other in London in September. But the mischief did not end here. The farce-writer was suddenly arrested in his brisk bobbing career by an odour of mock-turtle soup; and young Culpepper felt a penchant for a glass of cherry bounce. The consequence was, that all four met upon the floor of the confectioner. Now came the moment for two pair of imaginations to come into play. Lord Robert was quite on the wing; he merely stayed to see Madame Vestris commence her re-engagement: Captain Thackeray was never more surprised in his life than in finding himself in town; but the fact "was, that his gun burst last week at Sir Frank Featherspring's, and he had merely come to purchase a new one. Young Culpepper had been summoned from Margate to oppose the discharge of an insolvent debtor; and the dapper farce-writer had sprained his ankle in stepping out of a box at the Brighton Theatre, and was come to town for advice.-Four greater falsehoods were never uttered under the roof of Westminster Hall!

The usual question of "who would have thought of meeting you in town at this time of the year ?"-having been reciprocally propounded, all four of our autumnal leaves grew wondrous loving. 66 Misery," says the proverb, "makes a man acquainted with strange bedfellows." September may be said to generate associations equally extraordinary. Young Culpepper proposed a dinner at his father's house in Savage Gardens on the following day. The invitation was joyfully acceded to. As the party separated, young Culpepper and the farce-writer issued together up Jermyn Street. "I declare I am quite pleased with Lord Robert's manner," said the former; "I never knew him so gracious: what can it be owing to ?" "The season," answered the dramatist: "People of fashion grow quite warm and hearty when nobody of any note sees them. If the sun were but half as hot, it would be a capital thing for the harvest." "Well! that accounts for it," ejaculated the young citizen: "old Mrs. Poppleton stopped her carriage yesterday in Russell Square, on purpose to ask me to dine with her. She reproached me quite tenderly for never coming near her and lo and behold! I found that the foundation of the feast was her want of a fourth to make up a rubber. She was beating the highways and hedges, and luckily happened to alight upon me.”

Old Culpepper received the party with great civility. He, too, was an autumnal leaf, and he too had his lie ready for being one. They could not get a house at Ramsgate: Broadstairs was too retired: and as for Margate, Mrs. Culpepper would not hear of it so they meant, next Saturday, to try Brighton: he was aware that there was a terrible mixture there: especially from Saturday to Monday: but the air might do Mrs. Culpepper's stomach good, and he himself had never seen a chain pier.

After dinner, at which "the hot and hurried Jane" administered, without being the authoress of any material catastrophe, Lord Robert Ranter expressed to Captain Thackeray his surprise at not having seen his name in the Covent-garden play-bills, after the performance of Hamlet. "Why, the fact is," said the Captain, "upon reflection, I did not think it quite a gentlemanly thing to supersede Kean or Macready they enjoy a certain portion of popular favour, and, hang it it would not be quite fair to clamber over their heads. No! I have lately been turning my mind toward writing plays, rather than acting

them. Before dinner, I was looking over the Life of Hayley, in Mr. Culpepper's window-seat, yonder. I see that the poet, at his outset in life, speculated upon writing two plays per annum, which, at five hundred pounds each (his estimated rate of profit), would give him a thousand a-year a very gentlemanly addition to any man's income. I rather believe, that in point of fact, Hayley never got a thousand pence from the theatre, which I am rather surprised at, for he was unquestionably a gentleman :-indeed, he behaved to both his wives in the highest style of fashion."-" At my dramatic outset," said the dapper farce-writer, "my expectations were not less sanguine than those of the poet of Eartham. My first production was a comedy, and my last one a farce." "I should like to know the history of both of them," said old Culpepper, pushing the bottle to him at the same time. "I had once some taste for the drama myself. I shall never forget poor John Palmer at the Royalty. Ah! he was the man for Don Juan. I am told, Lord Byron has failed lately in the part: and well he may. Nobody will ever come up to John Palmer-there was a leg for you!" "My first comedy," said the dramatist, "was called Love in Jeopardy' it was accepted by the proprietors of Covent-garden Theatre "I am sorry for it," said the founder of the feast; "John Palmer was the man for comedy, and he was at Drury-lane. There was brown powder! poor fellow! and such a pair of blue silk stockings." "Nothing could equal my joy at seeing it advertised in the red bills of the day," continued the writer of farces. "Except your fear at the drawing up of the curtain," said Thackeray: "Egad! that is an awful moment: I felt it myself the other day in Hamlet. I slew whole squadrons at Waterloo, without a tenth of the trepedation I then felt." "My piece was successful," continued the play-wright; "and at that time authors received their remuneration by taking the profits of the third, sixth, and ninth nights. The celebrated Cumberland shook my hand, and dubbed me the modern Congreve. On the third night, an envious shower of rain fell at six o'clock, insomuch, that the expenses did not enter the house. "The rain might have thinned the pit and galleries," observed the honest slopseller, "but that could not have kept the company away from the dress-boxes." "I beg your pardon, sir," retorted the follower of the Muses; "people of fashion in those days did not like to expose their horses: coachmen then did not want Mr. Martin of Galway to teach them humanity. Well! the sixth night arrived, and a finer night I never witnessed. I looked out upon the chapel-leads from the window of my lodgings in Martlet-court, and they were as dry as a bone. Off I went to the Theatre at a quarter before six, and stationed myself in what was then called the slips. The house was very respectably filled, and I calculated upon at least a hundred pounds beyond the expenses. At the close of the first music, however, to my great annoyance, Lewis, the manager, made his appearance, and informed the house, that Mr. Middleton having been taken suddenly ill, Mr. Toms had kindly undertaken to read the part of Courtly, and hoped for their usual kind indulgence. You might have knocked me down with a feather! Happily, however, the audience did not seem to think there was much to choose between Mr. Middleton and Mr. Toms; they accordingly slightly clapped with their hands, as much as to say-Well, well! go on.' The music, accordingly, continued, and I was ready to dance to it for joy. The prompter now

rang his bell, and the green curtain slowly rising, discovered a genteel drawing-room, with two red chairs, and a sofa of the same material painted in the flats. Lewis, at this juncture, once more issued upon the stage. My heart was in my mouth! Ladies and Gentlemen,' said the stage-manager, 'I am extremely sorry to appear again before you, to entreat your farther indulgence; but the fact is, that Mrs. Esten, who was to have played the part of Eugenia, is taken so alarmingly ill, that her life is despaired of: under this awful visitation, Mrs. Twiselden has kindly undertaken-.' The audience would hear no more: groans, hisses, catcalls, and sucked oranges, assailed the apologist from every quarter.""I should like to see the sucked orange that dared fly at John Palmer," said old Culpepper. "Ah! he was the man for an apology-such a white cambric handkerchief."—"Lewis retreated, of course," said the narrator," and in two minutes re-appeared, with a proposal couched in the following words: Ladies and gentlemen, I feel greatly concerned at having excited your displeasure, and have only to add, that I am authorized by the proprietor to inform you, that whoever objects to his arrangement may again receive his money at the door." 'Oh! very well,' exclaimed at least two hundred voices; and away stalked the utterers to the right and left, carrying away my property in their pockets. Scarcely knowing what I did, I rushed out of the house, and ran, as if the devil drove me, to Mrs. Esten's abode in Orangestreet. The drawing-room windows of the lady glittered with lights, and ostrich feathers were waving in every direction. My thundering appeal to the knocker brought to the door Mrs. Bennett, her mother. "Good heavens! madam,' said I, 'I have left the Theatre in the greatest confusion from the absence of your daughter.' 'Oh, Sir!' whined the matron, such an alarming illness'-'Illness, madam! what with all these lamps and ostrich feathers! Oh! only a few particular friends to keep up her spirits,' rejoined the old lady. Finding that nothing was to be gained in that quarter, I returned to Covent-garden, and discovered a beggarly account of empty boxes.' 'Really, Sir,' said I to Lewis, 'I think that, under the circumstances, the Theatre should allow me the money that was in it."" You may try 'em, if you please,' said Lewis, with his accustomed jerk of the head; but I think I can venture to say you won't catch them at it,'"-"Fill your glass, Sir," said Culpepper; "I think I can venture to say that poor John Palmer would never have served you so. Ah! there was a leg! and such a pair of silver buckles! I see him now, starting back and making his hair-powder fly over the fiddlers' heads.-Well; but your ninth night ?" "Oh! on the ninth night," said the poet, "the play was Fontainville Forest-a stupid ghost thing of Bowden's."-"I wonder you did not call Lewis out," observed Captain Thackeray; "there's nothing like a bullet for making people civil. So much for your first play; and now for your last farce."-"Not till you have tasted this cool bottle," said old Culpepper: " there, try that; you may be a very good poet, but you are a bad hand at passing the bottle. Ah! poor John Palmer! he was the man for passing the bottle: we shall never see the bottle passed again!-But I beg pardon; you were going to tell us about your last farce.". 66 Why, the history of my last farce," said the bard, "is told in two words: it was neither more nor less than egregiously and unanimously damned. Not a single point told.

They set off dully; and when once the audience are at fault, the very things that would otherwise delight are sure to disgust. In order to imbibe unbiassed opinions, I had stationed myself in the two-shilling gallery. How short-sighted an expedient! The people there were absolutely frantic with rage. The author was a villain: they only wished they had him there; might the devil fetch them if they would not throw him over into the Pit. Alarmed for my personal safety, 1 followed an orange-woman up the benches, and stole out of that populous pandemonium: awhile I hesitated on the brink of the upper row، Shall I stop here ? said I to myself; or shall I stop at the stagedoor ?" "Stop any thing but the bottle," interrupted the founder of the feast. "Well! at length I slowly paced down stairs, walked into Hart-street, and entered at the stage-door. Afraid to face the pity of the actors in the Green-room, I wandered amid the scenery at the back of the stage, among a motley assemblage of baronial castles, woods, cascades, butchers' shops, and Chinese pagodas; yet still the howls and hisses rang in my ears. While standing there, like Orestes tortured by the Furies, two scene-shifters saw and recognised me. ، Well ! never mind, Dick,' said the one of them to the other (affecting not to know me), 'I'll bet you a pot of beer this farce looks up, after all.' Thus I commenced my dramatic career by being put upon a level with Congreve, and ended it by being pitied by a scene-shifter !"—" But, zounds!" exclaimed the Thespian Captain," you did not put up with it, did you? Where were your pistols ?"-" Put up with it" said the poet; "to be sure I did: how could I help myself?”—“ Very badly,” said the slopseller, "if I may judge from your conduct here: the bottle has stood at your right elbow two minutes and a half, and you have not helped yourself yet."

OUR LADY'S WELL. *

FOUNT of the Woods! thou art hid no more
From Heaven's clear eye, as in time of yore!
For the roof hath sunk from thy mossy walls,
And the Sun's free glance on thy slumber falls,
And the dim tree-shadows across thee pass,
As the boughs are sway'd o'er thy silvery glass,
And the reddening leaves to thy breast are blown,
When the Autumn-wind hath a stormy tone,
And thy bubbles rise to the flashing rain—
Bright Fount ! thou art Nature's own again !

Fount of the Vale! thou art sought no more
By the Pilgrim's foot, as in time of yore,
When he came from afar, his beads to tell,
And to chaunt his hymn, at our Lady's well.
There is heard no Ave through thy bowers,
Thou art gleaming lone midst thy water-flowers;
But the herd may drink from thy gushing wave,
And there may the reaper his forehead lave,
And the woodman seeks thee not in vain—
Bright Fount! thou art Nature's own again!

A beautiful Spring in North Wales, formerly dedicated to the Virgin, and much frequented by Pilgrims.

Fount of the Virgin's ruin'd shrine!

A voice that speaks of the past is thine!

It mingles the tone of a thoughtful sigh

With the notes that ring through the laughing sky;
'Midst the mirthful song of the summer-bird,

And the sound of the breeze, it will yet be heard !—
Why is it that thus we may look on thee,
To the festal sunshine sparkling free?—
"Tis that all on earth is of Time's domain-
He hath made thee Nature's own again!

Fount of the Chapel with ages grey! .
Thou art springing freshly amidst decay!
Thy rites are past, and thy Cross lies low,
And the changeful hours breathe o'er thee now!
Yet if at thine altar one holy thought

In man's deep spirit of old hath wrought,

If peace to the mourner hath here been given,
Or prayer from a chasten'd heart to Heaven,

Be the spot still hallow'd while Time shall reign,
Who hath made thee Nature's own again!

F. H.

MEMOIRS BY BARON FAIN AND GENERAL RAPP.*

We have to congratulate the public on the appearance of two more volumes of Memoirs relative to the reign and character of Napoleon, which in their different ways are calculated to throw a strong light upon their subject; to enhance the credibility of many known anecdotes, while they add to the number of facts already accumulated; and to give precision and fixity to the ideas which philosophy shall entertain of the singular being from whom they derive their interest,—his actions, and their ends. It is thus that the present generation is favoured with the possession of knowledge, which in the less stirring ages, ere the press had received the full developement of its powers, was neglected and lost, or at best, left to be recovered by posterity through the purblind labours of antiquarians, the casual good luck of compilers, and the conjectural felicity of historians in tracing causes and their effects. Scarcely three years had elapsed since the decease of Napoleon in his "lonely isle," and already we are in possession of abundant materials for history, reflecting his mind in every point of view from which it could be approached, and illustrating his greatest actions by the minutest traits of manifestation, which have escaped in moments of domestic privacy, of confidential intercourse, or of uncontrollable excitement.

Baron Fain and General Rapp, the authors of the Memoirs now under consideration, present two more instances of that unbounded attachment and affectionate admiration which Napoleon seems to have inspired in all who were placed near his person; and their testimony will doubtless have its weight in removing that fabric of prejudice and of falsehood, which a cowardly and contemptible expediency had

"Memoirs of General Count Rapp, First Aide-de-Camp to Napoleon; written by himself and published by his family."-" The Manuscript of 1814; a History of the Events which led to the Abdication of Napoleon. By Baron Fain." 1 vol. 8vo.