[ 264 J 
pOct. 1, 
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HE Memoirs of the Baron de Kolli, 
relate solely to his secret mission in 
1810, from the British government, for 
liberating Ferdinand, king of Spain, from 
his captivity atValencay. Thenarrative is 
written by the baron himself, aud contains 
an apparently faithful account of that 
transaction ; its failure, and the snbse- 
qnent four years’ imprisonment of Kolli, 
in the Donjon of Vincennes. The baron 
appears all along to have been honour- 
able to principles, that show an undevi- 
ating attachment to the cause of absolute 
monarchy; and for which, it does not 
appear, that he has been hitherto suffi- 
.ciently rewarded. Two hundred thousand 
livres, part of a sum entrusted to him by 
the British government, for the accom- 
plishment of the escape of Ferdinand, 
and seized by the Duke of Otranto, were 
declared to have been legally confiscated, 
on application to Louis XVIIE. Never- 
theless the baron, like a true loyalist, so 
far from complaining, loads this monarch 
with praise. The different documents 
annexed appear to be gennine, and the 
whole of the narrative is mteresting. His 
slavish devotion to despotism is forgotten, 
and we see in him only the inmate of a 
bastile, a melancholy victim of the cause 
of kings. ‘The letter. from George III, to 
Ferdinand, is a curious specimen of 
diplomacy; and we have the Marquis 
Wellesley’s accompanying letter, in which 
he says that Ferdinand “is the most un- 
fortunate prisoner whom the civilized 
world has ever seen, under the weight of 
usurpation and despotism.” Subjoined to 
this narrative, there are memoirs of the 
queen of Etruria, written in the first 
person; and an engraving of Ferdinand 
fronts the title. 
BRAMSEN’s Remarks on the North of 
Spain, contain no more than what could 
be gathered at inns and in diligences, du- 
ring a short and rapid tour through a part 
of that ill-fated country. It is from the 
name of Spain alone, that any bookseller 
could have hoped fora sale, for the vo- 
lume contains nothing that can repay the 
trouble of perusal. 
Ferdinand the Seventh, or a Dramatic 
Sketch of the recent Revolution in Spain, is 
written in the manner of a draina, ‘and 
pretends to be a translation from the 
Spanish. ‘Lhe story is a sort of history of 
the revolution, but that is not worth at- 
tending to; it is a curiosity of a higher 
_kind. It is well known that there are 
ears that cannot be moved by the “con- 
cord of sweet sounds;”’ and it has been 
long asserted that a poet (who is a sort of 
musician) is born and not made. ‘The latter 
assertion, however, has been generally 
understood of that “ fine pbrenzy” which 
“ slances from earth tc Heaven ;” and not 
of that combination of words that con- 
stitutes the regularity of verse. To keep 
up a regular chime, and to make tlic syl- 
lables beat, as if they kept time to the 
tattoo ofa drum, has never been snpposed 
to require any nicety of ear ; but here it is 
otherwise. ‘There is not a line in ten, of 
the whole drama, that has the least de- 
gree of modulation. Every one consists 
of exactly ten syllables; but each has been 
counted with the finga's, and appear as if 
it had been written by a man that had 
been deaf from his cradle. The following 
may serve as a specimen : 
I thank thee, worthy Cardinal; well 
Am [ assured of faithful friendship on 
Thy part. Earnestly solicitous o 
Converse, I have prayed the king to grant 
Our private communications, while 
The period of durance still obtains, which 
Gladly I anticipate but temp’rary. 
These are shocking verses, and yet the 
prose is passable. The following song 
must have been stolen, or at least fur- 
nislied by another hand: 
The smiles of the summer no longer are glowing, 
And dead are the blossoms which hang from the 
tree; 
And dark from the mountain the streamlet is 
flowing, 
And frozen the dew-drop that spangles the lea; 
But the re ae of winter may strip every bower, 
And rifle the verdure of garden and grove ; 
We heed not the storm, tho’ around us it lower, 
While the heart is devoted to friendsbip and love, 
Dear social affection of Eden, still breathing, 
Thy magic can teach every landscape to bloom, 
The bare waying branches with blossoms en- 
Wreathing, 
And bid them the tints of fresh roses assume, 
Then what? tho’ noverdure euiveilish the bower, 
Nor strains of sweet melody iden the grove, 
We fear thee not, Winter, we’ll baffle thy power, 
While the heart is devoted to friendship and love. 
An Essay on Criminal Laws, by ANDREW 
GREEN, L.L.B. is a small bat well-written 
work, which we should have noticed 
sooner had it come earlier into our hands, 
The unassuming pamphlet-form in which 
it appears, is unfrvourable to. its ciren- 
lation; for legal readers ave not apt to look 
for information, except iv bulky volumes. 
The right of society to inflict public pu- 
nishments upon offenders is very properly 
placed upon its necessity. ‘ If,” says the 
author, ‘along with the disposition to 
resent injuries received, nature had also 
furnished each individual with the means 
of making his resentment effectual against 
the offender, and that without inconve- 
nience to the rest of society, any criminal 
laws for the punishment of such offences 
might 
