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garland adorns it. The appearance of Justin accounts for this care; and he offers assistance to Charles. Charles only wants to know where his remaining child lives. As he quits the cemetery he meets Mongérand issuing from a public house. Mongérand accosts him, but he flies his old companion in disgust. He seeks his brother-in-law's house. He sees his daughter at a window. Charles has not enough eyes to look at his daughter with; or rather he looks at her with his soul as well, his heart; for a father looks at his child with all the faculties of his being. Presently Laura dropped her eyes upon him; she perceiving a man in the road who has his eyes fixed upon her. At first she regards him with a sort of fright, but very soon her fear gives way to compassion. She thinks she sees tears in the eyes of the stranger, and his hands are joined and stretched towards her. Laura concluded that it must be an unfortunate who asks her charity.

Laura quits the window for an instant; but presently returns and throws out a large bit of bread and a small piece of money, saying "Here! I wish I could give you more.'

Charles felt struck to the heart at receiving alms from his daughter. He covered the bread and money with kisses and tears, exclaiming, "Thanks, thanks, dear child!" Mon Dieu! why do you weep so, poor man?" Said Laura, much moved, You should not despair. One is not always unhappy. You give me pain. Adieu, I will pray heaven for you!"

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Charles walked slowly away, when he heard himself called. He trembled, for he knew the voice of Mongérand. The quondam soldier was leaning with his back against a tree, and as Charles came up, he looked at him, sneering. "Well!" said he, You did not expect to see me here; I followed you because you told me not. I am in the habit of doing that which is forbidden me." " Will you not leave me to my grief?" said Charles. "Ah I have too often met you on my path!" "I have taken it into my head to keep you company," "And I can no longer bear it!-It adds to my despair! You are the cause of all my misfortunes; you led me on from folly to folly!" "Ah, ha! That is good! I was the cause that my gentleman loved pleasure, women, the table." "Without your bad counsel I should have listened to my wife !-I should not have been the cause of her death!"

"Do you know, you grow very tiresome?" "And do you know what I feel?-My daughter has thrown me bread-she took me for a beggar, and I could not declare myself! I shall never more be able to press her in my arms and call her my child. Ah, that thought makes me desperate-it kills me !Once again, leave me! Sir, I go this way, go you the other!" I say, Charles, you have long assumed a tone, which in another I should have chastized!" As he said this, Mongérand placed himself before Charles, so as to bar his passage. Charles pushed him rudely away, and continued his walk.

"

"Insolent!" exclaimed Mongérand, "if I did not pity you-""Pity," cried Charles, turning back quickly, and throwing a furious look upon Mongérand,-" You pity me, miserable-this odious wrong alone was wanting! Take care that I do not avenge the death of my wife and my son ! Give me your pistols !"-"Charles, go-I do not detain you,-go; I will not follow you.""What! coward! you can no longer lead me to acts of baseness!" "Coward!" cried Mongérand, his eyes sparkling; "Ha! you force me to it. Well, let us fight, if you will."

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Mongérand took two pistols from his pocket, assured himself they were charged, and gave one to Charles, saying, "Draw back ten paces and fire!""Fire you the first," answered Charles, having drawn back a few paces." Come, damnation! Let us fire together, and have done!" Charles made signs that he consented. The two scarcely took aim; the two reports sounded together; Mongérand heard the ball whistle past his ear. Charles received that of his adversary in his heart, fell, and expired faltering out the name of Laura.

Mongérand approached Charles, meaning at first to give him assistance, but he found that he was dead. He put his pistols in his pocket, and departed, saying, "It is a pity-he was a good fellow."

THE ASS ON THE BENCH.

FROM THE LATIN OF THE JESUIT PERE COMMIRE.

THE publication of this version of Father Commire's piece of elegant banter on dullness and dull confidence, was suggested by one that appeared the other day in Cobbett's Magazine; but not the version itself; which was made some time ago in consequence of a perusal of Lord Woodhouselee's Essay on the Principles of Translation. His lordship, we cannot help thinking, over estimates the difficulty of making a translation of the original, the pith as well as classicality of which however, is not to be denied. Nor does the translator wish to have his version considered as any thing but the exercise of a lover of the learned languages, too fond of

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Primæ ad tribunal se novum sistunt apes,
Direpta questa mella fucorum dolo,
Cellasque inanes. Innocentes ille apes
Voce altiore, ceu nocentes, increpat :
Fucosque labis integros pronuncians,
Dat habere ceras, et favis apum frui.

Clangore post hæc anser obstrepens gravi,
Dato libello supplice, orat ut sibi
Sociisque liceat flumina, et lacus sacros
Cignis repulsis, colere. Præses annuit.

Ecce Philomelen Gracculus lacessere
Et vocis audax poscere sibi gloriam:
Litem, inquit, asini finiat sententia.
Jubentur ambo canere. Luscinia incipit,
Animosque teneris omnium ac sensus modis
Demulcet. Ipsæ carmina inflexæ caput
Et lenta motant brachia in numerum ilices.
Necquicquam. Ineptis plus probatur auribus
Rude murmur atque stridor absurdo alitis.
Quid multa? fortem vicet, illo judice,
Columbus aquilam: pulchrior picto fuit
Pavone corvus: ovis lupo voracior

Valpes, inique scita sibilantibus
Aliud abillo nil, ait, speraveram,
Cujus palato carduus gratum sapit.

"There are here," observes the learned critic,
Imany strokes of the naivete, which is the characteristic
of a good fable, and of which Phaedrus is the perfect
model. The 3rd, 4th and 5th lines are peculiarly happy.
The judge never hears more than one side, and in-
stantly decides in a high tone of confident absurdity.
The goose demands exclusive possession of the water
and the expulsion of the swans; Proses annuit.
The
bees complain that the drones consume the fruit of their
labour. The judge instantly condemns the bees to
banishment, and decrees full possession of the hive and
comb to the drones. The fox draws the moral very
happily.

The animals disputing went en masse,
And took for judge a venerable ass.

His generous length of ears, and all that grace
Of artless musing flowing o'er his face,
Augur'd a patient mastery of the case.

The bees came first, charging, with many groans,
A world of theft upon their friends the drones
The judge groan'd louder, asking what they meant
To blame good folks so plainly innocent.
His sentence was, that bees should labour still,
And honest drones be free to eat their fill.

The goose came next, requesting that the swan
Might have ejectments served from lake and lawn,
Sweet places, sacred to poetic gods,
And therefore gooses' property. Judge nods.

Jay versus Nightingale. Jay represents,
That certain birds have wondrous confidence,
Boasting in song their betters to surpass ;-
Appeals with pleasure to my lord the ass.
A sample is required. The bird of night
Begius, and pours forth floods of such delight,
That sense and soul are rapt. The very oaks
Beat time with their old arms and sacred locks.
What signifies? The croak of brother Jay
With justice Jackass bears the palm away.
With like discrimination doves are hail'd
The eagle's lords; the crow is peacock-tail'd ;
And sheep has always over wolf prevail'd!

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SET TO MUSIC BY HENRY R. BISHOP.
LET not a bell be toll'd, or tear be shed
When I am dead.
Let no night-dog with dreary howl,
Or ghastly shriek of boding owl,
Make harsh a change so calm, so hallowed.
Lay not my bed
With yews, and never-blooming cypresses,
But under trees
Of simple flower, and odorous breath-
The lime and dog-rose-and beneath
Let primrose cups give up their honey'd lees
To suckling bees;

Who all the shining day, while labouring
Shall drink and sing
A requiem o'er my peaceful grave :---
For I would cheerful quiet have,-

them perhaps, to consider whether his love has a right or no noise ruder than the linnet's wing

to show itself on such an occasion or not.

Asinus Judex.

Animalia inter orta cum contentio
Magna esset olim, sedet asinus arbiter;
Quippe aurium mensura liberatior,
Et ore toto fusa simplicitas, probi
Atque patientis judicis spem fecerant.

Or brook gurgling.
In harmony I've liv'd-so let me die,
That while 'mid gentler sounds this shell doth lie,
The spirit aloft may float in spheral harmony.

CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE.

TABLE-TALK

Elegant Intervals of the Fine Arts.-Hayman the painter, it has been said, was a hero of the fist; and that the heroic Marquis of Granby, who was fond of the same amusement, when he went to sit to Hayman for his portrait, insisted upon having a set-to with the artist before he began his work. The proposal was agreed to and carried into effect immediately. They began in good humour, but as the fighting-gloves had not then been invented, a clumsy blow from one roused the anger of the other; they set-to in earnest, and upset easel as well as combatants; the noise made by the fall alarmed Hayman's wife; she burst into the room and found the peer and the painter upon the floor grappling one another like enraged bears, each striving to keep the other down, while himself got upon his legs. She parted the combatants, and when they had re-adjusted their dresses, Hayman proceeded to complete the portrait of his antagonist.-Shilling Magazine.

A Remark well worth Universal Reflection.-If mourning were altogether out of use, a vast mass of suffering would be prevented from coming into existence.-Bentham's Deontology,

Desirable Source of Revenue.-Henry the Sixth, according to Prynne, actually issued a patent, in which he told his subjects that he should relieve the state of its difficulties by means of the Philosopher's Stone.

A Nice Geographer.-Lady Luxborough, in her letters to Shenstone, speaks of a noble lord, who, having maintained that England was bigger than France, had no way to prove it, but to cut each kingdom out of two maps of different scales, and to weigh them.

Preservation of the City of Dort, in Holland, by Milkmaids. (A story for May.)-The Spaniards, in one of their wars in the Low Countries, intended to besiege the city of Dort, and accordingly planted some thousands of soldiers in ambush, to be ready for the attack when opportunity might offer. On the confines of the city lived a rich farmer, who kept a number of cows in his grounds, to furnish the city with butter and milk. His milkmaids, at the time, coming to milk their cows, saw, under the hedges, the soldiers lying in ambush, but seemed to take no notice, and having completed their task, went away singing merrily. On coming to their master's house, they told him what they had seen; who, astonished at the relation, took with him the one who had been most active, to a burgomaster at Dort, who immediately sent a spy to ascertain the truth of the story. Finding the report correct, he began to prepare for safety, and instantly sent to the States, who ordered the soldiers to be sent into the city, and commanded the river to be let in by a certain sluice, which would instantly lay that part of the country under water. This was forthwith done, and a great number of the Spaniards were drowned; the rest, being disappointed in their design, escaped; and the town was thus providentially saved. The States, to commemorate the memory of the milkmaids' good service to the country, ordered the farmer a large revenue for ever, to recompense him for the loss of his house, land, and cattle; and caused the money of the city to have a milkmaid, milking a cow, to be engraven thereon, which is to be seen at this day, upon the Dort dollars, stivers, and doights. Similar figures were also set up upon the water-gate of the Dort; and to complete their munificence, the principal maiden concerned was allowed for her own life, and her heirs for ever, a handsome annuity.

Filial Account of one's Father's Attractions.-Though my father was neither young, being forty-two; nor handsome, having lost an eye; nor sober, for he spent all he could get in liquor; nor clean, for his trade was oily; nor without shackles, for he had five children; yet women of various descriptions courted his smiles, and were much inclined to pull caps for him.-Hutton's Autobiography. The secret of this phenomena on the part of the Birmingham women, appears to have been, that Master Hutton senior, was a very clever, amusing personage.

Reading. When the business of the day is over, how many men does the evening hour find comfortably seated in their easy chairs, reading to themselves, or to some fair friend, or happy group! In how many pleasant homes, while the ladies are seated at their morning employments, or amusements, or whatever they may please to call them, does some glad creature read aloud, in a voice full of music, and marked by the sweetest emotion of a young pure heart, a lay of our mighty bards, or a story of one of our most cunning interweavers of the truth of nature with the splendour of fiction, or follow the wonderful recitals of our travellers, naturalists, and philosophical spirits, into every region of earth or mind! Publishers may tell us, poetry don't sell;' critics may cry poetry is a drug,' thereby making it so with the frivolous and unreflecting, who are the multitude,-but we will venture to say, that at no period were there ever more books read by that part of our population, most qualified to draw delight and good from reading; and when we enter mechanics' libraries, and see them filled with simple, quiet, earnest men, and find such men now sitting on stiles in the country, deeply sunk into the very marrow and spirit of a well-handled volume, where he used to meet them in riotous and reckless mischief, we are proud and happy to look forward to that wide and formerly waste field, over which literature is extending its triumphs, and to see the benificent consquences that will follow to the whole community.— William Howitt in the Monthly Rspository.

48

MUSICAL NOVELTY!

On Saturday next, May 10, will be commenced in Weekly Numbers, (printed the usual Music size, in a wrapper), Price SIXPENCE, or in Monthly Parts, Price Two SHILLINGS The usual allowance upon Music to the trade.

BARNETT'S LIBRARY OF

MUSIC, (ORIGINAL AND SELECTED.)

Every Number will contain

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No. I. Will commence with SELECTIONS from AUBER'S "GUSTAVUS."

Published by Effingham Wilson, Royal Exchange; also by B. Steil, 20, and W. Strange, 21, Paternoster Row; Berger, Holywell Street; Purkiss, Compton Street; and to be had by order of all Booksellers in the United Kingdom.

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THE

On Tuesday, the 29th April, No. XXVI. of FOREIGN QUARTERLY REVIEW.

CONTENTS:

Art. I. Spanish Painters.-II. Comparative Mortality of different Populations.-III. Memoirs and Correspondence of Duplessis-Mournay-IV. Swedish Periodical Literature.-V. The Austrian Government and the Italian Liberals.-VI. Ichthyology. -VII. Prince Puckler Muskau's Tutti Frutti.-VIII. Post Office Communication between England and Foreign Countries.-IX. Judicial System of British India.-X. Ionion Anthology.-XI. Cousinery's Travels in Macedonia.-XII. Meidinger's GothicoTeutonic Dictionary.-XIII. Rafn's Icelandic History of the Faroe Islands.-XIV. Misley's Memoirs of the Italian Revolution of 1831.-Miscellaneous Literary Intelligence from Denmark, France, Germany, Italy, &c.

A. RICHTER & Co. (late Trenttel, Wurtz and Richter,) 30, Soho Square; and BLACK, YOUNG, and YOUNG, 2, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden. Sold by all Booksellers; of whom may be had complete Sets and Single Numbers of this Journal.

THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE.

A NEW AND IMPROVED SERIES

of this long-established Periodical was commenced with the year 1834. The Number for May contains, among others, the following articles: Life and Writings of Sir James Mackintosh-Diary of a Lover of Literature, by Thomas Green, Esq.Correspondence of the Batemans of Derbyshire-Questiones Venusinæ, No. III. Lollius vindicated-Sutton Place, near Guildford (with an Engraving) Life of John Field, the ProtoCopernican of England-Loudon's Encyclopaedia of GardeningThe Record Commission, No. II.-Cross at Stalbridge, co. Dorset (with a View)-Marriages of the Founder of Dulwich College-Review of New Publications-Fine Arts, Exhibitions, Reports of Learned Societies-Historical Chronicle-OBITUARY, with Memoirs of Lord Teignmouth, Sir G. Bisshopp, Dean of Kilmore, Richard Martin, Esq. Colonel Wardle, Anthony Aufrere, Esq., Rev. Daniel Lysons, F.S.A., Wm. Sotheby, Esq., Rev. Latham Wainwright, Rudolph Ackermann, Esq., &c. &c. Price 2s. 6d.

Published by W. Pickering, Chancery Lane.

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This day, Price only One Shilling.

A VOICE FROM THE COUNTING-HOuse.

A very comprehensive title, explaining, far better than we can do, the nature and objects of this excellent publication.”— Globe.

W. KIDD, 14, Chandos Street, West Strand, of whom may be had, just published,

"CRUIKSHANK v. SIR A. AGNEW, Price 1s. 6d.

"We most earnestly recommend this little work to hypochondriacs, and all who require fun at a cheap rate-the illustrations are humorous in the extreme."-Sunday Times.

MICROSCOPIC SCIENCE.

Published this day in 8vo., with 300 figures on Steel, price 8s. 6d.

THE NATURAL HISTORY of ANIMALCULES,

containing descriptions of nearly 500 species, with full instructions for procuring and viewing them; and above 300 magnified figures. BY ANDREW PRITCHARD, author of the "Meroscopic Cabinet." Whittaker and Co. Ave Maria Lane.

This work is designed to give a familiar and accurate account of all that is known of these wonderful and interesting living atoms, as revealed by the Microscope, with numerous and falthful drawings; and to render it complete, Ehrenberg's systematic arrangement is added.

THE SHILLING MAGAZINE.
No. I., for MAY, contains the following Original Articles.-
I. A Colloquial Essay on Modern Literature, by the late AN.
DREW PICKEN.-II. Criminal Characters, by the author of "OLD
BAILEY EXPERIENCE."-III. An Island not mentioned by
Captain Ross, by MISS ISABELL HILL.-IV. Shakspeare and
his Prefacers.-V. The Progress of the Fine Arts in England.-
VI. The Beggar of Bethnal Green. VII. Imprisonment for
Debt.-VIII. My Clerkship.-IX. A Hackney coach Adventure.
-X. The Insurrection at Barbaboes.-XI. Calf Love. - XII.
The Editor to his Readers. - XIII. The Creation, a Poem, and
other Poetical Pieces.

"This Publication with rather a rough exterior, has very good matter in it. It is, by far, the best Radical Shilling's worth that we have ever seen in the Literary market. Its politics are evidently written by an honest and earnest man with good feelings in him. It is quite the opposite of the impertinence, aping philosophy that we see in the trashy things which affect Science and Republicanism. We must have an extract from its political article soon; meanwhile, let our readers rejoice over the following admirable passage in an article on 'Shakspeare and his Prefacers."-The Albion Evening Paper, (of Tory politics.)

"This periodical has, at the suggestion of the Honoruable Member for Oldhan, (who it appears from a clever address by the editor, promises to contribute articles) assumed its present designation. It exhibits no falling off in the merit and tact of its contributors."-Morning Advertiser, (A Radical Morning Paper.)

"A very clever number."-The Sun, (A Whig Evening Paper,) Published by J. Picken, 13, King William-street, Strand, and 11, Crane Court, Fleet Street.

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The only Books of the kind.-Just Published, and for sale by the principal Booksellers, price 21s., in royal duodecimo, printed in two columns, in a beautiful pearl type, and elegantly bound in cloth.

A

UNIVERSAL,

PRONOUNCING,

and CRITICAL FRENCH and ENGLISH DICTIONARY, upon an entirely new plan; containing above 30,000 words, phrases, &c. not in any lexicographer. To which is added, for the use of the British and American Navies, a Dictionary of French and English sea-terms and phrases.

By N. G. Dufief.

Also, price 24s. in two large octavo volumes, the 13th edition of
"Nature Displayed in her mode of Teaching Language to Man;
adapted to the French."

Mr. Dufief has conferred a benefit on mankind."-Scotsman.
Schools supplied on liberal terms.

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In offering this Library to the British public, the Proprietors beg to remark that they have been induced to enter upon its publication partly in consequence of the extraordinary success which has attended the "* Bibliotheque," published by the above celebrated men in France, but principally from the conviction of the necessity of a similar work in England. Knowledge has been called the key-stone of the arch of civilization; up to a late period it has been but too much defaced by technicality, and the difficulties which attended its acquisition. It was the desire of relieving science from their encumbrances that Dr. Arnott, Mr. Babbage, and a host of other learned and excellent men, commenced their labours; and it is a humble but honest helpmate in the same vineyard, that "The Library of Popular Instruction" begins its career.

In the course of their publication, the Proprietors intend to draw largely from the parent stock, the "Bibliotheque Popu laire." A literal translation of this work would be inexpedient, because of its purely national character, and because also of the different opinions entertained on particular points by the learned of both countries. On some subjects, as geology, zoology, &c., entirely new treatises will be written. In that of zoology, for instance, the principles of the sciences will be first explained, and then again illustrated by reference to the history and habits of animals, in the hope that, by mixing the "dulce et utile," the subject will be divested of its dryness, and rendered more inviting and easy of comprehension.

"The Library of Popular Instruction" will for the future be published regularly every Fortnight, at 6d. each Part.

Published by Sparrow and Co., at the Bell's Weekly Magazine Office, 11 Crane-court, Fleet-street.

LONDON: Printed and Published by SPARROW and Co., at The Bell's Weekly Magazine Office, 11, Crane Court, Fleet Street. WEST-END AGENT J. C, Picken, 13, King William Street, West Strand.

CITY-W. Strange, 21, Paternoster Row.

1. BASS, 61, St. John-street, West Smithfield. LIVERPOOL W. Williams, Ranelagh Place.

NOTTINGHAM-C. W. Wright.

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MANCHESTER-A. Heywood.

GLASGOW AGENT John Reid, and Co., Queen street.
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DUBLIN-Young and Company, Suffolk-s`reet.

The Monthly Parts of this work will be supplied to the Country Trade by Simpkin and Marshall, Stationers' Court, Ludgate

Hill.

ALINGS

LONDON JOURNAL.

TO ASSIST THE ENQUIRING, ANIMATE THE STRUGGLING, AND SYMPATHIZE WITH ALL.

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Mine eyes re-open, blest. How well those birds,
The little angels of the trees, rejoin

One's consciousness of earth! What pure good morrow!
'Tis fit that the first tongue which speaks to us
Of day-light, should speak beauteously. True love
Does this, and will not miss so sweet a time,
Turning it face to face, and ending prayer
With blessing realiz'd. Wise sire was he,t
And had (no wonder) a wise loving son,
Who every morning, breathing in a flute,
Took the sleep softly from his infant's eyes,
Disposing thus his spirit to accord.
Parents beside their infants' beds are Gods:
They do them good, awaking or asleep,
Ere the small mortals know them. Who shall say,
That spirits divine stoop not in pity thus
Over the parents too, in their distress,
Their children grey; and out of struggling dreams
Wake them to some strange face of hope and joy,
Some re-assurance of regarding heaven

Yes; light is lovely for its own good sake.
Morning is morning still, clouded or fair.
He wants his cure indeed from Nature's breast,
Wants air, and movement, and a natural life,
Or innocence regain'd from patient thoughts,
To whom the daylight's reappearance mild
Comes like a blow,-like a dread taskmaster
Waking his slave, who sees his load, and groans.
For me, whom Love and no unloving need
Have taught the treasures found in daily things,
I count the morning bright, if I but hear
One bird's voice sparkle (for the voice of birds,
By fine analogy of sound with sight,
Surely does sparkle, making brilliant cheer
Congenial with the sunbeams); and if bird
Nor sunbeam is abroad, but listening more
I hear the windows thick with wateriness,
Which ever and anon the gusty hand
Of the dark wind flings full, I make my morn
Still beauteous if I please, with sunny help
Of books or my own thoughts; sending them up
Like nymphs above the sea of atmosphere,
To warm their winking cheeks against the sun,
And laugh 'twixt islands of the mountain tops.
Or else my morning breaks for me in bloom
Out of old Greece, twice glowing with some love

Of sweet Aurora midst the lily dews:

Or with the tumbling freshness of the seas

Am I, with slippery porpuses, and mirth

Of the wide breathing of the rough serene

It is not meant by this, that the present Indicator is a versification of a former one, but that it is an original verse essay, written in the spirit of the paper under that name

+ Montaigne's father.

SPARROW AND CO. CRANE COUR.]

No. 7.

Tossing the seaman's house, whose sides are touch'd
With the warm heav'n, after a night of wet:
Or rising where the sun does, I behold,
Enthron'd, the Persian with his jewelry,
True" Brother of the Sun," if only then,
And giving beam for beam, awake and high,
While the dull princes of the West lie blowz'd.

'Tis fine to think, that with the earliest sun,
Not kings alone, but the whole East is up,
In this well meriting its orient name.
So rose the patriarchs, and sate with heaven
Under the oaks they planted. So rise now
All that pretend to patriarchal bloom,
Agreeing all, if in nought else, to make
Each day the symbol and part integral
Of the whole life, and so to morning life
Each day restor'd, catching the quick blood round,
Till sweet and late it stop, not clogg'd midway,
Nor jarring with the swift smooth soul o' the world.

Some right have the swift-blooded to be proud,
Not in poor scorn, or low comparison

With what is under them (which stoops them lower)
But in the joy of lofty company

Right-strength'd, and all fair planetary things
That dance with heav'n. I've risen in winter-time
Before the dawn, and making me a bower

Of warmth and light with candle and with fire,
Sail'd in the climate like a shrouded god,
Lord of the day before me, and at times
Peering betwixt my curtains out on earth
Fast sleeping, and with blocks of houses black,
'Till to myself I almost feign'd to seem
Proud o'er my prostrate kind; and partly did,
Because of my good will, and a good task.

And yet, thus warring against indolence
And ease, as I get up, with sprightly words,
Like medicinal arrows of the sun,
Shall I pretend, with the unfeeling need
Of one who rides through battle, to partake
No sympathy with those whom I leave lying?
No thought, ye powers of habit and sweet sleep
And sweet remorse, for bed! catholic bed!
The universal, wilful, sweet, stretch'd bed!
Bed, that lays prostrate half the world in turn,
And hugs us in a heav'n of our own arms?

Let me lie still awhile, and moot that point,
The bed-clothes o'er my ear. 'Tis charity,
Impartial sense: one would taste all like others,
To judge them rightly. What a turn is this,
One's back to the window! How it makes all new,
Bringing a second and soft curtain'd night
Over one's smiling eyelids! What old warmth,
Touch'd with new coolness at the hand or knee!
What a next half-an-hour!

Now is the house
Risen before me, and I find my rest,
By contrast of their mere activity,

Grow sweeter. They, methinks, are forc'd to rise,
And I, not being forc'd, taste freedom more.

I doze, I fix myself, I turn again,

Waking; then turn upon my back, and keep
The middle of the bed, from a nice sense
Of equal reasoning; and do find withal
That such as marvel how vivacious men
Can lie awake, have not vivacity,

But from gross need of life and motion, hurt

PRICE THREE HALFPENCE

A lively cause..

Oh these are not the wits
To tax ingenious bed! Life livelier still
Than what lies smiling in us, must do that,―
Birds, sunbeams, habits, duties, all at once,-

Or journey, or another's journey help'd;

Or friend who comes to breakfast, and who piques
Our friendship and our emulation both;
Or laughing children; or a sudden voice,
Sudden, and strange, and well known, and belov'd,
And loud (as far as such sweet voice can be)
That comes before her letter, and fills all
The sunny house with lightsome womanhood.

Dull admonition provokes opposition.
(This is a proverb in the style of Swift,
Who made old sayings as he wanted them.)
No life in lying still! Why we may lie,
(We who have any ubiquity of spirit)
And still roll round wi' the earth: we can turn swift
The corner of dull night, and so be whirl'd
Full in the face of morning, with a flash
Sudden as Alpine tops to eagles' eyes:
We can be up with every bee, bird, peasant;
Bounding with deer, suck'd up to heav'n with larks,
Careering with wild steeds, dashing with waves
'Gainst the short breath of the fresh laughing morn.

A little leaven, saith a reverend text,
Leaveneth a lump. Not long since liv'd a lump
Of round humanity, nay, liveth still,
And ever shall, long as the Seasons roll

And clouds drop fatness, who with his sweet leaven
Of lazy and luxurious sympathy

With all sweet things, might have sufficed, alone,
To shew how quick and dulcet at the core
A slugabed can be. Falsely luxurious!

Will not man wake?" cried he; then turning, lay
In bed till twelve; and sauntering, when he rose,
Into his garden, slipper'd, and with hands
Each in a waistcoat pocket (so that al
Might yet repose that could) was seen, one moru,
Eating a wondering peach from off the tree.

He said he had "no motive" to rise soon. "And why should he have ris'n?" sharply enquired The critic, sage in his goodnatured spleen Against the shallow: "what had he to do, After delighting us with deathless books, But to lie on, wrapp'd in his ease and fame, And have his feast out?" Nothing-but to lie Still longer, and with thrice his feast of fame, And half his fat ;-could all that moulded him, Blood, breeding, habit, and his ancestors, And e'en the very plumpness of his verse, Have let him; so with Wieland to have shaken His silver locks at eighty with mild mirth; Or died, as Titian, 'midst his colours, did, Nipt in his reverend bloom by a mischance At ninety-nine! But circumstance and habit, Like secret mistresses, clasp mightiest men, Much more these teachers of soft sympathy, Whose world were yet the best, were all made smooth And acquiescence justice; and they speak E'en now a voice, which, in the echo grows Stronger than victory blowing through a town, Because none hate it.

Lie then, if ye will,

Ye gentle, and ye jovial, and like him

* Thomson, author of the Seasons,

† See a passage in Hazlitt's Table-Talk

ye

fat,

Moot the sweet point, if fortune give ye leavė,
and no wrong'd future mar the twice-heap'd down
Pluck'd from the heart of hours, yet in the nest.
Lie on, ye old, and cold, and cosy ; lie,
Ye thin whose bones want clothing; and
Yourselves a bed for jollity; and lie,
Ye who last night forgot that it was night,
The wine discours'd so well; and all in short
Who with excuse or none (none being best,
Because the sweet will then is most unmixed)
Wake but to differ with old moral dawn,
And, like a lover, who more fondly clasps
His mistress blam'd, turn closer to dear bed.
All must have justice done to them, ere all
Can feel for all: and this being done to you,
Ye captives of embracing circumstance

And o'ergrown leisure, think, I pray you, tenderly,
As the sweet poet did, of those whose wants,
Or other dread-voic'd calls on waking eyes,
(In which perhaps a tear has dreamt all night)
Suffer not ev'n to suffer from repose,

So dire their load, and to be balanc'd ever.
Think of them when ye rise; and teach, like him,
Justice, and truth, and better measurement
Of ease to all; so shall they gladly see
Your happier lot meantime, till rights go round,
And some blest morn, ye, they, and the whole earth
Shall be rejoic'd to rise, because the earth
Then, for the first time, shall spin perfectly
In the pleas'd ear of Him that made Endeavour.

Like smiles and tears upon an infant's face,
Who wonders at himself, and at such things
In faces round him, my swift thoughts are mix'd.
'Tis natural to me; nor unnatural

To any human heart, deeply conceiving
Sorrow or mirth. May it be harsh to none.

THIRD WEEK IN MAY.

MORE FLOWERS.

WE can no more help turning to Mr. Howitt's pages this week for another extract, than we can into the fields

come older, they would live for ever amongst them.
They bound about in the flowery meadows like young
fawns; they gather all they come near; they collect
heaps; they sit among them, and sort them, and sing
over them, and caress them, till they perish in their
grasp.

This sweet May morning

The children are pulling
On every side,

In a thousand valleys far and wide
Fresh flowers. Wordsworth.

We see them coming wearily into the towns and vil-
lages with their pinafores full, and with posies half as
large as themselves. We trace them in shady lanes, in
the grass of far-off fields, by the treasures they have
gathered and left behind, lured on by others still
brighter. As they grow up to maturity, they assume,
in their eyes, new characters and beauties. Then they
are strewn around them, the poetry of the earth. They
become invested by a multitude of associations with in-
numerable spells of power over the human heart; they
are to us memorials of the joys, sorrows, hopes, and
triumphs of our forefathers; they are, to all nations,
the emblems of youth in its loveliness and purity.
The ancient Greeks, whose souls pre-eminently sym-
pathized with the spirit of grace and beauty in every
thing, were enthusiastic in their love, and lavish in their
use of flowers. They scattered them in the porticoes of
their temples, they were offered on the altars of some
of their deities; they were strewed in the conqueror's
path; on all occasions of festivity and rejoicing they
were strewn about, or worn in garlands.

It was the custom then to bring away

The bride from home at blushing shut of day;
Veiled, in a chariot, heralded along

By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song.

Keats.

The guests at banquets were crowned with them.
Garlands of every green and every scent

From vales deflowered, or forest trees branch-rent,
In baskets of bright osiered gold were brought,
High as the handles heaped; to suit the thought
Of every guest, that each as he did please
Might fancy fit his brows, silk pillowed at his ease.
Keats.
The bowl was wreathed with them, and wherever
they wished to throw beauty, and to express gladness,
like sunshine they cast flowers. Something of the same
spirit seems to have prevailed among the Hebrews.
"Let us fill ourselves," says Solomon, with costly
wine and ointments; and let no flower of the spring
pass by us. Let us crown ourselves with rose-buds
before they be withered." But amongst that solemn and
poetical people they were commonly regarded in another
and higher sense, they were the favourite symbols of the
beauty and the fragility of life. Man is compared to
the flower of the field, and it is added, "the grass

respected by all the animals of the district, and seemed defended even by its beauty. The affecting mention of the influence of a flower upon his mind in a time of suffering and despondency, in the heart of the same savage continent, by Mungo Park, is familiar to every

one.

In the East, flowers are made to speak the language of sentiment. The custom of embellishing houses anc garnishing tables with them is unquestionably eastern Perhaps the warmer countries of Europe are less in th use of them than they were former!v. Boccaccio talks of them being disposed even in bedchambers; "Enelle camere i letti fatti, e ogni cosa di fiori, quali nella etagione si potevano avere, piena ;" and at the table of the narrators of the Decameron stories, as "Ogni cosa di fiori di qinestra coperta."+ In England they are much less used than on the continent, and much less than they were by our ancestors. On May-day, at Whitsuntide, and on other holiday occasions, the houses were profusely decorated with them, and they were strewn before the door.

How

Over the extinction of many popular customs, I cannot bring myself to grieve; but there is something se pure and beautiful in the plentiful use of flowers, that I cannot but lament the decay of these. Perhaps the most touching of our popular use of flowers is that of strewing the dead with them, designating the age, sex, or other particular circumstances, by different flowers. expressive in the hand of a fair young girl, cut off in her early spring, are a few pure and drooping snow-drops, an image exquisitely employed by Chantrey in his celebrated piece of sculpture - the two Children at Litchfield. Let the pensile lily of the valley for ever speak of the gentle maid that has been stricken down in her May; and the fair white lily, of the youth shorn in his unsullied strength: and let those who have passed through the varieties of time have

Flowers of all hues, and with its thorn the rose.

But even this tender custom is on the decline, from a needless notion that they generate insects, and tend to destroy the body they adorn. In reality, however, the love of flowers never was stronger in any age or nation than in ours. We have, perhaps, less love of showy festivity than our ancestors, but we have more poetry and sentiment amongst the people at large. We have conveyed from every region its most curious and splenral beauty in the general mind, that wherever our wild did plants; and such is the poetical perception of natuflowers spring up, in the grass, on the overhanging banks of the wild brook, or in the mossy shade of the forest, there are admiring eyes to behold them.

BIRTHDAYS.

themselves. They are truly vernal, rich in hopes of withereth, the flower fadeth," But of all the poetry antiquary, born at London, one of the fine old earnest

every kind, and

The blue sky bends over all:

a cheerful religion is upon them. A kind and embracing

heaven looks down; a glad and grateful earth looks up. Those writers who omit a sense of the unknown world in their books, (provided it be a kindly one) and of the great spirit of beauty and beneficence which causes all the lovely things we behold, might as well omit the sky in their landscapes, and go looking strait-forward or downward without the power of raising their eyes. To be always unconscious of what is invisible round about us, or remote, is in some sense, to be ignorant of what we see; for it prevents us from seeing the most delicate aud suggestive part of its own beauty, and the innumerable images of fancy and delight which play round it.

As to flowers, which are endless in their suggestions, and about which we could hear endless talk from such writers as Mr. Howitt, we have often had a fancy respecting their origin, of which he has reminded us by speaking of them as among the "minor creations." They seem as if the younger portion of angels-the childhood of heaven-had had a part of the creation of the world assigned to them, and that they made the flowers. -And yet who could so well know how to please them,

as he who made themselves?

"The return of May again brings over us a living scene of the loveliness and delightfulness of flowers. Of all the minor creations of God, they seem to be most completely the effusions of his love, of beauty, grace, and joy, Of all the natural objects which surround us, they are the least connected with our absolute necessities. Vegetation might proceed, the earth might be clothed with a sober green; all the processes of fructi fication might be perfected with being attended by the glory with which the flower is crowned; but beauty and fragrance are poured abroad over the earth in blossoms of endless varieties, radiant evidences of the boundless benevolence of the Deity. They are made solely to gladden the heart of man, for a light to his eyes, for a living inspiration of grace to his spirit, for a perpetual admiration. And accordingly they seize on our affections the first moment that we behold them. With what eagerness do very infants grasp at flowers! As they be

This assertion is a little hasty: for how can we tell with what eyes, or unknown feelings, the insects, as well as other creatures may not regard the flower?

take

ever drawn from flowers, none is so beautiful, none is
so sublime, none is so imbued with that very spirit in
which they were made as that of Christ. And why
field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin,
ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the
and yet, I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his
glory, was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore,
if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is,
and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much
more clothe you. O ye of little faith!" The sentiment
built upon this, entire dependance on the goodness of
the Creator, is one of the lights of our existence, and
could only have been uttered by Christ; but we have
here also the expression of the very spirit of beauty
in which flowers were created; a spirit so boundless
and overflowing that it delights to enliven and adorn
with these riant creatures of sunshine the solitary places
of the earth; to scatter them by myriads over the very
desert "where no man is; on the wilderness where
there is no man;" sending rain, "to satisfy the deso-
late and waste ground, and to cause the bud of the
tender herb to spring forth""

In our confined notions we are often led to won-
der why

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its fragrance on the desert air?

why beauty, and flowers, and fruit, should be scattered
so exuberantly where there are none to enjoy them.
But the thoughts of the Almighty are not as our
thoughts. He sees them; he doubtlessly delights to
behold the beauty of his handiworks, and rejoices in
that tide of glory which he has caused to flow wide
through the universe. We know not, either, what
spiritual eyes besides may behold them; for pleasant is
the belief, that

Myriads of spiritual creatures walk the earth
And how often does the gladness of uninhabited
lands refresh the heart of the solitary traveller! When
the distant and sea-tired voyager suddenly descries the
blue-mountain tops, and the lofty crest of the palm-tree,
and makes some green and pleasant island, where the
verdant and blossoming forest boughs wave in the spicy
gale; where the living waters leap from the rocks, and
millions of new and resplendant flowers brighten the
fresh sward, what then is the joy of his heart! To
omnipotence creation costs not an effort, but to the deso-
late and weary how immense is the happiness thus
Who does not recollect
prepared in the wilderness!

the exultation of Vaillant over a flower in the torrid
wastes of Africa? A maguificent lily, which, growing
on the banks of a river, filled the air far around with its
delicious fragrance, and, as he observes, had been

May 15th, 1551, William Camden, the historian and writers of the greatest age of English literature, when knowledge, and faith in the beautiful, went hand in hand. He was educated first at Christ Hospital, then at St. Paul's School, and afterwards at Oxford; and on

taking his degree at that University, became one of the

masters at Westminster School; where among his

pupils he had Ben Jonson, who in after life addressed
him the following grateful and affecting lines, which
considering the subject and the writer, acquire even
an additional grace from a sprinkle of pedantry.
Camden, most reverend head, to whom I owe
All that I am in arts, all that I know,
(low nothing's that!) to whom my country owes
The great r nown, and name wherewith she goes;‡
Than thee the age sees not a thing more grave,
More high, more holy, that she more would crave.
What name, what skill, what faith hast thou in things!
What sight in searching the most antique springs?
What weight, and what authority in thy speech!
Man scarce can make that doubt, ba thou canst teach.
Pardon free truth; and let thy modesty
Which conquers all, be once o'ercome by thee.
Many of thine this better could than 1,
But for their powers, accept my piety.§

May 16th, 1469, at Florence, Niccolo Macchiavelli, historian, statist, and miscellaneous writer, one of the puzzles of biography. It is not known of his book "The Prince," whether he meant a grave irony, ridiculing the most detestable maxims of government, or a serious recommendation of them! Those who are curious on the subject, and do not read Italian, may see his works translated by Farneworth, in the British Museum. There is also a translation of the " Prince," (if our recollection does not deceive us) by a living writer, Sir James Byerley. For our parts, we give the acute, the deep, but simple mannered and courageous Florentine, who died poor, and who endured the torture rather than betray a cause, the credit of having been a man of the best intentions, whatever he wrote; and so thinking, our present lights on the subject of what is best for mankind do not allow us to suppose that he intended any thing but an irony. Macchiavelli was a wit as well as a philo sopher, and could openly banter when he chose let us

conclude he could banter as well in secret.

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ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE.

XIII. THE BLACK ASSIZE.

THE Black Assize at Oxford, during the reign of Elizabeth, was so called from the circumstance of judges, jurymen, nobility, gentry, and the majority of the persons present, to the amount of near three hundred, sickening and dying, within forty-eight hours after they left the

court.

Of the manner in which these unfortunate individuals were seized; the nature, progress, treatment, and technical description of their disease, it is not (says the author of the "Lounger's Common Place Book,") in my power to speak; though to a medical reader they would afford a subject of curious and useful investigation.

This destructive pestilence, which readers who do not on every occasion hunt out for mysterious causes, would naturally attribute to malignant contagion, exasperated by the unwholesome atmosphere of a crowded court, during three hot days in July, was said to be occasioned by noxious effluvia, issuing from the ground, but is attributed by Lord Verulam to some infectious disease brought out of the prison; as Sir Robert Bell, the presiding Judge and Chief Baron of the Exchequer, frequently remarked a noisome and offensive smell, and demanded from whence it proceeded, but could obtain no satisfactory answer. This awful and tremendous visitation is accounted for in a singular way by a learned but credulous writer, strongly tinctured with party virulence and superstition of that period: "At this, the Black Assize, Rowland Jenks, a Popish recusant, was arraigned, and finally, after a long trial, condemned to die, for words seditiously and treasonably spoken against the queen's majesty."

the

"While the chief baron pronounced, in due form, and with accustomed solemnity, sentence of the law on this offender, a pestilent vapour suddenly arose so almost as to smother the court; various were the conjectures concerning so rude and filthy an annoyance, but all were distant from the mark; I am, however, enabled to assign the true cause on indisputable evidence. A rare and valuable M.S. came accidentally in my possession, collected by an ancient gentleman now at York, and an industrious gatherer together of strange facts, who lived in Oxford at the time of this marvellous calamity.

"This curious observer asserts that the aforesaid Rowland Jenks being sometimes permitted by favour of the Sheriff, who was suspected of leaning towards AntiChrist, to walk at times abroad, accompanied by an under-jailer; on a certain occasion, by fair words and well-timed presents, prevailed with his keeper to call with him at an apothecary's, to whom he produced a recipe for compounding certain drugs, desiring to have it done with all convenient speed. This person, on viewing the paper, replied that the ingredients were costly in price, powerful in effect, and tedious in preparation; that previous to such mischievous materials going forth, he must be well assured that they would not be applied to any unlawful purpose. The prisoner made answer that rats and other vermin had gnawed and otherwise defiled the few books he had been indulged with since his imprisonment, and that the recipe in question was for the purpose of destroying these animals. The apothecary desired to retire a few minutes for consideration, during which he copied the formula, and speedily coming back, returned it, saying, that he would not, on any account, be concerned in handling such dangerous weapons.

Each particular article of this strange commixture might have been imparted to the public, but they were of a nature so horribly deleterious that I feared their falling into the hands of wicked and designing men; yet, it seems that Jenks did in some way or other get his poisonous mess prepared, and against the day of trial had made, infused or interwoven it iuto, or with a cotton wick, which on being lighted would burn like a candle.

"The moment sentence was passed, and he knew that death was unavoidable, having provided himself with a tinder-box and steel, he lighted that infernal thread which was to determine the fate of so many. The dismal effects which ensued are upon record, and too well known to need repeating. Indeed, whoever by chance or by design shall be made acquainted with the materials it was composed of, which I wish may for ever be blotted out and forgotten, will easily believe its virulent aud venomous effects."

This singular account is evidently penned by a lover of the marvellous; it will not bear the touchstone of criticism or common sense; and endeavours to go out of the road to account for that, which, as has been well observed, might easily, and frequently does take place, as the common effect of pestilential infection. It may also be asked, how could the supposed perpetrator of the mischief prevent his suffocating vapour from acting with equal fatality to himself, his fellow prisoners, on women and on children, numbers of whom were in court, but none at all injured in life, health, or limb. It is also very improbable that a prisoner at the bar, who had just eceived sentence of death, who was of course an object of general observation, and from the spirit of the times, of religious detestation, that he should be able, without attracting notice and hindrance, to strike a light, and set fire to his wick; every person present must have perceived from whence the noxious fume arose; nor would it have been necessary for the Chief Baron repeatedly to ask, as he did, several hours before Jenks was put on his trial, from whence the very disagreeable smeil proceeded. The Popish recusant perhaps might

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The personal strangeness of appearance produced by the life which the subject of the following account was obliged to lead, together with the interesting countenance which it had left him, and the rapidity with which he used to glide from his wild home into his proper one, appears to us to render the narrative affecting.

All this portion of the country, (says Mr. Keppel Craven, in his "Tour through the Southern Provinces of Naples," speaking of the neighbourhood of Castellamare), bears a bad name, as offering secure retreats to felons or homicides, who, either suspected of misdeeds, or actually convicted of crimes, seek their safety in temporary concealment within its mountainous recesses. This state of existence is sometimes so prolonged as to become not only supportable, but scarcely irksome to the inclinations and feelings. An individual of my acquaintance who inhabited Castellamare, formed, in the course of his frequent excursions in its romantic environs, an acquaintance of some intimacy with a rich inhabitant of Lettere, and was in the habit of frequently dining with him and his numerous family. He usually went by invitation, or at least after giving notice of his intended visit; but one day, finding himself at the hour of dinner in the vicinity of the house, he ventured to request that hospitality which he had so frequently before experienced. He was admitted with some symp. toms of embarrassment attributable, as he thought, to the consciousness of being inadequately provided with the means of receiving him; but perceived an addition to the family in the person of a young man, who was with some hesitation introduced as a son, and whose peculiar person, and dejected yet prepossessing countenance, so excited his interest and curiosity, that his sisters, confiding in the regard of the visitor, bade the stranger tell him his history.

Salvador, that was his name, had, from his early infancy, been in the habits of intimacy with a youth of the same village, who, following the bent of an evil disposition, through the path of poverty and vice, had so far advanced in the career of iniquity as to have become, at the age of twenty-four, associated with all descriptions of petty depredators which can in no language be so well expressed as by the Italian word Malviventi (evil livers). Salvador, educated as carefully as the affluence and affection of his parents would allow, had vainly endeavoured to reclaim his friend Aniello from his wicked courses; and, in the hopes of ultimately succeeding, had continued to keep up an intercourse of good fellowship with him, and more than once had assisted him with money. One day the latter informed Salvador of a scheme, formed by him and his companions, of robbing a rich proprietor; who resided in a solitary house adjoining some vineyards belonging to Salvador's father; and his assistance was required to allow this iniquitous band to conceal themselves in one of the buildings used only in the vintage season, where they might remain in ambush until night should enable them to execute their villainous purpose. Salvador not only refused to become accessary to such a crime, but put the intended object of it on his guard against the machinations of the banditti, without, however, naming Aniello, for whom he still retained a feeling of compassion if not of regard.

His friend, as may be supposed, from that day became his inveterate foe, and vowed to watch every opportunity of being revenged. Sometime elapsed, however, before such an occasion presented itself; but one morning that Salvador had arisen with the sun, for the purpose of shooting quails among the ripe grapes, his unrelenting enemy, who had watched and followed him, attempted to satisfy his cowardly vengeance by firing two pistol-shots at him from a place of concealment. Discovered, upbraided, nnd pursued by the other, he suddenly turned upon him, and endeavoured, by an exertion of bodily strength, to wrest from him his fowling-piece. The contest was prolonged and obstinate, ending finally in the fall of the agressor, who received his death-wound from the hand which had so often relieved his wants. The survivor, under the influence of terror and confusion, at the commission of a crime so foreign to his nature, fled precipitately to his paternal roof, where he only rested time enough to relate his misfortune, being persuaded by his alarmed parents to seek safety in concealment. Some labourers, who had indistinctly seen the conclusion of the affray at a distance, ran to the spot, and reached it in time to learn the name of the homicide from the vindictive ruffian, whose discharged pistols, former gifts of Salvador, and still bearing his initials, served, together with the evidence of the gun, which he had hastily flung down, to corroborate the facts deposed by the witnesses; the local police was made acquainted with them, and proceeded to the house of the culprit, who had already

fled and thereby justified the accusation brought against him. A sentence was pronounced, and for a considerable time he never ventured to revisit the house of his parents; but as these were as respected as he was beloved, no vigourous researches were instituted, and having never withdrawn himself from any great distance, he by degrees ventured to return occasionally, for a few minutes, to the presence of his family, and, in the course of time, paid them a daily visit, regu ated by a signal given by his sisters from the back windows of the house, which looked to the steep range of almost inaccessible rocks, covered with wood, that rise above Lettere. In their fastnesses he had now dwelt more than two years; and he described, in impressive language, the singular existence thus imposed upon him, and to which he had become, in a manner, as much habituated as to the exercise of descending and remounting these rugged steeps, with a velocity and agility almost incredible.

The individual, who frequently afterwards saw him, described his descent as something to all appearance supernatural. He was, during the daytime, always Jurking among the caves, or perched upon the trees within hearing of the shrill whistle that gave him the summons to approach, and when it was uttered, a few minutes sufficed to bring him down from the highest precipice. He gave an account of the methodical way in which he divided the few and unvaried occupation that broke the monotony of his solitary hours. The changes of the weather or the wind were hailed by him as an interesting incident in his life. The trees, plants, and flowers, growing within the circumscribed precincts of his retreat, had become the objects of his care; and he watched the changes brought upon them with anxious solicitude. The few animated beings, whose movements broke upon the stillness of his solitude, he looked A variety upon as so many acquaintances or visitors. of birds had accustomed themselves to assemble round him at a certain hour, to receive the remnants of the food which he carried up from his father's house. He could enumerate every different sort of butterfly or insect which could be found near his retreat; and bad seen the same fox pass at the same hour of each day during the two years of his seclusion. In these pursuits, if so they can be termed, and the perusal of some book, which he always brought away from the house to the mountain, his time had passed, he said, quickly and not painfully. He generally took a daily meal at home, but never spent the night there, considering his rocky hermitage as more secure. This, from its particular position, was inaccesible from the upper masses of the mountains, and presented no approach from below, except through a strip of enclosed vineyard through the back of the family dwelling.

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"

THE following story is from the pages of the Life of Joanna, Queen of Naples," an interesting work published some years ago, which deserves to be better known, particularly by all who feel anxious to think as well of their fellow-creatures as possible. It struck us, when we read it, both the first and second time (for we have given it two thorough perusals) as furnishing an ample vindication of the character of an excellent wo man, who, by one of those freaks of fortune that some times occur in history, has been hitherto set down as proverbial instance of cruel and inordinate passions.

The magnanimity of a lady of Messina, called Camiola Turinga, who flourished in the childhood of Joanna (says our author) has procured her a place among the illustrious women of Boccaccio; and though he has recorded no daring deed of heroism, her history would have furnished an affecting tale to his Decamerou had he contrasted her lofty spirit, not less feminine, though more noble, with the passive meekness of Griselda.

Towards the close of the reign of King Robert, Or lando of Arragon rashly encountering the Neapolitan Fleet, was made captive and imprisoned in one of the castles of Naples. His brother, Peter, King of Sicily, refused to ransom him, as he had occasioned the loss of the Sicilian armament by his temerity in engaging the Neapolitans contrary to his express command.

The young and handsome prince, unfriended, and almost forgotten, remained long in prison, and would have been doomed for life to pine away in hopeless captivity, had not his wretched fate excited the pity of Camiola Turinga, a wealthy lady of Messina, distinguished for every feminine grace and virtue. Desirous of procuring his liberty without compromising his fair fame, and perhaps actuated by sentiments still more powerful than compassion, she sent a trusty messenger to his dungeon at Naples, to offer to pay his ransom, on condition of his marrying her on his return to Messina. Orlando overjoyed at his unexpected good fortune, wil lingly sent her a contract of marriage: but she had no sooner purchased his liberty, than he denied all knowledge of her and treated her with scorn.

The slighted maiden carried her cause before the royal tribunal, and Peter of Arragon convinced of the necessity of governing the Sicilians with justice, as bis empire depended solely on the affections of the people, adjudged Orlando to Camiola, as he was, in fact, according to the custom of the times and the laws of war, a slave whom she had purchased with her treasure.

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