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Which made my wild regardless soul

From another Glasgow bard, whose sonnets in general Back from my heart's embraces roll.

find acceptation in our eyes, we have been favoured with

the following communication : The beams of the succeeding morn

Sir,- Slippers have long been appropriated to the feet, Upon me threw their calm disdain,

and for you it has been reserved, to show of how great And show'd me cast a thing of scorn

benefit they may be in the more dignified service of the Upon the world's cold coast again;

head. In your SLIPPERS, you have found room for both The ocean safely roll'd above

brains and feet,--a rhymester and a punster may be parThat solitary isle of love,

doned for making the remark. I have heard they are And hid it in its secret breast

all sole ; and no one can doubt there is the principle With all the wealth that made me blest!

of life in them who judges from the last, and indeed Oh! often I have sail'd alone

from all. Perhaps, when you next resign the editorial O'er where that isle was wont to be, Once smiling like a flowery throne,

pen to your SLIPPERS, you will be kind enough to re

commend the prefixed Sonnet to their notice and indulWhere peace might sit and rule the sea;

gence. I am, sir, &c.

NEIL Cross. And I have fancied out the spot Where rose our flower-encircled cot,

Here is the sonnet alluded to :
And o'er the calm wave I have hung,

SONNET TO MY NATIVE STREAM.
And look'd the waters clear among,
In hope that cot I might behold,

By Neil Cross.
Deep, deep amid the ocean's fold.

Strange fancies oftimes take the poet's brain,
Alas! it was a fancy fond,

Which some, whose sympathies are less refined,
Which sometimes made me strangely start, Deem but the work of madness in his mind.
As if I saw, the waves beyond,

As even in days gone past, to-day again
The wife and children of my heart.

I've listend to thy music, gentle stream !
Away! the ocean wrapt them deep

Until mine ear hath caught, or, in a dream, Within a dark unbreaking sleep.

My own wild fancy, and the love of thee,

And this dear spot together, so have wrought Since then I've wander'd lone and long

On my young heart, that what, in sooth, can be The places of the world among,

But a delusion, is made real to me; An object of its careless scorn,

And I have innocently, without thought, A thing for any foot to spurn:

Believed my finer ear distinctly caught The hope is dead within my breast,

The airs of those sweet songs which here, in joy,
Which made me seek the isle of rest;

Oft to myself I've whistled when a boy!
And if it still existed there,
What kindred spirit, young and fair,

"T. B.J." is another Glasgow poet ; but he has written Would cheer me with her friendly smile,

this time in prose, and poets often write very sensibly in And seek with me that happy isle !

prose. We are not quite sure that we agree with the Glasgow.

opinions contained in the following paper ; but as it is

fair that all sides of a question should be stated, and as Mr Thomas Brydson is a poet full of soft and gentle the motto on our title-page shall never be lost sight of by feeling. He has sent us the following lines from Oban, us,-“ Here's freedom to him that would write,"—We where he now resides :

are well pleased to give a place to this temperate and can

did communication :
DUNOLLY CASTLE-BAY or ovan.
By Thomas Brydson.

A DEFENCE OF SACRED POETRY.

Poetry's highest achievements were made long ago by The breezes of this vernal day

the inspired writers. They breathed and burned from Come whispering through thine empty hall,

the lips of Job and of the Prophets, and were hallowed And stir, instead of tapestry,

by the lyre of David. In after times, they were also reThe weed upon its wall,

vealed in the gloom and glory of the apocalyptic visions.

From the admirable adaptation of such subjects to poetry, And bring from out the murm’ring sea,

| in imitation of the inspired authors, many writers of suAnd bring from out the vocal wood,

blime genius have taken their plan, and characters, and The sound of Nature's joy to thee,

scenery, from Holy Writ. Against such, however, there Mocking thy solitude.

has been, and now exists, a loud outcry; and to show the

injustice of the censures heaped upon writers of sacred Yet, proudly 'mid the tide of years

poetry, is the object of the following remarks. Thou lift'st on high thine airy form,

It is alleged by wise and good men, that works of imaScene of primeval hopes and fears!

gination, founded upon Scripture, tend to hurt the mind Slow yielding to the storm.

of the reader by mingling in his memory Truth with Fic. From thy grey portal, oft at morn,

tion. To this objection it may be answered, that the The ladies and the squires would go ;

poet should never bring forward any thing contradictory Wbile swell’d the hunter's bugle-horn

to divine truth, his embellishments should all coincide In the green glen below.

with, and flow naturally from, those passages on which

his plan is founded. If, however, a bold fancy should And minstrel harp, at starry night,

overcharge the history with improbability, such, from its Woke the high strain of battle here;

very nature, must be easily apparent, and have no power to When with a wild and stern delight,

hurt the cause of virtue. Thus, Milton's description of The warrior stoop'd to hear.

the devil's manner of tempting our first parents,- although

not precisely according to the text of Scripture, if it All fled for ever! leaving nought

should assume in the mind of any the place of revelation, Save lonely walls in ruin green,

is not calculated to produce any evil tendency. Which dimly lead my wandering thought

Another and more frequent objection to poetry founded To moments that have been

upon sacred subjects is, that it is sinful and dangerous to Oban.

touch upon, or attempt to embellish, the Word of God.

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To this we think it a sufficient answer, that the histo- disappearing; and that language, and ideas, and subjects rical portions of Holy Writ being merely a sketch work of of loftier character, will take their place. Moral beauwhat took place, nothing can be more natural than forty is the greatest and only true source of the sublime. the imagination to fill it up; and this can be easily done, And what can give finer scope for moving the deepest feelwithout failing to keep in view, at the same time, the ings than when the poet shall treat of religious hope and grand outlines of the picture. The poet should, however, fear, the mysterious and the infinite, death and imbe very guarded in his expression and invention. He mortality, the greatness of Truth, and the beauty of Virshould imitate the Word, as he would copy the works, of tue? Let the writer of Sacred Poetry, then, continue with the Author of all things, by keeping truth ever before courage, and whatever the cant of criticism may say, let him. He should not only be exceedingly careful of going him be assured he will meet with a hearing from the against what is written, but he should not imagine any religious and tasteful public. Let him take the advice thing which is beneath the dignity of his subject. In of the blind master of English song, and seek a fitness touching upon themes connected with the vitals of Chris- for his studies “ by devout prayer to the Eternal Spitianity, he should feel as if treading on hallowed ground, rit that can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and and walk in the footsteps of the inspired writers with the send out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar, most high and holy reverence.

to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases." Instead of being prejudicial to the interests of religion, Glasgow.

T. B. J. we believe sacred poetry, on the contrary, to produce the Returning now to the vicinity of Edinburgh, the subvery opposite effect. Being arrayed in the garb of Fancy, joined poem, which we think fanciful and amusing, has the lessons of Revelation may be, and are, made to re-l come to us from a myste

come to us from a mysterious place near Dalkeith : commend themselves to the hearts of the heedless and unthinking. Medicine is administered to perverse child

A SONG OF WITCHES HEARD BY A BENIGHTED TRAVELLER IN ren by being mingled with something more palatable; so,

A HIGHLAND GLEN. also, may be administered the medicine of the mind. In Huzza for our Prince !--for no Prince is so great, hours, too, of melancholy musing, and even upon still and

Ten thousand hobgoblins his mandates await! solitary Sabbaths, have not the best men and Christians They dive into ocean, they mount into air, found a languor steal over them in monotonously poring The tail of the comet they seize by the hair. upon the Bible? In such seasons, who has not found a pleasing relief in turning to the Paradise Lost of Milton, An earthquake's commotion they catch by the mane, -the Messiah of Klopstock,-Gessner's Death of Abel, They say, We have raised thee, we'll bind thee again; --Pollok's Course of Time, or John Bunyan's Pilgrim's If tempest and darkness in fury should lour, Progress?

At a word they command forth the sun by their power. No rule in Aristotle's Art of Poetry is accounted more excellent than that in which he states that a fine poem

They ransack every cave of the regions below, should be founded upon the probable and the marvellous.

Bring joints from the finger, the thumb, and the toe; If this be true, the subjects of Scripture have these pecu

Or plunge 'neath the waters, and fearlessly go liar requisites ;—the mind having faith in their facts, and

Where mermaids are rinsing their garments of snow. wonder at their miracles and events. There is a style of

If any one harm them, they swear in their ire, poetry which may be called the intellectual, it describes

Their bodies shall waste as the wax in the fire ; men and manners, the power and the pathos of the feel

Tornadoes, as giants, they send forth to battle, ings. There is another, and at present more favoured

And murrain that seizes the herds and the cattle. style, which dwells chiefly among the simple and sublime beauties of nature. But the highest style of poetry, in No rowan-tree can scare them, 'tis popular errorour opinion, is not that which discloses pictures of real | They burst through the charm, and they strike men with lite or of nature. Reality is not the realm in which the terror; . fancy loves best to expatiate ; she loves to wander amid Into hare, cat, or greyhound, themselves they transform--the unmeasured fields of possibility; to create beings and One instant a mountain, next moment a worm. landscapes beyond the sun and the sphere of day;

Some dance on a rope ; in a twinkling they whirl “ Above the stir and smoke of this dim spot

A thousand times round it, like freaks of a squirrel ; Which men call Earth.”

Now a jackal, a lion, an ape, a baboon, It is the duty of imaginative writers to be always giving

Now on earth, now away on the rim of the moon. the mind a view of something brighter and better than The tombs are laid open, and, lo ! there are seen what is here ; to bring forth speculations on the past or Ten thousand clay mansions where spirits have been ; the future, and, by their spell, to etherealize them into a The bodies stand grinning in fearful array, dim and shadowy effect. It is as if it were kindly al- | But the souls have fled far from the regions of day, lowed to man, when driven from the paradise of earth by the sky-tempered sword of the Archangel, to awake, by It is done! it is done ! let us up through the air, the power of his fancy, a mental Eden of bliss and beauty. Some a cat, some a toad, some a greyhound or hare ;

The all-engrossing interest which religious subjects We vault with a bound from the mountain's far summit, have, fits them admirably for the attention of the poet. We seize on a moonbeam, we dance on a comet. Homer seems to have known this when be interwove his | Huzza for our Prince! for no Prince is so great, nobly-invented Iliad with the mythology of his time. If Ten thousand hobgoblins his mandates await! this was the effect in the heathen writer, how much more

| Six Edinburgh poets remain upon our list. Come thou must it be so with the more lofty revelations of Christi-6

| first, Mr D. MacAskill, a name we have seen before, anity! It has been said by the judicious Addison, that to

though we have never seen its owner. Thomas Haynes be great in its subject and its character are the first essen

Bayly, popular as he is, might have written the followtials of a fine poem. Where can there be found such in store of great subject and character as in the writings of

|ing verses with credit to himself: Scripture?

LINES TO HER WHO BEST CAN UNDERSTAND THEM. There reigns at present in matters poetical a perverted

By D. Mac Askill. taste for subjects from ordinary life, for simplicity and They tell me that another's arm familiarity of language, which has degraded the art of Hath wreathed that waist of thine; poetry in the eyes of many of its most genuine admirers. That from thy cheek the blush was chased But it is hoped that the milk-and-water poetry is fast/ By other lips than mine ;

They whisper those ripe rosy lips

Another's lip hath prest,That thou hast pour'd thy soul's first love

Upon another's breast !

They say he drew thy curls aside,

And kiss'd that forehead fair ; And in that kiss, that eye met eye,

And oh, what love was there! Thine eye did speak in its blue pride

What words to paint were weak; And the curls that veil'd thy high pale brow,

Fell trembling o'er his cheek!

think high thoughts, frame high resolves, dream bright dreams, and get wonderfully in love with my own capabilities, till the world comes in with its stern realities, and licks the concate out of me entirely." Do not be afraid ; the world can never “ lick the conceit" out of a true poet. By the Goddesses ! he is a match for a dozen worlds :

TO ORYNTHIA.
Iinage of my beloved one, why

Art thou for ever in my sight,
With that calm thoughtful forehead high,

Round which the ringlets, dark as night,
Repose in many a glossy tress
Of bright luxurious loveliness?

Hast thou forgot that summer eve,

When skies smiled soft around, And balmy breath of flowers arose

From woods and blooming ground ? Hast thou forgot my whispering love,

My soft and rapturous kiss ? Thou didst not speak, but, girl, thine eye

Told all it told to his !

· It is thy silver voice I hear,

Replying softly to my own, ·
And I can fancy thou art near,

And only thou and I alone;
And words of love are breathed, alas!
That never can between us pass.

I fold thee in my arms once more,

Our lips with murmur'd rapture meeting, And feel, as I have felt of yore,

Beside my own thy bosom beating, And round me thy young arms are twined, As death had ne'er the link disjoin'd.

You swore by all your hopes of Heaven,

You plighted me your vow,
By your quenchless love, your constancy,

Where are these tokens now ?
False maid! take back thy faithless love,

'Tis now a worthless store;
Thou teachest me that love is breath,

And I shall love no more. Come thou next, Mr Anonymous ;-there is good stuff in this poem of thine :

THE RUINED ABBEY. The sullen owl, and man's profane abuse, Now mock the sacredness of former use In those grey aisles, where once the song of morn Swam 'mid the air, from piety upborne ; Where linger'd oft the solemn hymn of even, In echoed music, ere it rose to heaven; Where kings and vassals, rank's distinction gone, In common impotence have knelt before one throne.

That full bright eye of deepest blue

Is turn'd upon me, and its glance Comes, thrilling all my spirit through

With its love-lightning radiance; Yet chaste, even in the fondest hour, As dewdrop on the lily flower,

O'er the awed soul there steals an anxious dread, Conscious it moves where worshipp'd once the dead; And, from the majesty of all around, It feels that here there must be holy ground; While each carved chaplet, crumbling into dust, Each paneless window, and each ruin'd bust, To man are emblems of his nature's doom, And with emphatic silence indicate the tomb.

My own adored one! thou and I

On earth again can never meet ;
And yet, methinks, 'twere sweet to die,

With faith unchanging, at thy feet,
And, breathing out iny soul in prayer,

Arise to heaven to meet thee there! W. W. The three following pieces require no particular introduction. They are by different hands, but are all poetical and pretty :

TO HER I LOVE.
I will resolve you into a thousand similies.

As You Like It. Lady! the love with which I worship thee,

Is high as Lomond's double-mounted peak; Pure as the waves which crest the Ægean sea;

Deep as the waters of the silent creek ;Swift as the eager lover's stolen hours;

Smooth as a river flowing to the sea; Mild as the sunbeam after April showers,

The fond, fond love with which I worship thee!

Though hush'd each leaf and living thing around, Breathes there not here a melancholy sound ? 'Tis a suppress'd, yet all-pervading sigh, As if these columns, as they point on high, In the sad moonlight's solitary gloom, Bemoan'd the desolation they entomb. Or is it not the hum of ever-busy Time, In this his palace, his unchallenged clime ?

Ay, thou remorseless monarch of decay !
Here baffled mankind questions not thy sway;
Yet, wherefore strive to shorten thine own span ?
Dost thou not know thy being hangs on man ?
For, lo! that awful hour steals on apace,
When man—the last survivor of his race-
Shall, with thy venom'd blood, thy white hair lave,
And drag thee down with him to an eternal grave!

W. H. The author of the following stanzas says, in his accompanying letter," Sometimes I think, in your own words, that I have never done what I can do,' and I

Lady! the love with which I worship thee,

Is fervent as the Eastern sun's high heat; Jealous as foreign craft upon the sea;

And constant as the vig'lant warder's beat ;Chaste as the moon up in the silent heaven;

Bright as the star that twinkles o'er the lea; Soft as the dews by summer breezes driven, The fond, fond love with which I worship thee!

STANZAS TO E , I knew 'twould be thus !_'midst my long love for thee,

My heart, in its gladness, felt only despair; Like the poor bird that looks on some bright sunny tree,

And sighs from its cage—“I can never dwell there !"

Thou art false—thou art changed and thy purity now

Is o'ercast with a night-bringing cloud, fair deceiver !

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But the gloom in thy breast, and the shade on thy brow,

THE APOLOGY. Will deepen and linger in sadness for ever!

IN THREE PARTS. Fare thee well! fare thee well! and though lovely thou art. | By Thomas Aird, Author ofReligious Characteristics," There's a time close at hand there's an hour hurrying on,

Speak of me as I am: nothing extenuate, When none but dark thoughts will arise in thy heart,

Nor set down aught in malice.-Othello. And in vain shalt thou wish for the days that are gone.

Part III.

About an hour after Dr Bremner had finished his Away! and smile on, in the halls of the gay,

narrative, we were standing together looking from a winAnd there feign a gladness thou never canst feel ;

dow, to observe the complexion of the night, and to calSmile on, and be happy-foolish maiden, away!

culate what kind of a sky might be expected on the morDost thou fancy these pleasures thy pangs will conceal ?

row to shine on my departure. A high struggling wind

was abroad, such as might turn the boldest eagle back, - Though the best and the bravest should worship before

great black clouds were hearsing the moon through the thee,

sky; but anon she came forth flashing her light through And fresh vows of fondest affection be spoken,

white gleaming churchyards, and away over the restless Even then-even then, the sad thought will come o'er

tops of woods, and up the far hills. Looking down the thee,

old avenue which led up to the house, I caught, during or him thou didst love him whose heart thou has

one of these glimpses through the trees, a view of somebroken.

thing black and indistinct coming moving onwards. I STANZAS TO JULIA.

pointed it out to Dr Bremner, and we watched its apAll things, Julia, here below,

proach till it began to shape itself, distinctly showing a Pilfer from each other;

village hearse, drawn by a single ass, on which rode a Every wayward bard, you know,

little old man, and attended by two females. Surprised Robs his laurell’d brother.

and horrified, we gazed irresistibly on this strange pheLilies sip the morning dew,

nomenon as it came slowly forward, and was stayed beZephyr steals the rose's sigh,

neath our window; but still more were we struck when Pilfers from the rainbow's hue

the driver alighted, and, with the assistance of the two The little gilded butterfly!

women, proceeded to remove something from the inside

of the vehicle, which we instantly saw was a human Echo bids the glades rejoice,

being in life, but apparently faint and sick. We waited Stealing every pilgrim tone;

till the unhappy figure was carried forward to the door, Lovers list their fair one's voice,

and then ran down stairs to see what this uncommon viTill they make each note their own;

sitation might mean. The person thus brought, who Poets steal their magic lore

was a woman, was so faint that she could not speak; but From Grecian Delphi's holy shrine;

the man who conducted the hearse told us that she was a Painters rob from nature's store ;

stranger, who had fallen very sick at a village about three But what are all their thefts to thine ?

miles distant; that she cried so much to see Dr Hastings,

or Bremner, saying she could not die in peace till she had Sure, the rosebud's beauteous hue,

seen him, and made a clean confession to him, that the To deck thy fair cheek, you did sip

good folk of the village were fain to yoke the very hearse, And from her breath of fragrance, too,

and with an ass too, because every cart and horse of the You stole the odours of your lip;.

village were away for lime for the new house of a genThy light heart from the skylark's wing,

tleman lately arrived from the West Indies. After the From wave-reflected stars thy eyes,

unhappy woman had revived a little, from some cordials And from each lovely laughing thing,

which were administered to her, she asked for Dr Brem

ner, and beckoned him to draw near. A thousand nameless witcheries.

“ Well, my good woman, here I am," said my friend, Enter Peter, with Coffee.

stooping to listen to her communications.

“ Send quickly," said she, in a low, but earnest tone, Thou hast come just in the nick of time, good Peter. “ for an old woman of the name of Mrs Bonnington: You The evening is calm and beautiful; we shall sit here by must be brought together : She lives in a cottage three the window, sipping cup after cup of thy beverage, for- miles hence, at the foot of Eildon hills." getting that we are the Editor of the Literary Journal, “Why, I can inform you,” answered Bremner, " that and dreaming of those who are far away, or trying to she is in this very house at present.” wreathe out of the past a garland for the future. Let “ You know it all, then !" cried the woman, with a us have some music. Sing us, sweet sister, “ The Bride sort of shriek, and almost starting up. “ Have mercy maid,” from Bayly's “ Songs of the Miustrels." We are on me, Arthur Bonnington! It was I, indeed, that stole in a mood to sympathize with the feelings of that gentle you away when a child; but you have found your true girl, whose heart grew desolate when she saw the com- mother, Mrs Bonnington !" panion of her childhood leave her father's house for ever. The face of my friend at this grew ghastly white; he Or open R. A. Smith's “ Select Melodies," and pick out I turned round in silence to me with a look of f

turned round in silence to me with a look of fearful dethat Persian air we love so well—“ The Dancing Girl's precation; then pointing with his forefinger to the woSong," hallowed as it is in its pleasant mournfulness by man, who lay covering her face with her hands, he said some of the most delightful associations of our by-gone to me, after a long pause, “ Did you hear that, Calvert?" life. With music, coffee, sunset, and memory, we envy “ Hold, good woman!" said I, willing to believe the no one ;-we are ourselves alone.

whole an error, “there must be some mistake here. You

are in Dr Bremner's house; and this is Dr Bremner.” [Peter bows respectfully, and retires ; the sound of

Through her first show of fear and repentance broke a sweet music is heard, and the last golden light of |

fierce malignant woman, and I had this answer returned evening falls upon the Editor as he silently sips

me :-" So, sir, you are a wise one, and would challenge his coffee.

my pretensions to speak in this fine house of theirs; but, perhaps, with all your wisdom, sir, you know not, as I know, that there is a large mole on his left shoulder there, whici be the pledge that I have had it in my power to of recognition on his shoulder, wbilst he sat perfectly vex them all; and that it was I myself who gave him passive; and when it was found, she laid her head down that yery name of Bremner, which you seem to rate so on his shoulder for a moment, then looked narrowly highly.” Here Bremner took me forcibly by the coat, | upon his face, and then passionately kissed his cheek many and pulled me with him into another apartment, where, / a time, crying out, “ There's no blood here—it's all a lie !" by the light of the moon, he proceeded to bare his shoul- till, her strength being exhausted, she fainted away. At der. “ Look,” said he, with a ghastly smile, as he showed this her unhappy son was roused from his apathy, and, me indeed a large mole upon it; “ what do you think of lifting her up in his arms with desperate energy, he carthat now ?"

ried her to her own chamber, where she soon recovered “ I know not," I exclaimed, “ either what to think or from her swoon. But the fit was succeeded by a sort of say."

nervous delirium, which, as it continued, accompanied “So," said he, after a horrid pause, during which he | with fever, threatened ere long to reduce her to the grave. glared upon me for my answer," So, my name is Bon With attention unremitting, with intense anxiety, did nington, after all. Say-why can't you say it is a her son now watch her, feeling her pulse from time to most glorious name?-_ certainly a good deal longer than | time, and looking incessantly at his watch. Hastings or Bremner! And, for my new crest, 0 ! be “I hope," he said, turning to me, “this will not last yond all question, I am entitled to wear the bloody dag. | long, both for her own gentle sake, and because I wish ger in a dexter. Who can deny me tbat,or, at least, a her to be calm and clear, that she may answer me some kuite, if the dagger be not appropriate? I have done ex- | questions relative to that child, Emily Bonnington. My cellent good service in my day, with the knife, it seems own sister! my preserver! by day and night! But these

My own sister! my own brother, too!” Here he fell same heavens above our heads are very wondrous in their into some low muttering calculations, from which at ordinations, so to bring us together! Hark ye, Calvert; length recovering, he pushed me violently out of the so soon as that most excellent old woman is a little better, apartment, saying, “ Calvert, you must leave me for a I shall leave her to your care, till I go to London and while to my penance."

meet Wardrop. I have some excellent brief words to say Immediately I went to the servants who were tending to him about that sister of mine. He is there, I know : the unhappy author of all this mischief, and strictly en and, by the eternal Heavens of Justice! I shall now joined them to keep the circumstances of the evening grapple with him. Be he in prosperity, I shall burst into secret from Mrs Bonnington, whose very weak state of his rooms!

his rooms! Be be in the wild chattering madhouse-for,

Be be in the wild chattering madhou health made it dangerous for her to hear them. Return- | set it down in your tablets, there is not a man, however ing to the door of the apartment in which I had left Dr high and haughty, but may be traced into mean situations Bremner, (now Bonnington,) I listened; but all was and followed unto humble thoughts--through every inquiet within, save that I heard his loud and measured | terval in his malady, through the joints and chinks of breathing, as of a victim dressed and laid out bound, the black and blasted harness that invests his soul from numbering the hours till the appointed sacrifice; when, moral responsibility, shall I yet find a way to sting his being unwilling to break in upon him, I retired to an-spirit! O! I shall sift the tumultuous revelations of other room, and threw myself down upon a bed. About the madman for every grain of truth relative to that daybreak I was startled by a shrill outcry fron Mrs Bon-| Emily! I trust I shall find him at least a mighty and nington's room, which made me haste to see what was eloquent villain! Would to Heaven he were beautiful the matter; and on entering her room, there I bebeld and persuasive as a demigod, so might I believe our Emily that woman, the evil genius of this family, who, in her was not a light and a giddy maiden, to be destroyed by a maliguant wish to triumph over a former rival, (I write common deluder !” from after knowledge,) had crawled from her own sick! I tried to remonstrate with him against this proposed pallet, to fasten upon Mrs Bonnington's ear, and instil journey to London, arguing that it could only heap fresh into her heart, the poisonous tale of her fratricidal son. calamities on his head.

“ Come to me quickly, Mr Calvert,” cried the unhappy And pray, sir, what am I ?” was his answer; “or mother. “Oh! they have broken my heart ; for they have what is my life, that I should nurture myself delicately? bid me go and see the man that murdered Harry Bon- | Now, speak not to me, sir, unless you can bring her benington, and claim him for my son. But I will go I fore me in life, that I may bid her weep no more, nor will go: and I must bid him be at peace ; for, oh! he think of her dishonour any more. My beautiful presercannot be well. But I'll not believe it : my heart cannot. ver! And I to be- Well, well, would we could wash Away, fast, Mr Calvert, and bid him come to me in these hands!” peace, and we shall say nothing about that matter. Where “ It is at least better,” I returned, wishing to propose is he? where is he? He is not so kind as my Ilarry, a mitigation of the case," that she has died before knowelse he would come fast to me; but he cannot be well. ing the full extent of the evil.” O take away that vile woman, and bring Arthur to me “ But you cannot tell me,” he said, “ why young Harry before I die!"

Bonnington is lying in his blood, killed by his own brother! In my indignation, I turned to drive the bag, like a Surely, surely there is no good reason for that? There wild beast, out of the room ; but, conscious of her ma- came the bold boy, like a young dragon, to fight against his lignity, she had quitted her post, at which, as I entered, sister's destroyer! I was there, too, to guard our Emily I saw her holding back the curtain, leaning over the pil. from dishonour ; and yet I slew her best friend! Now, low, and, more hideous than a nightmare, brooding over before the just Ileavens, show me the moral of that ! Mrs Bonnington's repose; she was now retreating out of God knows, I would give a round entire world for the the apartment. I then hasted into the next room to life and love of that bright-haired boy! Oh! had he seek Dr Arthur Bonnington, and found him, dimly seen but known who I was, and for what I was there ! - Well, in the blear dawn, sitting on a chair, his shoulder still well, they must sleep on !” uncovered, his look and attitude the very same as when, Mrs Bonnington recovered so much, that she was able some hours before, I left him there. I advanced, and to tell her son many things regarding his sister Emily, told him that his mother already knew he was her son, and his ill-starred brother; and this she did voluntarily, and that she wished to see him instantly. He sat for to the great satisfaction of Dr Bonpington, who, though several minutes gazing on me intensely, yet without seem- anxious to gain such information, was yet unwilling to ing to apprehend the purport of my communication, when afflict his sick mother, by questions on so sorrowful a subhis mother, hastily attired, entered, and, exclaiming with ject. Gradually again she grew worse ; and now the a shriek, “I know it all, my son !" threw herself upon hour of her dissolution began to draw nigh. Her son his neck. Wildly she then began to look for the mark sate by her bedside, watching the faint smile that light

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