flogging colonel-he was so stern and so cry proof-he was a chap suited for carrying out any system, so that it was demoniacal. Now it so happened that one of the men had a sweetheart-he might have had many for what I know, as most soldiers have but this one he paid more attention to than to any of the others, and professed one of these days to make her his wife. Her name was Cowslip-Betsy Cowslip-and her face was as pretty and unintelligible as many other young women; that is, she had good eyes, a dimple in both her cheeks, long hair, and an unmeaning general expression. She professed, on her part, to be fond of the man, who was fond of her, and might have been, only she was'nt firm in her affection; for upon the iron colonel speaking to her in his regimentals, she entirely turned up her nose and she needn't have done that in all conscience, as it turned up of itself maturally enough still she turned it up even more on that account at any one wearing the dress of a private. There was astonishment on the part of the soldier, and there was disdain on the part of Betsy Cowslip, which fired the chap more than lightning would have fired a church without a conductor. He tugged his hair and his whiskers, but all to no purpose, for soon he saw Betsy-his own Betsy of yesterday riding by the side of the iron colonel in his cabriolet, which inflamed him to such a degree that he stood looking after it for full five minutes, when he turned upon his heel, and said in a determined manner→→ #-"D-n him, I'll do it; I will, that I will."

On that very night the whole plan was concocted, and being in a flogging regiment, he soon got a few determined fellows to join in the adventure and as a matter of course, Richard Biddulph was one of them and he might be said to be as much the ringleader as any of them, for he got the cats out of the cat-chest and waited impatiently for the time when the scheme was to be put into operation. Children determine to do a thing, when they fail sometimes in their continuation of purpose, but men make up their minds to do that which is seen to be finished when they do so, and which is done well only when it is fully accomplished. Robery, murder, and so on; theft, petty larceny, or any other crime which is recognised as lower in the scale of crimi nality, when committed by men, loses that irresolution which is generally the accompaniment of the boys' attempt; and it would be wonderful if it were not so, for there is the strength of determination to guide the one, which the other lacks almost entirely. But what on earth can be the use of thus urging a self-evident proposition, more especially as the world, now-a-days likes to grasp or to shake hands with one fact rather than to attempt to master forty-nine shadowy opinions of the poets, and really those chaps, the poets, are very funny individuals in every sense of the word funny. But stop! Why only fancy-although it isn't fancy but is an unpadded and unjacketed truth-why only behold six hard-hearted determined-faced fellows met during the quiet hours of the night, for the purpose of carrying into execution their strong and positive intention of inflicting corporal punishment upon the highest officer in command of the marching, flogging, and drunken regiment.

Richard Biddulph might have been the youngest, but he had as bold a heart as any oue of them, and that means to say that he had a very bold heart, for they were all of that kidney. They did'nt talk much

one with another, except in whispers, when this might have been a portion of their conversation

"Why d―n him, he's got an extra bottle to-night."

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f

Never mind, that will prevent his crying out so loud, the devil." "Are the cats all ready, Biddulph ?"

1

"Not quite so ready as the arm which is to use them." "Mind you gag the devil."

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Oh, never fear, he shan't bellow, you may depend on't.”: "Is the salt and water in the bottle?"

"Yes, he shall have enough of it, you may rest assured." Then they kept close up against the wall, so that their victim might not see them on his way from the mess, whilst one feeling prevailed the whole six, and that feeling was revenge. Such was the conduct of the privates on the outside, but let us break a pane of glass and poke ourselves into the mess room, where the officers of this farfamed gloriously marching regiment were regaling themselves upon the dainties which were spread before them; and sure enough the chaplain was still upon the threshold of glory, and was hammering into the ears of all of them what he told them were singular truths about the victories the British army had accomplished; when descending the ladder a step or two, he told them they were the British army, and that their colonel-who he was proud to say was an iron colonel-was the great representative of all the forces, whether foreign or domestic, upon the whole surface of the universe, as well as the sun and moon, the stars and all the planets-that is, supposing soldiers to be requisite in those particular localities, although he must admit he was a regular admitter of all that was to his purpose, was the chaplain-that there were soldiers in heaven because Mr. Milton said so. Then the chaplain went into other matters equally as interesting-and if you ask any soldier, you'll find that the chaplain is a devilishly interesting fellow-and finished a very long speech--for chaplains are devils at long speeches-and finished a very long speech, by proposing the field martial who would be, when right happened to be right; he meant to say," the colonel," not a, but "the colonel," upon which every man got upon his legs, and said, hip-hip-hip three times, and after swallowing a glass of bad wine, sat down again. It was done as a matter of course, just as though it had been done forty-nine times before the very same week, and the colonel's answer-I beg his pardon the iron colonel's answer was just about as straightforward and equally to the purpose. He began by saying, "Brother officers;" he did the middle part about glory and victory, and he finished off with a general panegyric upon the discipline which was positively requisite in the army, and which was only to be kept up by flogging the men into a proper state of it.

Some of the majors said, "Hear, some of the captains said, "Hear, "Hear whilst the juniors actually cried out "Bravo more than once during the oratorical display on the part of their superior. The doctor did'nt say anything, but then he was like the parrot-he was for he thought the more at any rate if he didn't, he said he did-and who would wish to quarrel with a doctor? The bottle passed round joyously, and it appeared to be carried on by time, who had large wings and flew round and round, and then out of the window, whilst these hunters and

T

scamperers after glory filled their pouches with the spiritual wine peculiar to the messes of the British army. Soon-they thought too soon-their pouches began to show a ponderosity as well as a globular appearance; then the spirit which was in the wine began to ascend-as spirits are said to do-higher still towards heaven, when it stopped at their heads and took possession of them, and played all manner of tricks with their imagination, which ended in the chaplain proposing an innocent toast enough, although the doctor didn't think so-nay, he even said as much, which called forth the chaplain's wrath, ire, and indignation, and which was ended by the twain taking two glasses of wine with one another. The chaplain and the doctor quarrelled so often, and made it up so often, that it was quite lover like, or barrister like, or king and queen like, or anything else like, when quarrels are mere visions of quarrels, and have a glass of wine, or a kiss, or a double fee, or a territory behind them. Then came a song or two, and an anecdote or two about the ladies, which were not particularly clean or healthy; and then, overcome more than a little with bad wine, jokes, and songs, the colonel bowed his head to the mess, put on his cocked hat, and toddled away as fast as these combinations allowed him. He was an old man, and had marched over a great many miles of earth, and he had presided over many messes-messes of battle as well as messes of messes-but still for all that he was an iron heart. Oh yes, he was an iron colonel. He had a family and was related to many noble families; he had sympathies of a private and confidential character, but then he flogged; yes, he was a strict disciplinarian, and acted up to the dictates of his iron judgment.

Dear reader, stop a little!-take breath!--now go on again. The old colonel was soon stopped in his progress by the six determined privates, who took him, after gagging him, to an unfrequented spot, where they stripped off his red regimentals, and made the pale moon shed her subdued light upon his aged-shrunken yellow back. Now then, one caught hold of his wrists and swung him upon his back, whilst another held his thin legs, when the others used three cats so adroitly, yet so unmercifully, that the iron colonel actually shook again from very pain and torture. His muscles first threw themselves out, then drew themselves in again, whilst he writhed and struggled as well as his feeble yet iron (?) frame would allow him. There was no disposition to show mercy on the part of those who had not received any in their days and months of trouble, and really if they killed outright the iron colonel, they did not appear to mind even that, if it had not interfered with a portion of their object. After giving the iron colonel 200 lashes, they took him down and rubbed his sore back with vinegar, which made him quail again, when they carried him more, dead than alive, near to his quarters, and then the privates went back again to theirs. Mind there was not a word spoken. Oh, no, they knew better than that. And their faces were covered with a thick crape, so that it may in this place be revealed that they were never discovered. No! Many were suspected by the iron colonel, but he had reasons for not bringing them to justice. The poor old man! Bah! The infamous scoundrels! Bah! Bah!! The iron colonel was a devil, and he deserved punishment, so as to stop the evil, even though one of his feet had been upon the brink of the grave.

Another chapter may tell what the iron colonel did, as also what he left undone; but depend upon it that that punishment is likely to have done more good than harm to the British army.

Now, now dearest reader, it becomes positively necessary that our acquaintance should break off for a whole month; and I would not give one doll's head for your friendship, if it doth not make you long for the time to come when we shall see one another, and agree with one another again and again.! But stop! For the present month, adieu.

LOVE AFTER DEATH.

BY MRS. EDWARD THOMAS.

For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Nor cast one longing, ling ring look behind?-Gray.

THOU art in heaven, belov'd, in heaven thou art,
Yet I am not forgotten quite by thee;

A ling'ring mem'ry clings around thine heart,
Holy and true, of tenderness for me!
For why should I believe, so fond below,
So anxious over my well-being here,
Thou art indifferent to my joy or woe,

Heedless, unconscious, my terrene career?
Can things of such an intense int'rest deem'd
A little space before death's final stroke,
So insignificant be now esteem'd?

Was every link of love terrestrial broke
When clos'd thine eyes in his undreaming rest?
His sleep is not so apathetic,-No!
Still in thy gentle, thesaurising breast
Affection undiminish'd lends its glow.
God is thy paradigm; He piteous looks
Upon the earth, too full of sin and grief,
And then consults the everlasting books
How best He can administer relief.
I'm not unworthy His especial care;

I'm not too mean for His especial aid;
How then couldst thou, His angel, cold forbear
To love the creature that His hand hath made?
To thy supernal joy it still must add,

To watch my struggles thy blest heav'n to gain;
Yes, angels and archangels THERE feel glad

When those fond struggles are, alas! not vain.
It must increase delight to learn my love,

For though in heaven love is indeed supreme,

Yet 'mong the congregated hosts above

None would a mortal's love superfluous deem!
Then let me think My love is priz'd by thee;
Then let me think my welfare still is dear;

For it will soothe, that tender phantasy

Oh! greatly soothe each pang foredoom'd me here.
And let me think THY love, like hov'ring cloud,
Invisible, yet powerful to save,

From Sorrow's blast my shrinking form will shroud,
And Sin's, me veiling spotless for the grave!

"A LONG DAY."

BY GEORGE RAYMOND.

THAT every person is the best judge of his own felicity (that is, of those things which best please him), can admit of no doubt; but every person is not a judge of the nature of its existence, its subtle dependence, the nice poise on which it tremblingly lives, and the capricious element to which it must ever be subservient. In fact, the greater part of mankind very frequently mistake the grounds on which such acquisition rests; and thus, whilst they fancy they are pursuing the desired object, are only preparing for themselves very opposite results. It is not that they are without the perception of what is bright and fair, but they mistake the mystery of its brilliancy, as one who should ignorantly say, "The glow-worm, which is so beautiful by night, how much more dazzling must she be by day."

Montaigne tells us that many persons who feel warm in their clothes, fancy the warmth is extracted from the wool, whilst it only keeps in the living heat of their own bodies; by which he would also imply, that if such persons were sick and did not feel the usual comfort in their clothing, they would be apt to say their covering had lost its agreeable virtue, whereas the defection would really be traced to their own torpid state of animation.

In like manner a person may have found, at some period of his life, great delight in a particular place or district. His fancy wanders in the past scenes which his memory recalls, and he resolves on a revisit to the spot of his old enjoyment. The experiment is made, and he finds to his mortification, and no less to his astonishment, that all is flat, spiritless, and uninteresting. He scarcely can believe in the identity of the soil or region; the fact is, his past enjoyment had been the result of circumstances which he had altogether left out of his calculation-namely, the aspirations of youth, the companionship of some particular friend, or the coincidence of some special piece of bonne fortune.

There is another and very common kind of mistake in the pursuit of enjoyment, and this is with persons who know a little more of the truth, but use the truth not wisely; as one possessing himself of proper tools, but not having served an apprenticeship to his trade, labours too much and produces too little. "He who would drink the wine of life purely," says Sir William Temple, "must not drain it to the dregs;" a doctrine which many more may have heard, than have had the wisdom to follow. Thus, a person