rity of a gentleman, to whom that nobleman himself related it.

It is now more than twenty years since Lord Londonderry was, for the first time, on a visit to a gentleman in the north of Ireland. The mansion was such a one as spectres are fabled to inhabit. It was associated with many recollections of historic times, and the sombre character of its architecture and the wildness of its surrounding scenery were calculated to impress the soul with that tone of melancholy and elevation, which,-if it be not considered as a predisposition to welcome the visitation of those unearthly substances that are impalpable to our sight in moments of less hallowed sentiment,-is indisputably the state of mind in which the imagination is most readily excited, and the understanding most favourably inclined to grant a credulous reception to its visions. The apartment also which was appropriated to Lord Londonderry was calculated to foster such a tone of feeling. From its antique appointments; from the dark and richly-carved pannels of its wainscoat; from its yawning width and height of chimney-looking like the open entrance to a tomb, of which the surrounding ornaments appeared to form the sculptures and the entablature ;-from the portraits of grim men and severe-eyed women, arrayed in orderly procession along the walls, and scowling a contemptuous enmity against the degenerate invader of their gloomy bowers and venerable halls; from the vast, dusky, ponderous, and complicated draperies that concealed the windows, and hung with the gloomy grandeur of funereal trappings about the hearse-like piece of furniture that was destined for his bed,-Lord L., on entering his apartment, might be conscious of some mental depression, and surrounded by such a world

of melancholy images, might, perhaps, feel himself more than usually inclined to submit to the influences of superstition. It is not possible that these sentiments should have been allied to any feelings of apprehension. Fear is acknowledged to be a most mighty master over the visions of the imagination. It can "call spirits from the vasty deep"-and they do come, when it does call for them. It trembles at the anticipation of approaching evil, and then encounters in every passing shadow the substance of the dream it trembled at. But such could not have been the origin of the form which addressed itself to the view of Lord Londonderry. Fear is a quality that was never known to mingle in the character of a Stewart. Lord Londonderry examined his chamber-he made himself acquainted with the forms and faces of the ancient possessors of the mansion, who sat upright in their ebony frames to receive his salutation; and then, after dismissing his valet, he retired to bed. His candles had not been long extinguished, when he perceived a light gleaming on the draperies of the lofty canopy over his head. Conscious that there was no fire in the grate that the curtains were closed-that the chamber had been in perfect darkness but a few moments before, he supposed that some intruder must have accidentally entered his apartment; and, turning hastily round to the side from which the light proceeded-saw-to his infinite astonishment-not the form of any human visiterbut the figure of a fair boy, who seemed to be garmented in rays of mild and tempered glory, which beamed palely from his slender form like the faint light of the declining moon, and rendered the objects which were nearest to him dimly and indistinctly visible. The spirit stood at some short distance from the side of the bed. Certain that his own faculties were not deceiving him, but sus

pecting that he might be imposed upon by the ingenuity of some of the numerous guests who were then visiting in the same house;-Lord Londonderry proceeded towards the figure. It retreated before him. As he slowly advanced, the form, with equal paces, slowly retired. It entered the vast arch of the capacious chimney, and then sunk into the earth. Lord L. returned to his bed; but not to rest. His mind was harassed by the consideration of the extraordinary event which had occurred to him. Was it real?-was it the work of imagination? -was it the result of imposture ?-It was all incomprehensible. He resolved in the morning not to mention the appearance till he should have well observed the manners and the countenances of the family: he was conscious that, if any deception had been practised, its authors would be too delighted with their success to conceal the vanity of their triumph. When the guests assembled at the breakfast-table, the eye of Lord Londonderry searched in vain for those latent smiles—those cunning looks-that silent communication between the parties-by which the authors and abettors of such domestic conspiracies are generally betrayed. Every thing apparently proceeded in its ordinary course. The conversation flowed rapidly along from the subjects afforded at the moment, without any of the constraint which marks a party intent upon some secret and more interesting argument, and endeavouring to afford an opportunity for its introduction. At last the hero of the tale found himself compelled to mention the occurrences of the night. It was most extraordinary-he feared that he should not be credited: and then, after all due preparation, the story was related. Those among his auditor who, like himself, were strangers and visiters in the house, were certain that some delusion must have been

practised. The family alone seemed perfectly composed and calm. At last, the gentleman whom Lord Londonderry was visiting, interrupted their various surmises on the subject by saying:-" The circumstance which you have just recounted must naturally appear most extraordinary to those who have not long been inmates of my dwelling, and are not conversant with the legends connected with my family; to those who are, the event which has happened will only serve as the corroboration of an old tradition that long has been related of the apartment in which you slept. You have seen the Radiant Boy; and it is an omen of prosperous fortunes; I would rather that this subject should no more be mentioned."

RECENT LETTERS ON SPAIN.

We have been told upon good authority, (and were it not indiscreet we could mention the parties,) of a literary gentleman who offered his publisher a new work on Spain. "Have you resided long in Spain?"-" I have the intention of residing there six or eight months," replied the traveller. "Your work," said the Bookseller," will, no doubt, be more correct by comparing your intended remarks with former notes; yet, in suffering the moment to pass when the imagination is struck with the novelty of things, the power of observing is weakened, and the narration becomes tame. I should therefore prefer your observations as they were struck off at a heat, during your first visit."-" But, my dear sir, they are not yet written, and you misunderstood me, if you thought I had ever been in Spain. I said, that I meant to go there for something less than a year;-which is about

the time I spent in France and Italy, and you know that in less than that period my Travels have gone through three editions. Why then not try my hand on Spain ?Since her late revolution, no country is more interesting to the public curiosity." Having resided some time in Spain, we thought ourselves competent to do justice both to the author and to the readers of this intended work; but as the year has nearly elapsed, and we have heard no more of it, it is to be supposed that the bargain was never concluded. We had thus lost all hope of comparing our own observations on the past state of Spain, with those of others on its recent situation. This opportunity, however, is unexpectedly afforded us by a small volume of Letters, recently written in Italian, -printed in Spain, and addressed to an Englishwoman, Lady J. H.*; whom we have seen here filling our sex with despair by her beauty, and hers by her wit, without their having as yet given her the title of a blue; though, happily for those who hunt after matter for ridicule, and unhappily for us, she incurs the danger of returning en bleu from her European tour. As we do not know where to write for this lady's permission to insert her name at full length, our readers must be contented with the initials.

The recommendation of the Publisher not to damp the first effusions of the imagination by a too-scrupulous revision, although contrary to the rules of orthodox criticism, is nevertheless worthy of attention, as being founded on professional experience; and he must have known at the same time, that the project of travelling to compile a volume, was precisely the way to repress every sally of the imagination. The letters before us are evidently the result of first impressions, and the

*Sei mesi in Ispagna, Lettere di G. Pecchio a Lady J. H.