deed, is decidedly of British or Welsh origin;
and in the ceremony of guarding it, there ex-
ists something of the similitude to the manner
in which the knights-errant of old hung their
shields upon a tree, defying the prowess of
their contemporaries: so, however, thinks Mr.
Peter Roberts, who has written a great deal
about Welsh antiquities.

Another custom, which is perhaps more an-
cient, and certainly more curious, is, that
when the door being closed against those who
come to seek the bride, admission is only to be
obtained by the united influence of poetry and
music. In this, the writer just named fancifully
recognises a resemblance to the well known
fable of Orpheus and Eurydice. It may startle
some,
that such an illustration can be found in

may justify the hypothesis in some degree;
and there is little doubt but that many of the
fables of antiquity would admit of as simple an
explanation as this of Orpheus, by an attentive
observer of popular customs and traditions.

nions of the bridegroom, mounted on horse-
back, and the piper playing merrily in the
midst of them, set off at full speed for the
house which contained the object of their pur-
suit; but they always encountered many ob-
stacles in their progress; such as ropes of
straw drawn across the road, blocks of wood,
and large stones planted in the middle of it,
and artificial pitfalls. But the principal ob-
struction was the Gwyntyn (Anglicè, Quin-
tain,) consisting of an upright pole, on the top
of which, and placed horizontally, was a long
beam fixed to the pole by an iron pin, which
permitted it turn freely round when pushed.
At one end of this beam hung a bag of sand,
at the other a flat and narrow plank, which the
rider, as he passed, struck with his spear or
staff; and if he was not extremely dexterous a custom existing not many years ago in
and expeditious in his movements, he was lia-Wales; yet a comparison of the circumstances
ble to be dismounted with a stroke of the sand-
bag, to the great amusement and delight of his
companions. The Gwyntyn was guarded by
the chosen champions of the bride, who, if it
was passed successfully, challenged the adven-
turer to a trial of skill at some athletic game, a
challenge which could not be declined; and,
consequently, to guard the Gwyntyn was ac-
counted a service at once arduous and honour-
able. Having surmounted these difficulties,
they hastened to the door of the bride; and if
the door was shut against them, assailed it,
and those in the house, not with battering.
rams and petards, but with music and poetry,
particularly the latter, till they had compelled
their opponents to admit them; when they
seized the bride, and carried her off in triumph.
Her friends and partisans, at a convenient
time, discovered their loss, and of course pur-
sued the fugitives. When they overtook them
a mock contest ensued, in which the pursuers
were always vanquished, and acknowledging
their inferiority, yielded up the bride to the
now undisputed possession of the man of her
choice. All afterwards repaired to the bride-
groom's residence, and the remainder of the
day was spent in mirth and festivity. Trials
of skill in various rustic games first took place,
and after these, singing and dancing to the
harp; the swore in the mean time circulating
apace, and prolonging the entertainments to a
late hour.

In this manner were the Welsh, in days of yore, accustomed to celebrate one of the most important and happiest events in their lives; and it has been ably argued, that more than one of the customs above related, may be traced to a Roman origin. The curious ceremony of carrying off the bride may be compared to a pastime instituted by Romulus, in commemoration of the rape of the Sabine virgins; and Rosinus, in his Roman Antiquities, quotes from Apuleius a description of this custom, which certainly bears some little resem. blance to the one practised in Wales. He says, that when the bride was dressed in her bridal garments, a number of young men, flourishing their swords, as if raging for battle, burst into her chamber, and carried her off. As the Romans were some time in Britain, and the families connected with them, or such as could not return with their legions were recalled, might have settled in South Wales, where, by the bye, these ceremonies were particularly practised, it is no great trespass on probability to suppose that such was the actual origin of this custom; although it appears to me to have originated in the commission of what is legally termed "forcible abduction;" for in a country so wild as Wales once was, this crime must have been frequently perpetrated. Whether the Gwyntyn, or Quintain, was in use among the Romans, we can form no opinion, as in the writings of antiquity we find no allusion to such an apparatus. The name, in

In some parts of Wales it is considered mean to walk to and from church when a wedding is celebrated; it is, therefore, customary for the poorer classes to borrow horses "for the nonce," when much racing is exhibited.

But many of these customs are now unknown in the principality. The knight-errant cavalcade, the seizure of the bride, the rescue, the wordy war of rhyme between the parties, are almost wholly laid aside; and of the ceremonies enumerated and described above, a few only are retained, and their retention is by no means general.

When the parties are poor, collections are still made at weddings, and the office of bidder is not quite extinct; although the invitation is more usually given through the medium of letters, of one of which the following is a copy:

"Carmarthen, March 20th, 1820.

"As I intend to enter the matrimonial state on Easter Monday, the 19th day of April next, I am encouraged by my friends to make a bidding on the occasion, the same day, at my dwelling-house, known by the sign of the Green Dragon, in Lammas Street, where the favour of your good company is humbly solicited; and whatever donation you will be pleased to confer on me there, will be gratefully received, and cheerfully repaid, whenever demanded on a similar occasion, by

"Your humble servant,

"DAVID THOMAS."

Post Scriptum.-"The young man's mother, brother, and sister, (Hannah, Richard, and Phoebe Thomas) desire that all gifts of the above nature due to them, may be returned to the young man on the said day; and they will be thankful for any additional favour bestowed on him."

It is the hour-the sacred hour-
When eve's faint flush is on the sky,
And, spread o'er leaf and closing flower,
The latest sunbeams lingering lie;
And not a stream is wandering past,
But murmurs music as it flows;
And not a feebly sighing blast,
But breathes the spirit of repose.
Beneath that parting glow of day,
A moss-grown spire, a mouldering pile,
And ivied porch, and arches grey,

Like age in listening calmness smile :
And bark! from out those transepts dim,
A hundred tongues in concert raise
The deep and high-ascending hymn-
The uttered ecstasy of praise.
Within, the warrior's pendant mail,

The dusky banner's blazoned fold,
And sculptured forms of marble pale-
Shapes of the beauteous and the bold-
And shields of gules, or azure stain,

And argent scrolls, and legends bright,
From many a deeply tinctured pane,
Are gleaming in the mellowed light.
But over holier objects cast,

That golden ray is dwelling there;
Brows, whence the gloom of guilt is past;

And lips, which move in silent prayer;
The glance, which speaks the fervent will;
The bended head, and listening ear;
And fairer, purer, brighter still-

The contrite heart's unfeigned tear.
'Tis past-the hallowed time of grace
By mercy's pitying impulse shown,
When man beholds his Maker's face,

And pleads before that glorious throne;
And issuing from the low-browed gate,

In dense and mingled current, pour
Fair Youth, and Manhood's brow sedate,
And Age with perished seasons hoar.
Some lingered by the osiered graves,

Or at the scented hedge-row's side,
Or pluck the azure flower, which laves
Its leaflets in the rippling tide:
On each the peace, to all decreed,

Who seek those sacred courts, is shed;
That balm-which heals the broken reed,
That hope-which gilds the dying head.
Such were thy fair enjoyments, Earth!
In days long past, and happier hours,
Ere sin's polluting stain had birth,

Or evil lurked in Eden's bowers;

Within thy wasted bounds is o'er,
And He, thy God, descends again
To soothe, and comfort, and restore.

There are two or three other particulars, which, perhaps, deserve notice. It must be recollected, that very few, if indeed any, of these customs are observed in all parts of the principality alike; they are peculiar to certain districts, and in those districts alone are they used. In Caernarvonshire, as soon as the cler-Such shall be thine-when sorrow's reign gyman has declared the parties to be "man and wife," the young men rush out of church, and run or ride to the bride's house, when the first who announces the glad and welcome tidings receives a reward from her friends. When the bridegroom with a party of his friends, arrived at the lady's residence on the morning of the wedding-day, he and his companions were regaled with cold custard-pudding,t ale, bread and butter. All ate out of the same dish till its contents were despatched, when others were produced, till they were sa

*The_literal_translation of Gwyntyn is Vane. The custom of striking the Quintain or Quintin, is by no means peculiar to Wales. It was formerly practised in England at all merry-makings: and, if I mistake not, there is a detailed description of the game in "Queenhoo-hall."

Will any of your learned readers, Mr. Editor, inform me what relation this custom has to the foundation of the old adage-that," Cold pudding settles love."

The Juvenile Forget-Me-Not.

[A conversation selected for the Literary Port Folio.]

Miss L.-What a lovely pair of cherubs have we here-a loving girl embracing her chubbycheeked brother! It is quite refreshing to look upon it.

Ed.-The engravings are decidedly good, without pretending to much merit as works of art-I think the best are "The Favourite of the Flock," "Heart's Ease," and "The Blind Sailor." "Holiday Time" would have been valuable, but the print from which it is taken is so very hackneyed. A portrait of "Sir Walter Scott's Grandson" will interest, but it is badly engraved. "Bob Cherry" is really delicious-look how that greedy rogue is catching at the ruby fruit.

Dr. B.-Let us know something of what our

children are to read-that is of the greatest consequence.

Ed. Here then, let them most carefully peruse "The Misses," by the late Mrs. Barbauld, and as carefully avoid companionship with Miss Place, Miss Management, Miss Representation, Miss Trust, and the other misses of the same family. Their persons are so excellently described by the estimable and highly gifted lady, who has done so much for children, that it will be difficult for any one not to know these misses when either of them is met. Here are Allan Cunningham's beautiful lines, "My Son, my Son," and Mrs. Howitt's admirable "Tale of a Triangle," "Birds," by James Montgomery, a long series of short poems, each describing some peculiarity of each of the feathered race-take an example or two:

THE BIRD OF PARADISE.

"Hail, Bird of Paradise!

-That name I bear,
Though I am nothing but a bird of air:
Thou art a child of earth, and yet to thee,
Lost and recover'd, Paradise is free:
Oh! that such glory were vouchsafed to me!"

SKYLARK.

"What hand lets fly the skylark from his rest?
-That which detains his mate upon the nest:
Love sends him soaring to the fields above,
She broods below, all bound with cords of

love."

THE EAGLE.

"Art thou the king of birds, proud Eagle, say?
-I am; my talons and my beak bear sway;
A greater king than I, if thou wouldst be,
Govern thy tongue, but let thy thoughts be
free."

But I will, if you please, read for you the whole of Dr. Walsh's beautiful dialogue. How delightful it is to see men of deep learning and vast acquirements, descending to prattle in the tones that childhood loves and can understand. I wish there were a dozen more such useful articles in the book, but unfortunately this is the only one :-I do not mean to say that the others are not instructive, but their chief object is to amuse.

"C. Now here is this poor stupid muscle there is nothing inside that I can see but a soft lump without any shape, and no signs of life; what can there be curious in that?"

"F. The shapeless lump, as you call it, has a regular figure, with parts as necessary to the fish as arms and legs to a man.'

"C. Oh, now I see it begins to move, and change its shape like a snail; but it has no eyes like those on a snail's horns.'

"F. No, because eyes are not necessary. You see those threads hanging out of the end of the shell; by these it is firmly fixed to a rock or other substance, and all the waves of the sea cannot disturb it: it wants, therefore, no eyes to see its way, because it never moves from place to place; but when they are necessary for its security, nature supplies them in a very curious manner.'

C. Oh, dear papa, tell me how."
"F. There is a large kind of muscle, called
the pinna* and it has a voracious enemy called
the cuttle-fish, which has eight long arms;
and whenever the poor pinna opens its shell to
take in its food, the cuttle-fish is on the watch to

Pinna ingens: sea wing.
Sepia octopodia.

thrust in its long arms and devour it, if a good
friend of the pinna, who lodges in her house,
was not at hand to prevent him."

"C. A friend who lodges in her house? Oh
papa, you are joking.

F. The friend is a little crab, which the pinna suffers to live in her shell, and who pays her,' as an old writer says, 'a good price for his lodging.' The little crab has red eyes, and sees very sharply; so whenever his blind friend opens her shell, he is always on the watch for the enemy; and as soon as he sees him coming with his long arms like an ogre, he gives notice to the pinna by giving her a little pinch with his claw, and inmediately she closes her large shell, as a careful person locks up his house and shuts out a

robber.'

"C. Is that true, papa?'

"F. It is mentioned by many writers, both
in ancient and modern times, who have watch-
ed the fishes and seen the circumstance.'
"C. Did you ever see it?'

"F. I did when I was in the East. The
harbour of Smyrna is full of this large muscle,
and also abounds with cuttle-fish. I was one
day crossing in a boat; and, as the water was
very clear, I saw several at the bottom, and
some pinnas opening and some closing their
shells; so I was curious to examine them.
One of the sailors swam remarkably well: he
leaped overboard, dived down, and brought up
several of the fish; in every one of them there
was a little crab. As soon as the pinna opened
her shell, he appeared like a sentinel, with his
red eyes; and when any thing approached, he
ran in, seemed to warn his friend, and the shell
closed. The crab is, therefore, called pinno-
phylax, or the muscle's guardian."

C. That is very curious indeed; but is the fish of any use to us?'

"Besides being food for man, for whose support all things were created, the beard or threads of a muscle are applied to a good purpose they are sometimes so long that the fish hangs suspended by them from some projection to a considerable depth in the water. As the poet says,

Firm to his rock, with silver cords, suspend The anchor'd Pinna, and his Cancer Friend.' These 'silver cords' are very fine and strong, like fibres of silk, and are used for the same purpose: they are manufactured into different articles of dress, and I have seen gloves and stockings made of them.'

"C. Oh, I should like to have a pair of muscle gloves; but is there any thing else curious or useful in the fish?'

"F. Yes, there is another kind, called mya,t
inhabiting fresh water, which yields fine pearls.
It is frequently found in the rivers of the north
of Ireland, and I have seen some very large
pearls indeed taken from the shell. They are
also frequently found in England; and some
authors say that Julius Cæsar, who, you know,
invaded England a long time ago, was induced
to come here in search of those fine pearls, of
which he had heard a great account from the
Gauls, who traded to this country.'

"C. Is the pearl of any use to the fish?'
"F. No doubt but it is; the covering of
shell-fish is intended by Providence as their
house; and, like all houses, require to be re-
paired or enlarged, as the inhabitants require.
Nature, therefore, provides for all the means of
doing this, in different ways. In the common
snail there is a substance at the point of the
shell, which is so viscid or tough, that when
taken out, it mends broken glass: this is con-
veyed to the edge of the shell by a little tube,
and continually enlarges it as the animal in-
creases in size. In crabs there is also a sub-
stance which you may have often seen, called
improperly, the crab's eyes, and used as medi-
cine in apothecaries' shops: this is also intend.
ed to repair or enlarge the crab's house, as he

* Cancer pinnotheris, or pinnophylax.
+ Mya margaritifera: pearl-yielding muscle.

wants it. It is very justly supposed that the pearl is intended for the same purpose by nature, for the use of the shell-fish in which it is found.'

.C. I had no idea there were so many useful and curious things in a muscle; I suppose there is the same in every shell-fish.'

"F. No doubt there is; but our acquaintance with God's creation is very limited, and our ignorance is much greater than our knowledge. We may judge, however, by what we know, of what we do not know every day is adding to some new and extraordinary proof of God's wisdom and love, giving us fresh cause for praise and wonder, and declaring 'His goodness beyond thought, and power divine.'"

:

Of the other contributors, I would distinguish Miss Jewsbury, Miss Mitford, Mrs. Hofland, the author of "Selwyn," Bernard Barton, Miss Strickland, Mrs. Opie, M. Carne, and the Archdeacon Wrangham. On the whole, Mrs. Hall has produced a beautiful, a useful, and an amusing work. I do not think it possible to find a more "fit and proper" present to the young.

THE ALIBI.

(Concluded from page 48.)

"And where did she go?" said I; for the first time venturing to interrupt the good man's con amore narrative. "It came out, Sir, afterwards, that before her marriage was agreed on, an uncle in London had invited her to visit

him, and as she had another sister quite ready to take her place at home, she told her parents it would save her much misery to leave the country for a while, and even go to service, to keep out of the way, till Dick Marshall should be married. " Or hanged as is more likely!" said her father in his passion: little thinking how near it was actually being the case! There was a salmon-smack lying in the harbour just then, whose master was Mary's cousin: so she slipped quietly on board, aud got safe to Lon

don.

"How long was this ago?" said I. "Oh! about six or seven months, perhaps. Let me see. It was in October, and this is April! Well, Sir, Mary staid but a short time with her uncle, as idleness was a thing she never liked: but through his wife, who had been housekeeper to a nobleman, she got a delightful place in the same family, as upper nurserymaid; which her gentle manners, and steady temper, and long experience in her father's house, made her every way fit for. She had not long been with them, when Lord S. was appointed to a government in India, and as he resolved to take out his two youngest children, nothing would serve Lady S. but Mary must go with them. They were grown so fond of her, that her cares on the voyage would be invaluable; and then her staid, sober, proper ways made her a perfect treasure in a country, where, I understand, girls heads are apt to be turned. Lady S. knew her story, and thought it recommendation enough: so her parents were written too; half Mary's ample wages secured to them by her desire, and she went down to the sea side with the family, to be in the way to embark at the last moment, when all the tedious outfit for a great man's voyage should be complete."

"Ha!" said I, "this explains a hint she threw out about the world's end! So she is going to India ?"

"Yes, Sir, and would have been half way there by this time, if it had not pleased God to send contrary winds, and save Dick Marshall's life." "His life! poor wretch," said I, “did he take to worse courses still?" "Pretty bad, Sir, but not quite so bad as he got credit for. I'll tell you about it as shortly as I can.

"There came about Berwick, now and then, a scamp of a fellow, whom every body knew to be a gambler and a cheat, and whom none but such idle dogs as Dick Marshall would keep company with. This man, Sir, was

TURKISH TREACHERY. [Being part of an article in the Museum of Foreign Literature and Science.]

There is unquestionably no nation in the world among whom human life is less regard. ed, and none where it is so frequently taken away by treachery under the mask of courtesy and friendship. Turkish history abounds with innumerable instances where perfidy and politeness may be considered as synonymous. Ali Pasha of Yanina had long warded off the fatal blow, which he knew was aimed at him by the Sublime Porte. An Albanian chief was one of the many who had been despatched with a firman for that purpose. Ali had reason to suspect, while courtesies and civilities were passing between them, that the fatal document was concealed in the sleeve of his pelisse. He praised the beauty and elegance of the garment worn by his guest, and, as a particular mark of friendship, insisted on a mutual exchange of robes, which could not be refused according to Turkish etiquette, and having thus got possession of the fatal instrument, forthwith turned the blow that was designed for himself against the intended executioner. Ali, however, at length met with his match in Mahomed Pasha, the governor of the Morea.

"They held together a long conversation of a very confidential nature, and mutual attachment seemed to be established. . . . Mohamed rose to depart, with expressions of affectionate goodwill on both sides. As they were of the same rank, they rose at the same moment from the divan on which they were sitting, and the Pasha of the Morea, as he was retiring, made a low and ceremonial reverence: the Pasha of Yanina returned it with the same profound inclination of the body; but before he could recover himself again, Mohamed drew his yatigan from his girdle, and plunged it into the back of his host with such force, that it passed completely through his heart and out at his left breast. Ali fell dead at his feet, and his assassin immediately left the chamber with the bloody yatigan in his hand, and announced to those abroad, that he had now ceased to exist. Some soldiers of Mohamed entered the apartment, severed the head from the body, and, bringing it outside, held it up to their own comrades and the soldiers of Ali, as the head of a traitor."-Walsh, p. 60—

62.

Mr. Walsh states a curious fact with regard to this venerable head, which was sent to Con stantinople, and exhibited to the public on a dish. As the name of Ali had made a considerable noise in Europe, and more particularly in England, in consequence of his negotiations with Sir Thomas Maitland, and still more, perhaps, the stanzas in Childe Harold, a merchant of Constantinople thought it would be no bad speculation to purchase the head and dish, and send them to London for exhibition; but a former confidential agent obtained it from the public executioner for a higher price than the merchant had offered; and together with the heads of his three sons and grandson, who, according to custom, were all seized and decapitated, had them deposited near one of the city gates, with a tombstone and inscrip

tion.

Old Mahomet Ali of Egypt has probably had more emissaries despatched to effect his destruction than any pasha on record, but he has hitherto been crafty enough to escape. Two or three times he is said to have been marked out for death, on account of his reluctance to join in the Greek war; but he had his spies in Constantinople, and probably in the seraglio, by means of whom he baffled the attempts of the emissaries, taking special care none of them should return to Constantinople to report their good or ill success. For a long time he contrived to keep out of the war, on the plea that his troops were employed in subduing the Wahabees, and repressing the rebellious Mamalukes, and the people of Dongala; and at the same time he endeavoured to soothe

the Sultan by large donations of money. On
one occasion, his agent here purchased the
Pitt or the Pigot diamond (we are not sure
which) from Rundell and Bridge, for which
were paid some thirty thousand pounds, and
this valuable jewel was sent as a peace-offering
to the sublime Sultan Mahmoud: one of our
gallant admirals, about to proceed to the Me-
diterranean, carried it down to Portsmouth in
his waistcoat pocket. The following story,
which Captain Frankland was told by Lady
Hester Stanhope, is quite in character, and
worthy of the sagacity of the Egyptian pasha.

"At length the Sultan Mahmoud resolved
upon adopting a scheme, so cleverly devised,
and involved in such impenetrable secrecy,
that it was impossible it could fail of success.
He had in the imperiai harem a beautiful
Georgian slave, whose innocence and beauty
fitted her, in the Sultan's eyes, for the atro-
cious act of perfidy of which she was to be the
unsuspecting agent. The belief in talismans
is still prevalent throughout the east; and per-
haps even the enlightened Mahmoud himself
is not superior to the rest of his nation in mat-
ters of traditionary superstition. He sent one
day for the fair Georgian, and affecting a great
love for her person, and desire to advance her
interests, told her, that it was his imperial will
to send her to Egypt, as a present to Mehmet
Ali, whose power and riches were as unbound-
ed as the regions over which he held the sway
of a sovereign prince, second to no one in the
universe but to himself, the great padisha.
He observed to her, how much happiness
would fall to her lot, if she could contrive to
captivate the affections of the master for whom
he designed her; that she would become, as it
were, the queen of Egypt, and would reign
over boundless empires. But, in order to en-
sure to her so desirable a consummation of his
imperial wishes for her welfare and happiness,
be would present her with a talisman, which
he then placed upon her finger. 'Watch,'
said he, a favourable moment, when the pasha
is lying on your bosom, to drop this ring into a
glass of water, which, when he shall have
drank, will give you the full possession of his
affections, and render him your captive for
ever.' The unsuspecting Georgian eagerly
accepted the lot which was offered to her, and,
dazzled by its promised splendour, determined
upon following the instructions of the Sultan
to the very letter. In the due course of time
she arrived at Cairo, with a splendid suite, and
many slaves, bearing rich presents. Mehmet
Ali's spies had, however, contrived to put him
on his guard. Such a splendid demonstration
of esteem from his imperial master alarmed
him for his safety. He would not suffer the
fair Georgian to see the light of his counte-
nance; but after some detention in Cairo,
made a present of her to his intimate friend,
Billel Aga, the governor of Alexandria, of
whom, by the bye, the pasha had long been
jealous. The poor Georgian having lost a
pasha, thought she must do her best to capti-
vate her aga, and administered to him the
fatal draught, in the manner Sultan Mahmoud
had designed for Mehmet Ali. The Aga fell
dead upon the floor. The Georgian shrieked
and clapped her hands: in rushed the eunuchs
of the harem, and bore out the dead body of
their master.”—Frankland, vol. ii. p. 146–149.

EPITAPHS.

THERE is no department of literature, perhaps, that has been exercised more than this. There is no man, however humble in society, who wishes to lie "to dumb forgetfulness a prey;" and every person, whose friends can command the means, has a memorial of wood or stone with a suitable inscription, to say when and where he was born and buried. In many churchyards in England there is not much variety in these notifications of mortality, and little pains are bestowed in penning the hic jacet. The stone-cutter is generally the poet, at least it is he that supplies the po

etical part of the inscription from his common. place book; the same serves for many customers, and there are about forty or fifty of this kind, which you see repeated in almost every burying ground in England. There are, however, occasionally to be met with, those that are peculiar and remarkable for their beauty or singularity. They are either the productions of the best poets of the time, or of some very whimsical humorist who was the author of his own epitaph. Of these there have been copious collections made by tourists, and many volumes have been filled exclusively with such mortuary memorials. Still there is left something which has not been noticed; and an industrious man may glean either old or new which have escaped a predecessor. As I have just returned from a ramble through part of Ireland, England, and Scotland, and have felt a degree of curiosity on the subject, I shall send one or two which I find noticed among my memoranda.

The Tomb of a Victim of Criticism.-Some years ago, an anonymous writer attacked the Dublin stage in a bitter but witty satire, called "Familiar Epistles." This was attributed to a certain literary character distinguished in the political world, but, if the effect assigned be true, he has small reason to be satisfied with the cause; it does little credit to his head and less to his heart. Among the persons attacked was Edwin the comedian; and, it is said, he never again held up his head. He drooped like a mortally wounded man, and died shortly after. His wife, as a memorial of affection to the melancholy fate of her husband, as well as of vengeance on his supposed murderer, erected a tomb with the following inscription in St. Werburgh's churchyard, Dublin, where I went to see and copied it:Here lie the remains of MR. JOHN EDWIN, of the Theatre Royal, who died February 22, 1805, aged 33 years. His death was occasioned by the ACUTENESS of his SENSIBILITY. Before he was sufficiently known to the public of this city to have his talents properly appreciated,

he experienced an ILLIBERAL and CRUEL ATTACK on his professional reputation from an ANONYMOUS ASSASSIN. This circumstance preyed upon his mind to the extinction of life; while he was in apparent bodily vigour he predicted his approaching DISSOLUTION. The consciousness of a brain rending

with agony, accounts for that prescience, and incontrovertibly establishes the cause of his death. This stone is

inscribed to the MEMORY of an

AFFECTIONATE HUSBAND, as a tribute of DUTY and ATTACHMENT, by her, who, best acquainted with the qualities of his HEART, can best record their AMIABILITY. There is not on stone, I believe, such another epitaph as this, in either ancient or modern times, recording the death of a man killed by a literary attack. Horace alludes to the death of Lycambes in consequence of the severity of Archilochus' verses; and in our own days, one of our periodicals is nicknamed the Keatskiller, because it is supposed to have murdered a poor poet with the same weapon; but no person had put it on their tombs, and this, I suppose, is the first monument ever erected to a man murdered by a critic.

Tomb of a Modern Greek.-The exceeding interest taken by the people of England in the affairs of Greece, and the high esteem in which they were held in Morea and the Islands, induced several Greeks of distinction to send their children to this country to be educated, and among them the celebrated Canaris, and other distinguished leaders in the revolution.

The transition from the warm genial climate
of the Archipelago, to the chill and humid va-
pours of England, did not agree with the con-
stitutions of these children of the sun. Some
returned home, some went to France, some
fell victims here, and were buried in our
churchyards. In Tottenham Churchyard is
the following epitaph of a young Suliote. He
was a gentle and interesting boy, and pined
away, it is said, on receiving an account of
his father's death in Greece.

Far from his native Greece, the mortal part
Of Constantine Satterio here was laid;
Almost ere childhood melted into youth,
Bold, wild, and free, the little Suliote came
To England's shores a student, and his soul
All knowledge, save of ill, with eager joy
Received; but chiefly with a spirit's thirst
He drank the waters of immortal life.
Meek, holy, calm, the little Suliote died-
His last breath murmur'd in his country's
tongue

The name of "Mother!" 'twas a father's
death,

Sad tidings told him in a foreign land,

First made him droop. Here no kind relative Closed his cold eyes-yet left he mourners here,

True friends, whom his sweet gentleness had made,

And one of these inscribes this humble stone.

NATURAL MONITORS.

BY MISS M. A. BROWNE.

Ταφόφιλος.

"I ASKED the lark in the summer morn,
Why he left so lightly his nest in the corn;
Why he sang so sweetly his matin song,
That the clouds and the breezes bore along,—
When he knew, that perhaps, before 'twas
night,

The hunter's shaft might stay his flight?
By the messenger Wind was this answer
given,

'I fear not, I fear not: I fly towards Heaven!'
"I asked the flowers in the soft spring-time,
Wherefore they smiled in their youthful prime,
When the stormy days so soon should come,
That would blight for ever their beauty and
bloom?

And the sweet flowers answered, 'Each day

renews

Their fragile folds into mist and dew?

The clouds replied, 'Though we should be
driven

Away from our rest, we should still be in
Heaven!'

“And I saw a lovely child, who knelt
Beside the cot where his father dwelt,
At the sunset hour; and his hands were raised
Towards the sky, on which he gazed;
And on his rosy lips a prayer
Seemed hovering,-like the summer air:
'Fear'st thou,' said I, 'the shades of even?'
He smiled and said, 'See, how bright is Hea-

ven!'"

THE DEATH OF MOSES.

BY JOHN SYDNEY TAYLOR, A.M.
"ON Nebo's hill the Patriarch stood,
Who led the pilgrim bands
Of Israel through the foaming waves,
And o'er the desert sands.

"How beauteous is the scene that spreads

Before him far and wide,
Beyond the fair and fated bourne
Of Jordan's glorious tide.
"Stretched forth in varied loveliness,
The land of promise smiled
Like Eden in its wond'rous bloom,
Magnificent and wild!

"He look'd o'er Gilead's pleasant land,
A land of fruit and flowers,
And verdure of the softest green,

That drinks the Summer showers.
"He saw fair Ephraim's fertile fields
Laugh with their golden store,
And far beyond the deep blue wave
Bathed Judah's lonely shore.
"The southern landscape led his glance
O'er plains and valleys wide,
And hills with spreading cedars crown'd,
And cities in their pride.

"There Zoar's walls are dimly seen,

And Jericho's far towers
Gleam through the morning's purple mist,
Among their palmy bowers.

"Is it the sun! the morning sun!
That shines so full and bright,
Pouring on Nebo's lonely hill
A flood of living light?
"No-dim and earthly is the glow

Of morning's loveliest ray,

And dull the cloudless beams of noon
To that celestial day.

"Is it an angel's voice that breathes
Divine enchantment there,
As floating on his viewless wings
He charms the balmy air?
"No-'tis a greater, holier power

That makes the scene rejoice;
Thy glory, God! is in that light,
Thy spirit in that voice!

"The Patriarch hears, and lowly bends,
Adoring his high will

Who spoke in lightnings from the clouds
Of Sinai's awful hill.

"Now flash his eyes with brighter fires
E'er yet their light depart:
And thus the voice of prophecy

Speaks to his trembling heart-
"The land which I have sworn to bless
To Abraham's chosen race
Thine eyes behold-but not for thee

That earthly resting-place.'
"With soul of faith, the Patriarch heard
The awful words, and lay

A time entranced, until that voice
In music died away.

"Then raised his head, one look he gave
Towards Jordan's palmy shore-
Fixed was that look, and glazed that eye,
Which turned to earth no more.
"A beauteous glow was on his face-
Death flung not there its gloom;
On Nebo's hill the Patriarch found
His glory and his doom.

"He sleeps in Moab's silent vale,
Beneath the dewy sod,
Without a stone to mark his grave,

Who led the hosts of God.

"Let marble o'er earth's conquerors rise,
And mock the mouldering grave;
His monument is that blest Book
Which opens but to save!"

THE SPIRIT OF THE SPRING.
SPIRIT of the shower,

Of the sunshine and the breeze,
Of the long, long twilight hour,
Of the bud and opening flower,
My soul delighted sees.
Stern winter's robe of grey,

Beneath thy balmy sigh,
Like mist-wreaths melts away,
When the rosy laughing day
Lifts up his golden eye.

Spirit of ethereal birth!

Thy azure banner floats,

In lucid folds o'er air and earth;

While budding woods pour forth their mirth,
In rapture-breathing notes.

I see upon the fleecy cloud

The spreading of thy wings;
The hills and vales rejoice aloud,
And Nature starting from her shroud,
To meet her bridegroom springs.

Spirit of the rainbow zone,

Of the fresh and breezy morn;
Spirit of climes where joy alone,
For ever hovers round thy throne,
On wings of light upborne:
Eternal youth is in thy train,

With rapture-beaming eyes;
And beauty, with her magic chain,
And hope, that laughs at present pain,
Points up to cloudless skies.
Spirit of love-of life and light,

Each year we hail thy birth;
The day-star from the grave of night,
That sets to rise in skies more bright,

To bless the sons of earth.

With leaf, and bud, and blushing flower,
Still deck the barren sod;
In thee we trace a higher power,
In thee we claim a brighter dower,
The day-spring of our God!

STANZAS.

All I feel, and hear, and see,

God of love! is full of thee!

EARTH, with her ten thousand flowers-
Air, with all its beams and showers-
Ocean's infinite expanse-
Heaven's resplendent countenance-
All around, and all above,
Hath this record-" GOD IS LOVE."
Sounds, among the vales and hills,
In the woods, and by the rills,—
Of the breeze, and of the bird,
By the gentle summer stirred;
All these songs, beneath-above,
Have one burthen-" GOD IS LOVE."
All the hopes and fears that start
From the fountain of the heart;
All the quiet bliss that lies
In our human sympathies;-
These are voices from above,
Sweetly whispering-" GOD IS LOVE."
All I feel, and hear, and see,
God of love! is full of thee!

Z. Z.

It is stated of the lectures delivering in Paris by M. de Villemain, on the History of the Middle Ages, that it is almost impossible to find a place at them. His introductory was attended by over two thousand people, and nearly as many more were unable to get in. Such is the magic of eloquence.

The Emperor of Austria has promoted Gustavus Vasa, son of the Ex-King of Sweden, to the rank of Major General.

THE LITERARY PORT FOLIO.

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