crutch," thought I, as he brandished and bellowed me out of the

room.

A fig for Whibley! an intemperate and furious old vagabond, against whom articles of the peace ought in strict justice to have been exhibited. I would disdain to have recourse to him again, or to take anything at his intercession. I returned to my friend, Stalker. He cheered me with hopes of share-built prosperity, and we made a night of it. I remember getting up in the night, lighting my candle with a lucifer, and burning my code of morals.

But I discovered, after a few month's anxious and torturing suspense, that poor Stalker had not only deceived me but himself. Not a share was to be had for love, however many might have been got for money. Meanwhile, Whibley took unto himself a young wife; and I was made acquainted with the secret, when I ventured a penitent application, that she was now his right hand, and that she was never likely to forget her cunning.

When I last saw Stalker, he was looking ruefully at a machine containing baked potatoes. He remarked that the vending of the vegetable was, doubtless, a profitable employment during the winter months. As to shares, he whispered in my ear something about "lobby the best share-market," and hazarded a mysterious allusion to the "Railway Department of the Board of Trade." We sighed and parted.

"Nothing," says Dr. Samuel Johnson, with his usual double-dervise moral power,-"nothing will compensate for the want of prudence; and negligence and irregularity, long continued, will make knowledge useless, wit ridiculous, and genius contemptible." The reader will see that I am a living instance of the truth of our gigantic sage's position; and that negligence and irregularity bear no more relation to prudence than a Pennsylvanian bond to an intention of payment. Vain and never being empty babbling,-jesting at wrong times and seasons, true to his time, these affect a man's interests most injuriously; while, on the other hand, a discreet tongue, a demure face, and, above all, his presence projected at the minute,-these virtues lead a man on to fortune; for, as an ingenious friend of mine was wont once to ob"the clock at the Horse Guards is not far from the Treasury."

serve,

VOLTAIRE TO THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA.

A LITTLE truth will always modify

The flattering import of the greater lie:

Last night, for instance, as in dreams 1 lay,

Led in imagination's fitful way,

To kingly rank, methought my lot was changed,
And sudden joy o'er all my senses ranged;

Methought, too, that I loved, and dared t'impart
To you, Elmire, the secret of my heart!
Waking, the fiction of my dream to prove,
I find I've lost my kingdom,-not my love.

G. T. F.

238

OTHRYADES.

BY W. G. J. BARKER, ESQ.

[A dispute having arisen between the Spartans and Athenians about some lands, three hundred men of each nation were chosen to decide the matter by combat. Only two Athenians survived, both of whom ran away; and the sole remaining Spartan, OTHRYADES by name, unwilling to survive his countrymen, wrote upon his target "VICI," and then slew himself.]

THE summer day is well-nigh done,
Swiftly the chariot of the sun
Descends towards the glowing west,
In mingled gold and ruby drest;
No leaf moves on the forest-tree,
Scarcely a wavelet curls the sea,
The birds sit silent in the bowers,
And Nature, hush'd in deep repose,
So beautiful and tranquil shows,
That hallow'd seems the peaceful hour.
Amid the long grass blossoms spring,
With various colours glistening,-
Purple, and white, and crimson sheen,
Surrounded by the emerald green;
While others rival in their dye
The azure of the cloudless sky.
But, though serene all nature be,
On mount and vale, on shore and sea,
And though the scene itself is fair,
There lack not fearful tokens there:-
The grass hath caught a sanguine hue,
The flowers are wet, but not with dew,
And crush'd have been their petals sweet
By hasty tread of heavy feet;
And broken arms lie scatter'd round
In wild disorder o'er the ground;
Bucklers which fatal darts have bored,
And shatter'd helm, and shiver'd sword;
And bright the western sunbeams glance
On tatter'd plume and gory lance;
But, saddest sight of all, the slain
Cumber in heaps the bloody plain,

With mangled brow, and frozen limb,

And ghastly eyeballs staring dim,

Teeth which the last pang firmer clench'd,
Locks in their own red heart-stream drench'd,
Hands which so fast the falchion clasp,
Ye scarce can wrench it from their grasp;
Grim features stamp'd with pride and hate,
That fearless dared approaching fate;

And warriors young, and veterans old,
Alike indomitably bold,

Now stark, and stiff, and void of breath,
The hideous forms of various death.

But why such scene of carnage? Say,
What feud has caused this bloody day?
Did ravish'd Beauty's pillaged charms
Call the fierce combatants to arms,
As Helen once all Greece inspired
With vengeance, until Troy was fired?
Did lucre tempt them to the fight?
Warr'd they to win a nation's right?
Or did opposing princes wake
The conflict for ambition's sake,—
The mighty conflict which should wear
A crown, that glitt'ring pledge of care?

Two rival cities claim had laid
To acres broad of fertile glade,
And long to words confined their strife,
Reluctant each to draw the knife.
Not that they fear'd: Fear had no claim
To Athens, or to Sparta's name ;—
But months roll'd on, and either state,
Grown weary of the long debate,
Resolved at last to trust the cause,
That baffled thus their skill and laws,
To the stern test of battle's tide,
And let strong hearts and arms decide.
With this intent, each city chose
A band to combat with its foes,-
Three hundred men on either side,
Stoutly array'd in martial pride.

They met, they battled, and they died!
Morn saw the glitt'ring falchions bare-
When noontide parch'd the sultry air,
Still raged the contest on the plain,
Amid the dying and the slain ;-
When evening over hill and dale
Began to draw her shadowy veil,
Of that six hundred brave and fair
Three only breathed the vital air.

Two turn'd and fled-ONE warrior stood,
Sole victor of the day of blood.

Alone he stood-his beaming eye
Flash'd with the light of triumph high;
And, as around the field he gazed,
His cheek with deeper crimson blazed.
Alone he stood-along his soul
What visions in that moment roll!
His task at least was nobly done,
And Sparta had the victory won.

But where were they who by his side
March'd gaily forth at morning tide,
In manhood's prime, the brother band
With whom he swore to fall or stand?
Look o'er the valley, and behold
Their breathless corses stiff and cold;
Gored is each breast, yet every hand
Firmly retains its trusty brand.
With all those gallant heroes gone,
To Sparta must he wend alone,
And none beside declare the tale
Of slaughter in that charnel vale?
Awhile he look'd on earth and sky,
Then proudly turned, resolved to die.

"Yes, coldly are ye sleeping round,

Where your best life-blood stains the ground;
Like mountain stream, 'twas plenteous shed,
Gladly for Sparta's right ye bled;

And now where cloudless summer smiles
Around the Heroes' radiant isles,

From weary toil and labour free,

Your bright abodes of bliss shall be.

Green wreaths to hang upon your shrine

Shall Lacedæmon's virgins twine,

And many a solemn lyric tell

How in our country's cause ye fell.
And shall I, your companion sworn,
A lonely victor home return,
The only Spartan who to-day
Scatheless escaped the sanguine fray?
No,-upon some fraternal breast,
With you I also sink to rest-
Our mingled gore the turf shall stain,
Scarce parted ere we meet again.
Nor need I doubt, the conflict won,
That Sparta will applaud her son,
And all Laconia's joint acclaim
Transmit to future years my name!'

One word upon his shield he wrote-
That little word the story told-
Traced in triumphant characters,
The magic syllables behold:
"VICI!" With an unfalt'ring hand
He grasp'd once more his glitt'ring brand,
Plunged the bright weapon in his side,
And 'mid his slaughter'd brethren died.

Banks of the Yore.

EARLY YEARS OF A VETERAN OF THE ARMY OF WESTPHALIA,

BETWEEN 1805 AND 1814.

I WAS now enabled to assemble my whole division, and placed the carts in such a position that a square could instantaneously be formed by them, and I then allowed a little repose to men and horses. As we were again putting ourselves in motion, after a brief halt, I was, through a new apparition, put completely out of doubt as to the danger of our situation. Out of the left-side woody headland came trotting towards us between sixty and seventy regular dragoons. That they were regular troops was proved by their manœuvres. From all quarters, as if growing out of the earth, bearded Russians appeared, armed with pikes; and exactly opposite to me I perceived a handsome man in the Russian national costume, who, judging him by his dress and deportment, must be the leader of our adversaries. This man was extraordinarily well mounted, and surrounded by a swarm of irregular cossacks, who, at his command, halted within musket-shot of us. Upon this, he pranced forwards somewhat, and spoke to us first in French, and then fluently in our own language, on learning that we were Germans. He required us to lay down our arms, promised us good treatment, as we were Germans, and added, that he knew right well how we had only by constraint turned our arms against the Russians, and much more to the same purpose. This seductive invitation, in the face of such apparent danger of defeat, was of the greatest assistance to my enterprise. I remarked that many of my soldiers wavered, although I gave them my word that the moment of their passing over to the enemy would be that of their death, since I only too well knew that pardon from the Russian levée en masse was out of the question. It was no matter to them whether an enemy were German or French: Every foreign soldier they called a Franzus," and to such death was

irrevocably sworn.

To the above requisition followed, on my side, the declaration that I was firmly resolved not to surrender. Nevertheless, the enemy granted us a quarter of an hour for consideration, which I used in calling upon my men to exert every effort for their liberty, expressing my firm conviction to them that our destruction was inevitable if we had the misfortune of falling into the hands of the Russians, and that we had better one and all fight even to the very last man, and die with our arms in our hands. Besides, we had no infantry opposed to us; and against cavalry, if my soldiers held out, I could defend myself.

A horrid circumstance now took place to increase our perplexity, and spoke more eloquently for the truth of my assertion than I could do. A serjeant of infantry, named Koch, well known, as I learned afterwards, for a coward, had crept clandestinely under a car, and run over to the Russians. To his misfortune, he fell in with the levée en masse; and at the very instant of our remarking his flight, he was pierced with pikes and struck with the knout.

This occurred before our eyes. I needed no more to insure me the best endeavours of my subordinates; I received from all sides the loud unanimous assurances that they would stand by me unflinchingly, and

VOL. XVIII.