The words and things to lovers passing great,
So very tame to all the world beside;
The enjoyment of short seasons in a state
Without a void and every wish supplied;
The happiness that seems to mock at fate,

The full heart's heaven, life's feast, and passion's pride; The generous emotions, and the scorn

Of selfish acts, mean deeds, and cares suspicion-born.

But Nature hinted right, that best of mothers

And told him there was something, though not what, Of joy conceal'd from him, perhaps known to others— Joy undiscover'd that might be his lot

Spite of his sire's forebodings-youth ne'er bothers
Its scene of happiness, a verdant spot,

With thoughts of snakes that haunt it-youth is right,
They are the curse with which man slays delight-

By dread of future evils, when an hour

He cannot call his own-poor finite man!—
And Valentine lived yet in youth's gay bower,
To enjoy the innocent present was his plan :
And so his father having gone to scour

The woods for game-he hesitating rau
Half fearful, buoyant half with hope, and took
His hunting-spear, and turning to a brook,
Which ran close by, drank of the living stream
To brace his resolution-then like hart

Lightly he sprang cross its reflected beam,
And took the path that led him far apart

From his accustom'd haunts-the morning's gleam
Peep'd through the umbrage here and there, his heart
Gladness lit up, thus cherishing a hope

That gave his curious fancies ample scope.
For doubtless they were busy, as they are
Most in the bosoms of the human race
Untutor❜d in the world; for ever there

Chill reason and reality take their place,
And let them-better is the mountain bare

Its head in heaven, caves, woods, the lake's pure face, And the sweet dreams and wild imaginings

They feast us with, than such low-thoughted things.
"Tis better live on dreams and keep humanity,
And sweet sensations, ever fresh and young,

Than grope amid a lying world's inanity,

And cant, on garbage feed, be slander-stung,
And blunt the senses, and give up from vanity,
Nature's pure fane with starry truths thick hung-
And so would Valentine, I have no doubt,

If he like some had tried both modes about.

I marvel what he mused of as he paced

Towards the place where he those beings met; Strange notions and wild thoughts each other chased, And doubtless he had tremours too, and yet

His curiosity all fear displaced,

Or fear his curiosity but set

To dare all obstacles, and gratify

His sovereign wish though without knowing why.

So nimbly on he went o'er beds of thyme

In open spots, hedged round with lofty trees;
And then he plunged where tangling wild vines climb,
And dew-wet herbage rises to his knees;
And dark o'ershadowing foliage, half sublime
From its obscurity, shut out the breeze-
Then suddenly to open sunshine came,
Where all beain'd glory from a sky of flame,
Dazzling from contrast-now the deer upsprung
From his fresh breakfast, shook the dew away
And bounded off; the leveret shy and young,
Her ears erecting, halted in her play,
Look'd back and fled-the choir of nature sung,
To love attuning every little lay,

For well they knew it while the youth did not-
But he felt something wanting in life's lot.
Thus he went cautious every where about,
Almost on tiptoe, lest he be surprised;
But all was silent-scarce the green leaves flout
And rustle with each other-self-advised
He first thought of returning, when a shout

Of laughter struck his ear, and he surmised
It came from the fair creatures he was seeking,—
It was not far to judge by the sounds breaking.
Then on again he stole, like Indian chief

Skulking in war, to where the wood seem'd ended,
And cots of which he caught a glance though brief,
Again broke on his sight with verdure blended;
And one was in a garden that a thief

Might easily enter, for no fence ascended
To keep it from the wood, and bowers were there,
Which the huge trees hung over in mid air.

Nought else he saw, until a corner turning
Somewhat incautiously, before him stood

Scarce four yards distant, hid from the sun's burning -
The blue-eyed maid he'd seen within the wood,
And further the brunette appear'd, returning

To her companion in a playful mood,

Loaded with sweets and flowers, like laughing May
When down the gale she comes in Spring array.

Each stood in mute astonishment-the fair
To see the intruder in his curious dress,
That spoke him, despite of his noble air,

A colonist of the wide wilderness;

They gazed and gazed some minutes on him there,
Nor changed an attitude, nor moved a tress,

Waiting, perhaps, to hear the stranger speak,
Not knowing what he suffer'd for his freak.

Fear, hope, surprise,-surprise, hope, fear, changed hands,
Alternate dancing on his visage brown,

He could not speak-his soul had no commands
To spare for language, that was swallow'd down
And left his tongue inert, as scorching brands
Struck on his heart his father's words and frown;
He wish'd himself at home, grasp'd firm his spear,
And backward stept as if he were too near

Those creatures strange, until he saw the foe
Made no advancement, and the gay brunette
Laugh heartily in the o'erpowering flow

Of mirth that she was bursting with-she set
Her flowers upon the ground, and needs must go
Towards the stranger, who in terror yet
Couch'd his keen hunting-spear, retiring still
As she came on, but could not find the will
To deal a blow-she was unarm'd as well,

Her power look'd small to his, and then her face,
Her beauty might a raging tiger quell,

And its enchantment every moment's space Wove with more influence its magic spell:

She smiled upon him, ask'd him if the chace
Had stolen his faculties, and hoped he'd ne'er
Kill her as he would kill the forest deer.

And then the blue-eyed maid her sister joins,
Her long bright locks in waves luxuriant spread;
Her sister's arm she takes, and thus purloins
Part of the youth's wild gaze, her lovely head
Archly inclined, around her forehead coins
Of her fair hair hung rich, bordering the red,
The morning flush on snow, of her pure
cheek-

To Valentine she said in accent meek :-
"Come, stranger, tired with hunting you must be,
Seat yourself in that bower, for rest is good;
And you can travel homeward presently,

66

When you have eat some fruit or homely food."-
Yes, come," the gay brunette rejoin'd with glee,
And took his wrist to put him in the road.

He could not speak between delight and fear-
Which he felt most of is not quite so clear.

But at the maiden's touch there something rush'd
Into his frame he never knew before-

Something that thrill'd through every vein, then gush'd
In lightning fire from every bursting pore:-
Now chill he felt, and now with heat was flush'd,
And all before a moment had gone o'er-

Then suddenly, as by magician's wand,
His spear dropped idly from his trembling hand.
Thus offering no resistance, passive led

As by superior power where will is vain,
He went toward the bower with faltering tread,
Speechless, confused, and on his brow like rain
Damp vapours stood, and in his swimming head
Fever and faintness held alternate reign;

He heavily breathed, his heart beat quick, his eye
Was to suffusion wet, his lips were dry.

On one side walk'd the fair and blue-eyed maid,
Smiling upon him with a witching air;

On the other she with eyes of darkest shade,

As moonless heaven when clouds are mustering there;

But they had living fire deeply inlaid

That now and then flash'd forth-she knew not care;

Generous and gay, in spirit passionate,

She fear'd not fortune, and she laugh'd at fate

In short at every thing her sister showed
The counterpart in temper, soft, sedate,
Easily impress'd, and her mind's current flowed
More equable, and for her rural state

Much she had thought, though nothing had she owed

To the world's art-now to a grassy seat

Like an automaton the youth they led,

And the brunette ran off for fruit and bread.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

MR. EDITOR.-The gentleman to whom I addressed the following letter, having taken no notice of it; I conclude (mistakes or miscarriage out of the question) he is wroth against me for only discharging the duties, by himself often solicited, of a very old friendship; and as, in such a mood of mind, misconceptions of my letter may get abroad, I appeal to you, for the sake of public as well as individual justice, to honour it with insertion in The New Monthly Magazine. C. P.

To George Colman, Esq. Deputy-Licenser of Plays. DEAR GEORGE.-Thanks for the MS. two first acts of your new play; but do you really wish my opinion?-Am I to speak out in earnest? or are all your ardent demands for my criticism, like those of the archbishop to his dear enfant Gil Blas? You are so peremptory, however, that come what may come, I must tell you the blessed truth; therefore, dear old friend, burn those two acts. They will never do. People will say, if you persist in them, that the author gives proof of the dotage, (your pardon, but you know I only quote,) of which a royal academician, and others, had delicately accused the licenser. Put them up, at least, if you do not light your cigar with them; tie a little string round them, and fling them into a corner of your deepest drawer, and don't look at them again till we meet.

How is all this, George? what have you been at? in what steeped your brains? or have you wrung them so hard, that they are only fit for hanging out to dry, like a sunday shirt, of old, under the hands of our esteemed washerwoman?—The "Law of Java" was bad enough, as the booksellers know to their cost; a thin mixture of maudlin sentiment and melodrama; but your embryo play!—take my advice, my good fellow, about it.

Can it be that your late religious turn, while it laudably inspires the reforming course you take with all other authors, destroys your own powers as an author? And is sunday-reading and psalm-singing necessarily at war with poetical spirit in the same person? I suspect so, and exhort you to look about you; beware of drivel, and twaddle, and the sonorousness of mere cant. I Own I thought the last set of pious people you introduced me to, rather dangerous: even in your official capacity, such violent though good-hearted enthusiasts may injure you. I see no objection, indeed, to your recent change, particularly at your time of life, and after such a life; it is decorous, and becomes a little elderly gentleman in a Christian country; but every thing still in reason, my dear deputy-licenser; impossibilities are not expected from even the most perfect of us; and you are not

called upon, by any text I know of, to play the zany in your situation, while you pervert or overstrain the duties of it.

Your austere resolve to banish from the stage, as far as it can be done by chastening the modern drama, all disloyalty, immorality, and wickedness, I admire; you know my principles, though my election is not yet as decided as your own, and you will credit this assertion; yet, I say, have a care of nonsense, even for your place sake.

The last day I saw you, you may recollect I parted in great anxiety to begin my journey to the country that evening; yet I believe I mentioned I should hazard a flying visit to W. H. late as it was. I did so; and found poor H. in a tolerable three-pair apartment, with Mrs. H. and the two Misses and little Master H. I knocked at his door, and hailed him, in good spirits, but was chilled at the gloom of his welcome. Mrs. H. too met me in a mysterious manner, and even the elder girl looked dull, and sighed as she curtsied. The same strange depression continued around me. I rallied our old acquaintance, complimented his wife, chucked Miss H. under the chin, and took the little boy on my knee; all to no purpose. I mentioned I had just seen you, and that you looked fresh-faced and lumbering as ever; and then they stared at each other, and turned pale; and, in fact, after a warm preface from H. the murder came out at last; another "trick" of yours, George, in your "brief authority", our poor friend H. stept to a drawer, and placed before me a drama that had been accepted at a Theatre Royal, but that you had prohibited; with two others, also approved by the manager, but that you had so bravely cut up and cut down, he had scarce any hopes left about them. By the first, that is, by your sweeping prohibition of it, the poor fellow lost an almost certain two hundred and fifty; Mrs. H. a long-ambitioned and long-promised addition to her summer finery! and the Misses and Master H. I know not what.

All very fair, however, if on fair grounds; but as a common friend between you and H. I must conscientiously reject the if. He has let me have the MSS. home to the country with me; I have attentively perused the drama that you altogether prohibited, and attentively weighed the official cuts you have made in the two others, and laugh at you I must, my dear George: you are either hoaxing us, or you in reality approach that archbishop's state, before glanced at, and indeed require my friendly interference. If you do not jest, you dribbledote; that's certain.

First and foremost, in the name of the consistency of things, how could you, in such a wholesale way, condemn that piece with the queer name?—you know little of logic; but on what grounds of reasoning competent to any journeyman carpenter who reads the Mechanic's Magazine?-Let me remind you of the facts, in two words. A drama comes before you, called after a petty disturber of his Majesty's peace, and having him for its hero, but of which the tendency and catastrophe are to read a lesson to all who have been led astray by that doughty hero; and in this view, the brigand himself absolutely renounces and expresses contrition for his evil courses, and commands his followers to go home and become peaceable subjects. This you never denied. You did not call the tendency of the piece disloyal; but it brought forward (only to reprobate them) local disturbances; it brought for