hostile nations have joined in the general admiration of the manly attributes of the British sailor. But now, for the first time, we are told by an Arctic voyager, who, in all probability, never made a voyage in his life, that the impression left upon his mind is, that seamen are almost the vilest class of his countrymen.

'As almost all of them' he adds, (meaning the crews of the Leviathan and of other ships which he visited during his health-seeking excursion), had been men-of-war's-men before the peace, I presume they were representatives of seamen of the best stamp. No doubt, had they been actually in his majesty's service when I saw them, and under the control of officers endowed with the power of severe punishment, they would have appeared a more orderly, and less dissolute gang; but such would not have been a fair display of their real merits; and I repeat, that, on observing them when off their guard, they will be found to be a vicious and unprincipled band.'-vol. ii., p. 304.

That there have been, but too often, during the war, men serving in the British navy, of the most depraved habits, we admit; but these were what sailors term "jail-birds," and "Lord-mayor'smen." Such, however, we venture to assert, never composed the crew of a Greenlandman:-these vessels being invariably manned by the best of our north-country seamen. Such, too, we boldly affirm, are no more the representatives of seamen of the best stamp,' than the philosophising, whale-killing Captain Shafton,' is the best representative of the heroic Nelson.

In justice, however, to the author, we must admit that some portions of his work are agreeable enough. The following reflections of this same Captain Shafton,' though coming rather inaptly from a man of his "calling," are highly poetical, and convey to the mind an admirable picture of the desolation which encompasses the murderer :

The cry of murder among men, is like the scream of hatred among birds, at the appearance of an owl. All the feathered tribes sally forth, and unite to assail the nocturnal assassin; and the tide of humanity in every bosom sets strongly against the escape of the homicide; every feeling is a wave that rises to oppose his progress; he becomes like a shipwrecked mariner, alone on an ocean of angry billows;-heaven is dark above him, and lashes him with the withering blasts of conscience; his fears for his present safety form a troubled sea, on which he cannot rest, and which leads him from his home and from his former companions; and he avoids society, as the sailor is compelled to avoid the shore, lest he should perish against the rocks of the very land, which before was his only place of security and comfort.'-vol. iii., p. 53.

Nothing which has been said by Captain Parry upon Polar scenery, can weaken the charm of the picture we now quote.

'There was much both of the sublime and beautiful, as well to the ear as to the eye, in the apparent approach and retreat of huge masses of ice. At first, they are heard buffeting with the billows, whilst wrapt in mist,

though close before the vessel. Suddenly they appear upon the sight, like giant spectres, gliding over the blue, foam-crested hills of ocean's fancied regions, sinking their white heads to the surface, and again mounting upon a broad swell of water, bared even to their very bases. It is then that their gaunt and craggy figures, armed at all points with gleaming spikes and tusks of sparry lustre, dripping with spray and crowned with wreaths of vapour, seem, like sea monsters risen from the deep, to leap into the air. For a time they are stationary, as if stretched at full length to gaze about for enemies; the waves break and froth among their feet, and the wind whirls the rising mist around their summits. The water appears to sink from beneath them, and in an instant they plunge deep into its bosom, wallowing in its angry surges, and are again shrouded behind the haze.'-vol. ii., pp. 9, 10.

Nickkur Holl,' and the Boorwolf,' are good specimens of the author's imaginative powers, and will be read with interest by all who admire horrific fictions. They have also this advantage over the other tales; that they are in keeping with the general plan of the work, and with the scenery and personages amongst which the author places us. Mortram' and 'Woolcraft' are good domestic tales; very prolix in parts, but this prolixity is in a great measure compensated by the originality of the designs, and the degree of interest thrown over many of the characters, which urges the reader forward to the end of his journey, despite the tediousness of some parts of his road. There is a sameness, however, in the catastrophe of both tales being brought about by a house taking fire.

The Vision of Lucifer,' is a well-wrought tale of comic terror. The hero, captain Shafton, being in London, unemployed, and preferring to take up his abode on board ship, to living on shore, accepts the offer of a friend, to become the solitary inhabitant of a dismantled East-Indiaman, then lying in the river. The ship was said to be haunted by the spirit of the mate, who had hanged himself on board, in a fit of phrensy. The captain, though not in the least tinctured with the superstition common to seamen, is nevertheless surprised at some unaccountable sounds he hears at night, and determines, if possible, to ascertain the cause of them. But we shall let the captain relate the rest of the adventure himself.

Summoning my courage,' says Shafton, I shook off a tremor that seized my frame, and bolting upright in bed, laid hold of my dark lanthorn, and turned it so as to throw a blaze of light over the state room; and you may judge of my terror, when I beheld, not a ghost, nor a thief, but a tall, dark-coloured serpent, standing nearly erect, by my bed-side, with its eyes brightly gleaming from a head frightful and appalling beyond description. Never in my life had I seen such a fearful object, for, to the usual hideous and disgusting aspect of a snake, were added features peculiarly its own, and which almost led me to believe that Satan himself was present before me, in the guise of this hateful reptile. The light of my

lanthorn, increased in brightness by a polished steel reflector, fell in a glare upon the devilish apparition, and I discerned distinctly that its mouth was wide open, armed with large crooked fangs, and furnished with a long tongue, that vibrated menacingly beyond its jaws. Its head was rather small, but on either side, its neck was swollen out to an immense size, inflated, as I imagined, with poison, which it was about to inject into my veins, when it should spring and seize hold of me; but what seemed more horrible than all its other deformities, was, that in this bloated mass, which bolstered around his collar, were things which appeared like two wide eyes, in addition to the small ones in its head; and this sight almost convinced me, that the monster could only be some diabolical spirit, for I knew that no animals but insects have more than pair of visual organs. In a state of mingled awe, doubt, and utter dismay, I remained holding my lanthorn, and staring at the dire countenance of the serpent, which all the while stood erect, waving its body in the manner of a rope shaken at one end, while its tongue played around its lips, its eyes glittered, and its scales gleamed. I felt, or fancied that I felt, as if fascinated by its glance, and began to give myself up for lost; for I had heard of the power of fascination possessed by snakes, which deprive the victim of the energy to escape or defend itself. Besides, this creature, serpent, or devil, was not a small enemy of the kind, for it stood nearly four feet from the floor, which, as my bed was fixed down low, brought its head nearly level with my face; and my fear of moving, lest I should provoke it to dart upon me, held me in a state of stillness as complete as if I had been rivetted by the hateful influence of which I was so much afraid. Had it not been for an innate disbelief of the existence of goblins, I should probably have spoken to the dragon who kept me thus at bay, for it had all the characteristics of a demon, as far as the imagination could array an evil spirit in a visible form; but either scepticism or terror kept my tongue quiet, and while neither of us seemed disposed to do otherwise than stare at each other, my candle, which was nearly burnt out, sunk into the socket, and the flame expired.

All my horrors before this moment were nothing to what seized me when I found myself exposed, in darkness, to the venemous fury of an unknown, though undoubtedly a dangerous, serpent. A long hiss, which it uttered, and which I deemed preparatory to its springing at me, wound up my feelings to a pitch of desperation; and having nothing else at hand, I dashed my dark lanthorn to the place where it had stood when the light was extinguished. Whether my missile struck the reptile or fiend, I know not, but a horrible hissing filled the state-room, and a rattling and groping noise succeeded; and in a short time I heard my enemy behind the bulkheap, retreating swiftly, as its repeated sibilations indicated by their growing less audible.

Bathed in a cold sweat, and stiffened with fear as I was, I leaped out of bed as soon as I was assured that the devil was at some distance, and I ran stumbling on deck as fast as I could, where I remained till daylight. I then called a boat and went ashore, to relate my adventure to the captain.'—vol. iii., pp. 35—38.

Shafton, however, discovers that this singular spirit was a species of the serpent called "Cobra de Capello," which had belonged to the unfortunate mate. He had purchased it from an Indian

juggler, who had disarmed it of its fangs, which operation rendered it perfectly harmless. It had been left on board the ship to kill rats and mice, on which it chiefly subsisted, and had been wholly forgotten!

Before we conclude, we beg leave to ask the author of the Tales of a Voyager,' in what grammar he learned in his youth to conjugate the auxiliary verb to be with itself? we have the following passage in vol. iii., p. 322-as if the earth were heated, and being quenched by the rain,' that is, as if the earth were being quenched by rain; which is not only bad grammar, but nonsense, and a vile cockneyism that occurs repeatedly in the production before us.

There are three important lines with which the third and last of these volumes closes, and which we had nearly omitted to notice. In these the author threatens to call up more

spirits from the vasty deep," in the shape of a fresh collection of "Tales and Anecdotes from his Note-book." If such be his future intention, we have only to add, that if our 'Arctic Voyager' would listen to the counsel of an unprejudiced monitor, he will avoid the danger of again diving out of his depth, and instead of going "north about" to collect anecdoical tales of the south, he will take a shorter trip, and shorter notes; for though his work may be more saleable in three volumes, we can assure him, it will be more readable in one.

ART. III. A Narrative of the Campaigns of the British Army at Washington and New Orleans, under Generals Ross, Pakenham, and Lambert, in the years 1814 and 1815; with some Account of the Countries visited. By an Officer who served in the Expedition. Second edition, 8vo. pp. 377. 12s. London. Murray. 1826.

FROM Some circumstances, with which we are wholly unacquainted, this volume, though originally published so long ago as 1821, has hitherto been deprived, most unjustly, as it appears to us, of its due share of public approbation. When we say that it is an earlier production of the same vigorous and highly graphic pen, which has traced the varied and romantic career of The Subaltern,' we are pretty certain that our readers will feel indebted to us for making them acquainted with its existence. Indeed, we may suppose that it is to the success of his more popular work, the author is to ascribe the attention which his publisher has very recently, though somewhat late, bestowed on the present neglected narrative.' It is, however, but justice to add, that the mass of the literary world is too little disposed to judge of merit for itself. It waits until a

name is blazoned forth, and attains to some celebrity, before it pays the homage that is really due to modest and unpretending genius.

We may also add, that the very title of the work before us, was by

no means calculated to ensure its popularity. The campaigns of which it treats, ended in a manner, not dishonourable to our arms, but painful in an eminent degree to the proudest and most irritable feelings of the nation. In every instance in which British soldiers were employed on that occasion, they, with one infamous exception, displayed the same heroic steadiness and indefatigable bravery, which covered our standards with so much glory in the fields of Europe. But the measures which they were sent to carry into execution in America, were unhappily by no means so well combined, as those which had emanated from the hero of the Peninsula. A descent upon Washington, a similar invasion of Baltimore, and lastly, the conquest of New Orleans, were the principal objects of the war. But that which was attempted last, ought to have been the first to be carried into execution, since it was never proposed to keep possession of Washington or Baltimore, or indeed to make any other than short incursions upon those cities, with a view to levy pecuniary contributions-incursions which much more resembled those of our own Danish invaders, than of any state or people accustomed to the usages of modern warfare. It must have been evident to the weakest capacity, that attacks of this description would only excite a universal flame throughout the Union, and at the same time afford ample time for enabling that part of the republic, which it was our ultimate object to conquer, to collect and arrange all its resources for its defence.

It is said that the design, in proceeding first to the Chesapeake, was to withdraw the attention of the executive to that point, and to lull it into security as to New Orleans. If so, at least, measures ought to have been adopted for making the invasion in the south, at the same moment that the descent was commenced in the north. But no such plan seems ever to have been thought of. After being degraded to the character of incendiaries at Washington, after being obliged to retreat before Baltimore, and after wasting many weeks of precious time in their voyage to the Gulph of Mexico, our men were landed on a morass, badly provisioned, slenderly supplied even with ammunition, many of them in a state requiring repose and attendance in an hospital, rather than exposure in a field of battle. When to this we add, that they lost successively their appointed leaders, Ross and Pakenham, names that must ever be remembered among the best and bravest of British soldiers; and that, after all, their final retreat is to be attributed to the grossest mismanagement and ignorance on the part of those who planned the expedition, and who did not sent out half the number of troops that was necessary to ensure its success, we think that the Americans have no great reason to congratulate their forces, at least, on the triumph which their country obtained.

Indeed the American arms have acquired any thing but glory, from that war. Nor could we have earned the slightest accession to our fame, as a military nation, even if we had won every battle