A MATRIMONIAL DOCTOR.

THE following epistle will speak for itself. Let us merely say, that we gravely suspect that the peculiar species of philanthropy of its author might be traced to some concealed unphilanthropic conduct practised on him in his early days. But, let him speak for himself:

To the Editor of THE DAY.

MY DEAR SIR,-I am a bachelor of forty. It is a thousand chances to one that I remain so while I sojourn on this side of the grave, and, I presume, there is no marrying on the other side. I am not, however, and never was, averse to being married. The time has been, when I was admired by more than one handsome woman. This is no egotism, for every man, at one time or other, has been the object of some female's attachment. I, too, have loved, at least more ardently, than many who daily push their necks into the matrimonial noose, but the blasting of all my matrimonial prospects may be attributed to procrastina

tion.

From twenty-five to thirty, it was my daily resolution to set myself down with an elegant little wife in some very comfortable small-sized house. Ever and anon I meant to break off from my jovial companions. I was to quit all my evening clubs, all the theatresand never more visit any public place of amusement. I was to be quite a new man from top to toe, and, to have no other object in view, but getting "locked in the balmy arms of marriage." Time, however, passed on-nothing was done-no change made, and I proceeded no farther in my endeavour to get a wife, than holding a little innocent flirtation with this and that pretty girl, who chanced to cross my path.

Here, then, do I at length find myself. I am now 40 years of with a constitution of seventy, and am age still so far from the harbour for which I was originally destined, as to put it beyond every fair calculation that I shall ever reach it. Perhaps it is better as it is. I have had my share of all the corporeal comforts of good eating and drinking, and of laughter and of frolic. These I take it, whatever philosophers and divines may say, form the principal item in what is termed happiness, and probably I would not have enjoyed so much, had some ugly woman been able to call me husband, and some dozen of urchins to call me papa. Marriage is something more than "chargeable." It is a lottery. An ill-tempered wife and ill-behaved children are the blanks.

But, had the poet lived as long in the world as I have done, he would have coupled his exclamation with certain provisos. There are many things to keep in view: age, temper, principles, manners and appearance. When the parties differ from one another in these, there is nothing but certain misery. I have always had this view of the matter ; and I always have been, and will continue to be, a complete Marplot in preventing marriages amongst parties, betwixt whom there are obvious disparities. If you can listen, my dear Day, for five minutes, I will tell you one or two of my adventures in this way.

The first matrimonial match I prevented was Tom Martin's. Tom and I were fellow-students. He was a rare, fine, handsome young fellow, with a free and generous soul. He was a good scholar; but, in all the lighter departments of a young man's education, he surpassed his companions. In music, poetry and painting, and every thing, except “ woman, lovely woman," his taste was exquisite; but, as to her, he was a perfect fool; for his warm soul admired the whole sex so ardently, that he could make no distinction betwixt a "barn-door" beauty, and one of the first water. Tom, however, was ordered to a distant part of England, previous to his leaving for India; and, the night before his departure, he and I had a social and a happy meeting. He confessed he would leave behind him a beautiful young lady, to whom, perhaps, he would occasionally request me to deliver a sweet epistle.

one.

Away he went, over land and sea, to the end of his journey; and soon came a letter to his adorable fair I hastened to deliver it; but, good heavens ! what were my sensations when I beheld the intended wife of my elegant and accomplished friend! Had he searched the globe round and round, he could not have found a more unseemly damsel. She was dumpy in appearance, and I have ever "hated a dumpy woman." She had resorted to all the means that extravagance could afford to hide the ravaging marks of time, which had played havoc with her very slender charms. She was rouged all over-false hair, false teeth and false colour. She attempted to look coy and winning; and sighed, and sighed again, as she, with head aside and clasped hands, inquired for her dear Martin and his safe arrival. Her right shoulder was about half a yard broader and higher than her left; and she carried this additional burden so much behind, as to make her walk sideways, with one leg almost always foremost. How strange it must have been to have seen Martin caressing, toying and walking with such a woman; for he was tall, handsome, erect and firm as a pillar.

I was not two minutes in her company, until I wished to be off. When, for an instant, I contrasted her with Martin, I felt unhappy and sick at heart. I left the house without uttering one word, not so much as "good morning, Madam;"" and, when I had so far recovered to be able to use pen, ink and paper, I forthwith indited an epistle to my friend. I cannot tell what I said, but it had the desired effect of shewing him his folly. It is now upwards of twenty years since I last saw him. He was then one of the handsomest men in England, and he has married a French lady, of great beauty and of great fortune.

My next exploit was this:-A gentleman, a worthy, upright man as ever lived, at whose house I visited some dozen of years ago, had two lovely daughters. The elder was nineteen; for beauty, modesty sweetness of temper and elegance of deportment, no one all around the country where she lived ever surpassed her. Her mother had died while she was still an infant, and now, since she had grown up to womanhood, the charge of her father's mansion devolved on her. If she was to be admired for her personal appearance, she was to be admired more for the anxiety she evinced to discharge, with accuracy, all her duties as her father's house

keeper. Every time I beheld her I esteemed her the more highly; for,

"She had a shape, and, to that shape, a mind

Made up of all parts, either great or noble;
So winning a behaviour, not to be
Resisted, Madam."

At length it was whispered she was about to be mar-
ried;
and, to my astonishment, I learned it was to a
hale old man of fifty. This "old fool" I had fre-
quently seen. In appearance he was unprepossessing,
and in manners uncouth. He was thick-set and broad,
vulgarly made, and "fit for carrying burdens." He
walked with a swagger at the rate of five miles an
hour. Dressed uniformly in sables, with brown wig,
combed plainly over his narrow forehead. You would
have taken him for a workman in his holiday attire.
Still, he was wealthy, and this was a great charm. He
had accumulated, as common report said, immense
stores of riches; and it was said he meant to fix a
jointure of no less than a thousand a-year on his beau-
teous intended. Yet, with all his wealth, he was an
old, rude-minded man, who had already been four
times married. How so young a lady, one so sweet,
so gentle, so well-informed, so every thing, could think
of such a man, for her husband, appeared to me, in
those days, one of the most extraordinary things that
could posssibly happen.

I cannot tell how her father felt on the subject: my observation never having enabled me to discover any thing on his part, from which I could draw any conclusion. But her sister who was some months younger, and who was gifted with a great share of talent, wit and frolic, entertained quite a proper notion of the ridiculous nature of the proposed engagement. With her assistance, I commenced the attack on the young lady herself. She bore all we said with exceeding good nature. Night after night we continued to harp again and again on this never-failing topic. We drew the most fanciful pictures of her lovely intended, and we delineated the pleasures of her widowhood, when, in the round of a few short years, her sweet young husband would of necessity, and in the regular course of nature, be carried to "the tomb of all the Capulets."

This raillery and teazing had the desired effect. It sickened her of her would-be lover, and she rejected the hand of the "old fool." No one can conceive the pleasure this afforded me. Soon afterwards, I left the scene of these happy and innocent days for a distant clime, and I know not who was the happy man that got the hand of the lovely E——. One so beautiful and so good, would not be permitted to remain long unmarried, and whoever he may be,

66

May their days

Like a long stormless summer glide away,
And peace and trust be with them.

My next adventure afforded me equal pleasure. Isabella, the daughter of an early friend, was obliged from her father's misfortunes, to become governess in the family of Lord G-, a Judge in the Supreme Court of Scotland, where M'Leod, a young clergyman, officiated as tutor. The parish church of S about this time became vacant, when his Lordship as patron gave the living to this young man. Soon afterwards, a friendship arose betwixt him and Isabella, which ended in marriage.

No one ever ascended a pulpit better fitted for his holy avocation than M'Leod; for he was mild, and gentle, purely pious and disinterested. Fortune for a time seemed to smile on him; for not long after his installation, he succeeded to a large fortune, left him by an uncle, many years an extensive proprietor in the West Indies. Riches however were not necessary to the happiness of him and his amiable partner; for they had "that within which passeth show." In his manse, the same air of simplicity and repose reigned as formerly, and his large fortune was only useful as it enabled him the more effectually to cheer the humble dwellings of the poor, and to alleviate their miseries and their wants.

It was seldom M'Leod went from home, but he visited Edinburgh on one occasion, during the sitting of the General Assembly. The parish of S- was in one of the most remote North West Islands of Scotland, and in reaching it, he had to cross a ferry of some fifty or sixty miles. The sea was calm as he entered the passage boat, but, e'er long, one of those sudden and dreadful storms so usual in the Highlands arose, which the boat was unable to withstand, and she sunk with every one on board to rise no more.

The whole island deplored the loss of M'Leod. Poor Isabella, who experienced the deepest anguish, had the sympathy of all who heard the distressing event. She had no relations in this country; for her brothers were far distant, and her father and mother were numbered with the dead. She had no family, and she had been left sole mistress of the large fortune to which her husband had so recently succeeded.

Soon after this occurrence, she took up her residence in Edinburgh. She met with great kindness and attention from her old and venerable friend Lord G― and his family. By them she was introduced to the first circles, and, as her fortune was now known to be large, she soon attracted the notice of a numerous pack of fortune hunters. Of these, the eldest son of his Lordship was, perhaps, the keenest in the chase. He met Isabella frequently at his father's house, where he uniformly paid her the most devoted attentions. His manners were easy and elegant, with all the soft blandishments of one who had seen the best society. He had travelled and had been in the army, and, if his appearance was not prepossessing, it was not repulsive, while his conversation was lively and engaging. His habits however were, as I thought, rakish, and his principles loose and feeble. Somehow or other, I could not, with every disposition to think favourably of him, believe that Isabella would be happy with him, and as I, from my earliest days, had loved her as a brother, I determined to have some conversation with her on the subject.

I soon took a fitting opportunity for this, when I found that G had made an impression on her mind. Here and there however, I threw a little light upon some points of his character, and I continued, with unremitting industry, to keep the portrait, as I had drawn it, constantly before her eyes. At length she was forced to admit, that it did not seem so very pleasant as formerly. Constantly Constantly on the watch, I took care, by the regularity of my visits, to interrupt their tete-a-tetes, and, at last, my triumph was obtained. She declined the attentions of T——, and, shortly afterwards, the result of some gambling speculations forced him to leave the country, ruined and disgraced.

But I am afraid, my dear Day, I have more than exhausted your patience. If, in what I have stated, (and they are only a few of my achievements in that way) I have been too officious, and too busy in other people's matters, set it down to naught, I beseech you, but my zeal to do a service to those whom I loved. I have (do not think me vain) proved right in all my conjectures, and, although I say it myself, I do not know any person better qualified to give advice to those who are about to pass from a single to a double state. I have some thought, indeed, of publicly announcing my intention to serve the world in this way, and as we have "Doctors of Law" and "Doctors of Medicine," I see no reason why there should not be "Doctors of Matrimony" too. I remain, my dear Day, yours, ever truly,

RUNNING FOR THE PLATE.-A bell was, formerly, the prize run for; hence the expression of "bearing away the bell." Subsequently a silver cup was given to the winner, which was the origin of the word "Plate;" a word still used even when money only is given.

LONDON DRINKING. It is calculated, that not less than 65,000 pipes of wine, 10,000 gallons of spirits, and 2,000,000 barrels of ale and porter, are annually drank in the metropolis. [What a rich field for our friends the Temperance Society exerting their prowess !]

THE PICTURE COLLECTOR DUPED.

DESENFANS, well known as a collector and dealer with every advantage of consulting and comparing, was himself the dupe of an artist's skill in imitating the works of a celebrated painter. The discovery was made by the artist himself in rather a curious way. M. De Loutherbourg took an opportunity of introducing Ibbetson (a very clever artist,) to the notice of Mr. Desenfans: on this introduction, and, while at breakfast, the collector pointed out to the attention of the young artist several esteemed and valuable pictures, among them a highly finished Teniers; when, to the utter confusion of the possessor, Ibbetson declared himself to be the painter of the much-esteemed Teniers.

It was an awkward business, and it may be supposed the parties did no sit very easy on their chairs after this confession, which policy in many would have suppressed; but it belonged to more forbearance than Ibbetson possessed, to withstand the praises which had been lavished on the performance, or to forego the opportunity of proclaiming his own talents, and, as he might imagine, of removing the prejudice which has ever prevailed in favour of foreign names and old masters. But prejudice will prevail; and the manufacture, whether of pictures or of china, will continue to be preferred, if foreign, to the same articles if the produce of our own country.

LONDON FASHIONS FOR MARCH.

HATS AND BONNETS.-Velvet still continues to be the favourite material for bonnets, they are still made close, but the murmette shape is more in favour than the bibi. They are trimmed as last month, with the exception of the plumets Russes, which are no longer fashionable. A few spring hats have just been introduced by Mrs. BELL, they are of moire, and of light colours; low crowns and small brims, between the capote and chapeau shape. are trimmed in a very simple stile with broad satin striped gauze ribbon; these hats are remarkable for that elegant simplicity which Herbault so well knows how to give to the plainest head dress. Pale rose colour, celestial blue, and blue capes are the favourite colours for hats.

They

MAKE AND MATERIAL OF OUT-DOOR COSTUME.-A few pelisses have just appeared both in velvet and satin, ornamented down the fronts of the skirts in a showy and complicated style, but they are not so much in favour as those without any other trimming than the nœuds which fasten them. The pelerines are always very large. The gigot shape is most fashionable for sleeves, which have lost nothing of their extravagant width at the top. We see also some high dresses with velvet pelerines; they are of gros de Naples, or tissu de Pondicherry, and are of dark colours, particularly feuille d'acanthe and avanturine.

MAKE AND MATERIALS OF FULL DRESS.-Velvet, moire, crape, and various kinds of gauze are all in favour. We shall select a few ensembles of dresses in which ladies of high rank and distinguished taste have lately appeared. A ruby velvet dress, the corsage was plain before, cut low and square. Ceinture à la Grecque, that is, forming a point in front. The arm-holes and back of the bust were trimmed with broad blond lace, which stood up round the back of the bust in the fan style. Velvet sleeves of the double bent, form the upper part excessively large, the under moderately so. The sleeves were enveloped in superb blond lace, retained by diamond bracelets in the following manner : one bracelet was placed between the two beauffants, into which the sleeve was divided, the other above the elbow; the lower part of the blond lace sleeve was left loose, and extremely wide, it fell over the arm almost to the hand. The trimming of the skirt was an embroidery in two shades of green silk, of oak leaves, intermixed with acorns worked in gold thread, and highly raised. The head dress was a velvet toque to correspond, the front à la Henry IV. was looped with diamonds, and ornamented with a bouquet of five ostrich feathers, disposed in different directions. This dress was worn by the beautiful Duchess of K. The Marchioness of L-appeared at the same party in a white crape dress, with a Grecian corsage cut very low, and ornamented round the bust and shoulders with blond lace disposed a la Medicis, the folds of the drappery in front were edged alternately with rose colour and

silver. Beret sleeves ornamented with nœuds de pages of rosecoloured gauze ribbon edged with silver. The front of the dress was trimmed with three wreaths of red larkspur, with silver foilage; each wreath was of a different size, they were arranged en triangle, one above the knee, the two others lower. The coiffure was a white and silver turban à la Moabite. Features less lovely and regular than Lady L's would not have appeared to advantage in this head-dress.

BALL DRESS.-Crape and gauze seem equally in favour for ball dresses; those composed of crape are very frequently trimmed with gauze ribbons, edged with gold and silver. We have seen several ornamented with three ribbons to correspond in colour, and spotted either with gold or silver, attached on one side of the ceinture, and turning in a spiral direction one within the other. This kind of rouleau traverses the dress diagonally, and makes the top of the hem, where the ribbons separate, and form three different rouleaus that encircle the bottom of the dress, and terminate as high as the knee, under a knot of ribbon, opposite to where they were divided.

Other dresses are trimmed with three ribbons placed at the ceinture, which descend in the form of a tablier on the front of the dress, each ribbon terminates by a knot, the ends of which float over the hem; the sleeves are trimmed with a knot, composed of five ends and two bars, so voluminous that it nearly covers the sleeves.

A singularly beautiful ball-dress is composed of white crape. A Grecian corsage, with double bèret sleeves, ornamented with a Provins rose, with very little foilage, placed before in the division of the sleeve. The only ornament of the skirt was a bouquet arranged in the form of a palm, and composed of roses of various colours, intermixed with wild flowers; it was placed a little below the knee, and attached by a nœud of satin-striped-gauzed

PRESENCE OF MIND UNDER SUFFERING.-A Spanish gentleman, who had but one eye, used frequently to attend a tennis-court, whenever any match of skill was played there. One day the ball was so violently struck against the other eye, as in a moment to deprive him of the use of it. He bowed to the company, and, without apparent emotion, left the court, saying, "Buenos noches! (Good night, gentlemen.")

The celebrated German critic, Augustus William von Schlegel, whose Lectures on Shakspeare have eminently contributed to render the works of the great English dramatist understood and admired in Germany, is now in London, and was presented to His Majesty at the Levee.

ORIGIN OF CARDS.-About the year 1390, cards were invented to divert Charles IV. King of France, who had fallen into melancholy. The inventor proposed by the figures of the four suits or colours, to represent the four states or classes of men in the kingdom.-Anon.

When a mere child he strayed bird's nesting from his mother's house, in company with a cow-boy: the dinner hour elapsed, he was absent and could not be found, and the alarm of the family became very great, for they apprehended he might have been carried off by the gypsies. At length, after search had been made for him in various directions, he was found. "I wonder," said his mother, "that hunger and fear did not drive you home." "Fear!" replied the future hero, "I never saw fear, what is it?" -Southey's Life of Nelson.

GLASGOW GOSSIP.

We have been deluged with letters from our bachelor friends requesting us to absolve them from the charge of having suggested the ungallant paragraph which appeared in yesterday's Gossip. We therefore take this opportunity of observing, that the remarks in question were inserted, without solicitation, from any individual whatever. In order to satisfy the gentlemen who have importuned us on the subject, we insert the following epistles to "The Editor of The Day."

SIR, I was so gallant as to give my umbrella to a lady at St. David's church last Sunday, and thereby subjected myself to a walk home in the rain. You will oblige me by stating, that I did not mention this to you, and it will be discovered who I am, if you describe me as a thin man with grey trousers, a blue coat and a broad brimmed hat.

SIR, Please mention, in your paper, that the gentleman with the white great coat, who lent his brown umbrella to a lady, at St. Enoch's church, last Sunday, did not ask you to notice the circumstance.

SIR,-You will relieve me of much uneasiness if you will inform a certain lady who wears a pink bonnet and gay printed shawl, that I did not complain to you of having given her my umbrella, marked with the initials J. B., last Sunday.

SIR, I have received a very passionate note from a lady to whom I lent an umbrella last Sunday, charging me with having sent you notice of the circumstance. Have the goodness therefore, to mention, that the young gentleman who sits in the front gallery of St. George's church has never corresponded with you.

WEST-COUNTRY REMINISCENCES.

THE following verbatim copies of three Funeral Letters will serve as a key to the style of the lachrymose epistles of the past century:

Sir, The Honour of Your Presence here, upon Tuesday the sixteenth instant, at Ten of the Clock Forenoon, to accompany the Funerals of Jean Montgomerie, relict of Mr. Gavin Hamilton of Airdrie, my Mother, from the Trone-Church, to her BurialPlace, at the Church of Old-Monkland, is Earnestly desired by Sir, Your most Humble Servant, WILLIAM HAMILTON. Glasgow, Feb. 13, 1714.

Sir, The Honour of Your Presence, upon Saturday next, being the seventh instant, at three a clock in the afternoon, to aocompany the corps of the Reverend Mr. James Dick, one of the Ministers of this City, my Father, from his house in the Gallowgate, to the place of Interment in the High-Church Isle, is earnestly entreated by Sir, Your most Humble Servant, ROBERT DICK. Glasgow, May 5th, 1737.

Sir, The favour of your presence, at the great Hall of the College of Glasgow, on friday the first of April, at twelve of the clock, precisely, to honour the funerals of Dame Margaret Crawfurd, my mother, from her lodgings in Glasgow, to the place of Interrment in the Church of Carmannock, is earnestly entreated by Sir, Your most humble Servant, ARCH. STEWART. Glasgow, March 29th, 1737.

LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

It is said that BARRY CORNWALL is at present collecting his lyrics into a volume.

MR. GALT is engaged in "an Autobiography of a Reformer," dedicated to Lord Brougham and Vaux.

It is announced that HORACE SMITH is preparing a series of stories connected with the Holy Land, Greece, Egypt, Scandinavia and England.

POETICAL MEDIOCRITY.

[A CRITIQUE FROM THE GERMAN.]

THE following will be found no indifferent specimen of the transcendental, alias, words without meaning, which at present characterizes the criticisms of Prussia. It is carefully translated from a late No. of the " Berlin Freimuthige." We must confess it is too bedeutsched for our comprehension. It is however a literary curiosity.

In the present miserable state of German Poetry, the Critic has less to lament, the abundance of what is bad, than the superabundance of what is tolerable. He cannot characterize our poetical era as one that is absolutely bad, but it is worse than bad, it is mediocre. Our modern poets are not without poetical qualities, but they exhibit them in the smallest possible degree. They form

as it were the outmost flank of our literature, various and loud. They pour forth strains, high enough in aim and pretension, but it is the mere varnish, the passing shadow of genius which they possess, while its power and reality mock and elude their feeble grasp. Our latest poetry has been enough abused: it has been called miserable, sterile, worthless, we would add one epithet still, we would call it powerless. The field is not altogether barren, but it has been only half cultivated. One faculty alone has been fully developed, the faculty of being brilliant. Every thing is absorbed in show and glitter, and the power which is wanting to our poetry is forgotten in the false brilliancy which it knows to

create.

The profound Solger entered the lists against the "pretty interesting nothings" of his day, we must now take up arms against the would-be spiritual productions of our own. This taste for show and sparkle has diffused itself in every direction; it swims on the surface of the most profound and important subjects, but with a tact true to its French origin never dives below. It seems as if it had been reserved for us to naturalize that genuine French Who, "Esprit," so untranslateable in the days of our fathers. now-a-days knows not to shine? Who entertains not enlightened views? Who has not written a common-place book? But what the better are we for these geniuses? Talents, no doubt we have enough, but over-refinement, mere finessing of ideas, throws a cloud over its brightest exertions. We are presented with views of truth, of the most unnatural and distorted kind, we have pomp, and noise, and nothings, and forsooth, we must bow down to the idol and worship the brilliant effusions of genius. There are various orders of these pretenders. They range from the very limits of the absurd and insane, to that higher neutral ground around which hover, now the mists and dim imagery of this feeble age, but, which ever and anon is illuminated by the bright flashings of power and genius.

These light and rapid characteristics of our poetry have much in common with the spirit of the age. We are now in a period of the world's history, which presents for our consideration whatever is profound and important in our social relations, but we We are like are as yet unequal to the task which is given us. the young heir unaccustomed to his possessions, like the bud not And in this uncertain state, every yet expanded into leaves. one can take his range: his fancies and his errors may have their free course. Moreover, the deep spirit of the age has also its superficial aspects, a surface where the shallow and the speculative may expatiate at large. And bright as it is in the prospects of the future, and changing in its aspects of the present, it serves powerfully to stimulate the feeble spirits of the day, at once creating and justifying their thick coming fancies.

We need not wonder that poetry more than anything else should partake of this spirit. The Poetic Muse may be said to be at present in a state of transition, and as such in a state of suffering. She is struggling to asume a new shape, and rise to a higher sphere, to ally herself once more with life and reality. For many a coming year she will have much to endure, and many a worthless auxiliary will join her banners, before she shall have attained that destiny to which her hopes aspire.

In this age where the intellectual world presents such variety, at once so real as a whole, and so incongruous in its parts, the Critic has no easy task to perform. Even the most impartial may be occasionally deceived-mere flourish and ornaments-the aspiration after, but not the accomplishment of poetical excellence, may be received with undue admiration, and this sometimes in proportion, as the critic himself can supply those deeper views wanting in the poet, and can relish those lesser beauties which adorn his productions. Need we name that poet who has illustrated our meaning? Whose confidence and peculiarities have obtained for him with many, and those intelligent critics too, the praise of true and genuine poetical feeling? But there may be an error on the other side also, and that with no bad intention on the part of the critic-he may mistake or pass unnoticed true genius. Its quiet and unobtrusive efforts may escape his observation, and it may sink under that want of encouragement and self-confidence so necessary at once to inspire and animate its exertions.

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.

WE beg leave to return our thanks to our able correspondent in Edinburgh, for his last two contributions. They will appear immediately.

The paper entitled, "Charity is not puffed up," is too personal for our columns.

"T. L.'s" Stanzas, we discover, are extracted from an American Journal.

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PRINTED BY JOHN GRAHAM, MELVILLE PLACE.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF SUSPENSION.

"Knit him up to the window-bar! there let him dangle." WILLIAM DE LA MARCK.

I Do dearly love to witness an execution, and there isn't one that I do not go to see. "Detested wretch !" exclaims some sentimental Miss, in the words of Parnel's hermit, but ere her speech begins-ere she opens her battery of "vulgarity," "cruelty," "utter perversion of taste," "total want of feeling," "hideous insensibility to suffering," allow me-me, whose frank and open declaration has provoked, I might even say invited, the dire discharge, to offer a few, a very few, words of explanation-a few lines of deprecation-a slight attempt at conviction and conversion. Again, then, I say dearly do I love to see an execution : again and again have braved the winter's blast, and borne the summer's heat, to be present at a spectacle so exciting, so instructive, and so sublime: and I'll now proceed to tell you why.

Credit me, Reader, I do not go, induced by that vulgar appetite for the horrrible, that so eminently distinguishes "this highly polished nation;" (aye, sir, in spite of our sneers at our pock-pudding neighbours of the South-we laugh at them for rushing in crowds to view the den of a "Bishop," or for paying their guinea per foot for the cord that hung a "Corder" and don't we do the same?) 'tis not to gaze upon the fatal beam, the dangling noose, the treacherous drop, the dismal scaffold, the well fed baillies, their javelined officials, the consolation-conferring minister, the wretched criminal, the adroit finisher. No! on some of these I look with indifference, on some with contempt, on one with loathing and abhorrence; but is there nothing more than these to excite, to instruct, to elevate, to amuse? if, inso saying, I do not " decorum's bounds exceed?" Yes, Reader, in the "scenery, machinery, dresses, and decorations" of an execution, there is much whence the "man of feeling," the "man of refinement," and even the man of no feeling and no refinement, may extract materials for the deepest thought, the most profound meditation. In the gallows, per se, I see only an ugly, clumsy, apparently (but not in reality-for when, since the "drop-scene" was introduced, at all events, has it been known to "fail in its working?") ill contrived and ill constructed piece of workmanship; its physical features many have seen, all can faney; but in it is there nothing more than these? “Ah, wild as the accents of lovers' farewell," are the tales which it could disclose of hopes and of fears, of trembling anticipations, of despairing determination, of terrors that harrow up the soul, of thoughts that agonise the frame; for our sanguinary code of penal punishment affords an infinite variety of victims-from the petty forger of a one-pound note, to the mighty monster whose doings have eclipsed the sayings of a Burke.

From the loop-hole of our retreat, let's survey the tout ensemble of the scene; (for to see it in its perfection, you must be placed above its turmoil,) and, first, the dense and boundless crowd below. How sublime! an ocean of human beings, heaving and rolling to and fro, as caprice within, or pressure without, may dictate. What a melange of rascality and respectability, of highly excited expectations, of dulled and sated, yet still active and impelling, curiosity. The windows and

the posts and the pinnacles around, how they teem with life! concourse worthy of a coronation, and here beheld, without a coronation's pomp: analyse their feelings and their intentions-" alike, yet, oh, how dif ferent." Here, the gaping rustic, forbid, perhaps, to stay, yet curious to behold, and eager to describe (with the aid of the "Here you have a full, true, and particular") how a fellow mortal is forced to cross the deep but narrow gulf that runs 'twixt time and eternity, 'twixt life with its mingled joys and sorrows here, and the eternity of woe or of bliss that awaits him yonder, Next him, and (just to keep his hand in practice,) dexterously extracting from the Johnny's jacket, the proceeds of his morning's sale-the accomplice of the man of suffering-cool, callous, daring, desperate; unreformed, and, by a spectacle like this, unreformable; cunning and audacity strangely jumbled in his hardened features, casting a glance of derision at the gallows that glooms aloft to warn, and an eye of keenness on the policeman that presses up to apprehend; he has made his "extracts," however, and he edges off as fast as the corkscrew process of worming through the crowd will permit, leaving the sagacious but baffled "grab," to make assurance doubly sure, by a-feel-yourpockets admonition to the cleared out countrymanhe'll gang nae mair to thae sichts. Perched aloft on yonder lamp-post, the sailor, quietly chewing the cud of reflection, and his quid of niggerhead, and discoursing to his brother Jacks below him, of the expeditious mode in which a run-up" to the yard-arm is managed on the high seas-he has lent a hand to hang a whole pirate's crew-blast their eyes. On that stair head--bemutched and bedraigled-redolent of her morning, and stifling, by her hugs, the cries of the squalid, squaling brat that clings to her breast-the feature-flushed and whisky-pimpled scold; determined to din into the ears of the husband whom her tongue and her talons have driven, for comfort and safety, to the solace that " British Spirits" so easily and so effectually afford, her ideas upon the awfulness of the example which the execution of his crony-suffering, it may be, for silencing the "venom clamours of his woman's tongue"-has afforded to all husbands; and strengthened in her determination to scold more lustily, and to scratch more vigorously than ever she did before. Right beneath us, the school-boy, "with his satchel and shining morning face," not only not creeping like a snail, unwillingly to school, but here playing the kip, braving the terrors of the taws, and, all, just to see a hanging match, and to dream, for a week to come, of long white night-capped faces, dismal scaffolds, and struggling malefactors.

Hark! what sound is that? 'tis the first deep toll of "that dreadful bell;" it announces, that the melancholy procession is begun; and hear! the buzz and the breathing of the expecting multitude. See! first, in their ancient and fantastic costume, appear the offi cers in attendance upon the worthy Baillies-next, these honest "honourable men" themselves, and then, leaning on the supporting arm of a "gentleman in black" the criminal! Slowly and sadly they ascend the scaffold. That hurried, horrified glance upwards-that eager, anxious, bewildered gaze around! "Off hats" is now the cry: the scene is changed, and what a change!-the dark and dusky