As un the inn, lying upon a couch, and had no recol- man in the court who can prove the hour at lection how I came there. In the morning, you which I left the metropolis, and other particumay be sure, I was punctually at the Court-house, lars, which I believe will establish my innowhere I understood the examination was to take cence-who may be the guilty one, I know place. At the time appointed the magistrates, not; but I am not he.' This be all very may took their seats, and I could see the reverend well as an assertion, but we must have proofs, gentleman, who indeed was indebted to my and must therefore call such witnesses as will friend for the living he enjoyed, and of which he direct us in our course of duty. Edward Donwas most worthy, was in tears, and imagined nelly, stand up!' At the command of the crier, that, however black the evidence was against an individual came forward, a powerful, gauntHorace, he had a heartfelt friend in one of the looking person, with thick matted hair, and a bench; the other seemed more a man of busi- rough sun-burnt visage. The oath was put to ness, and appeared to use all his powers to con- him, which he pronounced but indistinctly; and vince Mr. Dixon of the necessity of a calm and when requested to speak up, he said, 'So please collected behaviour; but the true spirit of the your worship, the gentleman as is in the box there divine-sweetly blended with love, mercy, grati- has been a very kind master to me, and I should tude, and hope-was not to be persuaded out of not like to say nothing as might injure him.’ its characteristic nature. However, as the 'Speak up, and take the oath! you are called on words, way there for the prisoner,' grated to speak the truth in defence of the laws of your upon my ears, he assumed a firmness somewhat country. In the prosecution of justice we must in accordance with the situation in which he was know neither fear, affection, nor favour; if it painfully placed. In a few moments Horace were your own father, it should make no differSomerville was led to the small box usually ence; therefore take the oath, and answer the appropriated to the offending party: he walked questions I shall put to you.' The man, with with a dignity and firmness which betrayed any apparent disinclination, did as he was told. thing but the malefactor; he turned his eyesNow, sir,' said the magistrate, tell me in what round the court, but the moment they met capacity did you serve the prisoner?' mine, he raised his hands, in which he buried der-gardener, delver, ploughman, and the loike. his face, and groaned deeply. He wore the 'A sort of rural servant, I suppose?' Yay, I same dress in which he called upon me; but did ought as I were told.' Then you had no oh! how altered was his countenance-he regular and set employment?' Noa.'' How seemed ten years older; and that wild fire of long have you been in the employment of genius which in days of yore had lit up his dark the prisoner?' I suppose about - let me eye, had all fled, and he seemed to feel the deep see--it were nine year last headish toime.' humiliation of his wretched situation: he turned 'What do you mean by headish time?' Woy to me, and looked with the deepest supplication that toime as we geat theadish for kine, for I for pity and sympathy, and with apparent in- winter foder loike.' How came you to be in quiry as to whether I thought him guilty, or Greensward Lane at the time the murder was even capable of conceiving such an act. I did committed?' Woy, yer see, I were goink to not. A dead silence pervaded the court. Mr. mor work at the field at back of ould Bertha's Merton, the other magistrate, addressed the pri- cottage.' 'About what time?' It were about soner in the following words: Horace Somer- a quatter to foive, or may be later.' Do you ville: it is with the most unfeigned regret that usually go to your work at that time?' Yai-I inform you, that you stand accused of the but mostly horf-post four.' What had you to most heinous offence that you can be guilty of do there on the morning in question-that is under a warrant signed by my brother magis- Tuesday morning? Oi had to hoe taters." trate, agreeable to the verdict found_by_the And I suppose you called upon Bertha in your coroner and jury which sat upon the body of the way to the field?" Noa I didn't tho'; for as I unfortunate woman, Bertha Hammond, you were goink down loin, I yeard a cry of murder were secured to our temporary custody; and I come fra th' cottage, and thought the voice were sincerely trust that such evidence can be brought Bertha's, and soa I turn'd back, and ca'd upon forward as will prove beyond a doubt your inno- Dick Sykes, th' deputy, and he were a gettink cence, otherwise it will be my painful duty to up; and soa I 66 says, Dick," says I, “I think commit you to our county gaol, to await your there be a summat a goink on as isn't rete at trial at the ensuing assizes, which commence oud Bertha's, and you'n better come and see next Monday. I warn you, that you are not loike;" and so he ax'd me to wait till he com bound to answer any questions which may im- down, and then he'd go with me; and when he plicate you; and at the same time I inform you, com down, I yeard the cry agin, and so did any remark you may make will be taken Dick, and we sat off to run; and when we got down, and, if necessary, used as evidence against to the cottage door, it were wide open, but shoutyou. I am obliged, sir,' said Horace, by ing were all o'er. Soa Dick and oi crept up the your caution; but being perfectly innocent, I have stairs, and there we seed Mr. Somerville, that is, little fear that any inadvertence of mine can im- the gentleman as is the prisoner, standing wi' a plicate me. By the merest accident in the world great big knife in his hand over the body of oud was upon the spot, and was unfortunately Bertha, which laid upon the bed; and there was taken in the position described at the coroner's a great gash in her throat, and the floor were nquest. There is, I am happy to say, a gentle-covered wi' blood.' 'Did the prisoner make that any remark as you entered?' He clap'd both gyman: Had the old lady, within your recolhis honds on the haft of the knoife, and lifted lection, ever given him any offence? Now them up in this way, and said, "Oh God!" answer me calmly and collectedly, in order that And that was all? That was all I yeard.' the clerk may take your deposition.' I have And what did you do then?'-' I did nought; often heard her say,' responded the old woman, but Dick says to master, says he, "you mun that she was afraid that she had caused Master come along wi' us ;" and he then said we had Horace a deal of trouble in his mind, by breakbetter go to the Vulture; but Dick said as howing off a love affair between Miss Ellen, who he didn't want nothing to drink so soon i' the married Captain Spearpoint, and himself; and morning. So master says, "You don't appre- that her dear son would, she thought, never forhend me?" "Noi but I do tho'," says Dick; give her; and she used to say what a pity it was and we brought him here.' Could you swear that such a beautiful estate should have nobody to the knife if you saw it again?Yea, I to live upon it.' Then it was Bertha who could.' Hand the knife to the witness,' said broke off that attachment, was it?' inquired the the magistrate; and the bloody instrument of magistrate.- O yes, your worship; she thought, death was produced. Take it in your hand, poor soul, that Miss Ellen was a little flighty, and say if that was the knife.' So please your and master being such a good young man, she worship, I'd rather not,' said he, turning his thought it were better they should not be wed.' head. Why not? Because its bad luck to She might have allowed her master to judge touch anything as kills a Christian.' 'Take it, for himself, I think.'-- Aye, your reverence, I say, and divest yourself of these superstitions; and she has often said so since, and wished and upon your oath, was that the knife which many a time that she had had nothing to do the prisoner had in his hand when you appre- with it.' But was the usual allowance made to hended him? By degrees he approached it, just her by your master withdrawn after this occurtouching the haft, and without looking at it, rence? Oh no, your worship, it was paid resaid-It-was-;' but the brief sentence was gularly by the steward.' When did Mr. scarcely audible. You may now go down.' Somerville leave the neighbourhood?'- On the Richard Sykes, the constable, was then sworn, very day that Miss Ellen was married.' And and confirined the evidence of the last witness. did he never come down to see his estate?The bailiff to the estate was then put into the No, your worship, he went into foreign parts, witness-box; but when he saw his young master, and was never seen here until the day of the to whom he was deeply attached, his feelings murder.' Had he never in any way sent any were so convulsed, that he could scarcely give communication to his old nurse, through the his evidence, which merely went to confirm the steward or otherwise?'- Never as I know'd statement of the first witness as to his being em- on. I have often heard old Bertha inquire from ployed in the field in question. Horace leaned the steward about her master's health; but she over the rail, and whispered to his solicitor; could get no information, except that it were whereupon I was called to the box; and to the thought his wits had turned, that he was quite various questions which were put to me I gave melancholic, and that he spent no money, and a detailed account of the last interview I had never seemed to want none.' 'And did you had with my friend. I saw poor Somerville receive any money at any time from the steward, change in colour as I stated those particulars or from Mr. Somerville?'-'Yes, your worship, which gave him credit for his vague unset- I had seven shilling a-week from the village tled manner at the meeting. Upon my leaving fund, which was established for the relief of poor the witness-box another was called, an old wo-old women.' How many have the benefit man, an acquaintance of the unfortunate nurse, one Ellen Lacy. She held a handkerchief to her face, and sobbed loudly. The reverend magistrate addressed her, and requested her to compose herself, and then inquired how long she had known the late Mrs. Hammond. As well as her stifled sobs would allow her, she said, upwards of forty years. Bertha and I were fellow-servants to the late Mr. Somerville, father of the dear gentleman who stands before you-God prove him innocent, as I am sure he is.' When did you see Bertha last alive?' It were on Sunday evening; I went to take a dish of tea with her, and afterwards we went to church together. She was, I believe, under great obligation to the prisoner?' said the divine. The Lord have mercy on him! yes; everything she had came from him-she was his nurse, and brought him up from a suckling, and loved him as he had been her own; she used to pray for him every day, and always spoke of him as her dear benefactor. Well, well,' said the cler ་ arising from this fund?'- So please your wor ship, his reverence the clergyman can tell you all about it; but I believe there are twenty.' She is quite right,' observed the pastor; and the whole of the funds are found by the pri soner.' The witnesses being all examined, the elder magistrate addressed the prisoner: I regret that it is my painful duty, upon the evidence which you have just heard, to commit you to the county gaol, to take your trial at the ensuing assizes for the murder of Bertha Hammond. The fact of your being found in the position, and under the circumstances described by the first witness, will, I fear, not leave a doubt in the minds of a jury of your guilt. The high position your family have ever maintained in the county, makes the task more grievous; and I have vainly hoped some palliative might be adduced, which would warrant me and my brother magistrate in admitting you to bail; but it is impossible. The evidence even of your dependants and friends, who are evidently much attached to you, so far from mollifying the case, or smoothing down any of its asperities, tend rather to aggravate it than otherwise, unless, which I hope may be the case, that some traces of insanity may be discovered, to prove that you had not the controul of your own passions. If you have anything to say previous to the committal being made out, I will give it an attentive audience.' At the advice of his solicitor, Horace was silent; and being removed from the dock, I obtained a magistrate's order to visit him during his incarceration." (To be continued.) ON A PICTURE OF "CUPID DISARMED." BY MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND. But oh, the surest shaft of all— The truths my feebler muse would tell: Through which thy soul of genius shines- That spark which makes the "Gods of Greoco" "Qui que tu sois, voicì ton maîtreIl l'est, le fut, ou le doit être !" Ay, take his bow, and loose the string; Then dream thou hast "disarm'd" the boy, Than aught which come on Night's dark car On lips for Love's own kisses made; So barb'd and trimm'd for dexterous use, One would have thought some artist hand Some are subdued by specious tongue, And Beauty!-who shall dare declare As painters give to Beauty's Queen ? Engraved by Lightfoot, from a painting by Hilton. From "The Drawing-Room Table-Book," edited by Mrs. S. C. Hall. SONNET. Written in the last page of Browning's "Sordello." BY CALDER CAMPBELL. "SORDELLO's Story-tell it to the wise, To comprehension of, or yearning for For me, I cannot stare into the sun With an undazzled vision; nor beyond The light behold the hidden angel! In The hyacinth's blue petal there doth run The legend of despair-and I despond Of mine own skill as more my woe than sin! STANZAS. Farewell for ever: No! unsay the words Shall wake no more to earthly hopes and fears; Of grief and anger lay as in the bygone years. Say not, Farewell for ever! We shall meet Melodious voices never breathe Farewell. We part on earth! We give unto the air The bitter sorrow and the quenchless grief; The heavens and all the firmament declare God's glory; this shall give to us relief. Say not, Farewell for ever! Bend thy knee, And bow thy gracious head to heaven in prayer ; God knows how oft I do the same-and He Will, after all our struggles, take us there! A. E. S. A HINT RESPECTING THE PROSPECTS OF GENIUS. A long period has now elapsed since Edmund Burke lamented the departure of the chivalric era. Were he now amongst us, the bitterness of his grief would doubtless be still more poignant; for not only has romance itself passed away from the outward world, but the very disposition to remember and record it has vanished. Not only is the picturesque age departed, but her ungrateful children cast from them the memorials of her existence. Truly do we agree with those who accuse the present generation of wearing a most unattractive garb. The spirit of the times marches onward in a buff great-coat, and carries an umbrella under his arm. No wonder that he should be hated by those poetic souls who doat on traditions of the imperial mail-clad warrior, and the gracefully attired sweet-voiced troubadour, who have heretofore travelled through the drear world, visible types of progressing ideas. The low material and matter-of-fact views which characterize our century might have been predicted by an ordinary philosopher, ay, even by "an arithmetician." That a time must arrive when the external series of beautiful forms would become incapable of new and original delineation, might have been predicted by every-day calculators. That the finite must have an end, is a truism which requires no very subtle logic to prove, no very extended intellect to apprehend. The general matter-of-fact aspect at present manifested is a necessary sequence in the order of exhibitions. What is generally termed the poetic in nature and circumstance has been made the subject of reiterated repetition. The ocean has "dashed its waters tempestuously," the lightnings "have flashed," and the thunders have "rolled;" the "feathered songsters" have "warbled their delicious notes;" the sun has been "a majestic luminary;" the moon has been "chaste Diana;" the trees have been covered with "beautiful verdure;" gothic fortresses have "frowned gloomily;" banners have "floated from massive keeps ;" lances have been broken in "the fierce encounter;" "brooks" have 'gurgled" and "brawled" in every kind of watery variety;-finally, the external modes of the pleasing have repeated their interestingly characteristic manœuvres so often, that the auditors have grown as weary of their exhibitions as they would of a Christmas pantomime on Midsummer night-an ephemeron half-a-year old. " Tired of the inanity of poetic delineations, grown too familiar to be prized, we have, as it were, rocked national genius to sleep, as a remedy for the disgust which must attend the activity of its eyes. It loves not, either personally or through The the medium of books, to converse with the narrators of thrice-told tales. The cry of poetic longing being thus hushed, the sensible man endeavours to make himself as comfortable as possible, under existing circumstances. good creature has no affectation, and can inhale with gusto the smoke of a thousand chimneys; delight his nostrils with the perfume of a thousand tar-barrels; and beatify his ears with the music of a thousand railway trains. Thus it is, that, for a season, the low sensible follows the disgust occasioned by the sameness of poetic delineations of nature. It is, however, but the momentary recession of a tide, which, on the whole, is ever advancing to the shore of the ultimate. Genius has exhausted the cycle of outward objects: the epoch of which it was the historian has been accomplished, and a new era has commenced, with which it might seem, at the first glance, utterly disconnected. Yet is there in man a voice perpetually inquiring whether infinite Genius, the creating Power, is to be paralysed by the fulfilment of a particular time and order. And there is an incessant response-"No." So far from regret occurring to us in the consideration that man's work, as a mere showman to the Great Natural Museum, is completed, we rejoice therein exceedingly. We rejoice even at that matter-of-fact progression in mechanical science, which many beauty-seeking minds regard with unfriendly and averted aspect. And why is our heart gratified? The eternal poetry, or genius, in man lives for ever; but its representative forms die away. The temporal modes must perish- must give place to better. It is the order of the destiny whereto nations and individuals are appointed that progression should be. The completion of the poet's task, with regard to mere external creation, is but a prelude to his investiture with a more glorious character, as the narrator of experiences produced in his own being-the unfolder of the human heartsgod-written chronicles. The poet of the dawning period must connect his exhibitive works with the creative power in himself; and in proportion as they express that power, will they be to him beautiful. The fire-glaring, smoke-vomiting, steam-belching vessel, so distasteful to the mere superficial poet, will assume a high order amongst poetic symbols, as manifesting the triumphant artistic principle which empowers us, by means of adjuncts once terrible, to set in regular and orderly action an inanimate wood edifice, and to subdue to our daily purposes the power which can cause an earthquake. Yes, truly poetic is the spectacle to which we refer. There moves not over the far and vast Mississippi, or over the calm and homely Thames, one of these steam- Hear Coleridge himself testify to the superiority impelled voyagers which is not an attesting voice of the interior to the outward exhibition :to the originating excellence in man. -We receive but what we give, And in our life alone does Nature live; Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud : And from the soul itself must there be sent OUR CONSERVATORY. CHARLES DICKENS'S RAVENS. The following exquisitely humorous description is extracted from the new preface to Barnaby Rudge:The raven in this story is a compound of two great originals, of whom I have been, at different times, the proud possessor. The first was in the bloom of his youth, when he was dis covered in a modest retirement in London, by a friend of mine, and given to me. He had from the first, as Sir Hugh Evans says of Anne Page, "good gifts," which he improved by study and attention in a most exemplary manner. He slept in a stable-generally on horseback-and so terrified a Newfoundland dog by his preternatural sagacity, that he has been known, by the mere superiority of his genius, to walk off unmolested with the dog's dinner, from before his face. He was rapidly rising in acquirements and virtues, when, in an evil hour, his stable was newly painted. He observed the workmen closely, saw that they were careful of the paint, and immediately burned to possess it. On their going to dinner, he ate up all they had left behind, consisting of a pound or two of white lead; and this youthful indiscretion terminated in death. While I was yet inconsolable for his loss, another friend of mine in Yorkshire discovered an older and more gifted raven at a village public-house, which he prevailed upon the landlord to part with for a consideration, and sent up to me. The first act of this sage was, to administer to the effects of his predecessor, by disinterring all the cheese and halfpence he had buried in the garden-a work of immense labour and research, to which he devoted all the energies of his mind. When he had achieved this task, he applied himself to the acquisition of stable language, in which he soon became such an adept, that he would perch outside my window and drive imaginary horses with great skill all day. Perhaps even I never saw him at his best, for his former master sent his duty with him, "and if I wished the bird to come out very strong, would I be so good as show him a drunken man"-which I never did, having (unfortunately) none but sober people at hand. But I could hardly have respected him more, whatever the stimulating influences of this sight might have been. He had not the least respect, I am sorry to say, for me in return, or for anybody but the cook, to whom he was attached-but only, I fear, as a policeman might have been. Once I met him unexpect edly, about half-a-mile off, walking down the middle of the public street, attended by a pretty large crowd, and spontaneously exhibiting the whole of his accomplishments. His gravity under these trying circumstances I never can forget, nor the extraordinary gallantry with which, refusing to be brought home, he defended himself behind a pump, until overpowered by numbers. It may have been that he was too bright a genius to live long, or it may have been that he took some pernicious substance into his bill, and thence into his maw-which is not improbable, seeing that he new-pointed the greater part of the garden-wall by digging out the mortar, broke countless squares of glass by scraping away the putty all round the frames, and tore up and swallowed, in splinters, the greater part of a wooden staircase of six steps and a landing; but after some three years he too was taken ill, and died before the kitchen fire. He kept his eye to the last upon the meat as it roasted, and suddenly turned over on his back with a sepulchral cry of "Cuckoo !" Since then I have been ravenless. CONSOLATION FOR GENIUS.-Let no man, who is in anything above his fellows, claim, as of right, to be valued or understood: the vulgar great are comprehended and adored, because they are in reality in the same moral plane with those who admire; but he who deserves the higher reverence, must himself convert the worshipper. The pure and lofty life; the generous and tender use of the rare creative faculty; the brave endurance of neglect and ridicule; the strange and cruel end of so much genius and so much virtue-these are the lessons by which the sympathies of mankind must be interested, and their faculties educated, up to the love of such a |