THE MONASTERY. An extract from a Review of this work in the Literary Gazette, was given in our last number; but ne apology is necessary for inserting an additional notice of any work of this writer, of whom the last Edinburgh Review says:-" Since the time when Shakespeare wrote his thirty-eight plays in the brief space of his early manhood-besides acting in them, and drinking and living idly with the other actors—and then went carelessly to the country, and lived out his days, a little more idly, and apparently unconscious of having done any thing at all extraordinary-there has been no such prodigy of fertility as the author before us. In the period of little more than five years, he has founded a new school of invention; and established and endowed it with nearly thirty volumes of the most animated and original composition that have enriched English literature for a century-volumes that have cast sensibly into the shade all contemporary prose, and even all recent poetry-(except perhaps that inspired by the Genius-or the Demon, of Byron)—and, by their force of colouring and depth of feeling-by their variety, vivacity, magical facility, and living presentment of character, have rendered conceivable to this later age the miracles of the Mighty Dramatist." THE From the New Monthly Magazine. The MONASTERY, by the author of Waverley. In 3 vols. ers with the fates of the house of Ave- occasions appears a most spirit." "tricksome the homicide! Though the general effect is very broken and imperfect, there are many touches which evidently come from the masterly hand of the author of Waverley. Halbert is one of the most lively and spirited sketches ever drawn of a young hero of the mountains-noble-minded, fiery, and most intrepid-beautiful in wild grace, and glowing with instinctive honour. The character of Edward, who from a mild and affectionate youth becomes animated with savage joy on the supposed death of his brother and rival, which he disguises under threats of vengeance, is neither pleasant enough to fancy, nor probable enough to believe. Sir Piercie Shafton the fop and flowery talker of another age of Dandyism— who speaks Sir Philip Sidney as though "he too were an Arcadian"-though somewhat tiresome in his barangues, is the most original and the best sustained personage of the novel. In vividness of description, the Monastery will suffer little by a comparison with the best works of its author. The songs of the Lady of Avenel, which she warbles whenever she appears, are exquisitelight, delicate, fanciful, and seem to partake of the character of the element, in which she is moving. In these, at least, the author of the Lay of the Last Minstrel stands as clearly confessed, as though the title-page of the work had contained his name. The appointing a fairy guardian of an English copy of the Scripture, and surrounding it with spells, neither of earth nor of hell, seems like the image of a dream in which wild shapes from times the most remote are fantastically blended-where realities melt into shadows-and familiar things and strangest imaginations dance together before us. In one scene, indeed, the supernatural agency, though wholly without apparent end, produces an effect which is really awful. Halbert and Piercie Shafton meet to decide a quarrel by the arbitrament of blood, and seeking a fit place for their contest, come to the enchanted fountain in the wildest recess of the glen. There they perceive a grave dug close by the foot of the rock, the green turf laid on one side, the earth on the other, and a mattock and shovel on its verge. This tomb, provided by unearthly hands, on the margin of which a mortal combat, is to be decided, makes the blood curdle with that strange delight which imaginative horror awakens. The result, however, is absurd and perplexing. Shafton falls apparently lifeless-his body disappears-the grave is filled up, and the turf neatly placed over it, by the aerial sexton, and the dead re-appears, pale and bloody, with his wounds healed, to be accused of the murder of one who has fled believing himself ged with great crimes, such as murder or robbery, the magistrates begin by endeavouring to seduce the prisoners to confess, and by forcing them to do so. On every occasion they torture by pulling, or twisting round the ears (the torturer having previously rendered his fingers rough by a powder) and cause them to kneel a long while upon chains. They next employ what they call the beauty's bar; the parrot's beam ;t the refining furnace; and other implements, expressed by other terms, which they make use of. If these do not force confession, they double the cruelties, the prisoner is restored to life again several times in a day, and when unable to sustain these cruelties, he is compelled to write down or sign a confession (of what he is falsely charged with,) and the case any how is made out, placed on record, and with a degree of self-glorying, is reported to your majesty. The imperial will is obtained, requiring the person to be delivered over to the board of punishments, for further trial. After repeated examinations, and undergoing various tortures, the charges brought against many persons are seen to be entirely unfounded. As, for example, in the case of the now degraded Taeu-tae, who tried Lew-te-woo; and of the Che-chow, who tried Pih-keu-king, These mandarins inflicted the most cruel tortures, in a hundred different forms, and forced a confession. Lew-te-woo, being a strong robust man, just survived-life was all that was spared. The other, being a weak man, lost his life: he died as soon as he had reached the board at Peking. The snow-white innocence of these two men was afterwards demonstrated by the board of punishments. The cruelties exercised by the local magistrates, in examining by torture, throughout every district of Chih-le, A torture said to be invented by a judge's wife, and hence the name. The breast, small of the back, and legs bent up, are fastened to the cross-bars, which causes the person to kneel in great pain. + The prisoner is raised from the ground by strings round the fingers and thumbs, suspended from a sup ple tranverse beam. Fire is applied to the body. cannot be described; and the various police runners, seeing the anxiety of their superiors to obtain notice and promotion, begin to lay plans to enrich themselves. In criminal cases, as murder and robbery; in debts and affrays, they endeavour to involve those who appear to have the slightest connexion. The wind being raised, they blow the spark into a flame, and seize a great many people, that they may obtain bribes from those people, in order to purchase their liberation. Those who have nothing to pay are unjustly confined, or sometimes tortured, before being carried to a magistrate. In some instances, after undergoing repeated examinations in presence of the magistrate, they are committed to the custody of people attached to the court, where they are fettered in various ways, so that it is impossible to move a single inch; and without paying a large bribe, they cannot obtain bail. Their oppressions are daily accumulated to such a degree, and for so long a time, that at last death is the consequence. Since there is at this period particular occasion to seize banditti, if there be suspicious appearances, as the age or physiognomy corresponding to some offender described; it is doubtless proper to institute a strict inquiry. But it is a common and constant occurrence, that respecting persons not the least implicated, who are known to possess property, and to be of a timid disposition, pretences are made by the police to threaten and alarm them. If it be not affirmed that they belong to the Pih-leen-keaou (a proscribed sect,) it is said, that they are of the remnant of the rebels, and they are forthwith clandestinely seized, fettered, and most liberally ill-used and insulted. The simple country people become frightened and give up their property to obtain liberation, and think themselves very happy in having escaped so. I have heard that in several provinces Chih-le, Shan-tung, and Ho-nan, these practices have been followed ever since the rebellion; and wealth has been acquired in this way by many of the police officers. How can it be that the local magistrates do not know it? or is it that they purposely connive at these tyrannical proceedings? I lay this statement with much respect before your majesty, and pray that measures may be taken to prevent these evils. Whether my obscure notions be right or not, I submit with reverence. It appears that the death-warrants to be signed by his majesty, at the autum nal execution, amount this year to nine hundred and thirty-five. In this number is included the lowest class of capital crimes. The share whichCanton has in these, this year, is one hundred and thirty-three; but to the whole number executed in Canton during the year, the word thousands, it is said, must be applied; some say three thou sand! From La Belle Assemblee, Feb. 1820. CHRISTMAS EVE; OR, THE CONVERSION. FROM THE GERMAN. IN the mean time the church began to fill; every seat was crowded except those near the Duke, which remained empty. A few people had approached the picture to pay their devotions to it, but as soon as they perceived the Duke, they went away with an expression of terror on their visages, and each made the sign of the cross as they turned their eyes from him, so did all those who were obliged to pass by him. A profound silence reigned throughout the temple; every one was as much astonished to see the excommunicated Duke Otto in this boly place, as at the tenderness with which he pressed a child in his arms; he who had universally been regarded as impious, and as devoid of humanity as of belief. Several thought he had only come there to ridicule their worship and to blaspheme; but yet the manner with which he conversed with the child, and the expression of his countenance shewed that he was animated by milder sentiments. They waited impatiently for the arrival of the Archbishop who was to officiate that evening, hoping then that every thing would be explained. This Archbishop was brother to Duke Otto, and as pious and valiant a defender of the church as the Dake was unbelieving, licentious, and perverse; they were, of course, at variance. Otto had openly declared himself the enemy of all religion, treating the dogmas and rites of the church as bigotry and superstition, and he had in his own states despoiled the ecclesi2A ATHENEUM VOL. 7. A Tale. CONTINUED FROM P. 261. astics of all their temporal possessions. At length the Archbishop was driven to the extremity of excommunicating him. The Duke had not been affected by it, but had continued to live after his own opinions. He was held in horror by the devout, but he did not on that account the less hold a high place in the opinion of the worldly, because of his rank and his fortune, especially as he had the reputation of being a brave warrior, and as well skilled in all the sciences as his virtuous brother. The children of the choir soon made their appearance, clothed in their white surplices, and carrying censors, followed by two priests and the Archbishop with their sacerdotal ornaments. When the Archbishop passed before the pillar against which the Duke was leaning, he darted on him a most severe regard, and then continued his steps towards the great altar, where he gave to one of his deacons in a low voice, an order for the Duke to quit the church. As soon as Gottfried perceived the procession, he quitted the arms of the Knight, who had set him down, but who yet held him by the hand. He had placed himself, by means of the crowd, amongst the children of the choir; and the sacristin, deceived by his white shirt, had taken him for one who had officiated in that capacity, and when they drew near the altar had given him a wax taper. The Duke, in the mean time, looked about for his little companion; he had disappeared as if by enchantment. It came into his head that perhaps the in fant Jesus bad appeared to him to engage him to re-enter the bosom of the church. Carried away by a fervour he knew not how to account for, he rushed towards the altar, his eyes streaming with tears, and throwing himself at the feet of the Archbishop, he cried with a loud voice "O! my brother! restore to me my Saviour; receive me into the communion of the faithful. I submit myself to the severest penance the church can inflict upon me!"-The severe and composed countenance of the prelate became more animated; he shuddered, but a ray of happiness was diffused over his countenance, and his eyes filled with tears; but he soon recovered his imposing look, and after having given the most serious reprimand to the penitent, he declared, that he could not restore him to a seat in the church except on the condition of his making a public apology and a submission to the most rigorous acts of penance. But the more austerity he shewed in his speech the more the countenance of his brother softened, by the tears that he shed, by his deep repentance, and his humble resignation. A smile, the precursor of that felicity which was about to open to him below a new existence and a joyful hereafter, beamed across his contrite visage when the archbishop, in ending his discourse, said to him"That in submitting to his penance, he would share in the benedictions of his Saviour's festival, which was now about to be celebrated in the mass, that he would become regenerate at that period when our Saviour was born." Otto, penetrated with what he had heard, and the sacred solemnity at which he was allowed to be present, promised, with signs of deep repentance to return to the Christian faith, resigning himself to all the severities it might be pleased to inflict. The Archbishop revoked the ban pronounced against him and gave him absolution. It was near eleven o'clock; Gottfried, with his waxen taper in his hand, had placed himself near Duke Otto, who, in the emotion he had felt at the discourse of his brother, had almost forgotten his little friend, or rather he yet d the idea that he had seen a 1 supernatural vision in the mean time the countenance of that child presented itself to his recollection as a passing cloud. During the discourse of the Archbishop, a messenger had arrived in the church, who searched round every part of it, asking several persons if they had not seen a child in a white shirt? that his mother had lost him; and this was Gottfried whom they sought. Elizabeth had long expected him with the most fearful anxiety, which bad so augmented her fever, that seeing he did not come home,she rose from her bed to go and seek him herself; but she was too weak to go far. She descended the stairs with difficulty, and fainted away when she came to the threshold of the door: a neighbour, who knew her, lifted her up, and carried her back to her apartment; here not finding the child, he sent a person to seek him. His messenger not discovering him in the church stayed to see the ceremony. The midnight mass having begun, and while the melody of the organs, accompanied by singing, were pouring forth their divine harmony, Gottfried really thought he heard celestial voices and a real concert of angels. His eyes were unceasingly turned to the vaulted roof of the temple; and he could perceive, though not distinctly, objects flying over his head. He raised his arms mechanically as if to catch hold of them; he could scarcely hold his taper, but he felt a shivering fit, and grasped it from a convulsive movement: his head sunk on his bosom, and he turned to look at the crowd that filled the church. He felt a palpitation at his heart, produced by a kind of terror he knew not why. He turned away his eyes from the multitude, who were strangers to him, and looked at the Archbishop, who at that moment was thanking God with fervour for the conversion of his brother. Gottfried again felt calm, he enjoyed that peace of innocence which, till that day, had never been troubled. He fancied he understood every word that came from the lips of the prelate. The music began again, the trumpets sounded as on the day when Jesus burst open the gates of death; by degrees the sounds became more tender, more touching, so that it |