quartered in an adjacent town,-but all the literary Blues of the neighbourhood, who were to be collected, stoved, and pressed at a tea party, alias a conversazione, which was to be given by a gentleman anxious to acquire literary eminence, or at least, literary notoriety, in a cheap way. "Of course, Mrs. Puffendorf, you make one of the party," said I, with very commendable gravity.

"Oh, yes," replied the delighted matron; "and Harold, and Leila, and Zulieka too, for they will take a great part in the conversation. I left them turning over Lalla Rookh, and Lord Byron's Poems, for nothing but books, and genius, and living authors are to be talked of; indeed, they say, the company will be almost as good as books; and young L will be there, just returned from Venice, where he saw the late Lord Byron asleep on a sofa, and heard him snore; and Miss Z- the craniologist, who finds out characters with her fingers; and Mr. K who writes poetry for La Belle Assemblée, and four newspapers besides; and Mr. G. V.

and".

66 But, my dear Mrs. Puffendorf," said I, anxious to stop her before she had exhausted the alphabet," what are we to do at this conversazione, and what are we to have?"

"Do! Why, those who can, will talk; and those who cannot, must listen; but there will be very few indeed likely to do that :—and then you 'll have, what other people have at such parties, private anecdotes of great men, instead of scandal; and criticisms upon books, and quota-. tions from poems that are not in print; and coffee, and lemonade, and cakes."

I will not detain you, patient reader, by the further details of my very loquacious and most tiresome visitor; suffice it to say, that at eight o'clock on the identical Thursday evening, I found myself in a large handsome drawing-room, which was garnished with every variety of music and music-books, plates and pictures, medals and medallions, busts, cameos, crania and caricatures, albums, riddles, and MS. poetry,— where, in short, every thing was intellectual, down to the ottomans and hearth-rug-except the company.

Half a dozen people may converse with sense and spirit, if they meet accidentally, and do not come determined to show off on any particular subject;-half a dozen people may converse sufficiently for all reasonable purposes, if they are at the same time following some other occu pation; but let the same individuals be specially invited to converse,set them side by side, in full dress and kid gloves,-surround them, moreover, with all the theatricals of literature, and it is dubious whether they will be able to converse rationally, if at all. They are generally consorted, not assorted, they have time to feel their differences, display their peculiarities, envy their friends, dislike their neighbours, and probably, before the conclusion of the evening, to get into an ill humour with themselves.

But to return to our book-palaver, (for the negro term is the one best suited to describe this apement of a conversazione,) old opinions were sported as new, and new ones acceded to till they became old. According to Dr. Johnson's definition, there was true wit, since it did not produce laughter. We had puns without points, and arguments without heads,-quotations shorn of their beginnings, and arguments never

blessed with an ending,-definitions of what could not be understood, backed by demonstrations of what was not believed,-while natural evil tempers, concealed by artificial good manners, real vanity, and affected refinement,-ignorance aping wisdom,-and common-place setting up for originality, displayed themselves in full costume on this memorable evening.

I was so extremely amused in passing from circle to circle, catching the half-expressions of one, and piecing them to the half expressions of another, that, gentle reader, I subjoin a few for your amusement :"I assure you, Mr. H said a grave Doctor, "Mr. Moore is proved a great imitator; he has been detected in using at least two thousand expressions which may be met with in other writers."

"Mr. Moore-Mr. Moore," exclaimed Miss Leila Puffendorf, "speak not so harshly of dear Mr. Moore ;

The sweetest-brightest-dearest,
Because like

Harold was unfortunately not at hand, to assist the young lady's memory, and we remained unblessed with the conclusion of the stanza.

"De la Fleure," cried his friend, "Why so sober, stedfast, and demure?”—“Oh,” replied the bilious-faced author of a condemned tragedy,

"No more-no more, oh never more on me,

The freshness of the heart may fall like dew!"

"Gracious-Mr. S, mind your new wig, for that candle's falling," exclaimed the ever-observant Mrs. Puffendorf. "His soul is like a star, and dwells apart," rejoined he, straightening it in the socket.

"I assure you, Mr. "said the Doctor, "Blackwood's Magazine gets vastly abusive; all Coventry went to see the great nondescript animal, till it was discovered to be nothing but a shaved bear." "But, Doctor, Blackwood never has been shaved yet, however he may have shaved others."

Ma'am, a little more cake and wine."

"And dost thou love the lyre,—those strains the Nine inspire?" sighed forth Miss Leila Puffendorf; and a circle of young ladies sighed forth in reply, "Charming-Touching-Graceful-Grand-Pathetic," which expressions would doubtless have contributed far more to the amusement than gratification of the author so praised, had he unfortunately (for himself) been present.

"Hark! that song," exclaimed a hoarse voice,

"All that's sweet was made

To be lost when sweetest."

Harold, another lump of sugar in this lemonade, it's so sour." “What an evening"- "What a collection of talents"- "What mind and music breathing from each face"

-

"Really, girls," vociferated Mrs. Puffendorf, "it's so hot I can stand it no longer.' "Delightful refreshments," whispered the old lady, as she passed me; "but a rubber at whist, where there's not a word spoken, for my money."

And so ended our country conversazione.

MAGNET, VOL. IV. PART XXVI.

Y.

2 F

THE PIRATE OF MULL.

THE Pirate of Mull hath put off from the shore,
In as goodly a shallop as ever yet bore

A sail on the ocean, or dash'd through the spray
That drifts to the larboard or starboard away.

She through the wild waters in triumph would sweep,
With her bowsprit in air, and her side to the deep;
Like a stag in the forest, a steed on the plain,
She bounds o'er the waves of her own native main;
And swift in her flight as the storm-loving gull,
Goes the KELPIE, the bark of the Pirate of Mull.

And where sails her Chief, that no streamers on high
Are glancing like fire-brands, all red to the sky?
On her topmast a pennon ye may not discern,
At her gaff flies no ensign, nor flag at her stern:

And her guns, that were wont all her foemen to check,
Dart no more from her ports, nor point out from her deck;
Yet her fore and aft courses are bent to the wind,
And wide is the wake that her keel leaves behind.
The voyage must be either for blood or for gain,
Whenever the KELPIE goes forth on the main;
But, void of her ensign, unarmed in her hull,
She can ne'er be the bark of the Pirate of Mull!

Look abroad to the offing, behold where the view
Blends the skies and the waves in a pale mist of blue,
There a rock and a tower, like a cloud to the eyes,
Seem in faint and dim shade from the billows to rise;
But there lingers one, of all maidens the fairest,
For beauty, for dower, for virtue the rarest;
Who alone to these desolate turrets retires,
With all that love dreams of, or plunder desires;
And men in their tales, when their wine-cups are full,
Say her sire is the dread Water-Kelpie of Mull.

Rabbie Droukit, the Pirate, had long fixed his look
On the lady who dwelt in the tower on the rock;
And though its high summit the clouds would enwreath,
And the billows were foaming and dashing beneath,
Yet so fearless, and ardent for plunder was he,-
In aught that was daring, so gallant and free,-
So inured to the main, of such skill on the wave,
His shallop so swift, and his shipmates so brave;
That a feat e'en of hazard like this might he dare,
When the sight of the cliff would a weaker heart scare.
His fame flew before him wherever he steer'd,

The vessel that bore him was known and was fear'd;

And the merchant, who traversed those seas, would grow dull,

If he thought on Rab Droukit, the Pirate of Mull.

Men call'd him the Kelpie, because, like that sprite,

In spoil and destruction he took most delight;

When the billows foam'd whitest, and dark was the cloud,
His eyes shone the brightest, his laugh was most loud;
Or when the wreck'd vessel was stranded, his cry

For plunder and death arose wildest on high!

And oft hath he cloth'd him in fearful array,
Like a fiend of the waters, to feast on his prey.
He sails in that garb, with his bark in disguise,
To bear from yon turret a bride and a prize;

Like a phantom to fright-like a pirate o'erthrow,
When the moon's pallid light on the waters shall glow,
When slumber the sense of his victim shall lull:-
Foul speed ye! false Kelpie-thou Pirate of Mull !

'Tis midnight :-his shallop beneath the rock rides,
Where the moon's silver rays stream along the fair tides;
In silence, and lonely, he mounts the tall cliff,

Till the shout of success calls his mates from the skiff;
His brave heart and strong hand well the precipice dare,-
His feet gain the summit! Ha! what sees he there?
A form like his own, but more terrible still-
'Tis the Kelpie himself!-Rabbie Droukit grew chill:
He stagger'd, and headlong fell down the high steep!
The sprite shrieked aloud as he sank in the deep:
And the rock that he fell from-his bark-broken hull,
Were all that remained of the Pirate of Mull !

T. R.

THE ELOPEMENT.

FROM THE GERMAN OF MUSÆUS.

On the banks of a small river, called Lokwitz, in Nogtland, is situated the Castle of Lauenstein, which was formerly a nunnery, and which, having been vacated in the thirty years' war, passed again as an abandoned property into the hands of the laity, and was let by the Count of Orlamunda, (the former lord of the manor,) to one of his vassals, who built a castle on the ruins of the nunnery, to which he gave his own name of Lauenstein. For some time he was the happiest of mortals; but the event soon proved to him, that church property seldom prospers in the hands of laymen! and that sacrilege, however clandestinely committed, generally meets with severe retribution!

Scarcely had the family taken possession of the Castle, when processions of nuns, with flaming images, were seen passing to and fro; noises of the most terrific kinds were heard after night-fall; and at length the terror and dismay, which these disturbances produced on the minds of the domestics, was so great, that they refused to obey the commands of their master, excepting in pairs, lest they should encounter something still more horrible. Nor was the Count himself proof against the intrusion of this host of spirits; when he was inclined to enjoy society, his revelry was checked by the laugh which he alone heard re-echoing his own; and when he wished to devote himself to solitude, he was disturbed by the mournful wailings of his tormentors.

Things could not long continue in this state, the Count Lauenstein sought to obtain, by means of exorcisms, a cessation of these annoyances. Many were the powerful enchantments which were resorted to, to compel these turbulent spirits to return to their resting places; but it was reserved for a travelling magician to reduce them to obedience; and the wandering seer Gessner succeeded in finally laying ghosts which had proved too powerful for the holy water and relics of any former exorcist.

Tranquillity was at length restored throughout the Castle; the nuns again slept the sleep of death; and for the period of seven years, nothing occurred to disturb the repose of its inhabitants. But at the end

of that time strange noises were again heard in the apartments occupied by the family, which after enduring some weeks subsided, but not as it seemed for ever. Seven years afterwards they again returned. At length, however, the inmates of the Castle became, in some measure, habituated to these disturbances, which invariably returned at stated periods.

From the death of the first possessor of the Castle, the inheritance descended by a regular succession into the hands of the male heir, which did not fail till near the end of the thirty years' war, when the last branch of the Lauenstein family flourished. In the formation of this person Nature had bestowed her gifts with a sparing hand; and the young Lord Seigmund was remarkable for nothing but an extreme rusticity of manners, and an inordinate share of pride.

Immediately after his succeeding to the estate, following the example of his ancestors, he determined on taking a wife, and no sooner was his intention accomplished than he began to look forward with anxiety to the prospect of an heir to his possessions. In this expectation, however, he was disappointed, for the wished-for child was a daughter; and the frustration of his hopes was so great, that his character at once underwent a complete transformation; and, instead of the parsimony which had formerly marked his disposition, he became at once a prodigal and spendthrift, and acted as if he were determined that his unfortunate daughter should inherit as few of the good things of this world as possible.

In the meantime, the infantine beauty of Emily was fast expanding into the graces of womanhood. Her education had been left solely to the care of her mother, who observed with delight, that her daughter was likely to prove a wit as well as a beauty; and she calculated not a little on the splendid alliance, which such advantages were likely to procure for her child.

them

No family in all Nogtland, except the Prince of was, in her opinion, of sufficient antiquity and noble birth to be allied to the last branch of the Lauensteins. When, therefore, the cavaliers of the neighbourhood manifested their desire to pay their respects to the young lady, whose affections they wished to gain, the wary mother gave such a reception as effectually put a stop to any further intercourse. Before a suitable match could be found for the fair Emily, a circumstance occurred to frustrate the views of the Countess, and distract her attention from the subject of a matrimonial alliance of any kind. During the disturbances of the war, the army of the brave Wallenstein took up its winter quarters in Nogtland, and the Count Seigmund was obliged to receive many unwelcome guests, who committed more outrages in the Castle than even the refractory nuns, nor were they to be expelled by the same means; and the owner found himself compelled to attend to the comfort of his guests, in order to induce them to preserve discipline among their followers.

Entertainments and balls succeeded each other without intermission; the former were superintended by the Countess, and the arrangements of the latter were left to Emily. The officers were pleased with the hospitality with which they were treated, and their host with the good temper and respect with which they returned it.

Among the visitors were many distinguished warriors, whom Emily