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The father once had loved, been wived, was blest, At least he thought so, as most husbands do; But, to say truth, a husband ne'er carest

A lovelier woman-years pass'd, one or two, In happiness and sunshine, still the zest

Of his intense affection seem'd quite new; And it had kept so longer, but a friend, A viper, stung his peace-he saw it endAnd took his child, and fled his home, and went He knew not whither-home had ceased to be A home for him-no more could sweet content Dwell on the bitter spot where memory Corroded his heart's core, a punishment

Too sharp for his broke spirit:-years had he Lived there apart from men; his son had now Grown up with manly youth upon his brow. The father ne'er of woman to him spoke;

She had sear'd his May of life: haply he thought The poignancy of his affliction's stroke

Might blunt at last if he against it fought,
For man may lighten much of misery's yoke

By stern resistance, and by suffering nought
To strengthen it; and yet a wounded soul,
'Tis no light task to medicine or control.
Or it might be his love had turn'd to hate
Of woman and her falsehood, I can't say;
Certain it is he had a hope that fate

Might never Valentine throw in her way,
(Such was the name he gave him,) and create
For him, as for his sire, keen misery-
But rather seem'd to wish the youth might die
Last of his race, unscathed by woman's eye.

Oh, what a living hell it is to feel

The anchor of our lives tear up and part! That which we hang by-that to which we kneel As to an idol graven on the heart:

The refuge from life's tempest, where we steal

As to a sanctuary:-wherefore is the smart So merciless of this unequall'd ill,

As just to keep us living and not kill!

Thus many a year went over, others came
And pass'd away in the same solitude;

They never parted, save when hunting game
Might sep'rate them an hour amid the wood;
And then they met over the evening flame

Of their fresh-kindled fire, and cook'd their food, And Valentine oft from his sire attain'd

Much varied lore by observation gain'd

In the creation's system, in astrology,

The use of plants, of animals, and their kind';

But he was ne'er annoy'd about cacology,

Nor muddling whims like Kant's upon the mind,
Nor plagued with dusty labours of philology,
But such as only seem'd for use design'd

In a dull hermit life, like that they led,
Thus mopingly to the world's seeming dead.

The father was a secret man; at best

His breast was a closed temple free for none-
Oft on a sudden he would leave his rest

At the hour of dead night, and sigh alone
His anguish to the moon, when overprest
With listless wretchedness, and sleep had gone
Scared by the recollection too severe

Of blighted love and her who once was dear.
And he'd steal back and gaze upon his son,
Who lay enwrapt in slumber, till a tear

Fell on the unconscious youth-'twould be but one—
His pride forbade a second to appear:
And to the black deep forest he would run
Till the grey dawn recall'd him to his sear
And leafy couch-none knew his path but he,
Or shared the stolen hours of his grief's luxury.
Now Valentine one day had chased a deer
A long and weary distance from his cave,
And come upon an open country, clear

Of wood and thicket, where the sight was brave
And boldly beautiful, while far and near

Lay cultured fields on which rich harvests wave
In a wide golden sweep, and haunts of men,
Which ignorant Valentine ne'er saw till then.
He mark'd the grey smoke from a chimney rising
Of a white cottage, which look'd strange and new,
The walls and windows were to him surprising,
Of men not one appear'd before his view;

He stood stock still, conjecturing and surmising

What could have raised them with such skill, and who Might be the creatures domiciled within

Such curious shelters from the wild storm's din.

Were they like him, in shape and colour fair?—

Had they legs, feet, arms, hands and heads, or wings
To waft them in the blue serene of air?

Or were they strange and shapeless forms of things
Like he had dream'd of, demi-man and bear,
Fish joined to fowl, or like imaginings
Which he once had of beings in the sun,
In shape like trees, deer-legg'd to walk or run?
Were they scaled over like a crocodile,

Or feather'd like an eagle?-Thus he mused
Till fear came on him, lest by strength or guile
He be assailed, kill'd outright, or abused.
Homeward he went, and then began to while
His time with new conjectures, nor refused
To admit absurdities that none but one

In such strange ignorance rear'd could e'er have done :
And entered in the forest, I will say

A hundred yards; the evening cool and fine
Was reddening into death through bough and spray
From the west heaven, bright glorious in its shine;

And he was stepping homeward hastily,

When rich sounds broke upon his ear-divine

In holiness of music, soft but clear,

And not of earthly seeming to his ear.

They rose and fell in gushes, as the sound
Of the wind-spirit's harp upon the breeze;
Now dying like the twilight when around

The purple light goes darkling by degrees :
Now mounting high the lofty notes rebound
In melody's full thunder, prompt to seize
On the last hold of passion, raise, subdue,
Or thrill through every vein with rapture new.
Valentine stopp'd, struck by the hidden spell,
And the sweet influence of that witchery;
Then, confident that danger could not dwell
Where issued such delicious harmony,
He cautious stole toward a little dell

Whence it proceeded, and behind a tree

He stood and gazed from whence the notes had come~
He gazed, and was struck motionless and dumb.
He saw two creatures such as his free thought
Had never pictured in a seraph blest

With heaven's own beauty,-for he had been taught
To think there was a heaven where he should rest
After life's journey finish'd, and had wrought

Bright fancies of each glory and each guest
That did inhabit there-'twas only earth
Of which he'd been in ignorance from his birth.
But all he'd painted in imagination

Of forms and beings, he now saw outdone:
His heart beat quick, but still he kept his station,
Fix'd as a Phidian statue carved in stone
And looking mute attention-no cessation
His gaze allow'd itself, he seem'd alone

To breathe for vision, and alone to be
Created for one single end-to see.

One of these forms of loveliness was tall,

And seem'd beneath the dark green shade to be A dream of light; her hand and arm were small, And with their alabaster, clasp'd a tree

In her reclining; her rich hair, let fall

Over her low full shoulders, to her knee

In fine light ringlets reach'd-her eyes were blue,
Her cheek transparent the blood tinted through.
She smiled on a companion seated low
Upon a flowery hillock—a brunette

With raven locks that waved in graceful flow
Over her skin voluptuous, stouter set
In form, but symmetry itself; a glow

Of fascination round her black eyes met,
As round the charm'd ones of the basilisk,
And not less dangerous to dare their risk.

The blue eyes look'd all languor, faith and love,
Meekness and truth, confiding purity-
The black were of the earth, and seem'd to prove
A temperament more passionate and high;
The blue seem'd heavenly, as from above
Looking down hope of mercy-the black eye
Inspired a confidence that long'd to say,
Be mine, and I am thine eternally."

What wonder the youth stood like one bereft
Of corporal existence! Never fear
Intruded on him, though alone and left

So near strange beings;-but it was not clear
What was his feeling, for divided, cleft

Into amaze, and something haply near
The mystic power that links the soul of man
To female loveliness-he could not scan-
He could not picture it: but to our tale-
The beauteous creatures rose, and suddenly
Departed from that spot home to the vale

Where they were born and dwelt; the youth each eye Alternate rubbed. Was he awake? appeal

He made to memory successfully,
That he had toil'd in hunting all the day,
And the sun only now had stolen away.

And it was not a vision! Then he gazed
After those beings, where they just had been,
Till his eyes ached intently, and amazed,
As a son looks to where he just has seen
His father's spirit-but he still was pleased
When he reflected on the enchanting scene-
For he had never thought that things so fair
Inhabited on earth or lived in air.

Valentine told his anxious, waiting sire

The sights he witness'd, asking what they were, Those strange and lovely beings;-to enquire Was natural; but the sire would not declare The truth to his young ear; but with desire

To hold him safe within deception's snare,
Said, "They were fairy beings, born and bred
In the sun's orb, where they at sunset fled ;-
"That they were foes, the direst man e'er saw,
That led him to destruction, smiled to kill,
Allured but to betray; obey'd no law,

Nor faith, nor honour; while their every will
Was false and hollow, and their art would draw
Him, their sought victim, to perdition's ill
Unless he fled them, for their voice was death,
Their eyes kill'd peace, poison was in their breath.”
Valentine, scarcely credulous, then said,-
"Evil is even good, if such betray;

They are the loveliest creatures ever head
Dream'd into life ideal; fancy's play

They mock to scorn. Father, these fairies shed
Upon my heart strange feelings; I'll away

If I can flee, should they descend again ;—

Would they were meet companions for us men!"— "How sweet this wild wood and this cave would be, I can't help thinking either," Valentine

Whisper'd to his young bosom secretly,

Yet check'd himself, as fearing to repine,

Or doubt his parent's cautiou-" if with me
They dwelt, or sat under the shady vine,

The thick wild vine that spreads above us here ;-
Yet 'tis a wish too dangerous I fear !"

Here I must close abruptly. If he went
Another glance at these fair forms to steal;
If he, despite his father, ever sent

A sigh towards them, I'll not now reveal :—
'Tis likely that he did not rest content,

And in the woods for life his limbs conceal,

For they were manly, made for woman's eye :-
The sequel shall be coming by and by.



"I know very well that those who are commonly called learned women, have lost all manner of credit by their impertinent talkativeness and conceit of themselves;-it is a wrong method and ill choice of books that makes them just so much the worse for what they have read." Swift's Letter to a Young Lady.

AH! my dearest Maria Louisa! you who are still enjoying at the Institution the lectures of the most elegant of all professors; you who twice a week have an opportunity of witnessing his ingenious experiments in pneumatics, aerostatics, and hydrostatics, while he explains all the different 'ologies of the alphabet, from anthology to zoology! you who are, perhaps, at this moment inhaling the gas of nitrous oxide or gas of paradise, how do I envy you your sensations and associations! Most joyfully do I sit down to perform my promise of writing an account of my journey to Worthing, not to indulge in the frivolous tittle-tattle to which so many of our sex are addicted, but to attempt a scientific journal worthy of our studies, and of the opportunities afforded us by our constant attendance at so many of the learned lectures in London. Nothing occurred on the road worthy of particular mention: the indications of the barometer, the mean temperature of the thermometer, and the contents of the pluviometer, will be found in the tables which we have agreed to interchange weekly. In the meadows through which we occasionally passed, I observed several fine specimens of the mammalia class of quadrupeds, such as the bos taurus, or common ox; the ovis aries, of Linnæus, or sheep; the equus caballus, or horse; the asinus, or ass, both Jenny and Jack; and the capræa hircus, or common goat, both Billy and Nanny. By-the-by these vulgar methods of discriminating genders are very unscientific, and may often lead to mistakes. Learned language cannot be too precise.

In the hedges, I recognised some curious flowers, particularly the bellis, of the order polygamia superflua, vulgò the daisy; the cardamine, to which Shakspeare has given the vulgar name of the lady's smock; the caltha, or marigold, with its radiated discous flower, to which the lower orders assign a coarser appellation; culverkeys, mentioned in Walton's Angler; mithridate mustard, or charlock; the primula, or primrose; violets, you (remember Shakspeare's sweet lines

"Violets dim,

But sweeter than the lids of Juno's cyes,

Or Cytherea's breath;")

lolium and fumaria, or darnel and fumatory, ingredients in the wreath of the broken-hearted Ophelia; together with several fine specimens of the carduus, or common thistle.

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