"I hurried out to learn the cause; but, overwhelmed with fright, The children never ceased to shriek, and from my frenzied sight I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling of my care; But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing through the air.

"Oh! what an awful spectacle to meet a father's eye!
His infant made a vulture's prey, with terror to descry!
And know, with agonizing breast, and with a maniac rave,
That earthly power could not avail, that innocent to save!

"My infant stretched his little hands imploringly to me,
And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly, to get free,
At intervals I heard his cries, as loud he shrieked and screamed:
Until, upon the azure sky, a lessening spot he seemed.

"The vulture flapped his sail-like wings, though heavily he flew, A mote upon the sun's broad face he seemed unto my view; But once I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would alight, 'Twas only a delusive thought, for all had vanished quite.

"All search was vain, and years had passed; that child was ne'er forgot,

When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot,

From whence, upon a rugged crag the chamois never reached, He saw an infant's fleshless bones the elements had bleached!

"I clambered up that rugged cliff; I could not stay away;
I knew they were my infant's bones thus hastening to decay;
A tattered garment yet remained, though torn to many a shred
The crimson cap he wore that morn was still upon the head."

That dreary spot is pointed out to travelers passing by,
Who often stand, and, musing, gaze, nor go without a sigh:
And as I journeyed, the next morn, along my sunny' way,
The precipice was shown to me, whereon the infant lay.

CCVI.-A RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX.

Ir will be perceived, that in the following is described a forced ride of three post-riders, carrying information to Aix necessary 10 save the city.

GHENT; pro. gent, with the g hard. Aix; pro. akes, in one syllable. (See Webster.)

LOKEREN; pro. Lok-e'-ren.

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;

"Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;
"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through;
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,
And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace,
Neck by neck, stride for stride, never changing our place;
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit,
Nor galloped less steadily Roland, a whit.

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
Lockeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;
At Duffeld, 't was morning as plain as could be;

And from Mechlin church-steeple we heard the half-chime,
So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood, black, every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper Roland, at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away

The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
And one eye's black intelligence, ever that glance
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon
His fierce lip shook upward in galloping on.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her,
We'll remember at Aix "-for one heard the quick wheeze
Of her chest; saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping, Joris and I,

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,

'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,

And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

"How they'll greet us!" and all in a moment his roan
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,
With his nostrils like pits, full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer;
Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,
Till at length into Aix, Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is, friends flocking round,

As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground,
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)

Was no more than his due who brought good news from
Ghent.

CCVII. THE WIFE.-No. I.

THIS and the two succeeding dialogues may be spoken together; or this may be spoken alone, and the other two together.

(Enter Mrs. Malaprop, Sir Anthony Absolute, and Lydia.)

Mrs. Malaprop. THIS, Sir Anthony, is my niece, the deliberate simpleton, who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling.

Lydia. Madam, I thought you once-
Mrs. M. You thought, miss!

I don't know any business you have to think at all. Thought does not become a young woman. But the point we would request of you is, that you would promise to forget this fellow; to illiterate him, I say, from your memory.

Lyd. Ah! madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget.

Mrs. M. But I say it is, miss! There is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I have as much forgot your poor, dear uncle, as if he had never existed; and I thought it my duty so to do. And let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young woman.

Lyd. What crime, madam, have I committed, to be treated thus ?

Mrs. M. Now don't attempt to externate yourself from the matter. You know I have proof controvertible of it. But, tell me, will you promise me to do as you're bid? Will you take a husband of your friend's choosing?

Lyd. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that, had I no preference for any one else, the choice you have made would be my aversion.

Mrs. M. What business have you, miss, with preference and aversion? They don't become a young woman. And you ought to know, that, as both always wear off, 'tis safest, in matrimony, to begin with a little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor, dear uncle, before marriage, as if he'd been a black-amoor, and yet miss, you are sensible what a wife I made. And, when it pleased heaven to re

But,

lease me from him, 'tis unknown what tears I shed! suppose we were going to give you another choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley?

Lyd. Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words. Mrs. M. Take yourself to your room. You are fit company for nothing but your own ill humors.

Lyd. Willingly, ma'am. I can not change for the worse. (Exit.)

Mrs. M.

There's a little intricate hussy for you!

Sir Anthony. It is not to be wondered at, ma'am. All that is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I observed your niece's maid coming forth from a circulating library. She had a book in each hand. From that moment, I guessed how full of duty I should see her mistress.

Mrs. M. Those are vile places, indeed!

Sir A. Madam, a circulating library in a town, is as an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge! It blossoms through the year! And, depend upon it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves, will long for the fruit at last.

Mrs. M. Fie, fie, Sir Anthony; you surely speak laconically.

Sir A. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation, now, what would you have a woman know?

Mrs. M. Observe me, Sir Anthony; I would by no means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning. I don't think so much learning becomes a young woman. For instance, I would never let her meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, or Algebra, or Simony, or Fluxions, or Paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning, nor will it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instruments. But, Sir Anthony, I would send her, at nine years old, to a boarding school, in order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice, Then, sir, she should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts. As she grew up, I would have her instructed in Geometry, that she might know something of the conta