that I flew from thence to Salt Hill, where I remained the next night; and arrived at High-Wickham, on the third day; where my dear Mamma, beautiful as an angel, stretched out her arms, and caught me within them.' —Now," continued the Doctor, " these are precisely the places where the dear child's corpse will remain, on this and the succeeding night, before we reach his mother's vault, which is finally to receive it."-vol. ii. pp. 115-117.

To this singular story Mr. Warner subjoins the following as singular:

• Another instance of these mysterious delusions of the imagination, (if such they must be called,) came within my own personal knowledge. Whilst I filled the curacy of Fawley, I was accustomed, occasionally, to spend a day or two at Lymington, and usually slept at the house of a friend of mine, a solicitor of that town. He had a client, by the name of Wyat, keeper of a turnpike-gate in the vicinity of Lymington, who, then, lay exceedingly ill; and for whom my friend had recently made a will. The gentleman, of whom I speak, was accustomed to attend on every market-day at the town of Beaulieu, a place about seven miles from Lymington; the approach to which was over a wild common, called Beaulieu Heath, between three and four miles in breadth; cut up by innumerable tracks, and destitute of all trees or plants, save furze-bushes, and heather. One evening, on returning from a party to my friend's house, I learned, with some surprise, that he had not yet come back from Beaulieu, whither he had gone early in the morning. The midnight hour approachedbut a glorious full moon prevented any alarm for his safety. Just before twelve he arrived, greatly heated and somewhat agitated. I enquired the cause. He closed the door, and then narrated as follows: "On leaving Lymington," said he, "this morning, as I passed the turnpike, I enquired after poor Wyat; and learned from his wife that he was desperately ill, and not likely to recover. My business at Beaulieu detained me till late in the evening. I did not mount my horse before the clock struck ten; but, as the night was exceedingly fine, I rode slowly, my mind much occupied with the business which I had gone out to transact, but failed in accomplishing. I had scarcely entered upon the heath, when I saw, abont a hundred yards before me, a man sitting on the ground close to the tract which my horse had taken. On approaching him, I discovered, to my extreme astonishment, the form and countenance of Wyat: the one extremely emaciated, the other deadly pale. When within half-a-dozen yards of him, he started up and proceeded at a brisk walk along the road on which I was riding. I called him by name, but he did not answer. put my horse into a swinging trot, in order to overtake him-repeating my request that he would stop; but, by changing his walk into a run, he still kept a few yards before me; occasionally turning his head, and showing, as at first, the exact features of Wyat. I was alarmed: and spurred my horse to its utmost speed--but all in vain; the figure still headed me; and, though the pursuit continued nearly three miles, I could never overtake it and, at length, lost sight of it altogether among the holly-trees, at the hither end of Beaulieu Heath. I continued to ride as hard as I could to the turnpike, and there enquired, again, how the sick man was, and

I

whether he had been out of the house that evening. A neighbour who attended the gate for the afflicted family, answered, that he had been in Heaven for more than two hours.' He was dead, and I had seen his spirit: for how else can you account for the circumstance?" I leave it to the reader's sagacity to discover a satisfactory answer to this question; for I confess my own inability to solve the mystery. No common supposition will do it; for my friend was a grave, steady, and by no means a fanciful man, and of unimpeachable veracity.

"There are more things in heaven and earth

Than are dreamt of in our philosphy !"'

vol. ii. pp. 117-119.

We must confess that we have never given our sanction to the circulation of such narratives as these, without asking ourselves this question are we not administering to a weak propensity of our nature, and endeavouring to fan the expiring flame of superstition? Still when we find that such stories are sent into the world by enlightened men, who must be supposed to be as solicitous for the welfare of mankind as ourselves, we willingly shelter ourselves under their authority, and adopt their example. For our own parts, without at all denying the possibility of such visitations, we must say that we read or listen to them with great incredulity, and for this reason. It is only by the immediate appointment of God that these preternatural appearances take place. This being the case, there must be some object or end in view, which they are to serve. Now in no one instance of these singular visitations, have we been ever able to detect the slightest utility. No sort of communication, no warning, no announcement has taken place; and it always happens that the visit of the supposed friend is cotemporaneous with the moment of his death. We could never conceive that Providence would so far suspend the laws which usually prevail, with respect to the relation between the material and the spiritual world, merely for the sake of putting a poor mortal into a state of vague terror; and yet as far as we know, nothing more rational is ever the effect of. these preternatural demonstrations.

Some very interesting biographical particulars relating to Dr. Parry, the celebrated physician of Bath, and the still more celebrated Dr. Parr, are furnished by Mr. Warner; and they are the more valuable, as they are the results of his own personal experience of those two eminent men. We have not spoken of Mr. Warner's literary productions, because, from time to time as they issued from the press, we have endeavoured to devote that consideration to his works, which his talents and reputation called for. We need not say how highly pleased we have been with these volumes. We have seldom seen so much good sense, and still more rarely, so much good humour united with a greater abundance. of charitable feeling and innocence of purpose. The style is remarkably forcible, chaste, and elegant.

ART. III.—Picture of India: Geographical, Historical, and Descriptive. 2 vols. 12mo. London: Whittaker and Co. 1830.

WE must say, that there is an elegance, ́(if not a splendour) of decoration about these volumes, that very properly corresponds with the ideas of magnificence which we usually associate with the name of India. The contents are not unworthy of the beautiful frame work in which they are embraced; and, if we mistake not the public taste, this Picture of India will, for a long time, supersede every competitor that has arisen, or that is likely to come into the field.

We have an abundance of books illustrative of India, under its manifold aspects. Our literature and our natural history are enriched by a hundred contributors, who draw their materials from the exhaustless stores of Hindostan. These works are very numerous, and very expensive, and consequently not easily accessible almost to any class. To compare the information which they containto digest the mass of facts which that comparison yielded, and to arrange them in a natural and convenient series-was the task which the author of these volumes has proposed to himself, and accomplished. There were many difficulties opposed to the execution of such a work, but we do not think that they could have been met with more ingenuity and knowledge than the compiler has displayed. He seems to be thoroughly conversant, either from personal observation of India, or long contemplation of that country through the medium of books, with all her physical peculiarities, all her resources, tried and untried, together with the present state and capabilities of her infinite population. It is impossible for any one to turn his attention to the existing condition of Hindostan, without wishing that the elements of moral improvement to be found in it, were as speedily as possible put into a state of activity-and, accordingly, our author is not lukewarm, although he is far from being chimerical, or even intemperate, in urging his plans and suggestions for the immediate commencement of the era of Indian reform. Generally, however, he appears to us to be very impartial in his views and commentaries; his language is forcible; his descriptions of nature are clear and striking, and are occasionally tinged with the fervid sensibility of a poet's heart. As a Guide-book alone, to those who look to the Eastern continent of the British dominions as the place of their future destiny, the present work is calculated to gratify curiosity, and to furnish both useful and interesting information.

The geographical position of India naturally claims the earliest attention of the author, and he considers it chiefly in relation to the facilities it enjoys for commercial intercourse with other countries. Towards the south, the Persian Gulf and the Red Sea afford a ready means of communication with the whole south of Europe, and,

indeed, were the channels of commerce between India and Europe before the discovery of the Cape of Good Hope. The Oriental Islands, and the eastern part of Asia, on the one hand, with China, Japan, the cluster of Islands that stud the Pacific, and-though last not least--the whole range of the coast of western America, north and south, are commanded by India, through the passage round the Malay peninsula. In short, it is calculated to be the centre of commerce, whether of the north, south, east, or west. The great geographical features of India are its mountains, but none of them almost deserve to be mentioned with the grand range of the Himalaya, of which our author gives a detailed account.

'It will be most convenient to begin in the north-west, where the great dividing ridge, between the northern and the southern waters, enters that part of the Afghan territory, which is naturally included within the Indian barrier, although that territory is not yet under the influence of the East India Company. Upon the map of Asia, this ridge of mountains may be traced, with some interruptions, of pass, desert, and table land, from the Dardanelles, south of Constantinople, to Behring's Strait, opposite the north-west of America. Indeed, the pass of the Dardanelles is only an interruption, and there is some reason to think, an interruption produced, during the present state of the globe, by the eruption of an immense body of water, that once covered a considerable part of the valley of the Danube, of Russia, and of Siberia, and united the Caspian, the sea of Azoph, and the Black Sea, into one mass of water. Therefore, the mountains under consideration are part of one great mountain formation, that girdles the old continent, from the south-west of Europe to the north-east of Asia, and is therefore the longest upon the globe.

'As to India, however, it may be reckoned as beginning at Hindu Cosh, a great snowy summit, about seventy miles to the north-west of the city of Cabul in Afghanistan, the altitude of which has not, so far as we have been able to ascertain, been measured. This peak is in latitude about 35°, and longitude about 681° east. Thence, the chain stretches eastward, bending sometimes to the north, and sometimes to the south, but on the average nearly upon a parallel, to about longitude 76°, or for nearly 400 British miles; and during the whole of that extent, it gets the name of Hindu Cosh, or the Indian Caucasus. Its summit forms the "water-shed," between the rivers that run north-west, and those that descend to the Indus, during the greater part of the distance,—there being only two passages for rivers, one for the Kaushkar, about longitude 71°, and another for the Indus, about longitude 75°, both of which rivers flow towards the south. Those mountains are of great elevation, some of them being estimated at more than 20,000 feet, and the snow remains upon them throughout the whole season; but the barrier that they present, and the strong reflection of the mid-day sun from their sides, give to the valleys a very high temperature, and crops ripen and flocks are fed, and there are forests at an elevation which, even on the Andes, under the equator, would be too cold for being productive or even habitable. In the valleys, the thermometer shows an elevation of 113°; but in the light dry air of that Alpine region, that great heat does not appear to be be injurious, or even disagreeable. The principal river

that drains those mountains, to the west of the Indus, is the Cabul, which joins the Indus, at the celebrated passage of Attock.

About the 76° of longitude, the chain bends to the south-east, and receives the name of Himalaya, or "the dwelling of snow," to which it is unusually entitled. Among high peaks of the Himalaya, in about latitude 31°, and longitude 810, the Indus and its principal tributary, the Sutledj, and the Ganges, and its principal branch, the Jumnah, rise, at no great distance from each other, nor yet far from the source of the Sampoo, which rolls its stream through the mountain country of Thibet. Some of the mountains near the source of those rivers, have been ascertained to have an elevation exceeding 22,000 feet; but they are by no means the highest in the chain, though the point is, of course, the summit level of all the valleys of the rivers. At this part, the breadth of the chain is not great, the extent, from what may be considered as the termination of the plains of India, to the commencement of those of Thibet, in passing northward, does not exceed 80 or 100 miles.

It is after they have passed the sources of the great rivers, that those mighty mountains rise up, in all their grandeur, between the sources of the rivers Gogra and Gunduck, from longitude 81° to 83°. There, there is a succession of summits, ten or more, the altitudes of which have been measured, and each of them is considerably higher than Chimboraço, in the Andes while Dhawalaghiri, or the white mountain, raises its head to the enormous elevation of more than 27,000 feet. These mighty masses are formed into an array across the direction of the chain, and divided, for a considerable way, by deep ravines. So far as has been observed, there is a peculiarity of formation common to them all; and it is a formation which, from the motion of the only winds that can act upon the mountains, those that come loaded with rain, we would be led to expect. The southern sides, those that are turned toward the Bay of Bengal, and of course pelted by the heavy rains, which the south winds bring from that quarter, are smooth, and worked into something like débris and decomposition while the opposite sides, which are sheltered from the fury of the elements, present all the perpendicular cliffs and rugged forms of the original rock.

Along the whole valley of the Ganges, those mountains retain a sublime elevation; though, as they advance toward the south-east, they become rather less lofty, and also less continuous. In absolute elevation, the secondary mountains that divide Nepâl from the great valley, are but trifling as compared with these; while the little lateral elevations, which stretch into the valley between the numerous rivers, and which are found so convenient for pasturage, when the low lands are flooded, hardly deserve the name of hills. Beyond the swampy lands on the banks of the Brahmapootra, and the forests in which that river is supposed to have its source, the great chain of the Himalaya has not been traced, though it is by no means unlikely that its ramifications may extend across China to the eastern sea, and down the Malay peninsula to the Strait of Malacca.'-vol. i. pp. 52—57.

India, on its eastern side, is very remarkable for the want of natural harbours on its coasts, and also for a deficiency of islands in its proximity; though the internal part abounds with copious and