"Gertrude," I cried aloud; the same sweet sigh answered me, and for an instant I caught the dark beam of her eye; there was no form, but I saw her own look, that deep melancholy gaze-it was but a moment and it was gone. "Gertrude," I cried again, "if it be thou, do not fly me, come to me, beloved!" A pause of deeper silence followed; my eyes were fixed on the air where I had lost her, when the shadows at the extremity of the chamber began to move like the waving of a garment; their motion at first was indefinite and hardly perceptible, but gradually increased till they parted and rolled away, leaving a brighter space in the middle. This had at first no determinate form, but soon began to assume the outlines of a human figure. I shall never forget the sensations of that moment, my hair rose, my flesh crept, and drops of sweat rolled fast down my cheeks; yet it was not fear. I cannot describe the emotion with which I watched the figure growing more and more distinct, and even when I saw the face of my own Gertrude, all thoughts of earth were swallowed up in those of eternity; I stood in the presence of a spirit, and felt myself immortal! The triumph was short, it was too like herself, the eyes were closed, but it was her own graceful form, though attenuated and almost transparent-her own face, pale and languid, but oh, how beautiful! at last the eyes opened-they alone were unchanged, and they gazed on me with a tenderness I could not bear-I sunk on my knees and hid my face, I felt her approach; I did not raise my eyes, but I knew she was near me by a glow of more than human happiness; a hand was laid upon my head-" Hermann," said the same sweet voice, "dear Hermann! but one year more!" and the sound floated away. I looked up, she was already disappearing, she smiled on me, and the form faded, and the shadows gathered over it.

I had sunk on the floor exhausted; the first feeling I remember, was one of unutterable grief and loneliness; but the next was joy at the thought that I was not to endure it long" but one year more and I shall be with thee forever." I could not feel more certain of any fact of my own experience, than that Gertrude was dead, and I should soon follow.'

This is the apparition of a very poetical imagination, and in the light, evanescent colouring in which it is revealed, reminds us of the delicate spirits of Ossian, through whose 'shadowy forms the stars were dimly seen to twinkle.'

We will make an extract from one more piece only, 'The Voyage of Discovery.' It is the sketch of a lively fancy, and professes, in a letter from the North Pole, to give an account of that hitherto undiscovered region of fairy-work. The natNew Series, No. 10.

43

ural phenomena of the polar seas are well set off in the embellishments of a playful imagination.

To those who are fond of building castles out of the summer cloud, I would by all means recommend a voyage into the northern seas; as there is an infinite deal more variety, more of the sublime, more of the grotesque and fanciful, in the clear blue ice, which here shoots up like a steeple glittering in the sun to the height of a hundred fathoms-there floats majestically a huge ruined castle, with its moat and drawbridge, its massive archway, its mighty battlements, its broken galleries and crumbling towers. Sometimes a whole Dutch city seems to be moving over the face of the waters; every thing square and regular, the shiny roofs just peering above the waves, and, upon a nearer view, the very terraces and stoops, where I have imagined I could discern the rich burgomaster himself, puffing his tranquil pipe. And then by a sudden turn of the ice, it would change into an India fleet under full sail, royal and studding-sails stretching to the wind, every thing full of life and motion. Or, as it bore down upon me, some mighty cavern would open to my view, where I could distinctly see the solemn interior of a Gothic church; the dark vaulted roof, the long pillared aisle, and the pointed window, while the blue rays darting from within seemed to shed a glory over the whole. And then again the scene would shift to a rich and various landscape, mountains and rivers, fields and forests, cities and villages growing into view.'

The adventurous navigator arrives at the capital, and is presented at the very court of Winter, and in the palace of his frozen majesty is unexpectedly introduced to several notable personages, with whom he had before some slight acquaintance in his own country.

I instantly knew that I must have arrived at the chamber of the Winds, and, looking upward, I beheld a crowd of spirits drawn up in the threshold to oppose my passage, who were blowing at me with all their might. Two, who stood foremost in the group, were particularly formidable. The nearest of these, who had just crawled out of a deep and murky den upon my right, had a dark, sour, weatherbeaten face, which I could but just discern through the thick mist in which he was enveloped, and under which I observed him endeavouring to conceal a rough and ragged-edged knife. I immediately recognized him as one of the great leaders of the Winds, known with us by the name of North-Easter, who is accustomed to sit and watch at the entrance of our cities and harbors for whole weeks together; and if peradventure he should catch any unlucky wight upon his way, unprotected by an impe

netrable coat of mail, he pounces upon him, as a spider upon his prey, wraps him in his mantle of fog, as in a cobweb, drags him to his den, and there murders him at leisure with his dull and torturing implement of death.

The other I took to be Boreas. He was a tall, active, athleticlooking fellow, with a fine open countenance, though exceedingly fierce, and in his right hand he brandished a double-edged sword, that was as bright and as sharp as a razor. I took care not to get quite within its reach, though, as he sometimes made a blow at me, I felt myself almost cut in twain by the mere wind of the stroke.

While I stood hesitating on the course to be pursued in this extremity, a figure, clothed in black armor, made its appearance in the back ground. As it drew nearer, I perceived that it was a short, thick-set, middle-aged man, of a grave demeanor, and rather a heavy-moulded countenance, but about whom there was still something uncommonly attractive; for, as he beckoned me to him, which he did without altering a muscle of his face, I felt myself moving in the same sort of way, and with as little will of my own as the straws on an electric plate. My musket first started off in a right line with its muzzle towards him, and then, as if pulled by an irresistible weight, the arm which was holding it followed;-one of my legs next flew up at right angles to the other, and presently my whole frame began to glide along, like one of the side-scenes of a theatre, with an accelerated velocity, the winds opening to the right and left for my passage, until I came musket and leg slap up against the grave gentleman in black. I was about to apologize for the awkwardness of the situation; but he had turned his back upon me at the instant of our meeting, and, without uttering a single syllable, or seeming to mind the shock in the least, began to climb the steep and slippery ascent, drawing me after him, without stopping to permit any change of position, in the same odd and mysterious way. Surely, thought I, (for I did not dare to open my lips,) this can be no less than that mighty wizard of the north, whom we are accustomed to call Magnetism!

The huge cavern, into which we were travelling, grew darker and darker as we receded from its entrance, till at length we were in perfect gloom, when a dazzling light flashed suddenly before me, and I beheld, a little above, a most beautiful female, clad in a robe of fire, leaping from crag to crag, in a thousand fantastic attitudes, and constantly dancing before us, like the celebrated Will-of-the-wisp. Nothing could be more resplendent than the arched roof of icicles, and the pale green pillars which supported it, illuminated by this living flame, which glanced and glittered from every peak. From the brilliance of the figure, the rapidity and eccentricity of her motions, I took her to be Electri

city; and I could plainly perceive, from certain side-long glances and coquettish airs, that she had taken a great shine to my sable conductor.'

The piece throughout is in good keeping, written with a sprightly humor, and although without a moral either obvious or implied, is upon the whole as creditable to the work as any thing in it; and the personifications are sometimes delineated with a graphical spirit, not unworthy of a disciple of Spenser. We have said, that there is no moral inculcated by this article; but we do not think the worse of it, or of the work in general, on that account. Fine writing, simply as such, maintains as wholesome an influence over the character, as most poetry, painting, sculpture, or any other of the fine arts, Which, though to the eye

Idlesse it seem, hath its morality,'

by furnishing another source of innocent recreation, and by withdrawing the ever craving appetite of man, from the pleasures of sense, to the purer pleasures of the intellect. This consideration should have weight with those who, measuring works of this description by their cynical standard of cui bono? do not consider that a good moral purpose may be effected, although no direct moral precept is inculcated. There are several other pieces of merit in this little work, but we have not room for further extracts; and we shall content ourselves with the observation, that we think it in general more successful in the display of mere invention, than in that of deep sentiment, or of comic humor.

The good or bad consequences, which we have stated, as resulting from that variety observable in the Club Room, are in no way applicable to the Idle Man, which as obviously is, for the most part, the work of one hand. The same coloring of sentiment is spread over ever part-the comic, the tender, or the indifferent; the scene may be changed, but the coloring is the same. In the portraits of character throughout the work, it is still the same; and the heroes of the more prominent pieces have but one personal identity, under the modification of different circumstances, and this identity they enjoy in common with the Idle Man, who of course takes upon himself all the unappropriated speculations in the book. It is, indeed, true, that one or two other outlines of character are attempted, in which we think the author's success is somewhat equivocal. The one above mentioned is that of a person

of natural sensibility, nurtured from infancy in the most perfect domestic seclusion, in the society of his books, his own thoughts, and of nature. In such company he would be likely to learn very little of what is called the world, and to be but indifferently accommodated to its necessities. We, accordingly, find him of a dreamy, enthusiastic temper, building castles of the brain, and, in the dearth of foreign nourishment, refining and feeding upon his own sensibilities. He becomes morbidly alive to such little troubles as most men would shake off in the eagerness of worldly occupation. But, on the other hand, he is exquisitely sensible to much that is imperceptible to worldly eyes in the retired beauties of nature. His heart expands under the influence of a wide benevolence that takes in every object in the creation;

'Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.'

Now this, although an amiable and a beautiful character, is more likely to excite deep interest in a few, than favor in the hearts of many; because the generality of men, either from constitution or habit, have too little in common with this cultivated sensibility, to feel corresponding emotions: And we think that the advantages which the work before us derives, from unity of character, are counteracted in some degree by the peculiar and unassimilating features of that character. We will now introduce the author to our readers, in a short extract from his own exordium, in which he is led into the following just reflections on the labors of periodical composition.

I know that it is an arduous undertaking for one whose mind rarely feels the spring of bodily health bearing it up, whose frame is soon worn by mental labor, and who can seldom go to his task with that hopeful sense sustaining him, which a vigorous and clear spirit gives to the soul. To know that our hour for toil is come, and that we are weak and unprepared-to feel that depression or lassitude are weighing us down, when we must feign lightness and mirth or to mock our secret griefs with show of others not akin, must be the fate of him who labors in such a work. This is not all. When our work is done, and well done, the excitement which employment had given us is gone-the spirits sink down, and there is a dreadful void in the mind. We feel as powerless as infancy, till pushed to the exertion of our strength again. Even great success has its terrors. We fear that we shall never do so well again; and know how churlishly the world receives from us that which will not bear comparison with what we have given them before.