THE ORIGINAL. Such is the description of this famed "Republic," to be found in the "Tableau de la Pologne" of Malte Brun. The our Babin. With all the faults of this stupendous is press power as at present existing among ourselves, and they are neither few nor light-such is undoubtedly its operation. Could it be said with truth that like Pszonka's Club, "none could accuse it of employing calumny," its influence would be yet more extensive than it is, and far more salutary, But this its most ardent admirer dare not affirm. As long as certain portions of it scatter their brands abroad to the right hand and to the left, in utter recklessness of aught but "effect," so long will the good deplore its abuse, and the bad who are suffering deservedly beneath its lash, rejoice in the indiscriminate censure which introduces them into better society than they deserve. While, according to the old fable, both float together, the viler matter will pride itself in the neighbourhood of the apples, and cry swim!" But truce to complaint. The evil is accidental, the good essentia., and when the taxes, which at present produce monopoly, and by excluding competition, exclude improvement, have passed away; we may reasonably expect better fruits from a fairer tree. "how we "Mores castigare ridendo," was the motto of Babin, and our modern "Schoolmaster" should propose the same ends by the same means. It was in a time of common sorrow, when affliction weighed grievously upon the hearts of London's citizens; when the plague was raging violently and like a thief in the night season, destroyed all who came within its deadly influence, breaking asunder every tie of blood and endearment; now snatching the infant from the breast upon which it was cradled, and now calling the mother from the Babe which she was suckling: the destined bride whose presence at the Altar had been deferred till the pestilence should have abated, was summoned from the scene of misery which surrounded her, with the ragged and outcast mendicant who found in that loathsome death, the solace. for his afflictions which the world had ever denied him. The felon in his cell, the judge upon the judgment seat, the priest in his pulpit, and the nurse in the chamber of the sick, all were alike struck by an unseen hand, and as surely as sud- It was at this dreadful period, that two individuals were seen in the coolness of the evening pacing with slow and measured step, suited as it were to the nature of their discourse, through one of those small streets, which run from the river side, to the more frequented thoroughfares of the city. The elder of the two was readily recognised for one of those zealous members of the Church, who in seasons like the present, went about doing good, and pouring balm into the wounds of the sick, by holding up to them the hopes of the Gospel, those glorious assurances of future happiness, which are promised to all who believe, and imbuing with the deepest resignation to the will of God, the hearts of those who felt his chastening hand. The profession of his companion was sufficiently designated by the natural gravity of his deportment, and the sober hue, and somewhat rigid fashion of his garments, to be that of a Physician; and though a younger man than it was usual in those days to invest with the diploma, the talent which was paid to his observations by his spiritual companion, at once evinced that although young in years, he was old alike in wisdom and experience. At the corner of the street they separated with a pious ejaculation of "God's will be done," by the Clergyman, and an equally pious"Amen," on the part of Walter Meynell, the Physician, into whose history, it will now perhaps, be as well to enquire, while we leave the Reverend Divine to the exercise of those Offices, to which he was so eminently adapted. Walter Meynell was the last descendant of an ancient, and -shire: many proud and noble once wealthy family in names were sprinkled through their long extended pedigree, but they now shone there, the only trace which was left to their representative, of the former importance of his kindred. The wide domains over which they had for centuries presided, had been gradually diminishing, and when the father of our hero inherited the fair name of Meynell, he received with it but few of those broad lands which had been wont to support it. Few as they were he risked them in the cause of his sovereign, in those wars which deluged England in the blood of her sons, and when he fell at the battle of Marston Moor, he left a widow and a child destitute. His widow did not long survive him, and Walter Meynell must have become the inmate of a poor-house, but for the exertions of some of the more fortunate of his father's partizans, who collecting the small relics of his fortune, applied them to the education of the child, justly deeming, that, the most profitable use of them, which would enable the youth to live honourably and comfortably when he arrived at man's estate. Accordingly as soon as he was old enough he was entered at the University of Oxford, where his application and natural abilities procured for him the highest honours, and eventually the appointment of travelling Bachelor to the University. While pursuing his travels, his natural curiosity into the causes and effects of physical objects, which had induced him while at College, to seek a change from the continual round of study in which he was engaged, not in the dissipation in which many of his companions indulged, not in the sports and exercises in which others found a recreation, but in the contemplation of the wonders and sublimities of nature, still influenced him, and directed his attention rather to the resources and ever-varying beauties of creation than to the mouldering relics of antiquity. This feeling also determined him in the choice of a profes sion, and he resolved upon returning to England, to apply for a Diploma and practice as a Physician. Having thus decided, his benevolence prompted him while journeying through Turkey to enquire into the nature, symptoms, and treatment of the plague, in hopes that he might thereby learn some means of allaying its virulence, if not of exterminating it from his native country. For though the indolence and religious creed of the Turk, induced him in many instances to abandon himself to the disease without an effort at resis. tance, Meynell could not but believe that there existed among them, remedies capable, in some cases at least, of counteracting the disorder. Influenced by this desire, he sought every opportunity of acquiring information upon the subject, and nearly became a victim to the eagerness with which he pursued his enquiries. But he did escape, and on his return to England, applied for and received his Diploma, determined to put in force such remedies, as observation pointed out to him, must in many instances prove efficacious. It was but a few weeks after his arrival in England that consternation was spread throughout the country by the heart-rending intelligence that symptoms of plague had manifested themselves in the metropolis. Walter Meynell, who was residing at the University at the time, when the news reached him lost not a moment in repairing thither. Although he arrived in town in the middle of the week, the deserted state of the streets, the closed houses, and the silence which reigning everywhere, suffered the very echo of his horse's feet to fall upon his ear, would almost have persuaded him that it was the sabbath and the hour of prayer:'while ever and anon a shriek of affliction or despair broke through the olemn quiet of the scene, and assured him how fatally the work of destruction was going on. He was proceeding towards the city with the intention of placing his services at the disposal of the civic authorities, -when his attention was arrested by a young and interesting female, who was flying through the streets enquiring for the residence of a physician, that she might procure his advice for her mother who wae plague-struck. She addressed every one she met, and every one fled from her, upon hearing the nature of her enquiries. At length she espied Walter Mey nell, and falling upon her knees beside his horse with a voice choked by the violence of her grief she implored his assistance. Walter needed no further inducement than a sense of daty to listen and comply with her desire, if he had, the beauty and earnestness of the suppliant, whose hair having burst the bandage which had confined it, hung in wild luxuriance about her face, must have pleaded successfully. But even his assurances that he would visit her mother as soon as he had found a stable for his horse, did not satisfy her, but waiting till he had given the beast in charge to a trembling ostler, she conducted him to the bedside of her mother. Meynell instantly gave such directions as he deemed advisable, and assuring the afflicted girl of his belief, that if they were attended to her mother would escape from the effects of the pestilence, took his departure, promising to repeat his visit as frequently as necessary. Then intent upon the benevolent design which animated him, he proceeded to the city, and having laid before the authorities the plan which he proposed to adopt, found them anxious to cooperate with him, in his endeavours to allay the ravages fo the contagion. The success of the physician exceeded his most sanguine expectations-night and day did he devote to his afflicting task while hundreds died around him-yet though the heavy rolling of the plague-cart, the ringing of the bell, and the sad cry "bring out your dead, bring out your dead," was ever sounding in his ears, he still had the satisfaction of feeling that his exertions had rescued hundreds from the ravages of the pestilence. Among those whose fate had been averted by his skill, was his first patient Mrs. Colville. This lady was the widow of a clergyman, and had arrived in London upon business connected with the property of her deceased husband, but a few days previous to the appearance of the plague. She would instantly have retreated, but the very nature of her business forbade her from doing so, and she would certainly have been numbered among the sufferers upon this melancholy occasion but for the ability manifested by her physician. Long and carefully did he watch over her, and even when the hour of her danger had passed by, he was unremilting in his attendance upon her. The truth is, Walter had been charmed by the extraordinary affection of Mary Colville for her mother, and the untiring diligence with which she sought to comfort her upon a bed of sickness. His heart, which had been a stranger to the endearing ties of relationship, warmed at the sight, and he longed to make her his own, and so fill up the void which existed in his bosom, by love for this beautiful and kind hearted maiden. He felt that to love and to be loved in return, would be to open to himself a new world, teeming with happiness, a new existence abounding in delight. Actuated by these feelings, he sought an opportunity to declare to her the sentiments with which she had inspired him, nor was it long before the desired moment presented itself. They had left the chamber of the now recovering widow, and Walter was repeating his directions, when Mary expressed her gratitude to her "kind friend" as she termed him, so fervently-that it forced him to an avowal of his sentiments. The announcement came so suddenly upon Mary, that in the agitation of the moment, she would have fainted, but for the exertions of Walter. When she recovered, it was but to reduce him to a similar state of distress, by the declaration of her love for another. "Pity me, I beseech you," she cried, "pity me that I am not in a state to accept an offer of which I know I am not worthy of which I should have been proud, if I had had a heart to bestow in return. Long, Walter Meynell, long, before your presence under this roof, I had plighted my troth to another. Where he is I know not," and she burst into tears. "You expressed a hope that my gratitude would warm into love; that is impossible-my esteem for you will be for ever unbounded, but my love is sworn to another; and if he is laid within his grave, I fear my heart will never warm again. The possibility of such an event had never occurred to Walter, and when Mary announced to him, that she was the betrothed of another, he sank listlessly upon a chair, scarcely attending to the explanation and comfort which the afflicted girl endeavoured to give him. When at length they parted, and he reflected upon the particulars of the little history, with which amidst her tears and his grief she had contrived to make him acquainted-his admiration of her was increased by the fidelity which she had displayed towards her absent lover. The fact was, that the family of Edward Hargreave had lived in the same village with her father, and upon terms of the greatest intimacy with the inhabitants of the vicarage. Edward and Mary had been children together, and their love for one another had grown with their growth, and strengthened with their strength, until when the THE ORIGINAL. period arrived for the youth to begin the world, the greatest pain he felt was the idea of separation from his lovely companion. Previous however to his joining the mercantile house, in which, upon arriving at a certain age, he was to succeed his uncle, who had been the principal partner, his father wished him to travel for a year or two upon the continent, with a view to his acquiring a better knowledge of the principles of commerce, and of the manner in which trade with those countries should be carried on. Edward and Mary parted with hearts overflowing with love and sorrow, and vows of mutual attachment and perpetual constancy, and it was long before Mary recovered from the shock which this farewell scene had given to her spirits. But Edward had now been absent three years, and no tidings had ever been received from him since the first six months after his departure. Mary's grief at this circumstance had however been absorbed by that for the loss of her father, and the trouble and arrangement of affairs incidental to such an event. therefore was never mentioned by her mother from fear of awakening those feelings which she hoped were now slumbering in the bosom of her daughter. Little did she dream that that daughter always joined the name of Edward Hargreave with that of her mother in her morning and evening prayers. His name Things were in this state when Walter Meynell made his declaration of attachment, which drew from poor Mary the The possession of that secret, while it secret of her heart. increased his admiration, pointed out to him the line of conduct which he ought to adopt. Summoning, sufficient firmness to address the single-hearted girl once more upon the subject, he assured her he respected her conduct too much ever to repeat his addresses to her. "Therefore, my dear Mary, for so I must still call you, let these circumI must still see you stances be as if they had never been. daily, till your mother has strength enough to quit this scene of misery, and then we part. That you will esteem me, I am sure; with your esteem I must, I will be conthis is the last time that a word upon this subject, tented; shall pass my lips, unless-" he would have added, "Edward does not return;" but a tear which trembled in the eye of poor Mary, checked all further speech. Daily for the next fortnight did he repeat his visits, and at the end of that time he saw them in safety to their Dative village. It was on the evening of his return that he was summoned to a neighbouring inn, to attend a traveller who had just landed from a vessel which had that day arrived in the river. From the exertions of the voyage, as they supposed, he was in a state of the greatest exhaustion, and from the symptoms which he exhibited, they became alarmed lest in his progress from the river to the inn he should have caught the contagion. When Meynell arrived he found the patient in a state of high delirium, the result, he supposed as of great mental or bodily fatigue, and exhibiting signs of such excessive debility as threatened a speedy and fatal termination to his sufferings. Meynell however was not dismayed; but his assurances that the disorder under which the patient laboured was totally unconnected with the plague, were so little heeded, that to preserve him from the pest-house, the kind-hearted physician was obliged to have him removed to his own lodgings. When there he procured him the attendance of a nurse, nor, save when humanity obliged him, did he ever leave the bedside of his guest, till the fever subsided and reason returned. When this occurred, the gratitude of the stranger knew no bounds, and it was not till Meynell exercised his authority as a physician, that he could at all restrain his "Think not, my good doctor, that when I tell you I "Gracious Powers," exclaimed Meynell, "Edward Hargreave !"-" Do you know me then-can any one in England recognize in the escaped slave and care-worn traveller the once happy Hargreave. How is it, sir? your features do not appear to have been hardened as mine have in the fire of adversity, yet I do not recognize you." "That were hardly possible, for as I think we have never met before: I have, however, friends who know your family, from them I learnt the story of your mysterious absence, and when I saw the names of those to whom your letters were addressed, guessed, and rightly, Your family are all well, but the friend who you were. to whom this letter is addressed has been gathered to bis fathers." "The Vicar dead! and poor Mary" "Nay, my good friend, don't let a blush shame you from enquiring after one who is now as much your own as ever." "God bless you, my kindest, best of friends; your Poor skill in medicine has done many wonders upon my shattered frame-but your news has done still more. Mary-faithful kind girl." Faithful kind girl," echoed Walter, and he turned away his head, to hide the tears which trickled down his cheeks. "With your leave, Hargreave, I will forward the letter to your father, and write to Mrs. Colville; she is the fittest person to communicate your safety to Mary.-Nay, do not look afraid to trust me-you may enclose a letter for her, which can be given to her as soon as she is prepared for the contents." The propriety of this arrangement was too obvious for Edward to offer an objection to it. The messenger was dispatched, and speedily returned with the most satisfactory answers; the continuance of the plague inducing all parties to comply with Edward's request-that they would not think of joining him in London, but defer the pleasure of meeting till such an event could occur with perfect safety. This was brought about in a week or two, and whenever at the festivities which greeted his safe return, his friends quaffed bumpers to his health, the name of his noble preserver, Walter Meynell, was never forgotten. The union of Mary and Edward had been so long deferred that their friends did not express a wish for a further postponement: the day for the wedding was accordingly appointed, and Edward wrote to request the presence of his friend Walter at the ceremony. "You "Yes, I will come," said Walter in his reply. know by this time my feelings towards your faithful bride, and knowing them have invited me to be present at her wedding. You have done justice to me, and I will come. I would have appeared there as the bridegroom of Mary, but it is otherwise ordained, and I now ask but to bestow her upon you at the altar. I feel that it would be a happiness fo me, the only one indeed which I contemplate upon this side eternity, to bestow that faithful girl upon the man whom she loves. She will not object I am sure, and I trust that you will not think the less highly of the gift, because you receive it from the hands of one who loves it. Adieu. If I have any claim upon the love of you or your bride you will grant me this request.' Accordingly on the morning appointed for the marriage Walter Meynell made his appearance among the happy groupe. He proceeded with them to the altar, and there gave the blushing and faithful Mary to his successful rival. He even joined the festive party, which celebrated the event, and proposed the healths of the newly married pair, and accompanied his proposal by a wish that they might be as happy as they deserved. This task accomplished, he secretly withdrew from the company, and having obtained his horse returned to London. It was about three months after this event that Edward and his wife were breakfasting together, when a man rode up to the house and delivered a packet addressed to Edward. It was from a clergyman, probably the one mentioned at the commencement of the narrative, announcing the death of Walter Meynell, and forwarding the will of the deceased, by which he bequeathed the whole of his property (and the writer said he had unsought for, acquired considerable wealth during the late unhappy times) to Mary, the wife of Edward Hargreave. "He never was himself," added the clergyman, "since a journey which he took into your neighbourhood, about three months since. He seemed to be labouring under some mental suffering which rapidly undermined his constitution, and rendered him alike susceptible of contagion, and too weak to resist its effects. But in spite of all these circumstances, in his benevolence to others, he was regardless of himself, and at length fell a victim to that disease, from which he had rescued so many. SOME NOTICES OF ROBERT THE DEVIL. By a late Editor of the Romance. Lysten lordinges that of marveyles lyke to heare, So sings or says, the writer of the Metrical History of Robert the Devil, who is just now making a greater stir in the world than ever he did in his lifetime, or at any period since his death. This worthy hero of the middle ages, whom a German writer has recently and not very inappropriately named the French Faustus, has long been known to the readers of old Romance, as a highly important personage, and his adventures have been recounted so frequently, both to prove in English and the language of his native country, as clearly that his history has ever been an especial favourite. The first version of It, which appeared in print, was one in French prose, published at Lyons, in 1496, which was followed by two Paris editions. In 1715 it was reprinted at Troyes, and eventually included in the Bibliotheque Blue, printed at Liege in 1787. There are also two English translations. The Metrical one (from which the lines at the head of this little notice are taken) was first published by Wynkyn de Worde or Pynson; and in 1798, republished by Herbert from an ancient transcript. The prose version, (copies of which are in the British Museum, and Public Library at Cambridge) was likewise printed by Wynkyn de Worde, and has been reprinted within these few years, in the set of Early Prose Romances, published by Pickering. That the reader might the better have judged of the alterations which the Romance has undergone at the hands of those who have adapted it to the stage, I would willingly have subjoined, a few of the headings of such of its chapters, as are fit to encounter "eyes polite," or at least, have given the whole of some chapter, worthy of perusal for the peculiarity of its incidents and the quaintness of its language. But the taste of the present day not inclining towards the literature of the Olden Times, I will close this trivial notice, by observing, that Robert has long since figured as a hero of the drama, inasmuch, as we learn from Beauchamp-Rech. Theat. Fr. p. 109-that there exists in M.S. a French morality showing "Comment il ful enjoient á Robert le Diable, fils du Duc de Normandu, pour ses mesfaits de faire le fol, sang parler et depuis N. S. eut merci de lui." THE SMITH OF APOLDA, FIT THE FIRST. The Smith of Apolda was seated one eve "I'm starving," he cried, "I can't beg nor thieve, Oh I am the most wretched of fellows," The Smith of Apolda looked down the road, Who a sable plume in his helmet showed, And loudly and lordly that horseman halloo'd You Smith of Apolda, bestir, bestir, Uprouse thee, uprouse thee, thou sluggard cur, Full little ye know, or ye would not demur Oh the Smith of Apolda was grieved at heart, That the rider's good steed unshod must depart, And he cried "Good Sir, I would fain try my art, Thou Smith of Apolda, one reason's enough Good, Sir, I've no iron, nor fuel to puff, A Smith cannot work if he have not the stuff, THE LEGENDARY. No. 1. INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. The importance or National Tales, is rather a startling sentence wherewith to commence an article, even though such article should be one exclusively devoted to that particular subject. Many readers, probably, will at first be On the Smith of Apolda, the horseman first frowned, And grinned with a scornful grin, Then off from his steed he got with a bound, And entered the smitby within; And when he had viewed the hovelaround, "Thou Smith of Apolda give ear unto me, The Smith of Apolda cared not to hear He was not a craven to think of fear, And signed with his blood, so bright and clear, But the Smith of Apolda looked sore aghast For by it I shall have thee fast, As soon as ten years are sped." From the Smith of Apolda the rider turned And mounted his coal black steed; The words of his victim the Tempter spurned, But when the Smith saw how his furnace burned, The Smith of Apolda waxed richer and richer, As if ever a thought of the bond did him twitch, or He took off an extra draught from his pitcher End of Fit the First. somewhat disposed to smile at the high sounding tone in which such trifles as Old Wives Legends, and Fire-side Stories are alluded to; but a very few moments consideration will satisfy all doubts as to whether or not such mate rials for reflection and history (we say history advisedly) are not worthy to be pronounced valuable and important. Every thing that exists is, either positively or relatively, possessed of those qualities; and, should the worth of any object not be immediately apparent, it must be sought for in the uses to which it is capable of being applied: and it |