Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

from second-hand. If their prejudices are wrought upon they are an easy conquest: they think not for themselves, they do not make experience the standard of their anticipations. The evils they have suffered from inattention and hatred to truth would, upon reflection, induce, nay constrain then to venerate and follow it. But such is the thoughtless character of the multitude, that yesterday is to them in the sepulchre of oblivion, to-day is a period of inexperience, and to-morrow is beyond the limits of their comprehension. Falsehood is clothed by ignorance, adorned by superstition, and perpetuated by inveterate dislike to personal inquiry.

If it should be asked who is sufficient to stem or weaken the torrent of moral irregularity? We may reply, that next to a sense of the value of truth is the industry and example of the schoolmaster. To him a sacred charge is committed--the improvement of the youthful mind. His labours are to determine its future importance. He has not only to give instruction and to sanctify precept by practice; but he should make virtue be believed for its own sake, and he should consider that in unfolding the qualities, and enlarging the capacities of his pupils, his talents and virtues will be hallowed in their remembrance and actions. If such views were entertained by instructors universally; what a magnificent change would be the consequence? A revolution such as the world has never witnessed would be attained-a happiness, such as it has not experienced, would be disseminated through all its ramifications, and the Augustine age, instead of being passed, would only be commencing.

CHURCH ANNOYANCES.

THE following epistle we willingly insert, from the conviction that the annoyances complained of exist to a very great extent not only here, but throughout Scotland, and that if the writer's hints were taken, the services of the Scottish sanctuary would be more in character with the solemnity of that pure faith which is professed.

To the Editor of THE DAY.

"Keep thy foot when thou goest into the House of God."

SOLOMON.

SIR, Your Saturday's papers have been very acceptable to a large portion of your readers. There is a peculiar propriety in bearing the attention away from the engrossing cares of the week, to the coming enjoyments of the sanctuary, and of announcing, in the ears of your readers, that "the Sabbath draweth nigh."

In this letter I intend to make a few animadversions on several small annoyances which fret and disturb those who wish to profit by their attendance in the House of God, and to which it perhaps does not befit the dignity of the pulpit so well to advert. The first class of annoyances I would notice, is that which arises from your noisy entrants. Such individuals march up the aisles of the church with as much vigour as if they were on the pavé, thumping most lustily with their heels, while their feet "discourse sweet music." And then what a slamming of doors and upsetting of umbrellas and hats! It is like a small hurricane before these individuals are quietly seated.

Another class of annoyances arises from what may be called the grunters. These persons are destitute of all ear for harmony, but yet sing they will, though it should be an octave below the air. If they would sing bass I would excuse them, but the hoarse groans of such persons are quite insufferable. Let such be advised to muse His praise!

Nearly allied to this class, is that of the nose blowers. It is only in church that this gift is to be heard exercised to perfection. You have seen a rude fellow drawing a mighty inspiration, elevating the shoulders, heaving up the breast, and sending forth a volume of sound that makes the walls re-echo. Surely, a little feeling for the comfort of others, might prevent this in most

cases.

Another description of grievances arises from your coughers. Far be it from me to forbid, to the invalid, the enjoyment of God's house, or to desire such to stay back for any frivolous reason. But I am sure that you must often have observed people there who ought to have been in bed, and who, while they received little benefit themselves from the services, prevented many around them from profiting by them. I may add, on this head, that many, who have slight colds, might greatly modify and suppress their coughs, if they were properly alive to the comfort of their neighbours. In this, as well as all the preceding causes of complaint, the rule should be, to make it a part of our religion not to disturb the religion of others.

There are a few other grievances of the same sort, of them I shall name only two. The first is, the want of ordinary polite.

ness in gentlemen marching into church, without uncovering, till seated in their pews. The second is that of strangers going early to churches where they have no sittings, and, without ceremony, pre-occupying the seats of the regular hearers.

I must own that these miseries are chiefly committed by our own sex. Females, in general, deport themselves with more propriety in church. Permit me one other observation. Our southern neighbours shew us an excellent example of that decorous gra➡ vity that should be exhibited in a religious assembly. In our fear of paying respect to sacred edifices, as they have been called, and of being thought guilty of a superstitious veneration for a collection of stone and lime, we have, perhaps, run to the other extreme of forgetting those decencies of behaviour that are due to one another in our public religious assemblages, and that reverential feeling and demeanour that become those who profess to be peculiarly in the presence of the Almighty.-I am, Sir, your obedient servant, CENSOR.

RELIGIOUS NOVELTIES.

A NEW edition of Paley's Evidences of Christianity, by a Member of the University of Cambridge, will shortly appear.

A new edition of Fordyce's Sermons to Young Women is in the press.

A Sermon on the Transitory Character of God's Temporal Blessing, by the Rev. W. Jay, is about to be published.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE THREE LEAVES.

Three leaves are left on the topmost bough
Of the ancient tree by the old church wall;
Dim, dim, in the pale and flickering glow,

And patiently waiting their time to fall.
On a sudden arises the last Autumn's gust,
And they lie side by side in the cold sallow dust.
They lie by the lofty and holy door,

Of a Christian church, close, close by it laid,
Like a group of sinners soul-struck and sore,
Of the door of eternal death afraid;
Who kneel till the blessing of peace be spoken,
Then rise with a spirit contrite and broken.
But the door is shut, and the angry wind
Peels the bare boughs of the ancient tree;
O, Mercy Divine! with speed descend,

And open the door to the shivering three.
See how the cold sallow dust o'er them lies;
Bid them from sackcloth and ashes arise!
The first is my father-O, Mercy Divine!
Open the door of the blest narrow way;
The next is a weak little sister of mine,

O, do not let her in hopelessness pray! Shed the pure freshening drops of thy rain o'er us three, And raise us with meek lowly spirits to thee!

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.

We are sorry that we cannot insert the communication of our friend "Marcius." Poorly as we think of the Owenites, we do not suppose they are quite so bad as he would represent them. We feel obliged by his kindness, but it will readily occur to him that we must be somewhat select in the papers which we admit into "THE DAY." He would do well to re-consider, and re-write. The Article entitled "THE COLOSSEUM," will appear on Mon

day.

Several other Articles, also in type, stand over till next week.

In order to insure this Publication being on the Breakfast Table every morning, it is requested that intending Subscribers will leave their names and addresses at the Publisher's.

MISCELLANEA.

PORTRAITS.-I prefer portraits, really interesting, not only to landscape painting, but to history. A landscape is, we will say, an exquisite distribution of wood and water, and buildings, It is excellent we pass on, and it leaves not one trace in the memory. In historical painting there may be sublime deception-but it not only always falls short of the idea, but is always false; that is, has the greatest blemish incidental to history. It is commonly false in the costume; generally in the portraits; always in the grouping and attitudes, which the painter, if not present, cannot possibly delineate as they really were. Call it fabulous painting, and I have no objection.—But a real portrait we know is truth itself: and it calls up so many collateral ideas, as to fill an intelligent mind more than any other species.→ Walpole.

THE SMUGGLER.

WHILE the wanderer threads his weary way, or the shepherd pursues his daily track along the steep sides of the lofty mountain of Ben Sahimore, in Mull, he there may see a dark blue wreath of smoke curling over the crags and rocks which encompass the summit; and as he, at length, reaches and surmounts these natural barriers, he finds himself treading on a smooth amphitheatre of glossy grass. Upon closer inspection he will perceive a cave in

the rocks on the south side. Smuggler.

Within that cave is the abode of the

It was in the summer of the year 18, that being in that part of the island on a tour, and hearing of the secluded abode of the Smuggler, I instantly formed a strong wish to visit it. Having, with some difficulty, procured a guide, I proceeded to accomplish my desire.

It was a lovely morning. The light mist was just beginning to disappear in graceful wreaths over the tops of the mountains. The sea was so calm and still, that the neighbouring hills and rocks were reflected on its bosom as if in a mirror; while, ever and anon, its surface was disturbed by the heavy roll of the por poise in pursuit of his prey, or the bound of the delicate trout as it nimbly sprung into the air. As we journeyed on our way, we were enlivened by the cheering call of the partridge, and the lively song of the lark, mingled with the fierce roaring of the rapid stream which tumbled foaming down a rocky channel; and, upon nearing the summit of the hill, we heard the loud whir of the heath-fowl, and the triumphant crow of the grouse, as they severally flew harmlessly away from us. After a pleasant succession of changes in the scenery, we reached the rocks, and the Highlander who was with me having pointed out the way, we climbed these natural obstacles, and quickly stood beside the home of the Smuggler.

I saw before me a middle-sized man advanced in years, whose hair and beard were apparently blanched with exposure to the weather. He was sitting at a fire, on which was a large pot and boiler, whilst two children lay sleeping on the smooth turf beside him. Near them was a dog of the old Highland deer-hound breed, whose rest we had disturbed, and who now sprung up and saluted us with a fearful growl. "Down, Kilbuck," was the old man's expression, while he rose and greeted us with a hospitable salutation. Upon this, Donald, the guide, stepped forward and spoke to him in Gaelic, which had a very successful effect; for the old man immediately addressed me, and said, "Sir, you are welcome to what poor cheer my home can afford you." I thanked him in return, and having told the guide to produce the provisions I had brought with me, I proceeded to look about till the repast was ready. The spot on which I stood was a small round plot of luxuriant turf, surrounded on all sides with steep but not lofty rocks; and, as I was admiring this curious scene, the old man came up to me and said, pointing to an opening in the rock, "This, Sir, is my dwelling." At his invitation, I entered by a small aperture, and found myself in a spacious cave-the work of nature, but adorned with much neatness and comfort. In one corner were placed two humble couches of dried heather and an old chair, together with two wooden stools; and a few barrels lay scattered along the ground, whilst round the walls hung some culinary utensils, and a bright musket and sword. On seeing me gazing on the last-mentioned articles, the old man grew restless, and announced breakfast to be ready. We then repaired to the turf, where, on a clean white napkin, were spread some cold meat and bread which I had brought along with me, with the addition of a little of the old man's goat-milk cheese, and a jug of his homebrewed usquebaugh. Out of these materials we made a very good meal; and, when it was finished, the children and my guide removed the remnants and retired, leaving the old man alone with myself. Thinking this a good opportunity of learning a little of his history, I was going to make some inquiry, when he stopped me, and said with a sigh, "This day completes my fifteenth year of retirement, an exile from the world." "Unhappy man!" I exclaimed," what can have induced you to take such a step?" ""Tis a long story," he replied, "and it would but weary a stranger." "But who are these children-your companions?" I asked.

[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors]

there they all lie, (pointing to a grassy knoll below a rock,) except the two whom you saw; the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away."" While he said this the tears stole silently down his rugged cheeks; but, instantly aware of his emotion, he dashed them off, and exclaimed, "Nature will out!" Poor fellow! there was something mysterious in his manner, and I was determined to try and sift it. I therefore asked the reason of his having a military musket and sword? On hearing which, his face assumed a dark expression; and, tearing open his thread-bare coat, he said, "Behold!" On turning round I observed with astonishment, medals and marks of military service, and said, " You were a soldier-you have been in battle?" Yes;" he answered in a loud hoarse voice, "I have borne the brunt of many a battle, and gained to myself honours such as these; (pointing to two medals which he wore;) but by one rash act I blasted my reputation and my fortune? I am a DESERTER !"—He had no sooner pronounced the word, than he sunk back on the ground speechless. I instantly dashed a jug of water in his face, and poured a little whisky into his mouth, upon which he recovered. Fearing

[ocr errors]

to touch upon the subject again, I took a small Bible out of my pocket, and read a chapter of it aloud, by which he seemed to be greatly composed. When I had finished, I observed him eye the book most wistfully; and, asking him if he had a copy of the word of God, I was astonished when he answered in the negative. I then asked him if he would use one if I gave it to him; and, upon his promising to do so, I put that from which I was reading into his hands; and offering up a prayer to the Almighty, that he would sanctify his spirit, and cause him to understand what he read, I took my departure, promising, at his urgent request, that I would return soon and see him.

I had a melancholy walk home; for I could not help thinking of the unfortunate outlaw whom I had found without the means of religious consolation. For the space of a week my thoughts were continually running upon him; till, putting my promise in execution, I set off on a second visit. In the course of three hours I had almost reached his habitation, and was climbing up the rocks which surrounded the cave, when my ears were struck with the sound of children wailing. I quickened my steps, and, bounding over the remaining rocks, I leaped on the turf, and hurried to the cavern. But, alas! on my way I observed the fire black and deserted. I saw the old hound whining and howling at the entrance of the cave, and, rushing in, the first thing that presented itself to my sight was the two children crying at the side of one of the heather-beds, upon which, to my sorrow, I found the old man-dead! There he lay in the sleep of death; and, oh! never will I forget the poor children who screamed out to me when I approached, "Daddy'll no waken!" I went up to the body, and found, to my unspeakable satisfaction, the Bible lying open on his breast. I knelt down, and offered up a supplication to the Lord to protect the poor helpless orphans before me. I then took a note of the few things in the dwelling, and taking the children with me, followed by old Kilbuck, the hound, I proceeded homewards. It is needless to add that the children were taken care of, and that the remains of the old man were decently interred in the parish churchyard, where a green mound marks his lonely grave.

[blocks in formation]

GLASGOW: Published every Morning, Sunday excepted, by JOHN WYLIE, at the British and Foreign Library, 97, Argyle Street, Glasgow: STILLIES BROTHERS, Librarians, High Street, and THOS. STEVENSON, Edinburgh: DAVID DICK, Bookseller, Paisley: JOHN HISLOP, Greenock; and J. GLASS, Bookseller, Rothsay-And Printed by JOHN GRAHAM, Melville Place.

THE DAY,

A MORNING JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, FINE ARTS, FASHION, &c.

CARPE DIEM.

GLASGOW, MONDAY, JANUARY 30, 1832.

THE YOUNG KNIGHT'S RETURN. · (From an Unpublished Romance of the 17th Century.)

AFTER the repast which had been provided for the travellers had been concluded, the good father, accompanied by Lady Lyll, proceeded to the aged knight's apartment, and Eleanor and her brother were left in the large hall, to communicate with each other, and to confer on the events which had occurred at Upper Newton, during the years of Allan's absence.

"Didst thou not say, Eleanor, that my poor father had had an interview with Cuthbert Allison, on the eve preceding his illness?"

"I did say as much, dear brother, and it seems to me, that the barking of that heretical cur was one cause of his malady. That man and his daughter, somehow or other, exert a strange influence over the destinies of the members of the house, though I am not seer enough to discover why it should be so."

"Thou'rt no fatalist," I see said Allan, somewhat discomposed by the remark, and the manner which accompanied its utterance "thou'rt no fatalist, Eleanor, or thou might'st resolve this seeming paradox, with an example of the inevitable concatenation of incidents which the holders of this belief discover, in the moral government of the universe. But what could this visit relate to, think'st thou, Eleanor?"

"I know what it related to, right well, and though it may be in some measure, a breach of confidence, I will put thee in possession of the truth. It would seem as if my father had entertained but a poor opinion of your wisdom, in the choice of a wife; for the object of the interview was to persuade the old churl to carry proposals of marriage, between thee and the daughter of Sir John Ogilvie of Pitscoggie, in the north."

"Eleanor, thy wit is sharp, but I would not have thee, for many reasons, take advantage of thy brother's iguorance of recent domestic occurrences. More depends on thine honesty, in this particular, than thou art aware of."

"Grammercy, young Sir, thou'rt the very impersonation of suspicion. Honesty, forsooth! who gave thee right to question my veracity, an' it please thee to Vouchsafe an answer?"

"Eleanor, dear Eleanor! be calm for heaven's sake. Thou'rt the only friend, save my poor mother, whom I have in this land of feuds and factions, and I confess to thee, that I would fain make thee my confidante, in more things than thou wottest of; but, for mercy's sake, be calm, and take not offence at an unguarded word."

"Then it would become thee, Master Allan, to be more cautious of speech; for, though an untravelled maiden, I brook not rudeness from any one, much less from a young knight, who should be the very mirror of chivalric courtesy. As to confidence, Sir, thou'rt the best judge of the extent thou shouldst go in that matter with every one, not even excepting thy sister, who may know or suspect more of thy proceedings than thou wouldst be willing to believe. Besides, there be some things in this said world, of which a wise woman would choose to remain ignorant."

There was in the ungracious reply, both in manner and matter, that which pierced Allan to the heart's core. For a moment he looked on the diminutive

form of his sister, with an air of surprize and indignation, but when he caught the gaze of her cold and brilliant eye, he saw that there lurked under the unnatural calmness which sat upon her fine and expressive features, indications of that high resolve, and fixety of purposes, which are seldom found in connexion with the gentler emotions of the heart.

"When I left thee, Eleanor," said he, "thou wert a shy and distrustful child, but now thy tongue wags with more speed than a dancing dervice's legs. Where didst thou pick up all this superfluous wisdom; and canst thou find nothing better to welcome thy brother to the home of his fathers, than the oracular raving of a sybil?"

66

Nay, Sir Knight, be not offended if my wisdom should exceed thine own a little. There has been a lack of wit in the family of late, and, I fear me, thou wilt scarcely add to the amount of it. Perchance, however, thou wouldst find some relief from thy sister's petulance, in a passage of the Romance of Real Life. If so, the western turret may afford thee the means; for, I take it, that by the lively imagination of a youthful aspirant for errant glory, a hind's daughter at her knitting, may be readily converted into an imprisoned princess, of peerless beauty"-and, casting a look of unmingled scorn and defiance at her astonished brother, she glided out of the apartment.

"Thour't an imp of mischief, by all the saints in heaven," exclaimed Allan aloud, "but I will be at the bottom of the mystery ;" and, with the impetuosity of youth, he darted forth in the direction of the tower where Rose Allison sat, meditating on the strange events of her life, and alternately condemning her own imprudence in fostering a hopeless passion, and her lover's tardiness in not making his appearance. She had become weary of her solitary occupation, and, ere retiring to rest, had placed herself close by the small table on which the lamp stood, and was surveying, for the thousandth time, the miniature which was suspended from her neck, when the door was abruptly opened, and before the precious gift could be consigned to its resting place, Allan stood in her presence. Nothing could exceed the surprise of both parties, for Rose, whatever her rebellious heart might have whispered, did not expect a clandestine visit from Allan, while he, in his return, had as little hope of finding Rose in any part of the castle, though he had considered it right to thread out the mysterious insinuations of his sister. This, however, was not the moment for explanation. A look of joy, not unmingled with surprisea faint scream, and the rapid play of contending colours over her beautiful face, were the only indications which Rose exhibited, of her consciousness of Allan's presence. It was not the season for speech, and none was exchanged. For an instant, she stood confounded, and the next, they were locked in each other's arms.

The bliss of that moment in which a lover, after the absence of years, presses the object of his affection to his heart, can never be recalled. It stands alone, in the ocean of living emotions, by which man is surrounded, as the one which is extatic, faultless, pure! It may be the subject of memory, but it never can be felt again. Life may present occasions for joy, more lasting in its impressions, and more durable in its character; but a joy so sinless and disinterested-so much removed from

[ocr errors]

the grossness of material sensation, can only be experienced once, and that once, for the brief space of a trapsitory moment!

Blushing deeply, as she disengaged herself from his embraces, and, after suffering the martyrdom of an hundred kisses, Rose said,

"What wouldst thou here, Allan? Travel maketh young men over bold. I expected ye not so unceremoniously. How knew ye I was in the castle ?"

"Of that, dearest and fairest, anon. Answer me one question-how comes my love to be here, cooped up like a bird in a cage. Where's thy father!"

"These, Allan, are questions which I cannot answer. After years of estrangement, my father and the knight on a sudden became friends, and, on the morrow after the reconciliation, he departed on a mission to the north, on the knight's account, and, until he return, I tarry here."

"Knowest thou aught, dearest Rose, of the purport of thy father's journey?"

“I am in utter ignorance on that head. My father, as thou art aware, is somewhat chary of his confidence, and I cared not to inquire particularly."

"Then, 'tis true, by all the saints, what Eleanor told me," exclaimed Allan, with great emotion. "But they shall find, though all the fiends of hell conspired against my peace, that they will not succeed."

"Hush, hush, for mercy's sake, thy voice will resound through these ancient galleries like a trumpet, thou wilt alarm the household; for the very walls of this building, methinks, have ears."

"Thou'rt right, dear, lovely and unsuspecting one; but, listen to me. I have, on this, the first night of my arrival, detected an infamous conspiracy against my happiness, and consequently against thine. For the present, I forbear saying more: meanwhile, be thou prudent, my love, and take care that thou avoid my sister. She loves thee not, Rose."

"I cry thee, mercy, sweet brother," exclaimed this provoking personage, as she entered the apartment, with a look of great unconcern, and in time to witness a parting salute, between the lover and his mistress"I cry thee, mercy. Thou'rt not over civil, methinks, to instil these unkind suspicions into Mistress Rose's ears. The young lady must know that I have now, or soon will have much occasion to love, reverence, and possibly even to fear her. If I have intruded, the object of my mission must be my excuse. Thine absence, brother, has been remarked, and, as Father Hamilton will do domestic service, thou wert well to join the family party. Perhaps mistress will accompany thee."

The concealed sneer, with which these remarks were accompanied, would have provoked Allan to an intemperate reply, had not Rose, whose confusion was drowned in her indignation, sharply answered,

"Madam, so long as I remain here, the invited guest of thine honoured mother, so long do I expect and demand from you, that thou wilt recognise the sanctity of my chamber. Thou hast no warrant to enter here unbidden, and as to the worship, thou mightst have known, ere this, that the prejudices, if thou wilt, of my religious belief, must prevent me from joining thy family circle, even in the sacred ordinance of prayer."

"Fore heaven, Rose, thou doest me injustice. I did but come to call my brother, which, after so long an absence thou, at least, shouldst feel to be natural enough. As to the right which thou hast to thine own apartment, I call it not in question, but I was not to know, that, in venturing into thy presence, I was about to disturb a gentle passage of love."

"How came ye to seek your brother here, young lady? Thou hadst no warrant for supposing he should be in this apartment; but, if, as it would seem, thou didst suspect it, thou mightst have been superior to the vulgar curiosity of prying into that which no ways concerns thee."

"Pardon me, sweet Rose. An' thou plottest a runaway marriage with the heir of Upper Newton, or an unclerical liaison with the said gentle youth, I know of no one who hath a deeper interest in becoming acquainted with these facts than my poor self. Perchance I may be of more service to you both than ye wot of—that is, always providing that ye deport yourselves with propriety."

“Allan, Allan,” cried the unhappy Rose, in an agony of grief, and supporting her tottering and trembling frame, by seizing on his arm, as she writhed under the unfeeling sneers, and unchaste insinuations, of his sister, "for heaven's sake, protect me against the cold vengeance of that unfeeling woman. Thou know'st that I deserve not these taunts, and I trust to thy sense of justice and honour, to see me righted, even in her estimation. But let me go forth even now, alone, my father's cabin will shelter me from the elements; and I would rather trust to the merciless ruffians who invade the dwellings of the poor, than abide in this house one minute longer. For mercy's sake, Allan, dear Allan, lead me forth of the Barbican-thou canst accomplish this-no one will deny thy right of command here, now-and, once on the highway, I will soon reach the Broom. To-morrow, I will send a maid for my valuables."

"Not to-night, Rose, not to-night, that were unseemly at this late hour," answered her tormentor, as she surveyed the scene with a look of calm and stern contempt. But, an' thou wilt go, take care of that pretty ornament which hangs from thy neck. It might prove a temptation to a needy knight of St. Nicholas, who might have more sympathy with its actual value, as a piece of curious workmanship, than with thy sorrow at losing it."

But the poor girl to whom this speech was addressed, heard it not. Intelligence and voluntary motion had both suffered a temporary suspension; and she lay in the arms of her lover, totally unconscious of what was passing around her. Distracted with fear, as he gazed on the beautiful and inanimate form which he supported, and maddened beyond toleration, at the cold and infeminine insolence of his sister, Allan lost all self-command, and exclaimed, in a voice of thunder,

[ocr errors]

By the eternal God, who lives above us, sister, an' thou departest not from my presence, I will fling thee from the castle walls, and make food of thee for the fowls of the air, thou imp of cruelty and malice."

Startled by the loudness of his voice, and a little discomposed by the sternness of his look, Eleanor stepped a pace or two back, but, instantly recovering her courage, she rejoined

[ocr errors]

Truly, brother, that were no great feat of manhood. Methinks thou mightest commence thy knightly career with a more dignified act than an offer of violence against thy sister. But I have done mine office, young man, and will leave thee to thy folly."

Such restoratives as his imperfect knowledge suggested were, instantly, on his sister's departure, used by Allan for Rose's recovery. He laid her gently on the couch, sprinkled water over her pale face, and, kneeling by her bed side, with both her hands clasped in his, he anxiously watched the sign of returning animation. By degrees her breathing became audible, her eyes were opened, and her hands withdrawn from the embrace of her lover.

Starting from the couch, she gazed wildly around, with a look which indicated a partial disturbance of reason, and a solemnity of visage which seemed to proclaim the existence of some deep, and overwhelming emotion. Her dishevelled hair, streaming in disorderly folds around her person, and her eyes glistening with unwonted and unnatural fire, which contrasted fearfully with the alabaster paleness of her countenance, she stood before her astonished and terrified lover, the picture of unearthly passion.

"Sir knight," said she, "this folly must have an end. Silence,. Sir, not a word. I will listen to no

remonstrances-my resolution is taken this folly must have an end. Your hand, Sir; I will right the matters myself."

Allan extended his hand. She seized it with a firm gripe, and, dragging the astonished youth after her, she threaded the dark and narrow passage with certainty and speed, and, ere he had time to conjecture whither she was leading him, they were in the presence of Lady Lyll, Father Hamilton, and Eleanor, all of whom stared in amazement as she approached, "Gracious Heaven, Rose," exclaimed the Lady, what be this, Rose?"

"Patience, Madam, and thou shalt hear. Approach, Sir. Take that hand, Lady, and receive the homage of thy son. Thou art justly entitled to it-mine is unworthy of being profferred. It seems, Madam, that I have waylaid the affections of the youth, at least so saith thy proud, stern daughter. If it be so, I renounce them from this time henceforward; for, I would rather sleep in the bosom of the poorest peasant in the land as the partner of his heart, than have it thought by any being, great or small, that I was capable of being the leman of the proudest man in it. Madam, I cry thee silence. I owe thee much, but I will not be interrupted. Receive thy son at my hands, and with him this (holding out the miniature) which thou wert once pleased to call a bauble. I thought it something better, and wore it, for many years, next my heart. Keep it, Lady, for my sake, and when I die, an' thou wilt, lay it in the tomb by my side. From this house I go forth to-night, ay, to-night; and oh ! dearest, dearest Lady, when some fairer and better-born dame is bound to thy son by the holy chains of matrimony, may God grant, for thy sake and for her, that he gets a heart as loyal to virtue, and as true to love, as that which, in the pride of family, is now torn to pieces in cruel mockery and scorn."

She now advanced towards Eleanor Lyll, who would have retired on her approach, but she seized her firmly by the arm, and dragged the terrified girl into the middle of the apartment.

"I must have speech with thee, young lady," said she. "Dost thou see what thou hast done? But, listen to me; the true and honourable spirit of woman that which may be compared to nothing else on this earth-dwells not with thee. Thy stony and cold heart is a stranger to the softer and purer aspirations of thy sex. Nature erred when she made thee what thou art; but, mark me, young lady; ere many suns revolve over thy head, thou mayest reap the reward of this night's work. In silence and in sadness, and in the land of strangers, remember Rose Allison, the broken-hearted companion of thy youth. May God forgive thee, for I never can."

Really alarmed, and trembling under the gaze of that eye which, but a short while before, she could have averted with a look of proud defiance, Eleanor Lyll replied

[ocr errors]

.....

"Dear Rose, forgive me. I did but jest."

"Jest, didst thou say!" cried Rose, her voice screeching with passion, and her whole frame agitated with the most vehement emotion, "jest, didst thou say, thou traitress to the best feelings of womanhood! Jest with the pure and holy love of a maiden-that never-dying passion of a true woman's soul-then, I Joath and scorn thee as the vicious and infamous votary of art, not of nature-of that which is impure and worthless, not of that which is pure and lovely !" and, so saying, she flung Eleanor from her, and, approaching Lady Lyll, who had looked upon the whole scene with stupifying amazement, she had just begun to address her Ladyship, when her hitherto pale face became flushed and distorted, and the burst of temporary madness with which she had been seized, and the effects of which they had just witnessed, issued in a violent convulsion, which left her disfigured and senseless where she fell.

THE COLOSSEUM AT ROME.

Kolosseum, Riesenschatten
Von der Vorwelt Machtfoloss !
Liegst du da in Tods - Ermatten,
Selber noch im Sterben gross?
Und damit verhöhnt, zerschlagen,
Du den Martertod erwarbst,
Musstest du das Kreuz noch tragen,
An dem, Herrliche! du starbst.

Thut es weg diess heil'ge Zeichen!
Alle Welt gehört ja dir!
Ub'rall, nur bey diesen Leichen,
Ub'rall stehe, nur nicht hier!
Thou, Colosseum! Giant power!
Colossal shade of mighty Eld.
Still mighty art thou in the hour

Of death-approaching pangs beheld.
Torn down-despised as useless dross-——
Thou'st won, indeed, a martyr's death;
But why must thou still bear the Cross

On which thou spend'st thy dying breath !
Hence, with the sacred token-hence-

The world is thine-and there appear-
Throughout the earth thy peace dispense--
But stand not-Badge of Mercy-here!*

WHAT a strange combination of incongruous ideas strikes the mind of the astonished traveller, when, after wandering through the now deserted Forum, he sees before him the most wonderful monument of human art. The mouldering hand of invidious time seems to have made little impression on that part of its walls which is seen from the Temple of Venus and Rome.†

As he gazes on the splendid ruin with eyes which seem incredulous that ever such a work could emanate from mortal hands-it seems to invite the mind to serious contemplation on its eventful history-reared at first by the oppressed Israelites; it heard many a mourning captive's sigh, as their hard and barbarous task-masters, to lighten the tedious hours of labour, day after day, aggra vated their load of agony, saying "Sing us a Song of Zion."

Nor were these the only mournful sounds that were heard within its massy walls-for when assembled Rome, with anxious expectation, watched the furious gladiators braving death to gain a wreath of withering laurels; the piercing shriek of death, struck with chilly horror the breasts of those whose loud applause made mighty Rome resound the victor's praise. Still the time-worn walls appear to echo forth the warrior's dying sigh, as the gentle breeze floats through the winding corridors.

But these barbarous sounds have long been unheard within this venerable pile-that arena which oft drank in the blood of the hapless victim, who gasping in death's cold embrace, has now become, if we may trust the well-told tale of many an aged monk —the quiet resting place of saints who met their death triumphant in the Cause Divine.

Such thoughts "crowd fast into the mind's creative eye" when the wanderer first visits the Colosseum, which Popish bigotry has now consecrated by the erection of a penitential cross in its centre, and of a small chapel, where a greasy Cappucino is stationed to receive from the truly faithful, "Elimosine per gli animi nel purgatorio." No dense crowd comes pouring through its now deserted portals, but, now and then, is heard the hum of prayer, as some toil-worn pilgrim tells his beads o'er a martyr's graveor the montonous tone of some zealous monk, who, ignorant as those he addresses, enforces fasting and penance as the only means of obtaining a happy exit from the tortures of purgatory.

But, if you would see the Colosseum in all its grandeur-free from those appalling spectacles of blinded superstition, which must distress every thinking heart,

"Go, visit it by pale moonlight." There no obtrusive sound nor spectacle can break the trains of thought which rush unforbidden on the mind. It appears double the size by night, that it does by day, and as the cold moon-beam streaming through the arches, rests on some broken mass of ruin, the imagination conjures up the spirits of the unlamented dead, or hears the Jew's groan of anguish, when he thinks his captive hours were spent in raising a Mausoleum for Christian heretics. At that still hour, the only sounds that meet his ears are still congenial to his thoughts-the nightingale from the garden of the neighbouring convent, sings a sweet lullaby o'er the shades of the just, while the soldier, as he treads his rounds, impatient for the blast of war which now never sounds within his ears, hums the well-known chorus,

[ocr errors]

Roma, Roma, Roma,

Roma, non è più ch'era prima,

The above is extracted from an Ode on the Ruins of Rome, by the famous poet Grillparzer, who, on account of its publication, was banished from the Eternal City. It has not as yet appeared in an English garb, and the small portion of it which we have translated is all that is yet made known, to the English reader, of that sarcastic and powerful poetical diatribe.

Il Tempio di Venere e Roma is situated at the top of the Forum, and exactly opposite the Colosseum.

« ZurückWeiter »