Imatges de pàgina
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A rouse !” he cried,_“to me surrender !"
With voice as loud as any thunder,
That, distant far, might fearful make
The inmates of the forests quake,-
“ I'm Cæsar, learn, for deeds high fam’d;
My prowess through the world's proclaim'd."
At this great name poor Jannette shook,
And, ere she to the hero spoke,
Commended her stain’d soul to heaven,
For all its sins to be forgiven,
Then thus replied—“Dread Sir, pray say,
If I your summons stern obey,
What then will be my destiny?"
« To die!"_“To die !-suppose I fly?"
« Your life's the forfeit certainly."-
“ To me," then said the tyme-fed brute,
“In either case, if death's the fruit,
You'll pardon me, illustrious Sir,
If I
my

limbs shall dare bestir,
And my best strength, and speed exert,
The threaten'd evil to avert.'
Then fast she o'er the warren flew;
As fast did Cæsar her pursue.-
Stern Cato scarce, perhaps, might laud her;
For my part much do I applaud her:
For soon the chase the Keeper eyed,
And to his gun as soon applied,
With which he took his aim so well,
That instant dead great Cæsar fell.
What would La Fontaine now have said ?-
“Be forward aye yourself to aid ;
Ere long, kind 'Heav'n the means will bless,
To shield the guiltless in distress.”
This moral's good—for man design'd,
And meets th' approval of my mind.

J. T.

GROANS!
Extracted from the Journal of an Exquisite.

Edinburgh, June 14th, 1828. Twelve o'clock, A. M.—Was sorry I had been awakened from my comfortable nap;—thought I should have died of ennui ;-presented with a dose of morality by my landlady_found it indigestible-was zette, but with no translation ;-the Editor has, however, introduced it with the following remark :

“ This Fable was the composition of Buonaparte when only fifteen or sixteen years of age, it bearing date of the year 1783, and it has been considered not only a favourable indication of talent, but a proof of the active, decisive, and indepeudent character by which the future life of the school-boy was to be so eminently distinguished."

satisfied my moral and religious principles were of a peculiarly easy and graceful character ;-thought of devoting myself to the high and honourable task of preaching the doctrines of Chesterfield ;-tumbled the “ Castle of Indolence” down stairs--turned the “Course of Time" after it-waded through the “Road to Elegance and Fashion"-sighed for the “ Means of Purifying a Tainted Breath;"—tried to write a distich to the memory of the immortal Brummel who invented the stiffened neckcloth-headed it “Starch is the Man'-failed in my attempt-gave up the glorious idea to Horace Bayley, doer of doggrel, who has lately written himself out—believe it will create a prodigious sensation in the beau monde ;-yawned ;-drank half a glass of lemonade ;-tasked my memory to the committal of two capital jokesthrew my brain into a ferer-excitement with the great mental exertion-dished completely-determined to study no more.-

Three o'clock, P. M.-Supported nature on a fruit pie ;-went to the mirror-pulled a chair in front of it, and sat down-placed my elbow on the table, and leaned my head upon my hand ;-killed fifty-nine minutes and a half in the cultivation of an interesting look ; -was convinced the thrusting out of the two forefingers and thumb insinuated condescension-thought the shrewd shrug quite vulgar-was in love with my significant shake of the head ;-got up and paced my room--piqued myself on the erectness of my carriage—thought myself the idol of ton and taste.

Four o'clock, P. M.—Was bored by my landlady—thought of knocking her down with the boot-jack-began to be apprehensive of a sceneforced to talk a great deal smaller than a gentleman ought to do---told a few bouncers full of the cock-and-bull-got creditably established in her good opinion ;---moved to the windowthrew up the sash and looked out--inhaled the fragrance of the mignionette which grew in a long green box upon its sole ;-perceived Miss Biddy Templeton nearing my lodgings in company with Pompey her lap-dog--waved my hand—was recognised ;--sweet soul !-never saw hair more tastefully dressed—decided beauty--unparalleled impalpability of waist-sighed to have a tête-á-tête ;-whistled to Pompey—knew me instantly—wagged his tail and barked--appeared glad to see me—knowing creature-great favourite of mine ;-breasted over the window, and pitched him a crustfelt the buttons on my dress coat entangled with the box-placed my hands upon the inner side of it, and endeavoured to throw myself into the room per force-struck the back of my head a terrible blow against the framing-knocked out twelve panes of glass-brought the window down upon my neck---nidged completely--precipitated the mignionette garden, box and all, down a height of fifty feet upon the back of the dear little Pompey--beheld him sprawling on the street in the last death-throes - could render hiin no assistance--felt I was a gone man-rescued from my perilous situation by the washerwoman, after groaning under a mortifying blow inflicted on the most honourable part of my personcould have eaten my heart from shame and vexation~got a soberer from Mrs. M‘Nab—reminded of the damage she had sustained at my hands--unfeeling wretch !--shall not forgive her till the day of my death.

September 16th, 1830. Nine o'clock, A. M.–Sprang from my bed and hurried on my in

expressibles ;-rubbed my teeth with salt till the blood welled from my gums in mouthfuls ;-was sorry I had not sixpence left to procure a twist from Bill Oliver the barber--hit upon a capital expedient—soaped my head with the wash-ball —hair thrown into the happiest confusion imaginable :-practised bowing in the broken glass -started when I discovered the whitey-brown complexion of my dicky -was tempted to seize Mrs. M Nab's dress cap-pinned it inside my new vest in lieu of a frill-admired my ingenuity—thought myself very taking ;-contrived to while away the forenoon ;-popped into Ambrose's—sipped a gill of half-and-half-blew up the boy like dust for his inattention-paid my shot, and left the rascal trembling in all the shabby agonies of dirty terror. Two o'clock. P. M.

1:—Went by myself to the Meadows did not relish my walk :--met Tom Patten and his two sisters_looked glum—-was aware they assumed a delicacy which they never felt, and grace which they never possessed-passed-overheard Miss Frances ejaculate, “ La! what a vulgar fellow ! of course, he is the glass of fashion”took no notice of it, but charitably wished all three at the devil. (Mem. will not fail to acquaint Miss Scroggins, that Miss Patten had three ribs of her corset fractured at Mrs. Wilkinson's last party, while indulging in a sob. Might tell for whom she sighed too-but no matter.)

Four o'clock. P. M. Hurried off to dine with Mrs. Scroggins and family --found a large merry party-never was in such spirits-knew I was the very cynosure of attraction ; ate voraciously—had scarce time to admire 'Miss Scroggins--helped her largely to potatoes and gravy; -drank two bumpers and a half of light wine after dinner-could not be tipsy—fired off some fine things which were received with loud peals of laughter. Tea ushered-did justice to the marmalade ;-interchanged glances with Miss S.;—found her dark eyes perfectly irresistible_felt new life run tingling through my veins-saw at once I was the worshipped star of her heart-fancied myself in the third heavens.

Eight o'clock. P. M. Was alarmed to hear Mrs. Miller reading Mrs. S. a lecture on the doing up of linen ;-felt my heart beat irregularly— was sorry they had broached such a subject ;-heard Dick Jardine complimented on the exquisite plaiting of his shirt-fulsome creatures-never felt so sheepish—seized unbreeched Scroggins, and seated him on my knee ;-was afraid the chincough or measles might Jurk beneath his wrapper-began to sneeze-dreadfully agitatedcould not drive the chubby urchin from his quarters—contrived to amuse myself with his innocent prattle ;-started to hear one of the ladies exclaim, “O! for Cruikshank!"-was perfectly shocked at their giggling-wondered how they could give way to such frivolity-thought there was something mysterious in their laughter. A fearful sensation stole over me;—I turned to the child-it was too late the cap dangled at my breast-his audacious fingers had already torn it from my vest ;-I felt an eternity of suffering compressed into one minute's duration. My brain whirled. I sought refuge in madness -bolted from the room—scoured down the street-heard the

cry

of “Stop Thief!" booming after me in full chorus-was knocked down by a watchman-lay all night groaning in the police office, where I dreamt that I was standing on the top of Nelson’s monument, crowned with the stolen cap of my landlady, while the poisoned arrows of scandal, and malice, and envy, were unsparingly directed against a heart leaping in the very insanity of misery!

December 13th, 1831. Seven o'clock, A. M.-Intensely cold-could not lie in bed ;-rummaged my chest—discovered I had failed with a full suit ;-wept to see the buttons on my threadbare coat, beginning to show something like new moons at one side ; compelled to put on a pair of nankeen trowsers ;-paired my shoe soles with my penknife-afraid of a patch; -rubbed my hat with Warren's Blacking—was sure it had a melancholy appearance ;—thought of Prince's Street and sighed ;-took a short stroll down the Cow-Gate-saw, to my utter horror and consternation, my old friend Tom Patten approaching-tried to get away unobserved—was overtaken at the door of my wretched lodgings ;found him inquisitive—was informed the coldness of the weather was in bad keeping with my nankeens—told him it was my taste ;---Was asked how I was getting on---replied I was going out to Berbice in the West Indies as overseer to an extensive sugar plantation, with capital prospects :---thought that I heard him mutter the expressive vocable “ Fudge”---was told I looked as pale and gaunt as if I had eaten nothing but mine own empty words during the whole course of my existence ;---felt inclined to collar him for his cold blooded imper. tinence. Did not stay longer with him. Six o'clock, P. M.-

---Ġazed on the moon through my broken windowbeheld her, partly obscured by clouds and smoke, shedding a melancholy light over the black buildings in front of my Attic ;---ruminated on the heartless apathy of seeming friends ;---brooded over the emptiness of hope, and the worthlessness of fruition ;---felt a sudden gloom fall upon Îife ;---found myself degenerating into a misanthropist ;---groaned over my darkly evolved destiny ;--- was conscious that my heart was rendered incapable of again experiencing any pulse of joy or gladness ; ---cared not for the prolongation of a weary and miserable existence ; fung myself down, in an agony of despair, upon my bed, where I shortly fell asleep, and dreamt of being visited by Tom Patten and his two sisters, while confined in a cell in BEDLAM!

SWEETS OF EVENING.

BY DELLA CRUSCA.

But some in more etherial mould are cast,
Who from the imagery of Nature cull
Fair meanings, and magnificent delights;
Extracting glory from whate'er they view.

ROBERT MONTGOMERY.

1.

'Tis sweet to gaze at the fall of eve

On the ruddy streaks that lie,

Like the curtain-folds of an angel's couch,

Round the skirts of the western sky:
I've look'd in joy on the autumn wood,

Till the lingering blush of light,
That smil'd through the yellow forest leaves,

Was veil'd by the cloud of night ;-
And oft I've thought, as the twilight stole

Adown to its calm abode,
That the trees, on the far horizon's verge,

Were engrav’d on the hills of God !

II.

"Tis sweet to gaze on the waveless stream,

When the shadowy tints of even
Are mirror'd there, with the crystal lamps

That burn in the vault of heaven!
For down in the silent under-world,

The raptur'd eye will view
A thousand shapes, like domes and towers

Which the star-light flickers through !

III.

I've sat me down on the hoary cliff,

Where the minstrel loves to be ---
Till the moon's red disk clove the sombre clouds,

That dip in the rocking sea ;---
And I've seen her ride up the starry east

And peer in the welkin's blue,
Till the smallest wave that the night wind kiss'd

Was rob'd in her holy hue!

IV.

Yet O'tis dearer-sweeter far,

On the flowing tide to gaze,
When the moonlight sleeps on its heaving breast,

Or deep in the eddy plays.---
For then thine eyes will behold its sheen

Far down in the waters clear,
As it sparkles bright on the whirling wave,
Like a

gorgeous chandelier-
With a thousand lamps of Auid gold

Lit up round a jasper throne Which a poet's fancy well might paint

For the Nymph of the river's own!

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