If the old Earl's the coachman in disguise,
And if the Duchess Dolly's place supplies;
If John, ennobled, holds a high debauch,
And breaks the head of Priscian and the watch,
What is't to me? The tale's a pleasing tale,
And murdering nature scarce deserves the jail.
Flourish ye vulgar drivellings of the vain,
The fill'd with folly, and the void of brain!
Ye Tales of Ton shine on for countless years,
Proud of your idiot squires and witless peers!
Tales of High Life, in endless beauty bloom
Mirrors of grandeur in the butler's room-
And ye, in servants' hall for aye be seen,
Obscure Blue Stockings, Davenels, andD'Erbine;
Yet Sympathy her gentle woes may add,
Where sorry authors made their readers sad-
The thoughtful student well may sigh to know
That mortal dulness ever sank so low-
The pensive tear may innocently fall
On scenes where simple Folly rules o'er all-
Not so, when Ribaldry, 'neath Fiction's name,
Shows equal dulness with a deadlier aim-
Paints not Almack's to bid the kitchen stare,
Nor fills the pantry with St. James's air-
But soars to crime, and strives to gain the art,
To sap the morals, and corrupt the heart.
See where Ecarté's prurient scenes betray
The madd'ning reign of beauty and of play-
Seeming to guard against the bait they throw,
Seeming to hide what most they mean to show.
Tempting, like Spartan maids, by half revealing,
And tempting more, perhaps, by half concealing.
Where'er we move, some yielding beauty woos,
Rich in the sensual graces of the stews-
While warm descriptions every charm define,
And all the brothel breathes from every line.
Nor pass the Roué in this list of shame,
Whose equal faults an equal scorn may claim.-
Where Drury Lane her morals deigns to teach,
And Covent Garden yields her flow'rs of speech;
Where heroes, witty, graceful, gay, polite,
Act like Count Fathom, and like Egan write; *
Describe such scenes as Harriet might disgrace,
Or call a blush on pimpled Hazlitt's face!
Ingenious authors! who so closely shape
Your course betwixt seduction and a rape,
That wondering readers catch the pleasing hope,
To see your heroes dangling from a rope,
Think ye the "morals" ye drawl forth at last,
Shall shield, like penitence, your actions past;
Even though your rake, by one unchanging rule,
Is tamed and married to a flirt or fool?
Or, harder fate, if harder fate you know,
Dies ere his pen has traced the last huge O!!!†
Think ye two ribald volumes are forgiven,
Provided in the third he talks of beaven?
As if, dull rogues, our scorn ye could assuage,
For Berkeley's youth by Zachary's old age.
Nature, which all things righteously ordains,
Gives rascals malice, but denies them brains-
So to some puppy fill'd with fear and spite,
She gives the wish-without the power-to bite-
So to Sir Roger, scarce released from school,‡
She gives obsceneness-but proclaims him fool.
Blackwood's Magazine.

chandeliers blazing like three suns overhead-the charms of music and dancing -together with that tone of excitement then pervading society at large, owing to our successful continental campaigns, which maddened England into almost daily annunciations of victory: all these circumstances, I say, combined to supply spirit to every party. In fact, England was almost turned upside down with universal fêting! Mrs. the

lady whose party I have just been mentioning, was in ecstacy at the eclât with which the whole was going off, and charmed with the buoyant animation with which all seemed inclined to contribute their quota to the evening's amusement. A young lady, of some personal attractions, most amiable manners, and great accomplishments—particularly musical-had been repeatedly solicited to sit down to the piano, for the purpose of favouring the company with the favourite Scottish air, The Banks of Allan Water. For a long time, however, she steadfastly resisted their importunities, on the plea of low spirits. There was evidently an air of deep pensiveness, if not melancholy, about her, which ought to have corroborated the truth of the plea she urged. She did not seem to gather excitement with the rest; and rather endured, than shared, the gaieties of the evening. Of course, the young folks around her of her own sex whispered their suspicions that she was in love; and, in point of fact, it was well known by several present, that Miss was engaged to a young officer who had earned considerable distinction in the Peninsular campaign, and to whom she was to be united on his return from the continent. It need not therefore be wondered at, that a thought of the various casualties to which a soldier's life is exposed-especially a bold and brave young soldier, such as her intended had proved himself-and the possibility, if not probability, that he might, alas! never

"Return to claim his blushing bride" -but be left behind among the glorious her mind with gloomy anxieties and apthrong of the fallen-sufficed to overcast prehensions.

It was, indeed, owing solely to the affectionate importunities of her relatives, that she was prevailed her own inclinations been consulted, she on to be seen in society at all. Had might, with weeping and trembling, comwould have sought solitude, where she mend her hopes to the hands of Him "who seeth in secret," and "whose are the issues" of battle. As, however, Miss -'s rich contralto voice,

and skilful powers of accompaniment, were much talked of, the company would listen to no excuses or apologies; so the poor girl was absolutely baited into sitting down to the piano, when she ran over a few melancholy chords with an air of reluctance and displacency. Her sympathies were soon excited by the fine tones-the tumultuous melody-of the keys she touched-and she struck into the soft and soothing symphony of "The Banks of Allan Water." The breathless silence of the bystanders-for nearly all the company was thronged around-was at length broken by her voice, stealing, "like faint blue gushing streams," on the delighted ears of her auditors, as she commenced singing that exquisite little ballad, with the most touching pathos and simplicity. had just commenced the verse,

She

"For his bride a soldier sought her, And a winning tongue had he," when, to the surprise of every body around her, she suddenly ceased playing and singing, without removing her hands from the instrument, and gazed steadfastly forward with a vacant air, while the colour faded from her cheeks, and left them pale as the lily. She continued thus for some moments, to the alarm and astonishment of the company -motionless, and apparently unconscious of any one's presence. Her elder sister, much agitated, stepped towards her, placed her hand on her shoulder, endeavoured gently to rouse her, and said hurriedly, " Anne, Anne! what now is the matter?" Miss made no answer; but a few moments after, without moving her eyes, suddenly burst into a piercing shriek!Consternation seized all present.

"Sister-sister! Dear Anne, are you ill?" again inquired her trembling sister, endeavouring to rouse her, but in vain. Miss did not seem either to see or hear her. Her eyes still gazed fixedly forward, till they seemed gradually to expand, as it were, with an expression of glassy horror. All present seemed utterly confounded, and afraid to interfere with her. Whispers were heard, "She's ill-in a fit-run for some water. Good God! how strange. What a piercing shriek!" &c. &c. At length Miss -'s lips moved. She began to mutter inaudibly; but by and by those immediately near her could distinguish the words, "There !-there they are with their lanterns! Oh! they are looking out for the de-a-d! They turn over the heaps. Ah! nowno-that little hill of slain-see, see! they are turning them over, one by one.

There! there he is! Oh, horror! horror! horror! right through the heart!” and with a long shuddering groan, she fell senseless into the arms of her horrorstruck sister. Of course all were in confusion and dismay-not a face present but was blanched with agitation and affright on hearing the extraordinary words she uttered. With true delicacy and propriety of feeling, all those whose carriages had happened to have already arrived, instantly took their departure, to prevent their presence em barrassing or interfering with the family, who were already sufficiently bewildered. The room was soon thinned of all, except those who were immediately engaged in rendering their services to the young lady; and a servant was instantly dispatched, with a horse, for me. my arrival, I found her in bed (still at the house where the party was given, which was that of the young lady's sister-in-law). She had fallen into a succession of swoons ever since she had been carried up from the drawing-room, and was perfectly senseless when I entered the bedchamber where she lay. She had not spoken a syllable since uttering the singular words just related; and her whole frame was cold and rigid

On

in fact, she seemed to have received some strange shock, which had altogether paralyzed her. By the use, however, of strong stimulants, we succeeded in at length restoring her to something like consciousness, but I think it would have been better for her-judging from the event-never to have awoke again from forgetfulness. She opened her eyes under the influence of the searching stimulants we applied, and stared vacantly for an instant on those standing round her bedside. Her countenance, of an ashy hue, was damp with clammy perspiration, and she lay perfectly motionless, except when her frame undulated with long deep-drawn sighs.

"Oh! wretched, wretched, wretched girl!" she murmured at length-" why have I lived till now? Why did you not suffer me to expire? He called me to join him—I was going—and you will not let me-but I must go-yes, yes."

"Anne-dearest! Why do you talk so? Charles is not gone he will return soon-he will indeed"-sobbed her sister.

"Oh! never, never! You could not see what I saw, Jane"-she shuddered"Oh, it was frightful! How they tumbled about the heaps of the dead!—how they stripped-oh, horror, horror !"

"My dear Miss -, you are dreaming-raving-indeed you are,” said I,

holding her hand in mine. "Come, come you must not give way to such gloomy, such nervous fancies-you must not, indeed. You are frightening your friends to no purpose."

"What do you mean?" she replied, looking me suddenly full in the face. "I tell you it is true! Ah me, Charles is dead-I know it-I saw him! Shot right through the heart! They were stripping him, when—” And heaving three or four short convulsive sobs, she again swooned. Mrs. the lady of the house (the sister-in-law of Miss

once more to con

as I think I have mentioned), could endure the distressing scene no longer, and was carried out of the room, fainting, in the arms of her husband. With great difficulty, we succeeded in restoring Miss sciousness; but the frequency and duration of her relapses began seriously to alarm me. The spirit, being brought so often to the brink, might at last suddenly flit off into eternity, without any one's being aware of it. I, of course, did all that my professional knowledge and experience suggested; and, after expressing my readiness to remain all night in the house, in the event of any sudden alteration in Miss - for the worse, I took my departure, promising to call very early in the morning. Before leaving, Mr. had acqainted me with all the particulars above related; and, as I rode home, I could not help feeling the liveliest curiosity, mingled with the most intense sympathy for the unfortunate sufferer, to see whether the corroborating event would stamp the present as one of those extraordinary occurrences, which occasionally "come o'er us like a summer cloud," astonishing and perplexing every one.

The next morning, about nine o'clock, I was again at Miss -'s bedside. She was nearly in the same state as that in which I had left her the preceding evening, only feebler, and almost continually stupified. She seemed, as it were, stunned with some severe, but invisible stroke; she said scarcely any thing, but often uttered a low, moaning, indistinct sound, and whispered at intervals, "Yes shortly, Charles, shortly-to-morrow.' There was no rousing her by conversation: she noticed no one, and would answer no questions. I suggested the propriety of calling in additional medical assistance; and, in the evening, met two eminent brother physicians in consultation at her bedside. We came to the conclusion that she was sinking rapidly, and that, unless some miracle intervened to restore her energies, she would con

tinue with us but a very little longer.
After my brother physicians had left,
I returned to the sick chamber, and sat
by Miss -'s bedside for more than
an hour. My feelings were much agi-
tated at witnessing her singular and
affecting situation. There was such a
sweet and sorrowful expression about
her pallid features, deepening, occa-
sionally, into such hopelessness of heart-
broken anguish, as no one could con-
template without deep emotion. There
was, besides, something mysterious and
awing-something of what in Scotland
is called second-sight-in the circum-
stances which had occasioned her illness.
"Gone-gone!" she murmured, with
closed eyes, while I was sitting and
gazing in silence on her, "
gone--and
in glory! Ah! I shall see the young
conqueror I shall! How he will love
me! Ah! I recollect," she continued,
after a long interval, "it was the 'Banks
of Allan Water' those cruel people made
me sing-and my heart breaking the
while! What was the verse I was
singing when I saw"-she shuddered—
"ch!-this-

'For his bride a soldier sought her,
And a winning tongue had he-
On the banks of Allan Water
None so gay as she;

But the summer grief had brought her,
And the soldier-false was he.'

Oh, no, no, never--Charles-my poor murdered Charles--never!" she groaned, and spoke no more that night. She continued utterly deaf to all that was said in the way of sympathy or remonstrance; and, if her lips moved at all, it was only to utter, faintly, some such words as, "Oh, let me--let me leave in peace!" During the two next days she continued drooping rapidly. The only circumstance about her demeanour particularly noticed was, that she once moved her hands for a moment over the counterpane, as though she were playing the piano-a sudden flush overspread her features-her eyes stared, as though she were startled by the appearance of some phantom or other, and she gasped, "There, there!"-after which she relapsed into her former state of stupor.

How will it be credited, that on the fourth morning of Miss -'s illness, a letter was received from Paris by her family, with a black seal, and franked by the noble colonel of the regiment in which Charles had served, communicating the melancholy intelligence, that the young captain had fallen towards the close of the battle of Waterloo; for while in the act of charging at the head of his corps, a French cavalry

officer shot him with his pistol right through the heart! The whole family, with all their acquaintance, were unutterably shocked at the news-almost petrified with amazement at the strange corroboration of Miss 's prediction. How to communicate it to the poor sufferer was now a serious question, or whether to communicate it at all at present? The family at last, considering that it would be unjustifiable in them any longer to withhold the intelligence, entrusted the painful duty to me. therefore repaired to her bedside alone, in the evening of the day on which the letter had been received that evening was the last of her life! I sat down in my usual place beside her, and her pulse, countenance, breathing, cold extremities-together with the fact, that she had taken no nourishment whatever since she had been laid on her bed-convinced me that the poor girl's sufferings were soon to terminate. I was at a loss for a length of time how to break the oppressive silence. Observing, however, her fading eyes fixed on me, I determined, as it were accidentally, to attract them to the fatal letter, which I then held in my hand. After awhile she observed it; her eye suddenly settled on the ample coroneted seal, and the sight operated something like an electric shock. She seemed struggling to speak, but in vain. I now wished to Heaven I had never agreed to undertake the duty which had been imposed upon me. I opened the letter, and looking steadfastly at her, said, in as soothing tones as my agitation could command, "My dear girl-now, don't be alarmed, or I shall not tell you what I am going to tell you." She trembled, and her sensibilities seemed suddenly restored; for her eyes assumed an expression of alarmed intelligence, and her lips moved about like those of a person who feels them parched with agitation, and endeavours to moisten them. "This letter has been received to-day from Paris," I continued; "it is from Col. Lord and brings word that-that-that" I felt suddenly choked, and could not bring out the words. "That my Charles is dead!-I know it. Did I not tell you so?" said Miss, interrupting me, with as clear and distinct a tone of voice as she ever had in her life. I felt confounded. Had the unexpected operation of the news I brought been able to dissolve the spell which had withered her mental energies, and afford promise of her restoration to health?

Has the reader ever watched a candle which is flickering and expiring in its

a long pause, I exclaimed, "God be praised, my dear Miss that you have been able to receive this dreadful news so firmly !"

"Doctor, tell me, have you no medicine that could make me weep? Oh! give it, give it me; it would relieve me, for I feel a mountain on my breast-it is pressing me," replied she feebly, uttering the words at long intervals. Pressing her hand in mine, I begged her to be calm, and the oppression would soon disappear.

"Oh-oh-oh-that I could weep, doctor!" She whispered something else, but inaudibly. I put my ear close to her mouth, and distinguished scmething like the words, "I am-I am-call her-hush-" accompanied with a faint, fluttering, gurgling sound. Alas! I too well understood it! With much trepidation, I ordered the nurse to summon the family into the room instantly. Her sister Jane was the first that entered, her eyes swollen with weeping, and seemingly half suffocated with the effort to conceal her emotions.

"Oh, my darling, precious, precious sister Anne!"-she sobbed, and knelt down by the bedside, flinging her arms round her sister's neck, kissing the gentle sufferer's cheeks and mouth.

"Anne !-love! - darling!--Don't you know me?" she groaned, kissing her forehead repeatedly. Could I help weeping? All who had entered were standing around the bed, sobbing, and in tears. I kept my fingers at the wrist of the dying sufferer, but could not feel whether or not the pulse beat, which, however, I attributed to my own agitation.

Speak-speak-my darling Anne! speak to me; I am your poor sister Jane!" sobbed the agonized girl, continuing fondly kissing her sister's cold lips and forehead. She suddenly started, exclaimed, "Oh, God! she's dead!" and sunk instantly senseless on the floor.

Alas, alus! it was too true; - my

sweet and broken-hearted patient was no more!-Blackwood's Magazine.

The Selector;

AND

LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.

PAUL CLIFFORD

Is an exception to the fashionable lumber which we have from first to last treated with as much respect as it deserved. Our manifesto is probably about as powerful as "a pennyworth of spirit in a glass of water," and we are glad to see so powerful a hand as Christopher North's resolved not to spare the rod on these canker-worms of literature.

Paul Clifford appears to have reached a second edition; and one of the author's" additions" is the following piece of grave humour. We need not point its moral, for the reader's perception must be blunt indeed to require such aid. He must remember "Gentleman George." The style reminds one of the funeral tributes of the ancients; but probably Mr. Bulwer has drawn its burlesque from our own times :

"For thee, Gentleman George, for thee, what conclusive valediction remains? Alas! since we began the strange and mumming scene wherein first thou wert introduced, the grim foe hath knocked thrice at thy gates; and now, as we write, thou art departed thence-thou art no more! a new lord presides in thine easy chair, a new voice rings from thy merry board-thou art forgotten! thou art already, like these pages, a tale that is told to a memory that retaineth not! Where are thy quips and cranks? where thy stately coxcombries and thy regal gauds? Thine house, and thy pagoda, thy Gothic chimney, and thy Chinese sign-post; these yet ask the concluding hand; thy hand is cold, their completion, and the enjoyment the completion yields, are for another! Thou sowest, and thy follower reaps; thou buildest, thy successor holds; thou plantest, and thine heir sits beneath the shadow of thy trees:

was thy comrade; Beauty was thy handmaid, and Frivolity played around thee; -a buffoon that thou didst ridicule, and ridiculing enjoy! Who among us can look back to thy brilliant era, and not sigh to think that the wonderful men who surrounded thee, and amidst whom thou wert a centre and a nucleus, are for him but the things of history, and the phantoms of a bodiless tradition? Those brilliant suppers, glittering with beauty, the memory of which makes one spot (yet herited by Bachelor Bill) a haunted and a fairy ground; all who gathered to that Armida's circle, the Grammonts, and the Beauvilliers, and the Rochefoucaults of England and the road-who does not feel that to have seen these, though but as Gil Blas saw the festivities of his actors, from the sideboard and behind the chair, would have been a triumph for the earthlier feelings of his old age to recall? What, then, must it have been to have seen them as thou didst see-(thou, the deceased, and the forgotten !)-seen them from the height of thy youth, and power, and rank (for early wert thou keeper to a public,) and reckless spirits, and lusty capacities of joy! What pleasures, where sense lavished its uncounted varieties! What revelling, where wine was the least excitement!

'Inde alitur nudus placida suh matre Cupido, Inde voluptates, inde alimenta Dei.' Let the scene shift-how stirring is the change! Triumph, and glitter, and conquest! For thy public was a public of

renown-thither came the warriors of the ring-the heroes of the cross, and thou, their patron, wert elevated on their fame-principes pro victoria pugnant, comites pro principe. What visions thou witness ! sweep across us! What glories didst Over what conquests didst thou preside! The mightiest epoch-the most wonderful events which the world, thy world, ever knew-of these was it not, indeed, and dazzlingly thine,

To share the triumph, and partake the gale?' Let the scene shift-manhood is touched by age; but lust is heeled' by luxury, and pomp is the heir of pleasure; gewgaws and gaud, instead of glory, surround, rejoice, and flatter thee to the last. There rise thy buildings-there lie secret, but gorgeous, the tabernacles of thine ease; and the earnings of thy friends, and the riches of the people whom they plunder, are waters to thine imperial whirlpool. Thou art lapped in ease as is a silkworm; and profusion flows from thy high and unseen asylum,