are humanely treated by the Portuguese, and make good and faithful servants. There is a market appropriated purposely for these unfortunate beings, where two or three hundred are commonly seen huddled together, squatted on their hams like monkies, and completely in cuerpo. They are thus exposed for sale, having been previously rubbed over with a species of oil, which gives them a glossy, shining appearance; and, in addition, are decorated with bead necklaces and bracelets, to set them off to advantage. They seem to regard white people as a superior sort of beings, and look on one as he passes with a most vacant stare. I thought to myself, one day, whilst observing three hundred of them landing from a vessel just arrived, surely the day will come when these people will be as polished as we are, and ourselves become like the ancient Romans, only known in history.

Pernambuco stands on two islands, and is connected together by two bridges, one of which is a most beautiful structure, built by the Dutch when they took this place from the Portuguese, in 1670. It consists of fifteen arches, under which runs a strong and rapid river, that comes many hundred miles down the country.

On each side of this bridge are shops full of European merchandize, particularly English manufactures, or as they are called by the Portuguese, "fazendas inglesas." It is only in the middle that a person knows he is on a bridge, he then beholds an opening, which during the day is often full of passengers, enjoying the cool refreshing breeze that comes down the river, and gratifying themselves with the prospect, which from this spot is truly delightful. The river seen winding up as far as Olinda, which is

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