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That is ar
affair more thoroughly. But to this pro- before him to shew the way, delayed him position the sexton gave a prompt and with his reflections so that their progress positive denial.—“I would rather," he was but slow. Even at the threshold he exclaimed, -" I would rather be dragged stopt, and flung the light of his lantern to the scaffold than again disturb the re upon the gilded rods over the door, to pose of the dead.” This declaration, so
which it is the custom to add a fresh one ill-timed, confounded Adolph. On the every year, that people may know how one hand, he felt an undefined curiosity long the reigning elector has lived. to look more narrowly into this mys
excellent custom,” said rious business ; on the other, he could Hans ; one has only to count those not help feeling compassion for the sexion staves, and one learns immediately how who, it was evident, was labouring under long the gracious elector has governed us the influence of a delusion which he was simple men.' utterly unable to subdue. The poor fel Excellent,” replied Adolph : but low trembled all over, as if shaken by an ague fit, and painted the situation of his Hans, however, had too long been wife and his pressing poverty with such a indulged in his odd, wayward habits, to pale face and such despair in his eyes, quicken his pace at this admonition. Not that he might himself have passed for a a monument would he pass without first church-yard spectre. The Burgomaster stopping to examine it by the lanternagain admonished him to be silent for light, and requesting the Burgomaster to fear of the consequences, and, giving him explain its inscription. In short, he bea couple of dollars to relieve his imine- haved like a traveller, who was taking diate wants, sent him home to his wise the opportunity of seing the curiosities of and family.
the cathedral, although he had spent his Being thus deprived of his most natural three-and-sixty years in Cologne, and, ally on this occasion, Adolph summoned during that period, had been in the habit an old and confidential servant, of whose of frequenting it almost daily. secresy he could have no doubt. To his Adolph, who well knew that no reprequestion of—" Do you fear the dead ?” sentations, would avail him, submitted
-Hans stoutly replied, “ They are not patiently to the humours of his old servant half so dangerous as the living.” contenting himself with answering his
" Indeed !” said the Burgomaster. questions as briefly as possible ; and in “ Do you then think that you have courage this way they at last got to the high altar. enough to go into the church at night?" Here Hans made a sudden stop, and was
-“ În the way of my duty, yes,” replied not to be brought any farther. Hans ; not otherwise.
It is not right 6. Quick !” exclaimed the Burgomaster to trifle with holy matters."
who was beginning to lose his patience ; “ Do you believe in ghosts, Hans ?" for his heart throbbed with expectation, continued Adoph.-"Yes, Mr. Burgo “ Heaven and all good angels defend master."
us !" murmured Hans through his chat“ Do you fear them ;"_"No, Mr. tering teeth, while he in vain felt for his Burgomaster. I hold by God, and he rosary, which yet hung as usual at his holds up me; and God is the strongest.” girdle.
" Will you go with me to the cathe 6. What is the matter now?" cried dral, Hans. I have had a strange dream Adolph. to-night ; it seemed to me as if my de Do you see who sits there ?" replied ceased wife called to me from the steeple- Hans. window."-" I see how it is," answered " Where?” exclaimed his master :-“I Hans : “ the sexion has been with you, see nothing ; hold up the lantern.” and put this whim into your head, Mr. " Heaven shield us !” cried the old Burgomaster. These grave-diggers are " there sits our deceased lady, on always seeing ghosts.”
the altar, in a long white veil, and drinks “ Put a light into your lantern,” said out of the sacramental cup!" Adolph, avoiding a direct reply to this With a trenbling hand, he held up the observation of the uld man. is Be silent, lantern in the direction to which he and follow me.” “ If you bid me, pointed. It was, indeed, as he had said. said Hans, “ I must of course obey; for There she sat, with the paleness of death you are my magistrate as well as my upon her face-her white garments wavmaster.'
ing heavily in the night wind, that rushed Herewith he lit the candle in the lan- through the aisles of the church and tern, and followed his master without holding the silver goblet to her lips with farther opposition.
long, bony arms, wasted by, protracted Adolph hurried into the church with illness. Even Adolph's courage began to hasty steps ; but the old man, who went waver." Adelaide,” he cried, “ I con
jure you in the name of the blessed Tri “ I cannot,” said the poet, “ I have no, nity, answer me-is it thy living self, or thing ; but they are making a new edition but thy shadow ?"
of my works, and the bookseller is to “ Ah!” replied a faint voice,“ you make me a present of a hundred copiesburied me alive, and, but for this wine, I I give them to you-you will cause them had perished from exhaustion. Coine up to be sold for the good of the poor.” to me, dear Adolph ; I am no shadow- Don Jerome, who told this story, declar. but I soon shall be with shadows, unless ed, that the confessor, almost as simple as I receive your speedy succour.”
the penitent, came to ask if he could " Go not near her!” said Hans ; it receive such an alms. is the Evil One, that has assumed the Being brought to a clearer knowledge blessed shape of my lady lo destroy of religious truths, by a third confessor, you."
the priest represented to him, that he had “Away, old man!” exclaimed Adolph, received intelligence of a certain dramatic bursting from the feeble grasp of his ser: piece of his, which was soon to be acted ; vant, and rushing up the steps of the but that he could not be admitted to the altar.
sacraments of the church, unless he supIt was, indeed, Adelaide that he held in pressed it. This appeared too rigid, and his eager embrace--the warm and living Fontaine appealed to the Sorbonne, who Adelaide !-who had been buried for confirming what the priest had said, the dead in her long trance, and had only sincere penitent threw the piece into the escaped from the grave by the sacri- fire, without keeping even a copy. The legious daring of -The SexTON OF priest then laid before him the evil tenCologne.—Monthly Mag.
dency of his Tales, which are written in a very wanton manner; he told him that, while the French language subsisted, they
would be a most dangerous inducement to Recollections of Books and vice; and that he could not justify admi
nistering the sacraments to him, unless he their Authors.—No. 2.
would promise to make a public acknow
ledgment of his crime at the time of receivLA FONTAINE THE SIMPLE.
ing, and a public acknowledgment before Concluded from Page 229. the academy of which he was a member,
in case he recovered ; and to exert his He lived in an extreme indifference to
utmost endeavours to suppress the book. religion, as well as to other matters, but La Fontaine thought these very having fallen ill, he was recommended to terms, but at length yielded to them all. read the New Testament, and he set about Still one other trait which proves the simit. Charmed with the book, he said to plicity of inanners of this illustrious man, Father Poujet of the Oratoire, who was and the idea which those who served him his spiritual director, “ I assure you the had of him, The nurse, who was by his New Testament is a very good book; yes, bed-side, seeing with what zeal the clerin truth, it is a very good book ; but gymen exhorted him to repentance, said there is one article to which I am not alto to M. Poujet, “ Don't torment him so gether reconciled; it is that of the much; he is more foolish than wicked. eternity of punishment : I do not compre- God will never have the heart to damn hend how this can be consistent with the him !” goodness of God.”
He died on the 25th of April, (13th, Some time before this one of his friends, O. S.) 1695. Some stories are told of who had his conversion at heart, had lent his having consented to repent of his wrihim St. Paul's epistles. He read them tings, during a previous illness, though with avidity, but shocked at the appa- he thought it rather an odd and a hard rent harshness of the writings of the reso- proceeding. The accounts fall in well lute Apostle, he shut the book, and sent enough with his character ; but if some it back to his friend, with this message: orthodox French writers doubt them, they " I send you back your book. This may be doubted by oihers. Among these same St. Paul is not my man.
is the story of his being found with a hair One of his confessors, seeing him taken shirt on when he died. It is true, in one dangerously ill, exhorted him very ear. of his dedications, he seems to think that nestly to think of religion and his soul people expect some apology from him, with more attention than he had hitherto and he makes it; but he soon sets off done. Fontaine said that he had never again in his old manner, and excuses it by been either an infidel or a libertine He calling himself the “ Butterfly of Parnasthen pressed him to make amends for the The excuse has been thought a scandal of his writings, by giving alms. bad one; but considering his natural
goodness of heart, and the sort of irrepre- ed for by the temporary interest of the hensible ingeniousness and impulse with subjects. Yet, in Robinson Crusoe, which he did every thing, it is perhaps though the scenes are related with great deeper than it appears. There are bees precision, and adherence to nature, there about the sacred hill, and there are spi- is frequently a meanness of expression, a ders also, who contrive to be tolerated. vulgarity of phraseology, a needless colWhy not give quarter to the butterfly ? loquism, which would hardly be pardoned To quarrel with La Fontaine is to quarrel in any narrative of the present day. with the singing birds in the trees. We Perhaps it is owing to these imperfections can easily conceive that his voluptuous. that it has become such a favourite among ness is of too animal a description. But the more homely class of readers. These such was the taste of his nation ; and to inelegancies may, perhaps, give a more judge by the rest of his writings if there was intense idea of reality to the scenes, as the any man who could tend to diminish guilt language in which they are described is in pleasure, by the mere force of his good- like that which we hear daily around us, nature, and by the absence of vicious in- and wears more the appearance of truth tention, La Fontaine was the man. His the less it seems artificial. fables contain such excellent morality, Robinson Crusoe, however, with all its cheerful and generous, that the most ob- faults of manner, is a highly interesting, jectionable productions of such a iemper moral, and useful narrative, and is apt to must be better than the morals of some give rise to several important philosophimen. His style is delicious. It is mad cal reflections. exhibits the experiments up of the most extraordinary and relishing of a human being thrown back as it were mixture in the world, of shrewdness and on the bosom of nature, forced to rely on simplicity, ease and surprise, irony, and the energies of his individual character, good-humour, archness and unconscious- and receiving little other assistance from
The English reader may have some his fellow men than the impressions of idea of it, by fancying Peter Pindar turn- that society from which fate seemed to ed graceful and good-natured, with none have separated him for ever, of his insincerity, and twenty times his The source from which De Foe drew knowledge and genius.
his materials for this romance is well
known. It is supposed that his singular DE FOE.
felicity in describing maritime adventures The first series of periodical essays has operated much on the juvenile enerpublished in England, was a work pro- gies of his readers, and been one of the jected in the gloom of a prison. It is to many causes which have given to our Daniel De Foe, the ingenious author of country her well earned naval supethe well known romance of Robinson riority. Crusoe, that we are indebted for the in We have mentioned " The Review" vention of these elegant vehicles of of De Foe, we shall subjoin the following instruction and amusement. The first description of his person, copied from number of what he called The Review,' the Gazette, published January, 1703, was published in quarto, in the month of offering a reward of £50 for his appreFebruary, 1704. This work treated not only hension, as being the author of a seditious of politics, which seems always to have libel in that work. been a favourite subject of De Foe's, but “ Daniel De Foe is a middle-sized, also, under the head of what was entitled spare man, about forty years old, of a proceedings of a Scandal Club, he con brown complexion, and dark brown hair, trived to introduce strictures on points of though he wears a wig; having a hook theology, ethics, and poetry. But the nose, a sharp chin, grey eyes, and a reputation of this work was snon eclipsed large mole near his mouth.-ILUSCENOR. by the superior spirit, wit, elegance, and
(To be Continued.) learning displayed by Addison, Sir Richard Steele and others. Under circum
APRIL SHOWERS. stances highly favourable to the fostering of genius, and with the polish of classical When Spring from torpid sleep awakes, attainments, these celebrated men easily And smiles her joys so bright ;out-riralled a writer, who, with all his When o'er the land her love glance break native stock of vigorous intellect, had but
In many a look of light ;casually walked in the flowery paths of When in eiath ber magie steps, arise literature. The Spectator, Tatler, and in drops of verdure from the skies Guardian, are still read with delight in an
Fall fickle April's showers, age of what may be termed fastidious tastes : while, with the exception of his But, while their cordial drops they give,
To cheer each op'ning bloom, famous romance, the works of De Foe are
And bid each youthful bud to live, forgotten. This may partly be account They're clothed in frowns of gloom;
In infancy our thoughts are still,
As waiting for the Spring,
Is off on busy wing ;
And then all sameness sours;
But long for April's showers.
Next love steals on and fills the breast,
And then, what hopes and fears ! Now disappointed-now right blest
Now raptured-now in tears ; The storm and sunshine, mingled, wait
Around his happiest bowers; And smile like bliss, or frown like fate;
Varied as April showers !
In ripen'd summer next we live,
More calm, more settled, feel; Less hurt by aught misfortunes give,
Less joy'd by aught of weal : But often, while we pensive range,
And think on by-gone hours ; We'd gladly see the clear sky change
To youth's loved April showers.
ORIGIN OF THE FASHION OF WEARING
TURN UP POINTED SHOES. GEOFFREY Plantagenet Count of Anjou, one of the most accomplished and hand. some men of his time, had the misfortune to have a large excrescence on the tip of his great toe;. in order to conceal this imperfection, and walk easy, he had some shoes made with points turned up, of a sufficient length noi to pinch him. No sooner had he these shoes, than every one was anxious to be like the count. This fashion was so much followed, and had such a run, that the different degrees of rank were known by the length of the points of the shoes. Those of the common people were six inches long, those of citizens, a foot; but those of gentlemen, lords, and princes, were never less than two feet; from whence came the French proverb Etre sur un grand pied, (to be in easy circumstances.) These points to the shoes increased so in length, that it was feared lest they should affect public order and the established religion : sermons were preached and ordinances issued against them, and Charles V. expressly forbade their being worn.
In England several centuries ago, it was the mode to wear shoes with large points curling up, which were attached by chains to the girdle.
And, when our days are nearly spent,
And in our thoughts we view
As each fresh prospect grew;
And with our latest powers
THE PIRATES BELOVED.
(For the Olio.)
Frantic, she hears the fatal sound,
Her lovers dreadful doom; Without a ray of hope around,
She seeks a liquid tomb.
She flies her nearest, dearest friends,
To rove the craigs among; Were many an echoing cavern lends
Deep chorus to her song,
ORIGIN OF PATER-NOSTER ROW. Ir is pretty generally supposed that Paternoster Row derived its name from the Pater-nosters,* usually sold there in
* " Chaplets of beads, of amber, or coral, or glass, or crystal, or gold, or silver.
The nuns sometimes hung them from their necks." -Fosbroke's Encyclopedia of Antiquities,
The darting swallows skim the deep,
And mournful santlines cry; The lapwing's downy pinions sweep
Along the glowing sky,
days of yore: and that might reasonably gress was particularly suitable, being be admitted as a very probable etymo- scarcely more active than that of his lordlogy, if no other could be adduced, with ship elsewhere! It was a perfect Chanstronger marks of verisimilitude. --But, cery machine. Erskine certainly revived without the aid of the Paternosters, we the affair, for a moment, but it would not find the origin of the name in the Romish do for him—he was ever for posting it, processions on Corpus Christi day, or and the trainbearer was o liged to hold Holy Thursday, which may be thus him fast, in fear of his making a bolt by traced.
the window in a paroxysm of vivacityLet us suppose the processioners mus so common prudence induced them to withtered and marshaled in processional array, hold it from him. Old Thurlow used to at the upper end of Paternoster Row, growl and swear the whole way from his next to Cheapside. Thence they com house to Westminster, as it groaned onmence their march Westward, and begin ward ; but Lord Loughborough was glad to chant the “ Pater noster ;" which enough to put up with it, for it was, I chanting is continued through the whole believe, state property, and might not be length of the street, thence called Pater- touched ; and, when he had it not, was noster Row. On their arrival at the even content to ride home with some genebottom of that street, they enter what is rous barrister. I hope it still exists, and now called Ave-Maria Lane, at the same that Lord Lyndhurst has deigned to visit time beginning to chant the Salutation it in its hour of age and decay; for might of the virgin, “ Ave, Maria ! ” which its“ velvet cushion” speak, of what continues, until, reaching Ludgate-Hill, strange things might it not tell, from the and crossing over to Creed-Lane, they time of poor Charles Yorke, who received there commence the chant of the " Credo, the seals, at his sovereign's command, but which continues until they reach the spot who wept with him who gave them, as he now called Amen Corner, where they protested his duty towards his King was sing the concluding “ Amen.”—Gent's hostile to his promise to his party! He Mag.
reconciled himself to either principle by returniug to his house Lord Chancellor, and giving up his life. There was one
other object, and that not the least, which RECOLLECTIONS OF THE BAR. might have been worthy of consideration, (Continued from page 234.) that was unhappily forgotten. Some say,
in excuse of the last pretender to its “ Gentlemen,” as the judge addressed honours, the vehicle broke down beneath them, was an epithet of honour-a title of the weight of papers, (affidavits and other distinction, and it was bestowed with con- things,) which were carrying home for descension only proportionate to the obse- reading ; others that, in 1806, when the quiousness with which it was accepted ; whigs came in, and it was destined to carry but they are gone too; now, forsooth, it the seals to St. James's, it could not be got is Esquire. - Butcher, and baker, and to move. This might have been so, but, candlestick maker,”_solicitors bank, for Heaven's sake, “ let us get back to rupts—scavengers--et hoc genus omne, the King's Bench," as Lord Coleraine used are all-all Esquires. “° Gentlemen ! to say, when he found himself at a dead marry come up!" Why the King, Brum- halt as to his ways and means. mell, and myself are the only three in or then far more customay than it has been out of the empire that now care one pin of late, for the justices of our lord the about the title, (and one of us is getting King to evince occasionally a sense of old, God save the mark ! and another has their proper dignity, and display the exnot a mark to save him; has abandoned tent of their magisterial power, without his country, in very scorn of unprincipled any of the refinements of excuse, palliainnovation, and having played long a tion, or explanation, that now accompany conspicuous part on life's large stage, has the rare occurrence of its exercise. I retaken the “ Siege de Calais" for his last member, one day, that a storm of wind benefit.) Then would the Lord Chancel- and rain had driven an entire regiment of lor, in all decorum, proceed to Westmin- Westminster volunteers, although under ter on the first day of term, or to dine with arms, to seek for shelter within the Hall, the Lord Mayor at Guildhall, in his coach (it was well that the French should visit of estate. Lord Eldon was the first to
us, as it must have been presumed, in fine resign it, the only thing, haply, he ever weather,)—when Lord Ellenborough's readily resigned. It is a pity it was, in attention was attracted by the clatter of the fact, so expensive, for it certainly re- musquetry.
" What is the cause of that quired six horses and footmen, and heaven interruption, usher ?” vehemently demandknows what of paraphernalia,—its pro- ed the judge. “ My lud it is a volun.