which captivated us; and once, when, as if to replace some of the wandering curls which floated inauburn luxuriance over the shoulders, the glove of one was on the point of being removed, a sudden sharp intonation from the other reminded her of the impropriety, and the glove was hastily replaced, as if she fancied showing her hands an indelicacy equal to what a Spanish lady is guilty of when she shows her legs. It instantly occurred to me that they were married women, and afraid of betraying the secret by the discovery of the ring. I was determined to be satisfied on this point, which thought, notwithstanding the remonstrance, was within my power to effect.

The dance was again at its highest, and away we went, every now and then, thanks to the powerful influence of the wine, upsetting a bear, or making a harlequín spring about two feet higher than usual; and when I thought that favouring Bacchus had done his duty, by the wild brightened eye of my partner, I walked into a recess, and, taking her hand, endeavoured to remove the glove.-We all know, ladies like those innocent liberties which are easily excused, and, in point of fact, not indelicate. I felt as under the direction of Ovid, who recommends tearing the bracelet from the lady's arm, and I considered that what the great master of love proposed might be safely practised. Every footman knows the rule by which he acts; and when the elderly mother lifts her ponderous self into her carriage, to the great danger of the springs, John allows her silk dress to come in rude contact with the wheel; but see the difference, when the lovely daughter of seventeen, looking as Nature's fairest production-John well knowę her lovely-formed limbs should not meet the curious eye of strangers, and carefully presses her dress against the limbs he modestly pretends to hide.

I felt a ring-by Allah, I felt a ring-without doubt a ring! It was then certain she was another's wife, and all the danger of meeting my long friend with the cocked-hat came upon me like a flash of lightning; and just at that moment, by way of confirming the reality, in came the gentleman. There was I, her hand in mine, all alone, eyes red with hope, taken (as the sailors say in the Straits of Babelmandel)" all aback, with no room to brace the yards round,"-meaning, I suppose, running, being tipsy, into a sentry-box, and not being able to find one's way out again. A murmuring conversation took place, not altogether as unruffled as the ocean during the halcyon days. I wished myself snug enough in the mines in Siberia, or under the protection (a comfortable name for confinement) of the Russian police. Words waxed higher and higher, when the lady, suddenly ris ing, took my arm, and went in search of her sister, the long gentleman leaving behind him a look much longer than his sword, and which seemed to say, "It will be my fault if I do not revenge my.

self upon you, my young traveller." By this time I had recovered myself, and thought as little of him as Barbarossa did of the pope : I looked unutterable defiance, and left him to return, as the Persians say, "with a white face," the best way he could.

In spite of all anxieties, I danced with the same partner until three o'clock in the morning, at which hour I was quite as ignorant of who she might be as I was at the commencement of the evening. We now resolved to retire homeward, and at the conclusion of a dance I ventured to tell my partner that I should be happy to renew the acquaintance on the morrow, and see her own and not her varnished face. "But," said I at the conclusion, "my carriage is here, and is at your disposal." She answered, that she lived in the same direction as we did, and that herself and companion would accompany us, and feel obliged for the accommodation.

Every thing assumed a heavy appearance; the musicians, poor souls! played with less spirits; the ebullitions of youth were only manifested in languid kicks; the bear was nearly melted in one corner; and harlequin, like the Sleeping Beauty in the woods, curled up in another.

I called the carriage, and had already handed one of the ladies into the vehicle, when I heard the cursed noise of the long gentleman : he looked at the scene with perfect nonchalance, and even told the coachman to go home. In vain I would here paint the raptures of that short interview, the fondness with which we shook hands, or rather held them in lover-like warmth. And here I must mention that I withdrew the glove, and rifled from off the finger of my beloved a ring; the treasure was conveyed, unseen by my companion, to my own hand, and I ardently wished to gaze upon the prize. The coach arrived at its destination; the bell rang, and the door opened. I offered the carriage to convey my love to her residence, which she declined, alighting without assistance, and, entering the house, walked up stairs. I flew to the lamp on the staircase, and examined my prize; it was a hair ring, with the words "Gieb mir ein kus," on white silk, thereon. I followed with great astonishment and speed to my own room, and, on entering, saw I was attended by the long gentleman. The scene was fast drawing towards a close. I asked with violence what he meant by the intrusion; when, unmasking, I discovered my own valet-de-place, who wished to know at what hour I wanted the carriage the next day and the ladies, eternal curses on all masquerades! were the two house-maids belonging to the establishment of Mynheer Jagor, the hof-restaurateur on the Linden! N. M. Magazine.

INVOCATION TO THE HARP.*

HARP of the North! that mouldering long hast hung
On the witch elm that shades St Fillan's spring,
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung,
Till envious ivy did around thee cling,
Muffling with verdant ringlet every string,-

O minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep! 'Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring,

Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep!

Not thus in ancient days of Caledon,

Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd,
When lay of hopeless love, or glory won,
Aroused the fearful or subdued the proud.
At each according pause was heard aloud
Thine ardent symphony, sublime and high !
Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bow'd;
For still the burthen of thy minstrelsy

Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's matchless eye.

O wake once more! how rude soe'er the hand
That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray;

O wake once more! though scarce my skill command
Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay;
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away,

And all unworthy of thy nobler strain,

Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway,

The wizard note has not been touched in vain, Then silent be no more! Enchantress, wake again!

FAREWELL.

HARP of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,
On purple peaks a deeper shade descending,
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,
The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.
Resume thy wizard-elm! the fountain lending,
And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy;
Thy numbers sweet with Nature's vespers blending,
With distant echo from the fold and lea,

And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee.

Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp!

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway,

From the Lady of the Lake."

And little reck I of the censure sharp

May idly cavil at an idle lay.

Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way,
Through secret woes the world has never known,
When on the weary night dawn'd wearier day,
And bitterer was the grief devoured alone.
That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress! is thine own.

Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire,
Some Spirit of the air has waked thy string!
'Tis now a Seraph bold, with touch of fire,
'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing.
Receding now, the dying numbers ring

Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell-
And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring
A wandering witch-note of the distant spell-.
And now, 'tis silent all!-Enchantress, fare-thee-well!

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

SCOTTISH BALLAD.*

It was a' for our rightfu' king
We left fair Scotland's strand;

It was a' for our rightfu' king

We e'er saw Irish land, my dear,
We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do,
And a' is done in vain ;

My love and native land, fareweel,

For I maun cross the main, my dear,
For I maun cross the main.

I turn'd me right and round about
Upon the Irish shore,

An' ga'e my bridle-reins a shake,

With Adieu for evermore, my dear,'

With Adieu for evermore.'

The sodger frae the wars returns,

The sailor frae the main ;

But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again, my dear,
Never to meet again.

When day is gane an' night is come,

An' a' folk bound in sleep,

O think on him that's far awa',

The lee-lang night, an' weep, my dear,

The lee-lang night, an' weep.

*The author of this ballad is said to be Captain Ogilvie of the house of Inverquharity, who accompanied the deposed Jas. II. to Ireland and France.