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,-Iraph. 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 underever, 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 deher 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- Eubin,-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 Sibyl-what for the Lady Sibyl!" might be mistaken. He was sadly bewildered, The letters were turned over and over, and had another bad head-ache, and was strongly of 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, his 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 Childe's. Her pride would seldom suffer her to weep, and "I shall not be here to-morrow, and it is hardly compatible with Lady Sibyl's pride to detain presents which the donor would resume." "No!" she exclaimed, "it is not amongst my the tears seemed swelling at her heart till each distant. He had no sooner alighted at home than 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 he was presented with a hasty note, which had tude of true affection, of generosity and manli- would bewilder herself with suggesting other been some days awaiting him, from Sibyl's father, ness, and have worn it where those qualities de- reasons than want of inclination for his absence, inviting him,--a film came over his eyes, and the and for his silence. Might he not wish to re-pulsation of his heart was paralysed,-inviting The picture was produced from its pretty hid- turn, and be prevented by his family, who had him to what he knew would give him great pleaing place, and carelessly tendered to him. not seen him for so long, and would naturally serve to be treasured up." "You will, perhaps, remember," she contin- be importunate? Might he not be fearful of writ-sure, to Sibyl's wedding! Should he send an ted, "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 has as little inclination which it was not intended, and betray the se-into their revelry, and spare neither age nor sex 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 of the whole party? No matter, he would con"Undoubtedly, Lady Sibyl,—it was my inten- surely might be her own overweening caution sider it on his way. He gave his steed the spur, tion to make you perfectly easy on that point." that was afflicting her, and he might be as impaThe 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 Sibyl sat for it when he was preparing for the would rise fondly to her bosom to draw forth the of a hundred miles. 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 him; 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 room 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 hilt 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--Spifeeling. 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 of silver and teeth as though they had been set on edge, descriptions of fetes and finery, and flirtations, 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 she 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 satel He 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 ing 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, but 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,-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 articulate. "More water," said some one in a low voice; "she is going to faint again." Water was handed to her, and the clergyman repeated "Wilt thou take this man to be thy wedded husband?" Sibyl said nothing, but gasped audibly; her father looked more troubled, and Sir Lubin opened his mouth wider and wider. The question was repeated, but still Sibyl spoke not. It was pronounced a third time,-Sibyl shook more violently, and uttered an hysteric scream. "Oh, merciful heaven!" she exclaimed, "it is impossible!-I cannot!-I cannot!" Her astonished lover sprang forward, and received her fainting form in his arms. A glance at each other's countenance was sufficient to explain all the sufferings,-to dissipate all the resentment. Concealment was now out of the question, and their words broke forth at the same instant. "Oh, faithless! how could you drive me to this dreadful extremity?" "Sweet Sibyl, forgive-forgive me! I will atone for it by such penitence, such devotion, as the world never saw." "By Jove!" exclaimed the bridegroom, "but I do not like this!" "By my word!" added the lady Jemima, "but here is a new lover!" "By mine honour," responded the lady Bridget, "but he is an old one!" "By my word and honour too," continued the lady something else, "I suspected it long ago!" "And by my gray beard," concluded the old lord, "I wish I had done so too!-Look you, Sir Lubin, Sibyl is my only child, and must be made happy her own way. I really thought she had . been pining and dying for you, but since it appears I was mistaken, why e'en let us make the best of it. You can be brideman still, though you cannot be bridegroom: and who knows but in our revels to-night you may find a lady less liable to change her mind?" Sir Lubin did not understand this mode of proceeding, and would have came to high words but for the peculiar expression of Childe Wilful's eye, which kept them bubbling in his throat.He could by no means decide upon what to say. He gave two or three pretty considerable hems, but he cleared the road in vain, for nothing was coming; and so, at last, he made up his mind to treat the matter with silent contempt. He bowed to the company with a haughty dive, kicked his long sword, as he turned, between his legs, and strode, or rather rode, out of the church as fast as his dignity would permit. The crowd on the outside, not being aware of what had passed within, and taking it for granted that it was all right that the bridegroom, on such occasions, should go home alone, wished him joy very heartily and clamorously, and the six horses went off at a long trot, which was quite grand. Sibyl and her cavalier looked breathlessly for what was to come next. "The wedding feast must not be lost," said the old lord; "will nobody be married?" Sibyl was again placed at the altar, and in the room of Sir Lubin, was handed the Chevalier Wilful. "Wilt thou take this man for thy wedded husband?" demanded the priest. Sibyl blushed, and still trembled, but her faintings did not return; and if her voice was low when she spoke the words "I will," it was distinct and musical as the clearest note of the nightingale. AN AFRICAN NOBLEMAN.-In the little Bassa country near Liberia, there is a Spanish slave trader, who styles himself Don Magill, Lord of the Sun, Moon, and Stars, and ten thousand dollars. He lives in al is concerned in piracy. He recently ordered one of his slaves to be bound to a post in a watch-house, and the house to be set on fire. About the same time another was lashed to a cannon, which was loaded and fired. This is but a single example of the cruelties which are practised in Africa. SELECT POETRY. TO MY COUSIN. No, Cousin, no,-each gentle word Thy vain young heart with words of passion, And sentiment is out of fashion. To feelings which it could not bridle; To linger on the past, or cherish Whose very nature was to perish. And that thine eye is seldom tearful. The mazes of thy dance are lightestThy voice the freest of them all, The glances of thine eye the brightest. Are thronging round thee by the dozen- I hope it is for thou art one A thing to perish when the sun Is shrouded from thy spirit's dial! For such a worthless thing as me. With which my careless pen is playing. When polished by the wings of Boreas "Twas beautiful to hear thee tell Of bowers in fancy's dreamy vision, To be but as a friend or brother's. Of other days and loves to speak; A tear on manhood's bearded cheek. Farewell, sweet cousin!-thou art young, And wealth, and mirth and love surround thee; And I a wreck of being-flung Upon a sea that darkens round me. Forget-forgive the dreamy part Which thou and I have acted o'er; Go-kindle in another heart The flame that burns in mine no more. When married,-for acquaintance sake Good Cousin, I'm sure thou'lt do itJust send a piece of bridal cake, And I will write a sonnet to it. SPIRIT OF THE PESTILENCE. From an unpublished poem in manuscript. BY J. G. WHITTIER. Angel of Death!-the minister And peopler of the crowded grave! Fearful and fell extinguisher Of life, th' Eternal gave!Thou, at whose presence, earthly power Stoops with its glories to the dustThe hoarded wealth, the kingly dower, And godlike genius in its hour Of inspiration's spirit-burst! Dark Rider on the Simoon's wing, Foul breather of the siroc's breath, That searchest out each living thing, To blast it with the touch of death! How since the flight of years began, Dread spirit, hast thou gone abroad, The blight of earth, the scourge of man, Commissioned by th' eternal God! How oft at thy companionship Hath pride uncurled its haughty lip, And grandeur laid its starry crown And plume and robe and sceptre down! How many, at whose onset-shout A thousand swords had started out, Whose banner spread had caught the sun Upon a hundred fields of blood, Unstooping 'till the strife was done, Like oaks that breast the coming on Of tempests in their wrathful mood,Have, with their mighty ones, departed The strong in pride the lion-hearted, Not in the closing ranks of war With bloody hand and soul unshriven, When through false mail or visor-bar The stained and batter'd lance is driven! But sinking at thy presence where No war-shout shook the tainted airExpiring, not as warriors would, With dinted sabre, red in blood, Where flashes on the closing eye The gleam of banners sweeping by, And peals upon the dying ear, In banner cry and trumpet call, In armour clank and sabre fall, The music which it loves to hear. How often o'er Byzantium's walls Hath swept the shadow of thy wing, And mirth and glory fled the halls That owned its deadly visiting! When sunk alike the gray haired sire, And boyhood with its heart of flame, And beauty bending o'er the lyre, That murmur'd with her lover's name! How oft upon the tropic seas The presence of thy curse hath been! A chain upon the blessed breezeA fever in the hearts of men! When hideous corses one by one, Are peopling ocean's sepulchre, And in the red eye of the sun, Raves the delirious mariner; And slumber, if thy victims gain That boon, ere weary life depart While every hot and throbbing vein, Is pouring poison round the heart, Hath changeful dreams of passing bliss, And pangs that mortals may not tellThe holy bowers of blessedness, The terrors, of the nether hell! The soft, yet thrilling clasp of hand, Which tells the loving heart so much, Exchanged to meet the horrid brand, And blightning of a demon's touch! No. 25. annum. Published every Thursday by JESPER HARDING, 36 Car- the waves, and the wooded hills, with the bright choly of her voice with the tone of joyousness ter's Alley, and 744 South Second Street. Price, $2 50 per colouring of dreams, and looked 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 proportion for a larger number. POETRY. HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS, BY H. W. LONGFELLOW. The Standard of Count Pulaski, the noble Pole who When the dying flame of day That proud banner which with prayer And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while, Take thy banner!-may it wave Spare him-he our love hath shared- SELECT TALES. MY COUSIN ISABEL. then her thoughts would have utterance, and her forms, but her heart had sunk down from its language came like the low music of a twi-starry height, and, like an Autumn flower, was light wave-the breathing forth of the soul of casting its life-breath upon the winds. I looked 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 slumsand objects, among which she was wandering—bered in their depths, she shook aside her long and I yielded to the enchantment, till I could tresses that seemed to have caught their wildhave knelt to her in worship as to a gloriousness and darkness from the storm, and a gush of vision sent down from a perfect sphere. tears, such as come when the heart yearns for Isabel knew little of society. Her home was language, bathed her cheek, and she sobbed long where she could gaze at will on the lovely and and loud. At length, her tone and look were the sublime, the first opening of the blossoms changed to their wonted calmness. "I have of Spring beneath the budding tree, and the been thinking," said she, "that I am about to stately steppings of the Almighty amid the die--about to go away from this cold world, thunder crags and roaring forests of the moun- where every thing is chilled in its blossoming. tain. When her thoughts strayed beyond these, It should be so. I was once a happy creature-it was to hold communion, not with the allure-my thoughts were Eden birds, that fluttered and ments of society, but with the shining stars, the sung in the bright air of Heaven, but died bright and spiritual worlds above her. Her when their tender plumage was touched by the thoughts went upward, like incense gushing Earth. A child of dreams, I sought the world-from a broken urn. The following hymn, which but I am wearied-wearied now-and I will I found in her favourite arbour after a night of break my poor lute and die. Oh, whence are peculiar stillness and beauty, is a specimen of the bright visions, that have shed their broken her habits of contemplation. Those burning stars!-What are they?—I have That they were blossoms on the tree of life- Beautiful stars! What are ye?-There is in my heart of hearts and momentary gleams upon my spirit, and led me on to seek in vain their beautiful realities, amid all the changes of existence! I have of ten dreamed, that we must have lived in some other and more glorious state of being, and that the mysterious glimpses that here linger round our souls are the broken remembrances of that better realm. They are brightest in childhood -they picture a rainbow in every tear-and, in our infant thoughtlessness, we imagine them the shadow of the glories that await us in life; but, as we journey onward, they begin to dissolve away, the music, with which they come over us, swells faintly and more faintly upon the blast, till, at length, we awake, and find that all is but a cold and bitter mockery!" In a few days we laid Isabel in her grave.She slumbers in a retired spot, and it has often been my consolation to go and muse alone over her silent resting-place. During my last visit, I pencilled an unworthy tribute to the memory of the child of song. Dear Isabel, again I come to linger and to weep thy place of sleep, And, as I kneel beside thy urn, thy spirit from afar a star. on-Thou wert the roselight of my morn-the idol of my dreams Isabel was a Poetess-one of those strange sweet beings, that sometimes meet us here, and Blessed-blessed things!seem like stars wandered away to Earth from Ye are in Heaven, and I on Earth!-my soul, their own beautiful spheres. I knew her not till Even with a whirlwind's rush, may wander off she was fifteen, and she was then all I knew or To your immortal realms, but it must fall, could fancy of loveliness. She was ever a glad Like your own ancient Pleiad, from its height, creature, and the young blossoms that shone To dim its new-caught glories in the dust! This Earth is very beautiful-I love And life, with thee, was like the fall of Summer's But my lone spirit brightens yet, like that immortal flower, That sends abroad at eve the rays it drank at morn's first hour. Dear minstrel-girl-thine was the high, the holy gift of fire, And beautiful its flashes played around thy glowing lyre, like stars on the midnight of her tresses, were Its wilderness of spring-flowers-its bright cloudsnot more bright and shadowless, than the sweet The majesty of mountains-and the wild brow that arched beneath them. Hers was in- Magnificence of Ocean-for they come, deed a spiritual existence. She loved the glo- Like visions, o'er my heart-but when I look rious things of earth as an Angel loves his own On your unfading loveliness, I feel Paradise, and her soul would often blend with Like a lost infant gazing on its home, them, till the fulness of her ecstacy could find And weep to die, and come where ye repose utterance but with tears. Poetry was, to her, a On an Eternity of blessedness! Upon yon boundless Heaven, like parted souls familiar dream-a vision of floating lovelinessand she moved abroad in the light of its inspir- 'Tis wonderful what changes may be wrought 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, I 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 But it consumed thy heart, for there its centred brightness fell, And thou art now a thing of dust, my own loved Isabel! And leave me nothing but the shade, The cypress, and the knell!- breasts of his wife are pleasant as the droppings Mr. BROUGHAM is in all respects a most exon the hill of Hermon, her eyes are fair as the traordinary man. In person, he is tall, lean, light of heaven, she is a fountain sealed, and he 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 relow 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 Some have styled him the king of of his voice which conveys to the hearer the ments. No man can tell, but he that loves his as death. children, how many delicious accents make a terrors, when he might with less impropriety idea of bitter and concealed irony. He ap man's heart dance in the pretty conversation have been termed the terror of kings; others pears to regard the subject of debate only as a of those dear pledges; their childishness, their have dreaded him as an evil without end, al-field of battle, on which he can manœuvre his though it was in their own power to make him 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 their imperfections, their necessities, are so cause of anguish, consternation and despair; but in sharp shooting and planting ambuscades, and many little emanations of joy and comfort to him these, alas, are things that appertain not unto by the sudden and murderous fire of his maskthat delights in their persons and society; but death, but unto life. How strange a paradox is ed batteries. You sit in perfect admiration of he 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 heathens 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, who destroys common bitterness, by his leaning forwards, wife; and yet methinks, to a Christian to do so, that which is transient and temporary, to esta should be no hard thing; for many servants will 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 so 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 for a hourra from are the idle fears and empty terrors not of the this formidable Cossack: and wo to the luckhave been. Baptiste Fregosa tells of a Neapo-dead, but of the living. The dark domain of less adversary against whom he directs his litan, 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. CHOICE EXTRACTS. TO MARY.-BY G. D. PRENTICE. And thou wilt list its low, wild tones I would not, lovely one, that thou Should'st wrong the heart that deems thee now I would not thou should'st dim with tears, And yet I love thee. Memory's voice Of blossoms, when their dewy leaves All beautiful and lone- Upon Love's blossoms pale I know, that tears thou fain would'st hide I too have wept. Yon moon's pale light Again, again, farewell!— I will not listen to the tones, From the dim past.-Those tones now fade, summons us too soon from the feast of life, be it This happened on their first encounter, after takes, and still more for what he brings. Let us these are no longer observable, when once he THE BRITISH COMMONS. longer your own master. He uses but little action until his spirit begins to kindle, when he steps to and fro, and raps the aforesaid desk with heavy ministerial thumps. Mr. HUME is a hard-pated, ponderous looking man, with a coarse unintellectual face, and The following sketches of the leading debat-bull neck; and speaks on in one unvaried, eterers in the British House of Commons, are exnal, monotonous strain, whether the house will hear him or not. tracted from Wheaton's Travels in England: Mr. HOBHOUSE is known as the companion Mr. PEEL is a young man, who, by his own merits and a lucky conjuncture of circumstan- and intimate friend of Lord Byron. He is a ces, has gained his present seat on the treasu- very common sort of speaker-his language ry bench. His father, Sir Robert Peel, is a and ideas are all of the common stamp; and wealthy cotton manufacturer,-The secretary his discretion apparently none of the best. is rather tall and slender in person, with car- SIR ROBERT WILSON is rather slender, and roty hair, light complexioned and hard featur- of swarthy complexion; there is nothing in his ed. He speaks with considerable energy; but personal appearance to indicate the chivalrous his manner has nothing graceful in it. He spirit he is known to possess. He speaks with steps forwards and backwards, slapping violent- animation, and now and then with much point ly, and with measured strokes, the desk or the and force. table before him; and wheeling often and SIR FRANCIS BURDETT was on his feet very suddenly to the right and left to address the frequently in the course of the debates. His house. figure is on the whole rather singular-tall, Pr. Dev. For Newspapers, sir. slender and erect; with a head quite protube-bowl, about six or eight inches in diameter; | Twist. Ah, so, so-" Timothy Twistificator, rant and square at the top of the forehead. His the owner of each tickles his cricket with a features are sharp and diminutive. 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 come 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. Twist. Again! what do you mean by again? third time. tor. Pr. Dev. Here's your bill, Mr. Twistifica 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. orders.. Quails that are to be prepared for mer appeared to be the case. Dr. LUSHINGTON was one of the champions fighting require the strictest care and attention. of the late queen on her trial. He is of the Every quail has a separate keeper; he confines on Saturday. Twist. I promised! Let me see-" To the middling size, rather slender in person, with a it in a small bag, with a running string at 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 do 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-his gestures are the air for his health. When he airs his quail, 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 arms aloft, erecting his head from its usually three hours at a time. The patient care and drooping posture. Every thing he uttered had attention of the Chinese to their fighting quails, the appearance of coming warm from the heart, and singing-birds, are equal to those of the which seems to be the very throne of kind af- fondest mother for a favourite child. When fections; the sanctuary of the afflicted. It is two quails are brought to fight, they are placed said that age and infirmities have, in some de- in a thing like a large sieve, in the centre of a and pay it. Twist. Well, I ought to have done it, I acgree, impaired his intellectual vigour; but of table, round which the spectators stand to witthis 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 his 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. Pr. Dev. I've brought your bill, sir. every period teems with imagination, and senti-and they fight hard for a short time; say one or Twist. Is it two o'clock already? ment, and chaste and beautiful classic image- two minutes. The quail that is beaten flies up, Pr. Dev. No, Sir, but it is twelve. Twist. I told you to call at two, did'nt I? Pr. Dev. No, Sir; at twelve. ry. Twist. Ah, true. Let me see, did'nt I promise to pay it a day or two ago? Pr. Dev. Yes, sir, you promised twice to call There are no prosing sentences-no and the conqueror remains, and is suffered to half-formed conceptions-no flat, insipid, or eat all the seed. I should suppose the best commonplace ideas, and, as extravagant as the quail fight never lasted more than five minutes. 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, I 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. sential qualities of an orator. A gentleman 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 witnessed a more lively impression produced by either of them, than by this address of Mr. Spirit of Contemporary Prints. AVOIDING PAYMENT OF A BILL. But if you'll At two precisely the imp is again despatched with the bill. Pr. Dev. Is Mr. Twistificator at home? Pr. Dev. What time will he be in? Accordingly at half past three, the bill-ious Grant. For my own part, I could not avoid surrendering myself, and all my faculties, to the ascendancy of the speaker, and was kept in a 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 less moved. The plaudits were loud, long, and at any moment to put their hands into their 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, mory; but the whole was evidently extempora- and would sooner drown themselves than have neous. He seems not to be in good health; and a note protested. Yet these persons, much as 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, in person, with rather small features of Scot-on the prompt discharge of which the comfort, yet? Clerk. Yes, but he hasn't finished his dintish mould, and very light hair. A phrenolo- perhaps the subsistence, of the poor creditor gist 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. The devil, determined to hook him this time, well turned, expanded forehead; and a head, of a shuffling and deceit which would disgrace 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. The first would be discouraging, the highest flights of his imagination; and exhibit pay it." few visible marks of the creative fancy' or the latter offensive.-They go to work in a differlabouring thoughts intense,' save in the small ent mode; they meet the subject obliquely, ingray eyes faintly scintillating through the long stead of looking it in the face. The following, if not the exact picture of white eye-lashes by which they are overshadowed: and, possibly, in their inner angle, any given case, bears so near a resemblance to which seems to be habitual. many, that it may be taken as a general likeness of the species. We will here suppose ourselves to be the creditor, and the printer's devil the messenger of bad tidings to a shuffling debtor. CHINESE SPORTS.—Besides cards and dice, they have other sports and games of chance peculiar to the country. The most remarkable are quail-fighting, cricket-fighting, shuttle-cock played with the feet, and tumbling, at which they are very expert. To make two male crickets fight, they are placed in an earthen] Pr. Dev. Is Mr. Twistificator at home? Pr. Dev. Here's a little bill against you. Pr. Dev. Here's your bill, Sir. Twist. Let's see, I told you to call at two o'clock, did'nt I? Pr. Dev. Yes, Sir, and I called. Twist. The devil you did! I saw nothing of you. Pr. Dev. Nor I, of you. Twist. How did that happen? Pr. Dev. You know best, Sir; I called according to your orders, and you happened to be out. Twist. Are you sure you called at two? Twist. Well, it's very strange where I could be at that time. However, I'll see if I've got |