soldier and the bear remained for a consider able time, until at last the latter quitted his victim and slowly began to retreat, when, a tremendous fire being opened upon him, he instantly fell dead. On hearing the shots, the poor soldier jumped up, his scalp hanging over his face so as completely to blind him; when, throwing it back with his hands, he ran to wards his comrades like a madman, franticly exclaiming, 'The bear, the bear! The mischief, however, was done, and was irreparable. The only assistance he could receive was rendered to him by a surgeon, who happened to be present, and who severed the little skin which connected the scalp with the forehead, and then dressed the wound in the best manner he was able. The scalp, when separated from the head, Captain Eurenius described as exactly resembling a peruke. In one sense, the catastrophe was fortunate for the poor soldier. At this time every one in the army was obliged to wear his hair of a certain form, and he in consequence, being now without any, immediately got his discharge." At another skall, when the bear was driven to her last resources, she, being sorely beset, "kept wheeling about from side to side to defend herself against her numerous foes, several of whom she laid prostrate; and would otherwise have injured them, had not her jaw been previously fractured with a ball. Among the party was the wife of a soldier, a very powerful woman of about forty years of age, who greatly distinguished herself on this occasion. Wishing to have a share in the honours of the day, she armed herself with a stout cudgel, with which she hesitated not to give the poor bear a tremendous blow upon the head. The animal, however, did not think this treatment quite fair; and not exactly understanding the deference due to the sex, sent her heels into the place where her head ought to have been, to the no small amusement of the bystanders. Nothing daunted by what had happened, the woman caught up another stick, the former having been broken owing to the force of the blow, and again began to belabour the bear; this the beast resented, as at first, by again tumbling her over. Still, our Amazon was not satisfied, for, laying hold of a third cudgel (the second, like the first, having snapt in two), she renewed her attacks upon Bruin, and, in return, had to perform a third somerset in the air. The bear, being at last fairly exhausted from wounds and loss of blood, fell dead amid the shouts of her enemies." The ferocity of the bear is shown by many tales: "On a Sunday afternoon, whilst two or three children were herding cattle on a Svedge-fall in the forest, in the vicinity of Gras, a hamlet situated at sixteen or eighteen miles to the southward of my quarters, a large bear suddenly dashed in among them. The brute first despatched a sheep, which happened to come in his way, and then a well grown heifer: this last, in spite of the cries of the children, he then carried over a strong fence of four or five feet in height, which surrounded the Svedge-fall, when, together with his prey, he was soon lost sight of in the thicket. The children now collected together the remainder of their charge, and made the best of their way to Gras, where they resided. * "Now that I am speaking of the bear's attacks upon cattle, I am reminded of an anecdote related to me by Jan Finne. The circumstance, he stated, occurred some years before, at only about twenty miles from Stjern: 'A bull was attacked in the forest by a rather small bear, when, striking his horns into his assailant, he pinned him against a tree. In this situation they were both found dead; the bull from starvation, the bear from wounds.'" But we must now conclude; and that our review, from being all directed to one topic, may not be thought unbearable, we shall give a few lines touching another animal-the great horned owl, which abounds in the Scandinavian forests. "These owls, (says Mr. Lloyd,) Doctor Mellerborg assured me, will sometimes destroy FEARFUL EPISODE IN A FOX CHASE. dogs. Indeed, he himself once knew an in- SIR Hugh, on gaining the wood at the sumstance of the kind. He stated another circum-mit of Morwel rock, dismounted, and tying his stance showing the ferocity of these birds, horse to one of the trees by the bridle rein, dewhich came under his immediate notice. Two termined there to leave the animal, whilst he men were in the forest for the purpose of watched the direction of the hunters from the gathering berries, when one of them happening bold brow of the rock we have just attempted to approach near to the nest of the owl, she to describe. He did so, and finding himself pounced upon him, whilst he was in the act of somewhat fatigued with his morning's exerstooping, and, fixing her talons in his back, cise, he threw himself upon a portion of stone wounded him very severely. His companion, covered with moss, that formed a convenient however, was fortunately near at hand, when, seat, and looked around him with a mind by catching up a stick, he lost no time in destroy- no means insensible to the beauty of the scene, ing the furious bird. Mr. Nilsson states, that yet, at the present moment, too much engrossthese owls not unfrequently engage in combat ed with the interest he felt for the sportsmen, with the eagle himself, and that they often to give himself up to a contemplative mood. come off victorious. These powerful and voracious birds, that gentleman remarks, occasionally kill the fawns of the stag, roebuck, and reindeer. The largest of the birds common to the Scandinavian forests, such as the capercali, often become their prey. The hooting of these owls may often be heard during the night-time in the northern forests; the sound, which is a most melancholy one, and which has given rise to many superstitions, is audible at a long distance." And here we close, trusting that our quotations will render the author as agreeable to others as he has been to us. Of the sport, such as it is, principally treated of in these pages, he seems to have been passionately fond; and we are convinced, that any young nobleman or gentleman who may wish to visit Sweden, if they had the good fortune to engage Mr. Lloyd, would have in him a most excellent and incomparable bear-leader. STANZAS. My heart is not as once it was Gone are its proud and early flowers; And nought is left me but to pass On earth a few dark weary hours: My hopes are gone, like April blooms That died and left no fruit behind; My feelings lost, like rich perfumes Flung on the careless summer wind: Yet I have one hope still remainingOne that shall be a certaintyThat soon shall come, my soul's unchaining, To die-to die. When I am in the festal throng, The gay, the young, the proud, the vile,. When I think how to them belong The hollow tear, the heartless smile- The searching glare of sunshine bears,- At the sweet birth of morning's hour, Or when the bright sun from his throne Looks hotly on my fresh green bowerWhen I reflect, though I may love The summer shine, the summer bloom, Which says a wintry hour shall come- And more than all, when in my heart And know my immortality- That waits me in those realms above- M. A. BROWNE. Whilst thus he sat, he heard the distant baying of the hounds, caught now and then a view of the huntsmen, as they emerged like moving atomies, from a coppice, or wound round the brow of a hill, their diminished forms sometimes but partially seen, and at others fully visible, as they cheered on the deep-mouthed pack to the notes of the "spiritstirring" horn. Having watched for some time the progress of the chase, Sir Hugh at length heard steps behind him. He started, and, on turning his head to see who might be the intruder, beheld a man of an athletic form, wearing a morion on his head, and a corslet of steel upon his breast, armed both with sword and pistols. The figure stood still, remained silent, but fixed an earnest and impressive look on Sir Hugh. The worthy knight, who was by no means prepared to encounter such a formidable apparition, instantly recollected, to add to his terror, there was no means of retreat, since the stranger stood between him and that narrow and only pathway which led into the wood. On every other side lay the fearful precipice. His alarm increased, his teeth chattered, and a tremulous motion, too strong to be concealed, seized his whole frame, as he stammered forth a good morrow, in the hope to propitiate this intruder, who he instantly set down in his own mind (and true enough was the conjecture) could be no other than one of those lawless miners and villains, that lived, in part, by cheating the revenues of the crown, and, for the rest, by open violence and plunder. Deeply did Sir Hugh now censure in his heart the folly which had caused him thus incautiously to venture on such a spot alone. And so wholly was he unnerved at the moment, that, had he stood on the verge of the precipice which was near him, the slightest breath of air might have upset his equilibrium, and have consigned him to the abyss below. For some time, the formidable stranger scemed to enjoy with a malicious triumph, the terror he had excited; till at length Sir Hugh mustered sufficient courage to rise from his seat, and made an effort to pass on toward the wood. In this he was opposed, for the stranger intercepted his progress, and motioned with his hand that he should remain where he was. Sir Hugh had recourse to expostulation, and said in a mild tone, "Friend, if such you are, I would entreat you to let me pass into yonder wood. There I have tied up my horse, and my people will be here to look for me anon; my bu siness is not with you." "But mine is with you," replied Standwich, for it was the outlawed captain who spoke. "I have watched for you, I have traced your steps hither, and on this spot you shall hear melisten then." "I-I-I cannot," stammered out Sir Hugh, "I can no longer tarry. Let me pass on. This detention is contrary to law, and liable to the penalty under the proclamation of her gracious Majesty of the present reign, for it is enacted-" "Fool!" cried the Captain, "of what avail are laws here?--Talk of thy proclamations and penal codes to the kite and the carrion bird, that shall find their prey on what is left of thee, should I put forth my strength against thy feeble age, and cast thee hence into the abyss below, where thy body shall be crushed out of the very form of what is human-a mass of broken atoms!" "Holy Mary!" exclaimed Sir Hugh, who in his terror forgot that he was now of the reformed church," you would not dare-you could not do such a deed, and that to a poor old man who has never injured you." injuries you have heaped upon my head-to "The past is past," said Sir Hugh, greatly "You shall not pass," cried Standwich; "I am not mad. I came hither prepared to meet "Be not too sure of that," replied his oppo-you-prepared to read the catalogue of those nent; "I have dared do things that you may hear of before we part. They may be a warrant I could do others something fearful. And as for injuring me, there lives not the wretch on this accursed earth who has injured me as you have done; and yet I have been the butt against which every worldly villain has been a shaft. But fear not-my purpose is not against thy worthless life!-1 have no desire to cut short by violence the nearly wasted thread of thy remaining days. It is only resistance that would make me use the power I possess. Sit there, old man-aye, on yonder stone; there lies the dark gulf-thou hast no mind to leap it; for dotard age, clings as fondly to this world of folly as the greenest youth. There lies the gulf behind you, and here I stand before you, George Standwich, armed, and in full remembrance of the past." age, "Great God! George Standwich!" exclaimed Sir Hugh, and he turned pale as death while he spoke. Is it possible? Do I behold George Standwich, who escaped-" "A charge of murder," said the outlaw, supplying the close of Sir Hugh's sentence, which from terror he suppressed as it was about to drop from his lips. Yes, and more than that. In me you behold a man so miserable, that nothing but the privilege he has gained, as the right of misery, to curse, to hate, and to requite mankind, could make him endure to live, to inhale the common air that is rendered hateful, since it is poisoned by the breath of man. I am most wretched." "These words are dreadful," said Sir Hugh, who felt some relief to his personal fears, from the tone of deep melancholy in which Standwich spoke, since he knew well that men, when about to commit an act of violence, are seldom capable of any feeling that approaches to the softness of sorrow-" dreadful indeed. I am not your judge, George Standwich; my life is at this moment solely in your power. My purpose cannot be to irritate your feelings. Whatever counsel I give, therefore, must be honest; and thus much I am bound, in Christian charity, to give you. If a sense of (guilt, Sir Hugh was about to say, but his fears made him soften the expression, so that he only added)-of past errors weighs upon your mind, there is yet a long suffering God who delights in mercy." 66 Aye, but who shall dare hope to find it?" said Standwich, wildly, "not man, miserable man. All things, save man, are obedient to God's laws. The winds and seas obey him; the great globe, the heavens, and all the stars in their course, follow but one order, the law of him who made them. At His command, these vast and rugged rocks stand fast on their everlasting base, receiving the sullen tempest that visits their loftiest crest in living fire, in thunder, and all the contest of the elements, with the same submission as they would the lightest breath of spring. It is not thus that I obey God's laws, since one law I never can obey." "You can think justly," said old Sir Hugh, who wondered to what this extraordinary discourse would lead, "and, in doing so, must be conscious that great is that sin to which we yield obedience against conviction." "You say well, old man," replied Standwich, and fixing his eye upon Fitz with a peculiar expression of bitter feeling, he added, "it is to you I owe all my guilt, all my misery; and, though my soul should be the forfeit, you I can never forgive. Now is God's law broken?" Standwich laid his hand on his pistol, as Sir Hugh once more attempted to pass him. The knight suddenly stopped, and, as if calling up a degree of spirit that had before apparently deserted him, he said, "I will hear you, George Standwich; but I will not thus be governed by fear. I am an old man; shed my blood at your own peril. God is with us both, though the eye of man is far off. I am a sinner; but fitter, perhaps, to render up my account, on a sudden summons, than you are." Standwich, struck by the only mark of real courage Sir Hugh had displayed during the meeting, as well as with the truth of the observation, dropped his pistol, placed his hand on the shoulder of the old man, and looking him full in the face, with an aspect in which phrenzy seemed to contend with grief, said, "But for thee, I might have been as thou art, happy, and unstained by the guilt of human blood. Have you not injured me? Who was it first discovered to Glanville my honourable affection for his daughter? Who interfered to induce him to separate us? You-you did this. Who advised her fatal marriage with Sir John Page, a wretch, sordid and miserable? You did this; and when those fiends that lie in wait to tempt men to their own perdition-those accursed spirits that stir up the soul to madness, lawless love, passion, jealousy, revenge-prompted me to seduce the wife of Page, and to bear her from him, who but you found out our retreat, and, after twelve months of guilt, tore her from my arms, to restore her, stained as she was, to those of a husband?--You, you did this, and more than this. Who accused her? By whose means was she brought to a public tribunal, and there convicted of murder? You were that accursed wretch." "So help me God," said Fitz, "before whose tribunal I must one day stand, as well as that unhappy woman, I did nought but what seemed to me my duty. The evidence I gave in court was true. I deposed to nothing but what I saw and heard. The signal given by you, when you threw the sand against her window, was distinctly heard by me, as unseen I lurked near you. The words also that you exclaimed," For God's sake hold your hand," and the answer made by your paramour from the window above, "it is too late, the deed is done." These words I heard, and to these I deposed in open court; they were true. And if by them the criminal met her doom, it was by the judgment of heaven, of her country's laws, and from no private enmity of mine. Did she not say the deed was done?" "She did, she did," cried Standwich, whilst a convulsive shuddering seemed to pass over his frame. "The crime was great, but oh, the penalty of it was terrible. She perished at the stake for the murder of her husband; and thou," he added, again relapsing into fury," thou didst bring her to it. It was thy act that lighted the fatal brand, else she might have lived. It was thy accursed spirit, active for evil; thy busy, meddling, legal skill, that collected facts, brought forward evidence, and did this to make one wretched woman yield up her soul in the midst of the horrors of the burning pile, to fill mine with endless tortures-and yet they tell me that I was the cause the tempter-the fatal source of all. I fled to save my name the stain of perishing as a common felon. For fame is dear even to the damned; else why do so many perish with a denial of the very guilt for which they suffer? What must be life to me? what death? what an hereafter?" Whilst Standwich poured forth thus wildly the language of remorse and misery, Sir Hugh, who stood before him, and in whose bosom there was a large share of the milk of human kindness, felt even for this guilty outlaw some touch of compassion. This feeling encouraged the good natured knight once more in the attempt to sooth the mind of Standwich by leading him to better thoughts; and he said mildly," Holy writ teaches us, unhappy man, that the first steps by which the guilty return to God are, like those of the Prodigal, by the paths of humility, self-abasement, and penitence. That path lies open before you; and your own feelings seem to lead you to it. Follow the good suggestion-it is from God. Say with the penitent, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son;' do this, and may God have mercy on your soul." "That is thy creed," said Standwich; " but know that mine thinks it not enough-mine demands labours such as would startle the most zealous of thy faith, ere I can hope to obtain the merciful absolution of our church. I have visited Rome itself in the hope to find pardon; I have confessed all the horrid tale ;-even the Pope himself has heard it. And on one condition, on the doing of one only act, can I hope to receive his forgiveness. But it is not of this I would speak," continued Standwich, "my misery can never end. And one of its fatal fruits will survive to curse me, even when I am in the tomb." "I hope not," said Sir Hugh; "and though you may hold my opinions heretical, yet this much I can truly say, in the brotherhood of common charity, that I trust thy miseries will end with thy days; that the pains you have suffered here on earth, may spare you those of an hereafter. Yet this hope can never reach you unless you renounce a guilty life. You have cause to thank God for one mercy, that you will leave no creature belonging to you to survive your shame." "You have touched a chord," said Standwich, "with a rude hand, that awakens a dreadful note in my bosom; one creature still survives, who owes to me the sorrow of an existence that must be branded with infamy. The child of our sin, the miserable offspring of adultery and murder, is still in being.' " "Good heavens!" exclaimed Fitz, "can such a wretched creature breathe, to be marked by the finger of scorn, as the child of the guilty Lady Page and of George Standwich?" "She lives," cried Standwich, "the child lives. And how will thy proud heart swell with indignation when I tell thee, Sir Hugh, that she is like to bear thy name, to become the cankered branch from which the honours, or say the shame, of thy house must descend to posterity! Margaret, the ward of Glanville, the betrothed of thy son, thy only son, is my daughter." This last communication so effectually overpowered old Sir Hugh, that he could only reply to it by raising his eyes to heaven, and faintly exclaiming as he did so, "is it possible? can this be the fatal secret of her birth!" "It is the fatal truth," said Standwich. "Aye, shudder; so will all mankind when they look on Margaret, and know her as the child of a murderess-as the child of horror-to sum up all that is dreadful in one word, as the child of Standwich. Who would wed Margaret, think you, thus disgraced, thus branded from her very birth?" "Not my son," said Sir Hugh. "I have but one son, the prop of my age, and the hope of my name. In him, flourishing like the green bay tree, I hoped to see his branches thicken around me in a happy posterity, whilst I might rest under them; and when, like the withered autumn leaf, I dropt away, leave others to succeed me green and vigorous. But rather than see the blood of my house mingled with such pollution as thine, rather than that, I would consent to follow John Fitz, all young and promising as he is, to the tomb; and then lay me down a desolate old man, to wait in sorrow till my glass had eked out the few remaining sands of life." died, and left Margaret to the care of Glan- "It is enough," said Sir Hugh; "had it "A mercy," replied Standwich, "that was not vouched to me. I looked at the miserable little wretch as it lay sleeping in my arms, after its guilty mother's death, and a horrid thought crossed my mind-I looked again, and the child, in the soft breathings of sleep, smiled like a cherub; the fiend that stood by, watching to tempt me to another crime, fled before its innocence, and a tear dropped from mine. Your cause to detest such a tie cannot my eyes-yes, this hard heart was softened; be so strong; for Margaret is in herself inno- and as I kissed the poor child, an angel seemcent. But think you I could behold my daughed to whisper that it might be spared, one day ter wed with the son of him who was the first "Yet," said Standwich, "with whatever dislike you may view this proposed union of our children (you start at the very thought of such a union), your abhorrence to it cannot equal cause of all my sin and misery-the man who brought her mother to the stake; when such a union would make her the bride of one who is a heretic, already numbered with the damned? -No: I love Margaret with all á father's fond ness. She neither knows guilt, nor that she is the offspring of guilt. She is like the flower that flourishes on these rude rocks, but is innocent and beautiful in itself. Yet, such as she is, I would rather, did she now stand here, hurl her headlong from this rock, and give her delicate limbs as a prey to the wildest bird that ever flapped its wings at the scent of blood, than see her wedded to a living thing that claimed alliance with thee." "Peace, peace," said Fitz, "it is awful to hear a father speak thus. Poor damsel! I, who renounce for ever the very thought of her being my son's wife, yet even I pity her; she seems of a spirit so gentle, so unfit to contend with the cold scorn of an unfeeling world. And, I fear, she loves my son. I know how dearly he loves her. I had given my consent, and I must pow make him wretched." "It is a just requital," said Standwich, "a requital of your interference, when you first poisoned the mind of Glanville against me; when I loved, and honourably, his daughter, ere she became the wife of another." "In that matter," replied Sir Hugh, "I thought I did but a friendly part; for I must tell you, George Standwich, you bore an evil reputation, as a young man of violent passions, of doubtful principles and conduct. But my poor John, to make him miserable, to disappoint his affections! I knew something fatal would happen from the hour of his birth, I learnt that by the stars as I cast his horoscope." to breathe to heaven a prayer from its innocent unman me." Fitz looked up, and observed that the eyes of "Farewell, old man," he continued, "Re- A DUEL IN IRELAND. (By a Servant, who was an eye witness.) The Masther an' Misther Doody over, that had a difference about a horse o' the Masther's, that he knocked again' Misther Doody's chesnut mare, an faix if they had, they struck one another on the rights of it. Well, it was late at night, after they dinin' together over at the Priest's house, an' so after they going, they agreed to fight one another in the middle o' the village, an' they havin' no seconds, nor nobody with 'em but meself. Indeed only Misther Doody was drunk, I don't say he'd do it, for he was always very exact about discipline, an' to say the truth fonder of the discipline than he was o' the fightin' (with a knowing wink). But the Masther threatened to post him, if he wouldn't do it that minute. So they borried a pair o' blunder pushes, and loaded 'em with slugs, an' they agreed to walk up to one another, from one end o' the street to the other, an' to fire when they plazed. Well, when Doody walked away to his post, an' the night so pitch dark, that you wouldn't see a stem apast your hand; "I'll tell you what it is now, Mas"But I will tell you," said Standwich, "whatther," says I, makin' up to him an' whispering no star could ever reveal;-it is this, (and mark me well, for life or death depend upon it,) you must devise the means to break this engagement between your son and Margaret. Remember, it must be done without the secret of Margaret's birth being betrayed by you, either to that son, or to any living creature. Let me but once suspect you have revealed to John Fitz the truth, and vainly shall you attempt to shelter him from my vengeance. I have means, I have intelligence, I have engines constantly at work, of which you little dream. Betray to Fitz the fatal secret, and you shall speedily see your only son a corpse at your feet, and your name for ever extinguished. Promise silence on this theme, and then I leave you, perhaps for ever." in his ear, "walk away home with yourself "Stand With thy soul's radiance, bright, yet restless one! They that have loved an exile must not mourn All the high music of thy spirit here, Some half-remembered song of Paradise Wert seeking still some oracle's reply, Forth on the blast. Hast thou been answer'd?-thou that through the gloom, And shadow, and stern silence of the tomb, From buried friend. And hast thou found where living waters Thou that didst pine amidst us in the thirst On the departed! Art thou blest and free? Yet shall our hope rise, fann'd by quenchless Freed soul of song! Yes! thou hast found the Borne to thy home of beauty and of thought, And we will deem it is thy voice we hear, No tears for thee! the lingering gloom is ours A Noble Reply-It is related of the eminent surgeon, Boudon, that he was one day sent for by the Cardinal Dubois, Prime Minister of France, to perform a very serious operation upon. The Cardinal, on seeing him enter the room, said to him, "You must not expect, Sir, to treat me in the same rough manner as you treat those poor miserable wretches at your hospital of the Hôtel Dieu." "My Lord," replied M. Boudon, with great dignity," every one of those miserable wretches, as your Eminence is pleased to call them, is a Prime Mi nister in my eyes." MODEL OF A PAINTER'S WIFE. WHEN Blake was six-and twenty years old, he married Katharine Boutcher, a young woman of humble connexions-the dark-eyed Kate of several of his lyric poems. She lived near his father's house, and was noticed by Blake for the whiteness of her hand, the bright ness of her eyes, and a slim and handsome shape, corresponding with his own notions of sylphs and naïads. As he was an original in all things, it would have been out of character to fall in love like an ordinary mortal; he was describing one evening in company the pains he had suffered from some capricious lady or another, when Katharine Boutcher said, “I pity you from my heart." "Do you pity me?" said Blake, "then I love you for that." "And I love you," said the frank-hearted lass, and so the courtship began. He tried how well she looked in a drawing, then how her charms became verse; and finding moreover that she had good domestic qualities, he married her. They lived together long and happily. "She seemed to have been created on purpose for Blake:-she believed him to be the finest genius on earth; she believed in his verse-she believed in his designs; and to the wildest flights of his imagination she bowed the knee, and was a worshipper. She set his house in good order, prepared his frugal meal, learned to think as he thought, and, indulging him in his harmless absurdities, became, as it were, bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh. She learned-what a young and handsome woman is seldom apt to learn-to despise gawdy dresses, costly meals, pleasant company, and agreeable invitations-she found out the way of being happy at home, living on the simplest of food, and contented in the homeliest of clothing. It was no ordinary mind which could do all this: and she whom Blake emphatically called his "beloved," was no ordinary woman. She wrought off in the press the impressions of his plates-she coloured them with a light and neat hand-made drawings much in the spirit of her husband's compositions, and almost rivalled him in all things save in the power which he possessed of seeing visions of any individual living or dead, whenever he chose to see them. His marriage, I have heard, was not agreeable to his father; and he then left his roof and resided with his wife in Green street, Leicester Fields. He returned to Broad street, on the death of his father, a devout man, and an honest shopkeeper, of fifty years' standing, took a first floor and a shop, and in company with one Parker, who had been his fellow apprentice, commenced printseller. His wife attended to the business, and Blake continued to engrave, and took Robert, his favourite brother, for a pupil. It is delightful to find, that the devotion of this excellent partner of a man of genius, lasted during life, and was repaid by the affection of the object which excited it. The last moments of Blake afford a touching proof of the constancy of their mutual attachment, and of kis grateful sensibility to the value of the treasure he possessed in such a helpmate. He had now reached his seventy-first year, and the strength of nature was fast yielding. Yet he was to the last cheerful and contented. "I glory," he said, "in dying, and have no grief but in leaving you, Katharine; we have fived happy, and we have lived long; we have been ever together, but we shall be divided soon. Why should I fear death? nor do I fear it. I have endeavoured to live as Christ commands, and have sought to worship God truly -in my own house, when I was not seen of men." He grew weaker and weaker-he could no longer sit upright; and was laid in his bed, with no one to watch over him, save his wife, who, feeble and old herself, required help in such a touching duty. The Ancient of Days was such a favourite with Blake, that three days before his death, he sat bolstered up in bed, and tinted it with nicative as to my proceedings?—but you need not trouble yourself, you need not; you are an ungrateful woman; ay, you may smile, madam -smile on, but it won't do, you may depend on't." "But it will do, though," said sir James Grumbleton, coming forward, his hands cross his choicest colours and in his happiest style. He touched and retouched it-held it at arm's length, and then threw it from him, exclaiming, "There! that will do! I cannot mend it." He saw his wife in tears she felt this was to be the last of his works-" Stay, Kate! (cried Blake) keep just as you are--I will draw your portrait-for you have ever been an angeled behind, and his face exhibiting all the toto me," she obeyed, and the dying artist made kens of bitter feeling; "I say it will do-you a fine likeness. are both doing as others of the precious set of London and Parisian fashionables do; for the follies of both are now blended in our nobility. When a fine lady is ashamed of speaking her own language, and a fine gentleman will not wear good home-made woollen, I repeat, it will do." DOING AS OTHERS DO. BY MRS. S. C. HALL. "My dear, there is little use in talking about the matter: now I put it to you as a woman of sense (and that is what can seldom be said of a pretty woman,) would you have me sacrifice my reputation as a sportsman, or a man of hohour? I am certain I shall make by the transaction, but whether or not I pledged myself to Gaythorne to support the Filly; and nobody ever heard of a young man of family, fortune, and fashion, being absent at this time from Doncaster; the fact is, Emily, I must, to support my station in society, 'do as others do.' "You play a dangerous game, my love," replied lady Emily Morton, to her young and handsome husband, " you do indeed; I cannot see what fame is to be acquired by horseracing; it destroys every thing like domestic society; and the vile men you bring here, their loud laughter, their strange phrases, their horrid boots--Apropos! my dear, did you think of the ponceau velvet when you passed Le Grand's, to-day? The saloon is absolutely unfit to receive a creature until the new draperies are hung: and I have made up my mind to have Catalani, only one night, love, and I will be content with one cantata, only one, which she will sing for a hundred guineas; you know that odious lady Grimby has had her; and, indeed, my dear, it is necessary for me to 'do as others do.'" Lady Emily turned her profile towards her husband (she knew he admired it,) and bent her swan-like neck to ascertain if the sparkling bracelet was securely fastened on her polished arm. I beg it to be understood that this was not a mere tete-a-tete conversation; Sir James Grumbleton, of Grumbleton-hall, Hampshire, Lady Emily's uncle, was present, and listened with much interest to the dialogue between the two fools of fashion, to whom he had the honour of being so nearly related. He was a rosy, good-tempered looking country gentleman; but an expression of quiet yet sarcastic humour occasionally curled his firm-set lips, and deepened the apple-bloom on his healthful cheek; he wore a yellow bob-wig, and, to add to his niece's mortification, a blue spencer that just reached to the flapping pockets of his large body coat. He saw the thunder-cloud gathering over lord Morton's white forehead, and waited quietly, as wise men always do, for its burst; he knew that the Catalani question of come or not to come to the concert, which in newspaper parlance" was expected to out-rival every thing that had been given during the season," had been before debated in the honourable house; and his old bachelor feelings were anxious to mark the result of the struggle. "Emily, you would ruin the bank of England. Any thing-any thing in reason; but it is impossible to meet your extravagance. I do not wish to thwart you, but your horrible foreign squallers-your opera box-your concerts -your dresses-your jewels-your "Stop, stop, my lord," interrupted the lady, “your race-horses—your hunters-your hounds-your clubs-your curricles-and I believe," she continued, sarcastically, "I may add, your rouge et noir—your vingt-un-is not likely to add to your rent-roll." "Very well, madam, go on-go on; but let me tell you, this is not the mode by which you will obtain your own way. Pray, madam, be so kind as to inform me who was so very commu Both looked with astonishment at the old gentleman. "You cannot surely, sir, mean that your niece's extravagance is pardonable?" "Dear uncle, you cannot mean to call my little expenses improper, or to approve the thousands he spends in his odious gamblings?" "You are doing as others do'-you are spending your money upon those who will call you extravagant fools when you can spend no longer." Exactly what I tell his lordship!" said lady Emily. "Exactly what I have told her ladyship a thousand times!" echoed the husband. "What I say to one, I say to the other," continued the old gentleman, "you are both wrong you are both extravagant-and you must both alter; doing as others do,' must end in ruin, because your world consists of those who are more rich and powerful than yourselves." "If you would sell your racers," said lady Emily. "If you would give up your opera box,” said my lord. "If you would forswear gambling." "Out of the question!" exclaimed the gentleman. "The world would say we were ruined," said both together. "The world would say the truth, then, I believe, for once," muttered the old gentleman as he left the room; and the young couple, each annoyed because he had found fault with both, agreed in pronouncing him vastly disagreeable and absurd. Time passes over the world and it grows old, and over the heads of fools, but they never grow wise. "About twenty years after the above smart debate, which was, alas! followed by too many others of a similar character, and with a like result,-Sir James Grumbleton, wig, spencer, and all,-was one fine spring evening, seated in his great cushion chair at the window of an elegant conservatory which opened on a bright green lawn. The sun was sinking with calm dignity, and shedding his last rays over tower and tree-ay, and like the Almighty Spirit of which he is so beautiful an emblem, over every little bud and flower that gemmed the hill side; the baronet was still a bachelor, and a very old one too, yet around him there was much that told of woman's care and woman's tenderness. -I always speak with due reverence of the lords of the creation-great, mighty and magnificent, they are most certainly, but unless they are a good deal in female society, and that, too, of the best kind, they grow somehow or other very bearish; I beg of them not to be offended at the word, but I cannot find either an English or a French one to express my precise meaning; however, all my lady readers will understand me. A certain something in their habits and manners makes its appearance if they pass thirty in what they sarcastically call" single blessedness." If they present you with refreshments they look as if they thought it a trouble; you must tell them to ring the bell; they are slow at removing their hatssoil your carpet with dirty boots—and even put their feet on the fender. If you sing they are the first to taik, and whatever you say, they love to contradict. They call politeness, hy. pocrisy and dignify rudeness by the appellation of sincerity. From such old bachelors, good fortune shield me!-they are the very brambles of society: There are some excep. tions, however; Sir James did not appear to be one of this class; if there had been bitterness it was past, and the lip appeared to have forgotten its scornful curl: there was a harp near his chair, some loose music, a portfolio, and a drawing-stand; a little white spaniel nestled close to his footstool, and a small bouquet of rare flowers refreshed the old gentleman by their perfume. After calmly gazing upon the departing sun, he rang a little silver bell, and almost on the instant a young girl of mild and tranquil beauty was at his side; she was, indeed, lovely to look upon, particularly to those who prize the gentle light of a soft blue eye, which so truly tells of constancy and tenderness; her figure was pliant as a willow wand, her silken silvery hair curled around her white and slender throat, and imparted warmth and beauty to her delicate cheek; there was a dove-like simplicity in her whole, deportment, and purity sat upon her brow. 66 My own Emily," said the old gentleman, did you think my summons long delayed, or did it come too soon?" "I was with my brother and--and his friend, sir; your summons to me is always happiness." "Thank you, my own girl, thanks; I wanted to speak, Emma, on a matter of much moment to you, and to me also, because I love youbless you, child, can't you stand still, and let the dog alone?-don't fidget so there's a colour-Why, you little violet, you surely have not been deceiving me, and known all about it before I thought proper to tell you?—No an swer?" "No, sir-yes, sir-I don't know, sir." "No, sir-yes, sir-I don't know, sir!-Emily, you never told me a falsehood-do not begin now to do as others do,' and deceive your old guardian." "Deceive you, mine own uncle, my more than father! Why, O why should you suspect me?" and tears filled her eyes as her blushes deepened. "No, Emmy, no love, I believe you have not; but, hang it, all women have a kind of second sight in love matters-I dare say, now you have a kind of a sort of an idea that your brother's friend, as you call him, has an affection for you-eh, Emmy?" "I hope I hardly know, sir-" "Honour bright, young lady. In the greenhouse, when I saw him pulling some of my finest exotics, what said he to you then?" "He was only forming and explaining an oriental letter-love letter, sir," replied the maiden, at the same time hiding her face in the damask pillow of her uncle's chair. "But where are the flowers?—you did not throw them away!" “Oh, no, no, no, how could I, uncle? they were so beautiful! Shall I fetch them? they are in the alabaster vase you gave me, and that I love so dearly." mother, Emily, was gifted with an angel's form; but her mind remained uncultivated, while accomplishments were heaped upon her without taste or judgment. She, too, was sacrificed upon the same shrine; but she wanted her mother's strength of mind. Her husband had but one maxim in common with herselfTo do as others do;'-how I do hate that little sentence" continued the old man, with strong acrimony and emotion; "it has caused," he continued, "the ruin of thousands. At that time our princes were jockeys, and Lord Morton, whose head was never cool, had the honour of losing thousands to the highest in the land-he did as others did; and in three years, -poor fellow!-he died of a broken heart, and almost a beggar. Your mother, from following. the same plan, assisted in the destruction of their ample fortune. No parties were so gay -no woman so much admired, or consequently so much flattered, as Lady Emily Morton; but the fashionables, true to their maxim also, did as others did, left the ruined widow to her solitude; and her creditors, who also pursued the same plan, seized upon every thing, even the couch on which she lay, with you, a newborn infant, on her bosom.. Her parents were dead, and she was too proud to accept assistance; though, to confess the truth, I believe she was not much troubled by the benevolent feelings of others. She had always plagued me sadly, laughed at my failings, and ridiculed my peculiarities; but an English heart beat in my bosom, and I went up to town-determined to bring her and hers to my house. I shall never forget it; your brother was sent home from the fashionable school to which he had been consigned, and, with the thoughtlessness of childhood, was playing about the room, gay and cheerful as a mountain lark. She was laying on an old sofa, and her pale cheek and sunken eye spoke of the end of mortal suffering; her spirits were gone, her heart was indeed broken. She withdrew the shawl that covered you, and my heart yearned towards you, Emily, as if you had been mine own-in a very unbachelor like way I stooped to kiss you. 'Save them, make them unlike their parents,' exclaimed your poor mother, as she endeavoured to raise you to me:-that effort was her last; she fell back and expired." Emily sobbed bitterly; and, truth to say, the old gentleman let fall-no, not fall, for he prevented it but tears certainly escaped from his eyes.. 66 He | My own dear child," continued he, "it is not to pain you that I speak thus, but to warn you against the remotest danger of doing as others do,' It was a troublesome legacy, though, to an old fellow like me-a romping boy and a squalling baby; but I bless God for it now it saved me from the selfishness of old age, gave me something to love and to think of besides gout and lumbago. Your brother, I trust, will be an ornament to human nature, for he does not do as others do. has travelled to gain information, not eclat; he has entered the sacred profession, not because his uncle has a rich living in his gift, but because his mind is imbued with gospel truth, and he is anxious to do good; he has chosen his friend, not because of his rank or talent, The old man smiled, shook his head, moved although he is distinguished by both, but be his foot; and the young girl seated herself on cause he is a CHRISTIAN-and, consequently, the little Ottoman; he laid his hand on her must be a good son, a kind landlord, a firm glossy hair, and replied-" Mind not the flow-friend, and, in due time, an affectionate husers now, love, but attend to the wisdom which band. I suspect the oriental flowers, Emmy, seventy years and more have taught to one have spoken of love: and so would I have it, who has not been a listless observer of passing girl; he is one who will never follow the opievents. I remember well when my sister, nion of fools; and to you, dearest, he will be your grandmother, married. She was very a safe guiding-star, protecting you through young, and very beautiful-perhaps more ma- the thorny path of the dangerous world' upon jestic than beautiful. She was ambitious, and which you soon must enter; for you cannot married for gold and rank. She never com- be always an old man's darling. And now, plained of unhappiness; but I saw it in her al-child, you may fetch the flowers; they told tered eye, heard it in her altered voice, and both blamed and pitied. At that time I had my own trials too:-but buried loves are like faded flowers-only interesting to those who treasure them as memorials of by gone days. Your your secret; they were dear, and you put them in the vase you loved so dearly. Yes, yes, I can remember,-bless, bless you my own child!" continued the venerable mau, folding his arms affectionately round his adopt ed, "thank God, though I am an old bachelor, I have trained up two creatures for immortality who will not' DO AS OTHERS DO."" SONG. "WHERE are the flowers of the wild wood?- For ever!-Oh, Heaven! for ever! (Echo.) Oh! never!" Varieties. Moths. These little insects, whose ravages are every where seen with regret, by all notable house-keepers, are deserving of more attention than they generally seem to excite. That in their labours they are so little noticed, may partly arise from their operating chiefly in darkness; for, as if modestly retiring from observation, they work with the greatest energy when secured from the interruption of light. In their attacks also they may be observed, not to cominence their devastations on the outer part of the article, where they are situate, but they bury themselves closely in the skin, if fur, or web, if cloth; and then, working away under cover, it is only when their ravages have become considerable, that the upper structure falls off, and discovers to view the well conducted industry of these minute enemies. Nor is it for food alone that such havoc is made in our wardrobes: these little depredators must construct for themselves a covering and a nest, for which, and the after alterations of which, more materials are destroyed than would suffice each insect during its short life for food, as it is only during the caterpillar state that it seems to require its ordinary sustenance. After arriving at its full growth, it quits (like the silk worm and other species,) the immediate scene of its previous existence, and retires to some crevice or corner to await its change into a state of chrysalis, in which it remains nearly three weeks before it finally assumes the appearance of the finely-winged moth, under which form it is most familiar to us. Essential oils, and many substances of very pungent odour, have the effect of destroying these moths, as if by suffocation;--for this purpose nothing more is necessary than to introduce into their haunts any such substance as camphor, cajeput, turpentine, &c.; and it is with this view, that persons strew their drawers with spices and strong smelling flowers, and, under most circumstances thus effectually prevent the violence of their ravages. -- Salt versus Snow.-During the late severe weather, the attention of the public has been directed by some of the journals to the expediency of strewing the door-ways and paths with salt, to facilitate the removal of the ice and snow, and to prevent their becoming frozen and dangerous. The propriety of this application has, on the other hand, been strongly impugned, and even denied, by some, who have founded their counter-statement on the circumstance that salt and snow, when intimately blended together, form a frigorific mixture capable of freezing water, and reducing the temperature of any fluid immersed in it very considerably. In so doing, however, it becomes, itself, a semi-fluid, absorbing the caloric of the newly-frozen body, and thus becoming a saline solution, which subsequently can only be frozen by very intense cold. The only objection to such an application of salt lies in its prevention |
