and defenceless as a new-born babe; now firm and erect-proud in the consciousness of superiority; to behold the brow from which she had so lately removed the clammy dews of sickness, now flushed with hope and glowing with returning vigour. When she witnessed these effects of her care, and tenderness-the proud being, that had it not been for her would have been a tenant of the tomb, moving a living ornament to the earth, she felt a secret glow of satisfaction-a feeling of pride she was hitherto a stranger to; and she blessed Providence for ordaining her as the agent of his benevolence. But this flow of affection was not to remain unruffled. Evan had repeatedly urged to her and her parent the impropriety of the stranger remaining in his present asylum. He spoke of the probability that the hand which was now clasped in friendship within that of his host, must shortly be raised against his life. How would they that had associated in the communion of brotherly love, meet in the field of battle, where all private feeling must be sacrificed in the cause of mankind.

These arguments came home to the baronet's breast, but did not cause his guest's immediate absence. The latter was now able to leave his room; whose arm could support him now so well as that which bore the hand that had so often smoothed his thorny pillow? Flora therefore gladly consented to become the companion of his rambles.

It was on one evening when their steps had wandered to the very glen, where she first saw him faint and helpless, that he seemed more than usually enthusiastic. He spoke of the everlasting obligations he was under to her, first in pleading on his behalf, and watching with unremitting attention, regardless of fatigue and confinement; and for all those attentions that a stranger, not to mention an enemy, could not even expect, even when no kindred or affectionate hand were near to perform the same kind offices. "Can I ever forget them, no! The vows of gratitude I have made are registered in Heaven, where they will remain in

He

evidence against me, should I ever
prove cold or ungrateful." She glanc-
ed a look of conscious belief and un-
conscious affection, and listened with a
glow of anxious feeling, when he said,
in a tone between gaiety and gravity,
"that there was one, that however
weak he might be in expressing his
sense of her kindness, would not re-
main silent or ungrateful, as the follow-
ing day would testify." Who can this
one be, thought the agitated girl? he
has seldom or never spoke of his fami-
ly, but rather avoided the topic.
had mentioned that he had a father
and a mother doatingly fond of him.
Ah! it must be his mother; for who,
she thought, was so likely to feel grati-
tude for the preserver of life, as she
who first nourished it. He had spok-
en of a sister too, on whose happiness
his very life depended. "Oh!" she
thought to herself, "how sweet, how
enchanting would it be for his own sis-
ter to clasp me in her arms, thank me
with her own voice. How delicious
the thought, to weep the full reward of
her bosom !"

At

In rapturous expectation she counted the slow minutes, till the arrival of the dearly anticipated being was announced. When the hour did approach how high her heart beat-when the noise of a carriage pronounced the expected arrival. Macfarlane was present, and although she did not perceive that overwhelming expression of delight in his features, she thought he seemed restless and impatient. length the door opened-she looked forward expecting to behold an aged matron, when a young and lovely female rushed into the room, and exclaiming Edward, threw herself in the arms of the young soldier. "It is his sister-his own sister-how I long to clasp her to my heart." The young lady had disengaged herself from the Colonel's embrace, and as the happy enthusiast sprung forward to embrace her, with a firm and graceful spring, he in the same deep and tender tone that first won her heart, exclaimed, "Miss Flora Macdonald,-my wife." "His wife !" she uttered with a piercing shriek. "His wife!" and gazing on him with a look fraught with

love, astonishment, and despair, she fell on her face. He raised her up, but she was of a death-like chill and whiteness: the blue veins of her neck seemed as if starting from her skin; he called immediately for assistance, and in another moment she was covered with a crimson dye. Her father rushed in, and calling for his child was just in time to see the last ebb of life departing she had broken a blood vessel. For a moment her eyes beamed a brilliancy almost super-human; she moved her lips, and at length feebly uttered, "Your forgiveness, dearest

lady-one kiss, 'tis the first and the last. I have not wronged you." The agonized wife parted the clustering ringlets from the forehead of the dying girl; and as her lips pressed the chilly surface, she shrieked aloud. The father rushed forward, but the spirit of the injured one had fled to that home where the selfishness and insensibility of this cold earth cannot enter, and where purity of thought and goodness of heart will bloom, free from the withering blights of deceit and disappointed hope!

OF

ular

EDWARD DANIEL CLARKE, THE TRAVELLER.*

F all popular writers, perhaps a writer of travels is the most popHe is at once the historian and the hero he addresses us with the frankness of an intimate correspondent, and appeals directly to our sympathy with the air of one who knows that it will not be withheld. We give up our faith to him on easy terms. It is the least return we can make for the obligations under which we are laid by one who enables us without stirring a step from our chminey corner to minealize in Siberia and botanize in Kamchatcha.

He travels and I too: I tread his deck:
Ascend his top-mast; through his peering eyes
Discover countries; with a kindred heart
Suffer his woes and share in his escapes;
While fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circle, and is still at home.

If poor Barry were alive, he would undoubtedly introduce Dr. Clarke in his picture of the Thames, floating among the Naiads behind Dr. Burney, with three goodly quartos under each arm. Have the phrenologists examined his brows? If they have not laid their finger on the organ of space, we predicate the downfal and the deathblow of the system. He was marked out from infancy as an explorer of earth's surface, her cities, her ruins, and her deserts, and a discoverer of her hidden treasures. The learned augured

ill of him, and even nowstand helpless and astounded at the fallacy of their prognostications and the miracle of their pupil's fame. He had real learning, and such as they wot not of. He kept aloof from the spell of "Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum :" he tarried not in amorous dalliance with the triangles: lines equilateral and figures curvilinear sought in vain to entangle him in their embracements. His heart was with the products of the mine: with the "cedar of Lebanon and the byssop on the wall :" among medals blue with the rust of centuries, and marbles, which the finger of past generations had traced with barbaric characters. His destination coincided with the bent of his nature. He seems a personification of the loco-motive energies inherent in man: he puts a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes:" we see him in Italy; he is off the Hebrides and Highlands: turns up in Lapland: looks in at Moscow: baits at Constantinople: is seen again on the plain of old Troy: we catch a glimpse of him in the holy sepulchre: he dodges us again at the great Pyramid we seek him at Cairo, but “ere he starts a thousand steps are lost:" he is already at Vienna,and lights on Montmartre: credulity itself is staggered when we find him at last settled down into a Benedict and living “in a cock

* The Life and Remains of the Rev. Edward Daniel Clarke, LLD. Professor of Mineralogy in the Uni versity of Cambridge. London, Cowie, 1824.

chafer box, close packed up with his
wife and children.

Bodily activity and animal spirits were
not all that he carried with him. The
mind was busy, the fancy alive, the
heart warm, the pen eloquent. He
describes with the graphic stroke of a
master artist: he notes down his traits
of men and their manners with the
humour of a Smollett: we do not mean
his ill-humour. The travels in Russia
were thought not civil enough: not
reverential enough, we should rather
say; there was a great stock of admi-
ration then in the country as respected
the character and customs of the Mus-
covites. To find fault with their
clothes or their cookery was to give
room for a shrewd suspicion of a man's
loyalty. Perhaps we have a little re-
covered out of this warm fancy: if
we have not, the time will come.
There was confessedly a tendency to
the satirical in Dr. Clarke. We re-
member we thought him rather hard
on the table-manners of the Greeks:
their mode of washing after dinner :
the fine airs of their ladies in display-
ing their well-rounded arms during
the ceremony,
&c. "They who have
glass windows," the proverb is some-
what musty but there was scarcely a
circumstance-nay, there was posi-
tively not a single one, which in the
hands of a smart French traveller
might not have been paralleled, with
a very slight shade of difference, in
the manners of a London table; and
this has actually taken place. From
a personage who so nearly arrived at
the secret of ubiquity as Dr. Clarke,
we should naturally have looked for a
tolerant indulgence of the customs of
foreigners, or even barbarians. His
heart, however, was in the right
place he would not have hurt a hair
of a Greek's head. These sarcastic
details were prompted by a talent for
biting humour, not always indicative
of a narrow benevolence, and by that
keen perception of the ludicrous, which
is found to reside with a volatile imag-
ination. All doubt of Dr. Clarke's
loyalty, arising out of his want of fond-

ness for Russians, must, we think, be
wholly removed by his sturdy denial
of any good being effected, either in
posse or in esse, by "those demons
the democrats;" as well as by the
passage containing an eulogium on the
character of the English clergy and
the religious qualities of our late sov-
ereign, to which we cheerfully sub-
scribe; but which the editor, for some
unaccountable reason, has chosen to
place in staring capitals, as if it were
a discovery dragged up by means of a
pully from the bottom of that well, in
which they say truth resides. Were
we to indulge a poetic flight, we might
Clarke's spirit being
calculate on
soothed by the check now so happily
given to the fiendish officiousness of
republican innovators, particularly in
Italy: the blood of St. Januarius, the
God of Naples, continues to be lique-
fied without interruption, and the royal
pig-hunt proceeds in peace.

Vicesimus Knox, the popular essay-
ist and the master of Tunbridge school,
was Clarke's tutor; he was one of
those who, as may be seen from one of
his essays, prodigiously over-rated the
value of classical attainments. It is
not surprising that he shook his head
at the discouraging progress of a boy,
whose abilities were yet sufficiently
great to puzzle his prognostics and in-
That the report
terest his concern.
of his deficient application should,
as the editor thinks, appear extraordi-
66 many of those who have
nary to
witnessed the laborious habits of his
latter days," is very probable; it will
not appear so to those who recollect
that Samuel Johnson was an idle loun-
We do
ger in the sunshine, with ragged shoes
and a circle of truant hearers.
not quote such instances as safe ex-
amples: but it is in science and learn-
ing as in war: success is the test. All
à priori reasoning is invalid when we
can argue from facts and place our foot
on the terra firma of experience. The
pre-
biographer talks indeed of the "
cious years of boyhood and of youth,"
which are usually dedicated to the ac-
quisition of fundamental truths and to

* Compare with Dr. Clarke's description of a Greek dining-room the dinner of Mr. D. in "Qinze jours a Londres."

the establishment of method and order in the mind, being "by him wasted in unseasonable pursuits:" but how is it proved from the results that they were unseasonable? That Clarke himself "felt sensibly, and regretted most forcibly the disadvantages accruing to him in after life from the neglect in his earlier years of the ordinary school studies," are mere formal words of course that prove nothing: no man is the best judge of that educational process which would best have suited him. Of the alleged "defective knowledge of principles" we can say nothing, for we do not know what is meant still less can we comprehend how such a deficiency should be "an error singularly aggravated by the analytical process he usually adopted in all the acquisitions both in language and science" the process, in short, by which, and by which alone we can arrive at truth. Notwithstanding the continued uneasiness of the editor of Clarke's Remains at "his little progress in the appropriate studies of the place," we can see much that is "seasonable," because adapted to the sphere in which nature had destined him to move, in the studies to which he voluntarily applied himself, and which embraced history, ancient and modern, medals, antiquities, and natural philosophy, especially the mineralogical branch. One of his recreations at Cambridge was the constructing and sending up a splendid balloon to the admiration of his brother collegians and his own delight. Sad fellow! the truth was, he was always agile and earnest in the pursuit of science, and left the word-conners to their "As in præsenti." It may be difficult to conjecture with the editor "what might have been the effect of a different training upon such a mind;" we may, perhaps hazard a guess, that instead of looking out on the sea of Azoff, he would have pored himself half-blind in an ingenious re-construction of the Greek choral metres.

Let us see how nature set to work

with him.

"Having upon some occasion accompanied his mother on a visit to a relation's house in Surrey, he contri

ved before the hour of their return, so completely to stuff every part of the carriage with stones, weeds, and other natural productions of that country, then entirely new to him, that his mother, upon entering, found herself embarrassed how to move; and, though the most indulgent creature alive to her children, she was constrained, in spite of the remonstrances of the boy, to eject them one by one from the window. For one package, however, carefully wrapped up in many a fold of brown paper, he pleaded so hard, that he at last succeeded in retaining it: and when she opened it at night, after he had gone to sleep, it was found to contain several greasy pieces of half-burnt reeds, such as were used at that time in the farmers' kitch ens in Surrey, instead of candles; which he said, upon inquiry, were specimens of an invention, that could not fail of being of service to some poor old woman of the parish, to whom he could easily communicate how they were prepared."

Another childish circumstance, which occurred about the same time, is worthy of recital; not only because it indicates strongly the early prevalence of the spirit to which we have alluded, but because it accounts in some mea sure for the extraordinary interest he took throughout his life in the manners and the fortunes of gypsies. At this period, his eldest brother was residing with his relations at Chichester; and, as his father's infirm state of health prevented him from seeing many per sons at his house, Edward was permitted frequently to wander alone in the neighbourhood, guarded only by a favourite dog, called Keeper. One day, when he had stayed out longer than usual, an alarm was given that he was missing search was made in every direction, and hour after hour elapsed without uny tidings of the child.

At last, his old nurse, who was better acquainted with his haunts, succeeded in discovering him in a remote and rocky valley, above a mile from his father's house, surrounded by a group of gypsies, and deeply intent upon a story which one of them was relating to him.