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neat fanciful gardens, edged with blooming bowers of elder, rise one above the other to the very height of the hill, at the base of which the principal part of the village is situated.

It was to this romantic spot the amiable Mrs. Somers, after the death of her dearly beloved husband, retired with an only daughter, as beautiful as she was virtuous.

Mrs. Somers's history may be related in a very few words. Mr. Somers was the principal in a mercantile house of the highest respectability, and which maintained, in its various negociations, an unimpeached character. By a sudden stroke of ill-fortune, Mr. S. was reduced from affluence to comparative beggary.

Two of their chief connexions at Amsterdam, from whom they were daily expecting remittances to the amount of several thousand pounds, suddenly stopt payment. This unfortunate circumstance was so unexpected and unlooked for, that it necessitated Messrs. Somers and Co. to declare themselves totally incompetent to honour the several large acceptances that were then due; the consequence of which was, the following Gazette contained the lamentable intelligence of their complete ruin.

From this severe blow Mr. Somers never recovered, and ere two months had expired was consigned to a premature grave. It were perfectly needless for me to describe the heart-rending agony Mrs. S. suffered on this occasion; suffice it to say, that by the contributions and exertions of her numerous friends, a subscription was raised sufficient to purchase for her a small annuity, fully competent to keep both herself and her daughter, who was then fourteen years of age, in a very comfortable, but not splendid style.

They had been five years in the village, when a young gentlemen of the name of Singleton visited them in company with one of Mrs. Somers's most intimate friends. Young Singleton was the son of a retired

city banker, and had just returned from College. His manners were easy and gentle, his disposition gay and insinuating. His visit was repeated, and in a very short period, he became a great favourite with the family.

Rosalie Somers was at this time between eighteen and nineteen, an age when the passions begin to bud, and to affect the human heart. She was tall and elegantly formed, her features soft and regular, such as "Youthful poets fancy when they love;"

with the most expressive and sparkling black eyes.

"Her eyes, and one might look on them at times,
In lustre did outvie that Egyptian queen,
When, on the Cadnus' banks in pride she stuck
Rare gems, each one a province, in her hair,
And bade the Roman worship her.”

Her mental qualifications equalled her external beauty.

Rosalie's charms soon made (or appeared to make) a deep impression on the heart of Singleton. Rosalie, on the other hand, felt a sentiment of attachment within her towards Singleton, which she was unable satisfactorily to account for. If she plucked a rose, its perfume did not equal the one Singleton presented to her; nor did the fresh mown hay yield such a delightful fragrance as when Singleton strayed with her through the neighbouring fields. Singleton at length determined to avow his passion; an opportuuity soon presented itself, and, on his knees, he declared "the story of his love." Rosalie received his avowal with that modesty which is the great_ornament and becoming grace of her sex.

Rosalie was endued with no common degree of penetration, and had examined his conduct with the strictest attention; the flights of poetry and passion so universally adopted by others, gave place in him to modesty and respect; his words-his looks, were entirely subservient to hers; in short, every part of his conduct seemed to vouch for the sincerity of his love. (To be continued.)

TO READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.

Anxious to perform the promise contained in our last, which many, we are afraid, considered as little better than vaunting, we submit the present Number of the PORTFOLIO with no small degree of confidence at its fulfilling our undertaking. We trust that this specimen of our endeavours will fully bear us out in our assertions, that no labour or expense has been regarded in rendering the PORTFOLIO the most attractive publication of the day.

We are almost afraid our Correspondents have given us up. Our silence can only be accounted for by the change of Proprietorship, and, consequently, the management of the Work. Many contributions of a month's date, were not placed in the present Editor's

hands till within this last week.

To our fair and obliging correspondent, M. we hope that a glance within, will prove that we have endeavoured to make up for the delay that has so ungallantly prevented the appearance of her valuable contribution. We hope, that after this amende honorable, no such neglect will hereafter occur. She will understand our meaning when we say-Write. We should be happy to see Gerald's proposed communication. The communications of W. J.-S.-T. C.-Tom Pepper.-H. M. J. and S. J. L. are among those communications which have but lately come to hand.

LONDON:-WILLIAM CHARLTON WRIGHT, 65, Paternoster Row, and may be had of all Booksellers and Newsmen.

B. Bensley, Bolt Court, Fleet Street

COMPRISING

1. The Flowers of Literature. 2. The Spirit of the Magazines. 3. The Wonders of Nature and Art. 4. The Family Physician and Domestic Guide. 5. The Mechanic's Oracle.

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His appearance (says our informant) after death was not like that of a corpse. He appeared more like one in a deep-a very deep sleep. He was in a sound one indeed. The flesh was pale, more resembling marble, and indicative of much bodily suffering, or mental agitation. In fact, it appeared like a beautiful sculpture placed on a saccophagus. The work of death had not yet commenced, for no symptom of decay was visible. A month after his decease, his hair was still in full curl, and beautiful as in life, though care had usurped the iron hand of time, for it had already in many places turned completely gray. His body was rather corpulent, and seemed of great muscular strength; but upon being opened, from the state of the inside, it was the opinion of the medical men, that he could not have lived many years longer. The cause assigned for this instability of frame, was either extraordinary mental suffering, or neglect of constitution. He might be from five feet eight, to five feet nine inches high; but this is not a certain calculation, as a body is always longer when a corpse, than when living. It was inclosed in spirits in a case bound with iron hoops, and thus arrived at this country. It is a well known though disgusting fact, that a large sum was offered on the Thames, when the spirits was thrown away, for any quantity however small. The body was afterwards conveyed to the house of Sir Edward Knatchbull, Great George street, Westminster, and remained there till the funeral, of which the following is the best account that has yet appeared :

Stanhope. Captain R. Byron's carriage contained Dr. Fransesco Bruno. The household of the deceased Lord were in the next carriage, all foreigners, with one exception. Above 60 carriages of the nobility and gentry followed in the procession. Amongst the more distinguished we noticed those of the Duke of Sussex, Duke of Bedford, Marquis of Tavistock, Marquis of Lansdown, Lord Melbourne, Lord Grey, Lord Holland, Lord Cowper, Lord Tankerville, Lord Alvanley, Lord Jersey, the Hon. A. Ellis, the Hon. Douglas Kinnaird, Sir C. Morgan, Mr. Hume, and others.

street, the Hay-market, Princes-street, OxThe procession moved along Parliamentford-street, Tottenham-court-road, into the Hampstead-road, where it halted for a short time. Every street was lined with spectators, and every spectator seemed to lament the premature death of one of the greatest literary ornaments of any age or country. His very failings seemed to create an interest in his behalf; and we hope the cause in which he died will make some atonement for those aberrations, which seldom emanate but from great minds. Varo magni errores, nisi ex magnis ingeniis prodiere. It is expected the cavalcade will reach Nottingham on Thursday evening, and the body will be consigned to its last home on Friday.

A fine looking honest tar was observed to walk near the hearse, uncovered, throughout the morning; and on being asked by a stranger whether he formed any part of the funeral cortege, he replied that he came there to pay his respect to the deceased, with whom he had served for two years and a half in the Levant, when he made his tour of the Grecian Islands. This poor fellow was kindly offered a place by some of the servants who were behind carriages, but he said he was strong, and had rather walk near the hearse.

THE DEATH OF AN ATHEIST.

A SKETCH.

On Monday, at an early hour, vast crowds assembled round the house in Great Georgestreet, which contained the mortal remains LADY SELDON was weeping, and the vioof this distinguished Peer and Poet. About lent efforts she used to restrain her grief, nine o'clock, such of the relatives and friends only rendered it the more hysterical-her of the deceased Lord as wished to join the husband was dying-but she wept not that procession, arrived, and were speedily clothed the friend of her youth was departing from in the usual mourning habiliments. At her that he who soothed her in sickness eleven o'clock the magnificent coffin was di- and in sorrow, and who brightened her hour vested of its external embellishments, and of gaiety, was leaving her to waste her lone borne to the hearse on the shoulders of eight hours in widowhood. No-all these recolpersons. The hearse then moved slowly on, lections were lost in the overwhelming grief, and was replaced by a mourning coach and that their separation would be eternal. She six horses, in which were placed the urns, could have borne his death without an apcontaining his Lordship's heart, intestines, parent pang-her sense of duty had, through life, so governed her feelings, that they appeared almost extinct-but they were the more concentrated from the restraint-and now that she had suffered them to overcome her, they mocked her endeavours to stifle them. Yet, for worlds, she would not have suffered her children to witness her weakness; and, at length, her exhausted frame, worn with contending emotions, found re

&c.

In the first mourning-coach were Colonel Leigh, Capt. R. Byron, R. N. Mr. Hobhouse, and Mr. Hanson. In the second were the Hon. Douglas Kinnaird, Mr. Ellice, Mr. Bruce, and Sir F. Burdett. In the third Mr. T. (Anacreon) Moore, Mr. T. Campbell, (author of The Pleasures of Hope,) Mr. Rogers, and Surgeon O'Meara. In the fourth, the Deputies from Greece and Colonel

lief in slumber. It would have been curious to an observer of nature, to have compared the agitated sleep of Lady Seldon, her convulsive start that threatened every instant to awaken her, with the placid and gentle repose of her lord, the unconscious cause of her sufferings.

Lord Seldon was an atheist-he was dying -his physicians doubted if he could live throughout the ensuing week; and his lady, who had been brought up in the strictest tenets of the Christian religion, feared he would die an unbeliever. Was there any, hope she could now effect that, which for the space of eighteen years had been the aim and business of her life? Daily had she urged the topic, and was always answered by her husband with exquisite good humour, She felt the delusive hope, that the morrow would prove more propitious than to-day. Once, and once only, when she urged him beyond his strength, having exhausted all her eloquence in favour of Christianity, and finding him still regardless, she could no longer restrain her anger, but with clasped hands and raised eyes, she exclaimed aloud, "Behold, Oh, Lord, the worm that dares deny thy existence and authority!"-then, bending her eyes on her husband with a look of desperation, she continued," And I had fixed my heart on a confirmed Atheist-a man on whom the breath of heaven should not wander." Lord Seldon was now evidently displeased. · -"Emily," said he, "when I see that religion, whose merits you are always asserting, cannot even teach you to command your temper, you will not blame my humility, when, I fear, its salutary effects might be equally lost upon myself."

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mured his wife-but he had sunk from excessive debility on his pillow, and was totally unequal to further conversation. Lady Seldon left his apartment to indulge her sorrow freely, and it was after this unsatisfactory attempt she had sunk into the agitated slumber we before mentioned.-She awoke from a long sleep unrefreshed, but with renewed composure; she then descended to the drawing-room, where her children were weeping for their father. Dry your tears, Laura-George, I am ashamed of this weakness, when you ought, both of you, to rouse all your energies to save your father's soul from eternal punishment, you are mourning over his mere bodily ailments. Come with me, and save him, or take warning by beholding the death-bed of an Atheist."George put his hands to his forehead, his body was convulsed; Laura threw her arms around him. "Dear brother," whispered she, "if he should die unbelieving, our prayers, and his virtues, will secure him an asylum in heaven." Lady Seldon led the way to his apartment-they stepped so softly that the dying man did not hear them.-A sad change had taken place in his appearance within the last few hours-his dissolution was rapidly approaching-one damp cold hand supported his head above the pillow, the other hung listlessly by the side of his couch.-It was a warm autumnal evening-the sun was sinking in unclouded glory, amid burnished clouds below the horizon-the soft south breeze, that played gently through the open window, waved the clustering curls of his dark brown hair, darker from being contrasted with the lividpaleness of his cheek; he had not observed He then hastily left the room, and his the entrance of his family, and was thinking Countess internally vowed never more to aloud-Spirit of nature," said he, "how name religion in his presence.-Lady Seldon, divine are thy works, how delightful their however, descanted daily, nay hourly, on its effects, bear me gently into futurity-I have merits to her two children; and she never not sought to develope thy mystery-I have failed to set forth, in glowing colours, the only worshipped thee in the bright sun-in horrors of atheism, and the certain fate that the soft moon-in the green fields-in awaited it: perhaps an indefined hope, that humau nature-in my friends-in my wifeshe might reach the father's heart through my children! Art thou satisfied with such the medium of his children, mingled itself worship-the worship of the heart?"" Oh with her exertions: but surely she was mis--no-no-he is not-he cannot be what taken in the means she took to obtain this do you mean by the spirit of nature?" inend. terrupted his wife. That which produced this world and myriads of others; that which produced thee, my sweet Emily, and my beloved children." 66 My dear father," cried Laura, her countenance brightening with renewed hope, "we shall meet again in heaven;" he pressed her to his bosom, and with a voice rendered almost inarticulate by emotion, said, "I hope so, if there be a heaven, I am sure so and now my sweet children, to you I will confess what human pride would still urge me to conceal, that I would give up all, even this last hour of your endearments, to purchase a thorough conviction that we should meet again-1 go without fear, but I go cheerlessly; I would purchase the hope that brightens your brow, my Laura," continued he, as he convulsively prest her fingers" I am without fear,"

A great change had lately taken place in Lord Seldon, an hereditary malady was fast destroying the seeds of life-his wife now thought it her duty to renew every endeavour for his conversion; for once she appealed eloquently, for she appealed to the heart-she descanted long on the immeasurable power of the Almighty-she told him that even yet it was not too late, "Repent -believe-have you faith," said she, her heart upon her fips, as she turned to the dying sufferer. "If there be a God," said he, good works will be more acceptable in his eyes, than blind faith, pronounced on the threshold of existence; and those benefits, my station, my own wishes, have enabled me to confer upon others, will be my propitiation with the Eternal." "If" mur.

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repeated he "but without hope," and relaxing the grasp by which he held his daughter's hand, he sank upon his pillow.

The sun had scarcely sunk below the horizon the attendant clouds, still in gorgeous splendour, lingered to tint with varied beauty the western heaven; the same delicious air still played around his foreheadhe had spoken but an instant before, and he will never speak again, he will wake no more to rejoicing-he will no more watch for and hail the returning spring, the eternal reproduction of nature-no-that form of manly beauty will shortly he food for worms -the fire of that eye is fled that often would persuade before his tongue gave birth to eloquence-how soon will all recollection of him be banished from the earth-he who apparently was the centre of a little world, dealing sunshine or discontent, as he directed or denied his approving glance. It is singular to consider that a unit taken from the sum of human beings makes no alteration in the general law; and that the broken hearts of his nearest and dearest connections go for nothing in the scale of general happiE. M.

ness.

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(Concluded from page 200.) My gudesire uttered mony thanks, and was about to retire, when Sir Robert roared aloud, "Stop though, thou sack-doudling son of a whore! I am not done with thee. HERE We do nothing for nothing; and you must return on this very day twelvemonth, to pay your master the homage that you owe me for my protection."

My father's tongue was loosed of a suddenty, and he said aloud, "1 refer mysell to God's pleasure, and not to yours.'

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He had no sooner uttered the word than all was dark around him; and he sank on the earth with such a sudden shock, that he lost both breath and sense.

How lang Steenie lay there he could not tell; but when he came to himsell, he was lying in the auld kirkyard of Redgauntlet parishine, just at the door of the family aisle, and the scutcheon of the auld knight, Sir Robert, hanging over his head. There was a deep morning fog on grass and gravestone around him, and his horse was feeding quietly beside the minister's twa cows. Steenie would have thought the whole was a dream, but he had the receipt in his hand, fairly written and signed by the auld Laird, only the last letters of his name were a little disorderly, written like one seized with sudden pain.

Sorely troubled in his mind, he left that dreary place, rode through the mist to Redgauntlet Castle, and with much ado he got speech of the Laird. "Well, you dyvour bankrupt," was the first word, "have you brought me my rent?"

"No," answered my gudesire, "I have not; but I have brought your honour Sir Robert's receipt for it,

"How, sirrah ?-Sir Robert's receipt !You told me he had not given you one. "Will your honour please to see if that bit line is right?"

Sir John looked at every line, and at every letter, with much attention; and at last, at the date, which my gudesire had not observed,-"From my appointed place," he read "this twenty-fifth of November." "What! That is yesterday!-Villain, thou must have gone to hell for this!"

"I got it from your honour's fatherwhether he be in heaven or hell, I know not," said Steenie.

"I will delate you for a warlock to the Privy Council!" said Sir John. "I will send you to your master, the devil, with the help of a tar-barrel and a torch!

"I intend to delate mysell to the Presbytery," said Steenie, "and tell them all I have seen last night, whilk are things fitter for them to judge of than a borrel man like

me.

Sir John paused, composed himsell, and desired to hear the full history; and my gudesire told it him from point to point, as I have told it you-word for word, neither more or less.

Sir John was silent again for a long time, and at last he said, very composedly, "Steenie, this story of yours concerns the honour of many a noble family besides mine; and if it be a leasing-making, to keep yourself out of my danger, the least you can expect is to have a red-hot iron driven through your tongue, and that will be as bad as scauding your fingers wi' a red-hot chanter. But yet it may be true, Steenie; and if the money cast up, I will not know what to think of it. -But where shall we find the Cat's Cradle? There are cats enough about the old house, but I think they kitten without the ceremony of bed or cradle."

"We were best ask Hutcheon," said my gudesire; "he kens a' the odd corners about as weel as-another serving-man that is now gane, and that I wad not like to

name."

Aweel, Hutcheon, when he was asked, told them, that a ruinous turret, lang disused, next to the clock-house, only accessible by a ladder, for the opening was on the outside, and far above the battlements, was called of old the Cat's Cradle.

"There will I go immediately," said Sir John; and he took (with what purpose, Heaven kens,) one of his father's pistols from the hall-table, where they had lain since the night he died, and hastened to the battlements.

It was a dangerous place to climb, for the ladder was auld and frail, and wanted ane or twa rounds. However, up got Sir John, and entered at the turret door, where his body stopped the only little light that was in the bit turret. Something flees at him wi' a vengeance, maist dang him back owerbang gaed the knight's pistol, and Hutcheon, that held the ladder, and my gudesire that stood beside him, hears a loud skelloch, A

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