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have braved every danger, farewell happiness-hail! wretchedness and misery. By Heavens, Madam, had you bade me plunge into the briny ocean, and search for that bottom to which never line hath fathom'd, I should have thought it a pleasure-a pastime -a recreation. But since I have sealed my doom, I will fly me,— to some arid desert (heroes are very fond of deserts) where on the earth I will record my woes, and distresses; and at length lay me down and die; and say, as life's pulses cease to vibrate, welcome death, for what is life to him whose love is scornfully rejected, oh! oh!" Here I contrived to draw from my pocket a vial of sal volatile, and unnoticed by her, as her head was in a different direction, I inhaled a large portion of its exhalations through my nose, and caused a profusion of tears to start from my eyes. Let, oh let me! ere I part from thee, press to my lips, that hand of thine; and let these tears, these scalding tears, that flow down my cheeks, speak for me, and tell how much I feel thy cruelty-oh Annabella! Annabella oh!" Who could stand tears, and such melting tones as mine? not Annabella. Gently she let her hand drop from her lap to her side. I understood what was meant. Kneeling I seized her hand, and with rapture pressed it to my lips, exclaiming: "My peace is made, the loveliest of her sex, has forgiven me; and I am from the brink of despair, exhalted to the pinnacle of earthly happiness. Let this day ever be kept by me as a jubilee." I knew my cue and I proceeded. "Be mine, dear maid consent to become the bride of him, who will only live to serve-worship, and—(I like dashes) love you (very softly) my sweetest-sweetest Annabella." "Oh, my too susceptible heart!" mellifluously murmured she, and fell upon my neck. "You consent then to make me happy-to make me blest?" "Oh Henry!" softly returned she. "My love" in the same tone, said I, "we will be one;" blushingly said she. "Oh Annabella! (with rhapsody) when Jove hung on the neck of Leda and drank ambrosial nectar from her lips, his delights were not near so great as mine-tis certainly a foretaste of Elysium." At this moment, upon a preconcerted signal, Mr. Flighty entered the room, his countenance betokening rage and indignation. "What's this I behold!" cried he, "My daughter in the arms of another!" tearing her from me, "Degenerate girl, is it thus I see you! and you sir, (to myself) how dare you behave in such a manner to my daughter? Would you wish to despoil her of her honour, and bring ruin and disgrace on my name? Instantly depart, or my servants will show you the door in rather a rough way, nor dare presume again to enter this house, for if you do, by the honour of a gentleman, your temerity shall meet with the reward it deserves.” "Oh sir," exclaimed my Dulcinea, dropping on her knee and VOL. I.-No. v.

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wringing her hands most affectingly, while the tears rolled pro fusely down her face, and in accents if not actually heart rending, as empassioned as possible, hear oh hear, me-tear us not assunder divide not two hearts so closely knit as ours-pitypity me." "Cease, girl, and instantly leave the room." "But one moment longer, cruel parent, here in the face of Heaven, I swear"-" No oaths, daughter, no oaths." Here then I pronounce an insuperable determination never to wed any other person then my Henry. Now sir, you have heard me; do with me as you will; your bolts and bars may confine my body, but my soul will be free as ever." Falling on my knee beside Annabella, Sir, you have heard your daughter; do not then divide us unless you would break our hearts." Leave the room, or I-" "Annabella, farewell." "Henry I am unalterably yours. Neither a father's wrath, nor curses shall effect me." Embracing her, and interchanging a look with Mr. Flighty, I departed. I was delighted with the success of my scheme. But the denouement how was that to be managed. I was puzzled for a time. At length I hit upon a plan for its accomplishment. I habited myself like a vagabond, and through the assistance of Mr. Flighty, I obtained a private interview with Miss Flighty. She exhibited great joy at seeing me, believing it was by stealth. "My love," said, I. I have but time to utter a few words. I come to urge our flight. Your father is still relentless; hasten then to fly with your adorer. Say but the word, and to night I will hasten hither on the wings of love, to bear you to some humble cottage, where, with unsophisticated peasants we will live out our life of love." She consented. "But," said she "how shall I escape from my chamber?" Down the stairs, I might have said, but I replied. "I have procured a ladder of ropes." "But the garden gate, Henry?" The garden gate, the gar den gate, reiterated I internally endeavouring to recollect such a gate. At length I remembered there was an alley gate. "And what of the garden gate, my love?" "It is locked every night, and the key given to my father." "Be under no apprehension; a Cyclop shall forge me another. I must hasten away, lest I be detected. Fear not, adored one; every thing shall be surmounted. At the midnight hour I will be here." "Love and Hymen assist us in our attempt," cried she, and I made my exit. At the appointed hour, I was beneath her window with a ladder of ropes, and a hack waiting to carry us off in the street. The key of the alley or garden gate, as Miss Flighty pleased to call it, furnished me by her father, was in my pocket. A light was burning in her chamber. I flung a small pebble against the window, and she appeared. "Are you prepared, Annabella, my love-my life?" "Yes," whispered she.Here are my jewels

and my clothes;" at the same time letting fall a diminutive bundle. A small quantity thought I to commence house keeping with -but heroines never stand in need of much clothing. "Quick, Henry, and attach the ladder; delay may ruin us." I did so. At this period the coal blackness of the firmament which had been betokening a storm, became suddenly illuminated by sheets of lightening; and the thunder rolled awfully above our heads, and floods descended. I would have given up my project, but I had gone too far to retreat. "The night is propitious" said my inamorata as I received her in my arms, if we are pursued, by the darkness of the night we may allude the vigilance of our pursuers. It was just such a night as this, that the charming Constantia eloped with the interesting Belville. But come, the key of the garden gate?" "It is here," said I producing it and opening the gate. After wading ankle deep through a long alley filled with offals and slops, we reached the street. "By Heavens," exclaimed I, "the post chaise is gone," (I called it post chaise because heroes and heroines never elope in any other vehicle; and it would have indeed been vile to have said—a hack.)

"O Heavens! what is to be done?" cried Annabella, "if we are discovered, we will both fall victims to the indignation of my vindictive father-perhaps, it is in the next street." So on we went, as disconsolate a pair of lovers as ever eloped, bearing the "peltings of the pitiless storm," which continued with unabated fury. No hack was to be seen, and we turned down one street, and up another; at each turn exposed to the enquiries of the watchmen, and "men of the night" and not unfrequently very nigh being sent to the watch-house. At length cold, fatigued, and drenched to the skin, we sought for refuge from the storm in the Market-house. The fainting Annabella, as she sat on one of the stalls, begged me to conduct her home, as she was almost unable to stand. I led her to her father's house, and she regained her chamber by the same means she had left it; and I sought my own. Determining not to give over my design, I called the next day in my disguise, to see her, and urge our elopement. I was just going on with my preparatory nonsense, when she motioned me to be silent, and thus addressed me. Soberlove, the occurrences of the last evening have been productive of the most beneficial effect. The scales have fallen from my eyes, and with horror I perceive how near I have been to the brink of shame, perhaps dishonour. With anguish of heart, I now see how weak, how guilty I have been; what source of sorrow to my father, and what an object of ridicule I must have been to yourself, and my relatives and friends. To protract, sir, an intimacy like ours, would only be to approve of my former mode of behaviour. I shall ever think kindly of you, sir. As for my

"Mr.

self, my future days shall be spent in endeavouring to win the esteem of those relatives and friends, which I fear, by my conduct I have justly forfeited." She paused, unable to speak, and ashamed of myself I withdrew. I never again visited her, and I cannot but think that I was the means of reclaiming her.

E. R.

REVIEW

OF

A COURSE OF STUDY,

PREPARATORY

TO THE BAR OR THE SENATE;

To which is annexed, a Memoir on the Private or Domestic Lives of the Romans: BY G. WATTERSTON.

Published by Davis & Force, Washington. p.p. 240.

THE importance of employing to good purpose that period of life which is usually devoted to education, is excedingly great. It is then that the mind lays in those stores of knowledge that are the principal means by which it is afterwards to procure happiness and distinction in the world. From the time that the intellect is sufficiently developed to be capable of receiving knowledge, until it becomes exercised in the practical application of its acquirement on the stage of busy life, every moment is precious; and it is equally a loss to be unprofitably employed, as it is to be totally idle. The man who, therefore, points out a shorter path to knowledge than that commonly trod, and thereby contributes to the saving of both time and labour, confers a real benefit on society, and is entitled to its gratitude.

Every one who has succeeded during his years of pupilship, in furnishing himself with a respectable stock of information, will recollect how great a share of it was acquired without the aid of tutors or lecturers, and altogether by voluntary exertion in the perusal and study of books. Such a one will also recollect with regret, how much active and laborious time was uselessly wasted by the injudicious selection of his course of reading. Books of science, of history, of ethics, of belles-letters, &c. &c. are incalculably numerous, and some of them unmanageably

voluminous. No one mind is capable, during the ordinary period of studentship, to master even a moiety of their contents. To select judiciously from among them is, therefore, a matter of much moment, and must be attended with the happiest results. But pupils are seldom proper judges; and tutors generally confine their instructions to the particular branches incumbent on them to teach; or, if friendship towards the pupil, or a commendable desire to do as much good as possible, induces them at any time, to transcend the limits of their peculiar duties, and give gratuitous advice, it is seldom that they are so little prejudiced in favour of particular authorities, or a particular routine of studies, as to be able to give an advice of a really judicious and beneficial description. They have themselves generally toiled through voluminous tracts in search of knowledge, and having obtained it by industrious research, amidst the rubbish of innumerable volumes, they are apt to suppose that it is no where else to be found; and, therefore, seldom fail to recommend to others, a pursuit similarly laborious and tedious.

This being too much the case, a work that would point out a short and clear path to useful knowledge, could not but be of immense service, not only in the schools, but to youth in all situations, where a choice of books can be obtained. The work before us appears to have done this very successfully. It has done it succinctly, it is true; but we consider that circumstance one of its recommendations. Long disquisitions on elementary subjects are seldom pleasing, especially to youth, whose ardent and impatient tempers render them dissatisfied with prolixity; and however anxious they may be to know what is best for them to do, they are desirous to be told it at once, and with as little circumlocution as possible.

Mr. Watterston seems to have written the present book from a conviction of the truth of this circumstance. He perceived the difficulties under which youth labour, from the unmanageable abundance of books presented, and often promiscuously recommended to their notice-nay, like every other man of education he must have experienced these difficulties; and he conceived that assisting to relieve the minds of youth from them, by direct