The fact is, that these tombs have been built to gratify the eager desire which the English have always evinced to behold such interesting mementos;-formerly only one was erected, but the proprietor of the place, finding that all the English visitors, on being conducted to this, as the tomb of Virginia, always asked to see that of Paul also, determined on building a similar one, to which he gave that appellation. Many have been the visitors who have been gratified, consequently, by the conviction that they had looked on the actual burial place of that unfortunate pair. These "tombs" are scribbled over with the names of the various persons who have visited them, together with verses and pathetic ejaculations, and sentimental remarks. St. Pierre's story of the lovers is prettily written, and his description of the scenic beauties of the island are correct, although not even his pen can do full justice to them; but there is little truth in the tale: it is said, that there was indeed a young lady sent from the Mauritius to France, for education, during the time that Monsieur de la Bourdonnais was governor of the colony-that her name was Virginia, and that she was shipwrecked in the St. Geran. I heard something of a young man being attached to her, and dying of grief for her loss; but that part of the story is very doubtful. The " Bay of the Tomb," the "Point of Endeavour," the Isle of Amber," and the " Cape of Misfortune," still bear the same names, and are pointed out as the memorable spots mentioned by St. Pierre. The bay tree, said to be planted by Petrarch at the grave of Virgil, could not have been held in greater veneration than the bamboos which flourish round these "tombs" are honoured with: some persons have received commissions from their friends in England, to send them slips from those trees. The plant that grows near the remains of the Latian bard is now said to be destroyed by the incessant spoliation it received from English visitors; but the bamboo groves are not likely to share the same fate, since they are private property, and will, no doubt, long continue to overshade the spot, and to form an agreeable abode for the beautiful birds that sport among their branches. But although the romance of the story is soon dispelled to those who reside at the Mauritius, the country about Pamplemonsses is worth taking a journey to see; it is not so striking in picturesque and grand scenery as some other parts of the island, but it displays a well cultivated, smiling aspect, very much resembling the general appearance of English landscapes; it is well wooded, but not mountainous; and there is less to remind one of being in a tropical region that might be expected. The village is pretty and populous, and has a catholic church. There is also a botanical garden in that neighbourhood, which, although not affording a great display of flowers, is well stocked with valuable and curious trees from different parts of the east: it is kept in good order, and is an agreeable promenade.'—pp. 165—171,

We shall conclude with the account of a prisoner of war, who resided near the estate where the author had, for some portion of the year, sojourned.

At the distance of a tolerable walk from the estate resided a prisoner of war from Ceylon, who had not been many months at the Mauritius, and was then living at a small but comfortable cottage at Pamplemonsses: this was Eyhelapola, the maha nilimi, or prime minister to the king of Candi in Ceylon, who had been so unfortunate as to incur the displeasure

of his royal master, and was, in consequence, subjected to the fury and revenge of the tyrant. The king sent an order for Eyhelapola, who was at some distance from the capital, to appear before him; he, dreading to obey the summons, sent his wife, his sister, and his two children, to plead for him, and implore pardon :-the wrath of the barbarian monarch was not appeased by the sight of Eyehelapola's family; on the contrary, he was resolved to wreak his vengeance on those unoffending individuals:with savage cruelty, he caused the heads of the two children to be severed from their bodies in the presence of their agonised mother, and she was then made to pound them in a mortar! her hands were tied to the pestle, and a man, holding each arm, moved it up and down until the dreadful task was completed: the two females were then drowned. The injured Eyhelapola, on being informed of the fate of his family, became from that moment the implacable enemy of the author of his misfortunes, and the friend of the English. After the conquest of Candi, it was deemed a politic measure to secure the person of this chief, as he was much beloved by the Cingalese, and it was feared he might exert his influence over them in a manner prejudicial to the interests of the English: it was thought expedient afterwards to send him to the Mauritius, where he arrived in the year 1825, Twenty or thirty Candian, or Kandyan prisoners had been sent thither several years previously, and were kept in confinement. Eyhelapola was at liberty to travel about the country, and lived in great comfort at Pamplemousses, receiving the kindest attentions from Major B, the officer who had the chief superintendance of the Kandyan prisoners, and who did every thing in his power to render the old chief happy his exile: indeed many of the English paid him much attention and respect :-his domestic misfortunes and altered condition inspired sympathy, and he was an object of interest to all who had seen him he was always entitled the Prince, although I do not know that he had a legitimate claim to that distinctive appellation; his countenance is very mild in its expression, but not intelligent, and his manner is gentle and unassuming: if one might judge from his physiognomy, I should pronounce him a person by no means likely to foment political disturbances, or to take an active part in public affairs: he seemed devoid of energy, and looked like a very harmless, quiet personage. Fond of children, he took great notice of those he met with amongst his English friends: my little Mary attracted his attention particularly; she evinced much apprehension on being placed on his knee for the first time, but soon became familiar with him, and smiled in his face as he patted her cheek. His dress was the subject of your particular investigation, my dear Ellen: he wore a flat kind of hat, covered with white muslin, sometimes ornamented with gold; his hair, which was as white as snow, was rolled up in a ball at the back part of his head, nearly on the nape of his neck, and was seen projecting beneath his hat; the rest of his dress consisted also of white muslin, and he had a necklace of lumps of gold, each the size and shape of a small hen's egg: whether these were solid or not, I cannot say; if they were, the weight of the whole necklace must have been very great; he wore also a ring, the stone of which, apparently an emerald, was nearly the size of a half-crown.'-pp. 177-181.

We had proposed to confine ourselves to the quotation of a few specimens, such as would give a fair idea of the manner in which

the book generally is written, but we find that we have been betrayed into long extracts. We are satisfied, however, that none of our readers will complain that we have drawn too copiously from the pages of the author. They will, we are assured, be ready to join with us in admiring the power of neat and elegant diction, which the writer unites with the charms of unassuming and truly feminine modesty; and they will not hesitate, now that they have read those extracts, in agreeing in the wish which we set out with expressing, that we had more such literary recruits from the gentler sex, as the author of the "Recollections of the Mauritius."

ART. VI.-The Siamese Twins. A Satirical Tale of the Times. With other Poems. By the Author of " Pelham," &c. 8vo. pp. 390. London: Colburn and Co. 1831.

MR. BULWER having, as he is told by some of his critical friends, established for himself an ever-during fame as a writer of novels, has lately tried his prentice-hand in the poetical line, and has moreover, if those same organs of public opinion may be credited, —succeeded to a degree altogether beyond his hopes. Whether the character of the " times" in which we live, of those which died with the last administration, or of those which are approaching, is or has been or may be favourable to poetry, is a question which no poet will ever think of asking. We take it to be certain, that in an intelligent age no good poem ever can fail to attract notice, and to win its just meed of praise; and consequently, we think that Mr. Bulwer might have very well dispensed altogether with the preface which he has presented to his readers, in order to convince them that he is not the man to echo a sound of which the world is tired, or to deal in worn-out sentiments. We perceive and admit at once that he is a versifier of a school altogether new-that he plagiarises neither from Butler, nor Byron,—that he is neither a Hudibras, nor a Don Giovanni, but something between both, well entitled to the admiration of his contemporaries, and even of posterity.

It is a delightful consolation to feel that there is another tribunal, to which we may confidently appeal from the decision of that living envy, which, like its shadow, always dogs the path of merit. The poetical aspirant must be particularly happy in reflecting upon that superior resort, that House of Lords,-a future age,-when he knows that he has accomplished something, though it be but a tale or a satire, which is above the comprehension of the uncivilized hordes that breathe and move around him. It is, however, Mr. Bulwer's good fortune not only to obtain the praises of the generations amongst whom he lives, but also to deserve those of the myriads who are to follow them. His Siamese Twins' bear about them all the tokens of immortality!

The poem, we can call it by no other name,-seeing that it is uniformly so styled by the author, and printed in the usual manner, with capital letters at the beginnings of the lines, and rhymes at their terminations,-is dedicated to Captain Basil Hall, of Bourbon memory. One would suppose from the exordium, that the author and the Captain were the best friends in the world. That would be a great mistake. The man of the sea is cut up most dreadfully a little farther on, and towards the conclusion he is literally reduced to the size of a nine pin. This is playing at bowls with a vengeance. We are not altogether oppressed with remediless grief by the execution which is thus done upon the naval litterateur, as he has been for some time engaged in a kind of personal crusade against liberty, both at home and abroad. Whatever popularity his work upon South America had acquired for him he has taken all the pains in his power to shake off, by his writings about North America and France, both of which countries he has pretty equally misrepresented. He must change his tactics altogether. They will not do any thing for him with the present Board of Admiralty.

The poet, determined to be occasionally comic after a fashion of his own, very properly avoids introducing the Twins too abruptly: He begins with their origin from the illustrious house of FiamFiam of Bancock, (the Siamese capital,) with whom the reader, doubtless is, or very soon will be well acquainted.

'Our Fiam was a handsome fellow,

His nose was flat, his skin was yellow;
Tho' black his locks, with truth you'd swear,
His teeth were blacker than his hair;
He might have seem'd Apollo's grandson,
And borne the bell from Colonel Anson !'

Having thus introduced our friend Fiam, he may be allowed to hand in his wife, whom he paints in the following glowing language:-We are mistaken-the wife, we beg pardon, is a nondescript; all that we hear about her is, that in order to make up for the barrenness of twenty years, she is one day brought to bed and favours her husband, as our poet aptly and elegantly expresses it, with the kind gratuity of twins.' So far so good,' as the same great author adds. There is nothing, generally speaking, more difficult to poetical writers than the explanation of phenomena, which demand technicality of diction. Even in sober philosophy, men most conversant with the resources of our language, are often at a loss for felicitous and concise expressions to convey their meditations. No obstacle of this kind ever stands in Mr.

Bulwer's way. We were particularly anxious to see how he conquered the deficiencies of our tongue, in representing the palpable and extraordinary link by which nature had united the Siamese Twins; but our solicitude for his happy deliverance from the dan

gers of what College men would call the "ass's bridge," was speedily removed by the following sweet and picturesque lines :— But ah !-the works to come!-for Fate

Her boon with bane will ever make,

And often with her childish antics
The fairest hope of mortal man tricks;
So now she by a bony tether,

Joined breast to breast-our Twins together!'

Short as this passage is, it diplays uncommon genius for poetry -for comic poetry. The ah!-prepares us for something out of the usual course of things, and throws us into a pensive and anxious mood, which is considerably heightened by the reflections upon Fate, and the tricks which she sometimes plays upon mankind. But our melancholy is in a moment superseded by a fine peal of laughter, when we reach that glorious anti-climax :

'So-now-she-by a bony tether,' &c.

The astonishment of the mother, the horror of old Fiam, the gossip of Bancock upon this extraordinary event, are painted in appropriate colours, and the first canto, or rather the first chapter of the first book, as with comic originality it is called, ends with the modest intimation that

The twins being now fairly launched upon the stream abovementioned, the poet is at liberty to expatiate a little upon their dispositions, which he represents to be

" -as much dissimilar

As ever Honesty and Miller are.'

One was in fact a saint, and the other a sinner; one was called Chang, the other Ching; one learned quickly, the other slowly; one was serious, the other gay; one loved to run after butterflies, the other to stay at home; in short, so different were their dispositions, that it is a matter of wonder how they were kept together, even by the 'bony tether.' What a charming subject for the modern comic muse-for something between a Butler and a Byron !

Fate brings a certain Mr. Hodges in the character of a missionary to Bancock, where the same fate condemns him to be tossed, after his introductory sermon, in an ignominious blanket. This delightful ceremony supplies Mr. Bulwer with the materials for a second chapter, which he concludes in rather a graver strain. The twins form an acquaintance with Hodges, who induces them to think of a voyage to England, and forthwith the author indulges

*Bony is anatomically incorrect.