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THE OLIO.

-never to have woke again from for getfulness. She opened her eyes under the influence of the searching stimalants we applied, and stared vacantly for an instant on those standing round her bedside. Her countenance, of an ashy hue, was damp with clammy perspiration, and she lay perfectly motionless, except when her frame undulated with long deep-drawn sighs.

"Oh, wretched, wretched, wretched girl!" she murmured at length-" why have I lived till now? Why did you not suffer me to expire? He called me to join him-I was going-and you will not let me but I MUST go-yes, yes." "Anne-dearest!-why do you talk so Charles is not gone he will return soon-he will indeed"-sobbed her sister.

You could not "Oh, never, never! see what I saw, Jane," she shuddered How they "Oh, it was frightful! tumbled about the heaps of the dead! -how they stripped-oh, horror, hor

ror!"

"My dear Miss, you are dreaming-raving-indeed you are," said I, holding her hand in mine-"Come, come-you must not give way to such gloomy, such nervous fancies--you must not indeed. You are frightening your friends to no purpose."

once

"What do you mean?" she replied, looking me suddenly full in the face. "I tell you it is true! Ah me, Charles Shot is dead-I know it-I saw him! right through the heart. They were And heastripping him, when' ving three or four short convulsive sobs, she again swooned. Mrs. the lady of the house, (the sister-in-law of Miss -, as I think I have mentioned) could endure the distressing scene no longer, and was carried out of the room, fainting, in the arms of her husband. With great difficulty, we succeeded in restoring Miss more to consciousness; but the frequency and duration of her relapses The spibegan seriously to alarm me. rit, being brought so often to the brink, might at last suddenly flit off into eternity, without any one's being aware of it. I, of course, did all that my professional knowledge and experience suggested; and, after expressing my readiness to remain all night in the house, in the event of any sudden alterfor the worse, I ation in Miss-, took my departure, promising to call Before very early in the morning. leaving, Mr.

had acquainted me ith all the particulars above related;

and, as I rode home, I could not help
feeling the liveliest curiosity, mingled
with the most intense sympathy for the
unfortunate sufferer, to see whether the
corroborating event would stamp the
present as one of those extraordinary
occurrences, which occasionally "come
o'er us like a summer-cloud," astonish-
ing and perplexing every one.

The next morning, about nine o'clock,
's bedside.-
I was again at Miss
She was nearly in the same state as
that in which I had left her the preced-
ing evening-only feebler, and almost
continually stupified. She seemed, as
it were, stunned with some severe but
visible stroke. She said scarcely any
thing, but often uttered a low, moaning,
indistinct sound, and whispered at in-
tervals, "Yes-shortly, Charles, short-
ly-to-morrow." There was no rous-
ing her by conversation; she noticed
no one, and would answer no ques-
tions. I suggested the propriety of call-
ing in additional medical assistance;
and, in the evening, met two eminent
brother physicians in consultation at
her bedside. We came to the conclu-
sion that she was sinking rapidly, and,
that, unless some miracle intervened to
restore her energies, she would conti◄
nue with us but a very little longer.
After my brother physicians had left, I
returned to the sick chamber, and sat
by Miss

-'s bedside for more than an hour. My feelings were much agitated at witnessing her singular and affecting situation. There was such a sweet and sorrowful expression about her pallid features, deepening, occasionally, into such hopelessness of heart-broken anno one could contemplate guish, as without deep emotion. There was, besides, something mysterious and awing

something of what in Scotland is called second-sight-in the circumstances which had occasioned her illness.

"Gone gone !" she murmured, with
closed eyes, while I was sitting and gaz-
ing in silence on her, "gone-and in
glory! Ah, I shall see the young con-
How he will love
queror-I shall!
me!-Ah, I recollect," she continued,
after a long interval, "it was the 'Banks
of Allan Water' these cruel people
made me sing, and my heart breaking
the while! What was the verse I was
singing when I saw"-she shuddered
"oh!-this-

For his bride a soldier sught her,
And a winning tongue had he-

On the banks of Allan Water,
None so gay as she.

But the summer grief had brought her,

And her soklier-false was he'

Oh, no, no, never-Charles- my poor murdered Charles-never." She groaned, and spoke no more that night. She continued utterly deaf to all that was said in the way of sympathy or remorstrance; and, if her lips moved at all, it was only to utter faintly some such words as, "Oh, let me-let me leave in peace!" During the two next days, she continued drooping rapidly. The only circumstance about her demeanour particularly noticed, was, that she once moved her hands for a moment over the counterpane, as though she were playing the piano-a sudden flush overspread her features-her eyes stared, as though she were startled by the appearance of some phantom or other, and she gasped, "There, there!" after which she relapsed into her former state of stupor.

and the sight operated something like an electric shock.

She seemed struggling to speak, but in vain. I now wished to Heaven I had never agreed to undertake the duty which had been imposed upon me. I opened the letter, and looking steadfastly at her, said, in as soothing tones as my agitation could command, "My dear girl-now, don't be alarmed, or I shall not tell you what I am going to tell you." She trembled, and her sensibilities seemed suddenly restored; for her eye assumed an expression of alarmed intelligence, and her lips moved about like those of a person who feels them parched with agitation, and endeavours to moisten them. "This letter has been received to-day from Paris," I continued, "it is from Colonel Lord, and brings word that-that -that-"I felt suddenly choked, and could not bring out the words.

it.

"That my Charles is DEAD-I know Did I not tell you so ?" said Miss

and distinct a tone of voice as she ever had in her life. I felt confounded.-Had the unexpected operation of the news I brought been able to dissolve the spell which had withered her mental energies, and afford promise of her restoration to health?

Has the reader ever watched a candle which is flickering and expiring at its socket, suddenly shoot up into an instantaneous brilliance, and then be utterly extinguished? I soon saw it was thus with poor Miss. All the expiring energies of her soul were suddenly collected to receive the corroboration of her vision—if such it may be called-and then she would,

How will it be credited, that on the fourth morning of Miss -'s illness, a letter was received from Paris by her family, with a black seal, and franked by the noble colonel of the regiment in, interrupting me, with as clear which Charles had served, communicating the melancholy intelligence that the young Captain had fallen towards the close of the battle of Waterloo; for while in the act of charging at the head of his corps, a French cavalry officer shot him with his pistol right through the heart! The whole family, with all their acquaintance, were unutterably shocked at the news-almost petrified with amazement at the strange corroboration of Miss's prediction. How to communicate it to the poor sufferer was now a serious question, or whether to communicate it at all at pre'sent? The family at last, considering that it would be unjustifiable in them any longer to withhold the intelligence, intrusted the painful duty to me. therefore repaired to her bedside alone, in the evening of the day on which the letter had been received; that evening was the last of her life! I sat down in my usual place beside her, and her pulse, countenance, breathing, cold extremities-together with the fact, that she had taken no nourishment whatever since she had been laid on the bedconvinced me that the poor girl's sufferings were soon to terminate. I was at a loss for a length of time how to break the oppressive silence. Observing, however, her fading eyes fixed on me, I determined, as it were accidentally, to attract them to the fatal letter which I then held in my hand. After a while she observed it; her eye suddenly settled on the ample coronetted seal,

"Like a lily drooping,

Bow her head and die.”

To return: She begged me, in a faltering voice, to read her all the letter.She listened with closed eyes, and made no remark when I had concluded.After a long pause, I exclaimed, "God be praised, my dear Miss, that you have been able to receive this dreadful news so firmly."

"Doctor, tell me, have you no medicine that could make me weep?-Oh, give it, give it me, it would relieve me; for I feel a mountain on my breast-it is pressing me," replied she feebly, uttering the words at long intervals.Pressing her hand in mine, I begged her to be calm, and the oppression would soon disappear.

"Oh-oh-oh-that I could weep, Doctor." She whispered something

THE OLIO.

else, but inaudibly. I put my ear close to her mouth, and distinguished something like the words "I am-I amcall her-hush-" accompanied with a faint, fluttering, gurgling sound. Alas, With much I too well understood it! trepidation I ordered the nurse to summon the family into the room instantly. Her sister Jane was the first that entered, her eyes swollen with weeping, and seemingly half suffocated with the effort to conceal her emotions.

"Oh, my darling, precious, precious sister Anne!" she sobbed, and knelt down at the bedside, flinging her arms round her sister's neck, kissing the gentle sufferer's cheeks and mouth.

"Anne! - love! - darling! Don't you know me?" She groaned, kissing her forehead repeatedly. Could I help weeping? All who had entered were standing around the bed, sobbing, and in tears. I kept my fingers at the wrist of the dying sufferer; but could not feel whether or not the pulse beat, which, however, I attributed to my own agitation.

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Speak-speak-my darling Anne! speak to me, I am your poor sister Jane!" sobbed the agonizing girl, continuing fondly kissing her sister's cold lips and forehead. She suddenly started, exclaimed "Oh, God, she's dead!" and sunk instantly senseless on the floor. Alas, alas, it was too true-my sweet and broken-hearted patient was Blackwood's Mag.

no more.

BALLAD A LA BAYLY.

I HAVE not laughed nor smiled for years,
Since first I learnt to know,

That smiles are channels for our tears,
That very watery woe-

That old compound of sodas, salts,
Which forms the home-made rain,

With which we mourn our friends or faults,
Our penury or pain.

Age steals on all-dolts, dustmen, dukes,

Rakes, men who say their prayers,
And men who keep their youthful looks
The longest-even on players!
Grimaldi's star too soon has set;-
That satellite, his son,

May round his orbit pirouette,
But not reflect his fun.

Dick Jones, as frisky as a fly,
Mercutio of the day,

(Time writes his truths too legibly ;)
May yet grow grave and grey.
Poor Liston's a wet-Baptist grown,
Some say he has been dipped;
Joe Munden's laugh is now a groan,
And even Harley's hypped.
Yes-five-and-twenty years will make
A change in mortal things:
I've seen it some strange freedoms take
With very decent kings.

A quarter-century, when o'er,
Appears by no means recent;
It made a saint of naughty Moore,
And Broad-Grin Colman decent.
Ye nine-and-twenty years! I could
Apostrophize your flight

In strains would make great Matthew Wood
Put out his little light.

But ye are gone-and where's the use
Of metrical regret?

Or tears, to render my dry muse
Uncomfortably wet?

Had the same handle then:

The pump which now at Aldgate stands

"Tis handled now by other hands,
Another race of men!

Phil. Potts was then a serving-lad,
A big-boy sort of man;-
"The boy is father to the dad"-
He's now a publican!

Jack Skrimshaw kept his horse and chaise,
And rolled in port and pelf:
Can barely keep himself!
Now Jack, in these degenerate days,
Wilks, Wilkins, Wilkinson, and Wicks,
Brown, Buggins, Biggs, and Bate,
Hogg, Huggins, Higgins, Higgs, and Hicks,

Are all in the same state!

There's Thrift, who lent his thousands out,
And dined on two polonies,

Now phaetonizes town about

With two black-spotted ponies;
And Grasp, who ground the poor to dust,
Hard-hearted as a target,

Has left Bread-Ward his marble bust,
And feeds the world at Margate!
The Dobbses, who then cut a dash,
And led the ton of Aldgate,
Grew out of vogue when out of cash,
And sank to Norton-Falgate;
The Hobbses, once in Dobbs's case,
Proud when a Dobbs would lighten
The darkness of their dwelling-place,
Now cut them dead at Brighton.

Thus runs the world, thus ran the world,
And thus it still shall run,

Till lato atoms it is hurled,

And quenched are moon and sun!

-Who shall recount the ups and downs,

The laughter and the tears,

The kicks and cuffs, the smiles and frowns,
Month. Mag.
Of five-and-twenty years!

APHORISMS ON MAN.

By the late William Hazlitt.

SERVILITY is a sort of bastard envy. We heap our whole stock of involuntary adulation on a single prominent figure, to have an excuse for withdrawing our notice from all other claims (perhaps juster and more galling ones), and in the hope of sharing a part of the applause as train-bearers.

ADMIRATION is catching by a certain sympathy. The vain admire the vain; the morose are pleased with the morose; nay, the selfish and cunning are charmed with the tricks and meanness of which they are witnesses, and may be in turn the dupes.

VANITY is no proof of conceit. A vain man often accepts of praise as a cheap substitute for his own good opinion. He.

may think more highly of another, though he would be wounded to the quick if his own circle thought so. He knows the worthlessness and hollowness of the flattery to which he is accustomed, but his ear is tickled with the sound; and the effeminate in this way can no more live without the incense of applause, than the effeminate in another can live without perfumes or any other customary indulgence of the senses. Such people would rather have the applause of fools than the approbation of the wise. It is a low and shallow ambition.

It is a sort of gratuitous error in high life, that the poor are naturally thieves and beggars, just as the latter conceive that the rich are naturally proud and hard-hearted. Give a man who is starving a thousand a-year, and he will be no longer under a temptation to get himself hanged by stealing a leg of mutton for his dinner; he may still spend it in gaming, drinking, and the other vices of a gentleman, and not in charity, about which he before made such an outcry.

Do not confer benefits in the expectation of meeting with gratitude; and do not cease to confer them because you find those whom you have served ungrateful. Do what you think fit and right to please yourself; the generosity is not the less real, because it does not meet with a correspondent return. A man should study to get through the world as he gets through St. Giles'swith as little annoyance and interruption as possible from the shabbiness around him.

Common-place advisers and men of the world, are always pestering you to conform to their maxims and modes, just like the barkers in Monmouth-street, who stop the passengers by entreating them to turn in and refit at their secondhand repositories.

The word gentility is constantly in the mouths of vulgar people; as quacks and pretenders are always talking of genius. Those who possess any real excellence, think and say the least about it.

TASTE is often envy in disguise: it turns into the art of reducing excellence within the smallest possible compass, or of finding out the minimum of plea sure. Some people admire only what is new and fashionable the work of the day, of some popular author-the last and frothiest bubble that glitters on the surface of fashion. All the rest is gone by," in the deep bosom of the

ocean buried ;” to allude to it is Gothic, to insist upon it odious. We have only to wait a week to be relieved of the hot-pressed page, of the vignette-title; and in the interim can look with sovereign contempt on the wide range of science, learning, art, and on those musty old writers who lived before the present age of novels. Peace be with their manes? There are others, on the contrary, to whom all the modern publications are anathema, a by-word-they get rid of this idle literature "at one fell swoop"-disqualify the present race from all pretensions whatever, get into a corner with an obscure writer, and devour the cobwebs and the page together, and pick out in the quaintest production, the quaintest passages, the merest choke-pear, which they think nobody can swallow but themselves. Old Monthly

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During Sir Gilbert's absence, a small matted apartment, adjoining the northwest angle of the church, received the brothers. A cheerful fire of brushwood and logs bickered on the hearth. The table was covered with manuscripts

the brilliant colours of whose halffinished illuminations were nearly hidden by dog whistles, Milan hawk bells, jesses, a hunting horn richly embossed, compasses, quadrants, old pedigrees, hawking gloves, carved drinking bowls, and a ruddy flask of Bourdeaux, all mingled somewhat incongruously with articles of sacerdotal attire. Arblasts and boar-spears hung on the gleaming walls, where, also, a shirt of link-mail, and a huge two-handed sword, did not shame to show themselves. A beaufet, half-open, disclosed some costly carved vases and other articles of silver, and the whole apartment would have puzzled a stranger to decide whether it belonged to a poet, an epicure, a forestranger, or, as it really did, to a Benedictine monk. Two stag-hounds, of magnificent size and Lancashire breed, whose long heads, large ears, straight hams, and well-trussed thighs, might have delighted the most fastidious sportsman of the day, started from their slumbers by the hearth, shook their dun hides, and in a moment had their enormous white paws on the arms of their master.

"Down Thunder! down Countess !*

exclaimed Paul, as the huge animals gambolled round the room, transferring their caresses from the priest to his brother, while a large merloun stretched her long wings, and screaming aloud, shook her bells at the sound of his voice.

Paul now busily removed some of the incumbrances from the loaded table, and heaping it with a large venison pasty and other viands, at the same time adding another billet to the hearth, invited Sir Oliver to sit down, who, after mechanically complying, burst forth. "The Lady Anne Plantagenet missing?—the kingdom in a hue and cry, and the privacy of my own house in vaded? Why then, Paul, did you not tell me this sooner what hath it to do with this foolish vigil?-and why have you kept the secret from Vaucler?"

"Because I knew not whether I might less safely trust thine impetuous openness than his dark dissimulation! Se cret it hath ceased to be;- at least, to-morrow will proclaim it; and thy question should be not why I have concealed it from Sir Gilbert, but why he hath not imparted it to thee. My life for it, he knows more of it than either of us!"

"Vaucler? why he is only fresh from Calais. With a just indignation at the dishonour Edward hath inflicted on the nation, he hath hastened hither in the strictest incognito, and dreads discovery more than death."

"My brother! Vaucler is not to be trusted; he is an edge-tool with which I would not care to play, did I not know him to be in my power. If I appear to join him, it is more to exert the influence that knowledge gives me, to prevent his doing mischief to our cause, than from my hope of his doing it any good."

"But is he not bound by every tie to the cause for which his patron the great Warwick embarked, and lost both fortune and life? Doth he not know that my attachment to the Nevilles hath drawn on me the hatred of the Woodville party at court?"

"Oliver, he is thy wife's kinsman; judge thou whether he shares thy love to the Nevilles, or thy disgrace with the Woodvilles. Well he knows that there is a higher malcontent than thou,George of Clarence,-who would rather lay his own head beneath Edward's fauldstool than mount his throne, if Vaucler were to help him there! Can his highness, think you, forget the day when the ungrateful adventurer planted the guns of Calais against them, caus

ing the Duchess Isabella to fall in labour on shipboard! The main hope I see in him," added Paul, with a sarcastic smile, "is his solemn oath to be faithful to Edward against all the world

an oath which the Judas that dwells in his heart will never let him keep."

"But he hath brought us missives from the court of Brittany with the privy sign of Richmond himself!"

"Ay, and if report belie him not, the trusty Vaucler had well nigh brought Richmond in person! But, it seems, a misgiving seized his highness of Brittany, who, as the Earl and his uncle Pembroke were embarking, recovered them from Sir Gilbert's hands, and placed them in sanctuary."

"Brother, brother, you will ruin yourself with your suspicions!" "And you, brother, will ruin us both by your incaution!"

Here a pause ensued, which was broken by Sir Oliver

"Why, then, admit him to our councils, or why not let the dungeons of Curborough secure us from him at once, if he be the gigantic traitor your discourse implies ?"

"To have excluded him from our councils, I would gladly have given my life; but to plunge him in the dungeon of a house already suspected, would scarce be wise. Traitor by turns to Edward and to Margaret, he hath already been; but those treasons, while they impair his credit, may strengthen us. Let us use, but not trust him further than we may. At all events, our confidence is of his own seeking, and, though he be even worse than I suspect, I have that will make the fox repent having intruded into the hound kennel!"

With these words the priest opened by a spring a secret recess, and produced papers which he placed in Sir Oliver's hand. They contained overtures, made by Sir Gilbert during Warwick's late insurrection, to surrender Calais on condition of his receiving the hand of Lady Anne Neville, then on the eve of espousal with Prince Edward of Lancaster.

"These audacious proposals were placed in my hands," said the priest, "by the gallant Warwick himself as Í knelt by him in the fatal field of Barnet. But hush!-I hear his horse's tramp!" And in a few moments, a knock at the door of an outer apartment announced the Governor of Calais.

But before he mingles in our dramatis personæ, it may be as well to admit

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