Then off we hie to the hill and the dell, To the field, the meadow, and bower. We seek the bloom of the eglantine, As each on the good of her sisters bent,' We hope for an evening with hearts content, THE DYING STORM. I AM feeble, pale, and weary, The heart of man will sicken In that pure and holy light, Earth shuddered at my motion, THE IMPALED BUTTERFLY. "Ho!" said a butterfly, "here am I, None will suspect that I am the same With a bright new coat, and a different name; The piece of nothingness whence I came, In me they'll never detect. "That horrible night of the chrysalis, Was little enough to give For freedom to range from bower to bower, "This is a world of curious things, Where those who crawl and those that have wings May be on the side of those who creep, 66 Many a one that has loathed the sight But some I shall pass with a scornful glance, "Ha!" said the pin, "C you are just the one And when my point shall have reached your heart, . THE WINDS. WE Come! we come! and ye feel our might, Ye mark, as we vary our forms of power, Or hurry its crew to a watery grave; And ye say it is we! but can ye trace The wandering Winds to their secret place? And whether our breath be loud and high, With music aërial, still 'tis we. And ye list, and ye look; but what do ye see? Then lift up your hearts to him who binds, We could make several other extracts, but they would want variety. EDITOR'S ROOM. 1.-Legends of the Rhine and of the Low Countries. By the Author of Highways and Byways. 3 vols. Colburn and Co. 2.-The Private Correspondence of a Woman of Fashion. 2 vols. Colburn & Co. 3.-Lord Byron's Works. J. Murray. 1.—Mr. Grattan has been often mauled by his reviewers and supported by his readers; for in proportion to the quantity of critical condemnation bestowed upon his tales and novels has the number of his readers increased. The secret is, that Mr. Grattan infuses a stirring interest into all he touches; no scene is suffered to weary the eye, and he transports his readers from pillar to post with astonishing industry. He jumbles his characters altogether and separates them again after the fashion of a harlequinade; and whatever monstrosities or impossibilities may cross us, there is always enough of good sterling character, incident, and description, to please the multitude. The Legends of the Rhine introduce the author in a new field, and a successful one; there is enough blundering and bad taste to gratify the most senseless of his critics, and sufficient interest and entertainment to please those who read for amusement and information. The following, which is the only extract we shall give, is new, a very lively descrip tion of a dull place. There only remained with him in the great eating-hall two persons, and those of very different descriptions. One was the reverend canon of the cathedral, Father Nicholas Watermetz; the second, a man dressed in a many-coloured pourpoint, covered with little brass bells, which tingled at every movement of the wearer. He, at a signal from Master Bartholomew, hurried out to prepare the varlets of the canon, and they, in their turn, prepared his reverence's mule-but this they did not accomplish with equal speed; for they had so often clinked their cannikens in honour of the king of the guild, that their fingers found it no easy task to buckle the straps and tie the various knots of the animal's caparison. Seeing this state of things, Le Baudain ordered the bell-covered attendant, who, by name Jacob Parigault, was the sot-souris or fool of the corporation, to walk steadily before his reverence's mule to the bishop's palace, where he lodged, torch in hand, and with a keen eye around him; necessary precautions in passing through the quarter called Hell's Gap, which lay about half way on the road. The place distinguished by this uncourteous title still exists in the town of Cambray; but in the days we write of, it was very different from what it is now. But even now it is hideous. Narrow lanes, miserable huts, a poisonous atmosphere, a lazy and filthy stream, and a wretched population, form its main features. In this vile place, one never sees the broad daylight; a modest woman hurries through it, her eyes cast down, and does not breathe freely till she is beyond its precincts. And well she may put forth her speed! for nothing is seen at the doors or windows of the huts but infamous young females, or, crouching on the steps or sitting against the walls, odious old ones, bandying base jests or coarse abuse with drunken and ragged men. At times, the sounds of cracked and screaming clarionets and fiddles are heard, playing a fit accompaniment of miserable music to degraded nature. At night the aspect of the place is certainly not improved. At all hours there arise cries of pain, the sound of blows, the oaths of the depraved. Attracted by the tumult the patrol arrives. The lights are instantly extinguished; the noises cease. The unnatural calm is only broken by the measured tread of the guard. But no sooner is the regular tramp lost to the keen ears of the listeners, than a new murmur begins; new uproars break out; and the peaceable and honest citizen, who has ventured into the deceitful repose, hastens his steps towards his own respectable and quiet neighbourhood. This is not a pleasant picture; but five hundred years ago the place presented one still worse. There were then no signs of civilization, even in its lowest aspect. There were neither streets nor houses,-nothing, in 'fact, but a wide marsh, traversed by an ill-made and worse kept causeway, which passed through a large mass of crumbling ruins. No Christian ever put foot within them, unless in company with some priest, who could set at rest the evil spirits by which they were notoriously haunted. 66 The place was approached by a sort of outwork, called the "Hole of the Damned." It was the corner of the town, in which were the "Jews' Street," Cut-throat Cross," and Rogues Alley," the haunt of miscreants of the lowest degree of villany. The house of the hangman and the town-gallows stood prominent here, as a perpetual remembrancer for the edification of the inhabitants. During the early part of his homeward ride, the Canon Bartholomew, who seemed to enjoy the freshness of the night air, after the heating debauch, from which he had risen, entered with much glee into the spirit of the jester's practical jokes, and laughed heartily at the strokes of his rough satire, dealt about on the varlets of the churchmen entirely for their master's amusement. He imitated their somewhat staggering gait, and the stuttering utterance which was the natural consequence of their excess. He quizzed them without mercy; and when they strove to reach him with the end of their quarter-staffs or the thongs of the whips they carried for the service of the canon's mule, Jacob Parigault twisted and turned from them, or upon them, with attitudes as grotesque as theirs were awkward, and in a way very often to leave them sprawling in the dirty streets. But as the party approached Cut-throat Cross, a more serious air was mingled with the fooleries of the sot-souris. "Brother," said he, taking by the arms a fat and fuddled varlet, who could by no means walk straight, so often had he put hand to head during the evening, "my worthy friend, you would do well to cross yourself, as well as your legs, in this unholy spot. Sign, sign quickly, Martin, for, God preserve us! the devil himself comes here at night, and his comrades are dead felons whom he slips down from the gibbets, and the Jews-miscreants, whose very mention makes my hair stand on end!" The canon laughed less faintly than before, and his man Martin began in good earnest to cross himself as the fool went on. "Saint Nicholas save us! what was that? What a tall black figure! Ah, it is goneeasy enough for it! for mayhap it was some pale thin ghost, or worse still, some demon of hell." "Help, help! mercy, mercy! The virgin save us! Avaunt Satan! Martin! Gobert! Holy Father, make haste, begin the exorcism, begin, begin!" and other most voluble exclamations burst out this moment from the fool, who lay prostrate on the road, his torch extinguished, and the affrighted company consequently left in total darkness. To describe a scene so gloomy and involved is what no chronicler would have the hardihood to attempt. Jacob Parigault had fallen over some substance of greater bulk than a passing stone, as the varlets could barely distinguish without being able to judge of its exact magnitude or nature. The canon's mule made a sudden stop, and had infallibly jerked Father Nicholas right over his head into the road, had not the good man seized a fast hold of the animal's ears, balancing himself the while on his neck, while the frightened varlets each held one of his reverence's legs, convinced that their only chance of safety was in sticking to his skirts, and at the same time keeping him in a position that would allow of his freely repeating the exorcism commanded by the church in such cases. "What ailest thee, thou jesting ass?" replied the canon to the fool's exclamation. Is this a place for thy fooleries? Thou hast nearly caused me to keep thy profane company closer than I covet.' "Holy father, take pity on me! I am in the gripe of the devil!" cried the fool. "Hold thy impious tongue, fellow, nor provoke Heaven's wrath! On, varlets on! Let this malapert jester follow as he may," said Watermetz in an unwonted tone of anger. Holy saints! He tears me with his claws! he bites me with his teeth! Do you not hear his infernal voice? Cruel Father Nicholas !" The piteous tone with which this was uttered, and the undoubted sounds of a most unchristian voice, fiercely chattering in the direction where the body of the fool was lying, convinced the canon and his followers that it was no joke. One of the men, by repeated puffings, restored the light of the torch, from a spark which was not quite extinct, and its lurid gleams falling upon the road showed a very appalling scene. Jacob Parigault had doubled himself up, his face and knees resting on the earth, afraid to look round or to attempt to rise, while a huge monkey fastened on his back was scratching and biting him unmercifully. Close be side lay the object over which the fool had stumbled. It was the dead and bleeding body of a woman. Father Nicholas and his followers, almost petrified with fear, attempted to push forward, the canon calling loudly to Martin to flog the mule with all his might, while Gobert drove away the monkey and released the fool. "On, on, good varlets! On from this unholy place, and give notice to the provost of this cruel murder: forward, forward, kind fool! Pick thy steps, fellow; there may be more of this loose company ere we get rid of Hell's Gap!" "Loose company, indeed!" muttered the fool, wiping the mud from his bleeding face with one hand, and waving the torch with the other, while the varlets whipped on the mule, throwing fearful glances around them the while; and Father Nicholas, now settled in his saddle, began in good earnest to repeat, in an agitated tone, the regular form of exorcism against the evil one. But all were again interrupted by the plaintive cries of a child, and in a moment more the helpless little object was discovered lying at some short distance from the body of the murdered woman. Moved with compassion at this sight, the worthy canon forgot for a moment his alarm, and wrapping the little innocent carefully in his mantle, he carried it home with him; and his next step was to waken his elderly maiden sister, Madame Bertha, who had lived with and kept house for him for three-and-twenty years. 2.-The public care but little whether a title be a fair one, or a mere catch-line These letters are written in a pure style, not without a spice of wit and elegance; in every way as if written originally for the press, to which, however, they do infinite credit. One extract will suffice; the subject is interesting, and its treatment that of an elegant and accomplished pen. On the first day we had so little idea of the vicinity of the engagement, that I drove out with a Belgian family in an open carriage towards the Bois de Soignies. But we were obliged to retreat precipitately, and take another direction across the country, and pass through a different barrière through the town to my residence. They wished me to accept an instant asylum with them. The house of Monsieur d'H— was built over part of the old palace; and he had prepared one of the extensive caves for his family, in the event of the town being given up to the sword and rapine. I promised to avail myself of their kind offer, should the peril become more urgent; but I resolved to remain another day in our villa. Towards five the following morning, I was roused from the sofa on which I had thrown myself, by the trampling of horses, and the cries of the people of the suburbs. I flew to the window, and beheld a troop of Belgians in full fight covered, not with glory, but with dust, gal loping towards the town! I heard the gates close against them, and saw them scamper o'er the plain towards Lacken. The mob increased; their shrieks of terror rent the air, -"Les François sont ici! Ils s'emparent de la porte de la ville!" mingled with the cries of the women, and with those of my little household, who all rushed into my chamber, expecting me to save them. In the midst of this terror, I heard the wellknown voice of the commander of the town, Colonel Jones, vociferating with all the ener gy and passion of a Welshman. In traction, I ran out to him; he stormed, and explained in no gentle terms, that it was a false alarm, caused by the sudden nervous affection of the troop of Belgians I had seen in flight. He commanded me to quit my house, and kindly sent me a carriage to secure my dis |