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the ornamental circular openings placed above them. Looking down the stream, if there was less turbulence, because greater room for expansion, the prospect was not less terrible and uncommon. Between the houses far remote from the breast-work of the harbour and those on the opposite shore, still more widely separated from the broad and level bank of the river, on that side, by a pasture park and road, there was but one vast channel for the sea-like stream that filled it brimmingly. The water was even seen to extend far up the streets, which on either side opened laterally from what seemed now but the stone edging of this gigantic canal, or vast basin; and the long line of vessels, secured to their usual rings and fastenings on the quay, and either riding close to its front, or over its top, as their cables gave them space, looked but a large fleet at anchor in the middle of the stream. At the moment I turned my face westward, a little sloop had broke from its fastenings with apparently but an old man and a boy on board, and was reeling down the eddying current in drunken-like whirls, while the ear shrunk from the screams of these helpless extremes of existence, as did the eye from their peril-a peril from which they could only escape by the miracle of their bark being speedily driven on the level shore, or running foul of some larger vessel that could stand the shock. Of yawl or pinnace there was not one in view. Everything without a mast that was not swamped had been hoisted up into snug security on the deck of the larger vessels they attended; and to my hurried, and, I fear, incoherent inquiries whether I could hire a boat and some rowers to proceed to the Saltmarket and carry me to a building insulated by the water, I only procured in answer the stare of vacant astonishment, or vulgar jesting and fresh-water sailors' slang. It soon became obvious even to myself that it was altogether hopeless to expect effecting a communication with Mr. Oswald's family by such means, and there was obviously nothing for me but patience -a sufficient punishment. I strained my eyes to watch if there was any perceptible declension in the height of the water, and almost blessed a person who assured me that he thought it had begun to ebb, although even my eagerness could not perceive its recession.

I returned again to my station in the street where Isabella lived. The waters had not subsided; but the wind had again risen, and at six o'clock-it was now four-the tide would be full, and, consequently, the flood greater. In my absence, I learned with regret, but without self-reproach, that the expected boat

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had arrived from the neighbouring canal basin; but, after carrying assistance to many sufferers, had swamped upon a bulk, hidden under water, and it was not thought worth while to cart another from such a distance. For some hours, then, even under the most favourable circumstances, it was evident that no exertion on my part could enable me to overcome the obstacles which separated me from my beloved; and, exhausted with anxiety, fatigue, cold, and hunger, I was prevailed upon by some friends who had now joined me, to retire to a neighbouring tavern for refreshment. Night was now closing in, but it was in the unclouded beauty of a rising moon, and the clear atmosphere of a returning frost, so that I was cheered with the hope, on my part, and certainty on that of others, that, ere nine o'clock, the pas sage to the foot of the Saltmarket would be practicable. Some of my companions even asserted that the street would be almost as soon drained as the bowl in whose brimming contents they pledged my mistress, and the wish, at the same time, that I might never suffer so much from drought as I had done from moisture. Though anxious, I became almost cheerful, but was again at my post by the time of high-water. And there, to and fro did I pace, marking and measuring the recession of the slimy flood, whose retreat had now obviously, though slowly, begun. At eight o'clock I conceived it practicable to reach the entrance to Mr. Oswald's dwelling, by driving a cart through the water. the owner of it, however, found that it sunk beneath the trams, he refused to proceed. Another hour of feverish watchfulness was mine, and another attempt, although nearer success-because coming closer to the markyet did not reach it. At length, just as the first chimes of the ten o'clock bells were inducing the few uninterested stragglers who lingered upon the spot to turn homewards, a loud cry was heard to proceed from the lower part of the street, near to which we could now advance. Lights were seen at many windows: casements were hurriedly opened; and in the tenement for whose security alone I cared, a singular bustle and confusion was observed. Suddenly there ran along the line of gazers that defined the dry street and the water, the broken whisper, whence communicated I have never learned, that the foundations of the houses farthest down had been sapped and were giving way. The flags of the pavement, it was said, were starting up upon their ends, and the screams were occasioned by the inmates observing fearful rents in the walls of the

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buildings, from the lower flats of which the water was now hastening with rapid and destructive suction. I saw nothing of this, for I waited not to look. It was enough that I had heard. Throwing myself into a cart, I seized the halter of the horse, and, hardly waiting for the driver, forced it onwards through the still deep, though receding flood. The water was over the flooring of the car before it reached the gateway leading to Isabella's dwelling; and was up to my breast as at one bound I leaped over the wheels, regardless of the snorting capers of the affrighted horse. In one minute I was under the archway, and in utter darkness; but I half-stepped half-floated onwards towards where I guessed was the entrance to the stair. In a moment I was over the eyesplunged into a hole occasioned by the breaking up of the pavement-but in another, dripping at every lock, I had struggled, I hardly knew how, but instinctively, to the turnpike, and was above the water-mark on its steps. A second showed me a frightful rent in the wall of the stair; and almost with but one bound, I was by the side of Isabella. Less alarmed than I, she was, however, like all the inmates of the land, greatly terrified, and anxiously waiting the assistance for which her father was by this time making signals at the window. A word served to explain that the means of succour and escape were near at hand in the cart I had ordered to wait my return. The old man was grateful: my beloved silently but fondly submitted to be lifted up in my arms; and, followed by the servants with papers and other valuables, I proceeded down to the still half choked-up archway. As we proceeded a load crack from the timbers of the building, and a visible widening of the rent before noticed, together with the fall of masses of plaster from the roof, increased their terror, and quickened our speed. Bearing aloft my precious charge, and exclaiming that I should lead the way, I plunged into the water, which now reached no higher than my middle. Taking care to avoid that side where I had stumbled as I entered, I cautiously advanced, pressing my dear burden to my breast with one arm, while the other served to pilot me along the walls with I still remember- unhurrying care. The father and domestics hesitated to follow, and the lights they held in their hands threw a dazzling glare upon the dismal waters as I turned round to inquire the cause of their delay, and to encourage their advance. In one instant of time I was plunged into a dark and narrow gulf, which had yawned open for my destruction as I advanced. I felt myself sink

in a moment, and graze against the sides of the chasm as I descended; and she was with me-clinging to me-locked in my arms! One dreadful scream from her a gurgling groan from myself-and the feeling of intense pain in my temples for a moment-is all that I remember of this dreadful hour. Dim recollections I have, indeed, of flaming torches-coils of ropes and iron-spiked drags-bleeding temples, and draughts forced down my throatoaths-exclamations-wailings and tears; but these I dare not think upon-for I was mad, they tell me, for a time, when, weeks after, I inquired where I stood and for my Isabella. I then learned that it was presumed she-more severely bruised than even I had been in the descent to the cellar beneath the gateway, whose arch had fallen in-had sunk with me, while her body had not instantaneously risen to the surface of the horrid gap, with mine, and had perished-half-stricken and halfdrowned-beneath this low-browed vault, and amid these slimy waters! Her father died broken-hearted. It has been my award to live So. Lunatics are mad when the moon is at the full; I am only so when again the hateful waves of the spate are in the streets of the city, and, it may be, sapping more foundations

and drowning more earthly hopes of happiness and Isabellas. It is but then only that I can speak of her name, or tell her fearful and untimely fate.

EVENING.

The holy time is quiet as a nun, Breathless with adoration!

WORDSWORTH.

'Tis Evening.-On Abruzzo's hill The summer sun is lingering still,As though unwilling to bereave

The landscape of its softest beam,— So fair-one can but look and grieve

To think that, like a lovely dream, A few brief fleeting moments more Must see its reign of beauty o'er!

"Tis Evening;-and a general hush

Prevails, save when the mountain spring Bursts from its rock, with fitful gush,

And makes melodious murmuring;Or when from Corno's height of fear,

The echoes of its convent bell Come wafted on the far-off ear

With soft and diapason swell, But sounds so wildly sweet as they, Ah! who would ever wish away?

TO J*** H***, FOUR YEARS OLD.

Yet there are seasons when the soul,

Rapt in some dear delicious dream, Heedless what skies may o'er it roll,

What rays of beauty round it beam, Shuts up its inmost cell;-lest aught,

However wondrous, wild, or fair, Shine in-and interrupt the thought,

The one deep thought that centres there!

Though with the passionate sense, so shrined

And canonized, the hues of grief Perchance be darkly, closely twined,

The lonely bosom spurns relief;
And could the breathing scene impart
A charm to make its sadness less,
"Twould hate the balm that healed its smart,
And curse the spell of loveliness

That pierced its cloud of gloom, if so
It stirred the stream of thought below.

ALARIC A. WATTS.

TO J*** H***, FOUR YEARS OLD.

Pun d'amori,

Pen di canti, e pien di fiori.-FRUGONI.

Ah, little ranting Johnny!
For ever blithe and bonny,
And singing nonny, nonny,
With hat just thrown upon ye;
Or whistling like the thrushes
With voice in silver gushes;
Or twisting random posies
With daisies, weeds, and roses;
And strutting in and out so,
Or dancing all about so,
With cock-up nose so lightsome,
And sidelong eyes so brightsome,
And cheeks as ripe as apples,
And head as rough as Dapple's,
And arms as sunny shining
As if their veins had wine in;
And mouth that smiles so truly,
Heaven seems to have made it newly,
It breaks into such sweetness,
With merry-lipped completeness;—
Ah Jack, ah Gianni mio,
As blithe as Laughing Trio,
-Sir Richard, too, you rattler,

So christened from the Tattler,-
My Bacchus in his glory,
My little cor-di-fiori,
My tricksome Puck, my Robin,
Who in and out come bobbing,
As full of feints and frolic as
That fibbing rogue Autolycus,
And play the graceless robber on
Your grave-eyed brother Oberon,-
Ah! Dick, ah Dolce-riso,
How can you, can you be so?

One cannot turn a minute,
But mischief-there you're in it,
A getting at my books, John,
With mighty bustling looks, John,
Or poking at the roses,

In midst of which your nose is;
Or climbing on a table,
No matter how unstable,
And turning up your quaint eye
And half-shut teeth with "Mayn't I?"
Or else you're off at play, John,
Just as you'd be all day, John,
With hat or not, as happens,

And there you dance, and clap hands,
Or on the grass go rolling,

Or plucking flow'rs or bowling,
And getting me expenses
With losing balls o'er fences
Or, as the constant trade is,
Are fondled by the ladies,

With "What a young rogue this is!"
Reforming him with kisses;
Till suddenly you cry out,
As if you had an eye out,
So desperately tearful,
The sound is really fearful;
When, lo, directly after,
It bubbles into laughter.

Ah rogue!-and do you know, John,
Why 'tis we love you so, John?
And how it is they let ye

Do what you like, and pet ye,
Though all who look upon ye
Exclaim "Ah, Johnny, Johnny!"
It is because you please 'em
Still more, John, than you teaze 'em;
Because, too, when not present,
The thought of you is pleasant;
Because, though such an elf, John,
They think that if yourself, John,
Had something to condemn too,
You'd be as kind to them too;
In short, because you're very
Good-tempered, Jack, and merry;
And are as quick at giving,
As easy at receiving;

And, in the midst of pleasure,
Are certain to find leisure

To think, my boy, of ours,
And bring us lumps of flowers.

But
see, the sun shines brightly,
Come, put your hat on rightly,
And we'll among the bushes,
And hear your friends the thrushes:
And see what flow'rs the weather
Has rendered fit to gather;

And when we home must jog, you
Shall ride my back, you rogue you,

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Here the matron and the maid
In one silent bed are laid;

Here the sword and sceptre rust-
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"
Age on age shall roll along

O'er this pale and mighty throng;
Those that wept then, those that weep,
All shall with these sleepers sleep.
Brothers, sisters of the worm,
Summer's sun or winter's storm,
Song of peace or battle's roar,

Ne'er shall break their slumbers more.
Death shall keep his sullen trust—
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"
But a day is coming fast,

Earth, thy mightiest and thy last!
It shall come in fear and wonder,
Heralded by trump and thunder;
It shall come in strife and toil,
It shall come in blood and spoil,
It shall come in empire's groans,
Burning temples, trampled thrones;
Then Ambition, rue thy lust!—
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"
Then shall come the judgment-sign;
In the east the KING shall shine;
Flashing from heaven's golden gate,
Thousand thousands round his state;
Spirits with the crown and plume;
Tremble then, thou sullen tomb!
Heaven shall open on our sight,
Earth be turn'd to living light,
Kingdom of the ransom'd just—
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"

Then thy mount, Jerusalem,
Shall be gorgeous as a gem;
Then shall in the desert rise
Fruits of more than Paradise;
Earth by angel feet be trod,
One great garden of her God!
Till are dried the martyrs' tears
Through a thousand glorious years!
Now, in hope of HIM we trust,
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"

CROLY.

A FAMILY SCENE.

[Susan Edmonstone Ferrier, born in Edinburgh, 1782; died November, 1854. She was the daughter of James Ferrier, one of the clerks of the Court of Session, Edinburgh. In 1818 she published her first novel, Marriage, which earned her a lasting reputation. Scott in his epilogue to the Tales of my Landlord, distinguishes his "sister-shadow, the author of the very lively work entitled Marriage," as one of those best qualified to illustrate the varieties of Scottish character which he had left untouched. Miss Ferrier's second work, The Inheritance, appeared in 1824; and in 1831, Destiny, or the Chief's Daughter, a story illustrative of Highland manners and scenery. The following amusing sketch is from the second work.]

The great use of delineating absurdities is, that we may know how far human folly can go; the account, therefore, ought, of absolute necessity, to be faithful.JOHNSON.

The first appearance of the Holm was highly prepossessing. It was a large, handsome-looking house, situated in a well-wooded park, by the side of a broad placid river, and an air of seclusion and stillness reigned all round, which impressed the mind with images of peace and repose. The interior of the house was no less promising there was a spacious hall and a handsome staircase, with all appliances to boot -but as they approached the drawing-room, all the luxurious indolence of thought, inspired by the tranquillity of the scenery, was quickly dispelled by the discordant sounds which issued from thence; and when the door was thrown open, the footman in vain attempted to announce the visitors. In the middle of the room all the chairs were collected to form a coach and horses for the Masters and Misses Fairbairn. One unruly-looking urchin sat in front, cracking a long whip with all his might -another acted as guard behind, and blew a shrill trumpet with all his strength-while a third, in a night-cap and flannel lappet, who had somewhat the air of having quarrelled with the rest of the party, paraded up and down, in solitary majesty, beating a drum. On a sofa sat Mrs. Fairbairn, a soft, fair, genteel-looking woman, with a crying child of about three years old at her side, tearing paper into shreds, seemingly for the delight of littering the carpet, which was already strewed with headless dolls, tailless horses, wheelless carts, &c. As she rose to receive her visitors it began to scream.

"I'm not going away, Charlotte, love-don't be frightened," said the fond mother, with a look of ineffable pleasure.

A FAMILY SCENE.

"You no get up-you shan't get up," screamed Charlotte, seizing her mother's gown fiercely to detain her.

"My darling, you'll surely let me go to speak to uncle-good uncle, who brings you pretty things, you know;"-but, during this colloquy, uncle and the ladies had made their way to the enthralled mother, and the bustle of a meeting and introduction was got over. Chairs were obtained by the footman with some difficulty, and placed as close to the mistress of the house as possible, aware that otherwise it would not be easy to carry on even question and answer amid the tumult that reigned.

"You find us rather noisy, I am afraid," said Mrs. Fairbairn with a smile, and in a manner which evidently meant the reverse; "but this is Saturday, and the children are all in such spirits, and they won't stay away from me-Henry, my dear, don't crack your whip quite so loud-there's a good boy-that's a new whip his papa brought him from London; and he's so proud of it!--William, my darling, don't you think your drum must be tired now? -If I were you I would give it a rest.— Alexander, your trumpet makes rather too much noise-one of these ladies has got a headache-wait till you go out-there's my good boy, and then you'll blow it at the cows and the sheep, you know, and frighten themOh! how you'll frighten them with it!"

"No, I'll not blow it at the cows;-I'll blow it at the horses, because then they'll think it's the mail-coach."-And he was running off, when Henry jumped down from the coach-box. "No, but you shan't frighten them with your trumpet, for I shall frighten them with my whip. Mamma, aren't horses best frightened with a whip?"-and a struggle ensued.

"Well, don't fight, my dears, and you shall both frighten them," cried their mamma.

"No, I'm determined he shan't frighten them; I shall do it," cried both together, as they rushed out of the room, and the drummer was preparing to follow.

"William, my darling, don't you go after these naughty boys; you know they're always very bad to you. You know they wouldn't let you into their coach with your drum."Here William began to cry.-"Well, never mind, you shall have a coach of your own-a much finer coach than theirs; I wouldn't go into their ugly dirty coach; and you shall have Here something of a consolatory nature was whispered, William was comforted, and even prevailed upon to relinquish his drum for his mamma's ivory work-box, the contents of which were soon scattered on the floor.

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cried Mrs. Fairbairn in a tone of distress. "These boys are gone without their hats," "Eliza, my dear, pull the bell for Sally to get the boys' hats."-Sally being despatched with the hats, something like a calm ensued, in the absence of he of the whip and the trumpet; but as it will be of short duration, it is necessary to take advantage of it in improving the introduction into an acquaintance with the Fairbairn family.

Mrs. Fairbairn was one of those ladies, who, from the time she became a mother, ceased to be anything else. All the duties, pleasures, charities, and decencies of life, were henceforth concentrated in that one grand characteristic; every object in life was henceforth viewed through that single medium. Her own mother was no longer her mother; she was the grandsisters were mere uncles and aunts, and even mamma of her dear infants, her brothers and her husband ceased to be thought of as her husband from the time he became a father. He was no longer the being who had claims on her time, her thoughts, her talents, her affections; he was simply Mr. Fairbairn, the noun masculine of Mrs. Fairbairn, and the father of her children. Happily for Mr. Fairbairn, he was not a person of very nice feelings, or refined taste; and although, at first, he did feel a little unpleasant when he saw how much his children became accustomed to it, then came to look were preferred to himself, yet, in time, he upon Mrs. Fairbairn as the most exemplary of mothers, and finally resolved himself into the father of a very fine family, of which Mrs. Fairbairn was the mother. In all this there than of rational affection or Christian prinwas more of selfish egotism and animal instinct, upon their fondness for their offspring, as if it ciple; but both parents piqued themselves were a feeling peculiar to themselves, and not one they shared in common with the lowest and weakest of their species. Like them, too, it was upon the bodies of their children that they lavished their chief care and tenderness, for, as to the immortal interests of their souls, or the cultivation of their minds, or the improvement of their tempers, these were but their health and personal appearance. little attended to, at least in comparison of

Alas! if there "be not a gem so precious as the human soul," how often do these gems seem as pearls cast before swine; for how seldom is it that a parent's greatest care is for the immortal happiness of that being whose precarious, and at best transient, existence engrosses their every thought and desire! But perhaps Mrs. Fairbairn, like many a foolish ignorant

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