The room fill'd, as his mounting fancy sped
O'er the broad main, and the free forest's space;
He felt him to a new existence wed,

A giant, booted for a seven-leagu'd race;
Buoyant in air, he almost fear'd to tread

On the poor crowd, bound thralls of home and place, And half forgave Whig juries in his heart, "St. George, and westward, ho! full blithe we part.

"The sergeant here? I'm in for 't, blam'd, consol'd,
And laugh'd at in his sleeve. I'll make him stare
For this morn's baiting."-His design once told,
The buzz went round; what men call a "white bear"
Breaks the stiff ice of partners dull and cold,

When giv'n with "onction," and an earnest air;
The subject had not otherwise been heeded,
But interesting small-talk was sore needed.

It chanc'd the son, too, of his morning's victim
Made as a country-man his first debut.
His sire, too much engrossed to contradict him,
Or curb him in his childhood, 'gan to rue
His past neglect, but fearing to restrict him,
(Which probably might make but worse ensue
From a bad temper, arrogant and mulish)
Fretted at home, predicting something foolish.

Young Hopefull tipp'd the bailiff a French crown,
(A gift unusual, and for him profuse,)

Who brought th' High Sheriff's summons from the town.
He never dreamt of parrying with excuse

A duty which might give his parts renown.
The judge's trumpet really fir'd the goose
With lofty visions; and with pride complete,
In the grand jury room he took his seat.

He topp'd his freshman's part; put pompous questions
To draw out petty facts just told before,
Delay'd each bill while pestering with suggestions
The dolour-suffering foreman o'er and o'er,
And having spoilt grand-jurymen's digestions,
Who curs'd him as their future standing bore,
Vaunted, when answering to his father's health,
The old knave's public services and wealth.

This Don Magnifico, with huge desire

To wind up well his self-triumphant day, And sweeten the bad odour of his sire,

Enter'd the ball-room, bent on mortal fray, And made no sort of secret of his ire,

Threatening (I give the words he chose to say) To teach a skip-jack, hardly worth a 1-,

How to malign the honour of his house.

He fronted Childe, determin'd to adhere
To his avow'd and truculent design;
"Sir!" but he halted in his full career,
For a high Don was speaking:-" Don't decline;
Consider, Wat, we meet but once a year;

No help for 't? come at least to fence and dine;
Shirley and Head look for their promis'd sport
With the first swordsman in the Inns of Court."

"Poyntz, was not that the son? old Barebone's pet ?" Confound him, yes; the fool that kept us waiting During your speech; the foreman on the fret."

66

Strange he stood close to us as I was stating My forc'd excuse; turn'd short, and off he set;

Sir!' he said just before, and seem'd debating On something for my ear."-"Can't tell, I vow; But Parker may; he talk'd with him just now."

"Frank, can you solve this mystery? come here."
Young Parker's patience had been in revolt
At the pot-valiant boasts pour'd in his ear
Five mortal minutes by an angry dolt.
His commentary making all things clear,
Hit the true version of the sudden bolt,
Prim'd with the story, the two country wits
Soon put their coterie in laughter-fits.

Oh, it was glorious! Still in open view

Stood the crest-fall'n, while round the whispers ran ;

All watch'd th' effects which plainly did ensue
Upon his outward and his inward man.

But then occurred the rational question,

"Who

Is this young Crichton, bit with his mad plan,
The timely hint of whose gymnastic fame
Smote the lout's ear like Demogorgon's name?"

Poyntz no great pressing on this head requir'd.
A first-rate fellow,-talented-decided-
As open as the day-but so retir'd

That you must go out of your way, as I did,
To know him well; he spoke like one inspir'd
You say; but I foresaw how things were guided
By the old clique; disgusted with the law,
He means to colonize, and wed a squaw.

""Tis a sad case; the leading counsel, Forde,
Declares his head is form'd for state employ;
They say he's quite unrivall'd with the sword,
And fought abreast with Rupert when a boy.
I argued with him, urg'd him, nay, implor'd

To change his hair-brain'd purpose; 'twould annoy
My soul to see him throw himself away.
Cromwell ere long will give the law fair play."

Our Childe, grown quite a lion, a monstrosity,
Wander'd unconsciously 'mid that gay crew;

He car'd not for the social reciprocity

Call'd ball-room gossip; his few friends, who knew His most peculiar lack of curiosity

In trifles, ne'er inform'd him who was who,

And had quite dropt their often-proffer'd duties

Of introducing him to county beauties.

Some cautious triflers can act well-bred lies,

And fan, or quench at will, their soft sensations;

But he, not quite so prematurely wise,

Prone at his heart to conjugal temptations, Had made, like Job, a covenant with his eyes, And hoping one day to attain the patience, In all things, of that much-enduring saint, Kept his own headlong temper in restraint.

He now mus'd thus,-" When in the woods I dwell,
Following, like all around me, Adam's trade,
Some blithe high-mettled lass who just can spell,
Some bright-ey'd, loving-hearted miller's maid,
May prize my faith, and grace my wigwam well.
Yon dainty toys, so nurtur'd, so array'd
Fit helpmates they to cook a bison's hump,
And dish it on a rough-hewn maple-stump!

Hark! his own name, and coupled with a sneer!
A great hall pillar chanc'd to intervene
Between him and the speakers, but his ear,
Train'd prematurely, was awake and keen
As the wild Indian's which a leaf can hear
Rustling far off amid the forest green.
"You heard him, Isolde ? know him then by sight?
—An enfant perdu—a tète montée, quite."

"I heard him-heard the noble castigation

He gave that wretch, of whom Giles Overreach Were a faint type !-Dear Coz, discard a fashion Which, trust me, best were honour'd in the breach. I loathe the French court-cant; high English passion They travestie, because they cannot reach. His project's wild, but speaks no common man : Cromwell himself was bent on the same plan."

"They say he's here; comes he, as it should seem, Some Berkshire damsel-errant's faith to try, And lure to join him on his wild-goose scheme ?"

-"Kate, if I knew and lov'd him, that would I.” "How ! this from Isolde Kenrick ? sure I dreamYou whom our gallants call so cold and shy?" "Let them; my heart is deeper than my locket, Which any simpleton might steal and pocket.

"Kate, I don't know or like you, love, to-night; You're not yourself."-" Well then, the truth to say,

'Twas condradiction, with a spice of spite.

Poyntz, whose high nose turns up at vulgar clay, Made quite a speech on this his favour'd knight.

Think of him warm'd, and carried quite away,

His dry, laconic Spanish courtship! he

Who ne'er vouchsafes a compliment to me !"

-"Oh, Kate !"-Well, well, he loves me, I believe," (Here Walter's conscience half advis'd a move) "His friend, on whose affairs allow me leave

To say, you 're strangely curious_grown, my love, Must be like you-(Isolde, I won't deceive,) A highflyer, with his head in clouds above, Just one of your own world-defying school; In fact, a noble creature,--and a fool.

"Heavens, what a look! why all the Cynric blood
Mounts to your cheek,-do I pronounce it right?
Strange, that three centuries of our air and food
Should not have damp'd the wild Welsh spirit quite.
Now, be a good girl-(nay, you're always good,)

And I will sift that dear old Forde to-night,

The only one who knows his history here, 'Tis whisper'd, he was a known Cavalier."

1

"Nay, dearest, kindest, you mistake my drift." -"No; we all call you a confirm'd old maid Of three-and-twenty."-" Well, but don't say 'sift ;' What can he be to me? yet sure some aidOur cousin Blundell-Ingoldsby-a shift

By their high interest surely might be made : Then Poyntz, so much look'd up to, so sincereBut he's too proud to stir a step, I fear.

"Kate do you understand me now, or not?" -" Isolde,-I know you mean whate'er you say." -"Oh, when we aim at good, no matter what, Our sex's awkwardness stands in our way. Smile if you please: but think, the hopeless lot Of worth and talent crush'd by this foul play, And doom'd to wither in those savage climes ! One's mad enough already with the times.

"No more; here come my torments." Walter now Made a flank movement from his former place; He thought at last to realize, somehow,

His favourite Shakspeare models of all grace; To match with high-soul'd Beatrice's brow,

And Rosalind's fine form and speaking face, The clear, deep music of that voice, revealing, (So fancy augur'd) deeper thought and feeling.

"I see her now; she listens to young Scrope,

Th' High Sheriff's heir, an Euphuist fantastic; How the fop fumbles with his plum'd hat's loop! He reddens; he divines her smile sarcasticBows himself off. Now others swell the group, And bait her with their compliments bombastic; Her calm, fix'd look of patience says, ' I pray, Proceed, fair gentles, and say out your say.'

"Ha! Forde limps up to her. Ay, wit and worth Dwell in my poor friend's form uncouth and lame.She answers-what a look of cordial mirth

Is there ! the calm, still statue's not the same; Sure nought so nymph-like treads on this dull earth. Her eyes--I ne'er admir'd them, soft and tameHave all the soul and fire of the gay South. And what a beautifully well-cut mouth!

"Forde catches now my eye-my name again!

I know his kindness; but for my own peace I've heard and seen too much, which must remain Link'd with all future thought till life shall cease. Could she-but penury and hopeless pain

Are in this land my portion.-Why increase My ills past cure? To-morrow, then I go; Hold fast, Resolve! St. George ! and westward, ho!"

He turn'd abruptly, seeking some excuse

To shun all that he fear'd and long'd for most.
"Wyld, keep the book I lent, 'twill prove of use ;-
Don't scan me, my dear fellow like a ghost."
Pale as the dead, in truth, he glided loose
From his astounded friend; the Stoic boast

Of proud indifference, which sustain'd our hero
Not half an hour ago, was down at zero.

"Alice, is't thou? plague on't! my good old dame,
I grieve to think I kept thee up awake."-
"Lord bless ye! 'tis my custom all the same;

Now, dear young man, what will ye please to take?
The flask you left is fresh; there's chine and game."
Nothing, dear Alice."" Not a slice of cake?"
"No, nothing, thank ye, nothing; never mind it-
Nothing but rest; (would I knew how to find it !")

He threw him-no, 't was his habitual use
To do things rationally-went to bed,
And thought o'er his lov'd Shakspeare, to induce
Some train of thought to calm his feverish head.
The very words betrayed him.-"Idiot! Goose!
Seeking some bright particular star to wed,'
My reason's like 'bells jangled out of tune,'
And I a baby, crying for the moon."

Then Beatrice, and Rosalind, and she,
Gentler, but with like singleness of heart,
Devoted Imogen, too pointedly

Brought to his mind their fancied counterpart.
He turn'd to childhood's home, the chestnut-tree,
The fields where once he strayed; but like a dar⭑
At once the searching question smote him, "How
Was 't I ne'er reck'd of loss of lands till now?

"Well, fifty years hence, and 't will all be past:
This fever'd frame will rest a tranquil clod
In cooling Delaware's savannahs vast,

By the lone hunter's kindred footsteps trod."
He stretch'd him as in death; the thought at last
Of flowing streams, and his long home's green sod,
Brought a good hour of sleep's unrivall'd balm.
The early morning found him risen, and calm.

END OF CANTO II.

A PLAIN CASE.

ON HEARING THAT THE VAIN AND UGLY LADY

INTENDED GOING TO

THE CALEDONIAN BALL AS MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS!"

WHAT! Scotland's beauty, frail as fair?
She cannot countenance that character!
Sure modesty must make her rue it ;
I'm certain she has not the FACE to do it!

LOUISA H. SHERIDAN.