he ground his teeth in silent and unutterable anguish. The inhuman monsters now laid hold of the unhappy man; he gave no opposition, and, though despair sat upon his features, not a shriek, not a groan escaped him: but no sooner had he reached the brink, than making a sudden effort, he liberated an arm, and grasping one of the villains round the waist, sprang headlong with him into the interminable gulf. All was silent-but at length a dreadful plunge was heard, and the sullen deep howled fearfully over its prey. The three remaining Banditti stood aghast; they durst not unbind Montmorency, but resolved, as the tree to which he was tied grew near the mouth of the pit, to cut it down, and, by that mean, he would fall along with it into the chasm. Montmorency, who, after the example of his attendant, had conceived the hope of avenging himself, now saw all possibility of effecting that design taken away; and as the axe entered the trunk, his anguish became so excessive that he fainted. The villains, observing this, determined, from a malicious prudence, to forbear, as at present he was incapable of feeling the terrors of his situation. They therefore withdrew, and left him to recover at his leisure.

Not many minutes had passed away when, life and sensation returning, the hapless Montmorency awoke to the remembrance of his fate. "Have mercy," he exclaimed, the briny sweat trickling down his pallid features, "O Christ, have mercy;" then looking around him, he started at the abyss beneath, and, shrinking from its ghastly brink, pressed close against the tree. In a little time, however, he recovered his perfect recollection, and, perceiving that the Banditti had left him, became more composed. His hands, which were bound behind him, he endeavoured to disentangle, and, to his inexpressible joy, after many painful efforts, he succeeded so far as to loosen the cord, and, by a little more perseverance, effected his liberty. He then sought around for a place to escape through, but without success; at length, as he was passing on the other side of the chasm, he observed a part of its craggy side, as he thought, illuminated, and, advancing a little nearer, he found that it proceeded from the moon's rays shining through a large cleft of the rock, and at a very inconsiderable depth below the surface. A gleam of hope now broke in upon his despair; and gathering up the ropes which had been

used for himself and his associates, he tied them together, and fastening one end to the bole of a tree, and the other to his waist, he determined to descend as far as the illuminated spot. Horrible as was the experiment, he hesitated not a moment in putting it into execution, for, when contrasted with his late fears, the mere hazard of an accident weighed as nothing, and the apprehension that the villains might return before his purpose was secure, accelerated, and gave vigour to his efforts. Soon was he suspended in the gloomy abyss, and neither the roaring of the river, nor the dashing of the spray, intimidated his daring spirit, but, having reached the cleft, he crawled within it, then, loosing the cord from off his body, he proceeded onwards, and, at last, with a rapture no description can paint, discerned the appearance of the glen beneath him. He knelt down, and was returning thanks to hea yen for his escape, when suddenly

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NUMBER XVIII.

A work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapour of wine-nor to be obtained by the invocation of Memory and her siren daughters; but by devout prayer to that eternal Spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his Seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases.

MILTON.

No species of poetry, perhaps, is more difficult of execution than the religious; the natural sublimity of the subject cannot be heightened but by very superior powers, and demands an imagination plastic in the extreme, vast and gigantic on the one hand, tender, luxuriant, and beautiful on the other, which can select, and vividly delineate, objects the most contrasted, the graceful inhabitant of heaven, or the appalling possessor of hell,

which can, in short, combine the force and sublimity of Michael Angelo with the sweetness and amenity of Guido Rheni.

The slightest failure too, either in point of language or conception, will frequently, in this province of the poetic art, destroy the whole scope and purport of an elaborate work, for, this subject being of the utmost importance and solemnity, and essentially connected with all that is interesting to the mind of man, the most exquisite taste is required in adopting throughout the whole a diction appropriate to the weight of sentiment, and in colouring with a chastity and even severity of style those creations of fancy which are necessary to the constitution of the fable. Any unguarded levity, any want of adaptation in phraseology, or in fiction, will immediately be felt, and will not only annihilate the effect intended of the part in which they are introduced, but will materially injure, and throw an air of ridicule over the entire poem. Imbecilities of this kind perpetually disgrace the pages of Quarles, Crashaw, and most of the writers of sacred poesy previous to the age of Milton, and nearly obliterate the pleasure arising from their purer