der our young hero, by the unlawful possessor of other, and give me a memorandum on a slip of paper, the Vandeleur property: that you will present me with the half which you hold on the day after to-morrow, provided a certain affair should occur-write it so; that will put an end to all doubts between us."

'Carrol Watts now withdrew, and left Raven, who, flinging himself into a chair, groaned, folded his arms firmly, clenched his teeth, and began to chew the burning cud of reflection. He felt irresistibly borne onward to crime, in order to save himself and his former delinquency. Murder was somewhat abhorrent to him; but discovery was No choice remained, and his fears urged him on with a rapidity that blinded every feeling but one. He turned it in his thoughts over and over, yet found only strength in his wicked project. At length the bitter hour was passed, and Watts returned.

worse.

"Come, Carrol," said he, as the latter entered, "I see by your countenance that you have become reasonable. You are a hot-headed fellow, Watts, but I do not like you the worse for that; soon excited, and soon appeased. Sit down, and taste old Heldershaw's brandy."

"No, I will not drink-let us to business;" replied Carrol Watts, seating himself.

"Then I will drink, and to your health, Watts," said Raven. He then swallowed a full glass of the liquor, the effect of which was to improve his resolution.

"Now what am I to do, admitting that I agree to join you in this business?" demanded Carrol Watts.

"You know as well as I do," replied Raven, "that as the affair has come to his ears, the first step must be to remove him."

"Nothing can be done without it," observed

Watts.

""Nothing," echoed the colonel-widening his eyes, approaching and placing his hand on the other's knee, in token of reciprocation-" nothing, my dear friend. He must be removed, otherwise I should fail, and your five thousand pounds, as well as the annuity,

be lost."

"But how is it to be done?"

"Done! why-pool! man, if you choose, that won't trouble us much."

'Both paused and gazed at each other a few moments; Raven searching, as it were, the countenance of Watts for a look which he might interpret to his purpose. He then continued

"You know, Carrol, if you do that, there will be a bond between us stronger than human power can make-there will be a guarantee to you that will supersede the necessity of all deeds and lawyers."

* "I understand you. In fact, you think he could be put quietly aside.”

""Exactly so."

"And that my knowledge of your share in this deed would be my bond."

""Precisely; don't you see it? My dear fellow, it may be done."

""Yes; but I cannot do it."

"To that I have no objection," said Raven, as he proceeded to write the memorandum. "I see you mean well, Watts. Believe me it will make us both happy for life; five thousand pounds is not a sum to be gained every day."

"You know, Carrol," said the 'worshipful' magistrate, "that unless evidence be forthcoming in any case of suspected crime, the law can take no hold of the person or persons so suspected. Well, there are only three people in existence that know any thing of the secret we wish to keep; these three are you, Heldershaw, and myself. Confidence begets confidence; I have confided in you, you have confided in me. In my plan I fear we cannot well do without Heldershaw's assistance; and I think we might trust her. In the first place, she may be unguarded if we do not; and, in the second, I shall be obliged to give her as much money to shut up her suspicious prate as to command her secrecy. Look you! the young man sleeps here to-night, and will also sleep here tomorrow night. Might he not commit suicide? there is nothing more probable than that an officer, having quarrelled with his colonel, and resigned his commission, might commit suicide. Do you understand?" "I do; go on."

"Well, if Heldershaw be admitted into the business, she will take care that he shall sleep soundly during the night; she will infuse into his drink at night a sufficient portion of laudanum to seal up his senses, at least in sleep. You and I shall then go to his room, place one of his own razors beside him, or in his hand-as soon as it has-you know the rest!then, Watts, we shall both enjoy security, affluence, and happiness."

"But-the razor-why use the razor? would not the laudanum be sufficient?" inquired Watts.

wor

"No, by no means; it is doubtful-assistance might come he might recover-it is not sure-nothing is more dangerous for us," replied his cautious ship; "and," continued he, " to give the affair a still greater degree of probability, the empty vial in which the laudanum shall have been contained, must be placed on his table: then, you know, even if the stomach should be examined by the surgeons, no further light can be thrown on the matter; Burn's Jus tice supposes the very case. The inference will be that he took the poison himself-Don't you see, my

dear fellow?"

"I do I understand-but who shall use the-?"

"I perceive-you would not, of course, as you said, do the business-leave that to me. Now, Watts, this all appears very bold and desperate, I may say criminal, on my part; but when you consider that it is in self preservation-the first law of nature-that it is done, you will not think so. Here is not only the ruin of myself, but of Sir Edward, depending on itand what is a life after all? Had he met a bullet at Corunna, he would have only died; and in this case, what more is it? I would not do it-by Heaven I "Why, Watts, that question is easily answered; would not do it, no more than I would kill myself,

"O, as for the doing that is no matter; will you join and be secret? that's the great service which you may do."

"" Then who is to do it?"

there are but two of us."

“Then you will do it ?”

'I will: I only wish for your assistance and secrecy. Do you agree? Say the word-I have the plan prepared, and a check for five thousand pounds shall be your's to-morrow morning."

"Give me the check now," said Watts. "I do not doubt your sincerity; but that would clench the

matter."

"I'll tell you what, Carrol," said Raven, after a short pause, "I can have no objection to give you the money now, only that you-might change your mind."

"No, no," returned Watts, "you need not fear: I am fixed. I am a man that may be depended on : but I am determined not to move a step in the business without a proof of your good intentions."

"Then-no matter-I'll make it a point of honour between us-you shall have the check."

'Raven then drew from his pocket a blank check, took a pen, and having written out an order for the five thousand pounds, handed it to Watts, with an air of honourable confidence. Watts then took the paper, tore it carefully into two parts, and returned one part to Raven, saying."

"I will not have the money; I only want a show of security-something by way of written promise; I will keep the one half of the check, you shall keep the

only that to leave it undone must destroy a fine property, ruin my high name, and the hopes of my son, Sir Edward. Do you think Heldershaw should be admitted to the affair?"

"I do-I think it would render the matter more certain."

"Then I will break it to her; and to-morrow evening will you come here to talk over the business

further?"

:

"Yes," she replied, "I took him a strong cup of coffee at nine o'clock, in which I put, you know, the drops after a short time he called for another cup, and I gave him one of pure coffee. He then said he wanted to sit up for the purpose of writing letters; but rang his bell at ten o'clock, and said that as he felt very heavy, he would go to bed. I prepared every thing necessary, and took away his candles at half-past ten. He was then fast asleep."

""You are sure that the door is not fastened on the inside?" said Raven.

"It cannot be either bolted or locked."

"Then go again," hastily cried he, " on some pretence, to the room, and look closely to see if he be asleep now."

"I am sure he is asleep," returned the hostess, "but one cannot be too cautions: I'll go again."

So saying, she quitted the room, and returned in about five minutes.

"He is just as I left him before-as sound as a rock," said she, with a smile that would have honoured a fiend in its most diabolical work.

"Martha, you have not lost your determined spirit by campaigning in India," observed Watts.

"Not I: what business has a soldier's wife with being squeamish; if I had been so when I served with Sir Arthur Wellesley in the Mahratta war, I should have made a poor hand amongst the dead and wounded. What's one life?-why, the women of our regiment, who were worth speaking about, thought nothing of settling a hundred of the wounded Indians: ay, or a few of our own lads, if their watches or purses were good."

"Hark!" whispered Raven, "is there any body stirring in the house besides ourselves?"

"No, not a soul. I gave both the boy and girl a sufficient dose of egg-flip to send them a-suoring it is the wind and the rain beating against the tiles and the windows that you hear."

"What o'clock is it?" demanded Raven.
"About half-past twelve," replied Watts.

"It is a dreadful night," returned the colonel, who was now evidently becoming fearful of his task. "This punch is not strong enough: give me a little brandy, Martha.-Carrol, how do you feel?"

""Feel!" echoed Watts, never more confident in my life; I seldom meet with disappointment in any enterprise I undertake."

An awful half-hour now slowly passed away. The conversation was whispered in broken passages, and long pauses took place between each observation; the storm increased without, and the blaze of the coal-fire, on which all silently gazed, purred loudly-no other noise disturbed the night. Raven now arose, and having swallowed a bumper of strong brandy, whispered a question in Mother Heldershaw's ear, to which she replied.

"Yes; I took it out of his dressing-case; and here it is."

'At the same time handing him something under the table, which she had taken from her bosom. Raven could not hide the effect which this had upon him; he shuddered, and looked at Watts with an attempted smile, that appeared like moonlight on a grave; and walking towards the window, he looked out, observing with a shudder that the night was not only rainy,

'The moments slowly passed, until the clock in the lobby struck " one." A silence reigned for a few seconds; yet there was much language in the looks of all the parties.

Carrol, that is the hour," whispered Raven ; "what say you now?"

"What say you, colonel?" returned Watts. "Me! Can you doubt me? Think you I can let slip this opportunity, and meet my total destruction to-morrow? Oh! no.-Another glass of brandy, and then to save all.—Martha, go first; your shoes are off; that is right-and your's-so are mine. Come, Watts, be near me close to me; but you need not be in the room, unless I should be opposed."

'As they were leaving the apartment, he seized the arm of Watts, pressed it with an iron grasp, stopped short, and, with an impressive whisper, said,

"I will make it sir thousand, instead of five, if the work be but well done.”.

'Watts bowed, and they followed cautiously the steps of Mother Heldershaw, through the lobby, up three steps of a side stairs, and along another lobby; at the end of which was the room of the young officer. 'The rain was dripping in big drops on the floor of the passage, and made a melancholy noise as it splashed; but this noise served to cover the accidental cracking sounds which their steps made on the old boards of the floor: the raging wind without, too, aided them much in this, for it whistled loudly as it passed, and shook the leafless trees behind the house into hoarse murmuring-it was a frightful night.

The woman was at the door; she stopped, placing her finger to her lip, and looking back towards her followers. Watts could perceive, by the light of the candle, which she held near her face, that, fiend as she was, the terrors of the moment were pressing on her; her eyes were glassy, her cheek pale, and her lips parched and withered. All stopped while she listened. She seizes the button of the door-the door slowly

opens.

""Are you asleep, Sir?" said she, in a low voice. 'No answer was heard. Twice she repeated the question, with the same effect. She then walked softly into the room some paces, and returning, left the door open. All paused again for a few moments, and held in their breath; they could distinctly hear the strong breathing of the intended victim.

"Let me go before you," whispered Watts. "I'll remain at the foot of the bed, to be ready, lest he should awake and overpower you."

As to future existence, we have the testimony of the Scriptures, that we shall exist hereafter; though we are told very little of the what or the how; and apparently for this very reason, that we could not understand it if we were told. It is to be expected, therefore, that those who inquire into this what and this how must laud themselves in fancies unintelligible to themselves and to others. We accordingly find in some of the opinions here collected by Mr. Huntingford, several conjectures which are objectionable, in that their authors have endeavoured to be wise above what is written.'

Passing over what he has given from the ancient writers, as much too brief and imperfect, and indeed the worst part of the volume; the more modern authors whose opinions he has stated chiefly in their own words, are,-Sherlock, Addison, Calvin, Grotius, Jeremy Taylor, Barrow, Sir Matthew Hale, Pearson, Beveridge, Jortin, Secker, Butler, Bull, and Watts. We were certainly much surprised at not finding in this list the names of Bishop Warburton, Dr. Cudworth,

and several other English writers of celebrity, while

the author's knowledge of foreign works on the subject seems exceedingly limited. He does not even allude to Witsius, Buddæus, Windet, Thomasius, Cardan, Jablonski, &c., not to mention the ancient

Fathers.

NEW MUSIC.

The favourite Airs in Pacini's Opera, L'Ultimo Giorno di Pompei,' arranged for two Performers on the PianoForte, by A. Diabelli, Book III. Boosey and Co. THIS third book completes the work as Duets, and presents more variety than the former two; the first piece introduced is Squarciami il core, O Barbaro,' Duetto, an allegro moderato in F, common time, followed by a very delightful andante in A flat, 9-8 time. Su questa mon concedi,' a pleasing aria andantino in D, 2-4 time; Fermati, Ottavia,' duetto, an allegro in

as finale, a striking presto in C minor, La Distruzione,' which, as it is to express that dreadful calamity which gives title to the work, seems well adapted to the purpose, and therefore bear a strong resemblance to Haydn's fine terre moto' in his 'Passion of our Saviour.'

'A nod of the head and a squeeze of the arm were the tokens of assent. The woman gave the candle to Raven, and hastily, but softly, went back to the lower lobby. Watts looked at the colonel's face, and saw it pallid and perspiring, but still resolute. He then softly entered-Raven's foot cautiously followed. His worship' placed the candle on the chair beside the bed-C, with several episodical and clever movements; and, stood quiet a moment-Watts, also mute, at the foot of the bed. The sleeper's breathing was loud, and promised security. The magistrate looked around, placed the poison-vial beside the candlestick on the chair, and then coolly opened the blade, and tied a piece of tape upon its juncture with the handle, to prevent its yielding in the wrong direction from its intended work. A hurried blast of wind, and a pattering of the heavy rain, caused another pause-all was still again. The instrument was now grasped in the villain's right hand-his left on the curtain of the bed, which slowly drew aside-he fixed his eyes on his intended victim-he raised the blade, but looked back in caution-another moment-his arm is ready; but a voice of thunder roars out :

"Vandeleur, arise!"

'It was the voice of Watts. The trembling assassin started with a groan into the centre of the room; the door of a closet at the instant opened, and Captain Ostin, Corporal Magoverin, and two officers of police, ran out, lighted by two lanterns, while the rescued officer jumped from the bed.'-Vol. iii. pp. 26-33.

SEPARATE EXISTENCE OF THE SOUL.

Testimonies in proof of the separate existence of the Soul in a state of self-consciousness between Death and the Resurrection. By the Rev. Thomas Huntingford, M. A., Vicar of Kempsford, Gloucestershire. Accedit Johannis Calvini. YuxorаννкIа. 8vo. pp. 500. Rivington. London, 1829.

We have here brought into one view, and in a small compass, the opinions of a considerable number of eminent men, both Heathen and Christian, respecting the curious subject, the state of the soul immediately after death-a subject, however, of which nobody can know any thing, and of course, all that has been written on the subject must be mere conjecture; ingenious, it may be and plausible, but still nothing more than conjecture. We agree with the learned Sir Matthew Hale, that the state of a Christian after death, and the privilege that with and by Christ, he shall then receive,' these are secrets that never lay within the reach or discovery of the light of nature. No more is discovered or discoverable unto us, than what it hath pleased the God of nature, in the Scriptures, to reveal and discover to us. So far we may go; farther than that we may not, cannot see. This is a learning that no other means can teach us than divine revelation; a continent that no other man can describe, nor any other light discover to us, but the Word of God himself. If we guide not ourselves by this thread, we lose ourselves in the discourse, or contemplation of it.

A Fantasia for the Flute, with an Accompaniment for the Piano-Forte, in which is introduced the popular Airs, The light Guitar' and Festive Scene,' composed and respectfully dedicated to Henry Hamilton, Esq., by Bernard Lee. Mayhew and Co.

A VERY pleasing and flowing conversational piece, admirably adapted to the instrument, the flute especially. It is devoid of difficulty, and yet not so trifling as to be uninteresting. Barnett's two very favourite Boleros are ingeniously adapted; and to teachers of the flute, we presume the work will be singularly useful—to their pupils, very amusing.

A Wanderer I, sung by Mr. Sinclair, in the Opera of 'The Earthquake, or Phantom of the Nile,' the Melody selected and partly composed by John Sinclair. Dale.

WITH the exception of a single note, this very simple melody is written within the very limited compass of the two treble E's, a circumstance the more noticeable when we reflect upon the scope of Sinclair's voice. He therefore has, most probably, confined the air within these limits, in order to render it more generally available. It is a very easy and trifling allegretto pastorale in A, 6-8 time, and appears like a French air, selected from some vaudeville.

Les Bagatelles,' No. I., containing a French Air, selected and arranged for the Piano-Forte, by J. B. Cramer. Cramer and Co.

commendations there offered, may be justly applied to this the second Number. Twelve of the most admired pieces of Mozart's beautiful opera, Cosi fan tutte,' are well arranged, and well brought out; and: although the greater part of the opera is condensed in this one book, the price is but 3s.

་

'My Father Land,' the admired Tyrolienne, sung by Mrs. H. Hughes, at the Adelphi Theatre, in the Popular Drama ' Monsieur Mallet, or my Daughter's Letter,' written by W. T. Moncrief, composed by John Barnett. Published by the Authors.

THIS is evidently a parody upon the composer's most successful ballad, The Light Guitar,' and being written within the very confined scale of eight notes (the same noticed above in Sinclair's song) must be very easy of performance by any one who sings at all. It all Barnett's familiar ballads, and will, no doubt, meet exhibits the same pleasing cheerfulness observable in

with an extensive and deserved circulation. Mrs.

Hughes exhibits a very pleasing tone of voice in her performance of it, at the Adelphi Theatre.

Hart's Thirteenth Set of Quadrilles, selected from Matthew Locke's Original Music in Macbeth, including the favourite Isabel Waltz, arranged as Duets for Two Performers on the Piano-forte, with an accompaniment for the Harp (ad lib.), by N. B. Challoner. Mayhew and Co.

THIS arrangement of Hart's popular Quadrilles must be singularly useful and acceptable;-for in large evening parties, where more ladies are assembled than can be formed into sets for dancing, and as all our accomplished countrywomen can play upon the harp or piano-forte, (or both,) all may be employed to the advantage of all, a convenience and pleasure we have satisfactorily experienced. The arrangement is unusually well made for the respective instruments (particularly the harp); and we hope this work will be followed up by an extensive continuation.

New Arctic Expedition. It is understood that Captain Ross expects to be able to start on this new Expe taken solely at the expense of Captain Ross and his dition in the course of the present month. It is underfriends; and the great novelty attending it is that steam is to be employed in it for the first time. Captain Ross goes out in the Victory, a steam-vessel of 200 tons burden, accompanied by the John of 320 tons, laden with fuel and stores for three years. The powerful steam-engine of the Victory is of the high-pressure kind, and will consume fuel of every sort, whether the wood to be found in many places on the coast, or the oil to be procured from the tenants of the deep; and the vessel is so constructed as to be incapable of destruction by the pressure of icebergs, the effect of which will be to raise up instead of to crush. The paddles, worked by steam, can also be taken off if necessary, and at once she can be rigged as a sailing vessel.

A Great Writer.-I require in him whom I am to acknowledge so, accuracy of perception, variety of flection, force, sweetness, copiousness, depth, perspi mood, of manner, and of cadence, imagination, recuity. I require in him a princely negligence of little things, and the proof that although he hath seized much, nothing too trim, nothing quite incondite. Equal sohe hath also left much unappropriated. Let me see licitude is not to be excited upon all ideas alike; some are brought into the fulness of light, some are adumbrated. So on the beautiful plant of our conservatories, a part is in fruit, a part in blossom; not s those graces and allurements for which we have few branch is leafless, not a spray is naked. Then come and homely names, but which among the ancients had many, and expressive of delight and of divinity, illecebræ Veneres: these, like the figures that bold the lamps on stair-cases, both invite us and show us the way up: for, write as wisely as we may, we cannot fix the minds of men upon our writings, unless we take them gently by the ear. When our servants or trades

Autographs
Sir Philip Sidney
Constable's Miscellany
Tales of Military Life
Separate Existence of the
Soul.
New Music
Herbert-A Tale

225 Original Poetry 226 Seceders from the King's College.

PAG.

235

227

226

229

Society of British Artists 237

Philharmonic Society

238

232

Guildhall Concert

.

234 Literary Intelligence.

HERBERT.

A TALE.

PART I.

THE lowliest heart is ever nearest unto God; and so was it with the young Lord Bellincourt. His boyish years were full of confused and stormy thoughts; but, as he grew to manhood, his mind became serene and strong, and he was no longer vexed by those self-begotten miseries which are often the mist of a summer morning, that indicate the glory to come, but which sometimes also deepen and burst into tempest. He found much gladness among books, and much study in the fields. The more he understood of men, the less he shunned them; and the more clear became his consciousness of his own nature, the more he learned to revere the ideal of humanity. The rich thought him strange, but the poor knew him to be kindly; and, while some conceived of his mind as of a quaint museum filled with rare fancies, and embalmed antiquities, and trivial knowledge won from our common earth, there were many who felt it to be a treasure-house filled with living symbols of joy and heaven-minded meditations, and overflowing with wealth on all

the world.

He was the eldest son of the Earl of Marlow, who, when his heir had attained the age of twenty, lost his wife. The Countess left but one other child, a dumb boy, five years old, named Arthur. The Earl was now an old man, and was anxious that his son should marry. Sir William Clifford, who had wedded a cousin of the deceased Lady Marlow, lived in a distant part of the kingdom; and to him Lord Bellincourt went on a visit. His daughter, Louisa, was then about the young man's age, and a creature of the most intense beauty. Her dark eyes were fierce with splendour; and, when she wreathed her long black locks with flowers and with leaves of the elegant plant which bears her name, and clothed herself in the airy garments which beseem a fancied wood-nymph, the power of her glance, and the haughty bearing of her imperial form, belied the humble gracefulness of her vesture and ornaments. She sought to dazzle and command the heart of Herbert; (for such was the name of Lord Bellincourt. And, in truth, he was too young and too sensitive to beauty, not to feel admiration and delight in the presence of such a being. But he did not love her. His visions were all of a happiness which can be enjoyed in the narrow cell, or under the green-wood tree, which belongs to ourselves, and is a part of our nature; and the only pageantries which it gave him joy to fancy, were the good man's natural garnitures, the bounties of the world to all, its skies, and woods, and rivers, and the symbols and triumphs of serene affections. She dreamed of the highest seats in the halls of princes, of power, and mag, nificence, and successful vanity; and between them there could be little sympathy. When he left the house of Sir William Clifford, the look of scorn and detestation bent on him by Louisa, gave to her exquisite features the expression of a sorceress, baffled by the spirit whom she had hoped to make her slave,

The Earl of Marlow received his son with the utmost indignation. He told Herbert that he was resolved the marriage between him and Louia Clifford should take place, and added that he would permit no more delay than three months. Lord Bellincourt replied, that he too was resolved, and that nothing could ever induce him to wed her. His father commanded him to leave the house, and not to return until he could consent to yield obedience where it was due.

Herbert departed from his home a solitary wanderer. The pittance of which his father could not deprive him, amounted to no more than the income of a day-labourer; and like a labourer he determined to live. He betook himself to an obscure valley, hired a small cottage with a patch of garden, put on the dress of a peasant, and

* In Spanish the verbina is called La Luisa.

began to try the strength of his philosophy in a mode of existence destitute of all the appliances which had adorned and enriched his former state. And his was a mind too well self-sustained to fail in the enterprise. Regular bodily labour in his garden improved his health. He studied the few old books which he now possessed more minutely and profitably than when he was surrounded by the myriad volumes of Lord Marlow's library; The earth appeared to him more various and living when he was compelled to make it his friend, than when he stept along it with the consciousness of one of its masters; and, being driven to seek within himself for enjoyments to fill the place of those he had lost, he discovered in his own breast an ample store-house of brighter blessings than the palace in which he had lived, or the cities he had visited, could furnish. Herbert Winter, for he laid aside his title with his condition, was well known to the two or three yeomen, and the farmers, who with their families inhabited the valley. They had no suspicion of his rank; but they felt that he was of a different class and education from themselves, and they were gratified by the kindness and gentleness of his manner. He was eagerly sought for as a guest at their fire-sides; for he opened to them and their children a world of amusing and unpretend

ing information, and the tales which he remembered or invented, and told in their cottages, brought wonder and delight to young and old. ley a happier man than Seged of Ethiopia. So, for several years, he dwelt in the valAt a few intervals, in the earliest summer dawn, or in the clear night, he walked to the neighbourhood of his father's mansion, and wandered among those familiar paths of his childhood, and beneath those ancient trees planted by his ancestors. His recollection of the pleasant places of his youth, of the father who for so many years had fondly loved him, and of his buried mother, and of Arthur the helpless boy, breathed natural sorrow to his heart. But, when he thought of that despotic and untempered loveliness with which he had been required to wed, he blessed God that he was not Lord Bellincourt, nor the husband of Louisa Clifford. Her headstrong and selfish loveliness sometimes haunted his dreams, and looked at him through the foliage with tyrannous eyes; or, intently gazing at him, glided, he knew not how, amidst the mists of the morning along some forest glade. And he thought that he would rather be wedded to the humblest and least cultivated maiden of the valley in which he lived, than to that high-born and resplendent lady.

On one occasion, about three years after he had first become an exile from the halls of his ancestors, he lingered in the woods longer than he had ever stayed before, and taking a last look of the house, he saw his father on the lawn with Arthur by his side. The old man walked feebly, and laid his hand on the shoulder of the boy; and Herbert could distinguish his white locks glittering in the

sun.

he saw himseated in a chair on the terrace with a Three years more passed away; and again lurking, as if in fear, behind him. The young young woman standing beside him, and his son lord could perceive that the female was of a tall and striking figure, and richly dressed; but he could perceive nothing more. He abhorred the thought of being a spy upon his father, and turned to leave the woods. His last glance showed him the lady pressing the old man's hand to her bosom and then to her lips. Herbert saw no more; but in this there was abundant subject for reflection, and, to one less calm and self-relying than Herbert, for sorrow and alarm. He returned, however, to his narrow home, and the serene activity of his habitual occupations; and sometimes forgot, during many days, that he had once been called Lord Bellincourt, and that he was heir to wide domains and an ancient earldom. Wherefore should he think of these things, who was actual owner of the rich inheritance of earth, and the

FROM the time of his son's departure, the Earl of Marlow became more and more fretful and moody. He shunned the society of his equals, and was surrounded only by servants; for his son Arthur was in a great degree disabled by his misfortune from affording his father those pleasures of society which he refused to seek from without. The old man brooded in secret over the absence of Herbert; but his pride forbade him to recall the outcast: the enjoyment which he had been his neighbours was now replaced by the vulgar accustomed to derive from his intercourse with and servile flattery of menials; and the strong and highly-cultivated mind of the Earl rapidly decayed under their degrading influences. The affection and good temper of Arthur never diminished; but the impatience of his parent and the unhappy condition of the boy made communicathe dumb youth often served only to irritate Lord tion between them difficult; and the presence of Marlow, by recalling to him the misfortune of his family.

almost entirely in his chamber, and would After some years, the Earl shut himself up scarcely ever consent to see his son. No one, except two or three favourite servants, could apthe cessation of any attentions which he had beproach him without encountering an explosion of rage and disgust; and, while he was indignant at fore received, the most flattering civilities were repaid with anger and contempt.

I have no

The servant re

He was seated one day in his cabinet, when an attendant informed him that a lady desired to see him. I am too ill too see any one. thing to do with ladies-tell her so, Martin; and let me hear no more of her.' turned in half an hour looking confused and half frightened. What is the matter now? Are you determined to kill me?' My Lord, I am sorry to say that she will not go. She is a young lady, and looks like a person of distinction.' Α person of distinction! Martin, you're a fool. Tell her I would not see her if she were Queen of England.' Yes, my Lord; but-but-but, my Lord-but-' But what, you idiot? Am I to be persecuted in my own house by adventuring mantua-makers? What is the matter, I say? Tell me at once, or you and she shall leave the house together.' 'She gave me a look, my Lord, that I would not stand again for any thing. I am sure she is a person of high rank, and she is the most beautiful creature I ever saw; and she sits in the library as if she were at home, and told me to desire your Lordship to go down to her.' The Earl was now nearly choking with rage. she thinks herself at home, does she? And I am to go to her? Martin, we will see if I am master in my own house. Let me say three words to her; and then she may force herself on me again if she pleases. Wheel my chair opposite to the door; and show her up.' Yes, my Lord;' and the valet departed on his errand, while the Earl down his velvet cap till it shaded his eyes, and wrapped his dressing-gown about him, pulled compressed his exuberant fury till he had made his trembling features a loft of stored thunder.'

"She-she-she

In a few moments, Martin opened the door of the cabinet, while the lady advanced up the long gallery, and the Earl broke out at the top of his voice, Martin, call the footman. We will see. So this is the strumpet.' The lady moved forward with the utmost composure, and interrupted him by saying, while she threw aside her veil, My lord, I wished to save you the trouble of coming down to me; and, as you are an old friend, I have taken the liberty of waiting on you in your retirement. But you have not seen me since I was a child, and, perhaps, you do not remember me.' Such was the lady's introduction of herself to the Earl of Marlow. Her splendid

audience is ashamed to acknowledge.

Consequently, this excitement is most applicable to good, least applicable to evil emotions. Except in those cases where some popular prejudice, as appealed to by the rhetorician, (a case which calls for better education, in order that the prejudice itself may be eradicated,)—except in such a case, the evil passions will not endure the application of rhetoric. Suppose, now, an assembly actuated by selfish anti-social feelings, how would it sound for their ring-leader to talk to them after this fashion? A member opposite has dared to declaim on the distresses and complaints of the people. I will tell you of the more instant cravings of your own friends, families, and dependants. He has told you that the national prosperity, forsooth, would be advanced by the removal of expensive establishments, the abandonment of useless colonies. I will talk to you of nearer and of dearer interests. I will tell you of the scions from each noble stock who are nourished by this noble expenditure. I will tell you of the proud extent of patronage maintained from the forests of the Canadas to the gardens of the Cape. Are we threatened with plebeian discontent-resistance? Away with the base, ignoble apprehension! Will the heroes who have fought our glorious battles on the Continent refuse now to rally round their country's Constitution, and to shed the last drop of their true English blood, pro aris et focis, for church-rate and house-tax? Would not such a speaker rather have recourse to logic, by a judicious use of the forms of which he might easily sooth his hearers with the semblance of a reason for their conduct, or, at all events, impose his sophisms on the ignorant many? Would he not demonstrate by a train of subtle reasoning

'Black not so black, nor white so very white;' and will a logical opponent follow over the ground, and assail, one by one, his positions? He might as well attempt to hold an eel by the tail. Every one topic, perhaps, of the enemy includes some little spot of falsehood or irrelevancy; if all these are to be followed and exposed in order, there will be no end or audience to the refutation. Besides, a dialectician can always wind himself out of scrapes by some cunning reservation, explanation, or equivocation, so long as his opponent is content to fight him with his own weapons, and on his own ground. But, as soon as one arises and gives voice to his sentiments with the eloquence inseparable from candour and sincerity, the whole train of adverse sophistry, ungrounded as it was in unperverted reason or feeling, is swept momentarily away, even from the minds of a partial and interested auditory, and the sophist sinks abashed beneath the true rhetorical spirit which he had not dared evoke in the defence of falsehood.

POETRY.

HIGH themes, dear friend, were ours, when last we spoke

Together, though the flashing waves that broke
Upon the sand beside us, with their light

By the fast sinking sun-beams made inore bright,
Like living sparks shook by a lone priest's hand
Thro' the dark midnight, from a half-quench'd brand,
Made not a stranger contrast to the sighing
Of the sad woods and streams, than when defying
All auguries of present ill and pain,

་

Sorrow and suffering, thou didst say ' Again
Strong hope burns up within me, for mankind.
For though harsh tyrants have had power to bind
Freedom and truth in darkness, the quick hour
Speeds on with wings of lightning; and that power
Not based in love and wisdom, nor sustained'
By unsubverted will which hath disdained
To aught submission, onward sweeps to ruin,
Building the growth up of its own undoing,
As doth that regal oak, which bears on high
Its sure destruction, twining treacherously,
Strong snaky folds, most bright and green to view,
But which, meantime, do gnaw its heart in two.
Yet they're scarce wise, having bound on the yoke,
To bind no firmer: were 1 yonder oak

I would throw off that ivy! Tho' I smiled
"Twas half in grief to think that one so mild
And good should share the world's inimity ;
For well I knew what thou hadst said would be
Sentence against thyself; that men would try
Tyrannous arts to crush thee; from the sky
Look thee in caves, cramp up thy blooming youth
In dungeons, for that thou didst worship Truth
With courage unabated: yet I smiled,
Joying to hear thee: for not me beguiled
Wise saws of fearful men, who coldly frown
On all that would be free; nor did I own
Their dull safe rule, more pleased to tread the ways
Of danger and contempt by thy high praise
And self-approval strengthened, than to drag
The chain which men call custom. Like a crag
O'er which salt breakers riot, in their rage
Drenching its lashed sides, and the wild winds wage
Keen warfare vainly, seeking to uptear

The deep foundations which the huge mass rear,
I in the midst had stood; sorrowing I strove
With those whom most on earth men use to love,
Parents, and friends, and kinsmen; they had cast
Me forth from their communion as the blast
Tosses abroad some withered branch, which, cleft
From its paternal stem, of life bereft
And verdure, wanders o'er the autumnal sky,
No joyful sight, but of mortality
And perished hopes sad emblem. Then I said,
"Thou hast given utterance to the thought which fed
My fainting soul in the waste wilderness.
Dear friend, it burned within me to express
That feeling which, a lamp seen from afar
By wanderers in the desert, a new star
Rising in the East, upheld my fainting feet,
Was given to thee; and, therefore, 'tis most meet
That I should thank thee. For no vulgar words,
No soulless voice, fashion or use affords,
Were these, but earnest of a nobler faith,
Courage, and love, and hope, unquenched in death,
And strong determination which not ill
Nor good, failure nor triumph e'er shall quell!'
Yes, in thy word is full assurance given
Of victory and we that on have striven
Upheld by our own light, know that the rack
And storm, as by some mage evoked, will track
And blot their sun out, if but one man know
None but himself can crush himself: and so
Our firm faith in mankind hath power to light
A sign which shall endure, which thro' the night,
Like shepherd's watch-fire on a hill afar
Seeming to wanderers a new-kindled star,
Shall guide to life and safety!'

'We will hold

The cheering faith, thou saidst,' which men of old,
Less graced perchance then we are, but more wise
Onward to press towards wisdom where it lies
Stored in the wealthiest caverns of our thought,
Gold-paven, diamond-columned where have wrought
High gods to raise the wondrous fabric, bright
With their art and its exceeding light;
This faith and hope will we hold fast, which they
Threw round them, not as scorning to obey
The anarchs of the crowd, for well they knew
That scorn and pride they needed to subdue,
But with high aims still struggling, little check'd
By pain or suffering or the world's neglect,
Till they laid hold on virtue, and were free
Despite the world?'-1 said.

'These things may be
Alone thro' will confirmed; such as did feign
The old poets teaching how with toil and pain
And hope of respite the strong Titan strove
E'en thro' despair warring with furious Jove,
Till at the last he conquered. We must fight
The battle thus with suffering, and the might
Of patient yet firm purpose, not repenting,
Fearing, or changing aught, nor aught relenting!
And that we have the power ourselves to do
Freely our own great work, and onward go
In the rough path of freedom, still must I
Believe, nor for the whole world's empery
Would I let go that sacred faith, or, aught
O'ercome by terror, yield the cheering thought
That man can make his own great world, and reign
E'en in a dungeon o'er his own domain,
The master of his master and his chain.
Man by himself is man; if wealth or pride,
Poverty, the world's scorn, or aught allied
To outward being, induce his act, albe
Noble and just, and generous 'tis not free:
Man must be man trampling all outward things
Like steps to his own glory; as upsprings

Trampling the Eastern mountains the bold sun,
And builds his throne on them, till he hath won
The fight with darkness; then upspringing higher
Sits in the noon-day like a world of fire
Filling the earth with sunlight. So must we
Wage war with darkness if we would be free!
And most that darkness, which ourselves supply.
Yes. Be assured the perilous anarchy

Is all within us. Man is man's worst foe,
Letting himself most. What the world can do
Of good or ill we know, nor do we find
Its chains so powerful as our own to bind.
And therefore is it meet we should most strive
With our own hearts, certain that will can thrive
Only by constant warfare, gaining power
Like the old Athletes who did win the dower
Of more than mortal strength by greater toil,
Almost than man can bear: if we would spoil
Our tyrants of their ill-producing sway,
Building a better hope up, and a stay
For good men to uphold themselves, and thence
Truth's lessons thro' the waste of thought dispense,
We must subdue all that is not within,
By inward strength, teaching the man to win
Conquest from all that is not man, from fear,
From hope, and joy, and suffering; till he bear
Nought but the lamp which lights him to the good
He strives for, and the power, thus like a flood
By the sun's rays turned into surging gold,
Moving still on, by rough paths made more bold,
To leap and struggle, by no bound restrained!'
'My thought keeps pace with thine,' thou said'st,

'well trained.

In that wise lore, which from one source we drew,
One fountain of pure waters, whose sweet dew
Gave life and freshness which might never fail
In frost or burning drought, but did prevail
O'er every form of ill.'

'And I must sorrow

To see mankind so much from darkness borrow
Wilfully, when the day-spring cleaves the night
With such exceeding splendour: in the blight,
Therefore, of their own thought they still must move,
Wanting no less the will to do, than love
Which must the will inform !'

they

Thus,' said I,
Their narrow base have ever striven to lay
For nature's wide foundations: in vain hope
To prison and confine the unbounded scope
Of her wise scheme, perchance untaught, that she
Knoweth no bound to the immensity

Of love whereon she buildeth. Therefore we
Have still a task most sacred, to defend
Like vestals in a temple to the end,
The fire which, burning on at length must spring
Into great heat and splendour, till it fling
Light thro' the darkness, as in ocean caves
Flames up the burning naphta 'neath the waves,
Or in some tall cathedral the live spark
Leaps from the altar, kindling in the dark
And hidden corners, which in gloom did lie,
A brightness like the sun in summer sky:
Till startling the dull nations, it shall be
A seed of new-born strength and liberty!
This few now keep with love and gentle care,
In expectation of the hours which bear
To man a better being: yet most blest,
Enjoying now that light, which to the rest
Is yet to teach a higher aim of life,
Than now they deem it made for, lost in strife
And clash of worldly things, the mad turmoil,
Which those who riot on their brothers' spoil,
Still cherish knowing not the hope of that
When interfused, breathes life into the flat,
Dull, profitless employments we pursue.
Oh happy are the men to whom the hue

Of that which doth surround them, tho' it change
From beautiful to hideous, seems not strange,
And e'en the foulest, but another dress
Which beauty wears: to whom a wilderness,
Where rank weeds grow, by their own inborn power
Made odorous, can appear a sunny bower

By rose, and eglantine, and lilies pale,
Curtained withiu a cool brook-wander'd vale,
Where the sweet forest minstrels their soft tale
Pour in the ear of evening.'

'Blest indeed,

In this life's waste, so overrun with weed!
Thou saidst and movedst on; for, while our speech
Insensibly had lengthen'd, the wide beach,
Grown indistinct in twilight, scarce did mark
The line 'twixt land and wave; and, low and dark,