slight hopes at one time or other; but now-O! Rosalind! deardelightful"

Here his feelings overpowered him, and pulling a miniature from nis bosom, he covered it with kisses. Sorry am I to be obliged to confess that it was not the miniature of Julia.

"But what is to be done?" he at length resumed.-"The poor girl will go mad; she will hang herself in her garters; or drown herself, like Ophelia, in a brook under a willow. And I shall be her murderer! I, who have never yet knocked on the head a single man in the field of battle, will commence my warlike operations by breaking the heart of a woman. By St Agatha! it must not be; I must be true to my engagement. Yes! though I become myself a martyr, I must obey the dictates of honour. Forgive me, Rosalind, heavenliest object of my adoration! Let not thy Fitz clarence"

Here his voice became again inarticulate; and, as he winded down the hill, nothing was heard but the echoes of the multitudinous kisses he continued to lavish on the little brilliantly-set portrait he held in his hands.

Next morning, Sir Meredith Appleby was just in the midst of a very sumptuous breakfast, (for notwithstanding his gout, the Baronet contrived to preserve his appetite,) and the pretty Julia was presiding over the tea and coffee at the other end of the table, immediately opposite her papa, with the large long-eared spaniel sitting beside her, and ever and anon lookingly wistfully into her face, when a servant brought in, on a little silver tray, a letter for Sir Meredith. The old gentleman read it aloud; it was from the elder Fitzclarence: "My dear friend, Alfred arrived last night. He and I will dine with you to-day. Yours, Fitzclarence."Julia's cheeks grew first as white as her brow, and then as red as her lips. As soon as breakfast was over, she retired to her own apartment, whither we must, for once, take the liberty of following her.

She sat herself down before her mirror, and deliberately took from her hair a very tasteful little knot of fictitious flowers, which she had fastened in it when she rose. One naturally expected that she was about to replace this ornament with something more splendid a few jewels, perhaps; but she was not going to do any such thing. She rung the bell; her confidential attendant, Alice, answered the summons. "La! Ma'am," said she, "what is the matter? You look as ill as my aunt Bridget."-"You have heard me talk of Alfred Fitzclarence, Alice, have you not?" said the lady, languidly, and at the same time slightly blushing. "O! yes, Ma'am, I think I have. He was to be married to you before

H

he went to the wars."-" He has returned, Alice, and he will break' his heart if he finds I no longer love him. But he has been so long away; and Harry Dalton has been so constantly with me; and his tastes and mine are so congenial;-I'm sure you know, Alice, I am not fickle, but how could I avoid it? Harry Dalton is so handsome, and so amiable !"-"To be sure, ma'am, you had the best right to choose for yourself; and so Mr Fitzclarence must just break his heart if he pleases, or else fight a desperate duel with Mr Dalton, with his swords and guns."-" O! Alice, you frighten me to death. There shall be no duels fought for me. Though my bridal bed should be my grave, I shall be true to my word. The bare suspicion of my inconstancy would turn poor Alfred mad. I know how he doats upon me. I must go to the altar, Alice, like a lamb to the slaughter. Were I to refuse him, you may depend upon it he would put an end to his existence with five loaded pistols. Only think of that, Alice; what could I say for myself, were his remains found in his bed some morning?" History does not report what Alice said her mistress might, under such circumstances, say for herself; but it is certain that they remained talking together till the third dinner-bell rang.

The Fitzclarences were both true to their engagements, but notwithstanding every exertion on the part of the two old gentlemen, they could not exactly bring about that "flow of soul" which they had hoped to see animating the young people. At length, after the cloth was removed, and a few bumpers of claret had warmed Sir Meredith's heart, he said boldly," Julia, my love, as Alfred does not seem to be much of a wine-bibber, suppose you show him the improvements in the gardens and hot-houses, whilst we sexagenarians remain where we are, to drink to the health of both, and talk over a few family matters." Alfred, thus called upon, could not avoid rising from his seat, and offering Julia his arm. She took it with a blush, and they walked off together in silence. "How devotedly he loves me!" thought Julia, with a sigh. "No, no, I cannot break his heart."-" Poor girl!" thought Alfred, bringing one of the curls of his whiskers more killingly over his cheek; "her affections are irrevocably fixed upon me; the slightest attention calls to her face all the roses of Sharon."

They proceeded down a long gravel walk, bordered on both sides with fragrant and flowery shrubs; but, except that the pebbles rubbed against each other as they passed over them, there was not a sound to be heard. Julia, however, was observed to hem twice, and we have been told that Fitzclarence coughed more than once. At length the lady stopped, and plucked a rose. Fitzclarence stopped also, and plucked a lily. Julia smiled; so did Alfred. Julia's

smile was chased away by a sigh; Alfred immediately sighed also, Checking himself, however, he saw the absolute necessity of commencing a conversation. "Miss Appleby!" said he at last. "Sir?" "It is two years, I think, since we parted."-" Yes; two years on the fifteenth of this month." Alfred was silent. "How she adores me!" thought he; "she can tell to a moment how long it is since we last met."-There was a pause." You have seen, no doubt, a great deal since you left Malhamdale ?" said Julia. “O' a very great deal,” replied her lover. Miss Appleby hemmed once more, and then drew in a vast mouthful of courage. "I understand the ladies of England and Ireland are much more attractive than those of Wales."-" Generally speaking, I believe they are." -"Sir !"-"That is-I mean, I beg your pardon-the truth is-I should have said—that—that—you have dropped your rose." Fitzclarence stooped to pick it up; but in so doing, the little miniature which he wore round his neck escaped from under his waistcoat, and, though he did not observe it, it was hanging conspicuous on his breast, like an order, when he presented the flower to Julia. "Good heavens! Fitzclarence, that is my cousin Rosalind." "Your cousin Rosalind! where? how?-the miniature! It is all over with me! The murder is out! Lord bless me! Julia, how pale you have grown; yet hear me! be comforted. I am a very wretch; but I shall be faithful; do not turn away, love; do not weep; Julia! Julia! what is the matter with you?-By Jove! she is in hysterics; she will go distracted! Julia! I will marry you, I swear to you by"—

"Do not swear by any thing at all," cried Julia, unable any longer to conceal her rapture, "lest you be transported for perjury. You are my own-my very best Alfred!"

"Mad, quite mad," thought Alfred.

"I wear a miniature too," proceeded the lady; and she pulled from the loveliest bosom in the world the likeness, set in brilliants, of a youth provokingly handsome, but not Fitzclarence.

"Julia!"

"Alfred!"

"We have both been faithless!":

"And now we are both happy."

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By St Agatha! I am sure of it. Only I cannot help wonder. ing at your taste, Julia; that stripling has actually no whiskers!" "Neither has my cousin Rosalind; yet you found her resistless." "Well, I believe you are right; and, besides, de gustibus-1 beg your pardon, I was going to quote Latin.”

TWO SONNETS.

ON THE DEATH OF MR JAMES WATT, GLASGOW,

(Editor of his father's posthumous work, the 'Bibliotheca Britannica."

I.

THUS Spoke I to a Vision of the Night :

"O joy! A dream? Thank heaven that it is fled!
For know you not, I dreamt that you were dead,
And with the dream my soul was sicken'd quite.
But since you're here, and since my heart is light,
Come, as of old, and let us wandering seek
Yon high and lonely hill, upon whose height,
Which looks on all we value, we may speak,

As we were wont, amid its bracing air,

And pluck the while its crowned jewels there :
For-how I know not-but 'tis long ago

Since last we met Ha! wherefore look you so?

And why this dimness ?"Horror! 'twas the ghost Alone I saw, of him I loved and lost!

II.

Nor stone nor epitaph records the spot

Where he so soundly slumbers. Who could tell,
With a slow chisel, his sore-blighted lot,

Or register his virtues? Myriads swell

The rotteu churchyard, and the funeral bell,

Or elegiac verse, is heeded not.

For me it matters nothing. While I stray
Within the environs of this teeming town,
In every winding and in every way,

The spirits that will be rising are crush'd down,
By glimpses of the hoary spire and tower
Of that Cathedral under which he lies;
And these time-telling temples, every hour,
Stand as HIS MONUMENT before my eyes.

AN ESCAPE FROM VERDUN.

I was among the English who were detained in France at the breaking out of the war in 1803. My rank, as an army physician, enabled me to be of much service to many of my countrymen at Verdun; whilst the fees I obtained from the wealthier individuals supplied all my necessities. My medical character, likewise, introduced me extensively into French society, and I must confess that 1 was always treated with kindness and delicacy. Though many of the military, the employes, and even the rich householders and landholders had risen, as the English phrase is, from "the dregs of the people" by the conflicts of the revolution, I almost always found them polite, liberal, and sincere. Good manners are really of very easy acquirement by people of intellect; witness the stage, and revolutions which always give the ascendency to talents. It was long before our splendid victory of Trafalgar and the supplementary victory of Sir Richard Strachan, were known by the English prisoners at Verdun. At length a Morning Chronicle got amongst us, heaven knows how, and the joy of our countrymen was extreme, nor was it expressed in terms very flattering to the French. This I rather regretted, for the better classes of that nation were, I thought, peculiarly delicate in communicating to us the victories of Napoleon. They always softened them to our feelings, by considering the Emperor at war with the English government, and not with the English nation.

Whilst our exultation was at its zenith, I went to dine with the Count de I had determined to avoid the mention of Trafalgar, and of all belligerous or national topics. This was my invari able habit. However, on entering the room, which was excessively crowded, particularly with ladies and military men of rank, I found a strong re-action created against us. The countess, forgetting, I thought, her usual urbanity, said to me, Ah, Doctor

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so Providence has given you English a great victory at sea." 1 knew the whole value of her emphasis upon Providence. If the English gained a battle, it was the work of Providence, distinct from their merits; if the French obtained a splendid triumph, it was attributed to the genius of the Emperor and to the native bravery of French soldiers. Resolved that the lady should not make me the dupe of such egregious national vanity, and in the presence of so many who were enjoying the triumph, I coolly replied that I was far from a sceptic as to the interference of Providence, but I could never mix up a Providence in the destruction, carnage, cruelties, and ferocious passions of a battic. Madam,'