1828.] 
the aforesaid Moorish chief, and according 
to agreement, with all possible coolness, de- 
livers her into his hands, and his servant 
also, upon his reclamation against this act of 
villainy. Thus rid of his embarrassment, 
he flies back to the bride, to solicit the im- 
mediate performance of the ceremony, but 
the young lady’s pride is up—some private 
communications also had enlightened her a 
little on the subject of the putting off—and 
she, in her turn, demands a delay—a month 
—a year—an indefinite period. 
Meanwhile the Moors rebel again. Gomez 
has himself the command of the Spanish 
forces, and quickly routing the rebels, he 
returns in triumph to receive the welcome of 
his sovereign, and, as he fondly hopes, the 
now not unwilling hand of his offend- 
ed bride. — Unluckily, the first object 
which meets his gaze is Theodora, her 
father, and his own servant. The queen 
makes short work in the business of justice. 
She insists upon instant satisfaction. He is 
compelled to marry Theodora on the spot ; 
and the next moment is committed to prison, 
on a charge of high treason, for conserting 
with Moors—for he had delivered, personally, 
hisTheodora into the hands.of the Moor 
chief, and all intercourse with Moors was 
expressly prohibited. He is readily con- 
victed, and sentenced to die. The queen is 
inflexible ; but fortunately a noble courtier, 
now on his death-bed, holds 2 pledge of favour 
from the queen, and this pledge he puts into 
Theodora’s hands, who immediately de- 
mands the fulfilment, and Gomez is thus 
rescued on the very scaffold, by his injured, 
but devoted wife. From the scaffold he is 
conducted to the queen’s court, where he 
Was eagerly expected—the queen herself was 
delighted at his escape, for he had done good 
service to the state—when on his entrance, 
the renegado, in the disguise of a monk, 
Tushes upon him, and plunges a poisoned 
dagger into his bosom. A finish is thus put 
to his profligate career, and the poor lady, 
whose honour was thus forcibly redeemed, 
but whom happiness seemed to be awaiting — 
for the hard heart of the traitor was softened 
by her devotion—is left to pine and wither 
—and a few months hides her and her sor- 
rows in the grave. 
Solitary Walks through many Lands, 
Derwent Conway, Author of “ Tales 
f Ardennes,” &c. &c. 2 vols. ; 1828.— 
_ This is a mixture of the tour and the tale, 
sketched lightly and agreeably—consisting 
of personal adventures and unusual 
with a tact and delicacy very far 
| common. The author professes to 
have travelled over the greater part of Eu- 
rope, and much of it on foot, solo—taking 
+ he chance companions, and trusting to 
good fortune, and conciliating manners, 
and prompt payments, for civil treatment, 
and usually finding it. A little affectation 
is scattered over the volumes—bits of senti- 
ment not always consistent—and bons bons 
Domestic and Foreign. 
199- 
of loyalty, with flings at the Holy Alliance 
as little compatible—the result, of course, 
of occasionally aiming more at effect than 
sticking to truth of feeling. Here and 
there, too, a morsel of Shandyism—never 
much to our taste even in Sterne, but which, 
imitated a thousand times as it has been, 
and as often failing, has fully established 
its claims to originality—as something be- 
yond the reach of acquirement. 
Among the more attractive scraps is the 
author’s voyage in a two-oared bark, from 
Marseilles across the Bay of Toulon to 
Nice, where he touches on his way, or 
rather out of his way, at the unoccupied 
islet of St. Honorat—over a calm sea— 
solely for the pleasure of floating on the 
quiet waters, and the enjoying his own sen- 
sations—exciting a sense of pure voluptu- 
ousness, with which any one must sympa- 
thize, and long to share. Of the writer’s 
power to describe scenes of peril, the sud- 
den flooding of the Adige is a favourable 
specimen—but a still better is the following 
—an imaginary one. It is of two newly 
married young people— 
We talked of our journeying on the morrow, 
and of our return home; and while we spoke of 
the many happy hours we had spent on this beau- 
tiful shore, we had insensibly turned upon the 
ridge of rocks, “ Not this evening,” Agnes said, 
“let us go rather through the citron wood.” 
“ Let us first,” said I, “take a farewell of onr 
chosen resort.” We went forward, remarking 
that we had never seen the Mediterranean so per- 
fectly realize our early impressions of it—se calm 
—so lovely. As we proceeded, we separated ; for 
towards the extremity, the ledge next the water is 
narrow. ‘* Agnes,” said I, as I walked on first, 
“step carefully,”—searce had I spoken these 
words, when a piereing shriek, and a plunge— 
reason is again leaving me; merciful God, pre- 
serve it to me yet a little while—I turned, only in 
time to see her sink, with outstretched arms, be- 
neath the water that calmly closed above her. I 
saw her, for the water was clear as chrystal; I 
saw her as if standing: I knew her face—my 
Agnes’ face—and her arms were stretched to- 
wards me; but the sea-weed was tangled round 
her, and held her—and her form waved slowly to 
and fro. God of heayen—what a sight! the clear- 
ness of the water mocked me; I thought I could 
reach her, and I stretched my arm towards her, 
but I was deceiyed; she seemed to look reproach- 
fully at me; and again, with extended arms, ap- 
peared to implore me, her husband, to save her. 
T cried, in the agony of despair, for help; but the 
sound was conyulsed in the throat, and would not 
come forth. If I cannot save thee, I wil perish 
with thee ; and from that moment I but remember 
the plunge, and that I retained sense long enough to 
know, tliat I clasped my wife in my arms beneath 
the water. This is all Iam able to record; I was 
rescued from the waves; how, I know not; but 
when I awoke fo lite, Agnes was not with me. 
The second volume is filled chiefly with 
the Netherlands, particularly Ardennes. 
All accounts seem to concur as to the ex- 
treme unpopularity of the government. A 
vexatious system of taxation interferes with 
