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^yi^'^-^-^'i^l-' c^C^^*-*-^-^^^' 
 
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 THB 
 
 CANADIAN FOBOET ME NOT 
 
 FOR 
 
 MDCCCXXXVn. 
 
 ■■■"■■'.■w 
 
 Oh ! knowMt tbou, when to dlitanee driven, 
 When Friendahlp weep* the parting hour; 
 The ■imj^eatKUithat moment given, 
 Long, limg retain! a magie power. 
 Still, when it'meiKalteliut6t4few, 
 Can half the theft of time retrieve; 
 The scenes of former blim renew, 
 A^^d bid each dear remendirance live. 
 
 EDITED BY JOHN SIMPSON. 
 
 Nlfttttltfl 
 
 PRINTED BY THOMAS SEWELL, 
 
 AT THE REPORTER OFFICE. 
 
 / i' 11 
 
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DEDICATION* 
 
 To Hu ExcCLLBNCT Sib pRANCts Bond EDllb, Kl C. II'.' 
 
 4lLc.ftc« AND LiEOTSNANT Governor or vBElS^tion^M 
 
 OP Upprr Canada. '"> ^ '.' 
 
 mo') Tirrn fmi! 
 
 Mat IT PUBASK TOUR EXCSLLBNCT, 
 
 As the iirguments we so freqileiitly h^ in 
 tKe' Advocacy of error; only tend, when properly re- 
 fated, tc render the beauty and value of trdth more 
 conspicubuii; so the ma1%n abuse and detraiitioii with 
 which the true patriot is assailed, iHlrteadbf Utii^eN 
 ii^ the end proposed by those who ded'tiit irctelt 
 weapons, will inevitably recoQ upon tbemielVi^ ai^ti 
 ezhn>it the object assailed with hiiifilsr^aiiiiii upon 
 the admiration of his country. Publid ih^n ma^, ii^ 
 deed, be often valued according toi the'^mnitytiiey 
 meet with from that- class of persons, ^<^ id eveiry 
 community, are found expressi^ fheut* hosttUty to 
 the institutions under which they livbf ibr dli^||>poitt« 
 ted ambition often turns to revenge; and self ikftdfest^ 
 restlessness of disposition and love of ehangl^ as 
 frequently instigate those who are miscalled Fatlidts, 
 as love of country, or desire for the advancement of 
 the character, honour^ wealth or ftime of their coun^ 
 trjrmen. * ^^>^i 
 
 When the speculative Philosopher iihall in fUttire 
 ages, be asked for some celebrated example in the 
 difficult art of Government, he will point with a sndle 
 of triumphant gratification to that page of Upper 
 
 
 ^*-: 
 
 'vj^ 
 
 j'V 
 
■\^ 
 
 u 
 
 Canada's History^ in which are recorded the difficul- 
 ties tfaatbeset YourJUcellenc^ on assuming the Go- 
 verumept of this Colony, and the statesmanlike man- 
 agement by which they were overcome. Disa^- 
 tion and complaint were widely spread and extending ; 
 a large portion of the people, filled with fbaiffol anfi^ 
 cipatioQs of eviljwere panting after undefined changes ; 
 wlien tl^ opportune arrival imd energetic proceed- 
 ings ^ofijopx J^xceUiency, dashed the ciij^ from the 
 y9^ ^piB qf the Apostles of aini;Ghy,reyivM the hearts, 
 of ,tj)eJi|^ya|,^^9,QUec^ tluistr^ ^the 
 
 wf^^ri|^,(j^0J9fip^ the.p!ea6eM>lA''^industTio^»in 
 tJi«^,c<^>i|ri^ ;Of;ord^:aii^4u^QV^ piid proved to 
 the i9r(N;)d #MLt ^rij^j.^opomr and Canadiap loyalty,, 
 axe ,ali||p ^ii^iWihed and i|^ : 
 
 In a pQuntiy lilce this, whose boundless resources 
 are only l^g^ijiiig to , be developed, prosperity will 
 «;aii^y dep0nd on the selection of judicious measures, 
 and on the^efficienc;^ of the instruments chosen to 
 oarKy theie m^iMsures into execution. Either with- 
 out tiieo^Ht must be valuele8s« 
 
 The ifstureof our freci ConstitutiQii, indicates that 
 these two requisites cannot be obtained uidess by a 
 genial diffusion 0f practical Imowledge ; and Your 
 Excellency's well known views of Education, axe a 
 nuffioleBt proof thftt it will form ^Dm of your prkrcipal 
 ftudies,^ to jg^vsioijt^ ;itaiidfl«4 of Ciwjai^'^n intel- 
 
 •ligenoCf 'It? inicr Ifh^^.r! .^rfrrrnTr^'ron ?n "-r . ' ■ '• " 
 
 \ It iti'therefqre witii pride aiid; pleasure that this,, 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 the first work of its kind in the Colony, is placed un- 
 der the fostering care of Your Excellency; and 
 although small its claims upon, and humble its pre- 
 tensions to the patronage it solicits, yet, like the 
 star that ushers in the mo *nir o , it may be the harbin- 
 ger of the day of Canadian literature. It is by tlic 
 dissemination of knowledge alone, that every sub- 
 ject of Your Excellency's administration can be taught 
 to appreciate the value of good Govenmient, truly 
 estimatolilp blessings of internal tranquillity, and un- 
 derstand the mtians necessary to secure individual 
 happiness, and the public good. "; 
 
 I may be permitted to express a hope, that Your 
 Excellency will remain among us until the work you 
 have so wisely begun, is in a fair train of completion; 
 and that, when, with the gratification of an approving 
 mind, the applause of every lover of order, and the 
 heartfelt gratitude of a loyal and happy people. Your 
 Excellency shall return to the bosom of our common 
 parent, you will be crowned with those honcnrs, with 
 which the Sovereign of Britain is alwavd proud to 
 invest his deserving^ and faithful repress luiti^ye. 
 
 I have the honour to be 
 
 Your Excellency's most obliged,, 
 obedient servant, 
 
 JOHN SIMPSON. 
 
PREPACE. 
 
 It it pruuraed that for a pvMieation like the pt epea^ no intro- 
 dnctlott or apology I* needM^ and the otOf eM«i(MI * pvefaee 
 tharef^we is, that we may have an epportanUy. of eoipfeaaini our 
 grateAiI thanks to the Ladiea and Gentlemen, whose kind Qt^ntrl- 
 bntions have enabled us to redeem the ^edfe given In oi^ an- 
 nouncement of die flrst Canadian AnnuaL 
 
 M thfBtpraient, is n Hjfft, ax4 conneqi^ent l y fteUe attempt, we 
 trust the Public will be sulHeiently Ind^ient to forgive what they 
 see amiss In us{ reserving to themselves the right of treating us as 
 we deserve on our next nppearanee, aa^ we cannot than plead ig- 
 noranee either of thedil^iBUltiestobe oyereo^e/)r of the aid.upon 
 which we can depend. 
 
 It is our present intention to produce the Canadian Forget me 
 Not finr one thousand ei|^t hunAed and thirty'«ight, at . a nuteh 
 earttec period than we were enaUsd.to 40 in the present instance ; 
 and wo respectfully request that all contributions may be forward- 
 ed to us, at as early a period previous to September, as is consis- 
 tent with the convenience of die respective authors* 
 
 Many excellent articles reached us too late for inseftion; many 
 were omitted from causes not at all discreditable to the talents of 
 their wrUersf and if in wAluuj instanees we felt obliged to lay 
 aside such as did not reach the prescribed standard,we did so with 
 an anxious desire to whisper in the ear of inexperience, try again! 
 
 J. S. 
 NiAOARA, January 9th. 1837. 
 
 tV 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 Page 
 
 DSDICATIOlf 
 
 - 
 
 PRKrAOB . . 
 
 ■ 
 
 CAPTAlirPl.VlfB'« CO0IITSIXIV 
 
 8 
 
 Saijit Mark's Ev» 
 
 . 18 
 
 TqaFb^|d 
 
 . 19 
 
 Imm^qx^^Kovb Lbtter 
 
 . 20 
 
 A PbamIN^ Skbtoh 
 
 . 22 
 
 ThbFaBCB of the WORX.D . 
 
 80 
 
 To Emma . . 
 
 . 81 
 
 Chapter oir Epitapmi 
 
 . 82 
 
 Alf A|>TBlfTirRB 
 
 . 38 
 
 Tr« EvBiriiia HovR . 
 
 . 48 
 
 FOROBTTHBB 
 
 . 48 
 
 PoOiR JXfSB 
 
 . 49 
 
 THoq aiit^ohGod! . 
 
 . 57 
 
 Tiijp Lambbt OF Lavrbtta Sc<evoli 
 
 . 58 
 
 Macaronic Poetry 
 
 59 
 
 At Newstbad Abbey . 
 
 81 
 
 Lines written by a Convict 
 
 . 62 
 
 The Progress oir Society 
 
 68 
 
 To E1.IZA ON HER PORTRAIT 
 
 . 73 
 
 RECOI.I.ECTION . . 
 
 75 
 
 The Youth of Canada 
 
 76 
 
 The Sebr*8 Soliloquy . . . . 
 
 91 
 
 Written IN A Cembtbry 
 
 92 
 
 I TilINB;OF THEE 
 
 94 
 
 A .Cawoe Voyage 
 
 96 
 
 To MY Watch ... 
 
 111 
 
 To MY Nephew . . . . , 
 
 112 
 
 To THE Picture of a Dead Girl 
 
 118 
 
 The Si8TBR» of GiiBNMORB 
 
 116 
 
 Charles FoRSTBR 
 
 141 
 
8 
 
 CAPTAIN PLUME'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 BT A OBIfTLBMAN, ONE, BTC. ' 
 
 Scenet his own drawing room. The Captain, solus, 
 soliloquising. 
 
 If it must be^ it must! and yet to sacrifice that in- 
 dependency which so many fettered beings sigh after 
 in vain; to lose the right to call my iin^mer own; to 
 be bound, manacled, with a perspectivdiHIiqualling 
 children in dirty bibs and tuckers, a scolm^ wife, and 
 impertinent servants; cabinM in a road side cottage 
 with a frontage of about thirty feet, the outside Wnite- 
 washed, the inside air-tight, and outwQrks of {lig- 
 geries and puddle holes; then again, the <<my dearing 
 and my-ducking" of the honey moon-^the billing and 
 cooing of that Indian Summer, which only makes the 
 dreariness of the coming winter of indifference more 
 appalling; the gentle reasoning, the chiding remon- 
 strance, the curtain lecture! ByHeaveici! I'll soon- 
 er don fustian, sport an axe as heavy as a smith's 
 anvil, and fVom mom to night, chop down pines in 
 the backwoods, to the tune of 
 
 Liberty for me, oh ! Liberty for me. 
 
 Enter SPOOKS. 
 
 Snooks! what the d — 1 do you want? 
 
 Si^ooKS. Beg pardon Sir! Creditors wo*ht wait; 
 times hard; a defaulter in the Bank; Mr. an 
 
 iincommon punctual man; your little bill, discharge) 
 whew! 
 
 Plumr. No causes,no effect8,bang.^ (E»t.SNooKs 
 in a hurry.) If all his creditors serve him the same, 
 poor Snooks' seat of honour will be all the worse for 
 
C APTAIIf ThwafB c ovutship. 
 
 m 
 
 Bamvkl, 
 
 Sawjei 
 Plumb. 
 
 wear. Confound it, I'm horribh in debt, and the 
 complexion of aBenedict moat at last utume. Wive 
 I muat, but who shall be the foituaate Ladyl In 
 sooth I know not, but as the eaae tkanda rhino ver* 
 BUS beauty) thefirst must carry it. U«tto,Sam! 
 
 Enter Samubi.. '^ 
 
 Plumb. Brush up my holiday uniform,, and bring 
 me u bottie of soda water. Have you been to the 
 post-bAce? 
 
 Yes Sir! 
 Lny letters? 
 One Sir! 
 Bring it in with the pop. Avaunt! wh^ 
 stay *8t thou? -^ 
 
 Samubl. a small boy, just breech'd Sir, is wait^ 
 inff to see pspa* 
 
 Plume. Tell him to join his brothers and sisters 
 in the other hemisphere. (Exit Sam. and enter 
 
 CoRJvrmAN.ToMO 
 Plumb. Ah, Tom! how d'ye do? 
 
 Tom. Right royally. Hector! full of the grape, 
 and fresh from the board. Why jdid'nt you come to 
 H * s last night? There was a famous compa* 
 
 ny, and capital fiin. 
 
 Plumb. Who were thp dramatis persone? 
 
 Tom. O there was HfM^y : with, his silver snuf! 
 box and mosaic-^ol^ Jwsa^ed cane, repeadilg that 
 eternal scene in the woods between himself, the bear 
 and the squaw^^ty times before we parted; lerry 
 was inuproaribus ybicey and fipostro^used John Bar-^ 
 leycorn till the candlea^went out. ; There was Poins, 
 and Squeak, and Bumper, and a green huzzarfrom 
 the other side, who was voted nem. con. a sucking 
 pig, and grilleid accordingly. But have you heard the 
 news? " '. ' ■■ . i'"'V 
 
 Plumb, What news?' 
 
10 
 
 CAPTAIN plumb's COURTSHIP. 
 
 Tom. Why, that Rockallum's noosed! 
 
 Pl0mb. You dont mean to say that! 
 
 Tom. By Jasu% as Pat says, but l. do though.-r» 
 Look here at yesterday's paper. : < 
 
 Plumr. Reads. <'0n Saturday last at Youngston, 
 Moscheles RockallumEsq. to Anastasia Sophonisba, 
 only daughter of Colonel Hezekiah Eatallhekills. ,. 
 
 Tom. Is'nt it shocking? " 
 
 Plume. What the plague does he want with a 
 wife? 
 
 Tom. Impossible to be explained. A Canadian 
 learns to rap out a gentlemanly oath, smdjUhis cigar, 
 sip sangaree and run into debt, but spoite^e catas- 
 trophe oy wiving. This generation will never i^ach 
 the true TON. , i 
 
 PLUMti. I fear not. 
 
 Tom. I say Hector! will you part with the geld- 
 ing you bought of Trotter, after the death of his se- 
 cond wife. 
 
 Plumb. Not if you would give me the Home Dis- 
 trict in exchange. 
 
 Tom. Why? 
 
 Plumb. Because Cure-termagant, as I have named 
 him, may be of priceless value to a marrying man 
 like me. 
 
 Tom. You a marrying man! you! 
 
 Pluiu. Is there any thing to surprise you in the 
 occnrreitce of such a natural aflkir? 
 
 Tom. You marry ! 
 
 PtUMR. Why, thou atom of exclamations! 
 
 Tom. I — ^hem ! pon my life ! Ha ha ha. (Exit. ) 
 
 Plume. Confound the rascal ! 
 
 (Enter Sam with the stimulant and letter.) 
 
 lSi»M. A lady wishes to speak with you. Sir! 
 Plumb. What colour is she of, Sam? 
 Sam. a kind of whitey-brown Sir! 
 
CAPTAIN PLUMK's courtship. 
 
 11 
 
 ^tVMS, Trot her in. 
 
 Exit Sam. and enter the Lady. 
 
 Plumb. Ah Miss Chinquacousy? have I the h'ap> 
 piness of seeing you in Niagara? 
 
 Miss C. I hope Captain Plume is well. 
 
 Plumb. Mucn the better for your presence Ma- 
 dam. Have you left home unattended. 
 
 Miss C. No Sir! my uncle is in the town. He is 
 preparing for our departure from the District, haying 
 entered elsewhere iilto some extensive speculations 
 which require his personal superintendence. I am 
 very much Opposed to leaving, for I understand that 
 the people amongst whom I shall in ibture resiildy are 
 quite boorish and uncivilized. 
 
 Plumb. Why then enter on a mode of life, Which 
 permit m^ to say, is incompatible with the disposition 
 of one who has so high a relish for the pleasures and 
 delights of refined society? Because, if t am rightKy 
 informed you have, at your own disposal, ample 
 means to secure yoUr, passage through me, according 
 to the bent of your own incUnation. 
 
 Miss C. That is true. My poor deceased father 
 left me ten thousand pounds, to be paid me on the 
 attainment of my twenty fifth year. 
 
 Plumb. Ten thousand pounds! 
 
 MissC. Yes Sir! 
 
 Plumb. Which you will receive— 
 
 Miss C. On the second day of next Novemb^h 
 
 Plumb. I must try the <^old stroke fdsr a wife,*' 
 (aside.) Imperious Destiny, thy decrees must beffiU- 
 filled! 
 
 MissC. Sir? 
 
 Plumb. Pardon me, Madam! I feel ill, giddy. 
 
 Miss C. Use my vinaigrette, Sir ! 
 
 Plume. Thank you Madam! it is an excellent 
 restorative. Oh, that it may prove typical of the 
 
t 
 
 't 
 
 n 
 
 GAPTAtN PLUftiK'« COURTSHif. 
 
 healing power you possess oirer another, but I fear 
 
 me, morefttti^4isQi^ei! uL.a''; > 
 
 MissC. Captain Plume ! J. /'.^ 
 
 Plumb. Mi^am, ttiy fsit^ is iJoi ^oiir han^V were it 
 not that ypp unexpected ddpattute n^a^ 'd^biiye me 
 of the feliqxty of t^fain behol'diiiff ttat,lov«y ftic^ — 
 were it not that thu may be the^ist oppoiit^x^ af- 
 forded me of hearing the muisio cif tbo^se rosy Iip9> my 
 ^oret shouldrhave remaiti^d closely locked iip in my 
 own heart, ^ut now, whien X d^cl^are I3ii»t; 1 have 
 loved you loiig /and fervently, that my #hbl^, heart 
 is devoted to y,o^, that sleepless iu|fhb ai0 anxious 
 day^ have been dedicated to aditiirinr t^e^on on 
 you— oh! if you cannot love, ailba^i^wyiaiidfo^ve. 
 ., ;Mis§,C. Really Sir— this iu^obi&d for— I !&0w 
 not what to say t 5; 
 
 PiuMB. By Ji^piter, she's miiie. <AsJde.) I^et 
 me teach you, .d^arept! let the accOnta of lovedictate 
 yottt answer; let ap avowal of teciprbciil ^fl^tion, 
 extinguish me doubts and fears, which toifote my 
 mind. 
 
 Miss C. Had I expected— had I been prepared— 
 if I thought you sincere-^. : V ;:;r' {. ^ S^'5, . 
 
 Plumb. Sincere! h l^er^ trum'iii h^livopV ho^^ 
 in the sun, or glory in the stars? Is thoi-o propojftion 
 in this exquisite form, (encircling her with!J& ai^m,) 
 splendour in those brilliant eyes, or balm on those 
 pouting lips? (kissing her.) My beloved, my adored 
 Serapmna! "Vr 
 
 l^wsC. Pear Hector! af i J 
 
 When a lady addresses' her lover by his christian 
 name and styles him dear, no more need be said of 
 the matter, for she is won. 
 
 Tub Gaftain Paid HIS DBBTs. 
 
 ■i 
 
IS 
 
 BT THE EDITOR; 
 
 Among the remarkable traits of the English cha-> 
 tacter, credulity is generally considered the most pro- 
 minent, and is really a more component part thereof, 
 than seven-eights of the great family of John Bull 
 are willing to allow; Whatever cause this may proceed 
 from, whether from the doleful stories inculcated 
 with such ferVency' of fVightening zeal by the anti- 
 quated Dilehhas ' of the Nursery, the ridiculous cha- 
 racter of 'many of the books which form a course of 
 instruction for the youthful portion of British tieroes 
 and Heroines, or from some unanalyzed but inherent 
 quality to believe, is no great matter; 6in<6e if it is pro- 
 ductive ofa certain degree of superstitious prejudice, 
 the evil is counterbalanced by a sensitiveness and 
 sympathy, honourable even in their weakness to hu- 
 man nature. 
 
 If there is nothihg iiiiprobable to an Englishman's 
 belief, the^e is no suffering too remote for the reach 
 of his extensive benevolence; if there is no scheme 
 too vast or too complicated for his confidence in his 
 own power to accomplish, there is no exertion lie will 
 leave untried to perfect it; and if there is lioihing im- 
 possible to the grasp of his faith, the workings of 
 his mind are also without bounds. 
 
 For the elucidation of the remainder of this arti- 
 cle, I may as well state that with the rural popula- 
 tion of a great portion of England, Saint Mark's 
 Eve is an Annual occurrence of infinite importr.nce. 
 This arises from a belief that immediately after H 
 o'clock on that night the likenesses of all who re- 
 side within the parish may be seen to enter the 
 Cj^urch; those Who are to die in the succeeding 
 B 
 
14 
 
 SAINT mark's eve. 
 
 year remain there; those who are not, return; a:ncl 
 it is also JM^^edthidt any iniiividiuJ mho once allows 
 himself to witness this extraordinary gathering*, 
 must, however unwillingly, continuip his vigils until 
 th€» teirn!iination of his own existe^c^; tins latter 
 fact m»y probably account for the comparatively 
 very few believers in the mysteries of Saint Mark's 
 Eve, who have peen any thing with their own eyes. 
 
 One of the remarkable personages who in our 
 young days and pur native Village, had the reputation 
 of a "Church Watcher," was AuLi> Rosm the I'a- 
 rish Sexton. He was a man of vast importance to the 
 juvenile comhninity, for upon him most of their mis- 
 chieVpUs prankig exploded; it was a matter of p<^es^ 
 sary nightly occupation to lay a trap for , the feei^ of 
 theS^xto^: was thiere a cracker of greater power 
 than common, it was fired off at AuLnB-OBm! was 
 there a string tied from rail to rail across^ tlie narrow 
 wooden bridg-e over which he had to pass in his way 
 Irom ringing the curfew bell, it was to cause the 
 downfall of AuiiDEoBiN! were any windows painted 
 oVet during the night, Auld Robin's was sure to 
 stand number pne! in short no prank was left unvisi- 
 ted pto thie head of the devoted Sexton. 
 
 'He ivas in his young days a cracker of sconces as 
 well as ft Recipient of jokes,but now age and its iniiTmi- 
 lies had rbttderpd him powerless; his head was bowed 
 with the weight pf a life of poverty and labour; the 
 light of one pf hiiS eyes was utterly extinguished, and 
 that of the other Vas dim and dreamy: his hearing 
 he retained sufficient of to misunderstand every ques- 
 tion put to him : vet in this condition did he for years 
 perform punctually the humble duties of his station : 
 regularly as the »un himself did Auld Robin's Bell 
 summon the working population of the neighbour- 
 hood to their daily labour: and the same welcome 
 
SAINT MARK'S EVE. 
 
 W 
 
 sound in the evening warned them as regularly to 
 retire from it : I ne'» shall look upon his like again. 
 
 Poor AuLD Robin! twice only did he venture 
 from his home^ and both events were marked by un- 
 common particulars. The first time the honest old 
 Sexton disappeared contemporaneously with a 
 neighbour's Cow; the one circumstance created quite 
 as much sensation in the village as the other, but no 
 individual supposed there was the slightest connex- 
 ion between tiie two. The Quadruped was adverti- 
 sed, and the biped searched for^ but days elapsed be- 
 fore there was any intelligence of either. At length 
 AvLD Robin made his appearance, and proceeding di- 
 rect to the owner of the missing Cow, offered for a 
 crown and a chew of tobacco, to tell where the 
 beast was. The owner gladly consented and the 
 old Sexton performed his part of the contract.--- 
 AuLD Robin, think'mg it high time the Cow was sold, 
 had driven her off to a neighbouring fair in order to 
 dispose of her, without thinking it necessary to con- 
 sult the proprietor on the prudence of such a step; 
 but not being able to obtain a suitable; offer, had 
 brought her back to within a mile of the village, 
 where he had left her to make sure of his expenses. 
 Speculate on this Philosopher8-<'the old man had 
 neither the purpose of crime nor fraud in his hearty,. 
 
 His second absence forms still an era in the gos- 
 sippipg circles pi' our village, and the particular cir- 
 cumstances attending it, may be found detailed at 
 full length in its records. That little history is poor 
 AuLD Robin's epitaph. His grave is in the Church 
 Yard he so long tended, unmarked by marble monu- 
 ment or BCulpUired elegy, yet he sleeps well under 
 the green sod, over which the long grass waves 
 mournfully in the breeze. 
 
 The situation Robin held, was perhaps one cause 
 
(1 
 
 f6 
 
 8AINT mark's eve. 
 
 why he was generally befievedto be a Church Watch- 
 er; indeed very many of the village sages who had 
 the sagacity to trace efiects back to their causes, 
 made no whisper of iheit belief that he sat out St. 
 Mark's Eve, for the purpose of ascertaining how 
 many victims would require his official services du- 
 ring the ensuing year; so that, calculating at so much 
 per head, he might know the exact annuu income he 
 could depend upon from his profession of grave £ff- 
 ger. The truth however is still shrouded in the 
 mist of all uncertainties; but be it as it might, one 
 fact tradition still mentions to his honour, is that he 
 never blabbed the secrets of the chamel house; ne- 
 ver hinted to those upon, whom the grim King of 
 Terrors had set his seal, that the suids by which 
 the^r cnstence was regulated were on the point of 
 exhaustion. I say never, but general rules admit of 
 exceptions; and on one — but one exception to the 
 rule I have laid down, does the character of Auld 
 Robin as a Church Watcher rest. 
 
 It happened that a female who was in possession 
 of the not uncommon character of Village scold, 
 one day attacked Robin; and with a volubility and 
 eloquence peculiar to her species, treated the old 
 man w^th some of the choicest tropes and syllogisms 
 of the language: on some neighbour remonstrating 
 with her, Auld IloBiN cried "Nay!- nay! let her 
 tongue run on for it won't run long; before next 
 Mark's Eve, her husband will have to pay me for 
 digging her grave." And so it was. 
 
 The next instance I shall record of the mysteries 
 of St. Marks Eve, is one which occurred to a Farmer 
 unexpectedly, and in the pursuit of his business. 
 Having occasion to go to a distant town with his 
 Waggon, it was necessary for him to proceed 
 through the market place, at the upper part of which 
 
Saint mark s eve. 
 
 n 
 
 Watch- 
 ho had 
 QaueeS) 
 oat St. 
 1^ how 
 ces du- 
 Bo much 
 come he 
 &ve diff- 
 1 in the 
 ^ht, one 
 I that he 
 186 ; ne- 
 Kihgcf 
 ^ which 
 point of 
 admit of 
 to the 
 
 AULD 
 
 r 
 
 Bsession 
 e scold, 
 ility and 
 the old 
 llogisms 
 itrating 
 let her 
 re next 
 me for 
 
 [ysteries 
 iParmer 
 
 isiness. 
 |rith his 
 
 )roceed 
 [f which 
 
 thfe Village Church was situated; on entering the 
 markot place the clock struck twelve, and he was 
 astonished at meeting numbers of people hurrying in 
 the direction of the Church, weanng white rounda- 
 bouts, and leather apron8,and carrying sticks in their 
 hands; he inquired of several the meanihg of sdch 
 «n unusual concourse, but received no ahswer; one 
 spat at him, another frowned, another turned away, 
 and one individual whom he recognized and named, 
 approached close up to him and grinn'd in his fac6. 
 That individual thep in good health and full of youth 
 and vigour, died in less than two months. It is pro- 
 per to state that this Farmer had the teputation of 
 occasionally seeing double. v 
 
 ■ It is useless detailing the various stories of spec- 
 tres, winding shet its, coffins, and death watches^ so 
 common and so m merous in the winter's hearth ffos- 
 flip by the rustic jfireside j and therefoi e I will conclude 
 this article with a story, which at the time of its oc- 
 currence created an intensely mournful interest hi 
 the breasts of all acquainted with the parties. 
 
 Henrt * * * * was a young man of great natural 
 talent, polished and directed by excellent education- 
 al acquirements. His applictuiion to study was ea- 
 ger, and his thirst after knowledge insatiate. With- 
 out scepticism, he did not altogether disregard the 
 superstitious traditions of the the olden time, and 
 hearing the character attached to St. Mark's Eve he 
 resolved to prove its truth or falsehood for himself^ 
 
 For two years his vigils proved fruitless, and he 
 felt fully satisfied that the stories he had heard pro- 
 ceeded from the mere phantiisy of the brain; his 
 third annual watch however, led him to a different 
 conclusion, and was followed by a most tragic result. 
 
 Henry was affianced to a young Lady whom I 
 shall characterize under the name of Sophia; thev 
 »2 
 
#• 
 
 8Alirr UAKKJU ^vs« 
 
 hadloi^ bfl^n attached to oaefi other, and, tiiek' 
 speedy amon .^as a^mat^r of gepeiral aiii^patiqp. 
 He ,aa& ipiLD^rWai haudsQine in, person, noble in oba- 
 racter, fiaiik i^i beanng, ai^d of tolerable • fortune: 
 she 1^ a wpipaa ii^as ,beautifiil,^4eUigent^accoi^pU«b' 
 ed, and^n4<)^!?^ ^^^ ample nv^an^ ;:the bond ivluch 
 united theijii was that of the liei^r^'<rof unal}oyed, 
 spontaneous love. There waf9 i^tbii^g to thwart 
 their plaos; :^ thpir future prospecti fio faras.earth 
 was concerned, was unclpuded.bv a. single doubt.^ 
 
 On the mom succeeding St. Afaxks Eve, Hbnrt 
 wasat ^ofniA's house with the break of day to en- 
 qui^p after her, Jiealtlb, with the atrcmgest marks of 
 anguish depicted on his cq\intenanice. Bhe yrw ^ell 
 as usual— ?there wfis notJb^l^ matter: twoho^rs 
 passed, find he was therp ag<!iui--H9tiU the sf^ne bjib- 
 we^yiejf^Qiii^r two hours and he reappeared with the 
 ssgpAe r^svdt. Bpfka in vain entreatjed to ki^ow the 
 cause of ^ C^t dow?^ countenance^ his unusual 
 anxiety respepj^ng her heali;h 1 she received evasive 
 replies. 
 
 Hip' Jipliciti^de ceased not, and at the end of a 
 week he w;a^ iarely ajbsent from ^opbia except 
 when it was necessary jbrius beloved to sleepy still 
 he did not urge tb,eir niainriage, and it was remarked 
 that his bearing exhilnitied ^lpre solemnity than was 
 his usual woni^ and that his mterqourse with Sovhia. 
 was more d;?eply inarked witifi discourses on spiritU' 
 al subjects tha<n the objpervers thpught necessary. 
 
 i^las ! in three short ^onl;hs the young, the beauti- 
 ful, the affianced Sofsia was a corpse; it shght cold,. 
 a short cough, an4 then con^mpi^n carried her pure 
 soul to the he9.venly bridegroo^, whilst the lips of 
 I^ENET received her last breath. 
 
 He saw her in her Coffin^ fU^d atill he claimed her;^ 
 heaving a sigh similar to the bursting of the gnarled 
 
SAINT MAkK's BVE. 
 
 10 
 
 cipatiiqp. 
 »io.oW 
 fortuae: 
 
 ad which 
 [iaI}oyed, 
 » thwart 
 ri|i«,earth 
 ciouht. 
 , Hbnrt 
 ly to en- 
 aaarks of 
 •^W ^ell 
 wo hoifrs 
 tme ans- 
 with the 
 ki^ow the 
 unusual 
 d evasive 
 
 mil of a 
 i. except 
 eep^ still 
 remarked 
 than was 
 
 SonuA. 
 
 spiritU' 
 ssary. 
 
 beauti- 
 ^ht cold,, 
 her pure 
 le lips of 
 
 med her; 
 gnarled 
 
 oak, he exclaimed <<It was thub I saw her," and fell 
 across the breast of his betrothed. Hit heart had 
 broken, and the two Lovers repose side by side in 
 the same grave. 
 
 By the Editor. 
 
 Give me the gentle flush, just seen 
 To tirvge the cheek and disappear ; 
 Even AS the Ughlning^s flash iUumes, 
 And passes, ere you say 'tis here. 
 
 Qive me the sparkle-glancinf^ eye, 
 Half closing from the worid its light : 
 As if the quivering laadies veil'd 
 That splenctor, lest its rays sfaoold bltghl« 
 
 Oive me the sweet and trem'lous sigh, 
 Bscaping softly though cqmprcss'd ;. 
 Give me the tmd«lating throb-' 
 The heave which marks affection blessed. . 
 
 Give me the generous douibt, the hope 
 Unfetter'd, which still stronger grows. 
 When Pear or even Despair would quen<!*i, 
 Anticipation as it glows. 
 
 Give me the faithful heart which beats 
 With confidence when absence wounds ; 
 The trust which zealously rdies, 
 When scandal hurts, or scorn astounds. 
 
 Giv« me the lip which press'd to mine. 
 Can anguish and remorse remove: 
 With these, if thou wilt ask me still 
 ril tell thee I have "feithful love." 
 
u 
 
 ■,Trn 
 
 SO 
 
 "TVi *r» 
 
 IMPROMPTU LOVE-LETTER. 
 
 // 
 
 BY O. S. 
 
 May it please you, fair maiden, to Hat to my ditty ; 
 
 I'm a suppliant nn w, though unused to sue ; 
 
 I have passed my whole life in that wonderful city, 
 
 Where single stultariant on man iage are witty, 
 
 And bachelor bobbies thrive, (more is the pity) 
 
 And I've come forth to wive' with— sweet Girl, is it you? 
 
 Tm turn'd twenty one, but am scarce a year older, 
 My beard's still imperftct, my modstaebe quite new : 
 By Nature nbaroe-fac'd; I am grown somewhat bolder. 
 And a once burning heaft is now ten degrees colder— 
 But the matter of fact isj I'm wishful to solder 
 Two mortalsin one^myselfy dear and yoa ! 
 
 When you talk of Kin^ Hymen my l^eart is so flaming, 
 You might ignite his torch at it — Dearest, 'tis true ! 
 And the blind boy-God Cupid so busy in claiming 
 My hour-form'd afTection, forgets he is maiming 
 The innocent hearty which So sore is, that shaming 
 All GLuacks, it will only be healed by you. 
 
 And think not devotion more fond, or sincerer, 
 From a life>time's acquaintance on earth ever grew ; 
 Believe me, (no fact to my mind can be clearer) 
 The Lover who hints, and then thinks, before nearer 
 He presses his suit, will prove but a veercr, 
 Inconstant — imlikc what I will to you. 
 
 \ 
 
IMPROMPTU LOVB-LBTTER. 
 
 fl 
 
 Oh ! deem nof thtU lore, though the work of a minute, 
 Is leu firm than a passion for years over due; 
 My heart is your own, and in faith I will pin it 
 Upon that bright eye which hath truth glancing in it : 
 The Qoal is in sight— come Sweet I let us win it, 
 An^tfor life I will love, for life worship you. 
 
 Mark'd you her eyes of heavenly blue, 
 Mark'd you her cheek of roseate hue ! 
 That eye in liquid circles moving. 
 That cheek abash'd at man's approving; 
 The one, love's arrow darting round, 
 The other blushing at the wound. 
 
 "How do you V* cried Harry. "But poorly" quoth Necf; 
 "I feel a strange heaviness here in my head;" 
 "Nay call it not strange" said Hal, "sure 'tis not so," 
 "Since lead my dear Sir's always heavy you know." 
 
 Kate ask'd me why I w^tch'd her eye 
 With look so fix'd she thought me stupid ; 
 "Sweet Girl" I cried, "methought i spied" 
 MJV Psyche looking after Cupid." 
 
 Reflection is the power of considering diflerent 
 ideas and comparing them together. All that] we 
 learn from books^ conversationi or any other source, 
 may become the subject of reflection. 
 
ii 
 
 tamUt 
 
 BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 Scene, the Saloon of the * HoUl^ Toronto. 
 Filch. 
 
 If this evil luck continue^ I must perforce abjure 
 tbc profession altogether. 
 
 Logic. 
 
 And if I have as much grace left in a corner of 
 my heart as will assist me to turn honest man, I am 
 afraid I must take the benefit of it. 
 
 Why afraid 
 
 Filch. 
 Logic. 
 
 Why, my present occupation suits me so vjrell, 
 that I fear in the hunt after honesty, I should be so 
 often thrown off the scent bv certain remnants of 
 roguery, that I should either lose it altogether, or be 
 killed with the labour and difficulty of tne chace. 
 
 Filch. 
 Thou art doubtless in the right. 
 
 Logic. 
 
 What is Honesty 1 If you choose it for a Sove- 
 reign it is such a tyrant, and so poor and ragged in 
 revenue withal, that its subjects must either revolt 
 or starve. If you wed yourself to it in the hope of 
 good companionship, its surly, shrewish jades tricks, 
 will make you hang yourself in your Groom's gar- 
 ters before the expiration of the honey moon. And 
 as for friendship, none can exist between man and 
 ifonesty. 
 
 Filch. 
 
 Your reason 1 
 
a dramatic sketch. 
 Logic. 
 
 23 
 
 Because presuming on its character and antiquity, 
 it teaches such sevore, rough and ill timed lessons, 
 tiiat all except the cuiitless beggary are glad to pick a 
 (juarrcl on the very first occasion that presents itself. 
 
 FiXiCH. 
 
 Then Honesty it seems is not for us. 
 
 Logic. 
 
 No : for though grey beards term it the best poli- 
 cy, it is only so when no better can be found. 
 
 Filch. f 
 
 Can we light on no profession a little more ho- 
 nourable and lucrative than our own? ''^ 
 
 ■ T 
 
 Logic. 
 
 I know not; very few arts or sciences, can in 
 Canada mamtain their professors. 
 
 F1X.CH. 
 What tliinkest thou of turning Author ? 
 
 Logic. 
 
 What! print paper to singe Geese with? why thou 
 silly man! Would'st thou boat thy brains to blot 
 foolscap, which will cover up rancid butter or mag- 
 gotty bacon? I would prefer having my career ter- 
 minated with a rope, rather than a Novel; the former 
 ends folly, the latter perpetuates it. Think of the 
 oft'spririg of thy brain, passing through the sweaty 
 fingers of some moon struck Romeo,on to the pillow 
 of some sentimental Juliet, who loves to indulge in 
 waking dreams of torches, flames, Cupid and white 
 Satin, and at last finding its way into the dirty digits 
 of the kitchen wench, who, (sighing that she cannot 
 read,) incontinently lights the fire witli it, or throws 
 it at the shaggy head of her impudent adorer, Pa- 
 trick the broad shouklercd excavator. 
 
ft4 
 
 A DRAMATIC SKETCH. 
 
 'I 
 
 Filch. 
 Oh! horrible! 
 
 Logic. 
 Or would'flt thou write travelS) reminisci&nceg or 
 conundrums, to light the cigar of some moustrichied 
 Dandy, or 'curl the false toupeau of that old, wither-* 
 cd, gossip loving maid, Mademoiselle Scandal ? 
 
 -Filch. 
 Bah! 
 
 Logic. 
 
 Or wouldst thou dash into the high regions of 
 Poetry, to be pelted with the rottenness of the wrath, 
 or poisoned with the fulsome stench of the praise, of 
 those dogmatical egotists the Critics; who know 
 English enough to cry "stuff," "bombast," or 
 " trash;" who seem to live like the vampire by blood- 
 sucking; who praise for hire, condemn without read- 
 ing, and like the damn without reasoning^. 
 
 FtL'CH. 
 
 Preserve us from these! 
 
 Logic.. 
 Amen, most devoutly say I! 
 
 Filch. 
 What of the Stage ? 
 
 Logic 
 Hast thou no reverence — no fear of the Gods t 
 
 Filch. 
 
 Enough to keep me out of the way of orange 
 peel and cat calls. Now then the Bar j there we 
 need not change the nature of our profession. 
 
 Logic. 
 
 Why, I would as soon be called Lawyer as Gamb- 
 ler for methinks there is no great room for choice. 
 As for the profession itself, being a money makings 
 brow beating, honorable professioiiT*^ have no objec> 
 
A DRAMATIC 8KBTCH. 
 
 45 
 
 tion to it; but in respect that it is called by such vile 
 names^ that one must carry every Statute from Al- 
 fred's time downwards on the tip of one's tongue, 
 and that one may be fretted by such a thing as lack of 
 ClientS) I am afraid I could never sit down with it. 
 Besides, a Lawyer's head may be accounted brainless, 
 being so fuU of pleas, fines, recoveries, quirks and 
 quillets, that there cannot possibly be room therein 
 for anything else; and there is no character I am less 
 ambitious of obtaining, than that of a man with his 
 head full of any thing but brains. 
 
 Filch. 
 
 It wont do. 
 
 Logic. 
 
 No; pass the Lawyers and come to the Physicians. 
 
 Filch. 
 
 They are so numerous already th^t they have ta- 
 ken to prescribing for one another. 
 
 LOGHC. 
 
 Let them do nothing else, and in ^ood time we 
 shall have a marvellous scarcity of disorders: what 
 thinkest thou of the Army and Navy ? 
 
 Filch. 
 
 Don't mention them. I detest the smell of pow- 
 der, and horribly abominate the idea of growing 
 old, without growing rich : still there is some prospect 
 in a snug Government office. 
 
 Logic. 
 
 Most wisely spoken. What though we are influ- 
 enced by no patriotic feeling, and though to speak 
 truth, our studies have been confined to cards, and our 
 knowledge of Government, like an unmarried wench's 
 fidelity, is a very trifling matter, yet we have glib 
 tongues for flattery, flexible knees to bend for pa- 
 tronage, and hands long accustomed to tak^ toll. 
 C 
 
S6 
 
 A DllAMAttC SKlStCH. 
 
 i 
 
 Pitch. 
 
 But how shall we obtain pbdts t f m afraid that's 
 a tmotty point. 
 
 Logic. 
 
 Fash not thy beard about it, for li^e ev^rV thing 
 else thev are to be obt^goed; some by penuming 
 smell themselves into oi£c^; some beg their way; 
 others talk themselves into snug incomes, and a 
 fourth set, by means of brazen faces and cast steel 
 eyes, outface all opposition. 
 
 ]F*ILCH. 
 
 What mode shall we adopt. 
 
 Logic. 
 
 Oh! we'll adopt a new plan, for novelty ensures 
 success. IVe a great mind \o set up as Physician 
 extraordinary to the body politic, and advertise a 
 hostiruih for thie infallibie fate 6f iall diselases, real 
 and imaginary, extindt 6Tt existihg, pa^t, present, and 
 future: oh! it would be both glorious and profitable, 
 to convince hid6 hedth bf mireaire, tod administer 
 medicine which would create sicktiesis^ 
 
 PiLGtt. 
 
 A most happy thought; and I will call Giants into 
 eidsltence, and ahnedin the v«stinetiti^ bf Reform) en- 
 ter the listd ag^st them, and like the redoubtable 
 seven chahipiohs, tut off thdt heads, and poieket their 
 estates at my leisure: but here comes St^ATCHEM to 
 assist our council. 
 
 [Eiiitteii ^NATCHJEM.] 
 Logic 
 And Ws face tells more of the fatness of a Tavern 
 than the leanness of half pay. (To Snatchem.) Is 
 Fortune crowned Virith smil^ia or frowning titill f 
 
 Snatchem. 
 What mean ye by skulking in corners, when so 
 
A DRAMATIC 8KBTCH. 
 
 27 
 
 much is to be made by stirrijig. Oh, Fm in glorioue 
 luck. 
 
 Logic. 
 
 So it seems; since thou fixt sp much elated thereat, 
 as not to permit thy friendia to participate tiierein. 
 
 Snatcsem, 
 
 Give met.**ne)boy; I always set thee down for a 
 Philosopher tor thy apt answers: but come now, be 
 honest for onc^ aoa msplose what new plot you have 
 been hatchii]^ 1 Whose pu^e is the aim of your 
 secret cogitations, eh 1 
 
 Filch. 
 
 Faith, we have been consiilting on the best means 
 of robbing the black Prince, with as many ajid as 
 long names as any State Den^crat, of his reversion- 
 ary interest in our penitent selves. 
 
 Snatghem. 
 
 Pishp--qualms of conscic^ice y^hich I will soon dis- 
 sipate, inward wound^^ fop which I Imve the Speriptia- 
 ceti. |jads of merit, g|v)?Jne your hands, thus: and 
 now, tell me whietlrer Innve riot always acted honpur- 
 ably— fulfilled our engagement to the very letter- 
 divided my gainp with you, to the uttermost farthing 
 of equality? ^ oil ^i mm 
 
 Thou hast ; md so hav? "^e #th thee. 
 
 Say ypu so t tlieni am not so gfoodas to be better 
 thanypu; nor so bad on companson, as to have my 
 own opinion of my own good qualities lessened. 
 
 Logic. 
 
 If it were so, we should bid fair to lose a valuable 
 member of the commonwealth; for the moment a 
 man believes himse^ less werthy than his neighbours, 
 he as good as puts one foot in the grave. 
 
S8 A DRAMATIC 8KBTCH. 
 
 i Filch. 
 
 Which will not need to wait long for the company 
 of its fellow. 
 
 Snatchem. 
 Right Lads! but talk not of the grave; it always re- 
 minds me of death,and causes a suffocating sensation 
 about the throat. 
 
 Logic. 
 Well then unfold thy glorious news: let the luck 
 thou boastest of, be imparted to us. If it is for our 
 benefit, well ! If not,let us continue determined in our 
 repentant resolutions. 
 
 Snatchem. 
 But are you serious 1 
 
 Both. 
 We are. 
 
 Snatchem, 
 We shall see; you both know George Washing- 
 ton Je£fersonGuesser; he who cannot speak a sylla- 
 ble of Englishi without first filtering it through his 
 nafial organs. 
 
 Logic. 
 What! the man who throws his legs over the 
 chair bacl^ and calculates and spits by the hour. 
 
 Snatchem. 
 The same; he is a son of the national spittoon con- 
 tractor, and lately freighted a Ship with button tree 
 nutmegs, and hickory hfuns; by which speculation 
 he has secured an immense profit. 
 
 Logic 
 Well, what of him ? 
 
 Snatchem. 
 He is a pigeon from which last night I plucked a few 
 feathers, and shall tonight strip of plumage and all. 
 
A DRAMATIC SKETCH. 
 
 29 
 
 If you wish to share in the spoils, spealt like men ot' 
 true hearts and ready wits: if not, hold your tongues 
 till they rot with lack of exercise. 
 
 Both. ' aiiT 
 
 We'll share-— We'll share. oniicii . 
 
 Snatchem. *t ,, 
 
 Now I see how you estimate the bitters of repen-*' t 
 tance, and the jalap of honesty: let Priests and oldC 
 maids mind these things, we are made for better 
 uses. Come along; remember your ancient Instruct ^j 
 tions and we are sure: recollect— no acquaintance :!n 
 Silence! Signs and Strangers!*— [Exeunt.] . '-f. 
 
 ' ;i;iu< .ci|P hiv}" .A ; ■'Arjrvitt oaii:' 
 In pleasure as in science while we ris^i ' . 
 
 ^i\iO 
 
 Hills peep o'er Hills, and Alps on Alps arise' ^ oii t 
 And happy he, to whom at length 'tis given, ^i'Mii 
 To reach that cliff which hidcfs its head in hciaven.^JI 
 
 !Ev>: 
 
 !., ir 
 
 fT'> 
 
 Perception is that power of tlie njii^dbyAymciiweiK 
 acquire our first and simple ideas of the ^rm. ftiid 
 properties of things, so as to be able to distinguish-^ 
 one thing from another. ,, . nn,,/. i.r 
 
 ";IV) 
 
 Memory is the power by which we retain in theii 
 mind the ideas we have acquired from Perception^ ii 
 The memory may be justly considered as the treasury g 
 of the soul,andis one of the most important facnltieisi» 
 we possess,since it would be of but little advantage to/ 
 learn, if we could not retain the knowledge we acqui* > i 
 red. Dr. Watts in his essay on the improvement of r i 
 the mind, supposes the strength of the memory in 
 gome measure to depend on the texture and consis- 
 tency of the brain. 
 c3 
 
80 
 
 TfHJS FARCE OP THE WOELI>. 
 ByJ>.W.J. 
 
 Thb World is a Theatre, mankind are the comedi- 
 anS) chance composes the pieces and fortune distri- 
 butes the parts; theologists and politicians govern 
 the machijoesi and philosophers are the spectators. 
 The rich take their places in the pit and upper boxes, 
 the powerAil in the front and sides, and the j^leries 
 are for the poor. The Women di9l^bute nuit and 
 refreshments, and the unfortunate snuff the candles. 
 Folly composes the overture, and time draws the cur- 
 tain. The title of the piece in ^Mundus vult de- 
 ciPi BReo DBciFiATUB. The opening of the farce be- 
 gins with sighs Atid tears; the firM act abounds with 
 the dumerioal projects of m«»; the frantic testify 
 their applause with, re-echoed BRAVos, whilst the sa- 
 gacious bring their calrcaJQs into play to condemn the 
 performance. At going in a sort of money is paid 
 called TaouBii% and in exchange a ticket is given, 
 subscribeiSimBABi^'ss, in dr4er to obtain a place. 
 
 14ie variety of objects which appear, for a short 
 time ^vert the spectators; but the unravelling of the 
 plot expands the risible muscles of the Philosophers. 
 We see giants diminish into pigmies, and dwarfs at- 
 taining a moDfltnyus height. We see men exerting 
 all thmr eflbttein ptursu." lOf the inost eligible plan«i, 
 guided by prudenee and .armed with precaution, who 
 are nevezthetess circunitvented is all their eudea- 
 vours;: and,<» the other < hand, bdiold indolence and 
 i gnorance attaining the highest summit of eartMy fe- 
 licity. 
 
 * The Worlcl wishes to be deceived, therefore let it, be 
 deceived. 
 
FAKCB OF THB WORLD. 
 
 81 
 
 Such if the farce of this world, and he who chooses 
 to divert himself with it at his leisure^ diould take his 
 place in some obscure comer, where he may unob- 
 served, be a spectator of the whole performance, and 
 in safety laugn at it as it deserves. 
 
 TO BttMA - 
 
 BT C. B. 
 
 Oh ! fkir and flowery be thy way, . 
 The skies all bright above thee; 
 And happier every eoming day, 
 To thee, and those who love thee. 
 
 Calm o'eir thy soul may hope arise^ 
 Each secret fear beguiling.; 
 And every glance of those bjlue eyes, 
 Be brilUant still, and smiling. 
 
 And placid be thy gentle heart, 
 And peaceful all around it ; 
 Nor grief, nor gloomy care impart, 
 Their dircfful pangs to wound it. 
 
 Bat lov*d and loving may'st thou live, 
 The purest bliss possessing ; 
 With every joy the world can give, 
 And ev'ry heavenly blessing. 
 
5f r TO 3?ij2 A ••! 
 
 )^Ut 0tt ^fii(^f^$P 
 
 
 By the Editor. 
 
 The period of the introduction of epitaphs has not 
 been ascertained with any degree of certainty; but 
 the invention of them has been attributed to the pu- 
 pils of Linus, who according to Diogenes was the 
 son of Mercury and Urania: he was born at Thebes, 
 and instructed Hercules in Music, but on ridiculing 
 his heroic pupil for awkwardness in holding the 
 Lyre, he was answered by a blow on the head which 
 cost him his life. The scholars of Linus lamented 
 his death in a mournful kind of Poem called from 
 him CElinum. These Poems were afterwards de- 
 signated Epitaphiee, from two Greek words signify- 
 ing upon Sepulchres. 
 
 The Lacedcemonians allowed Epitaphs only to a 
 man who died bravely in battle, and to women re- 
 markable for their chastity. The Romans often e- 
 rected monuments to distinguished characters whilst 
 living, which after their disease were preserved with 
 great veneration. In Great Britain and her dependen- 
 cies, it is customary with all who can afford it, to e- 
 rect a monument of wood or stone to the memory of 
 their deceased relatives; and this chapter will consist 
 of some remarkable ones, which I have collected 
 from various sources. 
 
 Were we to believe the major part of the Tomb- 
 stones we meet with, we should find great difficulty 
 in considering human nature so vile as it is generally 
 Tei resented; on the other hand, were we to store up 
 for our own guidance the important lessons which 
 many of them teach us,the tenour of our lives would 
 perhaps better deserve the encomiums with which 
 
CHAPTER ON BPITAFHS. 
 
 3d 
 
 the partiality of Friends^may hereafter aurmount ol 
 own narrow houses. 
 
 The aspiring sons of ambition may derive an in- 
 structive lesson from the epitaph on Macedonia's 
 madman, Alexander; 
 
 Buff icit huic tumufui, eui non luff iceret orbis. 
 
 And the gifted children of genius, may appreciate 
 the full value of earthly fame, when perusing the fol- 
 lowing epitaphs on some of the master spirits of their 
 
 respective eras: 
 
 Leg OS du Taise. 
 
 RARE BEN JONSON. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 Nobles and heralds by your leave, 
 Here lie the bones of Mntthew Prior ; 
 
 The son of Adam and of Eve 
 
 Let Bourbon or Nassau go higher. 
 
 ON SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN, IN ST. PAUL's CATHEDRAL. 
 Lector 1 si monumentum requiris, circumspice. 
 What amiable feelings occupy the mind, as we 
 peruse inscriptions simOar to the following : 
 
 Underneath this stone doth lie, 
 As much virtue as could die ; 
 Which when alive did vigour give, 
 To as much beauty as could live. 
 
 Reader ! drop a pitying tear ; 
 
 Youth, truth, and loveliness lies buried here. 
 
 There is not perhaps any thing more affecting than 
 to find on the sculptured marble accents of reproof. 
 Had he read the following, one might almost think 
 the earth would have opened its gaping mouth to 
 swallow up the conscience-stricken Destroyer of in- 
 nocence and life: 
 
9^ 
 
 CHAPTBR on BPlTAniS. 
 
 Child of dlstrMW, by feithlttw tows betrayed ; 
 At length from sin and eorrov thou art free t 
 TThy debt to Nature has been ftiUy paid, 
 And wounded pity pays her debt to thee. 
 
 The epitaph oa a witty wicked school-master, con- 
 veys as fine.j>^9f|||re on ill directed talent as can be 
 conceived.; : , ; v 
 
 Beneath these stanes, 
 
 Lie Jamie's banes, 
 
 O Satan when ye tak 'em i 
 
 But choose him tutor for your weans. 
 
 And clever Deils' heUl mak'em. 
 
 Some worthy souls have lived lives of continual jokes, 
 and cannot leave the world without perpetuating the 
 recollection thereof on thdr tomb>-stones, either by 
 testamentary order, or the mstructions of congeal 
 spirits. 
 
 Here fast asleep, full six Ceet deep, 
 And seventy summers ripe, 
 George Thomas lies, ia hopes to rise, { . ; 
 And smoke another pipe. 
 
 My sledge aiid hammer lie reclin'd, 
 My bellows they have lost their wind ; 
 My fire's extinct, my forge deca;y'd. 
 My vice low in the dust is laid : 
 My coals are spent, my iron gone, 
 My last nail's drove, my work is done 
 
CHAPTBR ON BFITAFBS. 35 
 
 Life is a jest, and all things show it ; 
 I thought 80 once but now I know it. 
 
 John Adams lies here of the parish of Southwell, 
 A Carrier who carried his can to his mouth well ; 
 tie carried so much and he carried so fast, 
 He could carry no more so was carried at last ; 
 For the liquor he drank being too much for one, 
 He could not carry off, so he's now carri-on. 
 
 A tomb-stcnci with the followiiig inscription was 
 erected during the life^time of rae person whose 
 name it bears; 
 
 '* Dr. Jdha Gardiner's best Bed-room." 
 
 t shall next present the reader with two inscrip- 
 tions to the memory of Sir I&ftac Newton. 
 
 How sublime is the phraseology as well as the i- 
 deaofthefirdt! 
 
 Nature and Nature'^ laws lay hid in night, 
 God said let Newton be, and all was light. 
 
 In the second^ a good idea is absurdly and wretch- 
 edly spoiled. 
 
 More than his name were les&— 'twould seem to fear 
 He who increased Heaven's fame could want it here ; 
 Yet when the suns he lighted \^ shall fade, 
 And all the worlds he found are first decay'd, 
 Then void and Waste eternity shall tie. 
 And time and Newton's name together die. 
 
 The foregoing strongly reminds me of a peppery 
 character in an old play^ who on seeing a comet in 
 the sky, broke forth into this ludicrous apostrophe ; , 
 
96 
 
 CHAPTBR ON BPlTAPHt. 
 
 How uow ye Heavens I grow ye 
 
 So proud as to put on curl'd locks ; 
 
 And clothe youivelves in periwigs of fire 1 
 
 There are many epitaphs of the Romans, written 
 in the style of a puzzle, a sample of which I subjoin: 
 
 O quid tua te 
 be bis bia abit 
 ra ra ra 
 es 
 et in 
 ram ram ram 
 1 i 
 Moz eria quod ego nunc. 
 
 This set learning and antiquarian lore at defiance 
 for a considerable length of time; at last a Rif^dler 
 expounded it thus: ^^O superbe, quid superbis ? tua 
 superbia, te superabit. Terra es, et in terram ibis. 
 Mox oris quod ego nunc." '^O vain man, why art 
 thou proud ? Thy pride will ruin thee. Dust thou 
 art, and to dust th ju wilt return: soon shalt thou be 
 what I am." 
 
 If the subject of the following deserved little, he 
 has of a truth had little accorded to him. 
 Here lyeth wrapt in clay 
 The body of William Wray— 
 I have no more to say. 
 Of all descriptions of Monuments however, those 
 erected by a Nation's gratitude to her deserving sons, 
 afiect the heart most deeply. Who that has walked 
 through the cloisters of Westminster Abbey or St. 
 Pauls, among the tombs and monuments of Kings, 
 Warriors, Poets,— those mighty dead, whose names 
 shed lustre on the glory, valour, genius, and honour 
 of the British character— but felt his soul elated at 
 the undying halo which encircles the name of Bri- 
 tannia, and gave vent to his emotions in some raptu- 
 rous and ecstatic exclamation like the following: 
 
CHAPTBROlf BPITAPHS. 
 
 S7 
 
 he 
 
 Britain! thoug;h humb)ett of thy loni, 
 1 still am thiiM* 
 
 Connected and identified with the last reflection, 
 is the memory of the gallant British Ch^eflidn Sir 
 Isaac Brock, who becMM the victim' of one of the 
 most unmiAur^ contests recovded in History. In all 
 ages, the mantle of . delusion hath been thiown over 
 the hidaousness of that scourffing monster, malibiouB 
 ambition; but iu) these latten onys, when intelHgenoe 
 is said to have advanced > man. to amuch higher state 
 of perfection than his anoest;/rs attaiaed-^-when the 
 general spread of knowledge, (the noblest axiom of 
 which is to bear aitdjporbbar) is supposed to have 
 made the Jiumai^ race thorougm^ acquainted with in- 
 ternational, as well as social duties, it is much to be 
 lamented that pretences aloo^ should <;o0ttiie world 
 the vast price of such a man .as Sir Isaac Brock. 
 Peace to Ms ashes, and immortality to his name! tie 
 reposesr.il the scene of hia glory, and the ^ fbUowing 
 tribute of gsratitttde, is copied front tha column ^root- 
 ed to his memory, on Queenston'Heiglits. 
 
 UPP^R CANADA 
 
 Haa dedijcated this monument tp^the nt^pry of the 
 
 MAJOR GE^ "^RAL SIR ISAAC BROCK. B^ C. B 
 
 Provisional Lieutenant GovIbrnor, 
 
 And Commander of the Forces ita thlg l^yovihce. 
 
 Whose remains are deposited in the vttult bc^ath '; 
 
 Opposing the invading Enemy, 
 
 He fell in Action near these Heights, 
 
 On the 13th of October 1812, 
 
 In the 43rd yearqf r i(3 age ; 
 
 Revered and lamented 
 
 By the people whom he goveftied, 
 
 And deploredby the S overeign 
 
 To whose service his lif« had been devoted. 
 
 D 
 
 •i 
 
T^ 
 
 *)sfU*r ATrr ?•'/ o Rt^x't / #i 
 
 It 18 a delightful thing lb mount on the back of s 
 rough; shod Pid^aBus^and gallop through this world 
 of notions, at a speed far surpassing the feetness of 
 a Yankee idea, or Stephenson's estimate of Steam 
 power; the first animated movements of the heaven- 
 bom Steed, fill the mind with rapture, and the blood 
 rushes to the- heart in a wanner tide of blissful ex- 
 citement, as the rider finds himself fixed firmly in his 
 seat, and able to rein the high-mettled Racer at 
 will. On-on-they urge, despisers of obstruction and 
 conquerors of diaiiger; fleeter than the wind, they 
 outstrip storm, tornado, and hurricane ; and firmer 
 than the firm-set earth, they are impervious to the 
 stroke, of the forked lightning, unshaken by the rude 
 rent of the yawning earthqui^e, and unappaUed by 
 the thunders of the terrible volcano. On-on^they fly, 
 and it is a steeple chace worth observation. See! 
 how cleanly yon wide dieep ditch of Doubt is cleared! 
 how that strong, double fence of Probability is 
 bounded over, without check or pause! and look! the 
 last obstruction,that sunken quagmire of Possibility, 
 is only a snuff of inspiration in the distended nos- 
 trils of the gallant courser, and he reaches the goal 
 amidst the rapturous cries of countless thousands, 
 without a single hair turned on his glossy hide, or a 
 strained sine^ in his frame. 
 
 Reader! hast thou ever jockeyed it in such a 
 course? if not, separate the imaginative from the o- 
 ther mysterijBs of thy nature, and out of these unal- 
 loyable elements, compound for thine own infinite 
 surprise and delight a— Hobby Horse. 
 
AN Al>V£NTtR£. 
 
 S9 
 
 Yee-i* Hobby Horse; tod beKeye hot that tnbu 
 vt a man of any mark of standin^^ if thoii alrt not a 
 possessor of one. Ttufn to the histories of all the 
 great men of ajl ages, and without ekdeption, thou 
 wilt find each in possessioii of his favourite: to in- 
 stance a feWi 
 
 Sm Isaac Newton's was a tobaccb stopper; it is 
 well known that at his first and only courtship, ha- 
 ving with great tenderness taken hold of the fair one's 
 hand, with the ihtehtion ad she fondly hoped, of pop- 
 ping the question, heajlplied the tapering white fore- 
 finger to the base use of pressing down the ashes in 
 ; the bowl of his pipe. Cicero and Sir John Fa l- 
 9TAFF made hobby horses of jests; the former cared 
 not whose head he broke when running his course, 
 'and to the latter it mattered not whose purse he cut. 
 Sir Walter Scott gloried in rusty armour and il- 
 legible inscriptions. Georob the Fourth, Btron 
 and Brummbl, equestrianized on style; Napoleon 
 strode the bubble of future fame, and William the 
 Fourth paces on the love of his people. 
 
 These are but a few of the materials of which 
 hobby horses, or the ruling passions of men are con- 
 structed; there arc others worthy enumeration, but 
 I must refVain from scheduling them until a future 
 time, my present object being to tell thee what was 
 my own. 
 
 I say WAS, because I am not allowed to say is, in- 
 asmuch as there is standing at my elbow, a miniature 
 likeness of myself, (as his mother says,) ready to 
 blot out any thing I may write concerning any other 
 than his own wooden—" Nurse! Nurse! take away 
 this mischievous little brat; h6 has emptied my snufi* 
 box into the Burgundy Decanter." 
 
 My ruling passion in my young days was a love of 
 adventure— an inkling after any thing strange and 
 
40 
 
 AN ADVBNTURE. 
 
 mysteriouS} providing it was approachable; no mat- 
 ter wl^at obstacle threatened) what danger presented 
 itselfy my heart never faiUied) and my resolution ne- 
 v0r quaUed j^i the Dursi^it of my favourite object. 
 Entre nbus, dear Readert I was no Quixotic Adven- 
 turer,s6eking out gigantic Hurlothrumbosj^in order to 
 annihilate their Cerberus-headed persons, and seize 
 their castellated possessions; no chivplric knight, 
 scouring the eairt^ to relieve distressed Damsels, and 
 cut the throats of their oppressors; no system build- 
 er, establishing mine own theory on the ruin of a 
 thoU|3aiid others; but a pliodding, student at Law, 
 with a moderate income, a tblerabfe face and pel'son, 
 and ah unaccountable aflfection'for the daughters of 
 my neighbours; especially if they were handsome, 
 and my i^te^'course with them was shaded with 
 a touidh of the clandesline and forbidden. 
 
 Now the secret is out, I hope to get along with- 
 out digression. 
 
 NiA^^AaAy although at this, present writing no great 
 miracle of a Town, was in the year 18**lilw a young 
 boy aboijit to emerge from the thraldoin of a tight 
 roundahout and cap, to put on the dignity of along 
 tailed hlue an<^ beaver; the last log house had disap- 
 peared in a wreath of smoke, caused by the hand of 
 an unpunished incendiary, and the first brick man- 
 sion reared its stately head in all the glory of paint- 
 ed shingles, and Venetian blinds; here and there, the 
 impiainted weather boards of some newly erected 
 frame house, gave evidence of new settlers and in 
 crea»ng py}pulati6n; imd every new comer was hail- 
 ed wjth joyous cordiality, which the hope-of-making- 
 useful principle, was as much at the bottom of, afs 
 genuine hospitality. 
 
 Society at the time lam speaking of, like all bad- 
 ly attended public meetings, contained but few mem- 
 
JkS ADVENTURE. 
 
 U 
 
 dl- 
 
 ae 
 
 [ad- 
 
 bers, yet these were of a very select class, according 
 to their difforeit castes; the elite were as jregnlarly 
 ana ilioioughl} organized as the exclusives of Al- 
 macks; and desvending from them to Mrs.Coesar, tlie 
 honoured spouse of the worshipful and coloured Jack- 
 of-all-trades, or figent of all descriptions of profes- 
 sional service from carrying a message to split- 
 ting a logf each influential family had its follow- 
 ers, and e'ch subject of discussion its forum : 
 scandal was discussed, whilst the Bohea was cool- 
 ing ; character anatoqad^ed whilst cakes were being 
 buttered; and matches talked of with the price of ve- 
 getables. Fashions too were observed to the mi- 
 nuteness of a fractional flounce; and young love was 
 as paramount here, as he is under the Italian skies; 
 sighing, pouting, jealousy, quarrels and j:econcilia- 
 tions, being quite as frequent considering the popula- 
 tion in that day, as in the present epoch of civihza- 
 tion and refinement. 
 
 The beauty of the Niagara X*adies, if it is not, de- 
 serves to be a proverb, as since my recollection has 
 ever been the case; and therefore it is unnecessaYy 
 tO' say that I, whose feelings were as cqmbustible as 
 tinder when the spark of any bright eye chose to 
 light them up,had a multitude of Affaires du Cceur; 
 but luckily or unluckily for most of my attract© rs' 
 (should my wife survive me she will most probably 
 tell the world on my monument) the ignition was too 
 speedily accomplished to continue," and when a wai".i 
 and steady blaze was looked for, the fire which 
 was to have difiused comfort and happiness, had 
 disappeared, and the ashes of cold disappointment 
 alone remained. Blame me not gently Reader! the 
 evil was constitutional; and I generally suftered for 
 it, in damages of the person, purse, or character. 
 
 In the midst of my flutterinio: fyom flower to flowerj 
 P2 ' . 
 
IV 
 
 %$ 
 
 49t 
 
 jhH jkiiil^ftiijiikl 
 
 's^iMttHdA «#!a t» tf ftlib^td^^ cdiiv>epiMi!tiU)^. It 
 
 Bhbt lip 111 lib €iil^ aM ^^^mCdA HHd'PmiBimiii 
 aefylei of iMififficttM»^>#fiibh ihMiM ioiUri^iftiifi^b^ 
 
 tK^ ol^ G^ihtlfeniftli Dt^ tdl>e i^iiiM ciclatleff in M^ eti^ 
 lit^e. WitSi "Bj^l^le^ <>h> Koi^' aittd '«^/ii^j(»'ed'hi ^, 
 
 m the domdid^ ^nii ib^€ t#b to sU <^ve^^ % ; 
 fhkt the flkniilV' IffiaJed Aim^^^OtdrUn^ coff^ df¥eV 
 dIMifer; t&ittke fbi^I^y Ktida]»i&ii)(^, Aft3 the 
 ydiiii^ O^fitteMUnf # B^ite^ <$f Pbinti^i^ttddti- 
 blebfti^glled MaiHItaiy n^oiiiyi!^ ih l^v^i^, to i^y no- 
 thing' of plenf;^ of lbd«<6Sfiv^i^, a^ijpoi^k^td a^hd, 
 dift^ftoase of duelling Pisikdls'mottibtGldi^Gioldi that 
 the Tradesmen's bills were called in W^Jfj ^M. not 
 Only halted iti btit paid^ ffiiid^tfot'My pidd,; but i)aid 
 in the b!6Bt at all pkfmm, S^i^; and iti additibh 
 to alt thtu^ mt k l£t^ tiiibt of la&i^ iii a tmn6t to 
 f(rh1«lfiEitiigp«tidh #^ dii^M m k ^<riirtmi hixt 
 :-^edi^ 8ti^, bbl(»(i^)§d to-tliihi^d df tte fiBhily, 
 iiidiria'tibnl vi^hidh had Mthefrto belfeii ritfth6f captious, 
 tufiim towards ihe strto^^G^^^iMn% hoitg'e, calls 
 weremade, and it b^cytid ii it Vere the Lion of 
 Niagara. 
 
 Some M6wM^e iir ejioftiri^ and the neighbotir- 
 hood, iritroduiedtheybirtTg QerftlbniJi and myself to 
 eachothe^; #hi<rlii le4 to my being eniployed by his 
 Father in the transtictiori of sbffle Law btisiness'for 
 him; this was the preliminary to constant in vitationis 
 to spend the everting with the family circle, and in- 
 troduced rne to the society of Mary ***♦*, 
 
 She was a sprightly representative. 6f English 
 
^ ! 
 
 AN ADVftKrtjiiA. 
 
 4ft 
 
 igUsh 
 
 tite trtej> of IMPhie^ iMd ^e looK of Dikiri^ tK<«)^ 
 wto « mdltlesBildis of f«a«teSd, tM a ^yaxA^hf of 
 fbfih, ^!dh t ha^ i^v^ s^^ett' ^»()MM; ilMe -WM 
 hofnte df ydtfr m^iiteif Jr AOio^jfert^ thfet* nWw nfeafe of 
 
 or itrtuinerr ^idiich #«'rid fi^fertfly i»e€lt; iiVitR iii flitt 
 clas^ of 0eiitifiieiit«} yOi^n^ lit^Ste^; h^ffid^ Y^ h^i 
 heart was ingenuous, open, gladsome; and her eye 
 brightly giaiit;*4 f<>rth the jbyousAeirtJ of heir B*>til: 
 her h^d (iffai^ Bftbf^mmm otAYf^tnAit&ii^ dfs- 
 tint^'ni of tii^ iitfsti^bililib t^i^^ Wm sdftf smWy 
 and its toU6h wito thi^lGngf; a!iid h^i" vbite, ftiU ttdd 
 YAo'sitaf, sideth^d ill liiy thind to fiill tfp thb Vttcaunl 
 wHith otir Wkrit of Night|h^leii oeetUiidns; ofteii 
 with my Hdixt h«ive I li<^M«ASaiiibd her muisiti, and 
 ff^Mfhim I 8toi|fj€dih the vei^ iiiiddle Of Han- 
 i>fi^l^^l:j^6t pieced, to liBteii with itt^tufeto the^oul 
 satisfy^ tohbs which fbll froih beif Kp^. 
 
 McKtifl^ and MoiMhs plashed aWtty, ahdihihb so- 
 ciety of this deli^tfu*! ci^atnre> I fOi'gOt ev6ry 
 thihgf,-ii^rfen the interests of ihy e^etits, whidh in a 
 Lawyer is ho cottimon net of fbi^^etfoflhesb: tho 
 trath ^se, I Wtis in love iieck and heels, but I either 
 did not know it; or oiAitti^df diSdofeiiig it, which is 
 nltich the safne thing. 
 
 One civfenito^, attrtiJifiBt Lettfefs demanding advice, 
 answers, and remittaiices, Wats a neMly folded sheet 
 of gilt edge "Bath Post," addressed in the most fe- 
 minine of Lady-like hands, and folded with a n^t- 
 ness which would hi&ve done hbhotrr to efty of the 
 BbAu MoNim, "fhe Contbhfei of this BiLtBT-Dout 
 aroused all my love of a^ritute, and wheh I dis- 
 close theih the r^adfet \lri11 not Wonder at it. 
 
 On the first page of the sheet was drAwn a fac 
 4simile of the entrance front of the English Church; 
 
H 
 
 ANApvss•rvt^^, 
 
 overth^poi^cJi af^eared a clock fftce, the hour, hand 
 reatiogat eighty.aiid the minutehandjraintiog, to the 
 noddle of the figures compoising XH. Round the 
 upper part of the circle tl^ words jBs VvikvTVA^ 
 were written; and the face bore the niotto Omxua 
 vii^ciT Amor; , underneath). app^edj Vj^tai^ vEi. 
 Mors ; and last of aU was,^ Niagara, lltay. *%; la*,* ; 
 the date of the day succeeding that on which I /ec^7 
 vedit. ■ . ][^ 
 
 ^ I construed this esctraordinary document literally i 
 viz* that it was an assignation for the ensuing eve*- 
 ningv with some Jovej^ick Xiady, in front o^ the Eng- 
 lish Church at 8 o^c^ock precisel)^ : and notwit^tan? 
 ding some lurkiiig thougntis^f J\d[AAT^pc^ me to 
 
 thii^my resolution amoiuitedin poihl; o^fapMp yery 
 little short.x>f a crime^ t determineu to ^e| it. . 
 
 But who was the Authoress? this puzzled me for 
 some time after I went to bed^hut^s Xhate trouble, I 
 fell asleep tp.ayoi^jbhe vain laliQur of coJijecture, ^,^ 
 
 Homing rose and so did |; although 1, p^aed the 
 greater part of the day with Mart, ^ th^, hours seer 
 med tq Ifig io tJieir cjpuri^; whether it ;\|va^ the tno\ight 
 o^ tfaie conuD^ adventure which niade niiet ui^commoiv- 
 ly dull, or'some .secret cause for ai^esfuberant 4^pjay 
 of arclmess ou her part, I nw c^ohsider that, she play- 
 ed off more jokes at my expense ,than occasion neer 
 ded) and I felt somewluit out ojf humpur when t re- 
 turned to my djpmicile, to mai^ my^ibilette for the 
 meeting* ., :^ .:.;,...,;,,.. ■'_.,., .[,;.,,,•;. 
 
 I have forgot^ to static, th^t the imssive was scen-> 
 ted to a degree, whijch gave me ^ most exalted opi- 
 nion 9f ^^e TON of the wri|;er ; ajud Iherefpre 1 took 
 specialjCarein the adorjiment of mine pwn, p«xtieuj- 
 lar person. At this moment I remember aiiy dress as 
 well as if I h!ad paid my Tailor for it yesterday ; the 
 blue .coat' adorned witij' the most glittering of giit 
 
AN AtVSIITQIIB. 
 
 45 
 
 pen- 
 took 
 
 the 
 
 buttong^d the richest Kad'maBtigliosiy of >veh-dt col- 
 lars ; the white vest, over wUcfawassuspMided in in- 
 tricate disorder a massive gold chain; the spotlesB 
 pants of Duck) atthe lower eittreniities of whioh in 
 the brigfhtness of Warren'4 fwlish^ gtearndda pair of 
 Wellii^onsy manufaetuved by HoUbes; with these, 
 a cane in my hand^ a white betver en my head, and a 
 stepof incomparal^ed^^ty tmi hauteur, I sallied 
 forth at a quarter to eight bygun-^fire. 
 
 the evening was in perfect kecpmg with m^ ' fee- 
 lings: the ephemeral twIU^ht of Cuiada; had been 
 succeeded by a placid starlight and moonlit sky, on 
 which a £fentle Aurora Borealis was tunidly stealing, 
 even as young love first ti^es possession of the hearts 
 of his votaries: a few fire flies were. glittering on the 
 common, and- one or two precocious bull fVogs, were 
 sounding their loud Poeans on the swampy snore of 
 Ontario, in utter disregard of cadence, and modula- 
 tion: the subdued sough of the Falls came down 
 the Niagara^ and the occasional tinkling of the cow- 
 bell reminded me of the sweetest of hakiy breaths. 
 
 larrivedai my post, full a minute and a quarter 
 before eight, and there, with my eyes fixed firmly ou 
 the toWn did I remain (the picture of silent, patient, 
 but anxious expectation) full three minutes : three 
 minutes! those who have been punctual in a first 
 appointment, know the years of torment which ten 
 seconds of disappointment are capable of causing: I 
 began to feel heart-sick, duped: and to review the 
 HOAXBBS of Niagara;in the midst of these cogitations, 
 I heard the rustling <^ silk, andbefbre I could turn 
 around, a figure swept past me^ with a step like the 
 Goddess of lifajesty: so far as I could catch it in 
 the moon-light, it was tall, stately and symmetrica], 
 but unpictured in Dfiy mind's eye; invitation needs 
 NOT cEREMONr thought I, and in another minute my 
 
I 1 
 
 46 
 
 AN ADTBRtURE. 
 
 right fum encircled the waist of my faiif ihamoratO) 
 my left hand had removed the thick Chanliny veil 
 which darkened her fbaturee, and my lips were ^lued 
 to the cheeks of a thick-lippedy flat-nosedi , jet-skin- 
 ned daagfater of Guinea! 
 
 "FyeMassa! don't do dat." 
 
 Before nine o'clock that night I had proposed to, 
 and was accepted by Mart *****, and in less 
 than a month was made the happiest of men. Hap- 
 py 1 hem! 
 
 << Mary, dearest! have the kindness to see - about 
 supper." 
 
 TBS Bvaxrziro Bovm 
 
 BT MISS MART KTIiE, BROCKVILLB. 
 
 The flowers have shut their leaves of beauty, 
 LullM by wing'd Zephyr to repose ; 
 While through the charmM air, SQftly stealing, 
 Their mingled fragrance grateful flows : 
 The birds— that all day long were winging 
 Their unseen flight in upper air— 
 The even-song now sweetly singing. 
 Prepare for sleep, devoid of care : 
 And shall not Man, proud Man, who's made 
 > In his Creator's glorious image! 
 Shall not his evening vows be paid, 
 To HIM in love and thankful homage 1 
 For all the blessings of that day, 
 Which slow o'er Western hills descending. 
 
THB EVSlfIlf« HOUR. 
 
 47 
 
 i 
 
 
 And with the hues of fivening blendin|(. 
 Unwilling seenui to go i^way: 
 And for the goocUcdS that he showsy 
 When o'er this greenand lovely earth) 
 Night flings hermft&tlis bf ropose, ^' 
 Until the busy li^orn gpies i^or|h^ 
 
 But see! a softer, purer light, 
 ThiUd Mornings broad, andgarisli glare! 
 The Moon, in cloudless beauty bright. 
 Is rising through thie cool iiight-air ! ' 
 And round her, peerless Q,ueen of night, 
 The clustering stars 'lome one by one, 
 In their own chastely brilliant light, 
 To fohti her ptire and spai^ling zone. 
 And now, the iiight-dew's unseen shower, 
 Is falling o'er the parched earth; 
 Wak'ning in every treci and flower, i 
 Some brighter beauty into birth. 
 And yet those fair and fragile things, 
 The little flowerets of an hour, ; 
 Praise with more zeal the King of Kings, 
 Than Man,endow'd with reason's power, 
 On whom, the God of mercy pours, 
 Unnumber'd blessings from his birth; 
 Yet HB can spieiid his brightest hours, 
 On fleeting pleasures of the earth: 
 Things, like to yonder shooting star, 
 In the high heavens an instant seen> 
 
48 ^i^'iA wnonn^"Hotjit« 
 
 Then intodttikiieiM darting ftiry 
 It seeniB as if it ne'er htA been. 
 
 ('Forgettheer If to drefttn by ii^ht, axrdmuBeon 
 
 thee by day; 
 If all the wQrshipr deep ao4 wild a Poet'9: heart can 
 
 pay; 
 If prayers in absence, breathed fqr thee to heaven^s 
 
 protecting po^er; 
 If winged thoughts that flit to thee— a . thousand in 
 
 an hour; 
 If busy Fancy blending, thee with all my future lot— 
 If this thou call'st '^orge^ng/' ) ^ou indeed shalt be 
 
 forgot. 
 
 <<Forget thee !''r^-^Bid the forest birds fovget their 
 sweetest tune; 
 
 «Forget theer*-*^Bid the sea forgot to swell beneath 
 the moon; / 't' 
 
 Bid the thirsty flowers foiget to drink the evO'S re- 
 freshing dew; 
 
 Thyself forget thine own dear lafid and its moun- 
 tains wildand blue; 
 
 Forget each old famiharface^each long temember'd 
 spot; 
 
 When these thingf are forgot by thee, then tHou 
 shalt be forgot.^ 
 
FORGET THSE* 
 
 49 
 
 Keep, if thou wilt thy maiden peace still calm and 
 
 fancy-free; 
 For God forbid thy gladsome heart should grow less 
 
 glad for me; 
 Yet while that heart is still unwoiiy oh! bid not mine 
 
 to rovci 
 But let it muse its humble faith, and uncomplaining 
 
 love; 
 If these preserved for patient yearsi at last avail me 
 
 not, 
 Forget MB then;— but ne*er believe, that thou can'st 
 
 be forgot. 
 
 Vt^^tSk 9tiXS9^ 
 
 A FRAOMBKT* 
 
 THsBoorhill, and the Troon point, form the two 
 horns of a crescent, stretching neariy North and 
 South: the town of — lies nearly in the centre. 
 Rosshill is situated on the same range of hUIs, of 
 which the Boorhill is the termination, and lies on the 
 northern extremity of the crescent. 
 
 From this eminence can be seen a great length 
 of coast, extending nearly from Loch-ryan 
 to the Largs. The lofty hills of Arran close the 
 view on the south-west. Ireland can be seen in a 
 clear day towards the northwest, and between, the 
 wi^e expanse of the Atlantic Ocean opens upon the 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 POOR JESSE. 
 
 vieW) and fills the imagination with an infinity of 
 trackless waters^ and the din of their incessant agita- 
 tion. 
 
 The next evening I had seated myself in a small 
 cave on the point of a rock which juts out into the 
 Sea. The sun was sinking under Arran hills; his 
 disk seemed to rest on one of their lofLiest peak6,and 
 his beams cast a silvery shade upon the sea which 
 reflected them back like a mirror. Numerous fish- 
 ing boats setting southward, were skimming its sur- 
 face gently undulating with the evening breeze. 
 The reflux of the ebbing tide murmured among the 
 rocks. The sea fowl were flying thick around and 
 flocks of wild ducks were riding here and there upon 
 the waves. A stately West India Ship, laden with 
 the produce of other climes, was sailing full canvass 
 up the channel. While I was gazing on the scene 
 before me, an old man rounded the peak, and entering 
 the excavated part of the rock where I was sitting, 
 placed himself beside me. 
 
 It was some time before he took any notice of me. 
 He seemed entirely engrossed with his own thoughts, 
 chasing the ideal phantoms which flitted across his 
 own brain. I could read in the expression of his 
 countenance that his mind dwelt upon painful recol- 
 lections, for the pressure of some past calamity still 
 continued to work itself out into a sigh.— Nature 
 had moulded his face with fire and cheerfulness^ but 
 fortune had planted the traces of sorrow in it. The 
 darkness of melancholy shrouded a happier complex- 
 i.;n of mind,, yet the rays of hope, or the bright con- 
 ijulations of religion, occasionally appeared to burst 
 through it) as the cheering sun often bursts through 
 t\^G gloomiest sky of winter. 
 
 After some time we entered into conversation. I 
 made some remarks in admiration of the scene before 
 
POOR JESSE. 
 
 »1 
 
 US. He seemed to acquiesce in them, but began to 
 givo a description of it in another state) in wmch he 
 incorporated a short, but mournful tale. 
 
 It was in the month of December, fire years ago, 
 in the most tempestuous night I have witnessed in 
 the progress of a long life, the inhabitants all over 
 the coast were summoned by a fire set up on Toif 
 POINT, a little north of Denure, to see if tney could 
 render any assistance to a vessel whicli^was cast a- 
 shore upon the rocks. The storm raged with re* 
 lentless fury, unroofing the cottages, and spreading 
 devastation on the land as well as on the ^ea. My 
 friends tried to dissuade me from exposing myself to 
 the inclemency of the night, but the call was too im- 
 perious to be resisted; for ever since my son James 
 Wdnt to Sea, I have had a strong sympathy for sea- 
 men, and no motives of ease or interest could pre- 
 vent me from rendering them a service in distress, 
 because the precarious fortune of my Son's life 
 might also, one day, cause him to be indebted to a 
 like sympathy from strangers. 
 
 I muffled myself up as well as I could, and set off 
 in the direction of the place accompanied by the two 
 men of the house. The wind howled fearfully a- 
 mong the trees, bending them almost to the earth. 
 It was with great difilculty we could keep our feet, 
 altho' we went by the glen behind the shore-hiUs to 
 shelter ourselves fVom the ehillness of the blast. 
 The horrible darkness of the night, the roaring of 
 the sea, the shrieking of the winds among the clifiB 
 and caverns of the rocks, filled the mind with all the 
 images of terror, and gave full scope for the afinght- 
 ed imagination to fancy hostile spirits presiding, 
 relentlessly over the storm. , 
 
 When we arrived at the bale-fire we found about 
 a hundred men sheltering themselves under a covert. 
 
Hi 
 
 POOR JESSE. 
 
 erected with the masts and sails of seme fishing 
 boatS) waiting with painful anxiety the break of day 
 and the abatement of the storm, which they hoped 
 would take place with the turn of the tide* £bb 
 tide commenced at eight in the mornings it might 
 now be six.— Nothing could be seen around— We 
 heard the sea dashing upon the rocks and rebound* 
 ing on itself.— A strong hurricane with sleet and 
 rain battered against our covering; and in the dreary 
 space between these gusts and during a momentary 
 stillness of the sea^ a few shrieks fell faintly upon 
 the ear, and announced the work of sufl^ng and 
 death that was going on below.— -Bye and bye, the 
 storm rose higher in the air and produced a fearful 
 commotion among the clouds, almost as dense as the 
 watery element that lay before us. The moon far 
 in the west, at intervals shone dimly through them, 
 and discovered the appalling picture of dis&ess, and 
 how far the suflerers were removed beyond human 
 aid. 
 
 Long-expected day now began to break darkly in 
 the east, and to discover to us the situation of the 
 Vessel. She was stranded on the more distant of 
 the two reefs of rocks which you see stretching out 
 into the sea, and Whose black heads you may ducern 
 above the water. She stuck fast upon their rugged 
 ridge, and by the time we saw her she was a totai. 
 wreck; great part of her stem was broken off, all the 
 masts were gone, and the timbers of the fore part 
 were separating from t^ keel. Every wave as it 
 dashed over, heeled her from her position, and tum- 
 bled another fraction of the hull into the Sea. We 
 ,saw four men yet clinging to the wreck, out of fif- 
 teen which as we afterwards learned, were on board 
 — ^there was also a female lashed to one of the props 
 of the windlass, but from the helplessness in which 
 
POOR JESSR, 
 
 D3 
 
 1 props 
 IwhicQ 
 
 «h6 rolled about, we conjectured she was dead from 
 the coldness of the nigti^— One of the men waved 
 a red wocdlen night-cap which he had on him, for as- 
 sistance, which aks ! it was not in our power to 
 give. ' •• ' . iOini oiiJ 
 
 The ti^ had now turned, but the violeiace of the 
 storm did not abate. It changed round to the north 
 and hastening the crisis of their fate, seemed eager 
 to deliver the four victims, whom the aingry sea had 
 yet spared, to a watery grave. The cold had so be^ 
 numbed them that they could hardly retain their 
 hold. The foaming sea broke over and around them 
 with unceasing rage— the part of the hull to which 
 they clung separated with a tremendous crasfa^ and 
 tumbled over into the sea,plunging theunhappy suffer- 
 ers into the dark abyss below. Three of them sunk 
 to rise no more, but the oi;her we saw stoutly cling- 
 ing to a plaaik which was drifting towards the shore. 
 A huge billow cossed him over the ■ ridge into, the 
 sandy bay between the two reefs— he litill dung to 
 a plank— but it was the grasp of deat&^-Mitot of 
 hope — ^for he was mortally bruised' upon 
 the rock, and was drawn to the shoi^ expiring^— 
 Oh! think what were my feelings when I discovered 
 him to be — my son— He turned his eyes once 
 upon me, as I bent over him, and closed them for 
 ever. '''>! '*fi><.Ril')*rt,vf ht\t,l ''>ii 
 
 I walked slowly home behind the corpse, stupified 
 by the suddenness of this fresh calamity. Already 
 had I consigned to the grave the mortal temains 'of 
 FivR children— and now the last and jdnly one 
 which providence had spared, was thus violently torn 
 from me. When the pressure of gri^ is too great, 
 it deadens sensibiUty to its torture, as an intense 
 glare of light overcomes the power of vision. The 
 heartstrings overstretGhed,cease to vibrate to the tone 
 
 c2 
 
 
51 
 
 POOR JB8SB. 
 
 of misery. Grief preyed upon the aiumal| because 
 for the time it had destroyed every mental energy. 
 The mournful procession was now arrive d at the 
 farm house^ situated xm the face of the hiU among 
 the trees. The anxious family, such of them as 
 could muster confidence, were timorously l( king at 
 the DftowMBn SAILOR, b,ut did not recognize the fea-r 
 tures, blanched and excoriated, as they were with 
 the water and cold; and my statue4ike stupefaction, 
 whiehthey mistook for in^fiference, did not apprize 
 them who it was. The tender-hearted Jbssb came 
 too to take a hasty glance at what she dared not. look 
 upouH^and fell back senseless on the floor^^M; ; 
 1 Amidst the grief and agitation that prevailed, the 
 situation of JsssB was forgotten. The preceding 
 iSprii^, Jambs stopped for some weeks at Greenfield, 
 and was often in company with Jbsse, between 
 whom the tjenderest attachment had subsisted from 
 their childhood. In tJieir infant years they shared 
 the I same play-things; they went hand in hand to the 
 village Bchool, and were ajwaya happiest together. 
 Their aflfection had been lessened nothing from the 
 interruption their intercourse had suffered by Jambs's 
 unhappy predilection for the sea. She in his absence 
 associated with no other lover, and he found means 
 of remitting from the farthest Indies the curiosities 
 he had purchased for her. His experience and good 
 cctnduct raised him high in the estimation of his em- 
 ploy^ who made him master of one of their vessels. 
 Hope to these lovers now shone brightly on the fu- 
 ture and promised that in a few months, after he 
 : should return from a trip to the Mediterranean, their 
 destiny should be united for life. The event has 
 shown how vain these illusions were. 
 
 lit was a long time before Jbssb could be recovered 
 from that state of insensibility, into which the death 
 
 V 
 
 h 
 z 
 a 
 
 si 
 b 
 ti 
 ti 
 
POOR JBSSE. 
 
 ti5 
 
 of her lover, and the ruin of her flattering hopes had 
 thrown^ her.— Happy would it have been for the 
 luckless maiden had the same grave closed upon 
 them both.-— She was a stranger to the misforr 
 tunes of life; no gall before had ever been mixed in 
 her cup, and but one bitter draught made her 
 heedless alike of its sorrows and its joys.-T-Her 
 heart knew not to conquer misfortune, for she had 
 never known it, and but once exposed to its terrors, 
 her reason shrunk at the appearance and fled from 
 her. For some months aftoir this fatal catastroplie no 
 persuasion could induce her to utter a single syllable. 
 Her clear black eye that once looked in loveliness 
 now sunk into its socket, dim and dry.— The smile 
 that played upon her countenance remained, but it 
 was the smile of a mild phrenzy, and like the ruins of 
 ancient grandeur it infused the sentiment of melan- 
 
 ^ly as we looked upon it. The hair that used to 
 r braided with exactness, now flowed loose and 
 dishevelled on her shoulders; she went ill clothed 
 and barefoot, the sad relic of departed loveliness. 
 
 As she is quite harmless we allow her in a great 
 measure to follow her own inclination. She always 
 sliuns society,and seems to regard no one but myself; 
 an afleotion arising perhaps from the kind attention 
 I have always paid her. She is pleased in lingering 
 about this scene where her happiness and reason 
 were shipwrecked. I have seen her stand for six 
 hours together, leaning upon a rock and idly ga- 
 zing upon the sea. Sometimes she collects the spray 
 and scatters it upon the beach. She will follow and 
 shriek after the sea-gull and heron in theii" flighc, or 
 busy herself making a bed of the sea-weed which the 
 tide throws upon the shore, as if she awaited the re- 
 turn of her lover J In these vagaries of the unsettleid* 
 
 
 ■ U'-'«;J j 
 
56 
 
 POOR iBSSB* 
 
 mind) I am thankful to the kindness of Heaven she 
 is not miserable. He has deprived her^ it is true of 
 the power of real enjoyment^ but he solaces her with 
 ideal) and as it rests entirely within herself^ may 
 perhaps be less liable to disappointment. 
 
 She is wandering hereabout, continued the old 
 man, I have come in search of her, as night draws 
 on. Age 1ms taken away that activity I once pos- 
 sessed and begins to unfit me for that duty for which 
 alone life is desirable. I feel reluctant that "Jesse 
 should be exposed to an unfeeling world, which 
 might perhaps, as it often does, make sport of her 
 infirmity; and it is my daily prayer to the divine 
 Being— for altho* hie dispensations to me have been 
 severe and mysterious, I catv still trust bis good- 
 ifEss— that he will call her to the grave before me.— 
 We now saw Jesse at a distance, standing in the wa- 
 ter which laved her feet, and following the waves as 
 they retired. The old man descended the steep by 
 some rude steps which the smugglers long ago had 
 cut in the rock, for the greater facility of eluding the 
 vigilance of the excisemen— ^And I returned to Ross- 
 hill. * * ♦ * * 
 
 'if* 
 
 It must be evident to every one that the will is in 
 the soul, and that the body acts under her direction. 
 The body in fact may be compared to a Ship, of 
 which the soul is Pilot and directs the helm; or more 
 properly,to an empire over which she rules as Queen, 
 and by means of the nerves and animal spirits, con- 
 veys her orders to every part of her dominions. 
 
 Judgement is the faculty of the soul by which we 
 ascertain the different properties of things, and are 
 able to determine what is most entitled to prefe- 
 rence. 
 
57 
 
 in she 
 ue of 
 r with 
 
 , may 
 
 le old 
 draws 
 e pos- 
 r which 
 'Jesbe 
 which 
 of her 
 I! divine 
 je been 
 
 s OOOD*- 
 
 eme.— 
 the wa- 
 ^aves as 
 beep by 
 go had 
 ding the 
 Ross- 
 
 rill is in 
 rection. 
 jhip, of 
 or more 
 I Queen, 
 
 !, con- 
 Ins^ . . 
 i ' '■■« 
 Ihich we 
 
 md are 
 prefe- 
 
 THOV ART, OR OOB! 
 
 Bl E* S* vim 
 
 << The day is thine^ the night also is thine; thou 
 hast prepared the light and the sun. Thou hast set 
 all the borders of the earth; thou hast made Sum- 
 mer and Winter."— Psalms LXXIV. v. 16, 17. 
 
 Thou art, oh God! the life and light. 
 Of all this wondrous world we see r 
 Its glow by day, its smile by night, 
 Arc but reflections caught from thee : 
 Where'er we turn, tJhy glories shine, 
 And all things fair and bright are thine. 
 
 When day its farewell beam delays, 
 Among the opening clouds of even; 
 And we can almost think we gaze. 
 Through golden vistas' into Heaven: 
 Those hues that mark the Sun's decline, 
 So soft, so radiant. Lord! are thine. 
 
 When night with wings of 6tarry gloom, 
 
 O'ershadows all the earth and skies; 
 
 Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume, 
 
 Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes: 
 
 That sacred gloom, those fires divinie, 
 
 So grand, so countless, Lord! are thine. 
 
t » 
 
 58 THOU ART| OH OOD! 
 
 When youthful Springy around us breathes^ 
 Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh; 
 And every flower that Summer wreathes, 
 Is born beneath that kindling eye: 
 Where'er we turn, thy glories sliine. 
 And all things fair and bright are thine. 
 
 THE LAMENT OP LAURETTA SCCEVOLL 
 
 '1 BT E. B. R. 
 
 Minstrel! touch not the lyre again, 
 Forgotten be its fitful strain! 
 Wild Harp! let thy free spirit slumber! 
 Breathe not, my lute! thine airy number! 
 Lone Peri of Ionia's sea! *r V ;: 
 Hush'd be thy murmuring melody ; 
 Soft as the airy hush of echo's sigh, 
 Whisper my knell— the gayest heart must die. 
 
 Tell them! the bright and sunny smile. 
 
 Dazzles to blight— beams to beguile; 
 
 The gay, and festive wreath hath sear 
 
 Leaves, 'mong youth's fIowers,in life's dark year: 
 
 The proudest of this sunny earth. 
 
 Shall sit beside his lonely hearth, [ch^er, 
 
 And those whose kindly smiles were wont to 
 
 Shall leave him in the winter of his year. 
 
 
 V 
 
LAMENT OF LAURETTA SCOSVOLI. 
 
 59 
 
 LI^ 
 
 
 die. 
 
 im 
 
 Tell them! the gay and sweetest flower, 
 
 That e'er was nourished in some bower. 
 
 Of eastern clime, by Hindoo maid. 
 
 Even on the rosy lip may fade : 
 
 Earth's proudest Desj;>ots pass away, 
 
 Fleet as the sunbeam's dying ray; 
 
 The raptured smiles that dance in Beauty's eye, 
 
 The black, and wintry hate within belie. 
 
 '■ • ■■ .» * 
 
 ■ ■ . I 
 
 Oh! cold as Beauty's gaze on Youth 
 Reft from her cheek, when life's wild truth 
 Flasheth upon her, and each gleam 
 Of Joy hath glided as a dream — 
 Lone as the tear of agony. 
 Shed where no haughty eye can see, [now, 
 
 Wasteth my soul-— Hope's flowers are bloomless 
 They wither'd as I wreath'd them round my 
 
 [brow. 
 
 ^^Atmnk 
 
 Oiivrj* 
 
 year: 
 
 [cheer, 
 Int to 
 
 In many schools, the practice of writing Macaronic 
 Poetry is carried to an unwarrantable excess, per- 
 haps more for the amusement it affords the Masters, 
 than for any improvement it yields to the PupUs : but 
 if pursued with moderation, I doubt not that in ad- 
 dition to the harmless amusement it produces, it 
 tends to call forth some of those qualities of Genius, 
 which no continued course of unremitted serious in- 
 struction can elicit. 
 
60 
 
 MACARONIC POBTRT. 
 
 Every Schoolboy remembers the lines, 
 
 Trumpeter unui erat 
 
 Qui eoatum searletum babetet, 
 
 Habebat etiaiu periwig ; etc^ 
 
 As also the evil luck of a Cockney Sportsman on 
 the first of September^ who taking aim at a Hare, 
 killed both his pointers by the first discharge of his 
 double barrelled Manton: the piece thus concludes— 
 
 Bang ! bellow'd both barrels. Here ! proniui sternuit each Dog, 
 Et Pusp in the interim trips away sub tegmine tliombuth. 
 
 The celebrated Edmund Bitrkb once composed a 
 piece of Macaronic Poetry for one of his School-fel« 
 lows, wlio was required to compose a Theme in Latin 
 verse on the subject of a country Fair which he had 
 visited, and could remember nothing but a fat Piper 
 in a brown coat. 
 
 Piper erat fattus qui brownum tegmen habebat. etc. 
 
 The following is as laughable an anecdote as I 
 Temeitaber to have met with on the subject, 
 
 A Scfaool4)oy, not very remarkable for the pro- 
 fundity of his intellect, in attempting to translate a 
 passage from Ovid's metamorphoses, 
 
 Ubi dicitur altam 
 CoctilibuB muris cinxlsse Semiramis urbem. 
 
 was exceedingly puzzled with the words << coctilibus 
 muris." 
 
 *^I wish Jack," said he, turning to a proficient in 
 the art macaronic, <<you would teach me to construe 
 this passage. See ! here's ubi, where— Semiramis 
 dicitur, Semiramis is said — cinxisse, to have girt — 
 altam urbem, the tall city — bat I can't understand 
 coctilibus muris. Muris I suppose is the ablative 
 case of mus— with mice"— "Well!" replied the wag, 
 "and coctilibus means cock-tailed to be sure." 
 
61 
 
 AT irswa^AAB zjr laaz. 
 
 aanon 
 Hare, 
 of his 
 
 udes— 
 
 icb Dog, 
 
 posed a 
 ool-fel- 
 in Latin 
 . he had 
 X Piper 
 
 etc. 
 
 »te as I 
 
 ,he pro- 
 nslate a 
 
 octilibuB 
 
 tcient in 
 construe 
 smiramis 
 re girt— 
 derstand 
 ablative 
 the wag, 
 
 BT J. P. 
 
 How calm, andx>b, bow ^Miliful ! 
 The midnight moon now isbedi bor silver gleam 
 On the lone tofnb of mouldering Gtenius. 
 And Nature, bush'd asleep on silence' lap, 
 No sound assails tbe wandering Pilgrim's ear, 
 Save tbe soft music of tbe murmuring brook, 
 Or the faint Lreatbing of tbe Zephyr's sigh. 
 Sweet soun03 ! which, like tbe stream of fabled Lethe 
 Would lull me to forgetfulness of life, 
 And of the evils circling it around. 
 
 Sleep on, departed soul '. 
 And peaceful be the slumbers of the dead. 
 
 . But where are Ada's tears 1 
 Say spirit! hovering o'er this spot of woe 
 Doth Nature, then, deny affection's tribute ? 
 Ob no! it cannot. Creature of bis hope! 
 Sole idol of bis b<>art ! come weep ! come weep ! 
 Upon thy Father's ^rove, this restiqg place of grief. 
 Come ! bid thy thoughts return to other days. 
 Wherein thy Sire, to woo him from his sorrow 
 Would press a fond parent"! lip to thine; 
 And thus obtain a respite from bis wrong. 
 Till haggard Thought's fixed finger pointed back 
 To tbe drear desert of existence Ob ! 
 Though memory very feebly holds her sceptre 
 O'er days gone by, yet think ! sweet Ada, think ! 
 When wearied by a world be scorn'd, and driven 
 From that dear home to which bis soul was chain'd, 
 He sought oblivion on the Alpine heights, 
 Or shores of Greece, alas ! be found it not. 
 But still compelled to bear a life be loatb'd, 
 P 
 
62 
 
 AT NEWSTBAD IN 1827. 
 
 Clogged with a grief which preyed upon a heart 
 As sensitive ,afl even sense itself, 
 He quafl^d his Agony-fllled-cup's last dregs 
 And only found a refuge in the grave. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN BY A CONVICT 
 
 The Night previous to Execution, 
 
 BY J. P. 
 
 Silence steals o'er each earthly scene; 
 And Dian, lonely midnight Queen! 
 Alone smiles on a wretch, whose doom, 
 Will, with tomorrow, close his tomb. 
 Whose spirit freed from earth below, 
 Its terrors, and its thrall of woe. 
 Will drink the draught of perfect love, 
 In Eden's bowers, far, far abo^e. 
 Upon my tomb— that unmark'd spot, 
 By friends and foes, alike forgot— 
 Though pity ne'er will deign to weep. 
 Thy beams, pale Moon! shall softly sleep. 
 And as the wind sighs round my grave, 
 "Him, earthly mercy would not save!" 
 On the pure bosom of its Saviour blest, 
 My soul reposes in eternal rest. 
 
 Imagination is that extraordinary faculty by which 
 we produce in our minds the ideas of objects and 
 scenes which we have seen at some former period, 
 and also of those we never beheld. 
 
63 
 
 9^ ^^<fi^i^^ '^f 
 
 BT J. D. 
 
 ). 
 
 which 
 
 its and 
 I period, 
 
 The accounts given by all Nations of the existence 
 of our race, prior to the dawn of History, are of 
 such an imaginiry or allegorical character, t^at the 
 state of society during tiioae remote periods, is 
 shrouded in impenetrable obscurity. Man, however, 
 must during those forgotten ages, have advanced 
 very far in progressive improvement as is clearly pro- 
 'ved by the investigations of modem Science, corro- 
 borated by the records of the established nations of In- 
 dia and China, which claim for themselves an antiqui- 
 ty, as nations, that our chronology is far from 
 allowing to the earth itself. Certain it is, that 
 civilization, during even the recorded history of man, 
 has been constantly advancing or retrograding like 
 the changing waters of the restless ocean. Chaldoea, 
 Eygpt, JudcBa, Greece, Carthage, Rome, and other 
 nations, many whose names have not been handed 
 down to us, have arisen from the barbarity of igno- 
 rance and savage life,progressed to the enjoyment of 
 many of the benefits which art and science qonfer, 
 and then (often suddenly) by the prevalence of some 
 desolating vice, or the successful arms of surround- 
 ing barbarians, have fallen-— lost their places among 
 the nations, and mixed again with the dark elements 
 from which they had originally emancipated them- 
 selves. 
 
 Traces of high intelligence and art, scattered over 
 Asia, mark the site of a nation far advanced in re- 
 finement, whose memory is forever lost; and the state 
 
i 1 
 
 64 
 
 FROORE88 Of SOCIETT. 
 
 of society in which they lived, no authentic recordi 
 describe. Ovid, with much poetic licence, narrates 
 the existenee of a people in what, he terms, the gold- 
 en age, whose lives were simple and innocent,and who, 
 being governed by the finer feelings of our nature 
 were consequently a happy race. The proba- 
 bility of such a stage of society existing is very 
 great, and its annihilation may be equally probable 
 from the general ascendancy of the lower propensi- 
 ties of contemporary nations. OihGt sections of tho 
 earth, not less unfortunate Imve alternately become 
 the abodes of civilization at different periods, the at- 
 tainments in the Arts and Sciences of which, still, at- 
 tract our w(mder and admiration; their lawfi, gov- 
 ernment, and philosophy still live in our own. Their 
 Oratory, Poetry^ Architecture and Sculpture are on- 
 ly studied and imitated by us. Ignorant of Printing, 
 the art of immortalization, their only medium of re- 
 cord was either monuments, written papyrus, or 
 parchment, which are but ill understood and only 
 convey fragments of their attainments. Their bio- 
 graphy of the great and good they inscribed on the 
 heavens, and read in stars some biniefactor of their 
 race, which after ages, mistaking the original inten- 
 tion, rendered divine. Their Propagandi were sent 
 to all parts, carrying with them thns arts of peace and 
 civilized life; even to the British Isles, Woden found 
 his way from Asia, not as a discoverer or a conqueror 
 but as the herald of civilization; hence the ancient 
 religion of the Britons, and hence the day in our 
 week of Wednesday. 
 
 But their glorious and bloodless triumphs met a 
 sad reverse in succeeding military conquest and bar-^ 
 barism: still, however, the Arts and Sciences find 
 a resting place in some favourite spot. The Grecian 
 sages, cultivating the higher powers of mind, illu- 
 
PR00RB8S OF 80CIBTT. 
 
 65 
 
 jords 
 
 rates 
 
 gold- 
 
 Lwho, 
 
 lature 
 
 iroba- 
 
 very 
 jbable 
 pensi- 
 oftho 
 econo^ 
 theat- 
 mi,at- 
 , gov- 
 ThefiT 
 nre on- 
 •itttingt 
 of re- 
 rue^ or 
 id only 
 ir bio- 
 >n the 
 their 
 
 inten- 
 re eent 
 Bbceand 
 
 found 
 iqueror 
 
 aiwient 
 
 in our 
 
 met a 
 nd bar- 
 ;e8 find 
 Grecian 
 d, illu- 
 
 med the general darkness; they lived in, suflbred foTf 
 and breathed civilization, and to succeeding ages be- 
 queathed their mantle. The rage for power and 
 conquest goes on, but even victorious armies carry 
 with them the seeds of Science, and sow them in 
 their march. 
 
 The mitre succeeds the sword and ushers in the 
 iron-age. Mistaking God and not knowing man, it 
 sought to extinguish the qualities and existence of 
 both on earth, and gave birth to another monster of 
 power and government, namely, monry capital. Tliis 
 power, although rendering man through the whole 
 of his earthly career, its veriest slave--drying up the 
 milk of human kindness— creating dire extremes in the 
 social state— grasping in its cold hand Jie bounties 
 of heaven and earth — and the fruitful parent of hy- 
 pocrisy, crime and poverty, is destined, through the. 
 mediation of knowledge, to work out the ^^cr^eral 
 good, and give place to the social interests ti man- 
 kind. 
 
 As in bygone ages, we still find on certain portions 
 of the Globe, man existing in all the previous stages 
 of Society; on some parts we find him wandering 
 through the trackless forest, the wild untutoi t3d sa- 
 vage; leading a life of the greatest privation amidst 
 the profusions of nature, little removed from the ani- 
 mals on which he feeds ; on another, and a little more 
 advanced, we find him tendinff his flocks and herds, 
 forming relations with neighbouring families, and 
 guiding his infant state by tho i^ T'crience of the 
 aged; on another, still increasing u;^ means of hap- 
 piness, we find him turning his attention to the pro- 
 ductions of the soil, iiKireasing itn bounties, and sto- 
 ring them up for future wants: while on another, we 
 find him applying the Arts, T/ade and Manufacture, 
 to all the materials of wealth, and by commerce ma- 
 r2 
 
60 
 
 PROGRESS OF SOCIBTt. 
 
 king the productions of evety Country his own. Ar- 
 rived at this stagCjthe Polity,Juri8prudence, Religion 
 and Science of other Countries are ffenerally borrow- 
 ed and improved upon. Society tnen appears like 
 the mountain torrent, all commotion, opposition, ele- 
 vation, depression and change, till like it, on reaching 
 some plain, it may become calm and reflect on its bo- 
 som the beauties of Nature. 
 
 Man through all these varied stages is but one and 
 the same, circumstances only forming his character 
 and modifying his existence. But may not a 
 creature, thus tractable and varied in his powers 
 and capabilities, be still advanced in civilization and 
 improveme:it1 Or shall we, as some grave Councils 
 have done, give up this noblest work of Deity, as a 
 specious piece of hopeless contradictions; and look 
 upon the rise and advancement of Nations,as sage po' 
 litical economists have done, as bringing them nearer 
 to sudden destruction ? Fire, Racks, and Gibbets 
 have been tried to alter and amend him by his bene- 
 factors, his principle of fear has been terribly experi- 
 mented upon, but all have failed. Checks on popu- 
 lation, the corn laws, and charity funds have been re- 
 commended as the only means of saving nations from 
 decay, but these do not retard their progress. 
 
 Education has at length been tried as the last re- 
 medy for man, and the safety valve for nations. He 
 is made acquainted with certain signs^ marks, sounds 
 and figures used by different nations at different times 
 as the medium of communication, hence he is able to 
 read, write and cypher. But his animal, or, instinc- 
 tive powers of imitation and habit are still only cal- 
 led into action,, while his moral powers are left un- 
 improved and the intellectual made subservient to 
 the animal. Nor need we wonder that these acquire- 
 ments should only render him more capable of effect- 
 
PftOORESS OF SOClETt. 
 
 67 
 
 re- 
 He 
 knds 
 times 
 He to 
 stinc- 
 cal- 
 vin- 
 Int to 
 luire- 
 tffect- 
 
 irig greater or more wickedness; and at the best ena- 
 ble him to procure a physical subsistence or promote 
 the animal qualities of his nature to better advanta- 
 ges. 
 
 By the culture of plants and animals agreeable to 
 all the properties of their nature they arrive at a far 
 higher degree of perfection than they otherwise 
 could attain, and to the same law of organi 
 zed existence man forms no exception. Attending to 
 this law, Sparta, Greece and Rome spared no labour 
 or sacrifice to train the youthful warrior to perfec- 
 tion nor did they fail, but it was only an animal pro- 
 pensity they cultivated and yet it only could be us- 
 suaged in death. And cannot the youth of other 
 and more refined times be trained to high intellectual 
 and moral refinement, far more in accordance with 
 the properties of human nature than the savage glo- 
 ries of the battle field ? External Nature every- 
 where abounds with proofs that the Deity designed 
 and ever wishes the good of his creatures. The per- 
 fect symmetry of the human frame, both externally 
 and internally is wonderfully adapted for individual 
 and social happiness. On the brow of Man, the 
 highest elevation in front, as if he intended it to be 
 the governing principle of all his actions, he has with 
 his own finger implanted never to be effaced, (altho' 
 like the diamond it may lie hid,) the bland quality of 
 benevolence; next and above it, the quality of his 
 own love, and of whatever is lovely; behind it the 
 power of firm resolve, "and around, the other moral 
 sentiments all leading to general as well as individu- 
 al good. Of the objects of external nature due inti- 
 mation is afforded him by the senses; to supply his 
 understanding with material he is furnished with the 
 pcweiaof perception, reflection and memory. To 
 preserve and extend his species he is gifted with the 
 
eft 
 
 PROdBeSS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 propensities^ not less necessary to his happiness than 
 the o!.her powers; his home, his friends and self are 
 their peculiar care. In this divine masterpiece no 
 bad ((uality, no evil tendency, no corrupt principle 
 exists^ and yet through the different stsi^es of civili- 
 zatioi^ the machine works ill. Infringements of the 
 laws of "external nature and violations of his.intellec- 
 tual and L^oral powers, appear in his actions, and en- 
 tail misery and wretchedness on himself and others. 
 But should any work of nature or any piece of art be 
 turned upside down, its operations must be very de- 
 fective. Should the movements of a watch be left^ 
 without a regulator, time would be very erroneously 
 represented. That most wonderful piece of all me- 
 chanism, the humaumind, has been left to regulate: 
 itself, but the error lies in the proper balance never ' 
 having been maintained between the intellectual, 
 moral and active powers. The province of the ac- 
 tive powers being only to lead to action without de- 
 ciding its quality or tendency, the directing and re- 
 gulating of which, is the office of the higher ~ 
 powers: and hence, from the ascendancy of the for- 
 mer and subserviency to them of the latter, all moral 
 evil has been produced and continued. The whole 
 of human Nature has therefore been grossly libelled 
 and the labours of false theorists been totally un- 
 availing. Nothing in material or immaterial nature 
 tends to moral evil except the wrong direction of the 
 active powers, under ignorance in the intellectual, 
 and OTror in the moral feelings. 
 
 If the order of operation be then reversed, the intel- 
 lect stored with knowledge and the moral powers 
 placed in the ascendant, contrary effects must be 
 produced and a brighter era of society established. 
 The being that has progressed through four diffe- 
 rent stages may still be capable of advancing to ano- 
 
 I 
 
 .1 
 f 
 
 I 
 c 
 ii 
 d 
 ai 
 ni 
 
 oi 
 w 
 th 
 T 
 
 St( 
 
PROGRESS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 69 
 
 \ 
 
 ntel- 
 wers 
 jt be 
 
 bed. 
 difFe- 
 
 ano- 
 
 ther and a kij^her stage, by the emancipation of the 
 only legitimate directing powers of his nature. His 
 Creator has set no bounds to his improvement and 
 happiness^ but has written on his works and in his 
 word "go on to perfection." 
 
 The only barrier to such a stage, is the theories of 
 the science of man which have been entertained, 
 handed down fVom less enlightened times, and 
 taught in the schools of Science, and practised in 
 the world. But with one half the study mechanical 
 science has received, and one half the truth of mathe^ 
 matical^ these theories must become obsolete,as they 
 are totally unable to account for the phenomena of 
 human nature, and are in opposition to the harmony 
 manifest throughout the whole of nature's works. 
 
 This Science,however, labours under greater disad- 
 vantages than any other, one of the greatest of which 
 is the emoluments and endowments arising from the 
 support of old opinions; another is, that public opi- 
 nion has to be obtained in its favour before Univer- 
 sities will adopt and teach the true nature of Man. 
 But the march of knowledge, or intellect is onward, 
 " Truth is great and shall prevail." Each preceding 
 stage of civilization naturally views the stage fol- 
 lowing it as Utopian. The mind of man is a parti- 
 cle of his spirit, who bestowed it. The faculty of 
 improvement is the peculiar characteristic which 
 distinguishes man from the lower animals, and blind 
 and dark must the mind be that would limit, or an- 
 nihilate the bright future of his race. There are three 
 great principles which have been gradually dawning 
 on the human mind since it began to be studied, and 
 which, when received and acted upon, must usher in 
 the fifth stage of civilization. The first of which is : 
 That the character of man is formed by the circum- 
 stances attending, and the impressions made on Iiis 
 
70 
 
 PROGRRSS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 original constitution. The second: That the cir- 
 cumstances attending and the impression made, act- 
 ing on and with his intellectual, moral and active 
 powers, form his will and decide his action. The 
 third: TLat by the due cultivation of the intellectual 
 and mor 1 ; owers, the active powers must take a 
 proper iia uel, and act under their dominion. 
 
 The human being must, therefore, be placed in the 
 most beneficial situation, surrounded by the most in- 
 telligent, virtuous and kind instructors, and educated 
 in Truth alone as far as knowiv, without mixture of 
 error, in order to the just developement of all his 
 mental powers; and LovB,instead of fear, (or rewards 
 and punishments, which only affect the animal part 
 of his nature, )muBt be made the only spring and co- 
 ercion to action. Custom, imitation and habit three 
 powerful principles in human action, must be enlisted 
 on virtue's side, and guide the rising immortal in her 
 course. Society is made up of individuals, and by 
 being thus composed, the harmony evinced through- 
 out the rest of Nature, must extend to the long jar- 
 ring of the social system. " Order, Heavens first 
 Law," must be universally established and moral evil, 
 which infests society, become unknown. Self the 
 great ruling principle of action must merge into the 
 social, 
 
 "And find the private in the public good." 
 
 b 
 No attempts to alter or amend Society can be 
 productive of any permanent good, no alteration in 
 tlie form of government, no remission of taxes, or ex- 
 tension of trade can place it on a more substantial 
 basis, no home or foreign colonization, no more equal 
 distribution of property, no cottage and cow system, 
 or poor law, can render any lasting relief to the pre- 
 vailing evil. The gangrene lies at the root of the 
 
 V 
 
PROGRESS OF SOCIETr. yj 
 
 f'^'i^^^ote^^^^^ and 
 
 for mankind, EnucSi i'/„"„t f °^"<^ed. happily 
 
 deep and intense interest Ttl ''°'"^ ^ ^^^J^^* of 
 evident that mere mecWa&ir'^ ^'^ ^^^^me 
 writmgr, and accounts, a^^rS^^^^ f "^^,^ a« reading, 
 of the community, or as S ^*° ^^^ ^ower ordefs 
 '"atics to the hiiCLl merl t^h''^ «°^ ^^^he! 
 quiring., but donot^nsSV^^ /"f'^"^ «f ^e- 
 Creator, has bestowed oSthlL'^'^^^^fi^^- If the 
 on external nature, cerSnL ^^'^^^ *^« "»i«d, and 
 ble constitutions, iida^rl^^^^^^^ ^^ ""^W 
 
 eac^ other, and to prod^X^^^^^^^^ "^ *« *° act on 
 cordmgr to certain definite n&?®'^ ^' "^^^'h ac 
 tainJy las done, then k iZh • '^H ^" ^« '"est cer- 
 «i8 and elementVof iducattn'''"' ^>* *^« ^ery ba- 
 eation of such information r*""!-^^ *^^ communi- 
 quainted with such Tr^l^^ ^^^ *he mind nc- 
 eulties to act in strict ^.?^"*'"^^*''^ninff its fa 
 know Jhysein'^js one „.^°'^^«ee with themT "Man 
 
 aUhoug(theCt rb Siet''^ ^^ best maJt" 
 and f]ie knowledge nhf«i« j ' ?"* when followed 
 ure will assLeTdTfei^n?^^ "P^' ^"'"^n "^ 
 t^on of institutions aSlei'V ^'^ ^'^ t^e forma- 
 adva.,ce of, the mentfl Stion' n^f-"* "°* *«° f^ in 
 s ages of improvemen Cst foL ^ man, successive 
 bles have been made in Sand f"^' Statistical ta- 
 of what the compilers w»Si'^'*"^®»and America 
 
 tiated by the unedupafnS . 5^ V violence, asnernp 
 
 [y found alarrem^ority'of'tl""'^'^^ 'Sn" 
 the educated. BntfhJ]^ T^^ crimes affa^n«; 
 understood aid mtaool Tk'^"?^^^^" i« both^S 
 jneansofacquirnffitfor!^ b^. their mistaking thJ 
 ram the insL .tl^l pV^^^,^^^^^^^^^^ i^f. BareVto 
 
 ^--^~.sand!LJj;^;^^^f-~ 
 
72 
 
 PROCritBSS OF BOGtBIvr. 
 
 short of jiilijg[htening the intellect, and of training 
 end interesting tlie moral powers. Ediic;j tion, there- 
 fore, of a! Uhe powers and faculties aftbrdsi tiio only 
 hope of titc amelioration of our social condition, «Bd 
 the future |>Togres8ion of civilization. 
 
 Hitherto. Man is the only anoriKily knr vJi to ex- 
 ist; every npecies of the inferior animals act in stricl 
 accordance with allthe powevB and properties they 
 possess, but the giftctJ Ikumau soul chiefly acts as 
 guided by the blind impulses of tlic propensities 
 Every one is in oager pnrsuit of haippiness, am! fan- 
 ^ cies that could he obtain the object of Im wishes he 
 would be in possession of -the chief good. But the 
 good sought, andthehappinei^ pi(»rsu*vj, are only the 
 gratification of the propensity which impels him. 
 
 Military Glory, Ambition, andWealth, which pro- 
 ceed from the propensities. Lave chiefly been the 
 objects that have attracted the misguided mind. And 
 the past history of the world will decide how indivi- 
 duds of society have been beneliited 1^ theirpursuit. 
 Happiness is to be sought where heaven alone has pla- 
 ced it, namely, in the due exercise of all the enabling 
 powers he has bestowed on man. 
 
 Socrates, Plato and Grotius have taught that man, 
 with his mind highly eidightened by knowledge, and 
 the propensities of his nature governed by the af- 
 fectio»iS, will advance to a far higher state of civili- 
 zation and true enjoyment. Christ and his Apostles 
 lived, suffered and ^ed in introducing a system of 
 universal love, but which system can only commence 
 when the affections shall reign the supreme guides of 
 human action. And, Fo?e has said, 
 
 "Graep the whole world of reason, life and sense, 
 In one do^e' system of benevolence : 
 Happier as kinder, in wbate'er degree. 
 And height^f bliss but height of charity." 
 
 \ 
 
73 
 
 d 
 
 ey 
 as 
 
 Ml' 
 
 he 
 tlie 
 the 
 
 pTO- 
 
 the 
 
 And 
 
 idivi- 
 
 suit. 
 
 pla- 
 
 iling 
 
 *ro 2ILZZA, oar bbr vo&tbazt. 
 
 BT THE EDITOR. 
 
 Thou dost not think that I possess 
 A token, so beloved, so rare. 
 Thy pictured image cannot bless, 
 But it consoles — ^it softens care. 
 
 Oh! oft, when bending o'er a face, 
 Whose features, graven on my heart. 
 Nor time, nor tide can e'er displace. 
 Or sever one, the slightest part; 
 
 I feel as if that gentle eye. 
 
 In wonted fondness beam'd on me; / 
 
 As if that soft lip's parting sigli, 
 
 Still whisper' d truth was one with thee. 
 
 Yes! other scenes and minutes come, 
 In recollections thrilling train; 
 Which tell of thee, of bliss, of home, 
 Of Love, unspotted by a stain. 
 
 Alar! 'tis but a dream; yet sweet 
 Its tints, and beautiful its rays; 
 Such as the Paradise we meet. 
 In Eastern bards, impassioned lays. 
 G 
 
74 TO ELIZA. 
 
 But let it go; the maddening theme. 
 Is— once we met, yet I'm alone; 
 Despair annihilates the dream 
 Of promised bliss, for Hope is gone. 
 
 We met; Elissa! was it well, 
 To teach a heart too fondly thine, 
 That doemon Sorrow's gnawing hell. 
 Yawns widely round fj^^atipn's ^rinc. 
 
 Iloved thee— aye, when childhood's tongue 
 Could scarcely Usp in accents known; 
 Youth framed the happy compact strong, 
 And manhood made my heart thy throne. 
 
 I loved thee, as the Mother loves 
 Her offspring, one dear, single child ; 
 Whose wa)rward acts she disapproves, 
 But chides with condentnation mild. 
 
 'Tis true I bore no leading part, 
 In Fame's loud Epics: yet I gave 
 To thee, a pure, a faithful hear^, 
 A heart — ^thy Siervant, or thy Slave. 
 
 I had no hope unmix'd with thee; 
 I had no joy thou didst not shaje;^ 
 Life's sweets were all thine own; and me-— 
 The woes of life 'twas mine to bear* rj t 
 
 :U% ill 
 
TO ELIZA. 
 
 I loved thee— oh! such love aemine, 
 Deserv'd that thou its truth should bless; 
 And now — ^though hated I may pine— 
 I feel I cannot love thee less. 
 
 S&SS^^Sfii3&3S<8^S<l>iya 
 
 75 
 
 BY W, B. — N. 
 
 I saw a maiden sweetly blush, 
 To hear pronounc'd her Lover's name ; 
 Her eye flashM with her secret joy> 
 But still she shrunk with Virgin sbame^ 
 
 I saw her once a happy Bride^ 
 Devoted to her Bridegroom's pleasure ,- 
 A Father's joy, a Mother^s boast, 
 Belov'd ,and loving, beyond measure. 
 
 I saw the Wife— a Mother fond. 
 Caress the infant God had given; 
 And as she pressed it to her breast. 
 Her heart's thanksgiving rose td Heaven. 
 
 I saw this Mother bath'd in tes^rs, 
 When life pass'd with her loved one's breatJi ; 
 And yet— her darling offspring smil'd, 
 But ah! it was the smile of Death. 
 
76 
 
 RECOLLECTION. 
 
 I saw Consumption's work begun, 
 And ended; all was quickly o'er; 
 The Maid, Wife, Mother sleeps, and now, 
 Joy, Sorrow, Pain, disturb no more. 
 
 |otti$ 0f ^mak. 
 
 This forget me not, which comes out clad in 
 silk and glittering with gold, to grace the band of the 
 fair as she sits in the bosom of the family circle, 
 reading for their entertainment, these lighter offe- 
 rings of the mind, can hardly with propriety be made 
 the vehicle of those sterner truths, which experience 
 and wisdom, with frowning aspect, often inculcate 
 upon the thoughtless World. The home scene on 
 wliich fancy has lighted,remiiids us too that this is the 
 Beason of holidays, and forbids us to intrude upon 
 the sports and gayety of the young, with aught that 
 might suggest to them the restraints of discipline and 
 tasks, from which for a few days they have been set 
 free. Let their young hearts bound with native 
 gladness, and enjoy once more without an interrup- 
 tion, the sweet endearments of the parental home. 
 Happy period! may its innocence and joy remain, 
 long after the years of boyhood have passed 
 away. 
 
 Fancy at this moment has assembled under our 
 view, those numerous little domestic groups scatter- 
 ed throughout this extended territory: some in hou- 
 
THE IKOUTU OF CANADA. 
 
 77 
 
 Bes embosomed in the deep wilderness, seen only by 
 the fond eyes of those that have lain in the same 
 bosom, and the still fonder eyes of those that gave 
 them birth;—- some playing amidst the irregular 
 hamlet that has risen up within a few months, 
 where the woodman's axe has let in a wider pro^>ect 
 of sun and sky; some in more populous villages, 
 ere long to become the towns and cities of a large 
 empire. Looking upon the youth of Canada ns 
 children of the same national family, something like 
 a parental anjdety is awakened for their future well- 
 being. EccB SPES RoM£. Behold in them the men 
 who will hereafter be entrusted with the inheritance of 
 a nation's freedom .'-Behold in. these noisy,joyous imps 
 — ^in whom fore-thought, the noblest attribute of rea- 
 son is scarcely yet awakened— the men who shall 
 erelong, be arbiters in the disputed rights of their 
 fellow men; who shall sit on the tribunals of justice, 
 and deliberate in the halls of Legislation; who shall 
 declare the duties and the consolations of religion in 
 the sanctuary of God, diffuse the light of Science 
 ard Learning in our Schools and Colfege6,and trans- 
 mit the impression of their own characters to suc- 
 ceeding and expanding generations. How momen- 
 tous the destruction of these now playful and 
 thoughtless groups! With what devout ardor 
 should the good and patriotic watch over them, and 
 so direct the influences which form their character, 
 that the State may not only receive no detriment, 
 but the greatest possible good from that career 
 which lies before them. Without encroaching on 
 this season of their mirth and playfulnc'^s, we may 
 exercise a parental solicitude, and indulge affection 
 in forming schemes for those who are its dear ob- 
 jects. 
 
 It is Education that roust form these Youth to 
 
 g2 
 
78 
 
 THE TOUTH OP CANADA. 
 
 what they ought to be, for their own happiness and 
 the prosperity of their country. The mind— the 
 heart must receive its appropriate culture, that they 
 may become men, inaustrious, enlightened, free, 
 christian and contented. 
 
 For this purpose sufficient means must be provi- 
 ded every where for their instruction and moral dis- 
 cipline. Schools must be established in every vicinage, 
 under the care of educated and religious Teachers; 
 and since superior knowledge can scarce be aught 
 but a light to lead astray, unless brought under the 
 direction of pure Religion, the Christian temple 
 should overshadow the School with its pure and 
 hallowing ministrations. 
 
 And wnat idea does one delight to frame of a Vil- 
 lage School I Surely, we cannot be satisfied with 
 those miserable substitutes which the traveller in Ca- 
 nada occasionally meets with by the way side, in 
 some unsightly angle of a field, which its owner for 
 his own convenience or in a fit of factitious liberality, 
 permitted to be thus occupied, because he could not 
 with any profit, subject it to the plough! Is that 
 deal box, rudely finished, without a foundation, al- 
 ready beginning to fall into decay, although it has 
 not stood five winters; its windows without glass, 
 and its doors without hinges; more resembling the 
 remains of an Indian wigwam, than any thing that 
 civilization would own— is that to be taken as a de- 
 sirable specimen of a Canadian village School 1 Nor 
 is the interior with its furniture, unsuitable to the 
 outward appearance. Its seats of rough slabs sup- 
 ported on pins; its desks of unplaned boards; its 
 mud floor, and its unplastered wall, force memory 
 back to a period when the Aborigines of the 
 forest ranged in its locality, armed with miniature 
 bows and arrows in pursuit of squirrels— untamed 
 
 \l 
 
tHB YOVTII OF CANADA. 
 
 79 
 
 the 
 I that 
 
 de- 
 INor 
 
 the 
 |Bup- 
 its 
 
 lory 
 the 
 
 Lture 
 
 imed 
 
 and Bwift-footed as tlieinselveB; when no idea of 
 Education was known among tlieir tribe, and no 
 word denoting it liad been coined in their speech. In 
 this miserable shed) however, survey that small 
 ffroup of interesting faces, with eyes beaming fire 
 tnat might be wrought into intelligence, or even ge- 
 nius, lumping in riot, or lounging in listlessness, 
 around a person seated on a slab raised on taller pins, 
 who seems to hold the office of instructor among 
 them. Alas! in what can he instruct them? His 
 dress, liis muiner, his person, might have been ta^- 
 ken by Hogarth for the picture of arrant ignorance 
 and vulgarity. His dialect is vilely provincial; his 
 reading, untuned, vociferous and inaccurate; he is 
 unable to spell correctly the simplest words; his 
 hand-writing is an illegible scrawl,and the clever boy 
 beside him, perplexes him with the simplest ques- 
 tion in Cocker. What could have induced Pa- 
 rents who love their children, to commit them to 
 the tuition of such an Empiric ? Ah! some of the 
 neighbours found him at a tavern close by << last 
 Fall;" he was out of employment; he ofi^red his 
 services very cheap to keep school for the Win- 
 ter; and without more ado, he was installed into 
 the office of Schoolmaster, and this interesting 
 little group, endued with minds capable of being 
 trained to any excellence, is committed to his care, 
 that learning may be rendered contemptible ih their 
 ■eyes, and that they may come forth in due time with 
 all their teacher's blemishes transferred to them- 
 selves. 
 
 Would that this were the end of the misfortune. 
 But the miserable hovel is doomed to change its prin- 
 cipal occu pant, «ome what oftener than the stye that 
 is placed over against it— as if in mockery. In three 
 jnonths the protean pedagogue takes his leave, to 
 
80 
 
 TKB YOUTH OF C1NADA» 
 
 seek Bome other occupatioa more profitable, and bet- 
 ter adapted to his tastes and attainmentfl. The 
 School is left without a teacher, until somfi other 
 TSf rant comes round in his wanderings <<next Fall" 
 '—'his qualifications as mean as his predecessor's, and 
 his character, though different in its traits, presenting 
 quite as much deformity. Thus, multitudes of the 
 national fauiily live in danger of becoming like those 
 who teach tliem, rude, unsettled, presumptuous and 
 insubordinate— scorpions to their parents, the tools 
 of anarchists, and the pests of Society. 
 
 There is a much more certain conuection between 
 these results and tiieir causes, than the unreflecting 
 are apt to imagine. Associi^ions of thought and 
 feeling are readily formed in early life, and give a 
 deep tincture to the whole futore being. . It must 
 therefore have the most unhappy tendency to asso- 
 ciate the processes of BDucATipN, (which is designed 
 to form and exalt the character) with ideas that are 
 mean, corrupt and vicious. The very place where 
 instruction is received casts its shade upon it. 
 Fancy can hardly conceive any thing good to come 
 out of those mean and ruinous sheds, often appro- 
 priated in this country to the education of Youth- 
 smothered in thickets and enveloped with the pesti- 
 lential miasms of the swamp. Is not the fioy 
 doomed to receive the first rudiments of education in 
 such unfavourable circumstances, in danger of be- 
 coming dull, languid and grovelling 1 But when to 
 this, is added a master in keeping with the locality— 
 a person of unsettled and vicious habits— who has 
 assumed an office for whi<ih he had never prepared 
 liimself, to abandon it again after a few months^ for 
 the servile employments for which alone he is fitted 
 •—then is education put in nearly the worst con- 
 ceivable state, and the conimun^y that can remaia 
 
THE YOUTH OP CA:7ADA. 
 
 Gl 
 
 satisfied with it, is fast declining towards the dark- 
 ness of a barbarous age. 
 
 In contrast with such sights and forebodings, one 
 delights to turn to the more pleasing prospects now 
 presented in some of the countries of Europe, in 
 which every thing connected with the education of 
 Youth is placed on that footing on which it ought 
 to be, in every community so far enlightened as to 
 perceive, that the education of its Youth is one of the 
 most sacred duties of a free state. One of the 
 sights often seen in those countries, is the commodi- 
 ous and durable edifices, in situations pleasantly 
 chosen and convenient to a neighbourhood, to which 
 its children repair for the cultivation of their minds. 
 A friend of children would desire that every thing in 
 the sight, and plan, and arrangement of the School 
 edifice, and its play ground, might be fitted to suggest 
 only such agreeable thoughts as would endear to 
 them, even the mute, inanimate objects, near which 
 the young idea had been taught to shoot. Without 
 deviating from the design of such an edifice, we 
 would have it the fairest, the neatest, the most 
 commodious in all the village; we would have every 
 thing about it to suggest the idea, that this is one of 
 the Nation's nurseries of wisdom and worth; and all, 
 so permanent and durable, that its pupils might re- 
 turn after many long years, and find in their wonted 
 places the objects with which their young hearts had 
 formed many delightful associations, of which the re> 
 membrance had soothed the more checquered and 
 toilsome years, which have rolled by since they were 
 separated from these scenes of their boyhood. These 
 youthful remembrances are the germs of many vir- 
 tues ; they bind the affections to Uie place of our birth, 
 they endear science by the scenes where she was 
 first courted, fill the soul with a patriotic love for the 
 
m 
 
 THE YOUTH OF CANADA. 
 
 country, which has twisted itself by so many fibres 
 around the heart, and will not permit us to forgot 
 
 It. 
 
 Nescio qua natale solum, dulcedine captos 
 Ducit et immemores, non sinit esse sui. 
 
 Attaching such importance even to the places and 
 scenes in which Youth is imbued with the love of 
 ]{nowledge, and introduced to the path which con- 
 ducts to virtue and happiness, we attach still more to 
 the description of persons who shall preside over their 
 education. For a teacher of youth, whether it be 
 his profession or not, communicates to those com- 
 mitted to his charge, far more than the mere rudi- 
 ments of scholarship, which it is his professed object 
 to teach. If his pupils are anv considerable time un- 
 der his care, they will, from that principle of imita- 
 tion which is so strong in early life, be led to adopt 
 his manners, his modes of expression, his habits of 
 thinking, and even the peculiarities of his moral cha- 
 racter. In the degree that they love and esteem him, 
 (and if they do not bear him some regard, it will tell 
 inauspiciously upon their improvement) his influence 
 in awakening and directing the imitative faculty, will 
 be the greater, and they will come from under his 
 tuition, bearing more legibly the transcript of his 
 image. Those only who have been accustomed to 
 reflect on the causes which operated in early life in 
 the formation of their character, can tell how much 
 they have been indebted to a good teacher, or how 
 much they have lost by falling under the ruinous ma- 
 nagement of a bad one. Next to the influence of pa- 
 rental and domestic manners upon the young, even 
 sometimes greater, will be that ofthe person to whom 
 their education is committed. 
 
 Entertaining these views, and having a sincere re- 
 
THE YOUTH OF CANADA. 
 
 as 
 
 mita- 
 adopt 
 tB of 
 1 cha- 
 nhim, 
 ill tell 
 uencc 
 y,\vill 
 ler his 
 of his 
 ed to 
 ife in 
 much 
 r how 
 6 ma- 
 of pa- 
 even 
 whom 
 
 Icre re- 
 
 gard for the YOUTH of Canada all of whom, as in one 
 group) we seem to have under our paternal eye in 
 their Christmas revels, we cannot but feel a lively 
 concern, that those to whom the momentous task of 
 their education shall be entrusted, may be q,ualified 
 for the ofiice. And in order to secure the services 
 of such, We would make the office worthy of their 
 acceptaiice, by its emolumentil, immunities, and se- 
 cure establishment. Since on them will depend, in 
 a great measure, the future intelligence, virtue, and 
 greatness of the commonwealth, we would demand 
 from them a guarantee proportionate to the trust 
 reposed in them ; and we would give in return, re- 
 wards and distinctions proportionate to our demands. 
 The most respectable families in the community, 
 might then be indiiced to furnish labourers for this 
 department of the public service ; hence, the stan- 
 dard of education would be raised in these families, 
 and the teacher himself being linked by the ties of 
 kindred and affection with the families from which 
 his pupils are drawn, would have a deeper interest in 
 their improvement, and be an object of their greater 
 regard. His character and talents, nurtured from 
 youth under the eye of his neighbourhood, would se- 
 cure its respect and confidence, and his relfltionship 
 to the standard families, would tc x^e to ncreen him 
 from the effects of that caprice ai. i inconstancy, to 
 which the instructors of Youth, abovfi all others, are 
 exposed. The occupation of schoolmaaters, being 
 thus constituted honourable^ would become an object 
 of laudable ambition ; candidates, properly muililied, 
 would be drawn into the field from the best classes of 
 society ; and the respect attracted towards them, 
 would secure that salutary authority ond influence 
 over the minds, both of parents and children which 
 every teacher should possess, in order to his com- 
 

 ^4 
 
 TAE TOtJTH 01" CAltAbA* 
 
 plete success. Were the office thus honoured, re- 
 warded, and competently filled, the instructors of 
 Youth would become the lights and guides of their 
 vicinage, and the State womd derive advantages in a 
 thousand wayp, to convince those at its helm, that 
 the resources of a country can never be better em- 
 ployed, than in promoting intelligence and virtue 
 among its people. 
 
 Effectually to secure these objects, therefbre> 
 should be the constant and deliberate aim of every 
 enlightened legislature, since without its interference 
 they are unattainable in any state of society— and as 
 much unattainable in Canada, as in any state of so- 
 ciety that ever existed. Such miserable school-hou- 
 ses and teachers as we have sketched above, are al- 
 most universal throughout the Province, and it may 
 well be doubted whether growing wealth shall ever 
 of itself, lead to any ^reat and general improvement. 
 Many localities might be pointed out in which the 
 settlers have become even opulent, but their state of 
 education has not advanced one step beyond the point 
 they had reached, after the first few yeajrs of their 
 settlement. It would seem, that habituated to this 
 low state of things, nothing can arouse them to make 
 any effective exertions for its amelioration. When, 
 moreover, it is considered how intent many parents 
 are on a cheap education, whatever be its quality ; 
 how grudgingly they spare their children the time 
 necessary for its attainment ; how generally they 
 confine it onlv to those few months in the year, in 
 which their children are not required for the labours 
 of the field— reason sufilcient appears to sustain the 
 conclusion,that the system of education in this coun 
 try will not soon be greatly improved, unless the Le- 
 gislature make such provision as shall render it in a 
 
•Ml! rOUTH or CANADA. 
 
 85 
 
 ^i^at^egree^ independent of the voluntary exertioua 
 of the people. 
 
 No one will dispute that it is the duty of every 
 ■^gbod Government) to employ every available means 
 for a purpose so intimately connected with its own 
 well-being. It matters nothing that the multitude 
 should be unconscious of the evils of popular igno- 
 rance and averse to their removal. When the peace 
 and safety of the state is endangered, popular apathy 
 or opposition, cannot be received in apology for any 
 statesmtin, who shall permit it to suflfer ^detriment. 
 It is the principal duty of Rulers, whether hereditary 
 or elective, to secure by all means the well-being of 
 the governed, and it may be assumed that, in all free 
 nations at least, the Legislature will contain persons 
 competent to devise these means. To them it right- 
 fully belongs; and it should be their noble aim to 
 bring the public mind up to that higher standard 
 which they are competent to prescribe, and that, 
 even though it should vent itself in clamor, and re- 
 luctate against the aggression made upon its prejudi- 
 ces and indolence. 
 
 To what extent it may be in the power of our liC- 
 gislature to find means for the establishment of such 
 a system of Education as we have hinted at, wc 
 will not at present inquire. But with so much un- 
 appropriated land at its disposal, and with wealth in- 
 creasing rapidly among its people,failure from a de- 
 
 * Videret ne quid respublica detriment! caperet. "Take cure 
 that the republic suffer no injury," were the last words which tJio 
 lloman Senate uttered to the Consul when he was sent to repel 
 (\n enemy. The same should lie the last words which the licprc- 
 sentati\'e8 of a free people should hear from th!^ir Constituents, 
 as they impart to their Legislative Assemblies ; and it were well 
 ttiat both were then reminded, that nations have sustained imtre 
 detriment from ignorance and corruption than from invading Ar- 
 mies. 
 
 H 
 
t t 
 
 
 
 sS;r 
 
 m 
 
 THE YOUTH OF CANADA. 
 
 ticiency of funds is not to be apprehended, if once 
 the Government shall have taken it fairly in hand. It 
 cannot be purposed in the circumstances of a new 
 country, to lay out an extravagant expenditure, ei- 
 ther upon school edifices or endowments. Nothing 
 more is desirable than that a School-room sufficient - 
 ly commodious be provided in each School District, 
 and a residence for the teacher and his family equal to 
 those enjoyed by persons in a similar rank of Society 
 — ^built ho\;ever,with such neatness and durability as 
 may indicate the liberality of the state in the educa- 
 tion of its people. As for the emoluments of the 
 teacher, it will not be deemed an exorbitant proposal, 
 that they should be worthy of the abilities he brings 
 to the public service; that they shaO not be inferior 
 to the average emoluments of the more respectable 
 families of the vicinage; that they shall aflfbrd to him 
 and his family the same comforts and prospects, 
 which he might have secured for himself in other de- 
 partments of business. By granting so much the 
 community would be a gainer. For the more intelli- 
 j^fence and virtue is diffused, (and what more effectual 
 method of diffusing them than the agency we are con- 
 templating ?) the expenditure on the administration 
 of Justice, on prisons and penitentiaries, will be di- 
 minished. It is a blind and barbarous policy which 
 ]jrovides amply for the punishment of criminals, but 
 iioglects the means for the prevention of crime. 
 
 As in every complete system of national education 
 teaching must be elevated to the ranic of a profession, 
 it will be necessary to secure the means of a special 
 prf ;>arat" n for it — such as are enjoyed by other pro- 
 fessions not more important, and for which the neces- 
 sary skill is not of ..lore difficult attainment. The Stu- 
 dents of Law and Medicine, and the candidates fcr 
 the Church, must pass through a course of study 
 
THE TODTH OF CANADA. 
 
 a? 
 
 f once 
 and. It 
 a new 
 iure, ei- 
 (othing 
 fficient - 
 [Mstrict, 
 equal to 
 Society 
 .bility as 
 e educa- 
 I of the 
 proposal, 
 B brings 
 inferior 
 gpectable 
 rd to him 
 irospects, 
 other de- 
 nuch the 
 re intelli- 
 effectual 
 are con- 
 listration 
 111 be di- 
 fy which 
 inals, but 
 
 le. 
 gducation 
 tofession, 
 I a special 
 (ther pro- 
 
 le neces- 
 iTheStu- 
 
 iates fcr 
 fof study 
 
 and instruction ere they can be admitted to prac- 
 tise in their professions. The same rule and found- 
 ed on similar reasons, should be followed in the pro- 
 fession of teaching. Besides the proper attainments 
 in scholarship, it should be rendered imperative on all 
 candidates for a public School to attend a normal 
 School, under care of teachers of the highest class, 
 that they may acquire practical skill in the most ap- 
 proved method of conducting a pubUc School : and af- 
 ter a fixed period of probation there,a diploma should 
 be granted certifying their eligibility to the office of 
 Schoolmaster. By thus enforcing some uniform 
 course of preparation, teachers properly qualified 
 would be prepared, and the unknown and uncertified 
 vagrant would be unable to obtrude his services. 
 
 The Legislature, having thus determined by law 
 the proper qualifications of teachers, eligible to 
 Schools endowed by the State^ and provided a nor- 
 mal School where these might be acquired, it would 
 become a matter of less moment witli whom the 
 power of electing a teacher to any particular School 
 rested. The selection might then safely be left to 
 Trustees chosen by the inhabitants of each District 
 School, who, it might be hoped, would in general be 
 disposed to prefer a candidate connected with the fa- 
 milies of the District— a preference which we deem 
 highly desirable for reasons previously stated. But 
 while the right of election might properly be made 
 to rest with them, the power of confirming it should 
 be reserved to some Officer of the Government, cor- 
 responding to that which in France is called the Mi- 
 nister o¥ PUBLIC Instruction, and after the election 
 was ratified by this officer, the teacher should be re- 
 garded as under his jurisdiction. This is desirable to 
 render the teacher independent of all local induence, 
 and in order to secure to him due authority in carry 
 
! I 
 
 f I 
 
 8» 
 
 THB rOtTS OF CAITABA. 
 
 ing^ into eilfect Uiat plan of education in which he has 
 been instructed, and in maintaining that strict discip- 
 line, with which the carelessness and partiality of 
 parents might sometimes interfere. Besides, it has^ 
 been observed that cabals are apt to be formed in 
 small communities against those whose duty ma3r> 
 compel them to assaO prejudices, which for the in*'^* 
 terest of the parties themselves ouffhtto be counter*^' 
 acted— and, therefore, we would nave the perma- 
 nence of the office, and as much as possible its emo- 
 luments, beyond the reach of harm from the disputes 
 and bickerings of the village. The right of appeal 
 to the Minister of Public Instruction in cases of mis- 
 conduct on the part of the teacher would be siiffici- > 
 ent to guard the interests of both parties. Every 't^ 
 system cfpublic education in which' thesie prihciples 
 are ne^flected, will only disappoint the expectotivn: 
 of the projector, and waste the resoxirces df the 
 country. 
 
 In legislating on the subject of education, it oughf 
 not to be hastily assumed that aiiy great portion of: 
 the community will greatly favour any scheme or ' 
 standard, differept from, or far exceeding that, with 
 which they have been accustomed to compare them- 
 selves; and if the views of the Legislator be far in 
 advance of vulgar opinion, he will need to avail Jrim- 
 eelf of every auxiliary at his command, to secure 
 their practical adoption. Under such a Government 
 as ours and in the present infancy of the Province, it 
 might not perhaps be advisable to render it compul- 
 sory on parents to educate children up to some pre- 
 scribed standard, even though the means were pro- 
 vided by the State, and within the reach of all; but 
 we should deem it not unsuitable even now to enact, 
 that no individual unless he be quahfied by education 
 according to some prescribed degree, shaQ be en- 
 
THE YOUTH OF CANADA. 
 
 80 
 
 titled to exercise the rights of a freeman; that ha 
 fihall not be admitted to sit in Juries; that he shall 
 not be appointed to the office of a magistrate, or any 
 other office in the ^ift of the Crown; in fine, that 
 though he shall enjoy equally as others the protec- 
 tion of the State,he shall not enjoy any of its honours 
 or patronage,or be permitted to hold any office requir- 
 ing a higher degree of intelligence,than it is to be pre- 
 sumed an uneducated person in ordinary circumstan- 
 ces can possess. Nor should disfranchisement on tluR 
 ground be deemed at all unequal. By our laws^some 
 property is necessary as a qualification for certain ci- 
 vil rights; and why may not some measure of intelli- 
 gence be prescribed as a qualification for certain 
 civil rights, as well as some measure of property ? Of 
 the two,intelligence is even more necessary than pro- 
 perty, as a safeguard for the proper exercise of any 
 right with which the State has invested its subjects. 
 To render these motives still more influential, qua- 
 lifications for offices of profit and honour, might bo 
 made to embrace, not merely the intellectual results 
 of education, to which the term is commonly restrict- 
 ed, but also its moral results; for these as well as tho 
 former constitute an essential branch of that prepa- 
 ration which is necessary to prepare all for fulfillinjr 
 the duties which they owe to Society. Flagrant 
 vice should be declared by law, a disqualification for 
 the exercise of certain rights and the enjoyment of 
 certain honours, as well as gross ignorance. With- 
 out straining this point to an impracticable rijjonr, 
 Huch as the present temper of our population noiild 
 not bear, it might be considered quite competent for 
 the Legislature to enact, that all persons convictod 
 of felony in a court of Justice, or who may bo char- 
 jred with fraud, habitual drunkenness, or any rrimoi 
 or misdemeanour by winch the peace of Society i-^ 
 h2 
 
90 
 
 THE YOUTH OF CANADA. 
 
 • 
 
 disturbed or its morality corrupted— shall forfeit for 
 atime^ or perpetually, accordmg to the ag^avation 
 of the oflfence, their privileges as iVeu'meiii and their 
 eligibility to any of&ce of honour or profit, at the dis- 
 posal of the Crown, or of any public body. Sucl) 
 deprivations would operate as restraints on the com- 
 mission of crimes and immoralities, and would com- 
 bine with other motives to promote education and 
 }>ublic virtue. 
 
 But there is one other element of success, without 
 which all the means that the State can furnish, and 
 nil the sanctions of municipal law m favour of a 
 sjiystem of national education, will be nugatory;— 4:his 
 element is parental discipline and authority. No- 
 thing can supply the place of that domestic training, 
 required by the const!' iition of our nature and the re- 
 lations of life. Its influence may not be so direct 
 upon the intelligence of the young, but it is all in all 
 upon their character—a fact, which is continually 
 forcing itself upon the observation of those to whom 
 their education is professionally committed. A boy 
 v^'ho is placed under no restraint at home; who is 
 continudly setting the authority of his parent at de- 
 liunce; in whose mind there is not the slightest feel- 
 ing of subordination— -will hardly fail to thwart the 
 most assiduous efforts of his teacher. The fYiU re- 
 medy for this evil is not within the reach of the Le- 
 gislator. It belongs to a higher department than 
 human jurisprudence. The means that can enforce 
 it must come from Heaven. 
 
 For these reasons no system of education, except 
 that which is distinctly engrafted upon religion, can 
 ever be complete, or successful in producing a Avise 
 and virtuous people. It alone can give life, vigour 
 and stability to any plan. It will make the nursery 
 a preparation for the School. When the authority 
 
THB YOUTH OF CANADA* 
 
 91 
 
 of the parent and the obedience of the child have 
 been exercised from religious considerations, the 
 teacher's task will be easy. And when he also 
 minffles the lessons of piety with the tasks of Scho- 
 larship, it may be hopea, the knowledge acquired will 
 be accompanied by a divine, Erecting power, which 
 will guide its possessor to virtue, honour and im- 
 mortality. 
 
 Let us stop ourexcurs' 
 ed an agreeable conclus) 
 prayer, that while natur 
 frovern the parental insti 
 common parent, perform 
 
 3W that we have reach- 
 
 f^ ^ireathe the patriotic 
 
 igion prompt and 
 
 tate may also, as a 
 
 a part, and employ its 
 
 wisdom and resources in providing education for the 
 YOUTH OF CANADA, whoso intelligence and worth will 
 be the noblest monument of their Sires— 
 
 MONUMENTUM AERE PERBNNIUS. 
 
 TBXISBE&'8 80IiZZ.0QV7 
 
 BY 
 
 Howe'er Men rank it, 'tia an unbless'd Gift. 
 This knowledge of futurity's events ! 
 This plucking information from the Chaos 
 Of things, scarce generate in the womb of Fate I 
 This wild unruvrUing of vnform'd mysteries 
 Conceal'd in the t vk shadows of to-come ! 
 Why will men still pry into hidden things ? 
 AVhen knowledgCj tbuB obtained, robs future joy 
 Of half its sweets, ' and adds one pang the more 
 To sorrow thus assured. Why will they do so 7 
 Since 'tis Prosperity's chief ioyousness 
 To deem it firmly fix'd ; and sad adversity 
 Becomes less cheerless as we feel Hope's smiles 
 

 IMAGE EVALUATION 
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 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 Corporation 
 
 33 WIST MAIN STRUT 
 
 WnSTH.N.Y. MSIO 
 
 (716)I72-4S03 
 
 
^ 
 
 
m 
 
 THBSBBR'S SOLILOqUT. 
 
 PredktiBg that a c^uge will soon diipMie 
 The^tottdi and vapours which oppress the mlndi 
 Oh ! who wMild wish to lose hSs comforpn ! 
 If Man eoold view m* whole tenour of his life -,. , 
 
 The thorns and pit falls strewn along his potbi 
 The danfers and reverses. which are sure -, 
 The.disappointmeitts and fell enemies 
 He must encounter, with a load of ills 
 That seldom enter into calculation ', 
 Could he at once see all the dreary prospect, 
 Would he have courage to encounter it, 
 In the detail ? No • rather he would sbrinic 
 From life, as froitt some pestilential in. 
 But rinee these things are hidden, on he stumbles. 
 Still dieer'd in SonrOw with celestial Hope^ 
 ' Which, whilst a dotibt hangs qutv'ring o'er the future 
 Is ever ready witii her gentle aid, ^ 
 To soothe the wounded bosom. 
 
 WRITTEN IN A CEMETERY. 
 
 1 
 V 
 
 Br 
 
 Graves are around me; and the sculptured stone 
 
 Bears record of mortality at rest ! 
 Graves are around me; and I muse alone, 
 
 With life's exhausting fever in my breast ; 
 And the vain strife of hope, with grief and tears, 
 And the sad memory of my vanished years. 
 
 Bi 
 
 TJ 
 
 W 
 
WRITTBN IN A CEHBTBRT* 
 
 98 
 
 The old are stretched before me in the dust-^ 
 Fresh grass is springing o'ei' the fair and young — 
 
 Sealed up from treacheryycold^es^ and mistrust, 
 That deal their poison from the eye and tongue. 
 
 Their bitter hour is past; and safe on shore^ '' 
 
 Their bark can plough the stormy sea no more* 
 
 Sons of my Father on the eternal throne, 
 And daughters of His family! ye have past 
 
 Away from earth's wide lazar house, and none 
 Shall feel again its pestilential blast. 
 
 The fragrant breath of Heaven sustains you now, 
 
 And all its glory shines upon your brow. 
 
 Ye have passed on before me! I must tread 
 The same dark passage, to the same abode; 
 
 And when its shadow wraps my weary head. 
 Some spirit, yet encumbered with its load, 
 
 May point a moral o'er me, at its will. 
 
 When all these throbs are hushed<i-^these beating 
 pulses still. 
 
 But far— far hence are sepulchres, where sleep 
 The ashes of my d^r ones,— -Not for me 
 
 The sacred privilege o'«r them to weep, 
 In Nature's own deep tendemessj may be* 
 
 Oh! where the loved— the lost have found a tomb, 
 
 What broken heart but fondly seeks its home! 
 
94 
 
 WRITTBN IN A CBMETERT. 
 
 Then, though I see the blooming- flowers of Spring ) 
 
 Thick clustering in this <<city of the dead" — 
 What, though the turf, in many an emerald ring, 
 With graceful curve, sweeps round each narrow 
 bed: 
 For my own last, long slumber, I would crave, 
 Where those who loved me, sleep, an unembellished 
 grave. 
 
 I THINK OP THEE. 
 
 BT 
 
 When thou at eventide art roaming 
 Along the elm-o'ershaded walk, 
 
 Where fast the eddying stream is foaming 
 Beneath its tiny cataract,— 
 Where I with thee was wont to talk,— 
 
 Think thou upon the days gone by, l'^ ^^ 
 
 And heave a sigh! 
 
 When sails the moon above the mountains, 
 And cloudless skies are purely blue. 
 
 And sparkle in the light the fountains, 
 And darker frowns the lonely yew,— j- 
 
 Then be thou melancholy too. 
 
 When musing on the hours I proved 
 With thee, beloved |[^i^ij J 
 
 
 
 o 
 w 
 
 ^ 
 
5) 
 
 w 
 
 ed 
 
 I ( 
 
 I THINK OF THBS. 9$ 
 
 When wakes the dawn upon thy dwelling, 
 And lingering shadows disappear, 
 
 And soft the woodland songs are swelling, 
 A choral anthem on thide ear,— 
 Think"— ^for that hour to thought is dear— 
 
 And then her flight remembrance brings 
 To by-past things. 
 
 To me, through every season, dearest, 
 In every scene— by day, by night — 
 
 Thou present to my mind appearest 
 A quenchless star, for ever bright! 
 My solitary, sole delight! 
 
 Alone — ^in grove— by shore — at sea— 
 I think of thee! 
 
 lii -'• 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 Now the the scenes of thy youth are removed^ 
 And thine eyes no more meltingly dwell 
 
 On the spot where the friends thou hast loved 
 Still sigh to have bade thee farewell; 
 
 irfl 
 
 O cease not my image to blend 
 
 With the heart-cheering thought of past glee; 
 While Fancy, to cheer me, shall send 
 
 The sweet recollection of thee! 
 
96 
 
 A CANOE VOYAGR 
 
 BY 
 
 Two modes of locomotion me6t the native of Bri- 
 tain who comes to Canada as novelties. He may 
 gUde over the land in a Sleigh, or through the water 
 in a Canoe. Most soon practically satisfy themselves 
 of the merits of the former, but it is only now 
 and then that those which the latter may truly boast, 
 chance to be discovered. This is a pity; for, — ^if 
 the reader will trust one who should know— a real 
 lover of nature can nev^r have a more pleasant meet- 
 ing with her in Canada, than paddle in hand in a 
 burch bark Canoe. He must be a true lover however, 
 to others I would not recommend the project— but, 
 if he be really enamoured, and " so happy with hi» 
 mistress all alone" — then he may safely thus trust 
 himself to Canadian waters and woods. See! he is in 
 the stern of a light Oanoe,a trusty friend in the bow ; 
 a glorious summer sky above! around them stretch 
 the glassy waters, scarce ruffled by their fairy skiflT, 
 so lightly,in yielding to the gentle dipping of the pad- 
 dle, does she steal over the surface. The prospect 
 opens before them wide and far,but we must content 
 ourselves with some small fragment of it. That Is- 
 land on their weather bow will serve. How beauti- 
 fully tranquil and calm, a mass of the richest foliage, 
 cluster above cluster of every varying form and tinge 
 rests, as if in quiet sleep on the smooth bosom of the 
 lake! They near it— a grassy glade not wider than 
 a well spread elm would fill, opens on them. The 
 wild vine has taken advantage of it to spread its 
 
A CAKOB VOYAOB. 
 
 9t 
 
 Bri- 
 
 may 
 
 Yater 
 
 selves 
 
 ^ now 
 
 boast) 
 
 ar,— it' 
 
 a real 
 
 meet- 
 in a 
 
 wever, 
 
 ;— but, 
 
 ith his 
 
 s trust 
 
 he is in 
 
 eboWf 
 
 jtretch 
 
 |y skiff, 
 le pad- 
 ■ospect 
 ontent 
 Ihat Is- 
 leauti- 
 ,V)liage, 
 d tinge 
 of the 
 It than 
 The 
 ad its 
 
 liches to the 6un, their eyes are caught by the grace*- 
 ful festoons with which it has hung the old butter- 
 nut, and now they can see there is no want of life; 
 the bright plumage of the blue jay first betrays it in 
 its restless flutterings from branch to branch; then 
 the squirrel stops in his quest after nuts ripe ehough 
 to be cracked, and sets up his angry chatter at the in- 
 truders; and again, what alarm is that ?•— 4:hey turn a 
 quick sideward glance, and just over thatlittletiishy ' 
 point, a flock of wild ducks scared at the dangerous 
 proximity, with flap, and flash, ^d flutter, are hastily 
 getting on wing. The pair have rested frorri tfeeir 
 paddles to look about them. Both exclaim, a teiirb 
 we must stop here. They had been looking out for - 
 a breakfast table and here it is. They have landed. 
 One with practised skill is setting the fire agoing: 
 the spark has caught, the spunk has been wrapped 
 in dry bark and burst into flame^ the axe has rung 
 on some old stem, and the withered boughs give out 
 n cheerful blaze. The other meanwhile has not been 
 idle. The provision ehest is onshore, the coflee 
 smokes, ham, eggs, k,c, are displayed, and the two 
 stretch themselves along the soft green grass to eat 
 and chat. Where will evening find them ? In trutli 
 I know not. Perhaps they may rest near where 
 they now are, and bound their curiosity to circum- 
 navigati^ig island after island, and their exploits > to 
 capturing some dozen or so of the finny indwellers of 
 the lake. Many a stream too, falls into that lak6,each 
 worthy of being explored. Or they may wish to see 
 what their bark can do on smooth water, and as they 
 have yet ten hours good till sun-set, his last rays 
 may fall on them forty or fifty miles from their pre- 
 sent station. Or—they may tire of the sleep of the 
 waters in lake and gently flowing river, and turning 
 from them to their wakening to life in the rnpide, 
 
•fn 
 
 ACAffOB VOTAOSk 
 
 giv9 thenuelves up to^he short but stirring pleaaure 
 of a da^ce down them, with shoot and boui^ in swift 
 and^d career. But wherever the evening sun 
 may rest on them, if I augur aright it will find them 
 witli cheeiful hearts tliwakful for o ne days pleasure, 
 for one days fellowship with God's creatures as they 
 exist apart from thehaeloieyed microcosm of man,each 
 glorioua in his kind, and happy in his sphere, and all 
 thrilliiig with a general hymn of joy to the great foun- 
 tain of life and happiness. Thedr tent pitched upon the 
 shorey a well piled fire bums bright before it, and gai- 
 ly (dunes out each bough and bush it flashes on. Their 
 home of a night in the good greea wood looks cheer- 
 ful—leave we them to their healthful slumbers. 
 
 This much at leasts I can say in favour of such 
 days and nights, that many lil^e them I have passed 
 with pleasure in years that are now long gone by, 
 and mostly in company of friends equally delighted 
 in them with myself. The spirit of adventure grows ^ 
 by indulgence, and we by degrees became so adven^- 
 turous that our unbitaon could not longer be satisfied 
 with fresh water, and we determined on following the 
 Baint LaiivTenoe till we saw him fairly mingling with 
 old ocean. i 
 
 Some extracts from the journal of such a voyage^ - 
 dressed out in a suit of the best black and white by the 
 erudite hands of the publisher, with due obeisance to 
 the gentle reader, now solicit him ix> allay the tremor 
 of their debut, by according them ten minutes of his ' 
 favourable legards. Perhaps they may be the better 
 fitted to win these, that the voyage they describe, 
 unlike our voy agings on ftesh water, had its disas- 
 ters* 
 
 It was on the t2th of August U2— that having 
 provisioned our Canoe for ten or twelve days, we 
 launched out into the flood that sweeps past Quebec. 
 
 
A CANOB VOTAOB. 
 
 n 
 
 rager 
 ky the 
 ice to 
 
 iinor 
 lof bis 
 
 }etter 
 Icribe^ 
 
 ieas- 
 
 |avii)|f 
 
 I, we 
 ebec. 
 
 The Falls ef Mountmorency detained us some hours; 
 vre then held on our course by the channel into which 
 these empty— 4hat passing to the north ef the island 
 of Orleans. At the termination of this channel 
 about thirty miles below QuebeCf the character of 
 the scenery and the navigation ehanffes. For fer- 
 tile and level banks, you have rock ana mountain; for 
 river and lake, a swelling ^de and often a surgy sea. 
 The great granitic range that fills the extreme nor^ 
 of this continenft, having^ passed some distance in rear 
 of Quebec, comes down here bold and precipitous to 
 fonn oneshote, wlule on the other liiose remains of 
 t!he Alkighaney mountains on which American Geo- 
 graphers dot their boundary lines, having kept on 
 their north east course through New England and 
 the Eastern Townships, raise their dark and shaggy 
 fronts at a little distance from the bank. ISetween 
 these Uesthe channel of the Saint Lawrence, varying 
 in breadth at first from ten to twenty miles, but still 
 expanding as you descend. Here its ample waters 
 have their first meeting witii the Atlantic. Ere they 
 can find an exit, up and down this rock bound frith, 
 for such in truth it is, they must submit to be hurried 
 by the restless working of the Atlantic tides, now 
 ibearii^ the briny flood against them with a force 
 <tbat makes the recoil felt halfway up to Montreal, 
 •and then retreating in such haste,that their wide and 
 often travelled track is all of a swirl from iMe to 
 jBide. a^-Mi^ 
 
 We came only to the borders of the new region the 
 first day, passing the night on a domain <>f the Catho- 
 lic Priests of Quebec.— A sheltered sunny nook, 
 such as their bretheren have ever had the taste to 
 «hooje— « green patch of rich alluvial, walled in by 
 the rocky and mountainous region on which it bor- 
 ders. 
 
100 
 
 A CAHOB VOTAGE. 
 
 Nothing in village scenery in my opinion can excel m 
 beauty the fine old elma that one meets with in Low- 
 er Canada—the growth of two centuries of clearings, 
 they stretch put their magnificent boughs and 
 gracefully drooping, folia^e^ till they spread a wide 
 shade over the white waUed cottages of the hamlet, 
 and the clear current that sweeps by it. Here were 
 many of those noble trees, and in company with ad- 
 jimicts to, the beauty of the landscape. I have not seeii 
 elsewhere in Lower Canada, such luxuriant pastures 
 and large herds of well fed, glossy-skinned cattle. 
 •, , Breakfast had been discussed and we had made 
 two leagues ere the sun was many hours high. On 
 the left the granitic peaks which had been in view all 
 the preceding day, and close under wliich we were 
 steering, rose above us to the height of twelve or 
 eighteen hundred feet, l^are and desolate, unless here 
 and there where a growth of stunted pine and birch 
 partially covered them, having their bases washed 
 by the s^a green waters of the Atlantic, which the 
 coming tide brought up in long billowy swells. In 
 such a situation a small burch bark Canoe looks 
 ^ very small, so, though the novelty and magni- 
 ficence of the scene were not lost on us, we loitered 
 not on our way but plied our paddles vigorously, 
 glad to see cape after cape rececUng until at mid-day, 
 after making about twenty-five miles, we had left 
 them ^I fairly behind us and found a quiet resting- 
 place m a beautiful land-locked little bay. A few 
 hours pleasant exertion of the muscles of the arm 
 and chest, and two insignificant looking bits of stick 
 had brought a complete change of scene. Around 
 and above us the sun shone bright on crag, and clifi^ 
 and tree, and streamlet and tiny waterfall, massed 
 in every varving and fantastic form; beneath us the 
 cool calm glassy water, the most perfect of mirrors, 
 
A OAKOfi VOTAOE. 
 
 101 
 
 gave back eabh shape tha^fbll onit with such truth 
 that it was often difficult to say what was inn- 
 ate and what r^ity, and we deemed up-born over u 
 fairy world meeting and yet mocking us, scattered 
 by a stroke of the paddle and again slowly settling 
 into the selfsame form as before. ;t «ffji'jmti;rn 
 
 Leaving our peaceful little harbour we again push- 
 ed out upon the open tide. We now approached a part 
 of the coast which n.croTdmg to Charlevoix had 
 shortly previous to his time been subjected to the ra-' 
 vages of an earthquake. The traces of such a cala-J 
 mity are nearly obliterated, but an enemy is at work 
 whose inroads though less fearful, seem likely in 
 the end to be as destructive. This settlement, nt 
 which we passed the night, lies on a small level plain 
 skirting the base of the mountains, and probably allu'-4t 
 vial. This at an early period had attracted the' 
 French Canadians to the spot and it yet boasts of 
 its Church and little village, but every year the vio- 
 lence of the waves of winter, undermining the edgea 
 of the flat, carry off more or less of it, and they must 
 at no distant period take possession of the whole. . 
 There being no place on which we could convenient- 
 ly Camp out we slept in the house of a Canadian 
 HABiTAiST. We found him as they all are, glad to sef 
 strangers, polite, ready and happy to oblige, and 
 succeeding the better in this by not being the least 
 OENE, or put out of his way, by an intrusion which, 
 to an English settler,in similar circumstances, would 
 have been an insufferable annoyance. In the morn- 
 ing I climbed with our host the steep hill in rear of 
 his habitation to see a small patch of level ground of 
 v/hich he boasted, lying on the face of the mGuntnin, 
 and wliich he had been endeavouring to turn to use, 
 hoping in this way to replace the land below that 
 the Sea was stealing from him. Ho had snccGedod 
 
 '2\ 
 
IDS 
 
 ▲ VJknOE VOTAOB* 
 
 at lesat in geUxttg « good crop of oats from a part 
 of the forfaoe of let*, tbtn an acns in extentjspproaeh- 
 ing tothe level) and slightly covered with su^jr soil. 
 To see;8uchafield Burrotmded i>v rocks and pine 
 trees^nltivatedby a Canadian^mignt have given good 
 materials for a lecture on the virtues of necessity. 
 The scene itself that spread before us^was worth some 
 climbing t6 have a view of.. Around^ the eye was 
 carried over a succession of rocky Mils and partially > 
 wooded mountains^ marked here and there by some 
 feeble attempts of man to assert his Claim of domi- 
 nion; beloWy the great Saint Lawrence shone like 
 burnished silver ui^der the early rays of the sun. 
 
 A league or two below this, lay a. danger to our 
 navigation^y^cleped the oAunuBy which notwithstand- 
 ing the warnings we had received of it we did not 
 manage altogether to avoid, I believe because like 
 many other experiences we had to buy the know- 
 ledge of what it reaUy was by passing through it. 
 The reader shall have the benefit of what we learned, 
 that in case he may ever follow the same course he 
 may be better prepared than we were. He will ob- 
 serve theuythalt the great descending tide of mingled 
 salt and fresh is here in the first place thrown off from 
 the main shore by shoals sloping out from it, lbs 
 BBOULKMBNTs, pTobsbly the DEBRIS of the moun- 
 tain side which Charlevoix's earthquake shook into 
 the channel; that it is thus set ri^ht upon the isle 
 Aux couDRBS, and from the hard snores of this again 
 repelled and driven into an angle in the main, over- 
 hung by high and formidable looting precipices. 
 When it reaches the last transit the channel is shoal, 
 being crossed by firm ledges, which cause the current 
 at low water to make several Bhorts,each with a very 
 perceptible fall. Below this it is deep water, giving 
 scope to the waves that coming sweeping up fVom 
 
A CANOB VOtAGE. 
 
 ^P^^ 
 
 loun- 
 into 
 
 ISLE 
 
 lit! 
 )vcr-. 
 lices. 
 loal, 
 Irrent 
 Ivery 
 living 
 Ifrom 
 
 the Labrador coast have tbas a free course to the- 
 angular turn. When therefore the ebb tide descend 
 ing with full force is met at this point bv the flood,a 
 sort of whirlf^ool is produced in the rocky recess I 
 have indicated, the more violent probably from the 
 different specific ffravities of the opposing waters. 
 But besides this when the incoming flood is accom> 
 panied by an East-wind^as was the case when wo were 
 there^not only does it bring with it a swell much in- 
 creasing the whirl of the meeting currents, but causes 
 a short cross sea to dance up among them something 
 like that which breaks over the shoal mouths of rivers 
 emptying into the ocean, though but a miniature in 
 comparison, yet more confused and confoun^g, and 
 such as a craft like that wo navigated was by no 
 means able to cope with. Af&irs indeed seemed to 
 wear a disastrous aspect with us, when from mi^- 
 rection, we found ourselves in a current we could 
 not stem, and carried away by it towards the very 
 thick of the tumult. I was in the bow at the time 
 and shall not readily forget the malicious look our 
 watery foes seemed to wear, as, stirred as it were 
 by some spirit of the deep, for we could not see a 
 cause for the tumult, they rose round us in angry 
 turmoil. Had we taken a single one of them we 
 must have been swamped. Of course. we bestirred 
 ourselves, but it is not so easy to keep a Canoe safe 
 in such a place, and to make great headway with her 
 at the same time. At length we perceived, very thank- 
 fully,that we should manage to get out without pay- 
 ing a visit to the centre of the gaufrb. We came out 
 suddenly, a narrow line separating the broken from 
 the calm water, passing which we were in a smooth 
 eddy that took us straight to the island. Right glad 
 we were of its bare rocks on which to stretch our 
 
104 
 
 A CANOE VOYAGB, 
 
 
 1 
 
 Hmbs, as With recovered breath we now safely spe- 
 culated on the scene of commotion before us. 
 
 Wo passed the night at no great distance from this' 
 scene of our danger, I recollect not precisely 
 where. Next morning saw us again coasting along 
 high, rocky, wood-crowned banks, occasionally open*" ■ 
 ing up to give passage to a stream, and to expose 
 valleys with more of rocks and woods,and with a back- 
 ground of peaked craggy Alpine like mountains. We 
 were deliberating where we should have breakfast, 
 when the cry of a loon keeping near one spot and 
 seemingly calling to, and being answered by his com- 
 panion, attracted our attention. As we neared the 
 place the creature moved off, so as to keep out of 
 reach of our shot, and we in vain looked for his com- ' 
 rade, when, thinking he mighl, perhaps lure the same 
 one back, my companion tried his skill in imitating 
 its note. In so far he was successful that the cry of 
 a loon was very distinctly returned, but then in an0"|' 
 ther direction from where our friend was watching 
 our proceedings at the cautious distance of two or 
 three hundred yards. It was clear he had not spo- 
 ken and yet we could see no other bird. We tried the 
 loon language again, and again a loon responded, 
 and thus we went on again and again straining 
 throat and eyes in vain, till at last it was apparent to 
 us that we were fooled, as the poor solitary we had 
 just disturbed in his invocations had been, by a very 
 I)erfect echo. We vented our spleen according to 
 use and wont in calling the deceiver bad names, and 
 were paid in our own coin with interest. Half an 
 hour we spent in thus practising the art of repartee 
 and getting successively worsted, and then went on 
 laughing at the oddness of the adventure. A few 
 hours after this we were struck by the singular ap- 
 pearance of some white capes of castellated like 
 
A CANOE VOYAGE. 
 
 105 
 
 vocks; rising behind a low belt of wood, and at no 
 «freat distance from what seemed a large settlement. 
 We got to land and soon had our tent pitched to 
 our satisfaction on the edge of the little belt of youn^:^ 
 wood we had seen, which here and there opened into 
 little mimic lawns, gay with the short lived summer 
 of the region, and frequented as being a sunny shel- 
 tered corner by birds of various notes and plumage, 
 among others by the humming bird. Before us lay 
 a smooth beach which the water from the Labrador 
 cOast,cool and salt as the Atlantic,lashed in long far 
 sounding surges, making a sort of Homeric music 
 all along the shore. Behind un rose cliff and peak 
 built up by the hands of nature into huge masonift 
 masses, as if the fancy had taken her of lining the 
 coast with tower and battlement^ and she had stop- 
 ped half way in her work. Here you entered a Cyclo- 
 peian chamber, rude but roomy and weather proof; a 
 little farther on, a turret jutted over the steep from 
 which to survey sea and shore; and just by,, gusbcu 
 out a transparent stream of pure sparkling water, 
 bursting from the rock, rejoicing for a moment in tho 
 sun beam,and then dashing down, anxious seemingly, 
 as all the sun's beams fall on, to run. its course — its 
 petty course of a few yards— through which it hast- 
 ed to the all absorbing deep. With things so much to 
 our taste we schemed a pleasant sojourn of some days 
 here. Alas for the schemes of man! we were on tho 
 eve of an adventure of which we had little dreamt. 
 But this requires a new paragraph. 
 
 To begin at the beginning.— Be it known tlieii 
 that certain magnificent projects we Iiad formed of 
 levying large contributions on fish and fowl had been 
 wofully disappointed, neither sea or land havuio* 
 been in this respect propitious to us, though thoy 
 had sent us appetites to have duly honoured their 
 
106 
 
 ▲ CAROB VOTAGX. 
 
 boanties. It became evident that we must revictual, 
 and accordingly thinking the present a favourable 
 opportunity, my companion set off in the canoe on 
 a quest of this sort through the settlement. It is but 
 fair to add, that the appearance and dress of both of 
 us was somewhat of the voyageur style, and that his 
 evil genius had led him in his wanderings iurst to a wo- 
 man and then to a priest. He had questioned the one 
 pretty closelyas to the localities, for the purpose of 
 steering directly to the port of beef and bread,and had 
 been questioned by the -^ther as closely concerning 
 the mystery of two strangers preferring the open air 
 to the curtained chamber, wiuiout having succeeded 
 in giving forth a satisfactory solution of it. The 
 conclusion of the whole being like the beginning <mais 
 
 MONSIEUR IL MB 8BHBLB BIBN CURIBUX qUB V0U8 VI~ 
 
 viBz SOUS LBS TBMTBs'. I supposo WO mended not 
 matters by some of our occupations, for, failing to 
 get any living thing to shoot at we took to pistol 
 shooting, and the continual pop pop popping mag- 
 nified by the rocks and sent over the water was car- 
 ried further than we had thought of,and set the folks 
 a speculating on what was uie matter. The first 
 warning that we had of any thing strange iu the 
 wind, was the appearance of some fellows who seem- 
 ed to be playing the part of scouts, for instead of 
 coming forward to address us with the frankness, or 
 seeming franknesR of their race, they kept spying at 
 us from the edge of the bush and shye() off as we came 
 near them. At last one of greater boldness than the 
 rest ventured on us, and in a half crying half bully- 
 ing style, and in tolerable English, suggested that it 
 were proper that we made apparent to him and his 
 constituente, the cause of our taking possession of a 
 portion of the wild lands of the Provii^ce,and disturb- 
 ing the peaceful repose of wood and waters by tho 
 
 :1 
 
 1 1 
 
A CANOB VO ^E. 10? 
 
 wanton dischurge of fire anns. To give reasona a« 
 sKitiafactory to him as to ourselves was somewhat 
 difficult; but at length he went oS, apparently satis- 
 fied with such as we could afford. This occurred I 
 think the second day. The circumstance furnished us 
 matter for evening discussion. My companion felt 
 indignant and threatened the application of a stout 
 cudgel) which he accordingly cut for the purpose. I 
 endeavoured to take the thing en philosophb as a not 
 unnatural consequence of our proceedings; and as we 
 chanced by accident, to have letters from gentlemen 
 in Quebec well known over the Province, set about 
 looking them out with the view of presenting them 
 to the first reasonable person we should meet, that 
 we might get rid of any danger of annoyance. It was 
 now time for repose, the fire had been made up for 
 the night, and I was arranging matters for a nap 
 when my friend Mr. M«— requested me to rouse 
 myself and listen, for that there was a party of men 
 on the water whom he suspected of an intention of 
 paying us a visit. Accordingly on sitting up I did hear 
 a noise of boats on the water, but as they seemed to 
 pass on,I conjectured that they were an electioneering 
 party of which we had before seen several and again 
 reclined^ Not so Mr. M— who insisted he heard 
 them touch ff round at some distance from us, and 
 that we would see something of them presently. He 
 therefore kept on the alert. He soon again roused nte 
 saying he heard voices not far ofi> and our dog which 
 had been growling for some time breaking now into 
 a bark, I raised myself up and was in a moment aware 
 of a strange scene truly. The little wood was full of 
 armed men, and while rubbing my eyes in doubt as 
 to the truth of their report, I heard foot-steps all 
 round the tent and the crick,crick,crack ,of stiff gun- 
 locks going on full cock just as I have heard, enrag- 
 
■'sm^ 
 
 m 
 
 A CANOB VOTAOE^ 
 
 ed the while; among a company of raw Sportsmen on 
 the Moors, when the dogs lead them into the mid- 
 dle of a close sitting covey. 
 
 I was now, wide awake, and saw clearly enough 
 right in front in the open space before the fire and 
 the tentjsome half dozen armed men making a waver<^ 
 ing advance having as leader a pale faced youth with 
 drawn sword, whose onward progress, for a leader, ' 
 seemed too much to depend on the crowding and 
 supporting muskets of those behind. In such cases 
 people act before they reflect, under the impulse of 
 the first idea that flashes through the brain. Luckily 
 what first occurred to me was the thought I was go- 
 ing to sleep on,the absurdity of the thing,and the fol- 
 ly of getting into any scrape about it. I therefore put 
 forth my hand on my friend who, his organ of com- 
 bativeness, I suppose, fully excited, by the view of 
 opponents coming on as if on hostile deeds intent but 
 afraid of suffering instead of doing mischief, was 
 grasping liis weapons to make a rush upon them, and 
 succeeded in restraining him. Had I seconded him 
 I have little doubt we should have burst through. ! 
 There would have been a general discharge of fire t 
 arms,a glorious list of casualties, but in all probability ; 
 had there been any occasion for our acting the parts ; 
 of Paul Cliffords we should have got safe into the • 
 bush. As it was however, the enemy emboldened by 
 this demonstration of assistance from where they 
 least expected it, cleared the fire and made capture of . 
 us in two seconds. I thought that after the first 
 crowding round and exultation at the victory was 
 over, it would be easy to satisfy them that they la- 
 boured under some glorious delusion concerning us. 
 13ut in this I was mistaken. They would neither lis-r 
 ten to what we said, nor look at the papers we offer- 
 ed. They must have us offbag and baggage, bringing 
 
A CANOE VOTAOE. 
 
 1?)9 
 
 in 
 
 1th 
 
 ier, ' 
 md 
 ses 
 of 
 kUy 
 
 gOri 
 
 fol- 
 
 put 
 
 5oni- 
 
 7f of 
 
 tbut 
 
 was 
 
 ,aiid 
 
 him 
 
 ugh. 
 fire 
 ility 
 
 [parts 
 
 |o the 
 
 ledby 
 they 
 re of » 
 firstd 
 was 
 y la-»vy 
 U8» 
 
 r lis-r 
 offer**! 
 
 Up two CHALAUPES which they had with them for 
 the purpose; we could now see they numbered thirty- 
 twO) all round. They gave us at least a tolerable 
 bed) in a house a mile or two distant from the scene, 
 nor could we complain of want of attendants, a dozen 
 at least remaining in the apartment and keeping 
 regular watch round our bed, four at a time. We 
 slept sound notwithstanding; somewhat annoyed, 
 but more amused by the occurrence. 
 
 The morning sun, with the help of soap and water, 
 razors, clean linen &&c. brought a change of senti- 
 ment, and we heard one observing to another, for as 
 we had not spoken French they aid not beheve we 
 understood it, that after all we did not look to be very 
 bad sort of people, and that Mr. — — must have 
 made a mistake. They now one by one began to 
 disappear, until only only two or three were left, and 
 these I believe would not have made much objection 
 to our following the general example, a thing we 
 threatened. At length however a Calash appeared, 
 and a guard of honour along with it of six fresh men, 
 each with his musket. Into tliis vehicle we got to 
 wait on Mr. — the Magistrate. With him it was 
 a short process; he pleaded having been ledby the 
 Captain of Militia, and he tliat he had followed the 
 Priest, and so with apologies and full credentials on 
 the one side, and threats on the other we parted. 
 
 We did not abandon our ground, partly out of a 
 spirit of obstinacy,and a single day brought a change 
 of scene. In the house we slept at on our voyag-e 
 down, there was a child whom they thought on the 
 point of death, and for whom they were making pre- 
 parations accordingly. I had given it some medi- 
 cine, and judging from the effect of it had told theiiv 
 that if they administered rightly what I left, it would 
 recover. It made good my prophesy; the cure was 
 K 
 
r!f* 
 
 110 
 
 A CASQS V0TA6E. 
 
 reported a miracle) and ad travel is all by water 
 tberoi the news spread far, Beiog no longer a free' 
 booler^ I was now a great, a mighty DootoT) and 
 from the glens and mountains round, the sick and 
 afflicted came to visit me^ or sent to bring me by 
 prayers, promises, t\nd a Canadian Poney and Calssh 
 to visit them. I was now fully informed by some of 
 the actors in it, with whom I laughed over the re- 
 coUectionsjOf the causes of our capture. Some rob- 
 beries and I believe a murder, had shortly previous 
 been committed near to Quelle. No where can it be 
 better said of Fame, ^vives AcqumiT bunoo than 
 where we were; so, just then every one was possess- 
 ed with a dread of having his house broken into and 
 his throat cut. At this critical moment we arriv- 
 ed. The woman Mr. M*-*-— had seen was sure he 
 was a robber, prying out the abodes of the richest 
 habitants. She ran off to the Priest with the news, 
 and he on cross-questioning my friend confirmed her 
 suspicions. Then as I was by nearly the head taller 
 than the most of them, and happened to be seen by 
 them in a large cloak, that concealed my other di- 
 mensions, their imaginations transformed me into Qi 
 GOBAT able to vanquish any half dozen. A ferment 
 began, the Priest at the head of it,and the result was 
 that the elitb of the settlement were sent out to 
 capture us, and that until the issue was known ever^ 
 other man kept watch and ward over his own domi- 
 cile. 
 
 This adventure has detained us too long. I can- 
 not conclude it without observing, that though in 
 many other parts of North America, individuals 
 holding so obstinately by wood and wold as we 
 did might have been taken for evil doers, there is no 
 part of it but Lower Canada, where they could have 
 occasioned so strange a panic. I assure the Reader 
 
A CANOB VOTAOB. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I have not in the least exaggerated the circumstances, 
 but have on the contrary suppressed several that 
 would heighten the picture* ^^,. 
 
 We now began our return vbyaffe which was not 
 barren of adventure, but for this tnere is not farther 
 space or time; we arrived in Quebec in safety, but de- 
 termined to bound our ambition in future to fresh wa> 
 ter navigation. 
 
 TO MY WATCH. 
 
 »T 
 
 Thou little piece of complex machinery, 
 With thy nicely polished integuments. 
 Notched circles, spiral springs, and moving index ; 
 Like thy maker, with earth thy origin, 
 8kill hath wrought thee to be a MONitoii. 
 Thou darest unblushingly to face me. 
 And say "thy time on earth grows shorter." 
 I know thee— 4hou hast nor life, nor reason, 
 And the gradations of thy short periods, 
 Distinctly point that each succeedmg tick, 
 But numbers one the less that closes life. 
 Unconnected with other Monitors, 
 Thou wouldst be a fallacious, tattling toy: 
 
11£ 
 
 TOMT WATCB^ 
 
 But axe there not fotthcoming days and night% . 
 And the revolving seasons of the year. 
 The growth, zenith, and decay of nature- 
 Truths that fail not, <<8trong as Holy writ," 
 Bear witness that thy wainings are but just. 
 
 This terrifies! 
 Age, sickness, and a feverish dread of change, 
 Strike thrilling horror to the timid mind. 
 But others, who regard thy steady course. 
 With pleasure see their journey onward go ; 
 With brilliant faith, rejoice at moving time; 
 Assur'd, that when their tenements shall drop, 
 They'll find the bless'd abode of happy souls. 
 Go then, thou semi-silent monitor- 
 Though thou hast neither ears, nor eyes, nor 
 
 tongue— t 
 
 Still teaching man this solemn truth, timb . flies. 
 
 TO MY NEPHEW. 
 
 BT THE EDITOR. 
 
 Happy child! may thy feelings be, 
 As laughing, boisterous, and free. 
 When ripened by the lapse of time. 
 The form of vice, the soul of crime, 
 Friendship a mockery, Love a rh3rmey 
 Are witnessed, lovely boy! by thee. 
 
 T 
 A 
 
^HYlfBlPimW* 
 
 . OT 
 
 lis 
 
 Vxi 
 
 > ■ ": >' 
 
 t I 
 
 ^msj:- 
 
 1 matk thecBmpled smilevtlie eye, ■ no ^aMiiiivi 
 From sufferings flcalding moisture dry ;/> It m>f|U 
 And think, when I wii» such asthee^' • 'XHUtmft^ii 
 ll6w gladsome life appiesred to me;fit oao|> Jnl! 
 A siimiy hour, a summer skyy uri^iKi aii mm oT 
 AU bright, and all felicity. ^^ I - *• - «<> 
 
 Alas! I little drean^'tthat e'er. 
 My heart would quail to pain or fear; r,Hi[ i^oH 
 But I have felt the tempitcir's wile, r ;;,>,! ^jb .i€»7 
 The scoffer's curser the rfalsei one's sm^e, oioriT 
 The faithless friend's aUuring guile, ;/otw>b &/ 
 And mine ownheaji.!t, a de9fert.^eai;.o-,.)Hw onoV) 
 
 Ah ! these may mark thy path of . years, ,, t 
 
 And call down sorrow's bitter tears: . ' "* " 
 
 . • .' ■ . . ■ ■■ '(ff fill 
 
 But smile thoe on, my boy! while yet.. 
 TThy brow's unwrinklcd by regret. 
 And recollection has not set. 
 Thy heart to dwell on maddening cares. 
 
 utfiii OfiiiU (i^ 
 
 **m 
 
 -^.mmMti'U) 
 
 MJt V- 
 
 TO THE PICTURE OF A DEAD GIIIL, ON 
 FIRST SEEING IT. 
 
 BT T^ K. BERVBT, E9q. 
 
 The same— and oh! how beautiful!f-^e same 
 
 As memory meets thee through the mist of years!* 
 
 Love's roses on thy cheek, and feeling's flame 
 k2 
 
1 1 
 
 114 
 
 TO THE PICTURB OF JH ABAD GIRL. 
 
 Lighting an eye wiskKB^ieA in alU-«-lkit teavt f 
 Upon thy Mveredi lipii the veDy smile 
 Remembered weUr thO) sunlight of my youth ; 
 But gone the shadoW' that would steal, the while. 
 To mar its brightness' and to mock its tiiuth!— • 
 Once more I see thee, ais Isaw tiieelasOy 
 The lost restoredi— the vision of the past! 
 
 How like to what thou weri^^Mind aot not now! 
 
 Yet oh, how moi« reseoibling what thou art; 
 
 There dwellr no* clbud upon^ that pictured brow, 
 
 As sorrow sit» no longcrintlif heart; 
 
 Gone where it)r very wisheft are ati rest) 
 
 And all its throbbings hushed, and achings healed;^ 
 
 I gaze, till half I deem thee to my breast, 
 
 In thine immortal loveliiiess, revealed; 
 
 And see thee^ as in some permitted dream, 
 
 There where thou art what Here thou dost but seeh! 
 
 I loved thee passing well ;— thou wert a beam 
 
 Of pleasant beauty- on-this-stonny sea. 
 
 With just so much of mirth as might redeem 
 
 Man fVom the musing? of his misery $ 
 
 Yet ever pensive,'— like a thing f^om home ! 
 
 Lovely and lonely as a single star! 
 
 But kind and true to me, as thou hadst come 
 
 From thine own elemfent'^-HSO very far. 
 
 Only to be a cynosure t6 eyes 
 
 Now siefcemng atthe sttustine' of the skiesi 
 
 \ 
 
m! 
 
 TO TME PICTURB OF A VBiOi Qttth, 115 
 
 It were a cHibe to wee|> 1 — 'i4v none to kiMj 
 As now I' kneely before this tfpedf tbeey 
 And worship hery^whor taught nj souH tcfeel 
 Such worship is no vain idolatry:—- 
 Thou wert my spirit's spirit— and thou art, 
 Though this be all of thee time hath not reft. 
 Save the old thoughts ihat hang «bout the heart, 
 Like withered leaves ttat many sfofms have left; 
 I tumfifom living loohsHtheeoldy the dull. 
 To any trace of thee— the lost, the beautiful! 
 
 Bpokenjr and bowed^^and vfBMtpd with< regret,, 
 I g>a«e' audi weep^^why do^ i weep' ailone! 
 1 WOtiM' Diot^vtrbuM not if I c&m'-46fg€fy 
 But t am ALL rememllrande— if l^ath grbvni 
 Myverybeing!— Will she-never speak? 
 The lipff tLt» parted, and the braided hair 
 Seemed as it waved upon her brighteiyng^eheek,: 
 And smile, and every thkig— but bl^sthi'iiiarethf^! 
 Oil, for the voice tliat I Have stayed to hear, 
 Onl^ in dr<eamB,->*<^o many a' Icwely year ! 
 
 It will liot be !— aWay^ bti^t (ih^% aWay ! 
 Cold^far too cold tblove!— 4hy'lbok^O#0 stWge; 
 I want the thousand thoughts that used to play,. 
 Like lights and' shadowings, in' chequered changet 
 That' smile !— r KitdW t!ioii art not like her no#,-iu. 
 Within her land— whereW it be^f light. 
 She smiles not while a cloud is on my brow :•— 
 
 *i 
 
116 
 
 TO THE PIOTUKB OF A DEAD OIRL« 
 
 When will it pais away— this heavy night ! 
 
 Oh! will the cool, dear morning never comei wrxt «/. 
 
 And light me to her, in her spirit's home ! <>v/ huh 
 
 __-ii&w noii'Y 
 
 TBB SZSTaRl or OZiaNMORB, '^ 
 
 fiwb od) 
 
 BTBIRS. MOBL. 
 
 'smU moi'liT-nit I 
 
 The most brilliant star of attraction in the Ldndon 
 hemisphere of fashion, during the winter of 18 — was 
 Lady Edith Montrose. Her debut in the drawing room 
 at St. Jan&es's, had been attended with unusUol eclat. 
 Young, singularly, beautiful and accomplished,, JUady 
 Edith was well calculated to become the object of 
 general admiration among the fashionable circles in 
 which she moved; and she was universally considered 
 the grand meteor of the season— la plus belle 
 
 PANNI LBS BBLLES. 
 
 Among the most devoted of her admirers, was 
 Captain St. Clair, a young officer in the — regi- 
 ment of Scotch Greys. The first time he had seen 
 her, was at a concert at Almack's. It was late when 
 she arrived, and the rooms were crowded with the 
 ELITE of the fashionable world. Her entrance pro- 
 duced a general sensation; her name was whispered 
 from circle to circle, and she immediately became t'le 
 centre of attraction. St. Clair gazed at her in silent 
 wonder and admiration. Can she be ^'a thing of earth 
 and perishable elements?" he said mentally, for never 
 had he seen a creature so beautiful. Sweet forms 
 of loveliness had often in the romaJitic dreams of 
 youth captivated his imagination; but even the mos^ 
 
THE SISTERS OF OLE5M0RE. 
 
 117 
 
 splendid of these visions of fancy, was surpassed by 
 Lady Edith. 
 
 Having fortunately obtained an introduction, 8t. 
 Clair devoted himself exclusively to her, and had the 
 happiness to engage a considerable portion of her 
 attention. The elegance of his form, and the inte- 
 resting expression of his handsome countenance, ad- 
 ded to the fervent admiration with which he regarded 
 her, contributed to make him an object of interest to 
 Lady Edith. She listened to his animated conversa- 
 tion with evident pleasure, and when he was leading 
 her to her carriage (for she allowed him that envied 
 honor) he received the anxiously requested permiss- 
 ion to call on her the next day, in Berkeley Square. 
 
 The gold hand of an ivory time-piece pointed to 
 the hour of three the next day, when a crowd of no- 
 bility and fashion, began to pour en masse into the 
 splendid drawing-room of Lady Edith Montrose, her 
 Ladyship having given orders to be <at home'. It was 
 a superbly furnished apartment; the festooned win- 
 dow curtains, and the covers of the ottomans and 
 chairs, were pale pink satin; and at each end of the 
 room were vases, filled with exotics, which rendered 
 the air redolent with fragrance; gay groups were dis- 
 persed through the apartment, conversing on indif- 
 ferent topics. In one place was a party of young 
 ladies talking of sentiment and feeling. In another 
 corner a brilliant circle of fashionable beaux rsfrits^ 
 POETS, and SAVANTES,discussed the merits of the last 
 new novel. Here might be seen a group of politi- 
 cians settling national afiairs, whilst there, knots 
 of exquisites of the first water arranged the fashions, 
 and decided the merits of Stultz coats, and Cumber- 
 land corsets. 
 
 But the largest circle, was that which was col- 
 lected round Lady Edith Montrose, attracted by her 
 
118 
 
 THR 8I8TfiRS OF GLBNMORE. 
 
 beauty, elegant wit, and graceful gaiety, for her 
 Ladyship was more than usually fascinating. 
 
 " She was a form of life and light. 
 That seen, becomes a part of sight ; 
 
 And rose, where'er you turned your eye, 
 The morning star of memory.'* 
 
 * The subject of their conversation was a fancy 
 ball, which was to be given in a few days by the 
 Duchess of A i 
 
 « What character does Lady Edith Montrose in- 
 tend to assume f asked Captain St. Clair, who was 
 fondly leaning on the back of the ottoman, on which 
 she was recUning. 
 
 " I have not yet determined!" she replied; " I am 
 undecided whether I shall represent an Arcadian 
 Shepherdess, or Mary, Queen of Scots." 
 
 " The character of Mary Stuart, would answer 
 your Ladyship admirably;" observed St. Clair. 
 
 << Then I slwU assume regal pomp, and be a Queen 
 for one night;*' said Lady Edith, gaily smiling. 
 
 *< And who would grace a Throne so well ? on 
 what brow more beautiful, could a diadem be pla- 
 ced 1" said St. Clair, passionately. 
 
 " What character wiU you represent ?" enquired 
 Lady Edith. 
 
 " The character of Greorge Douglas ! the humblest, 
 yet the most devoted of Mary Stuart's admirers;" he 
 replied, in low, respectful accents. 
 
 Lady Edith coloured, but it was the soft flush of 
 pleasure which overspread her features, as she turn- 
 ed away in beautiful confusion. 
 
 At the Duchess of A— — 's fancy ball, St. Clair 
 again met Lady Edith. As usual her Ladyship was 
 the cynosure of the evening, but among her nume- 
 rous satellites Captain St.Clair particularly engaged 
 
tim SISTBHS OIF aLBMMORE. 
 
 U9 
 
 ler 
 
 ncy 
 the 
 
 lin- 
 wos 
 bich 
 
 L am 
 dian 
 
 Bwer 
 
 aeen 
 
 on 
 pla- 
 
 lired 
 
 (lest, 
 ;"he 
 
 of 
 turn- 
 
 lier attention. It was feared he would carry off the 
 prite so much contended for in the fashionable world, 
 and the increasing attentions which he was permit- 
 ted to pay Lady f4dith in public, served to confirm 
 this opinion. But at length a circumstance occur- 
 red which disappointed the expectations of the bsau 
 
 MONBE, 
 
 A paragraph appeared in a London paper, an- 
 nouncing that the Earl of Berrington had led to the 
 hymeneal altar the brilliant star of fashion, Lady 
 Edith Montrose. The ceremony had been privately 
 performed at Montrose House, and immedmtely af- 
 terwards the Earl and his beautiful Bride left Lon« 
 don for Italy. The paragraph also hinted that Lady 
 Edith's consent had not been obtained, and that she 
 would have preferred giving her hand to a certain 
 very elegant (^cer, but as his fortune was very mo» 
 derate, Lord Montrose had formed another alliance 
 for his daughter. 
 
 Where now was St. Clair ? Awakened from the 
 illusive day dream which had thrown its <' rainbow 
 spell" around him, he retired tor a short time to a re- 
 mote part of Wales, where in sditude and without 
 restraint he indulged the violence of his grief. La- 
 dy Edith he had devotedly loved—she was his idol! 
 Alas! how wrong,how dangerous, to give the heart's 
 best affections to any thing on earth! He, who 
 alone is worthy of so much devotedness, has com- 
 manded his creatures to love him supremely, and was 
 it ever well when it was otherwise ? St. Clair's 
 hope of happiness was placed in Lady Edith, and 
 now that she was lost to him for ever,existence seem- 
 ed "a waste of wearisome hours." Prom this period 
 his character underwent a striking alteration; he 
 was never again, what he had once been; the gay, 
 happy being with life's bitterness untried, who seem- 
 
HO 
 
 THfi SISTERS OF 0LBNMOR£ti 
 
 ed as if this world had no trials for him : for the fu-' 
 ture, melancholy seemed to mark him for her own. i 
 
 More than a year passed away, at the end of which 
 the Earl and Countess of Berrington returned to 
 England. Her health had been for some time de- 
 elining, and she was advised to try the air of her na- 
 tive country for its recovery. To Berrington Castle^ 
 which was situated near Cheltenham, she came to 
 reside, but it was soon evident that her days on earth 
 were numbered. Consumption, occasioned by that 
 "sorrow of the world which worketh death" was 
 hastening her to the tomb: the period of her dissolu- 
 tion at length arrived; her spirit forsook its earthly 
 tenement; and she had done with this world and its 
 sorrows for ever. 
 
 St. Clair was at Cheltenham at the time of Lady 
 Berrington's death; he had not seen her since her 
 marriage, and as he was most anxious to behold her 
 once more, he formed the strange design of gaining 
 a secret adinittance to Berrington Castle, which he 
 effected through the assistance of a favourite attend^ 
 ant of Lady Berrington's. Eleven o'clock at night 
 Was the time appointed for his visit. A private en- 
 trance communicating with the suite of apartments 
 belonging to the Countess admitted him to the Cas- 
 tle. The chamber to which he was conducted was 
 hung with black, and lighted with large wax tapers. 
 On a bed in the middle of the room was laid the in- 
 animate form of the youthful victim. With tremb- 
 ling steps St. Clair advanced towards it, but as his 
 eye rested on the altered features, he uttered a groan 
 of bitter affony. And was that senseless form the 
 brilliant, the beautiful Lady Edith Montrose. Alas ! 
 how changed was she now! There she lay, like any 
 other child of earth beneath the feet of the pale 
 horse and his rider; neither youth, beauty, rank, nor 
 
TM-slSttos or otemoKB. ,3, 
 
 Mm fflt-^ajl^'t^ aoo„, or .„e 
 not two years 84^1^1 S^^-^l^i^^'oaU! ft was 
 ^ould scarcely recoimize in «f! T^ J'** ^t. Clair 
 rorehiffl, thatbrig^*SfatL^''"*r«'«^f»nn be- 
 most considered^ « S^'!f™''r> ^ once al- 
 
 «"»tedcheet-ttesunkSfel r"""' ""?"• The 
 J'ng-but particularlvrtte dS.^ "* ^° ^"^ "» ^azz- 
 ■-. lanchol^, which marked tte cS ^l™**""" of me- 
 iy told that sorrow aSid.Se.gife't''''^^--*!! 'oud- 
 How awful is deatt! aS^t^.l."'?*" ^.«y tWe. 
 more so to him whose tho^Stsof^;""" i"" »»<"' 
 "md of St. Clair was r,«„? .? '' Me few! The 
 dwell on the soIemrreSes'^f*^ ^.f «"« '«d "o 
 M he could not conteSte thl."" • ^^'^ ""H and 
 of umnortality whichZ Ch^h'^7'^'' "»» iope full 
 they seemed awful to Mm P^tl'^""'^ possesses, 
 he was permitted to inSe hl^ """^ "■« »n hour 
 reflections uninterrupteiKf"™'^ «nd solemn 
 he wjas obliged to deWt Itl*.'*^ ^^ "fthat time 
 fore hecooldrelinquiKe mSf 1?^ """"te^ be! 
 being near her, even in deaf h*"'''?'^ Pleasure of 
 room, after givin'g the ks" looka/ ^^ "? *« '^^ «"« 
 the polar star of lusexJ«t«„„t"®'^ho had been 
 
 earthly happinessted'''' "' '"«" t^at all hl^ 
 And It was well for St Cl«i, »i, • i 
 
 ?Sitt'rh!;^4^i»^^^^^^^^ t-: 
 
 e^lv dp* ''^•'■""' to a Sworid '""".^^bJedto 
 
 L ^ """«* «ow eJapce bcforo 
 
122 
 
 THE SISTERS OF GLBMMORE. 
 
 I again introduce St. Clair to the reader's acquaint' 
 tance. Time as it fled had brought its changes, and he 
 was now the hfippy, though widowed father of two 
 beautiful daughters. No feeling of our nature is last- 
 ing—we should be incapable of enjoying happiness 
 were it otherwise. After a long interval^ the image 
 'of Lady Cdith ceasdd to be so fondly cherished by St. 
 ^€lai^, an() he became insensibly attached to a young 
 lady of much personal loveliness, and very amiable 
 i^sposition. They were married, and as his wife had 
 brought him a splendid fortune he sold his commis- 
 sion, having preViotisly been advanced to the rank of 
 Colonel, and retii^ed to a beautiful estate ^which he 
 purchased) situated on the romantic shores of a small 
 lake, in the west of Scotland. Here he enjoyed a 
 large portion of happiness for some years, but sorrow 
 again visited him. His wife after a lingering illness 
 died, but he was not left without consolation; his 
 daughters, those cherished objects of his affection, 
 Were spared to him. Gertrude the eldest girl was 
 now in her nineteenth year^ and Ellen was two years 
 younger. Both were 6thinently beautiful. Ellen 
 was a fascinating young creature. 
 
 The fairest, brightest child of earth 
 
 One of those spirits, which the wing of Joy, 
 
 Brush*!! with itia lightest feather. 
 
 With an elasticity of motion, and a singular light- 
 ness of shape that gave her the appearance of a sylph, 
 all was shaped into grace. Though taller than her 
 sister, Gertrude's form was equally light and grace- 
 ful, but there was a native dignity in her every move- 
 ment. Her style of beauty dirored from that of Ellen, 
 it was of a more striking nature. Dark eyes of 
 changing light, shadowed by long silken lashes, which 
 gave a pensive seriousness to her countenance, while 
 
THE SISTERS OF GLBIfMORE. 
 
 123 
 
 [uain* 
 
 ndhe 
 
 )ftwo 
 
 slast- 
 
 piness 
 
 image 
 
 by St. 
 
 young 
 
 imiable 
 
 rife had 
 
 ominiB-' 
 rank of 
 
 rlnch he 
 a small 
 ijoyed a 
 t sorrow 
 J illness 
 aon; his 
 jiffection, 
 irl was 
 w years 
 Ellen 
 
 far light- 
 fa sylph, 
 than her 
 Ld grace- 
 Iry move- 
 1 of Ellen, 
 1 eyes of 
 les,which 
 Ice, while 
 
 her mind illumined featVqres expressed an uncommon 
 and maginative character. 
 
 The death of their mother was severely felt by 
 both sisters. Ellen's grief was loud and passionate,that 
 ofGertrude gentler,deeper. This severe affliction made 
 a strong impression on her naturally reflective mind, 
 and served to confirm those strong and pure prin- 
 ciples of religion, which she had been early taught. 
 
 It was i nearly a year after the death of Mrs. St. 
 Clair, when the solitude of Glenmore was for a 
 short time enlivened, by the ariival of Lady Georgi- 
 ana Mach,lbin, the only daughter of the Earl of Glen- 
 donald, Colonel St. Clair's eldest brother. Her 
 Ladyship had been lately married to a gentleman of 
 large fortune, and was now on her way to Castle 
 Macalbin, which was situated near Loch Loniond. 
 Her visit at Glenmore was not long, but during her 
 residence there, she became so much attached to 
 Gertrude that she requested her to spend some time 
 with her, and the invitation was accepted. Ellen was 
 jiot at Glenmore during Lady Georgiana's visit. 
 Since her mother's death she had been residing in 
 Edinburgh in order to finish her education. 
 
 As there were many families of distinction resi- 
 ding in the neighbourhood of Loch Lomond, Castle 
 Macalbin was a continual scene of gaiety, and Lady 
 Georgiana was always engaged in a routine of ever 
 varying amusements. To Gertrude, who had lived 
 in retirement, so gay a life was new; but though it 
 had the gloss of novelty it did not possess many fas- 
 <;inations for her. Her pleasures were of a purer 
 nature: she felt the emptiness of such amusements, 
 and how incapable they are of satisfying the desires 
 of an immortal spirit. 
 
 One morning as Lady Georgiana and Gertrude 
 were returning to Castle Macalbin, after having paid 
 
ie4 
 
 THR SISTERS OF 6LBITM0RE, 
 
 a visit to & family at some d^fance, they were over' 
 taken by a thunder storm wluch suddenly burst forth 
 with awful fury. Affrighted at the storm, Lady 
 Georgiana's horses took flight, and having no one to 
 restrain them, for the coachman had been thrown 
 from his seat,they proceeded onwards with terrifying 
 velocity. Lady Georgiabj. had been very much 
 alarmed at the violence of the storm, but her fears 
 now overpowered her and she sank insensible into 
 the arms of her cousin. Gertrude too felt the danger 
 of their situation, but she trusted in the merciful pro- 
 vidence of God, and corTimitting herself and Lady 
 Georgianato hiscaxe, she was calm amid surroun- 
 ding terrors. For nearly ten minutes the horses 
 continued to proceed at the same furious rate ; at 
 length Gertrudel felt the coach suddenly stop; the 
 sound of voices was then heard, and in a few mi- 
 nutes a gentleman opened the carriage door. It was 
 he who had at the imminent danger of his own life, 
 seized thb reins of the terrified animals, and assisted 
 by some men from a cottage on the road side, bad 
 succeeded in taking them from the carriage. Rais- 
 ing the inanimate fonn of Lady Georgiana from the 
 supporting arms of Gertrude the stranger carried her 
 to a cottage. Remedies for restoring animation were 
 then tried, and in a little lime her Ladyship 3Cov- 
 ered. The stranger was known to Lady Georgiana; 
 he was the honorable Julian Graham, a Scotch gen- 
 tleman of noble family and large fortune. Both la- 
 dies expressed their gratitude for the service he had 
 rendered them, and Lady Georgiana gave him a 
 flattering invitation to Castle Macalbin, which he 
 uccepted with evident pleasure. The storm was 
 now over, and Lady Georgiana ventured to return 
 home. 
 From this period Mr, Graham became a constant 
 
5 over-^ 
 it forth 
 , Lady 
 
 one to 
 thrown 
 rifyinff 
 
 much 
 r fears 
 le into 
 danger 
 111 pro- 
 i Lady 
 irroua - 
 horses 
 ite; at 
 ►; the 
 w mi- 
 It was 5 
 vn life, 
 ssisted 
 le, had 
 
 Raiser 
 om the 
 ied her 
 n were 
 
 3C0V- 
 
 rgiana; 
 ;h gen- 
 oth la- 
 he had 
 him a 
 lich he 
 m was 
 return 
 
 jnstant 
 
 THB 8I8TBRS OF GtB^-MORE. ,«, 
 
 ^^^'^^ei^Cl^^^^^^ evident thit 
 
 butitwagthehigh-toindeXsrnfh ^u ««ention, 
 /ler amiable disposition w£ w^5 t^^-^cter, and 
 He loved her devotedly, Tnd t„ ^^ ^^ ^^ affection. 
 »es^ Gertrude becS ten^erW^f X^^^ ^«PPi- 
 His was a character similar VTk^ attached to him. 
 tiieir sentiments, appeS^n*'* ^?^ ^^nj their tasted 
 be no objection toKw. IT'"''' ^« ^here S 
 toMissStClairwM-ccp^o^^ *he offer of his h^d 
 making for their ZS^t^i'^'^^^^^ions w^, 
 cumstance prevented tS wc^lj- "''expected cir- 
 ham tvas an infwel • one how^^^^f ' J"«an Gra- 
 oealed his principles hut cZ^f "^^^ carefully con 
 the fatal discovery! ' wl?^*"!?^ ^^^cidental^Vad" 
 at the di^adful momenV^''?/!? *i««<^ribe her fiehngs 
 
 greatto beconcealedrshe leftthf''^ of mind tfo 
 she had been conversii^with Gr«h''^*''^'"^°* ^^ere 
 to her own room, there to indS^o"^' "^^ '«*"«ed 
 sorrow. Every bright hone nf^t "*• "»^««trolled 
 hke all meteors of ef rth bo?n f!r ^W^ess had fled- 
 tered for a momenrthen su^l^^^^^^ ^^^y ^^^ ght 
 The day dream of wTJ^^/f'** ''eternal eclipfe" 
 ^J'^and she must parf ^^^^^^^ 
 deep sense of the dutv A ^^^ ®^e'- Reliffion « 
 imminent danger her^^^^.Ted ^^ God, andTf ^ 
 
 mcur were sht to become ^i'!T' ^'^^^Pies might 
 facnfice. It was imSbt I"^^"*^? ^^^ 
 ^ate with his; she fSeed IV'if ^ ^^'' ""^^^ her 
 was long before she could nrnnn *" "^^ ^^e''^ b«t it 
 aration How frequentl v ^Ti^'T ^^^ ^^^ sep- 
 of the Eternal, supplSii k^®- ^?^^^ *^ '^e thrZ 
 trial, and strengt^o fn«M^?"^'"'^«^°n ^o this severe 
 the weakness of her h"m J^ ? **" ^^ *^**' ^^hkhin 
 -possible. AndXr'y^^^^^^^ ^ou'nd alnio^? 
 
 ^2 ^' "•'^'^ 01 taith was heard. He 
 
UQ 
 
 THE SISTERS OF OLENMORB* 
 
 who can feel for the infirmities of his creatures was 
 iier support and consolation in this dark hour of tri-» • 
 al, and she was enabled to resign him who wag dear^ * 
 ost to her in this world, rather than risk "that hope, 
 lull of immortality." Almost distracted at his disap- 
 pointment, Julian left Scotland, and sought in other 
 climes and other scenes some alleviation of his misery, 
 whilst Gertrude mourned in solitude her blighted 
 hopes. But she did not give way to unrestrained 
 grief,for she knew that cheerful submission to every 
 affliction is required; still there were moments when 
 the anguish of her feelings overcame her, and but too 
 well expressed how great was the sacrifice which she 
 had made. But her bitterest feelirtg was that Gra-^ 
 ham was an infidel, "living without hope and without 
 God in the world." How could she bear the idea 
 that they should never meet in a happier world — that 
 they were indeed parted for ever. Frequent were her 
 prayers for him at the Throne of Mercy and shall 
 not the intercessions of the righteous be answered? 
 
 . Some months passed away unmarked by any oc- 
 currence. Ellen had returned to Glenmore, and en- 
 deavoured by every liieans in her power to cheer her 
 beloved sister and render her less unhappy. As there 
 were few families in their immediate neighborhood 
 with whom Colonel St. Clair and his daughters asso- 
 ciated they lived in comparative seclusion. To Ellen 
 whose disposition was very gay, this was a cause of 
 much regret; she was very much delighted therefore 
 when the arrival of a party of fashionables from Eng- 
 land on a visit to Lady Macpherson,(at whose house 
 tiiey were very intimate) induced her to send cards of 
 invitation for a ball to every family of distinction in 
 that part of the country. In order to gratify her sis-* 
 ter Gertrude determined to go. The ball-night so 
 
 inxiously wished for by Ellen at 
 
 length 
 
 arrived; it 
 
tri- 
 lar- ' 
 
 pe, 
 
 lap- 
 
 ther 
 
 ery, 
 
 hted 
 
 ined 
 
 very 
 
 vhen 
 
 t too 
 
 ti she 
 
 Gra- 
 
 thout 
 
 1 idea 
 
 —that 
 
 re her 
 shall 
 
 ired? 
 ly OC- 
 
 id en- 
 
 !erher 
 there 
 irhood 
 asso- 
 EUen 
 se of 
 Irefore 
 Eng- 
 house 
 trds of 
 ion in 
 sr sis- 
 |ht so 
 led; it 
 
 TH^ SISTERS OF OLENMORE. 
 
 1£7 
 
 was after eight o'clock, and she was still engaged at 
 her toilet, when Gertrude, elegantly attired, entered 
 her dressing-room. 
 
 "It is late Ellen! are you not yet dressed?" she said 
 advancing towards her. 
 
 "I will be ready in a few minutes Gertrude! but do 
 assist me to arrange those ringlets in the same beau- 
 tiful style you have done yours. How did you con- 
 trive to complete your toilet in so short a time?" 
 
 "Simply because I had no particular object in dress ^ 
 itig for the ball, and was therefore not too anxious to 
 look well." 
 
 A servant now came to say the carriage was at the 
 door, and asEUen was at length dressed they proceed- 
 ed to the drawing-room, where Colonel St. Clair was 
 waiting for them. 
 
 "How delightful a life of fashionable gaiety must 
 be, when one ball can be a source of so much plea- 
 sure I" remarked Ellen. . J :^ '. ^ ; > 
 
 "It is the charm of novelty which ma^s "it ap^eHf 
 so fascinating"replied her sister: "were it not for that 
 it would not afford you so much enjoyment," 
 
 "But this ball will be very delightful ! there will be 
 a crowded assembly, there are so many strangers at 
 the Abbey, and all the officers from ^— will attend 
 it! Dear Geiti'ude are you not delighted?" 
 
 "I am happy since you feel so" she replied. 
 
 "Does she not look beautiful?" said Gertrude, play- 
 fully leading Ellen towards Colonel St. Clair as they 
 entered the drawing-room. 
 
 "From the length of time she has occupied in dress- 
 ing',she ought to look ir :esistible,"he said smiling "my 
 patience is completely exhausted. But she does 
 look very well to night" he continued, viewing her 
 with parental triumph. "And my Gertrude is also 
 more than usually charming" he added turning affec- 
 
\M 
 
 TUB SiSTfiRS OF OLBltllORB. 
 
 tionately towards her. <<But it is time for ua to go; we 
 will have to make our entrance before a crowded 
 room, I am afraid." 
 
 The Abbey^the residence of Lady Macpherson was 
 at the distance of four miles from Glenmore. Half 
 an hour therefore elapsed before they arrived there; 
 several carriages crowded the door, and it was some 
 minutes before Colonel St. Claires chariot was per- 
 mitted to approach. As they entered the hall which 
 was brilliantly lighted, a beaut^ul Scotch reel was 
 played in fine style by a military band. Ellen 
 could scarcely forbear stepping to the exhilarating 
 music. 
 
 <<IIow delightful!" she exclaimed, as with a light 
 step and sjinogilded thoughts, she ascended the 
 igtairs. 
 
 The ball was well attended; parties had come from 
 every direction, and the gay uniforms of the military 
 gave a strikincf effect to the scene. As the graceful 
 and distinguished figures of the Misses St. Clair en- 
 tered the ball-room, every eye was directed towards 
 them, and Lady Macpherson received then, with 
 marked attention. 
 
 Among the strangers who requested an introduc- 
 tion to the sisters of Glenmore from her Ladyship, 
 was Lord Mountvilliers a young English Nobleman, 
 one of the visitors at the Abbey. He had been par- 
 ticularly struck with their appearance,and thought he 
 had never seen creatures 
 
 So exquisitely shaped— so fair— so matchless. 
 
 'Both he considered equally beautiful, but Gertrude 
 he admired most; there was something uncommon 
 , n the nature of her attractions — an expression of sub 
 dued sorrow in her fine countenance, that was deeply 
 
 at 
 
 Iv 
 
 m 
 
 vc 
 
 til 
 
 lei 
 
 du 
 
 fe« 
 
 lie 
 
 foi 
 
 ma 
 
 wa 
 
 t\V( 
 
THE SISTERS OF OLE5M0RE. 
 
 129 
 
 In, 
 
 m 
 
 interesting. During the evening his attentions to her 
 were very marked; and like a satellite moving in the 
 brightno!?^ of its particular orb, he seemed unable to 
 leave the sphere of her attractions. 
 
 Music was to begin the amusements of the evening 
 and Miss St. Clair was the first lady requested to 
 sing; she complied; and seated herself at a harp with 
 blushing dignity. Her voice was exquisite, and there 
 was now an expression of melancholy in its fine tones 
 that rendered it peculiarly fascinating. The son^ 
 which she had been asked to sing was a favorite bal- 
 lad of Julian Graham's. It recalled scenes of past 
 happiness, such as she could never feel again, for all 
 then was hope. Glittering were the thoughts she 
 cherished. 
 
 " Soft visions 
 Threw their spells around her, charniM her dreain?, 
 With glowing bopes^ and golden gleams, 
 But now how changed was the scene ! 
 Sorrow's nightbird had shrieked rapture's xnelf, 
 And hope's day break would brighten no more." 
 
 Whilst she sung, the company listened in silent 
 attention, and when the song was finished, they loud- 
 ly expressed their admiration. But their compli- 
 ments afforded Gertrude little pleasure.— She recei- 
 ved them with apathy; her thoughts were 'far from 
 the present scene, they were with Graham : but at 
 length recollecting that this was not a time to in- 
 dulge in mournful retrospection, she commanded her 
 feelings sufficiently to assume a necessary cheerful- 
 ness. After the company had amused themselves 
 for some time in the music -room, a proposal was 
 made that dancing should begin. The ball-room 
 was very large, fancifully decorated, and divided for 
 two sets of dancers, by a blue silk cord. Lord 
 
ido 
 
 THB SISTERS OF OLBNMORB. 
 
 Mountvilliers requested the honour of dancing with 
 Miss St. Clair. She did not feel much inclined) 
 but unwillinff to appear singular^she complied. BUlen 
 was among the set which Gertrude and Lord Mount- 
 villiers joined on entering the ball room. Her part- 
 ner was a very handsome, and elegant looking young 
 man^Sir Frederic Mowbray, who resided on a beauti- 
 ful estate a few miles distant from Glenmore, but 
 had been living on the Continent for the last six 
 years. There was such an expression of happiness 
 and innocent gaiety in her countenance, while the 
 unusual excitement of her spirits gave a deeper shade 
 to the transparent colour on her cheeks, and a dazz- 
 ling brilliancy to her soft hazel eyes. After a few sets, 
 Gertrude complained of fatigue, and expressed her 
 intention of not dancing again; then desiring to leave 
 the ball room which was crowded to excess. Lord 
 Mountvilliers pioneered the way for her,and they pro- 
 ceeded into an adjoining apartment, where tables 
 were placed for those who wished to amuse them- 
 selves with cards. His Lordship was delighted at 
 the opportunity now afforded him of enjoying so much 
 of Gertrude's conversation, and he exerted all the 
 powers of his brilliant mind to engage her atten- 
 tion. 
 
 Lord Mountvilliers was the only son of the Earl of 
 Berrington and Lady Edith Montrose; he was stri- 
 kingly handsome and bore a strong resemblance to his 
 mother; his manners were highly polished and in- 
 sinuating, but still Gertrude did not like him. 
 
 There was a something In his even smile, 
 That ought to speak of peace, not guile. 
 And, yet she Itnew not why ! 
 Tliere was a something in bis keen dark eye 
 That chilled her. 
 
«teoCrf4^^^^^^^^ Lord Moum- 
 
 l«4as, but Mid he admW U,e PnfPT*'' ""^ Italia" 
 ty more. "However,' he idd.lTf/"'' "^'^ "f beau- 
 womeulhave ever ieen wm 1 a""" pf"-' finest 
 
 dence m Madrid? she Cm,„„'^"'^ ""^ '««^ 
 
 Jjoet devoted wis the IlonSl.^"*' I-"' the 
 Gertrude did not stRrt-t-r '"■«» Graht-n " 
 
 enabled her to °„p^e^, ^' ''"''<' ^d self-c^ZSid 
 She calmly met tKne?^«?r«"""=! of emo"^^ 
 as she remarked th«? «v V?* ^."^ <>' his LordZn 
 he«d of the IS lS 'she'r '''^'•^« t^' 
 
 oonvers.tion'SS;^er ^"^^-^ theu^^dS? 
 
 not nntU she had returned rn'"'°"<"'«»"«''- ^ was 
 her own apartment, that she iSfr*""" "^^ ™tired^to 
 pressed sorrow. Th«f tfw? ™ul?eu ,er loriff sun 
 
 she was no longer lovtd " "* ^"^ fo'gotten hf r thL" 
 painful and huStZ^gr 'f/^ed on ia,^'''^^ 
 
 even more severe than iheir / "'•'' "^» trial wwe 
 Misery, her heart Scwf'""'*"""'- I" all Sr 
 thought, that hislSeSfl" r"'"'""'"' to fhe 
 It was several hours beW 1. ^^' ,*«» ""chanired 
 teehngs, but sheZat wl""^ """H "ompose^her 
 determined to thiX nf t"^"' ««eceed, and proudiv 
 
 was more difficult «,^'sfc°r'- . ^"tl 
 was ever present to hcrlima^l ?' magmed, for he 
 
 *» conquer thiswe.kn:^\r^^««JJ,;he^^ed 
 
152 
 
 THE SISTERS OF GLENMORE. 
 
 she might be enabled to turn her thoughts and affec- 
 tions to other objects. 
 
 Since the evening of the ball, Lord Mountviiliets 
 and Sir Frederic Mowbray were constant visitors at 
 Glenmore. The attentions of his Lordship to Miss 
 St. Clair were particular, but she received them with 
 invincible indifference. Sir Frederic was evidently 
 becoming attached to Ellen, and after some time 
 having the happiness to engage her affection, he 
 made her an offer of his hand and was accepted. 
 Immediately after her marriage, Ellen, fearing that 
 the continual struggle of Gertrude*s feelings be- 
 tween pride and regret would injure her health, de- 
 termined on taking her to Italy, hoping that change 
 of scene would gradually banish the recollection of 
 her disappointment. Neither Colonel St. Clair nor 
 Gertrude made any objection to this proposal, and 
 Ellen hastened the preparations for their departure. 
 The route they intended to pursue was to France 
 from Dover,and then proceed to Italy. On landing at 
 Calais they hastened to Paris, but did not remain long 
 there as Lady Mowbray and her sister were impa- 
 tient to reach Italy. It was now the beginning of 
 Summer, and as the weather was beautiful, they 
 were enabled to see the country through which they 
 passed to great advantage. From Paris they direct- 
 ed their route to Geneva, thence to Chamberry, and 
 at length reached the foot of the Alps. As they as- 
 cended the mountains, the scenery opened into in- 
 creasing wildness and sublime beauty. On every 
 side the Alps rose, a majestic amphitheatre. Some 
 of them were covered with impenetrable forests, 
 where the pine with its dark green leaves, the rich 
 coloured chestnut, the oak, and the majestic poplar, 
 were seen commingling their foliage with the dark 
 cypresfs the silver-tinted ash, the yellow 
 
 wavnii^ 
 
THE SISTERS OF GLEKMORE. 
 
 133 
 
 at 
 
 as- 
 
 in- 
 very 
 oine 
 ests, 
 rich 
 plar, 
 dark 
 How 
 
 blossoms of the myrtle, and the pale flowers of the 
 arbtitus. In the distance, other chains of stupend- 
 ous mountains were seen rising in varied forms; some 
 touched with etherial blue, others darkened by the 
 hovering clouds, and several covered with purest 
 snow, \<^hich sparkled in the sunbeams. Gertrude 
 and Ellen who had" iii^r before beheld scenes of 
 such sublimity and picturesque beauty, gazed upon 
 them with mingled sensations of delight and awe. It 
 was here that nature was reigning in wildest magni- 
 licence; and as Gertrude viewed the wonders around 
 her, she would with a deep feeling of humility ex- 
 claim, " Lord ! what is man that thou art mindful of 
 him!" The travellers proceeded slowly, and some- 
 times stopped to rest their tired animals: then Ger- 
 trude would amuse herself bv sketching the most 
 striking views around her, while Ellen was employed 
 in gathering among the rocks, the dark auricula of 
 the Alps, the blue-belled carapanella, and other beau- 
 tiful flowers. As evening approached, the features of 
 the scenery assumed new forms of beauty. The Sun 
 as he majestically descended, rested his brilliant 
 disk on the lofty brow of one of the western range of 
 mountains, and gave a gorgeous colouring to the 
 scene. Gradually, surrounding objects became less 
 distinctly visible, until the dark outline of the sur- 
 Tounding mountains marked out on the horizon, was 
 nil that could be seen. As Lady Mowbray was un- 
 'willing to travel by night, and as the Inn where they 
 intended to stop was yet some miles distant, she now 
 asked the guide whether there was not some house at 
 hand in which they might sojourn during the night. 
 "There is the Convent of Santa Virgine, Signora ! " 
 he replied. "Conduct us thither by the shortest way," 
 she said, and the party proceeded in the direction of 
 the Convent. The moon was "climbing the blue 
 M 
 
184 
 
 THK SISTERS OF 6£ENM0RE. 
 
 
 depths of the starry Hipayens,'' when the travellers 
 entered the secluded valley in which Santa Virgine is 
 situated. Their request to be allowed to pass the 
 night at the Convent was immediately granted, and 
 tjie nuns with their Superior received the party with 
 much kindness, . Beip,^ ijiftj^^od that one of the no- 
 vices was to go through the 'cereriiony of taking the 
 veil the next3ay> Lady Mowhray and Gertrude de- 
 termined on repiaining to witness it. At an early 
 hour the following morning the convent bell began to 
 toll, and the sound was wafted on the breeze in slow 
 and solemn chimings. At twelve o'clock the cere- 
 mony was to begin, and a little before that hour, Sir 
 Frederic with his lady and Miss St. Clair proceeded 
 to the chapel. The ceremony commenced by a pro- 
 cession of the nuns and novices of Santa Virgine, 
 preceded by the Abbot arid some of the monks of a 
 Dominican Monastery, entering the chapel. Beside 
 the Abbess walked the novice who was to take the 
 veil ; she was a lovely, graceful girl, and looked calm 
 find resigned, although her face was of exceeding 
 paleness. She appeared to be engaged in mental de- 
 votion, and her eyes were earnesuy fixed on a small, 
 beautifully ornamented crucifix, which she carried. On 
 reaching the altar the procession stopped ; the nuns 
 and novices arranging themselves on each side of their 
 Superior, knelt outside the rails that surrounded it, 
 while the Abbot and the Monks ascending its stepe, 
 proceeded to celebrate some of the ceremonies of 
 their religion. When these were concluded, the 
 Abbot, declaring to the assembled people, that it was 
 the intention of Adolphine de Clairville to dedicate 
 herself to the service of Heaven, called on her to 
 advance. She obeyed. Every eye was fixed upon the 
 interesting novice,as, separating herself from the nunp, 
 5hc approached the foot of the altar. In a low bui 
 
 i] 
 
 d 
 
 tl 
 
 m 
 
 th 
 
 Ai 
 
 of 
 
 th 
 
 for 
 
 wa 
 
 for 
 
 pah 
 
 of p 
 
 the. 
 
 adm 
 
 bray 
 
 crim 
 
 lustr 
 
 edbe 
 
 Th< 
 
 niand( 
 
 luxuri 
 
 monte 
 
 sister, 
 
 late ho 
 
 a gent; 
 
 tion of 
 
 exclain 
 
 brav's i 
 
 «ippear« 
 
 H 
 
THE SISTERS OF GLENMORE. 
 
 Idb 
 
 Imnis 
 [their 
 led it, 
 )teps, 
 IS of 
 the 
 
 was 
 Jicato 
 ler to 
 )n the 
 lnunt> 
 
 firm voice, she pronounced those'vows from which 
 death alone could absolve her ; she thea knelt^ and 
 the Abbot throwing the veil over her, she became a 
 ni^n of Santa Virgine. A murmur of pity resounded 
 throughout the chapel ; the youth and beauty of 
 Adolphine had excited the interest and compassion 
 of the spectators, but it was instantly drowned by 
 the loud tones of the organ, which suddejily pealed 
 forth a hymn of praise to the Virgin. The ceremony 
 was now concluded and the people left the chapel. 
 
 After crossing the Alps, our travellers remained 
 for a few days at Turin, in order to visit the royal 
 palace and the gardens. The beautiful collection 
 of pictures in the palace, some of them the works of 
 the most celebrated painters, principally attracted the 
 admiration of Gertrude. One evening, Lady Mow- 
 bray proposed taking a walk on the ramparts ; the 
 crimson brightness of the setting sun threw a rich 
 lustre over the variegated landscape which stretch- 
 ed beyond the city, and within its walls ; 
 
 "Temple, and pinnacle, and spire, 
 Shone out, as if enwrapt in fire ; 
 Turret, and tower, and marble pile, 
 Were gilded with the sun's proud smile." 
 
 The beautiful prospect which the ramparts com- 
 manded of the Alps, the majestic Po, and the 
 luxuriant country adorned by the villus of the Pied- 
 rnontese nobility, delighted Lady Mowbra,y and (ler 
 sister, and induced them to prolong their walk to a 
 late hour . They were leaving the ramparts when 
 a gentleman approaching them, attracted the atten- 
 tion of Sir Frederic. "It is Lord Mountvilliers !" he 
 exclaimed as he advanced to meet him ; Lady Mow- 
 bray's reception of him was also flattering, but his 
 appearance was a source of secret chagrin to Ger- 
 
 II 
 
136 
 
 THE SISTERS OF GLENMORE. 
 
 trude. The marked attentions which he paid her 
 were disagreeable to her, but her sister and Colonel 
 St. Clair evidently desired his alliance,and she foresaw 
 that if his Lordship made her an offer of his hand, 
 they would urge her acceptance of it. 
 
 "How long have you been in Turin I " asked Sir 
 Frederic, addressing Lord Mountvilliers. 
 
 "Not more than an hour ! " he replied, "one of your 
 servants whom 1 accidentally met at the inn, informed 
 me you were in the city, and directed me to the 
 ramparts." 
 
 "And to what cause are we to attribute the plea- 
 sure of seeing youl" inquired Lady Mowbray. 
 
 "Finding existence insupportable in England, I 
 have come to seek beneath the sunny skies of Italy, 
 that happiness which no other country could at pre- 
 se it afford." 
 
 '< Italy must then have peculiar attractions !" said 
 Ellen, with a playfully brilliant smile. 
 
 " What parts of Italy do you ir<;end to visit I" 
 she continued. 
 
 " My route de voyage shall be regulated by your 
 own, if your Ladyship do not object," replied Lord 
 Mountvilliers. 
 
 " You will join our party then," said Sir Frederic ; 
 " such an addition would afford us pleasure." 
 
 This was an invitation which his Lordship had 
 anxiously desired. 
 
 " How did you like your journey over the Alps, 
 Miss St. Clair ?" asked Lord Mountvilliers now ad- 
 dressing Gertrude. 
 
 " Very much ; Lady Mowbray and I were so de- 
 lighted with mountain bcenery, that we intend cros: 
 sing the Appennines." 
 
 " You will visit Rome I suppose V* 
 
 " Yes ! I am very anxious to spend some time 
 
 \V 
 

 THE SISTERS OF 0LE17M0RE. 
 
 137 
 
 lips, 
 lad- 
 
 Ide- 
 ros- 
 
 lime 
 
 there ; the scenery about Tivoli and Lake Albiano is 
 so beautiful." 
 
 "I would prefer proceeding to Venice," said Ellen. 
 ^< I have read such animated descriptions of its gon- 
 dolas gliding along the moon-illumined Adriatic ; its 
 Rialto, marble pallazos and arcades. It must have a 
 strangely beautiful appearance, rising, as if from- the 
 sea, with all its magnificent buildings." 
 
 " It certainly does resemble a scenp of enchants 
 ment," observed Lord Mountvilliers^ 
 
 The lateness of the hour now obliged them to re- 
 turn to their hotel. The next day they left Turi]i,and 
 continued their journey with little iijiterruption, until 
 they reached Florence, where attracted by the beauty 
 of its situation, they determined on spending some 
 time. The arrival of Lady Mowbray and Miss St. 
 Clair created considerable interest in the Florentine 
 world of fashion. People of the first distinction vis- 
 ited thorn and sept them cards of invitation. Ger- 
 trude did not often appear in public; the melancholy 
 of her n^ind prevented her enjoying scenes of amuse- 
 ment, but one evening ii\. order to gratify her sister, 
 she consented to accompany her to a concert. It 
 was at the house of a Florentine Nobleman and was 
 fashionably attended. The singing and music were 
 exquisite, and Gertrudj^'a whole attention was direct- 
 ed to the performance, unmindful of the admiration 
 she herself excited. At length the music ceased for 
 a short time; Gertrude then amused herself by sur- 
 veying the brilliant crowds around her, and Lady 
 Mowbray who had been engaged in conversation 
 with a gay circle, now joined her. 
 
 <'Do you know that gentleman, who is standing 
 
 near a window,at a little distance from us,Gertrude?" 
 
 she asked in a low voice. "He appears to admire 
 
 you particularly, for during the last half hour, he has 
 
 m2 
 
1S8 
 
 TRB'SISTSRS OF OLBNMORE. 
 
 been looking at you attentively. His appearance ift 
 very elegant, and the expression of his nne counte- 
 nance, is noble and interesting." A sudden altera- 
 tion in her sister's col^pur alarmed Ellen. "Perhaps, 
 the stranger ii^ Jtrfian Graham," she said mentally. 
 Gertrude understood her iiii^uiring look. 
 
 "It is he!" she replied in an agitated voice. 
 
 This unexpected appearance of Graham, occasion- 
 ed Gertrude the deepest emotion, but with a feeling 
 of proud resolution she subdued it; and with appa- 
 rent gaiety, entered into conversation with her sister. 
 The concert terminated, shortly afterwards, and Lady 
 Mowbray rdae to go. l^^rom the time that Gertrude 
 perceived Julian, she carefully avoided again looking 
 towards him, but npw as she was leaving the room, 
 she saw him standing near the door. As she ad- 
 vanced, she ventured to give one glance towards him: 
 he looked pale and very much altered, and there was 
 a melancholy yet proud expression on his brov.% He 
 was anxiously regarding her, their eyes therefore 
 met. A sudden glow of resentment passed over the 
 features of Gertrude, as she proudly averted her 
 head, and passed on without betraying any agita- 
 tion. 
 
 The entrance hall was crowded with company wait- 
 ing for their carriages; silent and unhappy, Gertrude 
 stood lost in her own reflections; she was alone, for 
 the crowd had separated her from Sir Frederic and 
 Lady Mowbray, and Lord Mountvilliers had gone to 
 see whether the carriage was at the door. The 
 voice of Julian Graham at length aroused Gertrude 
 from her revery; he was conversing with a Spanish 
 gentleman then residing in Florence, to whom she 
 had been the same evening introduced. 
 
 "We must remain here a few minutes/' observed 
 Graham, "as I think there would be great difficulty 
 
 
 A 
 
THB SISTERS or OLBKMORG. 
 
 m 
 
 in piercing through those ranks of bsauty and fash- 
 ion." 
 
 <<That is expressed a la militaire," said Don Ferdi- 
 nand, smiling ;'"and certainly they are ranks of beau- 
 ty/' he continued, glancing gaily round; <<but do you 
 not think the meteor which has lately appeared among 
 us, the most brilliant luminary you saw to-night." 
 
 "Miss St. Clair?" said Graham, and Gertrude 
 thought there was a tremulousness in the tone with 
 which he pronounced her name. 
 
 "Yes! Lady Mowbray is also very handsome." 
 
 <^ow long have they been in Florence?" asked 
 Julian. 
 
 "Nearly three weeks; they are making a tour of 
 Italy." 
 
 "Is there not a young English Nobleman—- also of 
 their party?" 
 
 "Yes! Lord Mountvilliers! you may recollect to 
 have seen him frequently at the house of the Marche- 
 sa de Roncevalles, when you were at Madrid." 
 
 "I have heard that Miss St. Clair will become 
 Lady Mountvilliers, when she returns to Scotland," 
 resumed Graham. 
 
 "Your information is not correct. I understand 
 there will be no alliance between the families. — 
 It is hinted that Miss St. Clair's ailections are pre- 
 engaged." 
 
 "Ah! is it true?" said Graham, eagerly. 
 
 A short pause ensued. 
 
 "How long is it since you left Madrid?" said Juli- 
 an. 
 
 "More thari two months. My gay cousin, Mar- 
 cella Luisa was married a short time previous to my 
 departure. It was supposed you would have led her 
 to the hymeneal altar," continued Don Ferdinand, 
 "because you were frequently at hor house: but I 
 
 M 
 
 i I 
 
 tt 
 
 i! i 
 
146 
 
 ^11% SI^tfiRd Ot GLtUCIIOHBtiT 
 
 belieVe the talisman you wore next your heart, t 
 mean that beautiful tress of dark hair I once found 
 you so fondly admiring, guarded you ^.gainst every 
 fascination*" >;•' ; > 
 
 u.Ub 
 
 The! grefttig^t part of the Company being now gon6,- 
 Julian and Don Ferdinand were enabled to proceed; 
 It was with a fueling of happiness Which I will not at- 
 tempt to describe) that Gertrude (concealed from ob- 
 s^rv&tid'ii behind a pillar)li8tened to this conversation; 
 Julian Graham's affection for her was then unchan- 
 ged — shiB Was not forgotten. That tress of hair allu- 
 ded to by Don Ferdinand Was one she had given him^ 
 He still loved her; and in the happiness of this idea, 
 the painful certainly that although his affection Was 
 unaltered they must still remain separated, v^as for a 
 time forgotten. AsGertrude was leaving the breakfast- 
 room the succeeding morning, a servant presented her 
 with a letter, which a footman in theGrkhJEim livery had 
 just left. She opened it with trembling eagerness^ 
 It was from Julian and refquested an interview, which 
 after a little hesitation she granted, and waited with 
 much anxiety the hour she had appointed. It at 
 length arrived, a servant informed her that the Hon- 
 orable Mr. Graham was in the drawing-room, and 
 endeavoring to appear composed, she proceeded 
 thither. For more than an hour their interview con- 
 tinued; Ellen's curiosity was strongly excited, and as 
 soon as Graham had departed, she joined her sister, 
 who had retired to her own apartment. There was 
 ft bright expression of happiness on Gertrude's coun- 
 tenance. The only obstacle to her union with Juli-> 
 tin was removed. It seemed as if her perseveringpray- 
 ers for him had been answered, for he was no longer 
 the character he had once been. A dangerous illness, 
 and the powerful operations of divine grace,^had at 
 last convinced him of the awful realities of etemitv. 
 
THE SISTERS OF GLEXMORE. 
 
 141 
 
 \ 
 
 Death, and the idea of appearing before t' ^ judg- 
 ment throne of Omnipotence, were appalling to him 
 beyond description. How heinous did that guilt now 
 appear, which had made him deny the triune Jehovah! 
 He felt that the severest judgments of divine wrath 
 were what he deserved. But, <<as the Heavens are 
 higher than the earth, so are the Lord's ways higher 
 than our ways," That Being who is love, in mercy 
 spared his repentant creature,and in adoring gratitude 
 Julian humbly determined to dedicate the remainder 
 of his life to His service. He was returning to Scot- 
 land, when on reaching Florence, he was surprised 
 to find Miss St. Clair and Lady Mowbray there.— 
 The information which he received relative to Ger- 
 trude's engagement with Lord Mountvilliers,had cau- 
 sed him much misery; but this intelligence I>on Fer- 
 dinand had contradicted, and his hopes revived.— 
 Towards the end of autumn our travellers returned 
 to Scotland, but when Gertrude again visited Glen- 
 more, she was the happy bride of the Honorable Ju- 
 lian Graham. 
 
 CHARLES FORSTER. 
 
 BY THE EDITOR, 
 
 We axe such stuff 
 As dreams are made of, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep. Shaks. 
 
 In the month of October in the year 18d— , the 
 declining rays of the setting Sun did not shine on a 
 liappier party than that which was surveying the beau- 
 ties of Nature, from the library window of the man- 
 
 
 i 
 
142 
 
 CHARLES FORSTER. 
 
 sion of the Hon. W. Dewarr ; two of the party were 
 young and lovely females ; the one, Maria Dewarr, 
 (laughter of the owner of the mansion, the other, her 
 cousin Eliza Harrison ; and the third member of our 
 little party, was the second partner in the eminent 
 mercantile establishment of Johnson, Forster &( Co. 
 of London. 
 
 Charles Forster was an example of the success 
 which attends the exercise of ability and perseve- 
 rance, united with sobriety of conduct, and diligent 
 attention to business ; born of humWe parents in an 
 obscure town, and one of a numerous family, his fu- 
 ture prospects had in them little of the flowery or 
 promising ; yet his parents contrived to give him as 
 extended an education as the schools of his native 
 place aflbrded, and at sixteen years of age, he was 
 considered by all who knew him, to be one of the 
 most promising youths in the neighbourhood. 
 
 He was then launched on the stormy sea of life as 
 clerk to a corn-merchant,the duties of which humble 
 station he continued to fulfil, until the failure of the 
 firm by whom he was employed, when he removed to 
 London, and entered the counting-house of the well 
 known general merchants, Benton & Co. where he 
 remained for seven years, and by his industrious con- 
 duct, propriety of demeanour, and ability in business, 
 gained the esteem of all with whom he had any 
 transactions, as well as the confidence and good will 
 of his employers. At the expiration of the period 
 mentioned, in conjunction with a fellow clerk and a 
 relative of his own, he formed the before named Firm 
 of Johnson Forster & Co. 
 
 Well aware of the difficulties with which every 
 new mercantile establishment has to contend in a 
 place like London, where the weight of competition 
 is balanced only by the prevalence of suspicion, the 
 
 :! 
 
 lit 
 
 % 
 
I 
 
 CIMRLES rORSTUB, 
 
 exertions of Chn i n ^'^^ 
 
 ofie Was the mothf^Ho? j ^^^^^ Harrison 
 
144 
 
 CHARLES FORSTER. 
 
 prefixed Colonel to his name, and boasted of a Na- 
 bob's wealth ; the second went out a needy lawyer, 
 and came back a finished gentleman of independent 
 fortune ; the youngest had only attained the rank of 
 Captain, and thinking it necessary to achieve his el- 
 dest brother's rank, went back to India, and is now, 
 perhaps, sweltering beneath the torrid zone and 
 sighing for the ice climes of Europe. The eldest of 
 these Indianized personages, was the only individual 
 who had the slightest influence with Eliza's grand- 
 father, and so completely was he subservient to the 
 dictation of his own son,that the latter could turn his 
 resolution whichever way he listed. 
 
 How beautiful is the love which begins in child- 
 hood ! talk of the affection, the fidelity, the devotion 
 of mature age, oh ! name them not in the same 
 breath with the union between two young, unseared, 
 unpractised hearts ! Here you have proved the per- 
 fection of pure motive ! Here is the true, the soul in- 
 spired passion ! The bending of the kned is involun- 
 tary ; the blood rushes through the transparent 
 veins without calculation ; the pledging kiss is un- 
 bought ; and the blind God waves his silken pinions 
 over such love as this> with glorious exultation that 
 his occupation is not yet gone. 
 
 Such was the love of Charles Porster and Eliza 
 Harrison ; if you had asked either when their love 
 for each other had its rise, the answer would have 
 been " I do not remember !" It commenced in their 
 infancy, continued througlA childhood and youth, and 
 matured itself with their growth ; and when they 
 reached the point of necessity to ascertain the state 
 of their own hearts, they found that love for each 
 other was an identical part of their existence. He 
 was resolute in determination and inflexible in project. 
 She, timid, yielding, and formed to depend. He was 
 
 t 
 
 t 
 
 ei 
 
 Pr 
 as 
 ha 
 
 i 
 in 
 
 tWi 
 
 por 
 
 ous 
 
 the 
 
 My 
 
 corisi 
 ence 
 ever " 
 
CHARLES PORSTER. 
 
 like the oak of th^*- 
 
 f heu. correspondence wi! c,^"?"?* « <ii«lo8«re • 
 len interviews, and letted. ""^^ "" ^7 means of ste" 
 
 '^S extraordinary lettS from Wm '"'*'''^'' 
 MrnH.ov«,, ^»™°». Oct-u*-. 
 
 consent to ouj uS^S?ly°" U"«'e.«"e Colonel'. 
 
 N "^''"'^^'"»'« enjoined him";. 
 
\^ 
 
 mi 
 
 GBJBSBS .MMMTBR. 
 
 »Db8eKv««iittace ^Ii\ffe«pec;t }ta JuglFttherr until jne 
 hears from \ yovmi^, 
 
 1 9hiillh^mtb7oaifiX'MT,l)vMan*» m trnday or 
 ;two^tUl when jMimtildeaitl^ikeftr^oiitdiitaiM^ib^ 
 
 •Evier yonr own 
 
 0HARLES FORSTPSR. 
 
 F. / &. If i; ido not keep my appoinl^ment do not 4ie 
 : iineasy*«<*I litve been somewhat vftwem «nd may 
 4i4v^air^p!8C. 
 
 .He:Md indeed been ^somewhat unwell/ fpr hehad 
 ^entee^r the vieitation of a paralytic t^troke; whjich 
 > i^endered himtmcapable of attending, to business for 
 two monthfii prior to the date ofMs letter ; but be 
 suffered no relapse^ and : reached Mr. . Dewarr's in 
 jsafety. Tbe reader^ however) must not expect a de- 
 scription of the words And actions pensequeiitt on 
 the first meeting of a^ pais of blessed and blessing lo- 
 ,Veps, a^er a separation of two Ip^g twelvemonths. 
 No ! No ! If he has ever beea placed in similar cir- 
 cumstanceS), he is already acc^^uaint^d with the rou- 
 .tine^ which in spite of changing customs has remain- 
 ed we same since the days of Adam. If not, I will 
 leave him to the enjoyment of am>vel pleasure, and 
 now^ according to^e approved method of all epics, 
 we plunge m mebias res, and find Charlcia Forster re- 
 plying to an observation of Miss Dewarr. 
 
 " I am-not attached to London ; but every adven- 
 turer, who, like me, has his fortune to make, must 
 perforce give the preference to that spot of earth 
 .which tfibrda^ him the greatest faci^ties for further- 
 mgr his temporal interests ; , and it is owing to this 
 circumstance . alone that I feel any predilection . for 
 the metropolis; for to one who is accustomed to phi- 
 
 \ 
 
 im ^ 
 
CHASIAff! FQESTER. 
 
 Ml 
 
 losopliiie on;tiieciDiiditkin< of?fraii-jiiinanity>.l4ondon 
 possesses few, if any charms." 
 
 «Why, ehttflesr saW IKIarift Dewanr, «I am 
 afVaid you will fill my eousin*^ head^ witli^y thii^g 
 but'an exftlted' notion, of her future TCMtcteiice !" 
 
 <<Eliz{iMdllbe, ill possession of such society, as 
 will r trust, remedy, the evil, of which I am complaiiif 
 ing,** repfied Charles ; with a saucy look of en^uir^ 
 at nis'bcttfothedj which covered her cheek with a 
 blush b^&utiflil as the morning, and mother i;t^d;ci)ii; 
 sih a laughing : <^ut I am speakiiig;. of th0 jTctlitiUjh^X 
 was at my fint entrance on a Loudoh iifer-friendless^ 
 unknown^ and unsought ; wiUiout any introd^PtiQii 
 to l^e circles of my own, and' charged, with a stiric^ 
 injilinction to avoid introducing myself to the, circles! 
 of the female sex." 
 
 "Which you, of course, took no notice 
 of," said GIiza> laughingly. 
 
 " Asjnuch,. Dearest ! as if you^had been present 
 to observe all' my motibns," responditd Clbarle^^/'The 
 immense maBs of human.beingp c^mgxegated togjsther 
 in London, may be divided dntO; two -claiisepi^ ; tne-^one 
 of which is engaged in the incessant^tur^uitof ^viealth; 
 theothecof amusement, or^ as it ii^^, termed,, plea- 
 sure ; anda sta'aogermaiy be aA<inuch[{4oneand un- 
 noticed inirtibe midstof a raiJIHonan^&'^^o^'souU.a^ 
 a single blade of grass in the middle of one of Mr. 
 Dewan's meafibows; And when he heoomeaj^ much 
 initiated aS' to fortia^membeir of some coter^, he 
 finds SBi;jE> BO predominant an. in^^^^er of society, 
 and MAiMsvGKiNfiv 1^ commonly tHe^motiv^ of action, 
 that he must eitfaef shftpe his, min4?to?the' standard in 
 common use and become deh94ie4 or pcolessto. be 
 what in realMiy heria not, andthnsetomp himself an 
 hypocrite*" 
 
 % 
 
148 
 
 CHARLES FORSTBR. 
 
 << Cynical enousfh !" said Maria ; << but I think the 
 picture over-daubed." 
 
 " Not in the least," answered Charles. << I feel 
 anew being when I escape from the fleshless spectre 
 of London society, to the hearty freshness and reali- 
 ty of rustic intercourse. Our friendship is profession 
 — here it is sincerity ; our hospitality is that of the 
 lij>— here it is warm as the life-blood of the heart ; 
 our pleasures are more or less tinged with dissipation 
 — ^here they have the purity of Nature herself ; our 
 enjoyments pall without gratifying — ^here the ap- 
 petite increases with what it feeds on ; our streets 
 f^re infected with a thousand impurities— »here the 
 aiephyrs breathe nothing but health and delight. 
 Love in London is a mere matter of profit and loss, 
 and blushing daughters are hawked about by spe- 
 culating mammas', like wares that hang heavy on the 
 pedlar's hands." 
 
 "Oh! yo'i insufferable quiz! I am quite sure that, if 
 not guilty cfa higher offence, you are grossly exag- 
 gerating," said Eliza. 
 
 "Let the railer finish his picture, dear !" interposed 
 Maria. "Pray, Sir! at what rate do you estimate 
 Love in a village." 
 
 "I cannot appreciate it too highly," responded 
 Charles; "and you must allow that experience ena- 
 bles me to form a tolerably correct opinion on the 
 subject." 
 
 "Why, yes! I will grant that; but how are we, in 
 our unsophisticated ignorance, to know that you, who 
 here condemn the insincerity and hollowness of Lon- 
 don society,do not there ridicule the monotonous and 
 unvarying character of our existence?" 
 
 "Monotonous! unvarying! say you Miss Dewarr? 
 look on the beautiful scene which now exhibits itself 
 |o our view I" exclaimed Charles, as, taking a hand 
 
 0' 
 
 f 
 
 % 
 
CiUBJUBS fQBaTBB. 
 
 149 
 
 of each of t<ke fair cousins bo J^ thm to tjie bal- 
 cony. "Behold" eontioued hct "ypi^ ,gJp4Q«e orb of 
 life and ligiit— terbinatiz^ )u$ ^j Ciareev in a eea 
 of dazzling: splendouiv and w^vm^t by tbe full 
 stream of glory be sheds ovgr tl^ e«n;b| to I^e taMqg 
 « last survey of the entire creattonibefore ^e Ikushes 
 his course: how strikingly einblein.atic of the man 
 who has j^rformed bis duUejs w^W and £|ithfujiy, 
 laying down to rest ftt peace with bis own mind and 
 the world. Sees, again f tlw silver moon just shows 
 lier pale face, not «is if apprehensive of peing quen^ 
 chedin the dazzling beams of the god of day, but as 
 if tin^y string forth to acknowledge tlje source 
 0|f her own power and beauty^ j n^ej not dniw the 
 typification of this." 
 
 " NvO ! " addc^ ' ■ "a ; ** leave that until the ex- 
 piration ofthelw56v.ioion." 
 
 !E^iza expostul>iki,t;a bxiA blushed, and Charles con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " What pleasing consideratio.ns are suggested bv 
 the appearance of those rude masses of atone, whicii 
 once formed the castellated mansion of some pow- 
 erful feudal Baron. Oh! I love to pore over the 
 i)lden time, and conjure up the mailed warriors whose 
 war and wassail ciies used to echo through the ar- 
 ched halls, still traceable in that wreck of pride and 
 power ; the * gentle troubadour,* whose unshackled 
 muse poured forth the riches of inspiration in praise 
 of gallant deedsj or peerless beauty ; the crouching 
 sens, who drag ged on an inglorious existence by the 
 mere sufferance of their iinperipus Lords." 
 
 "And is it monotonous^ my SUza ! to wander 
 through the ffreen fields, the feathered tribe the 
 while tuning their throats in harmony with grateful 
 creation and my own feelings, where every spot is^ 
 teeming v;ith recollectfons of chil-lhood and of yo^; 
 n2 
 
150 
 
 ^MiM ^OUSTER. 
 
 and is endeared to me by the memory of some word, 
 or look) or smile, or sigh of the * Goddess of my Ido- 
 latry/ Life here would to me he one of unmixed 
 happiness, for every foot of earth would furnish me 
 with materials for an existence of thought.'^ 
 
 << Nay fn you get enthusiastic, I must avail myself 
 of the ins])iration of the moment, and fetch my Al- 
 bupi. Ri}member Charles ! your contribution will 
 be the epitaph of your bachelorship, << said Maria^ 
 as slie descended from the balcony and disappeared!^ 
 
 " Dearost Eliza !" said Charles, as entering the li- 
 brary, he di:ew the fair girl to a seat and placea 
 himself by her j . <* I am intoxicated with bliss : I 
 fedl as if enjoying an imaginary existence, and that 
 my present situation is unreal. But a very few days 
 will dissipate all doubt; and the treasure about to be 
 entrusted to my care, shall be neither neglected nor 
 unappreciaied ; for the chiefest s+udy of my future 
 life will be, to confer as much happinesa on my own 
 love, as our union will bestow on her doting admi- 
 rer." 
 
 She made no reply ; but there was a pressure of 
 the hand, a gentle rising of the breast, a fluttering of 
 the heart, and a long, long kiss of innocence and 
 love. 
 
 Fanse a moment, ye who scoflTat the purity of hu- 
 ijHui feeling ! ye, who would reduce man to the 
 standard of the beasts that perish, and level his 
 , heartrto the quality of corruption ! Did you ever 
 witness the triumph of virtuous affection ? Did you 
 .ever see exemplified in the human race, the most 
 prevailing attribute of the Deity — Love ? If you 
 have, your infamous doctrines are stamped with 
 Talsehood. If you have nort, you ought to be whip- 
 ped from the earth, for dT^seminating unweighed 
 ^gpinions, and for undeservedly'' debasing and degra- 
 
 > 
 
CHARLES FORStBJt. 
 
 m 
 
 ding your fellow beings and human nature. If th^re 
 is on earth, any thing approaching the pure felicity 
 of Heaven, it is the Unk unitiii^ two hearts, which, 
 one in feeling have surmounted difficulty, and are 
 at length blessed with the prospect of uninterrupted 
 communion. 
 
 * ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ■ * '■■♦'■■'■ 
 
 The marriage was to take place within a week j 
 the friends of Eliza were all satisfied and anxioUs for 
 .the match : Charles had taken and furnished anddt 
 COTTAGE ovrrrE on the banks of the Thames, and had 
 secured a visit from a literary Lady to whom the 
 walks in London life were familiar, until his Bride 
 wajB accustomed to the new society in which she 
 would hlGLve to move. The Minister was engaged, 
 the friends of both parties bidden, and Charles liad 
 only to ride over to a town some twenty miles dis- 
 tant, transact there some business connected witji 
 Ms firm, and return to claim his bride. ;'- 
 
 When the conversation was resumed, Eliza s^, 
 ^< But yet my dear Charles I do not feel complet<% 
 happy— not as I always thought I should, when the 
 day arrived that no power on earth could separate us. 
 I have fearful misgivings !" 
 " Of what nature, my Love ?" 
 << I cannot tell you ; my heart sinks, and when I 
 try to collect my spirits I cannot. My brain wan- 
 ders to something i.rA and unfortunate,^ and when a 
 pleasing thought — a picture of the happiness of our 
 future liven suggests itself, it is driven away by the 
 intrusion of some sorrowful recollection !" 
 
 " Thus it always is my fair doubter ! happiness 
 on earth is invariably imperfect, and its degree can 
 i^nly be ascertained b;- contrast." 
 ^ But why ' lould imagination present more of 
 
15^ 
 
 CBARI«B8 FO«STER« 
 
 tho gloomy thm the bright, Besi^ef^ I ha^v^ M a 
 
 ** Why soliad Cfvaar's wife !" fosppnded Cbsfhe, 
 ** And WW wt that a tme picturiB of forthcoming 
 ev^ts ? Nay ! do not moek or laugb at m^ ftfr it 
 was indeed a terrible one." 
 " Dreams only indicate their contraries.'' 
 '<Soiti8|;eneraUy said, but e^cperience indices 
 me to believie th^ contrAry, and yxm know instances 
 ,in nayjuslificatipn." 
 
 >*True, wy Mivil but you are also aware of 
 having had mai^ dreams wiproductive of results/' 
 <f i acknowledge that, but last night my imagina- 
 tion lyas ;9trouffTy And «trai^ely workea upon# I 
 ihf^ngky we had reached the aitar: Mr. i ■ ■ . was the 
 o^ciating Minister, and the Colonel was present. 
 Part of Sne peri^mony h»d hi^<9n gone througn, when 
 a stranger enl;ered the churchy and whispered some- 
 thing in your ear which caused you to tall down in 
 «^ of strong convulBions ; and my Uncle drew his 
 ip^ord, cut open your breast, and tore your heart 
 out. Yes," continued the now weeping girl, "he tore 
 the heart out of your living body, and gave it to me 
 to preserve. I do not remember any thing else, un- 
 til I thought I awoke from sleep, in a dismal, cold 
 dungeon ; m^ only companion was your heart in a 
 bottle^ on whxah w«re labelled the words tauth Affo 
 SUFFP.RIN0 ; and I thought I kissed the bottle, laid me 
 down, and died." 1^,^x11 
 
 Charles had cont^haed with too mimy dii^culties 
 to allow his feelings to be swayed by a dream, and 
 he successfully endeavoured to convince Eliza of the 
 unreasonableness of her ^ars ; when Hiss Bewarr 
 entered the room with her Album, the two Ipvers had 
 regained their composure, and Charles couched his 
 " last bachelor contribution" as Maria pleasantly 
 
CHARLES FORSTER. 
 
 153 
 
 Id 
 a 
 
 termed ^t, in the following brief exposition of his 
 feelings. 
 
 My happiness is so complete, 
 I IiBve no words to speak it ; 
 A Jot the more upon my heart, 
 Would only tend to break it. 
 
 Radiant with smiles and loveliness, Maria tooti her 
 seat at the piano, and in tones of bewitching tender- 
 ness sung the well known air ; 
 
 Oh ! take her, but be faithful still, 
 And may your joys increase 1 
 May each succeeding year behold 
 Your happiness and peace ! etc. 
 
 The hearts of two of our little party beat in unison,and 
 their beaming eyes exemplified the beatitude of their 
 sensations ; whilst Miss Dewarr looked like an An- 
 gel contemplating the all perfect proportions of con- 
 summate goodness. Pity it is, that bliss like tlu| ' 
 even less enduring than life ! 
 
 On the third day from that on which the fore^ 
 ing imperfectly narrated circumstances occurred, 
 Charles Forster had promised to return to Mr. De^ 
 warr's ; but morning declined into noon, anMltoon 
 sunk into evening, yet still^he came not. Often £d 
 EUza, with straining and streaming eyes, endeavour 
 to distinguish his form emerging from the gloom of 
 the surrounding forest, but in vain. The darkness 
 of night covered the earth, and she retired to her 
 room-— not to rest, but to watch through weauapme 
 and anxious hours. Morning arose, and with iP^ame 
 the postman and a package for Miss Harrison. It 
 was sealed with black, but the direction was in the 
 hand-writing of her betrothed. With 4 palpitating^ 
 heart she broke open the seal, and oB^ the envelope 
 
1^ 
 
 CHARLES FORSTER. 
 
 Charles had written^ " When you receive this, your 
 unhappy lover is on his way to London, half mad- 
 dened by the contents of the enelosed, and the re- 
 collection of your dfeam." 
 
 The enclosure was addressed to Charles from his 
 solicitor, and ran thus : 
 
 ''I am sinoemly concerned to be the medium of com- 
 munieating sad intelligence, but inasmuch as your 
 own welfare, in addition to the character of your 
 Firm, is at stake, I feel bound by my station as your 
 confidential adviser to withhold nothing from you. 
 
 In the beginning of last week, your partner^ Mr. 
 Johnson, was seized with a violent cold, and the 
 symptoms were of such a nature as to confine him to 
 his room. Yesterday morning it was ascertained 
 that Benton &c Co. had stopped payment, andprie- 
 sently afterward it was bruited abroad, that Benton 
 h8|.d fled for fear of legiil consequences— he having 
 c^jiuiiitted forgeries to an amount exceeding £120,- 
 The Gazette I herewith forward, contains the 
 cruptcyofthe House, and a reward for his ap- 
 3naion. 
 
 Aware of the confidence subsisting between your 
 own £rm and that of Benton && Co. I thought it 
 pn4Mt to wait on Mr. Johnson, with the douUe 
 vflw of ascertainmg the truth of some rumours I 
 had heard respecting the state of accounts between 
 you, aod of witnessing the condition of the health 
 of my respected friend. He had not heard of the 
 circumstances of Benton's failure and fiight, and the 
 cotM^nication thereof seemed to have a dreadful ef- 
 fectl^n him ; suffice it at present to say. that he was 
 shortly after i^ized with Imun fever, and expired 
 about two hours ago^ 
 
 I cannot ^onclo^ without stating that I bavb 
 SBBi^ in the^lnd^iwriting of the deceased, two of 
 
 '' 
 
CHARI^^fr FOASTBR. 
 
 tj^ 
 
 is 
 
 '■ 
 
 t 
 
 yout Firmffl tH!ceptanc«0 of JS^nton k>,Co% drafts for 
 £1000 eaqVaqd have heiurd it,0t»ted that tWe are 
 many moreiathe markot ; you will a^e the proprie- 
 ty of at oiuter«turiung to London. I will «end my 
 iCabiiatCourse of mail, to ijieet you at the, Angely. Is- 
 lington." 
 
 * ♦ * * .♦ * .♦ .» 
 
 )How different a scene must Charles Forster.now 
 figurem ! We have seen hinL exulting in happinescf, 
 and the wticipation of realizing the cherished hppes 
 of years— fwe have now to view |)im ,«^itfa all his 
 household gods shivered r^ \om, Tij»t finnVQss 
 .whiQh>had su/ripounted, di^* ;y> and .supported him 
 in< o/vere^mingi indigence, andolwcunty—^y which he 
 ! had conquered the prejudices of pride, and the oppo- 
 sUdon of wealth,; had now to pass tlirpugh a ^dif- 
 ferent ord^;^ndit wasuflheqjiial tothe task ; ]butl 
 anticipate. 
 
 iFeorful as were the, contents ^f his Solicitor' 
 ter, he found matters much worse than even 
 induced him to dread ; the details are ^ninteoci' 
 Wit. it is. necessary for the elucidation of the sto^ 
 that they should he glanced at. 
 
 j Mr. Johnson, without, the knowledge of Charl^, i 
 the remaiiiung partner, had accomodated ,Ben||K&' 
 Co. with acceptances to an amount exceeding £^0,- 
 OQO, without receiving, one shilling in return, ^and for 
 which nothing at all could be recovered. Chaxles ^- 
 so discovered that the afiairs of the sleeping partner 
 were insolvent to a fearful extent ; he felt th%t it 
 would be utterly useless to attempt to hear up ^»st 
 snch a complication of evils, and as an, act offlstice 
 tolas creditors, he gave up every thing into their 
 hands, who, in pity for his misfortune, made the firm 
 bankrupt. 
 
 Thus — ^without blame or censure ^pached to hi» 
 
 
<m w 
 
 156 
 
 CHARLES FORSTER. 
 
 conduct, was an estimable young man blasted in re- 
 putation, and his labour of years totally destroyed ; 
 not only so, but his moral ruin was eflected* 
 
 The sudden death of his partner, for whose memo- 
 ry, notwithstanding his errors, he still cherished a 
 sincere regard, together with the utter annihilation 
 of his fortune, seized on his spirits ; his disposition 
 underwent an entire change ; he became abstracted, 
 reserved, sullen, and shunned society : he shut him- 
 sdfup without any other companion than his own 
 moody thoughts, and it was whispered that he once 
 or twice attempted suicide but was prevented. 
 
 This paroxysm passed away, and changing to 
 the other extreme, he became guilty of as much in*- 
 decorous levity, as he had be^re exhibited useless 
 sorrow ; plunging into society of the most fashiona- 
 h\y vicious class, in the arms of degraded beauty, he 
 forgot Eliza and her pure truth ; the last stage was 
 ipation, wine, brandy ! Yet all who knew his 
 acter, rightly attributed his conduct to an affec- 
 of the brain. 
 
 Once and once only,did he exhibit signs of return- 
 ing reason ; he wrote to Eliza's Uncle, but that un- 
 ^Sdl^' brutal devotee of gold returned his letter with 
 iti^multing message ; this was the seal of poor 
 Charles' fate ; the brandy-bottle became his insepa- 
 rable companion, and he rarely, if ever, slept the 
 sleep of sobriety. 
 
 lifter a night of debauchery, he was one morning 
 loi||pg out of the window of his dressing room, 
 when he beheld Eliza in the street, leaning on the 
 arm of her Uncle : but she was pale, attenuated, 
 shrunken— the mere spectre of her former self ; and 
 she moved IkJf in the last stage of some mortal dis> 
 <ease. ^r 
 
re- 
 M : 
 
 ^eda 
 Kion 
 ition 
 3ted, 
 lim- 
 |own 
 )nce 
 
 CHARLES FORSTER. 
 
 15t 
 
 Charles dashed down stairs^ but in the very act of 
 opening the door the agitation into which he was 
 thrown conquered his strength, and he fell to the 
 ground, whilst the blood poured in a stream from his 
 mouth and nostrils. He was ^carried to bed in a state 
 of insensibility, but in a few days was so far reco- 
 vered, as to sit up and converse rationally. 
 
 A letter was put into his hand, which the penny 
 postman had brought ; it was without date and read 
 as follows : 
 
 <<When you receive this, I shall be insensible to your 
 contempt ; if you can forgive yourself, you have 
 my dying assurance, that I have hourly besought 
 Heaven to extend its mercy to you, for breaking the 
 heart of < your Eliza'." 
 
 The cup of his misery was now full, and he drained 
 it to the very dregs. Charles Forster is now the ra- 
 ving inmate of a gloomy cell, in a metropolitan mad- 
 house. 
 
 T. Sewell, Printer, Niagara U. C^ 
 
 j^.^d^