Gambar halaman

dire demand, had not the Lady Sibyl's attendant the sole companion of my bosom,--the witness minded; but it was not the sweet pride that fasat that moment entered with Sir Lubin's com- of all the tears I have shed for him, the comfort-cinated while it awed,-it was the aspiring wopliments, and it was past the hour when she had er of all my doubts of his fidelity, -is gone for. man, and not the playful and condescending seengaged to ride with him. Childe Wilful's ever,-I can never stoop to receive it back, - 1 raph. She was accomplished; but they were heart was armed with a thicker coat of mail than never will forgive him,-no, never,--that is, if the accomplishments approved by the under. ever, and his lips writhed into a bitter smile. he be really gone."

standing rather than the heart,—the methodical “Do not let me detain you, Lady Sibyl,” he And really, when she returned, he was work of education, and stored up for display. said.." perhaps your gentlewoman will be good gone. Sibyl, however, would not persuade her. But Sibyl was accomplished by Heaven; her enough to find me the picture amongst your self that it was not his intention to return; and gifts were like the summer breezes which sportcast-off ornaments."

every night had to take her pride to task for ed around him,--wild, exquisite, and mysterious, This was rather too much, to be exposed in having looked out upon the road all the day. which were the same whether wasted on the de ber weakest point to the impertinent surprise Perhaps he would write; and she stole away, as sert, or wafting delight to the multitude. She was. of her servant.

heretofore, alone, to meet the tardy post a mile a lovely line of poetry in a world of prose,--she “Nay-nay,” she replied in confusion," have off. There were letters for my lord,—for Sir was a blossom dropped from Paradise to shame done for the present;--if you ask me for it to. Lubin--for the Lady Jemima.

all the flowers of the earth. Oh, but Sibyl was morrow I will return it.”

“No-no!-I want not them. For the Lady false! and oh, again, it was just possible he “ I shall not be here to-morrow, and it is hard. Sibyl—what for the Lady Sibyl!"

might be mistaken. He was sadly bewildered, ly compatible with Lady Sibyl's pride to detain The letters were turned over and over, and had another bad head-ache, and was strongly of presents which the donor would resume.' still the same deadening sound fell like a knell opinion that it was not the way to forget Sibyl

Her answer was a little indignant, this re: upon her heart—"Nothing for the Lady Sibyl.” to put her in competition with other people. He joinder was a little more provoking, -the maid Lady Sibyl returned unwillingly to her com- hardly liked to confess it to himself, but he was began to laugh in her sleeve,-and Sibyl herself pany after her disappointment with respect to not quite sure that, if he had any excuse which humiliated. It is but a short step, in mighty the arrival of a letter, and retired at the first op- would not compromise his dignity, he would turn spirits, from humiliation to discord; and Sibyl portunity, to wonder if her cousin was really in his horse's head towards the hall, and suffer the soon called in the whole force of her dignity, earnest,-if he had really deserted her, and fiends which were tormenting him to drive him and conjured up a smile of as much asperity as whether she had ever given him cause so to do. at their own pace. the Chiide's.

Her pride would seldom suffer her to weep, and "No!” she exclaimed, “it is not amongst my the tears seemed swelling at her heart till each

It happened that such excuse was not far cast-off ornaments. I mistook it for the simili. throb was a throb of pain. Sometimes she

distant. He had no sooner alighted at home than ude of true affection, of generosity and manli- would bewilder herself with suggesting other

he was presented with a hasty note, which had ness, and have worn it where those qualities de reasons than want of inclination for his absence,

been some days awaiting him, from Sibyl's father, serve to be treasured up." and for his silence. Might he not wish to re

inviting him,--a film came over his eyes, and the The picture was pro ced from its pretty hid- turn, and be prevented by his family, who had pulsation of his heart was paralysed, -—inviting ing place, and carelessly tendered to him. not seen him for so long, and would naturally

him to what he knew would give him great pleaYou will, perhaps, remember,” she contin- be importunate? Might he not be fearful of writ. sure, to Sibyl's wedding! Should he send an ded," that there was a fellow to this picture, ing, lest the letter should fall into hands for excuse, and stay at home, and prove that he did and that the original of it bas as little inclination which it was not intended, and betray the se

not care about it; or should he plunge headlong as other people to be made a boast of." cret which she had desired him to keep? It

into their revelry, and spare neither age nor sex "Undoubtedly, Lady Sibyl,—it was my inten. surely might be her own overweening caution of the whole party? No matter, he would contion to make you perfectly easy on that point.” that was afflicting her, and he might be as impa

sider it on his way. He gave his steed the spur, The little jewel was removed coldly from his tient as herself. Her imagination would begin himself, and set out to cool his blood, and shake

as though the good animal had been Sir Lubin breast, and seemed to reproach him as it parted, to occupy itself in ideal scenes, until she

forgot his wits into their places, by a moonlight gallop for it had the same mournful smile with which those which had really occurred, and her hand

of a hundred miles. Sibyl sat for it when he was preparing for the would rise fondly to her bosom to draw forth the wars. He gave it to her, and received his own semblance of her suffering cavalier. Alas! it The morning was far advanced when he came in return. It was yet warm from its sweet de was then that the poor Sibyl's deceptive dreams within sight of the hall. He was almost exhaustpository, and the touch of it thrilled to his soul; were dispersed. The picture was gone,-was ed; and the preparations for festivity upon the --but he was determined for once to act with even now, perhaps, the bosom companion of an- fine slope of the chase, came over his soul with consistency: As he closed the door he distin- other, who pitied her with smiles, and gaily up-sickness and dismay. The high blood of his poor guished a faint sob, and a feeling of self reproach braided him for his falsehood. Then again would animal was barely sufficient to answer the feeble seemed fast coming over bim; but then his hon- the flush of shame rush over her cheek, her urging of its rider; and the slow stride, which our! Was he to endure the possibility of being maiden indignation determine to forget him, was accompanied by a deeper and a deeper sob, triumphed over by such an eternal blockhead as and her bewildered wits busy themselves upon seemed fast flagging to a stand still. The Childe Sir Lubin of the Golden Dell?

plans of teaching him that she had done so. felt that he was too late. He inquired of a Sibyl made her appearance in the drawing In the mean time Sir Lubin began to con- troop of merry-makers round a roasting ox, and foom soon after him, in her riding-dress. Her gratulate himself that he made an impression.— found that the wedding cavalcade had set off for manner was cold and distant, and she heard him Sibyl had lost the spirit to repel his advances as the church. He looked down upon the hill of feign business at home without condescending she had done before, and the little which she af- his sword,-he was still in time for vengeance,to notice it, only that there was a fever upon forded him of her company, was clearly a pretty still in time to cut short the bridegroom's triher cheek which spoke an unwonted tumult of stratagem to bring him to an explanation. He umph,—to disappoint the anticipations of--Spi. feeling. Her horse was at the door, and Sir had a great mind to be cruel in his turn, and lead rits of fury! were there none to inspire a few Lubin was ready to escort her down. As she her heart the dance, as he expressed it, which she minutes vigour into his fainting steed. The steed took leave of her

cousin they were both haughty, had led his -but then she was very pale, and toiled on as though he had possessed the burning and both their hands trembled. In a minute might have a fit of illness. On the evening when heart of his master; troops of peasant girls she was seen winding through the old avenue. he had resolved to make her happy, Sibyl indeed dressed fantastically, and waving garlands on Sir Lubin, who was observed poking his head received a letter, but it was from her lover's sis either side of the road, soon told him that he was from his shoulders with all the grace of a goose ter. It was full of the gay rattle which usually near the scene of the sacrifice. They had rein a basket, was evidently saying tender things, characterizes the correspondence of hearts which ceived a sheep-faced duck from the head of the and, altogether, looked cruelly like a dangerous have never known sorrow, but it was other news blushing Sir Lubin, sprawling wave of his rival. The Childe drew his breath through his that Sibyl looked for. She toiled through lively long arm, thrust in all the pride çf silver and teeth as though they had been set on edge, descriptions of fetes and finery, and Airtations, satin, from the window of his coach and six. and moved from the window like a spirit turned scarcely knowing what she read, till at last her They had beheld the fevered and bewildered qut of paradise.

eyes glanced upon the name shé sought. She loveliness of the lady Sibyl, looking among the Sir Lubin did not find his ride very satisfactory. stopped to breathe ere she proceeded, and then bride ́s-maids, intense as a planet amid its satelHe discovered that it was a fine evening;-made Childe Wilful was gone to and was pay- lites, and were all in extacies, that if possible a clever simile about Lady Sibyl's cheek and a sing violent attentions to Lady Blanche. increased his agony. Another lash, another poppy, and another about her cruelty and a She tore the letter calmly into little strips; bound, and he turned the corner which brought bramble; but they had little or no effect. She her lips were compressed with beautiful, buz/him full upon the elm-embowered church, suranswered "no,” where she ought to have said stern and desperate determination. That night rounded by the main body of the May-day multi. "yes,” looked bewildered when he asked her Sir Lubin made his proposals, and in the deli- tude, and a string of coaches which displayed all opinion, and, in fact, as he poetically expressed rium of fancied vengeance, Sibyl answered-she the arms in the county. He sprang from his it, was extracting honey from the flowers of her knew not what.

horse, and dashed through them like a meteor. own imagination.

It was not long after that the Childe was re- The party were all standing before the altar; «Will he indeed have the heart to leave me turning sadly home from the Lady Blanche. She and he staggered, and restrained his steps to hear thus?” said Sibyl to herself. “Unkind-un- was very beautiful,--but, oh, she had not the how far the ceremony had proceeded. There grateful-to take my little treasure from me, I speaking glance of Sibyl. She was lofty and high was a dead silence, and all eyes were fixed upon


Sibyl, who trembled, as it seemed, too much to princely style, and it is more than suspected that he Of life, th' Eternal gave! articulate. is concerned in piracy. He recently ordered one of Thou, at whose presence, earthly power

Stoops with its glories to the dust “More water," said some one in a low voice; his slaves to be bound to a post in a watch-house, and

the house to be set on fire. About the same time The hoarded wealth, the kingly dower, "she is going to faint again." Water was handed to her, and the clergyman and fired. This is but a single example of the cruanother was lashed to a cannon, which was loaded And godlike genius in its hour

Of inspiration's spirit--burst! repeatedelties which are practised in Africa.

Dark Rider on the Simoon's wing, “ Wilt thou take this man to be thy wedded

Foul breather of the siroc's breath, husband?" Sibyl said nothing, but gasped audibly; her


That searchest out each living thing,

To blast it with the touch of death! father looked more troubled, and Sir Lubin open

How since the flight of years began,

TO MY COUSIN. ed his mouth wider and wider.

Dread spirit, bast thou gone abroad,

The blighi of earth, the scourge of man, The question was repeated, but still Sibyl No. Cousin, no,-each gentle word

of thine is unforgotten yet, spoke not.

Commissioned by th' eternal God!
That sweet low voice in boyhood heard,
It was pronounced a third time,-Sibyl shook

How oft at thy companionship

E'en manhood's pride may not forget more violently, and uttered an hysteric scream.

Hath pride upcurled its haughty lip,
I do not tell thee this to flatter
“Oh, merciful heaven!” she exclaimed, “it

And grandeur laid its starry crown
Thy vain young heart with words of passion,

And plume and robe and sceptre down! is impossible! I cannot! I cannot!”

For love has grown a playful matter, Her astonished lover sprang forward, and re And sentiment is out of fashion.

How many, at whose onset-shout

A thousand swords had started out, ceived her fainting form in his arms. A glance The world has given a different tone

Whose banner 'spread had caught the sun at each other's countenance was sufficient to ex

To feelings which it could not bridle;
And manhood would disdain to own

Upon a lundred fields of blood, plain all the sufferings,--to dissipate all the re

Unstooping 'till the strife was done, sentment. Concealment was now out of the

The worship of its earliest idol

Like oaks that breast the coming on question, and their words broke forth at the same Nay, Cousin,-it is idle now

Of tempests in their wrathful mood, To linger on the past, or cherish

Have, with their mighty ones, departed instant.

A thought of that unmeaning vow, “Oh, faithless! how could you drive me to

The strong in pride—the lion-hearted, • Whose very nature was to perish.

Not in the closing ranks of war this dreadful extremity?" For many months we have not met

With bloody hand and soul unshriven, “ Sweet Sibyl, forgive-forgive me! I will And yet they say thy mood is cheerful,

When through false mail or visor-bar atone for it by such penitence, such devotion, as They say thy cheek is rosy yet,

The stained and batter'd lance is driven! the world never saw. And that ihine eye is seldom tearful.

But sinking at thy presence where “ By Jove!” exclaimed the bridegroom, “but That in the gay and crowded hall

No war-shout shook the tainted air I do not like this!” The mazes of thy dance are lightest

Expiring, not as warriors would,
Thy voice the freest of them all,
“By my word!” added the lady Jemima,“ but

With dinted sabre, red in blood,
The glances of thine eye the brightest.

Where flashes on the closing eye
here is a new lover!”
That broken-hearted lovers yet

The gleam of banners sweeping by, “By mine honour," responded the lady BridAre thronging round thee by the dozen

And peals upon the dying ear, get, “but he is an old one!” That thou art still a gay coquette

In banner cry and trumpet call, " By my word and honour too,” continued And is it so, my gentle cousin?

In armour clank and sabre fall, the lady something else, “I suspected it long I hope it is for thou art one

The music which it loves to heap. ago!"

Unfitted for a weary trial,

How often o’er Byzantium's walls “And by my gray beard,” concluded the old A thing to perish when the sun

Hath swept the shadow of thy wing, lord, “I wish I had done so too!-Look you, Sir

Is shrouded from thy spirit's dial!

And mirth and glory fled the halls
Lubin, Sibyl is my only child, and must be made
Yet what of this? Thou art not sighing

That owned its deadly visiting!

Of slighted love to flower and tree, happy her own way. I really thought she had

When sunk alike the gray haired sire,
And little dost thou think of dying

And boyhood with its heart of flame, been pining and dying for you, but since it ap

For such a worthless thing as me.

And beauty bending o'er the lyre, pears I was mistaken, why e'en let us make the Yet, Cousin! those were pleasant times,

That murmur'd with her lover's name! best of it. You can be brideman still, though When we were in the moonlight straying, How oft upon the tropic seas you cannot be bridegroom: and who knows but With hearts as idle as the rhymes in our revels to-night you may find a lady less

With which my careless pen is playing.

The presence of thy curse hath been!

A chain upon the blessed breeze-
liable to change her mind?"
*Twas pleasant to behold thee lift

A fever in the hearts of men!
Sir Lubin did not understand this mode of
Thy dark eyes to the blue sky o'er os,

When hideous corses one by one,
proceeding, and would have came to high words
With brow as fair as mountain drift,

Are peopling ocean's sepulchre, When polished by the wings of Boreas but for the peculiar expression of Childe Wilful's

And in the red eye of the sun, 'Twas beautiful to hear thee tell eye, which kept them bubbling in his throat.

Raves the delirious mariner;

Of bowers in fancy's dreamy vision,
He could by no means decide upon what to say.

And slumber, if thy victims gaia
Where faithful hearts might cherish well,

That boon, ere wearyllite depart
He gave two or three pretty considerable hems, The holy things of Love's Elysium.

While every hot and throbbing vein, but he cleared the road in vain, for nothing was Cousin!-these days have vanished now,

Is pouring poison round the heart, coming; and so, at last, he made up his mind to And love's mild glance would ill befit

Hath changeful dreams of passing bliss, treat the matter with silent contempt. He bow. The darker lip and haughtier brow,

And pangs that mortals may not telled to the company with a haughty dive, kicked With anguish and ambition writ.

The holy bowers of blessedness, his long sword, as he turned, between his leg I blame thee not that thou hast lent

The terrors of the nether hell! and strode, or rather rode, out of the church as

The blessing of thy love to others,

The soft, yet thrilling clasp of hand, fast as his dignity would permit. The crowd on Although my own was never meant

Which tells the loving heart so much,

To be but as a friend or brother's. the outside, not being aware of what had passed

Exchanged to meet the horrid brand,
But time hath worked a change---perhaps

And blightning of a demon's touch!
within, and taking it for granted that it was all The better for a heart like mine,
right that the bridegroom, on such occasions, And though it may at times relapse,
should go home alone, wished him joy very And worship at its olden shrine,
heartily and clamorously, and the six horses went Yet, Coz, it were an idle thing

MARRIED, off at a long trot, which was quite grand.

of other days and loves to speak;

On Monday, 31st May, by the Rev. Mr. Sanford, Sibyl and her cavalier looked breathlessly for

And idle were thy hopes to bring.

LORENZO F. FISHER, M. D. of Port Elizabeth, New what was to come next.

A tear on manhood's bearded cheek.

Jersey, to Anna Maria, daughter of Richand S. "The wedding feast must not be lost," said

Farewell, sweet cousin !-thou art young, RISLEY, of this city. the old lord; “ will nobody be married?"

And wealth, and mirth and love surround thee; On Thursday evening, 3d inst. by the Rt. Rev. Sibyl was again placed at the altar, and in the And I wreck of being-flung,

Bishop White, JOSEPA Wals Ryenss, to Susan, room of Sir Lubin, was handed the Chevalier

Upon a sea that darkens round me.

daughter of Robert Waln, Esquire.

Forget--forgive the dreamy part Wilful,

Which thou and I have acted o'er; “ Wilt thou take this man for thy wedded huz Go-kindle in another heart

DIED, band?" demanded the priest.

The flame that burns in mine no more.

Suddenly, on Friday morning, Mrs. REBECCA A. Sibyl blushed, and still trembled, but her Vhen married,---for acquaintance sakem CORBIN. faintings did not return; and if her voice was low Good Cousin, I'm sure thou'lt do it

On Thursday morning, without a moment's prewhen she spoke the words “I will," it was dis

Just send a piece of bridal cake,

vious indisposition, LUKE W. MORRIS, of this city.

And lwill write a sonnet to it tinct and musical as the clearest note of the

On Friday, Mrs. Marr M. Hall, wife of John

Hall, Esq. in the 26th year of her age. nightingale.

SPIRIT OF THE PESTILENCE. On Friday morning, Mrs. MARY M. BRAND, wife From an unpublished poem in munuscript

of Christian Brand, in the 45th year of her age. Ax AFRICAN NOBLEMAN.-In the little Bassa country near Liberia, there is a Spanish slave trader, who Angel of Death-the minister

Checks, Cards, Handbills, and PRINTING If ever støles himself Don Magill, Lord of the Sun, Moon, And peopler of the crowded grave!

description executed with neatness, accuracy, and dejal and Stars, and ten thousand dollars. He lives in a Fearful and fell extinguisher

at this office


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Published every Thursday by JESPER HarpiNG, 36 Car- the waves, and the wooded hills, with the bright|choly of her voice with the tone of joyousness teris Alley, and 714 South Second Street. , Price, $2 50 per colouring of dreams, and dooked abroad upon with which she had so often delighted me in her

Agents who procure and forward payment for four sub- the great Ocean heaving perpetually as if it girlhood. Isabel was sinking into the grave.! scribers shall receive the fifth copy for one year; and so in were the throbbing heart of the Universe, and Passion had not visited her in any of its fiercer


then her thoughts would have utterance, and her forms, but her heart had sunk down from its de

language came like the low music of a twi. starry height, and, like an Autumn flower, was POETRY.

light wave—the breathing forth of the soul of casting its life-breath upon the winds. I looked HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS,

poetry, that had floated into her spirit from the upon her, and her eyes were raised to Heaven,

sky, the flowers, the waters, and all the thou- and as the moonbeams came down and slumAt the consecration of Pulaski's Banner. sand objects, among which she was wandering-bered in their depths, she shook aside her long The Standard of Count Pulaski, the noble Pole who have knelt to her in worship as to a glorious ness and darkness from the storm, and a gush of

and I yielded to the enchantment, till I could tresses that seemed to have caught their wildfell in the attack upon Savannah, during the American Revolution, was of Crimson Silk, embroid-vision sent down from a perfect sphere. tears, such as come when the heart yearns for ered by the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem, in

Isabel knew little of society. Her home was language, bathed her cheek, and she sobbed long Pennsylvania.

where she could gaze at will on the lovely and and loud. At length, her tone and look were When the dying flame of day

the sublime, the first oper of the blossoms changed to their wonted calmness. “I have Through the chancel shot its ray,

of Spring beneath the budding tree, and the been thinking," said she, " that I am about to Far the glimmering tapers shed

stately steppings of the Almighty amid the die--about to go away from this cold world, ed Faint light on the cowled head,

thunder crags and roaring forests of the moun- where every thing is chilled in its blossoming. And the censer burning swung,

tain. When her thoughts strayed beyond these, It should be so. I was once a happy creatureWhere before the altar hung

it was to hold communion, not with the allure. my thoughts were Eden birds, that fluttered and That proud banner which with prayer ments of society, but with the shining stars, the sung in the bright air of Heaven, but died Had been consecrated there.

bright and spiritual worlds above her. Her when their tender plumage was touched by the ! And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while, thoughts went upward, like incense gushing Earth. A child of dreams, I sought the world-Sung low in the dim mysterious aisle.

from a broken urn. The following hymn, which but I am wearied--wearied now-and I will Take thy banner!—may it wave

I found in her favourite arbour after a night of break my poor lute and die. Oh, whence are Proudly o'er the good and brave,

peculiar stillness and beauty, is a specimen of the bright visions, that have shed their broken When the battle's distant wail

her habits of contemplation. Breaks the Sabbath of our vale,

and momentary gleams upon my spirit, and led When the clarion's music thrills

me on to seek in vain their beautiful realities, Those burning stars!—What are they?-I have amid all the changes of existence! I have of. To the hearts of these lone hills,-

When the spear in conflict shakes,
That they were blossoms on the tree of life-

ten dreamed, that we must have lived in some
And the strong lance shivering breaks.
Or glory flung back from the mighty wings

other and more glorious state of being, and that Take thy banner!-and beneath

of God's archangelsmor that yon blue sky, the mysterious glimpses that here linger round The war cloud's encircling wreath, With all its gorgeous blazonry of stars,

our souls are the broken remembrances of that Guard it-till our homes are free Was but a banner waving on the winds

better realm. They are brightest in childhood Guard it—God will prosper thee!

From the far wall of Heaven! And I have sat -they picture a rainbow in every tear-and, in
In the dark and trying hour,

And drank their gush of glory, till I felt
In the breaking forth of power,

our infant thoughtlessness, we imagine them the
Their flash electric trembling with a deep
In the rush of steeds and men,

shadow of the glories that await us in life; but, And strong vibration down the living wire His right hand will shield thee then. Of chainless passion—and my every pulse

as we journey onward, they begin to dissolve €! Take thy banner! But when night Was beating high, as if a spring were there

away, the music, with which they come over Closes round the ghastly fight, To lift me up where I might ever roam

us, swells faintly and more faintly upon the If the vanquished warrior bow,

Mid the unfathomed vastness of the sky, blast, till, at length, we awake, and find that all
Spare him! by our holy vow,

And dwell with those high stars, and see their light is but a cold and bitter mockery!".
By our prayers and many tears,

Poured down upon the blessed Earth, like dew In a few days we laid Isabel in her grave.-
By the mercy that endears,
From the bright urns of Naiads!

She slumbers in a retired spot, and it has often
Spare him-he our love hath shared-

Beautiful stars!

been my consolation to go and muse alone over Spare him-as thou wouldst be spared!

What are ye?—There is in my heart of hearts her silent resting-place. During my last visit, I
Take thy banner!-and if e'er

A fount, that heaves beneath you like the deep pencilled an unworthy tribute to the memory of
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, Beneath the glories of the midnight moon! the child of song.
And the muffed drum should beat

And list!-your music-tones are floating now
To the tread of mournful feet,
Around me like an element-so low,

Dear Isabel, again I come to linger and to weep
Then this crimson flag shall be
So wildly beautiful, I almost deem,

Upon the spot where wild-flowers spring to mark
Martial cloak and shroud for thee!
That ye are there the living harp of God,

thy place of sleep, And the warrior took that banner proud,

O'er which the incense winds of Eden stray, And, as I kneel beside thy urn, thy spirit from afar And it was his martial cloak and shroud.

And wake such tones of mystic minstrelsy, Comes o'er my memory like the tone, the music of
As well might wander down to this dim world

a star.
To fashion dreams of Heaven - Peal on-peal on-Thou wert the roselight of my morn—the idol of my
Nature's high anthem!-for my life has caught

A portion of your purity and power,

And life, with thee, was like the fall of Summer's
And seems but as a sweet and holy tone

quiet streams, Isabel was a Poetess-one of those strange Of wild star-music!

And, if a dark eloud ever came upon my visions fair, sweet beings, that sometimes meet us here, and

Blessed-blessed things!

Thy love shone o'er the gathering shade, and left seem like stars wandered away to Earth from Ye are in Heaven, and I on Earth!-my soul,

the rainbow there. their own beautiful spheres. I knew her not till Even with a whirlwind's rush, may wander off Thy breezy step is seen no more upon the blue hill's she was fifteen, and she was then all I knew or To your immortal realms, but it must fall,

brow, could fancy of loveliness. She was ever a glad Like your own ancient Pleiad, from its height, And Beauty's early light has left my darkened day

dreams nowcreature, and the young blossoms that shone Todim its new-caught glories in the dust! like stars on the midnight of her tresses, were Its wilderness of spring-flowers—its bright clouds This Earth is very beautiful-I love

But my lone spirit brightens yet, like that immortal

flower, not more bright and shadowless, than the sweet The majesty of mountains—and the wild

That sends abroad at eve the rays it drank at morn's brow that arched beneath them. Hers was in. Magnificence of Ocean—for they come,

first hour. deed a spiritual existence. She loved the glo- Like visions, o'er my heart-but when I look

Dear minstrel-girl-thine was the high, the holy rious things of earth as an Angel loves his own On your unfading loveliness, I feel

gift of fire, Paradise, and her soul would often blend with Like a lost infant gazing on its home,

And beautiful its flashes played around thy glowing them, till the fulness of her ecstacy could find And weep to die, and come where ye repose

lyre, utterance but with tears. Poetry was, to her, a Upon yon boundless Heaven, like parted souls

But it consumed thy heart, for there its centred On an Eternity of blessedness! familiar dream-a vision of floating loveliness

brightness fell, and she moved abroad in the light of its inspir 'Tis wonderful what changes may be wrought And thou art now a thing of dust, my own loved

Isabel! ed Divinity. I have strayed by her side on a by a few fleeting years in a sensitive spirit. I summer evening, and listened with her to the was alone with Isabel in her arbour on a calm mysterious pine-lutes of the forest or the deep evening of her twentieth Spring, and, when DOMESTIC HAPPINESS.-Nothing can sweetmurmur of the mountain streams, and gazed she chanted, as usual, a sweet and tender air, 1 en felicity itself (says Jeremy Taylor,) but love. upon the moonlight as it was tinting the mists, could not but contrast the passionate melan-But, when a man dwells in love, then the

breasts of his wife are pleasant as the droppings And leave me nothing but the shade,

Mr. BROUGHAM is in all respects a most exon the hill of Hermon, her eyes are fair as the The cypress, and the knell!

traordinary man. In person, he is tall, lean,

Adieu-adieu-my task is done light of heaven, she is a fountain sealed, and he

And now-God bless thee, gentle one.

raw-boned and ungainly; with features uncomcan quench his thirst and ease his cares and

monly hard and coarse, and a complexion sallay his sorrow down upon her lap, and can re

low and bloodless. Perhaps I was influenced tire home to his sanctuary and refectory, and

In the whole course of our observations there by the known character of the man; but I his gardens of sweetness and chaste refresh- is not so misrepresented and abused a personage thought there was something even in the tones ments.

No man can tell, but he that loves his as death. Some have styled him the king of of his voice which conveys to the hearer the children, how many delicious accents make a terrors, when he might with less impropriety idea of bitter and concealed irony. He apman's heart dance in the pretty conversation have been termed the terror of kings; others of those dear pledges; their childishness, their have dreaded him as an evil without 'end, al-pears to regard the subject of debate only as a

field of batile, on which he can maneuvre his stammering, their little angers, their innocence, the end of all evil. He has been vilified as the forces, and distress his adversary, by his skill many little emanations of joy and comfort to him cause of anguish, consternation and despair; but in sharp shooting and planting ambuscades, and that delights in their persons and society; but death, but unto life. "How strange a paradox is ed batteries. You sit in perfect admiration of

these, alas, are ihings that appertain not unto by the sudden and murderous fire of his maskhe that loves not his wife and children, feeds a this, we love the distemper, and loathe the re-bis talents and address; but at the same time, lioness at home, and broods over a nest of sor- medy, preferring the fiercest buffetings of the you do not give him one particle of your confirows; and blessing itself cannot make him hap hurricane, to the tranquillity of the harbour. The dence, nor does he seem to desire that you py; so that all the commandments of God en- poet has lent his fictions, the painter his colours, should. Galling sarcasms, and bitter and disjoining man to “ love his wife,” are nothing the orator his tropes to portray death as the tressing invective, no one better knows how but so many necessities and capacities of joy. grand destroyer, the enemy, the prince of phan to administer, in tones of affected calmness, She that is loved, is safe ; and he that loves is toms and of shades. But can he be called a de and in that provoking kind of language which joyful. Love is a union of all things excellent; stroyer, who for a perishable state, gives us that all the while keeps barely within the limits of it contains in it proportion and satisfaction, and which is eternal? Can he be styled the enemy, decorum. His action at times is energetic, but rest and confidence; and I wish that this were who is the best friend only of the best, who ungraceful; he saws the air with his long, bony so much proceeded in, that the beathens them- never deserts them at their utmost need, and arms, and now and then rounds off a period by selves could not go beyond us in this virtue, whose friendship proves the most valuable to an emphatic thump on the table. You know and its proper and appendant happiness. 'Tibe- those who live the longest? Can he be termed when he is about to discharge gall of more than rius Gracchus chose to die for the safety of his the prince of phantoms and shades, whio destroys common bitterness, by his leaning forwards, wife; and yet methinks, to a Christian to do so, that which is transient and temporary, to estashould be no hard thing; for many servants wil blish that which alone is real and fixed? And weaving the muscles of his face into a sneer,

protruding a long slender finger, and peeping die for their masters, and many gentlemen will what are the mournful escutcheons, the sable tro.

about from side to side, as if anxious that no die for their friends; but the examples are not phies, and the melancholy insignia with which we 80 many of those that are ready to do it for surround him, the sepulchral gloom, the mould-drop of it should fall to the ground unnoticed. their nearest relations, and yet some there ering carcass, and the slimy worm! These indeed This is the invariable signal tor a hourra from have been. Baptiste Fregosa tells of a Neapo- dead, but of the living. The dark domain of less adversary against whom he directs his

are the idle fears and empty terrors not of the this formidable Cossack: and wo to the lucklitan, that gave himself a slave to the Moors, death we dread indeed to enter, but we ought lance. The only man in the house capable of that he might follow his wife ; and Dominicus rather to dread the ruggedness of some of the waging battle with this dire foe, is Canning; Catalusius, the prince of Lesbos, kept company roads that lead to it; but if they are rugged, they and even he, on one occasion, evidently showwith his lady when she was a leper; and these are short, and it is only those that are smooth, ed that he was sensible to the stunning force are greater things than to die.

that are wearisome and long. But perhaps he of the attack.

summons us too soon from the feast of life, be it This happened on their first encounter, after CHOICE EXTRACTS.

so; if the change be not for the better, it is not Mr. Canning's elevation to the treasury bench.

his fault, but our own: or he summons us late; The style of Mr. Canning's oratory is entirely TO MARY.-BY G. D. PRENTICE. the call is a reprieve rather than a sentence; for differevt from that of his rival, as every one It is my Lyre's last lay!--and soon

who would wish to sit at the board when he can must have observed who has read and comparIts echoes will have died,

no longer partake of the banquet, or to live on sed their speeches. He wins your confidence And thou wilt list its low, wild tones

to pain, when he has long been dead to pleasure? by his apparent sincerity, as much as he deNo more-pale victim-bride!

Tyrants can sentence their victims to death, but lights you by bis playful wit, and the manly I would not, lovely one, that thou

how much more dreadful would be their power, strain of eloquence he pours forth, when Should'st wrong the heart that deems thee now Its glory and its pride!-

could they sentence them to life? Life is the I would not thou should'st dim with tears, jailer of the soul in this filthy prison, and its only early part of his speech, he is evidently embar

thoroughly warmed with his subject. In the The vision of its better years.

deliverer is death; what we call life, is a journey rassed, which appears in the besitancy of his

to death, and what we call death, is a passport And yet I love thee. Memory's voico Comes o'er me, like the toue

to life. True wisdom thanks death for what he enunciation and his nervous gesticulations; but Of blossoms, when their dewy leaves takes, and still more for what he brings. Let us

these are no longer observable, when once he In Auluin's night-winds moan;

then like sentinels be ready because we are un- is fairly in possession of the train of thought I love thee still-ihat look of thine

certain, and calm because we are prepared. He intends to pursue. It is then that he rivets Deep in my spirit has its shrine

There is nothing formidable about death but the you to your seat, and you feel that you are no All beautiful and lone

consequences of it, and these we ourselves can longer your own master. He uses but little And there it glows—that holy form

regulate and control. The shortest life is long action until his spirit begins to kindle, when he The rainbow of life's evening storm.

enough if it lead to a better, and the longest life steps to and fro, and raps the aforesaid desk And, dear one, while I gaze on thee is too short if it do not. --Lacon.

with heavy ministerial thumps. So pallid, sweet, and trail,

Mr. Hume is a hard-pated, ponderous lookAnd muse upon thy cheek, I well Can read its mournful tale;


ing man, with a coarse unintellectual face, and I know the dews of memory oft

The following sketches of the leading debat- bull neck; and speaks on in one unvaried, eterAre falling beautiful and soft ers in the British House of Commons, are ex

nal, monotonous strain, whether the house will Upon Love's blossoms pale

hear him or not. tracted from Wheaton's Travels in England: I know, that tears thou fain would'st hide Are on thy lids-sweet victim-bride. Mr. Peel is a young man, who, by his own

Mr. HOBHOUSE is known as the companion merits and a lucky conjuncture of circumstan- and intimate friend of Lord Byron. He is a I too have wept. Yon moon's pale light Has round my pillow strayed

ces, has gained his present seat on the treasu- very common sort of speaker-his language While I was mourning o'er the dreams,

ry bench. His father, Sir Robert Peel, is a and ideas are all of the common stamp; and That blossomed but to fade;

wealthy cotton manufacturer.—The secretary bis discretion apparently none of the best. The memory of each holy eve, is rather tall and slender in person, with car

Sir ROBERT WILson is rather slender, and To which our burning spirits cleave,

roty hair, light complexioned and hard featur- of swarthy complexion; there is nothing in his Seems like some star's sweet shade, That once shone bright and pure on high,

ed.--He speaks with considerable energy; but personal appearance to indicate the chivalrous But now has parted from the sky.

his manner has nothing graceful in it. He spirit he is known to possess. He speaks with Immortal vision of my heart!

steps forwards and backwards, slapping violent- animation, and now and then with much point Again, again, farewell!

ly, and with measured strokes, the desk or the and force. I will not listen to the tones,

table before him; and wheeling often and Sir Francis BURDETT was on his feet very That in wild music, swell

suddenly to the right and left to address the frequently in the course of the debates. His From the dim past. - Those tones now fade, house.

figure is on the whole rather singular-tall,

slender and erect; with a head quite protube- bowl, about six or eight inches in diameter; Pr. Dev. For Newspapers, sir. rant and square at the top of the forehead. His the owner of each tickles his cricket with a Twist. Ah, so, 80— Timothy Twistificator, features are sharp and dimninutive. In address feather, which makes them both run round Esq. to the Constellation, Dr. $3 00.” Boy, I ing the house, he seems to be embarrassed at the bowl in different ways, frequently meeting hav'nt got the money just at present; but I'll first, turning from side to side, and sawing the and jostling one another as they pass. After call and pay it on Saturday, air with measured strokes; but this awkward- several meetings in this way, they at length be Saturday comes, but with it no Mr. Twistiness soon wears off

. He is not an eloquent coine exasperated, and fight with great fury, ficator. The boy is despatched once more with speaker; he has a drawling, hesitating manner, until they literally tear each other limb from the bill. as if at a loss for words or ideas; or having too limb. This is an amusement for the common Pr. Dev. Here's your bill again, Mr. Twistimany, was perplexed in the choice. The for-classes; but quail. fighting belongs to the higher ficator. mer appeared to be the case.

orders.. Quails that are to be prepared for Twist. Again! what do you mean by again? Dr. LUSHINGTON was one of the champions fighting require the strictest care and attention. Pr. Dev. Why the bill you promised to pay of the late queen on her trial. He is of the Every quail has a separate keeper; he confines on Saturday. middling size, rather slender in person, with a it in a small bag, with a running string at the Twist. I promised! Let me see_" To the pensive and almost melancholy expression of top, constantly attached to his person; so that Constellation, $3 00.” No consolation in that, countenance. The tones of his voice, too, are he carries the bird with him wherever he goes. I think. Here, boy, I doo recollect something solemn, melodious and pathetic.

The poor prisoner is rarely permitted to see the about it now; but it escaped my recollection Mr. WILBERFORCE has in his manner as lit- light, except at the time of feeding, or when entirely on Saturday. However, I'll call and tle of art or study as can be imagined—it is the keeper deems it necessary he should take pay it day after to-morrow without fail. rather nervous and agitated—bis gestures are the air for his health. When he airs his quạil, Day after to-morrow comes without fail, but quick and angular; and in his more animated he will hold him in his hand (taking great pre- no Mr. Twistificator. The boy is despatched and triumphant moments, he flourishes his caution not to spoil his plumage) for two or a third time. arms aloft, erecting his head from its usually three hours at a time. The patient care and Pr. Dev. Here's your bill, Mr. Twistificadrooping posture. Every thing he uttered had attention of the Chinese to their fighting quails, tor. the appearance of coming warm from the heart, and singing-birds, are equal to those of the Tuist. Ah, true. Let me see, did'nt I prowhich seems to be the very throne of kind af fondest mother for a favourite child. When mise to pay it a day or two ago? fections; the sanctuary of the afflicted. It is two quails are brought to fight, they are placed Pr. Dev. Yes, sir, you promised twice to call said that age and infirmities have, in some de- in a thing like a large sieve, in the centre of a and pay it. gree, impaired his intellectual vigour; but of table, round which the spectators stand to wit Twist. Well, I ought to have done it, I acthis no traces were perceptible on the present ness the battle and make their bets. Some knowledge. I hav'nt the change just now, but occasion. It is rare to find so much enthusiasm grains of millet-seed are put into the middle of if you'll call here at twelve o'clock, you shall in a man of bis years—he having accomplished the sieve, and the quails, being taken out of the have it. his threescore and ten.

bags, are put opposite to each other near the At twelve o'clock the imp of the office, havMr. CHARLES GRANT speaks under the influ- seed. If they are birds of courage, the mo- ing washed the ink from his fingers, once more ence of high intellectual and moral excitement; ment one begins to eat the other attacks him, takes the bill to Mr. Twistificator's. every period teems with imagination, and senti- and they figlit hard for a short time; say one or Pr. Dev. I've brought your bill, sir. ment, and chaste and beautiful classic image- two minutes. The quail that is beaten flies up, Treist. Is it two o'clock already? ry.

There are no prosing sentences-no and the conqueror remains, and is suffered to Pr. Dev. No, Sir, but it is twelve. half-formed conceptions-no flat, insipid, or eat all the seed. I should suppose the best Twist. I told you to call at two, did'nt I? commonplace ideas, and, as extravagant as the quail fight never lasted more than five minutes. Pr. Dev. No, Sir; at twelve. praise may seem,—could the father of Roman Sometimes one quail has been known to win Twist. An't you mistaken, boy? I'm pretty eloquence have been an auditor, he must, 1 several battles, and, all of a sudden, get beat- sure it was two I mentioned. However, if I did think, have confessed a rival in some of the es- en by a new and untutored bird; a circumstance say twelve, I have forgotten it. But if you'll sential qualities of an orator. A gentlemanı which occasions high betting and fresh en- take the trouble to call at two precisely, I'll present, who had often listened to the elo- counters, until the new

comer is again beaten have the money ready for you. quence of Fox, and Pitt, and Burke, in the days in his turn.-Dobell's Travels. of their glory, assured me, that he had never

At two precisely the imp is again despatched

with the bill. witnessed a more lively impression produced by either of them, than by this address of Mr. Spirit of Contemporary Prints. Pr. Dev. Is Mr. Twistificator at home? Grant. For my own part, I could not avoid

Clerk. No; he's just stepped out.

AVOIDING PAYMENT OF A BILL. Pr. Dev. Here's a bill for newspapers, which surrendering myself, and all my faculties, to the ascendancy of the speaker, and was kept in a There is often a wonderful deal of ingenuity he told me to bring at two o'clock, and he would sort of a trance while he occupied the floor; exercised in avoiding the payment of a small pay it. nor did the audience generally appear to be bill—and by persons who are abundantly able

Clerk. I dont know any thing about it, he less moved. The plaudits were loud, ng, and at any moment to put their hands into their left no orders with me.

Pr. Dev. What time will he be in? frequent. He held a card in his hand, on which pockets and meet the demand—by persons, who he had pencilled a few words to assist his me- are prompt at discharging their large debts,

Clerk. Probably at half past three; you had mory; but the whole was evidently extempora- and would sooner drown themselves than have better call then. neous. He seems not to be in good health; and a note protested. Yet these persons, much as

Accordingly at half past three, the bill-ious retired, after speaking, into a nook, apparently they value their credit in large matters, are not imp proceeds to Mr. Twistificator's. exhausted. He appears to be about 35, slender ashamed to put off the payment of small bills, Pr. Dev. Has Mr. Twistificator returned in person, with rather small features of Scot-on the prompt discharge of which the comfort, yet? tish mould, and very light hair. A phrenolo-perhaps the subsistence, of the poor creditor Clerk. Yes, but he hasn't finished his dingist would criticise with satisfaction his high, depends. They are not ashamed to be guilty ner yet. Wait half an hour, and he'll be done. well turned, expanded forehead; and a head, of a shuffling and deceit which would disgrace The devil, determined to hook bim this time, which might serve as a model for a statuary. the veriest mountebank in existence. They do waits patiently for half an hour, and luckily His features are composed, even amidst the not say bluntly, “ I can't pay it,” or “ I won't gets sight of his sweet phiz. highest flights of his imagination; and exhibit pay it." The first would be discouraging, the Pr. Dev. Here's your bill, Sir. few visible marks of the creative fancy' or the latter offensive.—They go to work in a differ Twist. Let's see, I told you to call at two ·labouring thoughts intense,' save in the small ent mode ; they meet the subject obliquely, in- o'clock, did'nt I? gray eyes faintly scintillating through the long stead of looking it in the face.

Pr. Dev. Yes, Sir, and I called. white eye-lashes by which they are oversha The following, if not the exact picture of Twist. The devil you did! I saw nothing of dowed: and, possibly, in their inner angle, any given case, bears so near a resemblance to you. which seems to be habitual.

many, that it may be taken as a general like Pr. Dev. Nor 1, of you.

ness of the species. We will here suppose our Twist. How did that happen? Chinese SportS.-Besides cards and dice, selves to be the creditor, and the printer's Pr. Dev. You know best, Sir; I called acthey have other sports and games of chance devil the messenger of bad tidings to a shuffling cording to your orders, and you happened to. peculiar to the country. The most remarkable debtor.

be out. are quail-fighting,cricket-fighting, shuttle-cock Pr. Dev. Is Mr. Twistificator at home? Twist. Are you sure you called at two? played with the feet, and tumbling, at which Twist. That's my name.

Pr. Dev. I am very sure. they are very expert. To make two male Pr. Dev. Here's a little bill against you. Twist. Well, it's very strange where I could crickets fight, they are placed in an earthen! Twist. A bill against me! what for? be at that time. However, I'll see if I've got

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