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“ As there can be no occasion for prisoners or gaolers, Of attornies, or - hangmen where there are no Magiftrates, there shall be neither hanginen, at. tornies, gaoler, or prison.”

We have thus got rid in a moment of what has embarrassed the whole world from the earliest period.

Of the Finances. There shall be established in extraordinary cases only a general and voluntary tax,"

Upon Respiration- My tax is purely voluntary, for those who do not chuse to respire will have no occafion to pay any thing," &c. &c.

The rest of it is pursued in such a strain of irony as cannot fail of delighting the reader. The satire is so exquisitely keen, that those do not feel the wound on whom it cuts the deepest, or it never could have been published in France.

Much commendation is due to the Translator, who (using his own words) has infused the spirit of the original-much commendation too is due to him for the suppression of indelicate scenes which would have precluded the modest British female from perusing the disastrous history of my Uncle : he might have fpared two or three fituations more perhaps, but “they irresistibly excited fuch pleasing emotions” that he could not find in his heart to expunge them. As a specimen of the translator's attention to Horace

Nec verbum verbo curabis reddere fidus

Interpres--he has transfused the spirit of the following passages into our own idiom.

“ The ancient mode of dying in bed was exploded. The modern one, of making a public exit into the other world, appeared to have given much more satisfaction; every one seemed pleased with it ; at least, no one said any thing about it.”-“ Vanity and self-love transform us into ftrange creatures. There is no man, however low his condition, but thinks himself superior to

I have no doubt but my shoc-black would accept the office of first consul. All I hope is that it will not be offered to him.”

With all the wit, the humour, and the satire of this work we should not have been tempted to quote fo largely from a novel but for the celebrity which it his acquired all over Europe.

every one else.



Tales of Wonder: Written and collected by M. G. Lewis, Esq. M. P.

Author of the Monk, Castle Spectre, Love of Gain, &c. 2 Vols. large

8vo. PP. 480. 21. 28. FAR TAR from being inclined to join in the cenfure which has been directed

against Mr. Lewis for compiling the present volumes, we think he is much better employed than in most of his former productions, at least, with reference to his well-known romance, entitled The Monk, a work that has tended more to vitiate juvenile minds, and poison the fountains of morality than any thing of the kind that has fallen within our notice for a long period. Indeed we hardly know of any work of fo licentious a complexion, and of fo mischievous a tendency, except the political crudities of the detestable Ci. tizen PAINE. From all that we have read or heard of Mr. Lewis and his works, he seems to us to possess a fingular turn of mind, His fancy appears




to be chiefly attracted by, and absorbed in, the terrible, the horrible, the hideous, and the impoffible; nor can we conceive what has been his bent of education that has led him into so uncommon a track of study. He certainly does not want abilities, or knowledge, bat his talents are strangely perverted, and he sometimes seems even to be employed in throwing a ridicule upon

him. self. But to the present work. It consists of as many tales as the author could collect in order to scare the minds of children, and impress a'terror upon the imagination through life. Some indeed of the compositions to be found in these volumes, are of a pathetic, interesting, and moral caft; but they bear

proportion to the works of the other tendency. Several pieces were written by Mr. Lewis himself, and others are well known. We mall extract an imitation from the German, by WALTER Scott, as a specimen of the works which these volumes.contain, as he seems to be the best of the new species of horror-breeding Bards.


GERMAN.-WALTER The tradition of the Wild Huntsmen' (Die Wilde Jager) is a popular sum perftition, very generally believed by the peasants of Germaniy. Whoever wishes for more information respecting these imaginary Sportsmen, will find bis cum riohty fully satisfied, by perusing tbe forft Volume of the German Romance of

the Necromancer;” (Der Geifter-banner.) The original of this Ballad is by Bürger, Autbor of the well-known." Leonora."

" The Wildgrave * winds his bugle horn;

To horse, to horse, halloo, halloo !
His fiery courser snuffsthe morn,

And thronging ferfs their Lord pursue.
“ The eager pack, from couples freed,

Daih through the bush, the brier, the brake;
While answering hound, and hom, and steed,

The mountain echoes startling wake.
« The beams of God's own hallow'd day

Had painted yonder spire with gold,
And, calling finful man to pray,

Loud, long, and deep the bell had told.
“ But fill the Wildgrave onward rides ;

Halloo, halloo; and hark again!
When, spurring from oppofing fides,

Two ftranger horsemen join the train,
" Who was each stranger, left and right,

Well may I guess, but dare not tell :
The right-hand iteed was silver white,
The left, the swarthy hue of hell.

The right-hand horseman, young and fair,
His smile was like the morn of May ;
The left, from eye of tawny glare,

Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. *" The Wildgrave is a German title, corresponding to the Easi Warden of a royal forest." Z 2



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" He wav'd his huntsman's cap on high,

Cry’d, " Welcome, welcome noble Lord!
" What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,

• To match the princely chase, afford ?’
- Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell," --

Cry'd the fair youth, with silver voice ;
- And for devotion's choral swell,
• Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise.
« To-day th' ill-omen'd chafe forbear ;
" Yon bell


summons to the fane : To-day the warning spirit hear,

· To-morrow thou may'st mourn in vain.'-
- Away, and sweep the glades along !'-

The sable hunter hoarse replies ;
-To muttering monks leave matin song,

And bells, and books, and mysteries.'-
The Wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed,
And, launching forward with a bound,
Who for thy drowsy priestlike rede

Would leave the jovial horn and hound ?
. Hence, if our manly sport offend :

“ With pious fools go chaunt and pray;
• Well haft thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend,
Halloo! halloo! and hark

“ The Wildgrave spurr'd his courser light,

O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill,
And on the left, and on the right,

Each ftranger horseman follow'd still.
“ Up fprings, from yonder tangled thorn,

A ftag more white than mountain snow ;
And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn,

.Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!'
" A heedless wretch has cross'd the way,--

He gasps the thundering hoofs below;
But, live who can, or die who may,

Still forward, forward ! On they go.
“ See where yon simple fences meet,

A field with Autumn's blessings crown'd;
See, proftrate at the Wildgrave's feet,
A husbandman with toil embrown'd.
"O mercy! mercy ! noble Lord;

Spare the poor's pittance,' was his cry,
• Earn’d by the fweat these brows have pour'd

• In scorching hour of fierce July."
- Earnest the righthand stranger pleads,
The left still cheering to the

prey :
The impetuous Earl no warning heeds,
But furious holds the onward way.

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• Away, thou hound so bafely born,

• Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!" Then loudly rung his bugle-horn,

• Hark forward, forward, holla, ho ! " So said, so done-a single pound Clears the


labourer's humble pale : Wild follows man, and horse, and hound,

Like dark December's stormy gale, « And man, and horse, and hound, and horn,

Destructive sweep the field along, While joying o'er the wasted corn

Fell Famine marks the madd’ning throng. Again up roused, the timorous prey

Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill ; Hard run, he feels his strength decay,

And trusts for life his fimple skill. « Too dangerous solitude appear’d;

He seeks the shelter of the crowd ;
Amid the flock's domestic herd

His harmless head he hopes to shroud.
O’er moss and moor, and holt and hill,

His track the steady blood-hounds trace;
O'er moss and moôr, unwearied ftill,

The furious Earl pursues the chase. “ Full lowly did the herdsman fall;

Lo spare, thou noble Baron, spare « Tbese herds, a widow's little all;

• These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care."-" Earnest the right-hand stranger pleads,

The left ftill cheering to the prey ; The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds,

But furious keeps the onward way. -56 Unmanner'd dog! To stop my sport

Vain were thy cant and beggar whine, • Though human spirits of thy fort

6 Were tenants of these carrion kine !'' -
Again he winds his bugle horn,

Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!'-
And through the herd, in ruthless scorn,

He cheers his furious hounds to go. 56 In heaps the throttled vi&tims fall;

Down links their mangled herdsman near ; The murd'rous cries the stag appal,

Again he starts, new-nerv'd by fear. 56 With blood belmear'd, and white with foam,

While big the tears of anguish pour, He seeks, amid the forest's gloom,

The humble hermit's hallow'd bour.

2 3

* But

" But man and horse, and horn and hound,

Fast rattling on his traces go ;
The facred chapple rung around

With hark away, and holla, ho !
“ All mild, amid the rout profane,
The holy hermit pour'd his prayer :
Forbear with blood God's house to stain

Revere his altar, and forbear!
« The meaneft brute has rights to plead,

" Which, wrong'd by cruelty, or pride, s Draw vengeance on the ruthless head ;

• Be warn'd at length, and turn aside.' « Still the fair horfeman anxious pleads,

The black, wild whooping, points the prey Alas! the Earl no warning heeds,

But frantic keeps the forward way. .66 Holy or not, or right or wrong,

Thy'altar and its rights I fpurn; « Not sainted martyrs' sacred long,

• Not God himself, shall make me turn.' " He spurs his horse, he winds his horn,

Hark forward, forward, holla, ho! But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne,

The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. " And horse and man, and horn and hound;

And clamour of the chase was gone : For hoofs and howls, and bugle sound,

A deadly filence reign'd alone. « Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around ;-

He strove in vain to wake his horn, In vain to call, for not a found

Could from his anxious lips be borne. " He listens for his trusty hounds;

No distant baying reach'd his ears ; His courser, rooted to the ground,

The quickening spur unmindful bearsa " Still dark and darker frown the shades,

Dark as the darkness of the grave; And not a found the still invades,

Save what a distant torrent gave, " High o'er the finner's humbled head

At length the folemn silence broke ; And from a cloud of swarthy red,

The awful voice of thunder spoke. " -Oppressor of creation fair!

• Apoftate fpirit's harden'd tool! Scorner of God ! scourge of the poor!

: The measure of thy cup is full,



B. Be

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