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BY J. R. PLANCHE, ESQ.

So drain'd is every source of mirth, so low the Muse's spring,
'Tis quite a puzzle now-a-days to find a theme to sing.

Of modern dames and heroes you have heard enough, and so
I'll sing of one or two who flourished many years ago.

In ancient times the Isle of Crete through all the world was famed,
And by a mighty monarch governed who was Minos named.
On Athens he made war, and thrash'd her army and her fleet,
Until they wish'd with all their hearts that he was Minus Crete.

This monarch to a monster was allied in some degree;
A greater brute-the monster, mind-no eye did ever see:
If we may trust the poets, he was called the Minotaur,
And half a man and half a bull was reckon'd quite a bore!

A labyrinth he liv'd in, as said poets also say;

And never fasted save when he had nought whereon to prey.
This labyrinth was hard to thread, according to report,

And very like the one no doubt you've seen at Hampton Court.

King Minos, having thump'd his foes, politely did desire 'em

To pay a yearly tribute to this semi-bovemque virum:

Seven fine young men, seven fair young maids-with cruel glee he drove 'em To furnish for an annual feast to this semi-virumque bovem !

But just as the Athenians had begun in fact to scorn hope,

Young Theseus nobly volunteered to lead this most forlorn hope;

The king's fair daughter saw him, and for love went almost mad, nei

Ther had he seen a beauty like the Princess Ariadne.

She whisper'd softly in his ear," My caution, do not mock it!

Be ruled by me, and put this ball of cotton in your pocket;

Twill guide you through the labyrinth." The youth, for fame who thirsted, Cried, "Lady, by this cotton shall the Minotaur be worsted!"

He vow'd eternal gratitude, as people always do;

And first he ran the labyrinth, and next the monster, through,
Then starting with his chère amie, like beau of modern days,
Left no one in the labyrinth but all folks in a-maze!

They stopp'd at Naxos by the way, and as he promised marriage
The trusting fair was anything but prudish in her carriage.

Imagine then her horror when she found at break of day

Her lover had levanted, and left her-the bill to pay !

She call'd, she bawl'd, she tore her hair-wigs then were not in fashion, Or other heads had profited by this poor lady's passion;

When Bacchus, whom to post all night late revel often forces,

Stopped at that very Bunch of Grapes to breakfast and change horses.

To him with many a sigh she told her situation strange,

And down he threw a five-pound note, crying "Never mind the change!
Come, dry your eyes, I whining hate, though God of Wine I am,
And I'll drown your real pain, my dear, in plenty of my Cham!"

She jump'd at such an offer, and his priestess soon was made,
And long with him she drove a roaring wine and spirit trade;
And thus by her example 'tis-at least, so I've been thinking-
That ladies when they're cross'd in love are apt to take to drinking.

THE WIDOWER.

BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

WERE I, Damon Daffodil, to announce my intention of writing the memoirs of my bachelor days, the reading public would be on the tiptoe of expectation, eager to trace the flirtations of un joli Garçon; while half the pretty women would be on their exquisite marrowbones, entreating to be omitted in the long list of my conquests. But I am no traitor to the fair, or, as it is very justly called, the weaker sex. True it is that I have detailed the happy hours of my unmarried life, not in black and white, but on pink paper with blue ink; but the manuscript is carefully folded, sealed, and tied with white satin riband, and it is not to be made public for a century at least.

I therefore skip my many "hair-breadth 'scapes," and proceed at once to the day when I so far committed myself as to stand irrevocably on the brink of matrimony.

My chosen was not so pretty as I could have wished, being tall, thin, and angular; nor did she turn out so amiable as I had thought her, being vain, opiniative, and dictatorial. But, at the period of which I speak, everything was couleur de rose, so much so, indeed, that I never detected she was a blue.

We married; and, as my wedding-day was one of weeping to many fair damsels, who shall at present be nameless, I, of course, anticipated perpetual smiles and sunshine on the part of Mrs. Daffodil: but Mrs. D.'s serenity only lasted just so long as she was the one person thought of, looked at, and attended to in society; and, not being exactly the fairest of the fair, nor the brightest of the bright, there were moments when others, and when, it must be owned, I myself, ventured to praise other beauties, and to listen to the silver accents of other lips. Then it was that Rebecca Daffodil would boil with indignation, and talk at others, and praise herself, until I began to wish that some more deserving individual had properly appreciated her, and snatched her from the offer which I had rather precipitately made.

As is the custom in all civilized societies, her portrait was to be painted, and nominally presented to her husband-that is to say, I was to pay for it, and then I was to see less of it than anybody else; for it was to be sent to the Exhibition, and then to be hung up, not in my own room, for nobody would have seen it there, but in the drawingroom. I pitied the poor artist from my very soul. He began, and, indeed, very nearly finished, a very admirable likeness; but, in an unlucky hour, he permitted Rebecca to peep at his performance. I never shall forget her that day as long as I live.

"Have you seen my portrait, love?" said she to me at dinner. "Yes, dear."

"And what do you think of it?" cried she.

"Admirable! I never saw a better likeness."

"You are jesting!"

"No, indeed," I replied. "As I said to Mr. Tintums, it really was like looking at yourself."

"He told me you said so; but I could not believe it until I heard it

from your own lips. Why, I showed it to fifteen highly-talented people this very day, and they said it was abominable."

"Having first been told by you that you did not relish its being thought like."

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Nonsense, Sir. Look at the lines: it makes me forty, at least!" "Well, Becky dear, but you know you are thirty-sev

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66 Hold your tongue, Mr. Daffodil. I am aware that I married an old bachelor of fifty; but--"

"Hem!-to the point, my dear. Your picture."

"Well, it's condemned. St. Aubyn said to-day that he could not blame Mr. Tintums, for that I ought to be painted in rainbow tints." "Oh! ah!-that accounts for it."

"And though raven hair and dark eyes may be painted, it is not easy to give the hyacinthine gloss to the one, nor the emanation of the poetic mind to the other."

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"In fact, it is not possible to give to my portrait the delicacy and beauty of the original."

"Clearly money thrown away, then," said I.

"Still, you know," added my wife," that bright circle, of which I am the brilliant centre, expect to see me on canvass, and the attempt must be made."

"It has been made."

"He must try again. Had my poor mother been alive, this might have passed for her."

I said no more; and Rebecca, like an old hen, went on sitting and sitting, until an oval production was exhibited to the public, as like her as it was like me. An oval frame was then procured, and the picture was suspended. I suspended my judgment, because, thinking it young and beautiful, I could not conscientiously say it resembled Becky; but my wife's literary friends all found out some defect-some eye, nose, mouth, or chin, not good enough for the corresponding feature in her face; and, lovely as they all declared it to be, they unanimously said or insinuated that it was less lovely than the original.

In the spring of 1820, Becky and I agreed to travel. It is a sad thing for a bright circle when its brilliant centre talks of going away; and many were the lamentations uttered by the hangers-on who radiated round my wife. I was, however, thoroughly sick of them; and, finding that I had set my heart on an excursion, and moreover rather wishing to see something of the world herself, the amiable woman yielded to my solicitations, and our final arrangements were made.

We had resolved to visit Guernsey and Jersey, and then to proceed to St. Malo, or some other port on the coast of France. We embarked in a large and commodious steam-packet, having engaged a small private cabin; and away we went from the Tower-stairs, full of eager hopes and anticipations, as long as we were in calm water in the river; but all qualms and wretchedness as soon as the motion of the vessel indicated that we were off the North Foreland. We paddled on, however, whether we liked it or not, and got within sight of Dover, when contrary winds and gale, that terrified even our captain, obliged us to put back and anchor in he Downs. Oh, the misery of the days that we spent, rocking, and rolling, and pitching to and fro, without advancing one

inch on our voyage! I was very ill myself, and as for Becky, I really thought she would have died; but she didn't, at least not then. Our cabin was a mere cell, and the misery of it, during the period that we were anchorites, is not to be described. But somehow poor Becky and I never agreed so well in our lives! Being both sea-sick to a most humiliating extent, we were connected by a reciprocity of feeling that had never existed before. In the pauses of our indisposition we looked wistfully at one another, and sympathy was kindled in our bosoms.

Besides, there is nothing like habit; it reconciles us to anything and anybody; and, wretched as I was in the little cupboard where we were immured, I felt that I should have been more wretched had I been deprived of the society of my wife and her little dog Snap. Snap was as sea-sick as ourselves; and never shall I forget Becky's anger when a rough sailor said, "How your dog be catting, ma'rm!" I think there was a contradiction in the phrase. It is truly said, that "after a storm comes a calm," and so it did; but then again, after the calm came another storm; and so it went on, and we were blown hither and thither, until our paddles were broken, our coals exhausted, and our provisions as low as our spirits. Not that I and Becky cared about provisions, but the crew did; and whilst the captain and the mate walked the deck and consulted what was best to be done, I and my mate watched them in silence, like unhappy criminals expecting every moment to hear sentence of death pronounced upon them.

Our vessel had been christened THE DUCK; but so battered and forlorn was her condition, that I could not help asking myself the old question, "Can a duck swim?" I confess I began to have my misgivings.

"The sea was rough, the clouds were dark," and our captain evidently did not know exactly where we were;-by no means a cheering situation; but, worn out with watching, weariness, and want of food, Becky and I undressed ourselves and retired to our very little bed, which was spread upon a sort of shelf in our cabin. I am morally convinced it never could have been intended to accommodate two, but in such an hour we were not to be separated, and we both soon fell asleep.

All of a sudden the ship struck upon something with a concussion so violent, that I who had placed myself on the outer extremity of the shelf, was thrown out of bed upon the floor of the cabin. Becky, I believe, slept on-I cannot say positively; I am not sure; for in the hurry of the moment, without thinking of her, poor thing! I snatched with my right hand a box containing all my valuables, and, seizing my smallclothes with my left, I rushed upon deck in a state of nudity and anxiety, to see what was the matter; and I found that our vessel, The Duck, had run foul of another vessel, and was filling fast, and going to the bottom. The two vessels became entangled for a minute or two and it was just possible to step from the smaller one into the bigger and the safer. I instantly took the step, and found myself standing on he deck of a strange vessel, surrounded by gentlemen and ladies I had never seen before; and I just as I had left my pillow, with my bo: in one hand and my small-clothes in the other. I rushed to a secluded corner to put on the latter, and then paid my respects to the captain, politely requesting him to accommodate Mrs. Daffodil as well as myself.

It was a dreadful moment for a husband! There are tragedies in

real life too painful to be detailed in a narrative, too heart-rending to be represented on the stage: such was mine. The captain congratulated me on my own escape; but as for my beloved wife, and The Duck that bore her, of which in the darkness he had obtained but a glimpse, it appeared to be the general opinion that she was a wreck and gone to the bottom. What a horrid phrase for a husband to hear! I believe I fainted, and continued for many hours in a state of insensibility. The next day I went on deck, and eagerly looked around for The Duck, nay, for a fragment of that vessel, a hen-coop with Becky astride upon it, waving her night-cap to attract attention: but no, I saw nothing but what people call the waste of waters illuminated by the rising sun.

I was yielding sadly to the combined effects of grief and sea-sickness, when it occurred to me to inquire in what ship I was sailing, and whither we were going. The ship was the Hope, bound for the East Indies! The East Indies! Impossible! I assured Captain Higgins that I could not think of accompanying him, but he smiled, and inquired whether a voyage with him was not preferable to being drowned. I will not dwell on my sensations and sufferings: for months I walked the deck, looking on Becky's winding sheet, a sheet of water! or peeping over the side of the vessel into the depths below, at the horrible water-wagtails which had perhaps devoured her.

It was so awkward to be made extemporaneously a widower; no funeral, no tombstone, no BODY buried anywhere! For as to what people call " a watery grave," it amounts, to my thinking, to no grave at all; and then the sea has such an awkward way of throwing it up again; one can never feel quite sure. Poor Becky, I pictured her to myself: no coffin, and not a rag of shroud, stretched upon an oyster bed, where at least there was no want of a shell. All this was very shocking she was, as one of the sailors unfeelingly observed in my hearing, "food for fishes ;" and it was a very long time before I could reconcile myself to the flavour of soles or turbot. I even loathed lobsters, I who used to be so partial to them.

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Another thing that vexed me was the impossibility of paying proper respect to the defunct, and wearing mourning. Becky had all the weeds to herself, (sea weeds, alas !) and I walked about in a borrowed blue jacket and duck trowsers; my only mourning for The Duck and her precious passenger! My voyage continued to be unprosperous: what could be expected after such a beginning? and it was two months beyond the usual time allotted for a voyage, that I landed at Madras. Oh! that landing! shall I ever forget it! in such a boat, and amid such a surf: every moment I expected to be reunited to my Becky; but my better angel presided, and I was snatched from the danger that impended.

I am not going to dwell upon the events which occurred in the East nor my motives for remaining there much longer than I intended. I was now a single man; no ties united me to my native country; I amused myself very agreeably, and two years had elapsed before I revisited the land of my fathers.

My voyage home was pleasant enough. There was a nice old lady on board, and a dear, dark, interesting girl, her daughter. We became intimate; and suffice it to say, that, when we landed, I was all but a happy man."

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