together and brought home the fairest that blossomed. The window of the young lady's chamber was opened now, for she loved to feel the rich summer air stream in and revive her with its freshness; but there always stood in water, just inside the lattice, one particular little bunch which was made up with great care every morning. Oliver could not help noticing that the withered flowers were never thrown away, although, the little vase was regularly replenished; nor could he help observing that whenever the doctor came into the garden he invariably cast his eyes up to that particular corner, and nodded his head most expressively as he set forth on his morning's walk. Pending these obser vations, the days were flying by, and Rose was rapidly and surely recovering.

Nor did Oliver's time hang heavy upon his hands, although the young lady had not yet left her chamber, and there were no evening walks, save now and then for a short distance with Mrs. Maylie. He applied himself with redoubled assiduity to the instructions of the white-headed old gentleman, and laboured so hard that his quick progress surpris ed even himself. It was while he was engaged in this pursuit that he was greatly startled and distressed by a most unexpected occur

rence.

The little room in which he was accustomed to sit when busy at his books was on the ground floor, at the back of the house. It was quite a cottage-room, with a lattice-window around which were clusters of jessamine and honey-suckle, that crept over the casement, and filled the place with their delicious perfume. It looked into a garden, whence a wicket-gate opened into a small paddock; all beyond was fine meadow-land and wood. There was no other dwelling near, in that direction, and the prospect it commanded was very extensive.

One beautiful evening when the first shades of twilight were begin. ning to settle upon the earth, Oliver sat at this window intent upon his books. He had been poring over them for some time; and as the day had been uncommonly sultry and he had exerted himself a great deal, it is no disparagement to the authors, whoever they may have been, to say that gradually and by slow degrees he fell asleep.

There is a kind of sleep that steals upon us sometimes which, while it holds the body prisoner, does not free the mind from a sense of things about it, and enable it to ramble as it pleases. So far as an overpow. ering heaviness, a prostration of strength, and an utter inability to con trol our thoughts or power of motion can be called sleep, this is it: and yet we have a consciousness of all that is going on about and even if we dream, words which are really spoken, or sounds which really exist at the moment, accomodate themselves with surprising readiness to our visions, until reality and imagination become so strangely blended that it is afterwards almost a matter of impossibility to separate the two. Nor is this the most striking phenomenon inci

us,

dental to such a state. It is an ascertained fact, that although our senses of touch and sight be for the time dead, yet our sleeping thoughts, and the visionary scenes which pass before us. will be influenced, and materially influenced, by the mere silent presence of some external object which may not have been near us when we closed our eyes, and of whose vicinity we have had no waking consciousness.

Oliver knew perfectly well that he was in his own little room, that his books were lying on the table before him, and that the sweet air was stirring among the creeping plants outside, and yet he was asleep. Suddenly the scene changed, the air became close and confined, and he thought with a glow of terror that he was in the Jew's house again. There sat the hideous old man in his accustomed corner pointing at him, and whispering to another man with his face averted, who sat beside him.

"Hush, my dear!" he thought he heard the Jew say; "it is him, sure enough. Come away."

"He!" the other man seemed to answer; could I mistake him, think you? If a crowd of devils were to put themselves into his exact shape, and he stood amongst them, there is something that would tell me how to point him out. If you buried him fifty feet deep, and took me across his grave, I should know, if there wasn't a mark above it, that he lay buried there. Wither his flesh, I should!"

The man seemed to say this with such dreadful hatred, that Oliver awoke with the fear and started up.

Good God! what was that which sent the blood tingling to his heart, and deprived him of voice or power to move! There-thereat the window-close before him-so close, that he could have almost touched him before he started back-with his eyes peering into the room, and meeting his-there stood the Jew!--and beside him, white with rage, or fear, or both, were the scowling features of the who had accosted him at the inn yard!

very man

It was but an instant, a glance, a flash before his eyes, and they were gone. But they had recognised him, and he them, and their look was as firmly impressed upon his memory as if it had been deeply carved in stone, and set before him from his birth. He stood transfixed for a moment, and then, leaping from the window into the garden, called loudly for help.

LOVE, HOPE, AND JOY.

LOVE, Hope, and Joy, together born,
Sweet offspring of a heavenly birth,
Forsook the skies one rosy morn,
To wander for a while on earth.

Love was a fair and gentle boy,

And Hope a bright and happy_thing,
And, gay as sunlight, laughing Joy

Glanced by them on his reckless wing

They pass'd though many a sunny scene,
By fount and valley, glen and grove,
And every spot look'd more serene

Where wander'd Joy, and Hope, and Love.

But ere the three had rambled far,
They met young Beauty on the way,
With eye as bright as though a star
Dissolved to form its every ray.

Oh! with what glowing bosom Love
Drank rapture from those orbs of light!
The world around, the stars above,

All save her smile to him were night;

But Beauty heeded not the boy,

Whose every feeling was her own;
She gave her heart to laughing Joy,
And left poor hapless Love alone.

Not yet alone-Hope stayed a while,
And whisper'd him some future day
Would bring him back dear Beauty's smile;
But soon the false one flew away.

Ah! then he was indeed alone,

With weary heart and tearful eye;
The sunshine of his day was gone-
He would-but no, he could not die.

Though press'd by sorrow's heavy load,
And bending with the weight of ill,
His bosom yet all fondly glow'd,

And told he was immortal still.

He droop'd a while-but Memory came,
Immortal too, with magic glass,
Within whose strange and wizard frame
He saw each vanish'd scene repass.

There still was Beauty, young and fair,
As first she met his raptured view;
Each bygone feeling linger'd there-
That mirror, at the least, was true:

And on it, as a holy shrine,

His eager gaze for ever turn'd,-
While in his heart the ray divine
Which Beauty kindled brighty burn'd.

But sad was poor young Beauty's fate,
For Joy was fickle as the wind;
And soon, alas! but, ah, too late,
She wept for love she left behind.

Her smiles no longer beam'd around,

Her cheek's faint blush had lost its hue,

Her step forgot its gladsome bound,

And, ah! her heart was breaking too!

She died. Love heard her early doom--
He heard it, and with scarce a sigh-
He saw her placed within the tomb,
But knew her spirit dwelt on high.

And then, at length, his wing he turn'd
Back to his own immortal sphere;
And Love no more forsaken mourn'd,
For Beauty smiled to bless him there.

B. J. M.

VOL. I.

WALTER CHILDE.

CANTO II.

I SCARCE can reconcile this ball, I swear,
With the known practices of Cromwell's court;
But now we're in the country, and 'tis fair

To deem that Noll, who patroniz'd good sport,
(In fact he bought the famous Coffin mare,)

And o'er his wine play'd jokes of roughest sort
On his pet saints, to vent his covert glee,
Wink'd hard at what he was not forc'd to see.

Besides, as his authority was new,

'T was meet to throw the whale a tub just then, And by concession buy, as was his cue,

Golden opinions from all sorts of men;

So, like the despot of the Lydian crew,

(As stands recorded by some classic pen,)

Let them dance on," said he; "t will keep them quiet;

I've gain'd my point, and why provoke a riot?"

It seems to me, who vastly prefer rhyme
To politics, in which I am a sceptic,

That power and place may work th' effect in time
Of generous diet and pills analeptic.

No doubt that in the Treasury's fostering clime
"The Tail's" most snarling little sour dyspeptic
Might grow quite bland and jolly in due season,
And swell his hide out like a new-boil'd raisin.

But we plain rustics, who have nought to gain
By party strife, and some small stake to lose,
Some years of cost in entrance-fees sustain

When first Jack-gentry fill their betters' shoes,-
We've just observ'd enough to see quite plain

That patriotism, though a successful ruse
To gull the breechless, means, in common sense,
Hock, leveès, britschkas, plate, and consequence.

Esop, although more playful than censorious,
Was a dry wag, who knew a thing or two;
His fable of the Fox and Gnats is glorious,
And puts Conservatism in its true view.

Leave my old friends," said Pug, "that swarm uproarious,
Hovering aloft, would suck me black and blue

If once they found an opening; those you see
Are sleek and well-behav'd, and us'd to me."

And thus old Noll, though in his up-hill day
A most unmitigated knave, I fear,
When once establish'd firm in regal sway,
Went on improving still from year to year;
A gentleman by birth, he show'd no trait

Of beggar upon horseback's mad career;
Being (although his skull is now Oxonian,)
A Cantab, and no Brummagem Bezonian.
37 -

'Tis likelyt, also that no small re-action

Amon he county Liberals had been wrought, Who went not every length in cant and faction, And therefore in the end were set at nought. These, when reviewing now the whole transaction, Found themselves minus all for which they fought, And rather worse than when they first set out, An after-thought which tempts some men to pout.

But Cromwell, very wisely, was averse

To trample on his ladder just kick'd down;
And if they chose to dance, and be perverse,
He check'd it not by a forbidding frown.
Is this enough? or will you still asperse

My proofs as insufficient? See, the Crown
Pours forth its guests to swell the ball-room's din,
And fiddlers wait the signal to begin.

But if some hypercritic, in his zeal

For accuracy, won't content his mind
With my good reasons, I at once appeal
To judges much more competent and kind.
Band, play up Paddy Carey, or a reel.-

Now say, young ladies, how are you inclin'd: Ball, or no ball ?" Oh, ball!"--I did not doubt it; Thank you, dear girls; I can't get on without it.

Band, stop a moment. If I must say more,

Prepare to hear a proof which must appal.
I've just been plac'd in magnetiz'd "rapport"
With one of the three genuine skulls of Noll
By the great French somnambulist, come o'er
To cram, astound, and mystify you all.
If this convince you not, the devil's in it;
Strike up, there! I'll not wait another minute.

Now, ladies, call the figure, while I try

To find Childe Walter; call no matter what; You may feel certain that your company

Will dance, because in prudence they ought not

To scandalize their rulers, and defy

Saints in high places; call a jig, gavotte,

Reel, hornpipe, tarantella, or bolero,

And let me go to look for my lost hero.

Stop, stop the Reichstadt waltz! I'm master here.Curse on these rank High Dutch abominations, Hugging and languishing.-No, no, my dear,

I can't allow it; have a moment's patience; The thing is an anachronism, 'tis clear;

Kissing your partner, and such innovations Couch'd, as I grant you, in a kindred strain, Came not in vogue till Charles's ribald region.

Childe has been now an hour in the great hall,
Alone 'mid half-lit tapers feebly winking

He made the most of time before the ball
Commenc'd, and took an hour of earnest thinking.
His small arrangements were digested all

While ladies were adorning, and men drinking; A cheerful settled calm at once ensuing, Thought he, "I'm now quite fit for how-d'ye-doing."