SAT weeks, among the rocks with which this coast is defended, Fiving upon fish, and whatever else providence cast in their way." p pod nie bode They now thought that it was high time to separate, which they did, and David, after many hair-breadth escapes, and under various disguises, arrived at his own house, and concealed himself in a small wood at no great distance from it. His cottage had been repeatedly searched since his escape; and the very night on which he came home, a party of soldiers visited it, and not finding him, went away. A He continued to live in this place some months, supported by whatever he could coine at, and the scanty supply his family could afford; having the heavens for his covering, and the earth for his bed continually in danger of being taken.' The Whigs about this time were in arms. After gaining the battle of Drumclog, he joined their standard, and fought at Bothwell-Bridge. He was one of those who defended the bridge, where he received two slight wounds; and was on that account, obliged to surrender himself to Monmouth, by whom he was carried to Edinburgh, along with the other prisoners taken at that disastrous battle. རྒྱུུ་མཛཱཏྠཱ When brought to trial, his escape from the Bass being clearly proven; and his being taken at Bothwell-Bridge not denied; he received sentence to be transported to North America for life. He was sent thither, along with several hundreds of his fellow sufferers. The wounds he received at the battle were completely cured during the voyage, so that Ire, upon his arrival, had very severe tasks to perform. He was ordered to assist in forming the fortifications of one of the new cities-next to clear out a piece of ground from trees,and lastly, to assist, though much against his will, in a war against the Indians. He continued for seven years, to perform these, and the like tasks; during which time, he did not hear a single word from his family. Hemid Being ordered one day, along with a party of soldiers, to attack a number of Indians, who were in arms a long way up the country he contrived to make his escape during the march, knowing that he was in the vicinity of a Dutch settlement. It would take up a much greater space than my limits can afford, to recount all the accidents, which befel hiin during his way thither; suffice it to say, that he arrived at the colony, where a ship lay on the eve of departing for Holland. David easily got himself engaged to be taken there, for his work during the passage. After a long and tempestuous voyage, they arrived in Holland. The Prince of Orange was at this time busily engaged in fitting out a fleet, for the invasion of Britain. David enlisted into his army, and after serving under him, till he had compelled James to abdicate the British throne, he returned to Scotland, where he was received with open arms, by his family, who had long concluded him dead. He now lived very happily, being as he said, enjoying the blessings of the gospel, pure and government." Relieved from slavery,' and undefiled, under a happy ) & 697 in bonuso Comel binew wirf zodi do dw action MARIA FREEMAN; OR, THE VICTIM OF SEDUCTION.H SEDUCTION! by what appellation shall I call thee. If there be one more detestable than another; if there be one crime which calls louder for vengeance than another it is thine, thou offspring of the devil-thou disgrace to hunian nature; and if there be one character more execrable than another, surely it is that of the seducersi bost-fit bus dugongi red bosang ad 19 Maria Freeman was, the only daughter of an industrious villager in Renfrew-. sbirei inore remarkable for the simplicity and honesty of his dealings, than the extent of this wealth or the celebrity of his name; and a more charming girl was universally allowed not be found in the whole parish. Her eyes were jet, black her hair was auburn and her shape was exquisitely handsome. In state of obscure, though unblameable, poverty, she attained her eighteenth, year; and though admired as the most charming girl in the parish, none was possessed of greater modesty than Maria Freeman. The charms of her mind, if possible, eclipsed those of her person. Her education, if not complete, was superior to that of many of her companions. Thus, in guileless simplicity, passed the days of Maria Freeman; but the hour was approaching which was to blast the opening prospect of her future felicity, which was to wither in the bud the opening flower. That heart which now beat in peace and happiness, was soon to throb in anguish and woethose tears which were often shed at the fictitious tale of woe, were soon to flow for her misfortunes—that soul which now was pure as purity itself, was soon to be contaminated with the taint of depravity: but why should I anticipate? At this period, Captain Bd arrived at C House, where his brother then resided to an elegant person, he added the most insinuating address, and engaging manners. No sooner did his eye light upon Maria Freeman, than he resolved to seduce her. Finding her deaf to all his unmeaning flattery and polite attentions, he turned his method of attack, and addressed her with all the seeming sincerity and devotion of an ardent lovers Jon Her vanity was gratified by the attention of one so much her superior of one who solemnly swore and protested to love her eternally. Unfortunately, salas! she believed his protestations, and wandered from the path of rectitude. For some months she lived in expectation of his promises of marriage being realized, which he so often swore to perform. Days passed away, and every day her situation became more more critical. She told her lover her fears, and her dread of exposure. His manner was now visibly changed; however, he promised that a few days all would be well; but what was her astonishment, when next morning, she learned that Captain Bd had set out for London. It was too much for human nature to bear, and she fainted away. She fe scovered, but her reason was gone. She stared wildly around and talked indoherently. It was a cold November night, when the shades of evening were rapidly, deforming the face of nature, when she was observed to leave her faother's house; but as she usually wandered about, no suspicion arose whither she would goo go. Wildly she wandered along, beedless whether she was going. The cold wind pierced her slight garments, and carried its chill to her son: unmindful of the pelting of the pitiless storm' she huuried along. The lightning's vivid and uncertain glare was now her only director. The thunder, in noisy peals, now rattled awfully over the murky horizon, and died away on the distant hills. The blast still raged with unabated violence, but it raged unregarded by the wretched Maria. To add to the awfulness of the moment, the pangs of childhood seized her; in agony she fainted away, nor did she recover till the faint cries of a helpless infant caught her ear. What imagi powerful to conceive, or what judgment as accurate as describe the awfulness of the state of Maria Freeman I will not attempt to describe her innocent and ill-fated infant to her breast, to that breast its pressed by the cold blast of the storm. She folded the son of her was た youth in her last embrace. Tears of love fell on the chilled cheek of this son face which she was soon to behold no of wretchedness, Sheer of the fatherless, then clasping her more. She uttered a prayer to the wretched son to her breast, she closed her eyes in eternal sleep. In this condition next morning she was found, and the body of her little son lying cold and stiff on the body of his unfortunate but lovely motherlod: hus; 1897 JOHN BASHFUL. poster mad to opt soldiezoq ti om te tude of sonoqua 9/13 tud: CRT / FINE ARTS. T ot rod te VALUABLE ANTIQUARIAN DRAWINGS have given We know not whether, under the above head, we ought not to have given our readers a raisonnee catalogue of what might be considered, by some desperately smitten amateurs, as INVALUABLE performances. They are at this moment in the possession of that skilful tradesman, and most upright and honourable man, Mr. Colnaghi-but only on trust: being the property of some German, resident (if we understood correctly) at Augsburg. As Mr. Dominic Colnaghi, his son, purposes giving a methodical catalogue of these drawings, These perform -we shall necessarily be brief-but, as we trust, to the pointdiews of cities ances are slightly coloured outlines, or wash drawings, being views of cities and public edifices in Rome, Naples, and LONDON: and as they were executed evidently on the spot-between the years 1552 and 1559, by a Flemish artist, of the name, we think, of Antonio Von Finden or Flinders, th they cannot fail to be of singular value and interest to every Briton in particular. We do not happen to have seen the Italian Views; but having seen the British, we can accurately describe them though necessarily with Brevity. hogilssin Those relating to the eastern part of London are singularly interesting. the first place, one has Suffolk House, in the Borough, of which not only every Vestige is destroyed, but not a relic of a coeval drawing remains. St. Saviour's, St. Mary Overy, and the Tower, strike, us in a variety of views. Durham Palace, Ely House, Westminster Hall, and, above all, Ola St. Paul's with the spire on the tower, have most uncommon attractions. But it is out of London that the artist more particularly shines. Here are two such views of the magnificent old palace of Oatlands an interior of the quadrangle, and an exterior-as made his Royal Highness the Duke of York, when he visited Mr. Colnaghi, the other day, sit absorbed in delightful meditation for one whole hour before them. Nor are the views of Richmond and Hampton Court less minute and interesting; while those of Greenwich Palace are almost entirely new to the antiquary. Seated before such representations, we fancy burselves living in the period of Queen Mary; while the raised scaffold on Tower Hill, as it stood ready to receive the trunkless heads traitors, gives one an involuntary shuddering.. These views are oblong and narrow: perhaps averaging 3 feet in length by about 14 inches in height. Hither come droves of antiquaries to inspect them. If Sir Harry Englefield were alive, he would necessarily hire Mr. Colnaghi's first floor. Sir Thomas Lawrence, we learn, sighs deeply to possess them; and the Council of the Society of Antiquaries is already shook to its very centre, in agitations about purchasing them. We hope they will go to Somerset House; for there they ought to go. A hundred names are already down, as those of subscribers for engraved copies; but we regret to hear that the German proprietor asks such a fantastically high price for the originals which are, after all, merely slight performances, but of undoubted interest to the antiquary. In dismissing this notice of such treasures, one wonders, and one sighs, rot to find a view of Non-such among them. Doubtless it must have been taken. We earnestly hope that if ever these drawings are engraved they will be faithfully engraved without any attempt at improvement. Mr. Colnaghi, Jun, supposes, and with great strength of probability, that these views were taken by the Flemish artist, whose name they bear, at the express order of King Philip, on his marriage with Mary. We wish that Monarch had done every thing in such a good haste. The Loves of the Angels, a Poem. By THOMAS MOORE." Svo. 9se Longman & Co. 1823. THERE are several points in the subject of the poem, which render it pe culiarly suitable to the genius and taste of Mr. Moore. Luxuriant thought," glowing language, splendid imagery, a union of the sensual with the sentimental, a preponderance of the animal propensities over the intellectual faculties, are possibly, if not properly and of necessity, incidental to it; and no one who is acquanted with what Mr. M. has written, from Little's Poems to Lalla Rookh, will imagine that these are foreign to his manner. It does indeed happen, that there is a moral appended to this mythos, which funis runs counter to all that he has ever sung: but the powerfully disposed bias of his genius fairly runs away with this; and if its voice is occasionally heard in the progress of the poem, it sounds but like the faint bleatings of a sacrificial lamb sent up feebly amid the songs of the priests, and the obstreperous din of musical instruments. 毒 There are interspersed throughout this poem many exquisite passages, full of the tenderest sentiment-some too that breathe pure and virgin thoughts: but we cannot disguise to ourselves this truth-that the muse of Mr. M. when most indulged, scems even in this poem to be most in her native element, and to be occupied with business most congenial to her disposition, when she is the herald of seduction. But let us do justice to the poet, by déclaring, that although we consider his works generally calculated to make pleasant the paths that are dangerous, he seems, in the present instance, to have somewhat moderated the wonted prurience of his imagination, and that he has not dwelt so much as hath been his wont, on the black endearments' that 'makę sin pleasing. The construction of this poem, in its present state, is very simple. It is necessary to mention that it was originally intended as an episode to a larger work, and that it is now published in its present form, that it might not appear after a drama, written on the same subject by Lord Byron, which is REVIEW. 6 31 about to make its appearance instantly. A passage in the apocryphal book of Enoch, gives the foundation of the poem. It happened, after the sons of men had multiplied in those days, that daughters were born to them elegants and beautiful; and when the Angels, the sons of heaven, beheld them, they › became enamoured of them,hqna z Of the moral Mr. M. shall speak for himself; we think, however, that some odd thoughts must have passed through his mind when he wrote the) following passagem do dub san I doidw In addition to the fitness of the subject for poetry, it struck me also as capable of, affording an allegorical medium, through which might be shadowed out (as I have endeavoured to do in the following stories,) the fall of the Soul from its original purity the loss of light and happiness which it suffers, in the pursuits of this world's perishable pleasures and the punishments, both from conscience and Divine justice, with which) impurity, pride, and presumptuous inquiry into the awful secrets of God, are sure to be visited. The beautiful story of Cupid and Psyche owes its chief charm to this sort, of veiled morning, and it has been my wish (however I may have failed in the attempt) to communicate the same moral interest to the following pages. thus The poem opens Told his first birth-days by the sun; Rejoicing, men and angels met 1 han in these days of crime and woe, Gazing upon this world below. One evening, in that time of bloom, On a hill's side, where hung the ray Of sunset, sleeping in perfume, Three noble youths conversing lay; To the far sky, where Daylight furl'd The echo of His luminous word? And balmy evening's influence Each told the story of his love, Won down by fascinating eyes, A spirit of light mould that took #T The prints of earth most yieldingly, relates his having seen one of earth's fairest woman-kind bathing in a brook: Pausing in wonder, I look'd on, suizolg C While, playfully around her breaking air وتا s Of that small lake her mirror still- |