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the principal witness, Mrs. Clarke; and it was evidently expectation of gain that had brought this lady to the bar as an evidence. Next occurred, in the calm moments of retrospect, the great improbability that his Royal Highness ever could know on what terms she negociated with those in whose favor she solicited. It may be well supposed she concealed the motive for interesting herself in such as were his own favored rivals, and what greater probability was there, that she should explain to him her mercenary speculations, or distinguish them from the intercessions which she made upon more honorable motives! When the matter of accusation was thus reduced to his Royal Highness's having been, in two or three instances, the dupe of an artful woman, men began to see, that when once the guilt of entertaining a mistress was acknowledged, the disposition to gratify such a person, who must always exercise a natural influence over her paramour, follows as a matter of course. It was then that the public compared the extensive and lengthened train of public services, by which the Duke had distinguished himself, in the management of the army, with the trifling foible of his having granted one or two favors, not in themselves improper, at the request of a woman who had such opportunities to press her suit; and, doing to his Royal Highness the justice he well deserved, welcomed him back, in May, 1811, to the situation from which he had been driven by calumny and popular prejudice..

In that high command his Royal Highness continued to manage our military affairs. During the last years of the most momentous war that ever was waged, his Royal Highness prepared the most splendid victories our annals boast, by an unceasing attention to the character and talents of the officers, and the comforts and health of the men. Trained under a system so admirable, our army seemed to increase in efficacy, power, and even in numbers, in proportion to the increasing occasion which the public had for their services. Nor is it a less praise, that when the men so disciplined returned from scenes of battle, ravaged countries, and stormed cities, they reassumed the habits of private life as if they had never left them; and that of all the crimes which the criminal calendar presents, (in Scotland at least,) there are not above one or two instances in which the perpetrators have been disbanded soldiers. This is a happy change since the reduction of the army, after peace with America in 1783, which was the means of infesting the country with ruffians of every description; and in the prison of Edinburgh alone, there were six or seven disbanded soldiers under sentence of death at the same time.

This superintending care, if not the most gaudy, is amongst the most enduring flowers which will bloom over the Duke of York's tomb. It gave energy to Britain in war, and strength to her in peace. It combined tranquillity with triumph, and morality with the habits of a military life. If our soldiers have been found invincible in battle, and meritorious in peaceful society when restored to its bosom, let no Briton forget that this is owing to the paternal care of him to whose memory we here offer an imperfect tribute.

* The British Government meantime had to struggle with difficulties at home as well as abroad, and of the most unexpected kind. During the former part of the year parliament was occupied with an inquiry into the conduct of the Duke of York as commander-in-chief, which ended in his resigning the office. The circumstances which were disclosed rendered this resignation becoming and necessary; but perhaps there never was another instance in which the reaction of public opinion was at once so strongly and ɛo justly manifested. For when the agitation was subsided which had been raised, not so much by the importance of the business itself, as by the unremitting efforts of a set of libellers the vilest and most venomous of their kind, it was then perceived that the accusation had originated in intrigue and malice; that the abuses which were brought to light were far less than had been supposed to exist, and that in proving them it had been proved also that the greatest improvements had been introduced into that department by his Royal Highness, and that the general administration was excellent. From that time, therefore, the Duke acquired a popularity which he had never before possessed; and the efforts which had been made with persevering malignity to ruin him in the good opinion of the nation, served only to establish him there upon the strongest and surest grounds. Southey's Peninsular War, vol. ii. "Xavier Minat, the son of a landholder who cultivated his own estate, and was

That is, in 1809.---We are happy to be able to subjoin Dr. Southey's testimony to that of Sir Walter Scott.

+ This account of Xavier Mina differs materially from that which has been published under the title of The Two Minas and the Spanish Guerillas, as extracted from the work

THE PORTFOLIO.

deputy for one of the valleys of Navarre, was a student at Pamplona when the revo-
lution began. He was then in the eighteenth year of his age, and during the earlier part
of the war had been confined to his father's house by a severe illness, from which he
recovered just after Renovales had been compelled to withdraw from Roncal. A French
commander, whose corps was encamped in the neighbourhood, sent a serjeant requiring
the father in his capacity as deputy to provide rations for his men.
peared on the road, and in consequence the house was surrounded at midnight by a de-
The serjeant disap-
tachment of infantry, who had orders to arrest the elder Mina, and bring him to head-
quarters. The son, however, had time enough to secure his father's escape, and then
in his name presented himself to the officer. The French General before whom

he was carried threatened him with death, unless the serjeant were produced; but as every thing in that quarter was to be arranged by means of money, Mina obtained his liberty after being detained three days. The party who arrested him, had plundered his father's house. This usage, the danger he had escaped, and the injustice of the whole proceeding, roused into full action those feelings which had only been suspended by disease and languor. He provided himself with a musket and a cartridge-box, and in that trim presented himself in his own village, and offered to take the command of as many Spaniards as would engage with him in the good work of avenging their country upon its invaders. Twelve adventurers joined him; they took to the near mountains, and there, while they waited an opportunity of action, maintained themselves on his father's sheep. His first adventure was to surprise a party of seven artillery-men, who were escorting two pieces of cannon and a quantity of ammunition from Zaragoza to Pamplona. This success procured him twenty volunteers. He sent off his prisoners to Lerida, retired again to the mountains, and being informed that a general officer was on the road, travelling with an escort of thirty-four foot and twelve horsemen, he laid an ambuscade for them, in so favorable a spot, that a volley was fired upon the French with sure effect before they had any apprehension of danger. The general was shot in his carriage, some of the escort were made prisoners, and some money fell into Mina's hands. This he immediately distributed among his men, recommending them to send part of it to their families, and retain no more than would be necessary to defray the expenses of their own interment, exposed as they must now continually be to death. The men were thus raised in their own esteem and in that of their countrymen wherever this was told; and volunteers now presented themselves in abundance, attracted by a success which was reported every where, with such exaggeration as such tales gather in their way. He received however none but those who brought arms, or whom he could supply with the spoils already taken from the enemy. to about threescore persons, distinguished by a red riband in their hats, and a red collar His party amounted now to their jackets.

He proceeded now towards the frontiers of Aragon, where a band of fifty robbers were adding to the miseries of that afflicted country. These he succeeded in surprising ; the greater number were killed on the spot, the rest he sent prisoners to Tarragona. --Twelve horses were taken from the party, on which he mounted some of his men, and armed them with lances; and every day added now to his numbers and his reputation. Rations were voluntarily provided for his people wherever they were expected, and given as freely at one time, as they were paid for at another from the spoils of the enemy.

He levied a duty on the passes, where a considerable trade in colonial produce was then carried on; the clergy also assisted him from their funds, and with these resources he paid and equipped his men, and kept in pay also a sufficient number of intelligencers. It was in vain that the French made repeated efforts to crush this enterprising enemy; if his troops dispersed upon the appearance or the attack of a formidable detachment, it was only to reunite, and by striking a blow in some weak point or distant quarter, render themselves more formidable than before*.

of a German officer, Captain H. Von Brandt. The German officer, who collected his information in the country, acknowledges that the accounts given upon the spot differ essentially from each other. My statement was derived from Mina himself during his short abode in England. Certainly I have never seen any person whom, from his countenance and manners, I should deem less likely to be given to such company and such courses as in that publication are imputed to him.

The name of Mina is now more than commonly interesting, which is at once our apology for introducing this extract, containing an account of his early exploits, from Dr. Southey's valuable History.

Review.

Tales of a Voyager to the Atlantic Ocean. 3 vols.

Colburn.

These are very pleasing volumes, and have, from the novelty of the scenes in which many of the stories are laid, and the fidelity with which they are described, a charm which is denied to many works much more elaborate in execution, and brilliant or interesting from the pathos, poetry, or imagination which they display. The voyager is a young man, who, for the sake of sea air, undertakes a voyage to Greenland, the preparations for which, and the adventures met with in prosecuting it, form the ground-work of the story. The tales are supposed to be related by his friends and the sailors, and refer generally to the climates and regions which they pass and visit. The ground-work, being apparently compiled from a journal, narrates incidents, and describes scenes, which, to a fastidious reader, might appear too trivial, or too well known, to be tolerated in a work of this kind. In reality, however, this is a very great merit, as it strongly increases that veri-similitude, without which, a work like the present would be without interest, however great the talent which might be employed in it. The truth of these observations is forcibly recalled to our minds by a comparison of the present volumes with Cunningham's Paul Jones," which we reviewed in our last. The volumes before us, particularly as to those parts which the author narrates himself, never rise above mediocrity in style either of description or sentiment: his eloquence, when he attempts it, is strained his wit frequently mere common-place; nor is there a single passage which we could cite as being the evidence of a mind rising beyond that of a well-educated and a sensible man. In "Paul Jones," on the contrary, it is impossible to read a page without feeling convinced that the genius of a poet was employed upon it;-traits of high and generous feeling, tenderness, and elevation; imagery, new and gorgeous, and fantastic splendour of delineation, sparkle in almost every line, and are scattered with a profusion that would be the making of a writer of Irish melodies; but we cannot help perceiving that mere invention has been more exercised than observation, and the general effect upon the mind is that of weariness and dissatisfaction. The truth of the Voyager's Tales," and the want of it in "Paul Jones," are what occasion to the former a preponderance, more to befall than described, in awakening the interest of the reader.

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The merits of "The Voyage" itself consist in its detail, not so much of the minutiæ, as of the realities which are likely to strike a young man on his first expedition. Some of them may excite a smile, such as the description of Rotherhithe and the Thames, and Yarmouth, objects faithfully recorded and delineated, something in the style of a guide-book. His narrative improves in interest as he advances on his journey, because the minuteness, which is tiresome

applied to well-known objects, is valuable when applied to such littleknown places as the Shetland Islands, and the still remoter regions.

The first complete tale is the "Nikkur Holl." It is one of Shetland superstition, in itself not very new, but to us enchanting from the visions of those desolate regions which it presents to us. Spiel Trosk and Petie Winwig are two fishermen, partners in trade. but of very opposite characters. The former becomes diverted from the industry which was rapidly raising them to wealth, by the desire of arriving at it by some fortunate event. Hunting, therefore, after wrecks and their spoils, he neglects his occupations, till poverty again approaches both, and be resolves to undertake an adventure which, suggested to him by a mysterious visitor, he had at first spurned on account of its impiety. The charm consists in his suffering himself to be wrapped in the skin of a newly slaughtered cow, and exposed on the wild heath just before midnight. He persuades Petie to ac company him to the spot, and to slaughter their only remaining cow. The scene is described with much pathos. The following is the result of the exposure.

"The simple fisherman had scarcely left his more daring partner exposed upon the wild peat bog, than, as if his departure had been a signal concerted with the demons of storm and desolation, a tempest broke forth, to which neither the experience of Spiel, nor his recollection of the reports of others, could find a parallel. It began with a glare of lightning, which exposed to his view, not only the crags and hills in his own neighbourhood, but the vallies beneath, and the sea, and the small islands which lay scattered out beyond the bay. He saw them but for a moment, but he could perceive their rocks whitened with the foam of tremendous billows, which were bursting over them; and he believed he beheld what appeared to him the vision of a large strange-built vessel, driving along, dismasted, upon the ocean. He scarcely did believe, and half doubted, that he had seen this latter object, for its figure and its crew, (whose frantic gestures he had also imagined he had distinguished,) were such as were to him before unknown. But if this sight were a mere phantom, what could have brought it before his eyes? The darkness that succeeded this wide gleam was of the deepest dye, and the peals of thunder that broke around him were as loud as though the heavens had burst in its discharge. A shower of fragments was scattered from the mountain tops, and poured down their sides, with a din and clatter more terrible than the noise of the elements. Spiel expected every moment to be crushed to pieces, or buried beneath a mass of rock, and his helpless state was now to him a source of the greatest anguish. Some of the pieces dashed nearly up to him, and others bounded past, and rushed headlong over the declivity into the dell beneath, where he could hear them rolling and splashing through the deep morass. It rained when Winwig had left him, but now a body of fluid fell down upon him scarcely divided into streams, for of drops there were none, and in an instant the surface of the quaking bog on which he lay became deluged. He suddenly found himself surrounded by water, which covered his lower extremities, leaving his head and shoulders free; for Petie had raised them on a tuft of moss, which, had he not done, Trosk would have been totally immersed. Still he felt the inundation rise, for the water-spout, or whatever else it was, continued to descend, and as he was unable to stir either hand or foot, he gave himself up to death. He would have called upon heaven, but the reflection of the iniquity in which he was engaged, choked his prayer. He would have invoked the powers of darkness, but a deepfelt horror thrilled through his frame at the idea. He endeavoured to struggle, but the hide of Luckie seemed to cling more closely to him, with an avenging embrace. He thought of Petie---where was Petie? He shouted Petie! Petie! with all his strength, but his voice was drowned in the rush and turbulence of the flood, and he strained it till its sound was only a hoarser scream. A hoarser scream replied to him, or was it echo! He screamed again, in greater agony, half hoping, half in terror; but the water filled his ears, and he knew not if he were answered. Gracious God, I perish!' murmured Spiel, as the fluid touched his lips, and passed over them: but, in the next instant, a rush, like the

hurried tumble of a cataract, faintly reached his hearing, and he felt the deluge sink from him, and leave his mouth uncovered. It subsided, however, but a little, yet enough to give him hope, and his dismay grew less. The pouring down from the clouds likewise diminished, and the pitchy blackness of the atmosphere was less intense. Gradually the fall of water became converted into a heavy shower, which continued to grow less, and glimpses of dull light broke through the mass of darkness. Spiel blessed the sight, and found his courage return; but he felt as exhausted as if he had been struggling with death, and he longed to be released from his confinement." ♦ ♦

"When he recovered, the tempest had ceased, the heavens were clear and bright with a vivid illumination, and the air was still. He was lying, not where Petie had left him, but at the foot of the ridge of eminences, bounding the little plain, and his frame seemed shaken and more powerless than before. He could now distinguish the roll of the waves on the shore, flowing as they were wont in calm weather, and he attempted to discover the time by the rise of the tide; for there was not the least sign of dawn, though the sky was brilliantly enlightened. He listened attentively, and heard not only the brawling murmur of the sea pouring among the shingles, but a burst of solemn music mingled with it---yet so faint that he was not convinced of its reality. A pause ensued---again a strain of harmony floated on the untroubled air---and again it was lost as a gust of wind swept up the dell. Again he heard it louder than before, and he fancied it approached him, and, as it continued, he believed he could distinguish the tune of a psalm he had heard sung by the crew of a Dutch herring-buss, which had been off the Skerries in the preceding summer. Nay, he fancied he could perceive voices occasionally join the notes, and sing the very words he had formerly heard; for, as I have said before, Trosk understood the language. Although, when the winds rose, he always lost the sounds of this singular concert, yet, whenever there was a lull, he was satisfied that it gradually drew nearer, and he could now trace its advance, winding slowly up the glens from below, towards that in which he was extended.

"At length it was so distinct, that he was persuaded it must have crossed the ledge that bounded the brink of the plain, and he endeavoured to raise his head, so that he might gain a view of the source of this extraordinary melody. There was a loose fragment of stone near him, and by dint of wriggling and pushing himself along like a seal, he contrived to elevate his head upon it, and, looking forth, he beheld a long and gleamy procession approaching towards him, over the quaking bog on which he had at first been laid. Sorrow and dejection were marked on the countenances of the beings composing the troop, and their habiliments appeared heavy with moisture, and dripping like fresh sea weeds. They drew close up to him, and were silent. First came the musicians, whose instruments he had heard so long and so anxiously, but he could not scrutinize them much, for, as they advanced opposite to him, they wheeled off to the right and left, and took their stations on either side. The front space was immediately occupied by a varied group, who appeared, by their deportment, to precede some object of great distinction, which, when they parted and filed off in the same manner as the band, presented itself to view.

"This was a tall, bulky, though well built man, whose capacity of belly was properly balanced by the protuberance of that part which honor has assumed to herself. His head was not little, and his face appeared rather swollen. His shoulders were wide, and were clothed in a full coat of broad cloth, fashioned after the manner of the fourth generation past. Its skirts reached below his knees, round which they curved. It was collarless, but sleeves, vastly deep, hung from the arms, the cuffs of which were adorned with cutsteel buttons, of great circumference and brightness. Broad bands of rich gold lace covered every seem and edge, more glorious in the eyes of the beholder than the setting sun, and the lappels of a quilted vest hung down from the immense orb of his bowels, heavy with the precious metal that braided them. His thighs were arrayed in breeches of scarlet velvet, silk hose disguised his legs, and large square-toed shoes covered his feet, and lent their thongs to support gold buckles of great breadth, which glittered with precious stones. On his head was placed a long, flowing, flaxen, curling wig, surmounted by a small threecornered cocked hat, buttoned up with gold bands, and a long, straight, basket-hilted sword hung, suspended in a broad buff-embroidered belt, by his side. In his hand he held a gold-headed clouded ground rattan, of great length and thickness, and close by his side walked a black boy, bearing a long, twisted, grotesquely fashioned pipe, which he occasionally offered to his lord, who stopped and gave a solemn puff or two, and then proceeded.

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