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which, it may be, the proportion of four to five do not recover now, of what recovered twenty years ago. Fifty years ago I was given to understand, that recent insanity was in almost every instance a perfectly curable disease; and thirty years ago it was confidently asserted by a person of much experience, that it was curable in nine cases out of ten; yet within the last two years I have heard it acknowledged, that at a much boasted Asylum established at a great public expense, nine out of ten did not recover.-The difference is quite sufficient to account for the truly alarming accumulation of these unfortunate fellow-beings.

Suppose there be a thousand fresh cases of insanity annually, and that we state fifteen years to be the average term of life of incurable lunatics, or, in other words, that we have always on hand the accumulation of fifteen years; if one only, (but say two out of ten,) remained incurable annually, the usual stock at that rate would be only four thousand five hundred; but if nine out of ten remained as incurable, the usual stock would be thirteen thousand five hundred; and in short, the great evils of mental complaints do in part only arise from the numbers who are visited by them or die under them, but chiefly from the great numbers who live as incurables under all the accumulating horrors of the disease. This I have often said before, and I can only hope that the repetition of it may make a proper impression.

One consolation may be entertained, even if we are to go on with the prison system for the care of pauper lunatics, and that is, the increase of the numbers will in a great measure cease at the end of the average term of life, for these poor creatures; after which, death will keep pace with the accession of fresh cases. It true, an allowance should be made for the actual increase of fresh cases, which I hold would be trifling, and I feel confident that the great accumulation spoken of, within the last twenty years, is principally, if not entirely, owing to a sudden transition from a better system of treatment, to one preposterously bad.

T. BAKEWEll.
Spring Vale, Stone, Nov. 1829.

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT. (A true Story.) MANY severe imputations in latter times have been thrown out against the friars of the Romish Church in Spain; and when the following authentic fact is read, it will

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prove that such reports have not been altogether groundless.

It happened, in the year 1812, that a Franciscan friar, belonging to the convent of Mellide, in the province of Lugo, in Galicia, named Giovanni Campana, seduced, at confession, a young woman, the daughter of a shoemaker of that place. Maria Ximenes (for so she was called) made every effort at first to resist the allurements of the wicked friar, but at last became that demon's victim. The unfortunate girl was obliged to comply with his criminal desires, rather than end her days in the horrible dungeon of the Inquisition. Frequent were the visits of the friar, who, whenever he discovered an inclination on her part to break off this correspondence, had recourse to his usual threats to intimidate her thus their meetings and assignations became so frequent, that the unhappy Maria, who repaired to the appointed places through fear, and not from any inclination, at last became pregnant by him.

The

I cannot describe to you, O reader, the consternation of the miserable young woman, who, finding herself in that state, without further dissimulation accused her betrayer, in the most bitter terms, of having robbed her of innocence and peace for ever. friar, not unaccustomed to those scenes, listened calmly; but exhorting her to be tranquil, promised to provide for all, and, in order to save her honour, but more for fear of losing his own reputation, said that he would, as soon as possible, get a husband for her. This declaration somewhat appeased her, as it was the only means now left to rescue her from infamy; and conjur ing him to effect his promise, or she would discover all to her parents, she left him. The friar had not much difficulty in finding a husband, as most of the young people of that place were his penitents.

After a few days, Paolo Nunez, a young man about twenty years old, an inhabitant of Mellide, went, according to his usual custom, to ease his conscience by relating his sins to the confessor. Scarcely had he terminated, when the friar requested that he would call at his cell the same afternoon, as he had something to propose that would be of great advantage to him. Paolo, as agreed upon, hastened to the apartment of the man he had knelt to that morning, to hear the proposal that promised him so much, when the friar thus addressed him.

"You know how well disposed I am to do good to every one, a precept enjoined by our holy religion. "Tis doubly my duty to do so for my own penitents, whom God has confided to my particular care, obliging

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me to watch over and direct their temporal | as well as their spiritual affairs. Knowing you, my dear Paolo, for a long time to be an obedient, industrious, and worthy young man, with the fear of God in your heart, I have been thinking to settle you in life, by giving you a wife capable of making you happy, fully persuaded that, with such qualifications as you possess, you will make a good husband, and a good father. It is this marriage that I have now to propose to you, by the direct inspiration of God, who suggests that I should thus reward you for having hitherto faithfully served him. The wife I selected is Maria Ximenes, whom you know to be a young woman of the strictest honour, of respectable parents, and an excellent Christian. I presume you have heard it said by all the parishioners, that Maria has always been an example to the young women of the country, as well for her charity as devotion. With the assistance of Providence, I shall be able to give you, with her, a tolerable sum as a dowry, which shall be handed to you on the day of the wedding. It now rests with you to consider my proposal, and to give me an answer." Paolo accepted the offer without hesitation, and begged that he would arrange matters so as to conclude it; adding, that he was quite ready to marry such a woman as Maria, in whose praise he had heard so much, as well because it would give him so amiable a wife. The friar, hearing the young man so well disposed to comply with his wishes, was satisfied; and promising that every thing should be speedily arranged, he dismissed him, and hastened to Maria's dwelling. He informed her, that he had found a husband, and desired her to prepare for the wedding; that he intended the same day to communicate the business to her parents, and as she had been already two months gone with child, it was necessary, without further delay, to bring matters to a speedy decision. "The young man,” continued he, "that I have pitched upon to represent your future husband, is Paolo Nunez; he is quite satisfied to marry you, and has left the business entirely to my arrangements. I hope your union will not be any hinderance to my visiting you as usual, or to our keeping up the same correspondence as for the past. You know how dear you are to me, and how much I love you, and rest assured that it will always be my endeavour to prove the constancy of my affection. You must also know, that it is my intention after a short time to send your husband into Portugal, to purchase some goods, where I can induce him to remain until you are delivered, lest he should discover your

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.....

premature pregnancy. For this object I have a sum of money ready, which I will lend, on condition that he remains there a smuggler, till such time as I shall think proper to recall him."

Maria, easily persuaded by the friar's reasoning, gave her assent to all he had proposed, and agreed to assist him. With as little difficulty he obtained her parent's consent to marry her to Nunez, (indeed the marriages between the lower classes in Spain are generally concerted by the priests and friars,) nor did he meet with any obstacle from the parents of Paolo, but, on the contrary, when he made them the proposal of the marriage he had planned for their son, they were glad to forward it, and a few days after they were united.

The new-married couple lived together about two months in good harmony, without the husband ever suspecting that his wife had any correspondence with the friar, who frequented the house constantly. They soon after fixed upon sending Nunez to Portugal, according to their former plans, to hide from him the period that would give birth to the child that she carried in her womb, and afterwards to make him believe whatever they thought proper. Nunez was easily persuaded to become a smuggler in Portugal; for when his wife made him the proposition, the friar, who was present to obviate all difficulties, offered him sufficient money to carry on the traffic he was recommended to, adding, "I have calculated, that after one year at this business, you will have gained enough to enable you, at your return, to make a better figure, and procure your living with less fatigue. As to your domestic affairs, I will see after them myself, and, deeply interested as I feel for you and for your wife, I moreover promise to assist her in whatever circumstances she may require my aid."

It needed no more than this discourse, added to all the logic of a finished hypocrite, to resolve Nunez. Scarcely had the friar ended, than he eagerly declared he would depart whenever it was his pleasure. He received the money, and letters of recommendation to some convents, situated in the country where he was to carry on his new traffic: the friar again desired him to remain there at least a year, to write to him often, and not to return without consulting him. He set out the next day, thus leaving the friar entire master of Maria, whom he visited at whatever hour of the day he thought proper.

Meanwhile, the enterprises of Nunez in Portugal were defeated by the vigilance of

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the custom-house officers, who seized the greater part of the goods he meant to have passed into that country. After this loss, finding himself without sufficient means to continue his commerce, but having still a small sum of money, he resolved to return to Mellide, with the intention of tempting fortune the next year, seeing that she was not likely to be propitious during the present. So resolved, he again set out, and arrived at home, to the great surprise of his unfaithful wife and her paramour, who never dreamed that he would so soon disturb, with his presence, the intercourse that they were enjoying with so much liberty and ease. As Nunez had had no correspondence with any one, they immediately set to work to send him off again, well knowing that the day must soon arrive when he would discover every thing, if he remained in the country.

But Nunez, to whom the wife and the friar were constantly making proposals tending to induce his departure, began to perceive that he was betrayed by them, and determined to continue his former occupations, to till his own ground, and not to undertake any commerce out of his native soil. Seeing that it was impossible, by the most flattering promises, to prevail on him, they formed the horrible project of murdering him, and then throwing his body into the river Minho, persuading themselves that the crime would remain undiscovered, as they had spread a report that he was again about to depart; so that after effecting their execrable intentions, they could easily make it be believed that he was gone on a new journey. suspicion of Nunez once awakened, increased more and more every day; and, the better to discover the conduct of his wife, he took a boy, of about ten years old, into his service, and confided to him the task of espying their actions. Short, however, was the period that they allowed the ill-fated Nunez to discover their many heinous actions. During one of their infamous conferences, they swore to each other to put into execution, without further delay, their devilish projects.

The

The evening of the 7th of December, the friar, in concert with the wife, concealed himself in a small chamber adjoining that of his destined victim, earnestly recommending Maria to caress him more than usual, to give him his supper, and to make him drink as much as possible. The crafty woman chose the hour that the friar had appointed to introduce him to his hiding-place, to send the boy to a neighbouring tavern for some wine, that he

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might not be aware of the horrible secret.

Wearied by the labours of the day, the unfortunate Nunez sought his home, thinking to repose his tired limbs in the arms of his wicked consort. Unusual kindness, and false demonstrations of affection, were prodigally lavished by the subtle and perfidious wretch, who, in the same moment, meditated how to assist the hand that was ready to imbrue itself in her husband's blood. He supped tranquilly, and, not doubting the allurements of his fawning wife, drank plentifully, and throwing himself on his contaminated bed, gave himself up to a profound sleep. Not many minutes were passed, when she admitted the friar into the chamber, and presented

to him the innocent victim that was to be | inhumanly slaughtered by such barbarous hands. Without seeming to discompose himself, he grasped the murderous weapon he always carried with him, and signing to the wife to hold him down by the hair, with repeated stabs perforated his breast. The single, acute, and languid groan, which escaped the dying man, awoke the poor boy, who slept in a room over that in which the horrible homicide was perpetrated.

Affrighted and trembling, he ran to the chamber, and, oh! horrible spectacle! he saw his master swimming in his own blood, languidly drawing his last breath, his eyes fixed towards heaven, as if imploring vengeance. At such a sight an involuntary shout escaped him, which startled the friarassassin, who, still plunging at his victim's heart, was not conscious of the boy's arrival; he now sprang at him like a tiger, and already was his hand uplifted to silence him for ever, when Maria, relenting for a moment, seized his arm, and hindered the fatal blow. Moved by her supplications, and covering himself with the mantle of hypocrisy, he entreated the boy to forgive his zeal, making him believe that heaven had ordered its vengeance to be thus executed by him on an impious and heretical being, menacing him with the same end, if he dared to reveal a word.

Profiting by the darkness of the night, wrapped in a sheet, they carried between them the bleeding corpse to the river that flowed not far from the house, and consigned it to its torrent, and then quietly returned home, as if nothing had happened. Many days passed over without any thing being discovered; but early one morning a corpse was found not many miles distant, on the bank of the river, that proved, after many inquiries, to be that of Nunez. This

news coming to the ears of Maria, she grew pale and terrified, her countenance confessed the crime, and would bave betrayed her, but the friar, who watched vigilantly all her motions, hearing, too, from the inhabitants, that there were strong suspicions against her, began to fear the result, and determined to hide his crimes by committing new ones.

Without any further deliberation, he went to her house, and, feigning serenity, endeavoured to comfort her by deceitful illusions, hiding the horrible design he had purposed to execute in the night, to murder her and the boy, thinking that as there then would exist no testimony of his guilt, it would for ever remain concealed. He stayed with her the remainder of the day, under pretext of not abandoning her a prey to the fear that too openly manifested itself. Supper was prepared, and both, apparently more tranquil, enjoyed once more their criminal commerce. Maria then fell asleep, but scarcely had she closed her eyes, when the cursed friar, who waited but the moment to gorge on blood, with the same dagger that was still stained with her husband's, pierced her heart; then, with a demon-like fury, springing from the bed, rushed on the innocent boy, and barbarously butchered him. Hastening to remove the remaining proofs of his guilt, he enveloped the body of Maria in a sheet, and hurried with it to the well-known river, and, having thrown it in, without loss of time repaired for the boy, and, still running, directed his steps to the same spot.

At this moment, some officers of justice, who happened to be passing, on perceiving a man running with a load on his shoulder at such an hour of the night, and suspecting him to be a robber, pursued and arrested him. Imprisoned, after various examinations, he was at length fully convicted, and publicly confessed all his atrocities. He was then sent to Valladolid, to be there stripped of every sacerdotal order by the most reverend Senor Valcarcel, bishop of that city, and, sentence of death having been passed against him, he was left to suffer the just punishment of his many crimes.

But at that period, the Spanish people, blinded by religious fanaticism, did not believe that crime could exist with those vestments they were used to kiss with veneration, and thought it a sacrilege to lay hands on religious persons. The nefarious Campana knew well how to profit by the popular superstition, and contrived to remain in prison, till the arrival of the

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French army in 1822, when, by order of that government, the just sentence was executed.

ESSAY ON POETRY.

POETRY is one of the most ancient and sublime arts that adorn the intellectual hemisphere of the world. Some of the first lispings of human genius have fallen from the exalted and ethereal strain of poetic song. Sentiment has been invested with an immortality when poured in the harmonies of verse, and swelled in the pathos of poetic composition. In the most barbarous aboriginal conditions of human society, the unenlightened wanderer of the wilds, and the inhabitant of the thick-clad forest, have poured forth the feeling of their spirits in the language of song: and though their compilation was not refined, and graced by the principles of modern art, yet there was the reign of nature's music, not less pathetic and melting, than that which rolled from the Grecian muse, or the chorus of the classic lyre.

Many are the definitions that have been given of the art of poetry, and, perhaps, none of them are satisfactory to the human mind. Some have confined this region to fiction. Others call it the imitative art. Poetry may consist of a realm of fiction, and ideal creations of imaginary grandeur; but her angel-pen is also used to embellish and magnify that which does really exist, by comparison, allusion, figure, and metaphor. The panorama of a starry sky may swell into a greater magnificence, and the landscape of nature's paradise may be enriched with the colouring of poetic art, and shine in the fires of a brilliant imagination. The province of poetry is to beautify, imitate, describe, illustrate, and to please. all ages, it has been a species of literature welcome to the human mind. The remotest annals of learning, receding far in the lapse of time, exhibit specimens of this art, extricated from the world of oblivion, and vibrating on successive ages from the cultivation of song and poesy. This art is the offspring of imagination and passion. It received its birth with the infancy of the human mind; her song pealed with the anthems that echoed round our rising orb in the immensity of the sky.

In

Long ere prose had originated with the historic pen of Herodotus, poetry was the vehicle of religion, history, and tradition, in the primæval stages of time. The Hebrews, the most transcendent in this sublime region, rolled their praises to heaven in sacred poetic effusions. Their

compositions are not less magnificent and beautiful than the most elevated flights of the Homeric wing, or less brilliant than the most splendid versions of the Miltonian mind. The Greeks ascribed this art to their gods, and gave it a birth-place in the abodes of their fabulous heaven; whence it was transmitted to earth by some visitant from the spheres of immortal music, and the elysian residence of their deities. The fascinating history of Apollo transports the imagination to those scenes of brightness, where the god of melody, attended with the majestic train of the Graces and the Nine, swept the vales with their chorus, and shed music on the delirious waters of Hypocrene. The Greeks did not confine this divine art to this ter restrial sphere, but supposed the minstrelsy of Apollo floating on the winds of the even, and ringing through the wide extended regions of the universe, as he rode with the swiftness of Pegasean wing.

If this branch of literature had not been admired and cultivated by mankind, some of the most astonishing emanations of human genius would have died away with the silence of revolving time, nor would those thoughts that flashed on the darkness of an unrefined age, have enkindled the poetry of many days. How many literary gems, enshrined in the splendour of poetic beauty, have been transmitted to posterity, when, without this permanent envelopment, they would have sunk in the depths of nonexistence. The immortal wings of poetry and imagination have conveyed the genius of the ancient muse down the successive ages of time.

This intellectual pyramid still points towards the zenith of mind, and reflects, from its magnificent form, the scintillations of those fires that shine in the starry spheres of poesy. How great the acquisition to literature, bestowed by the productions of the "three poets in three distant ages born." They winged their concave journey in the sunny orbit of imagination; more permanent and splendid than the aphelion of a moment, their systems are fixed in the vertex of their hemisphere, shedding a light over the lesser orbs of poetic genius.

Poetry is not only an ornament to the region of learning, but is of great utility to many branches of art and science.Physics, morals, philosophy, and eloquence, summon the aid of this celestial power, to embellish their various fields with the glories of her exalted nature. The orator may visit this shrine, to add a pathos and a beauteous rhetoric to his diction. The human mind is giddy with ecstacy,

133.-VOL. XII.

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while the musical cadence of his composition falls on the ear, and when the thoughts that breathe, vibrate on the listening spirit of man. This is a realm adapted to various dispositions of mind and taste.

It is a world where the thunder of the spheres echoes with storm, and where the lightning is sporting on the darkness of the sky. Her vision can unfold the contending elements clashing in one tremendous combustion. Or, the more temperate mind may enter an elysium of sweets, where fairy spirits gambol in their silvery bowers, and harp on the foliage with their softest song; where fancy may ride on crystal waves, rolled by the zephyr of heaven, or rest where the fountain pours whiteness through the emerald plains. It is a scene alike of majesty and simplicity, of grandeur and mildness, of splendour and softness, of day and of night, of light and of darkness. Here the strain of sacredness may be heard, and the festivity of a spirit's jubilee. Here the chorus of a star-song breaks on the silence, and the whisper of solitude lulls the soul to dreams of contemplation. Her theme extends wide as the magnificence of the material creation, and her wing soars to the altitude of intellectual grandeur. Her spirit wanders over the universe of space in the chariot of imagination; starting from starry orbs and complicated systems, to join the music of the spheres, in the empire of eternal melodies. Poetry can utter the language of the soul, and bind kindred spirits into harmonious chime. She possesses a magic influence that overwhelms the human mind, and conducts the intellect into the existence of the sublime, and the worlds of imaginary paradise.

The visions of the poet unfold the most pleasing scenes of nature. He views with rapture the extended landscape swelling at intervals in lofty mountains, and the vales bending with a vista of endless sweets and delights. An ecstacy is poured from the harmony of birds, while beneath the starry canopy of heaven they tune their chorals to the listening night. His soul is not confined in the narrow sphere of a stoical selfishness, but his imagination expands wide as the universe; he resides in the higher domains of intellectual and moral being.

It is generally a poetic mind that enters the theatre of romance and fiction, exhibit. ing the versimilitude of being, and delighting the fancy with the picturesque and the beautiful; charming the contemplation with chimeras of bliss, and conducting it into the mazes of a frantic rapture, and a

E