danger too strongly to trust himself longer within its sphere. He dreaded being betrayed into crossing the rubicon, whence it would be impossible for him to retrace his steps.

"Assuming a tone of sarcasm, as unlike as possible to the vein of his previous conversation, he commenced his usual amusement of anatomising the manner and style of every person on whom his eye rested. Awakened by the change in him from her momentary dream, Ilarriet, with one sigh perhaps that thoughts so sweet were but a dream, adopted immediately the tone he thought fit to as sume, and assisted him, with admirable tact, in showing up poor Mrs. Huggins, who was parading the gardens in a dress of flame-coloured gauze, and glittering with ornaments in every part of her person on which it was possible to place one.

"Here comes a spirit of evil,' said he, 'clad in robes whose hue too plainly bespeaks the fiery atmosphere of the place it has quitted.'

"Or a spirit of light borne earthwards on a rainbow, that has caught the hue of the vehicle by which it passed,' said the lady.

"I yield to you! A flight like that is quite beyond my poor imagination. I leave Mrs. Huggins in your charitable hands, and she may be thankful to the benevolence of the seraph-face I see yonder, that has inspired me with such tender mercy.'

"Harriet's eye followed the glance of his, and rested, at length, on the radiant face of the angel Florence. Supported by her father's arm, but listening with the most undeviating attention to the conversation of Travers, who was on her left hand, her sweet eyes were lighted up by an animation wholly spirituel, and Harrict, even Harriet, with all her vanity, could not but be conscious, that there was a charm in her innocent rival, which whilst she perceived its full force, was unintelligible to herself."

Brussels, May 22d.

Among the lions of Brussels, a dog was pointed out to me, as he lay on the pavement in front of the house of assembly. It was a miserable looking cur; but he had a tale extra attached to him, which had magnified him into a lion. It was said that he belonged to a Dutch soldier, who was killed in the revolution, at the spot where the dog then lay, and that ever since, (a period of four years,) the animal had taken up his quarters there, and invariably lain upon that spot. Whether my informant lied, and the dog did not, I cannot pretend to say; but if the story be true, it was a most remarkable specimen of fidelity and ugliness. And he was a sensible dog, moreover; instead of dying of grief and hunger, as some foolish dogs have done, he always sets off for an hour every evening to cater for his support, and then returns to pass the night on the spot. I went up to him, and when within two yards, he thought proper to show his teeth, and snarl most dogmatically; I may, therefore, in addition to his other qualities, state that he was an illnatured dog. How far the report was correct, I cannot vouch; but I watched him three or four days, and always found him at his post; and after such strict investigation, had I asserted ten years instead of four, I have a prescriptive right, as a traveller, to be believed.

It is singular that it is only in England that you can find dogs, properly so called; abroad they have nothing but curs. I do not know any thing more puzzling than the genealogy of the animals you meet with under the denomination of dogs in most of the capitals of Europe. I am almost tempted to assert, that you may judge of the morality of a capital from the degeneracy of the dogs. I have often, at Paris, attempted to make out a descent,

ANIMALS NESTLING IN OR ON THE BODIES but found it impossible. Even the late Sir G. Naylor,

OF OTHERS.

with all the herald's office, even for double fees, could not manage to decipher escutcheons obliterated by so many crosses.

I am very partial to dogs, and one of my amusements, when abroad, is to watch their meetings with each other; they appear to me to do every thing but speak. Indeed, a constant and acute observer will distinguish in dogs all the passions, virtues, and vices of men; and it is generally the case, that those of the purest race have the nobler qualifications. You will find devotion, courage, generosity, good temper, sagacity, and forbearance; but these virtues, with little alloy, are only to be found in the pure breeds. In a cur it is quite a lottery; he is a most heterogeneous compound of virtue and vice, and sometimes the amalgamation is truly ludicrous. Notwithstanding which, a little scrutiny of his countenance and his motions, will soon enable you to form a very fair estimate of his general character and disposition.

At page 138, is an anecdote from Buffon, who says, that a weasel with three young ones were extracted from the carcass of a wolf that had been suspended to a tree by the hind legs. In the thorax of the putrefied carcass, the weasel had formed a nest of leaves and herbage for her young. To this anecdote we shall connect some of a similar nature respecting other animals, which have not naturally this parasitic propensity. Mrs. G. Vasey, in her Natural Historian, states that the common hog's hide is so thick, and his fat so insensible to pain, that instances have occurred of mice gnawing their way into the fat on the back without incommoding the animal. (vol. i. p. 236.) In Loudon's Magazine of Natural History, the Rev. Mr. Bree, in a very amusing article on the singular nidification of birds, tells us that "at Knowle Hall, Warwickshire, a wren, (Troglodytes Europeus,) built its nest in the skeleton body of a heron, which had One of the most remarkable qualities in dogs is the been nailed up against a wall, and formed part of what fidelity of their attachments; and the more so, as their has been facetiously called the countryman's museum.'" attachments are very often without any warrantable Another correspondent to the valuable periodical just cause. For no reason that can be assigned, they will mentioned, states that a tomtit built its nest and reared take a partiality to people or animals, which becomes so its young, for two successive years, in the mouth of Tom dominant, that their existence seems to depend upon its Otter, a murderer who was executed and hung in chains. not being interfered with. I had an instance of this kind, (vol. v. p. 289.) Captain Lyon says, that in the course and the parties are all living. I put up at a livery stable of one of his voyages, the nest of a snow-bunting, (Em-in town, a pair of young ponies, for an hour or two. On beriza Nivalis,) was found built on the neck of a dead child; and Gilbert White records the circumstance of a swallow having "built its nest on the wings and body of an owl, that happened by accident to hang dead and dry from the rafter of a barn."

my taking them out again, the phaeton was followed by a large coach dog, about two years old, a fine grown animal, but not marked, and in very poor condition. He followed us into the country; but having my establish ment of dogs, (taxes taken into consideration,) I ordered

Charity by act of parliament has dissolved the social compact-the rich man grumbles when he pays down the forced contribution-while the poor man walks into the vestry with an insolent demeanour, and claims relief, not as a favour but as a right. The poor laws have in themselves the essence of revolution, for if you once establish the right of the poor man to any portion of the property of the rich, you admit a precedent so far dangerous, that the poor may eventually decide for themselves what portion it may be that they may be pleased to take, and this becomes the more dangerous, as it must be remembered, that the effect of the poor law is repulsion between the two classes, from the one giving unwillingly, and the other receiving unthankfully. How the new poor law bill will work, remains to be proved; but if we may judge from the master-piece of the whigs, the reform bill, from which so much was expected, and so little has been obtained, I do not anticipate any good result from any measure brought forward by such incapable bunglers. But to return.

him to be shut out. He would not leave the iron gates, the most bigoted catholics at present existing, and in no and when they were opened, in he bolted, and hastening one country is there so much private as well as public to the stables, found out the ponies, and was not to be charity. It is, however, to private charity that I refer. dislodged from under the manger without a determined In England there is certainly much to be offered in exresistance. This alternate bolting in and bolting out tenuation, as charity is extorted by law to the uttermost continued for many days; finding that I could not get farthing. The baneful effects of the poor laws have been rid of him, I sent him away forty miles in the country; to break the links which bound together the upper and but he returned the next day, expressing the most ex-lower classes, produced by protection and good will in travagant joy at the sight of the ponies, who, strange to the former, and in the latter, respect and gratitude. say, were equally pleased, allowing him to put his paws upon them, and bark in their faces. But although the ponies were partial to the dog, I was not; and aware that a voyage is a great specific for curing improper attachments, I sent the dog down the river in a barge, requesting the men to land him where they were bound, on the other side of the Medway; but in three days the dog again made his appearance, the picture of famine and misery. Even the coachman's heart was melted, and the rights and privileges of his favourite snow-white terrier were forgotten. It was therefore agreed, in a cabinet council held in the harness room, that we inust make the best of it; and, as the dog would not leave the ponies, the best thing we could do, was to put a little flesh on his bones, and make him look respectable. We therefore victualed him that day, and put him on our books with the purser's name of Pompey. Now the dog proved that sudden as was his attachment to the ponies, it was of the strongest quality. He never would and never has since left these animals. If turned out in the fields, he remains out with them, night as well as day, taking up his station as near as possible half way between the two, and only coming home to get his dinner. No stranger can enter their stables with impunity, for he is very powerful, and on such occasions very savage. A year or two after his domiciliation, I sold the ponics, and the parties who purchased were equally anxious at first to get rid of the dog; but their attempts, like mine, were unavailing, and like me, they at last became reconciled to him. On my return from abroad, I repurchased them, and Pompey, of course, was included in the purchase.

We are none of us perfect-and Pompey had one vice; but the cause of the vice almost changed it into a virtue. He had not a correct feeling relative to meum and tuum, but still he did not altogether steal for himself, but for his friends as well. Many have witnessed the fact of the dog stealing a loaf, or part of one, taking it into the stables, and dividing it into three portions, one for each pony and the other for himself. I recollect his once walking off with a round of beef, weighing seventeen or eighteen pounds, and taking it to the ponies in the field -they smelt at it, but declined joining him in his repast. By the by, to prove that lost things will turn up some day or another, there was a silver skewer in the beef, which was not recovered until two years afterwards, when it was turned up by the second ploughing. One day as the ponies were in the field where I was watching some men at work, I heard them narrating to a stranger the wonderful feats of this dog, for I have related but a small portion. The dog was lying by the ponies as usual, when the servant's dinner bell rang, and off went Pompey im. mediately at a hard gallop to the house to get his food. "Well, dang it, but he is a queer dog," observed the man, "for now he's running as fast as he can, to answer the bell."

That the catholic laity are more charitable is not a matter of surprise, as they are not subjected to forced contributions; but it appears to me that the catholic clergy are much more careful and kind to their flocks than our own. How, indeed, can it be otherwise, when even now the majority of our clergymen are non-re. sidents, expending the major part of the church revenue out of the parish, leaving to the curate, who performs the duty, a stipend which renders it impossible for him to exercise that part of his Christian duty to any extentfor charity begins at home, and his means will not allow him to proceed much farther.

But the public charitable institutions abroad are much better conducted than those of England, where almost every thing is made a job by hypocrites, who work their way into these establishments for their own advantage. It is incredible the number of poor people who are ef fectually relieved on the continent in the course of the year, at an expense which would not meet the weekly disbursements of a large parish in England. But then how much more judicious is the system! I know for a fact, that in the county where I reside, and in which the hard-working labourer, earning his twelve shillings a week, is quite satisfied if he can find sufficient bread for his family, (not tasting meat, perhaps, ten times during the whole year,) that those who were idlers, supported by charity, were supplied with meat three or four times a week; nas, even the felons and prisoners in the county jail were better fed than was the industrious workingman. And this is what in England is called charity. It is base injustice to the meritorious. But most of the charitable institutions in England are, from mal-administration, and pseudo-philanthropy, nothing more than establishments holding out premiums for vice. I should like to be despotic in England for only one year! !

Among the institutions founded by catholics, and particularly deserving of imitation, that of the Sœurs de la Charité appears to be the most valuable. It is an institution, which, like mercy, is twice blessed, it blesses those who give, and those who receive. Those who give, because many hundreds of females, who would otherwise be thrown upon the world, thus find an asylum, and become useful and valuable members to society. They take no vows-they only conform to the rules of the sisterhood during the time that they remain in it, and if

they have an opportunity, by marriage or otherwise, of establishing themselves, they are at free liberty to depart. How many young women, now forced into a wretched, wicked life, would gladly incorporate themselves into such a society in England; how many, if such a society existed, would be prevented from falling into error!

It is well known, that to support a large community, the expenses are trifling compared to what they are when you have the same number of isolated individuals to provide for. A company of two or three hundred of these sisters living together, performing among themselves the various household duties, washing, &c., and merely requiring their food, would not incur the same expense in house rent, firing, and provisions, as thirty or forty isolated individuals. Soldiers in barracks are even well fed, housed, and clothed, at a much less expense than it costs the solitary labourer to eat his dry bread in his own cottage; and the expenses of such communities, if once established, would very soon be paid by their receipts.

It would be a double charity, charity to those who would willingly embrace the life, and charity to those who might require their assistance. It is well known how difficult it is to obtain a sick nurse in London. It is an avocation seldom embraced by people, until they are advanced in years, and all feeling has been dried up by suffering or disappointment. Those who undertake the task are only actuated by gain, and you can expect but eye-service. Not being very numerous, and constantly in demand, they are over-worked, and require stimulants in their long watchings. In fact, they drink and dosedose, and drink again.

with the phrenologists, only in part; however, as a brother author, I will do him a friendly turn, and bring forward evidence in support of his arguments.

In reading Mrs. Trollope's "Belgium," I observed, that in every chapter, she expatiated on gastronomy. I think that I reckoned eight and twenty times in the two widely printed volumes, and I mentioned it to Murray. If there was a beautiful view, she broke off her raptures because dinner was ready; if the fatigue had been great, she was consoled with her dinner! if she was on a hill, she walked down to her dinner; if she was in a valley, she walked up to it. Now, when I read this chapter of the "Student," I said to myself, if there be any truth in these remarks, Mrs. Trollope must be a capital hand at the knife and fork, and not at all troubled with dyspepsia, as are the American ladies, by her account. I knew that she had dined with, and in the afternoon when we met I enquired. The reply was, "Ah! mon Dieu ! elle a furieusement d'appétit et mange comme quatre." There are all manner of deaths in this world besides dying. There are political deaths, as Brougham's, dead in the eye of the law, like a convict transported for life, &c.; but the worst death, after all, must be a literary death, that is to say, when a man has written himself down, or written himself out. It is analogous to the last stage of a consumption, in which you believe you are not going to die, and plan for the future as if you were in perfect health. And yet to this complexion must all authors come at last. There is not a more beautiful, or more true portrait of human nature, than the scene between the Archbishop of Grenada and Gil Blas, in the But how different would it be if these establishments admirable novel of Le Sage. Often and often has it been were formed! Those who are wealthy would send for brought to my recollection, since I have taken up the one of the sisters when required, and if the illness were pen, and often have I said to myself, "Is this homily as tedious, her services could be replaced by another, so good as the last ?" (perhaps homily is not exactly the that over-fatigue might not destroy watchfulness and at-right name for my writings.) The great art in this tention to the patient. You would at once feel that you world, not only in writing, but in every thing else, is to had those in your house in whom you could confide. If know when to leave off. The mind as well as the body your means enabled you, you would send a sum to the must wear out. At first, it is a virgin soil, but we canfunds of the charity in return for the service performed, not renew its exhausted vigour, after it has borne sueand your liberality would enable them to succour those cessive crops. We all know this, and yet we are all who could only repay by blessings. A very small sub- archbishops of Grenada. Even the immortal Walter scription would set afloat such a charity, as the funds Scott might have benefited by the honesty of Gil Blas, would so rapidly, come in and, if under the surveillance and have burnt his latter homilies, but had he had such of the medical men who attended the hospitals, it would an unsophisticated adviser, would he not, in all probasoon become effective and valuable. I trust if this should bility, have put him out by the shoulders, wishing him, meet the eye of any real philanthropist who has time to like the venerable hierarch, "a little more taste and give, which is more valuable than money, that he will judgment." turn it over in his mind; the founder would be a benefactor to his country. And may it also find favour in the sight of those who are so busy legislating for cattle and the Lord's day: perhaps even my friends Buxton and Lushington will take it up, for, as the dress of the sisterhood is invariably black, at all events, it will be the right

colour.

CHAPTER XII.

May 25th.

Since I have been this time abroad, I have made a dis. covery, for which all prose writers ought to feel much indebted to me. Poets can invoke Apollo, the Muses, the seasons, and all sorts and varieties of gods and god. desses, naked or clothed, besides virtues and vices, and if none of them suit, they may make their own graven image, and fall down before it; but we prose writers have hitherto had no such advantage, no protecting deity to appeal to in our trouble, as we bite our pens, or to call upon to deliver us from a congestion of the brain. Now being aware that there were upwards of three hundred I have been reading Bulwer's "Student," and I prefer and fifty thousand canonised saints on the Roman calensome parts of it to all his other writings. As a whole dar, I resolved to run through the catalogue, to ascertain Eugene Aram" is the most perfect; but either Bulwer if there was one who took prose authors under his promistrusts his own powers, or I am mistaken when I tection, and to my delight, I stumbled upon our man. assert, that he is capable of much more than he has yet By the by, Tom Moore must have known this, and he achieved. What he has as yet donc, is but the clearing has behaved very ill, in keeping him all to himself. But off before you arrive at the heart of the quarry. His I must introduce him. It is the most holy, and the most style, as a specimen of the English language, richly, yet blessed Saint Brandon. Holy St. Brandon inspire me, not meretriciously ornamented, is peculiar to himself. and guide my pen while I record thy legend! In the There is room for much disquisition in many parts of first place, let me observe that our patron saint was an the "Student," and I doubt if Bulwer could hold his Irishman, and none the worse for that, as Ireland has ground, if many of his premises were attacked, as, although always brilliant and original, they are not always satisfactory. His remarks upon authors and their works are most assailable. I agree with him, as I do

had as good saints as any in the calendar. And it is now clear that he does protect us prosaic writers, by the num ber of reporters and gentlemen of the press which have been sent over from the sister kingdom. But to proceed.

Saint Brandon, it appears, was a reading man, and amused himself with voyages and travels, but St. Brandon was an unbeliever, and thought that travellers told strange things. He took up the Zoology of Pliny, and pursued his account of "antres vast, and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders." He read until his patience was exhausted, and in a fit of anger, he threw the manuscript into the flames. Now this was a heavy sin, for a man's book is the bantling of his brain, and to say the least, it was a literary infanticide. That very night, an angel appeared to him, and as a penance for his foul crime, (in the enormity of which every author will agree with the angel,) he was enjoined to make the book over again, no easy task in those days, when manuscripts were rare, and the art of book-making had not been invented. The sinner, in obedience to the heavenly mission, goes to work, he charters a vessel, lays in provisions for a seven years' voyage, and with a crew of seven monks, he makes sail, and after going round the world seven times, during which the world went round the sun seven times, he completed his task in seven volumes folio, which are now out of print. Probably, being in manuscript, he took it up to heaven with him as a passport into paradise. For this miracle-and certainly with such a ship's company, it was a miracle-he was canonised, and is now the patron saint of all prose authors, particularly those whose works are measured by the foot rule.

And now that I have made known to my fraternity that we also have a saint, all that they have to do, is to call upon him six or seven times, when their brains are at sixes and sevens. I opine that holy St. Brandon amused himself with hazard during his voyages, for it is quite clear that, with him, seven's the main.

May 26th.

ness is exquisite simplicity, its abruptness the most perfect nature, its wanderings of manner delightful in the extreme, and all happily characteristic. The author is in immediate contact with his reader, and writes as if there were no critics in the world to come between. The moral of Rosamund Gray is a piece of true sublimity. Nature was never so vindicated in the midst of her most awful and heart-rending sorrows.

Rosamund, a young, and lovely, and artless girl, mildeyed and with a voice of music, a perfect picture of affectionate innocence and unconscious depth of feeling— is loved by, and loves, Allan Clare. He is worthy of her, and he has a sister worthy of her too,—a creature divinely good. Rosamund lives with her blind old grandmother Margaret, who had brought her up from childhood. One night, for the first and last time, she disobeys old Margaret, and steals out of the cottage, that she may retrace, in view of the warm clear moon, the scenes she had gone over during the day in her first walk with the sister of Allan Clare. Her sensations had become vivid, in her little chamber, even to painfulness, and her bosom ached to give them vent :

"The village clock struck ten!-the neighbours ceased to pass under the window. Rosamund, stealing down stairs, fastened the latch behind her, and left the cottage. One, that knew her, met her, and observed her with some surprise. Another recollects having wished her a good night. Rosamund never returned to the cottage. An old man, that lay sick in a small house adjoining to Margaret's, testified the next morning, that he had plainly heard the old creature calling for her granddaughter. All the night long she made her moan, and ceased not to call upon the name of Rosamund. But no Rosamund was there the voice died away, but not till near daybreak. When the neighbours came to search in the morning, Margaret was missing! She had straggled

Quitted Brussels. I don't know how it is, but I never have been able to get over a very unpleasant sort of feel-out of bed, and made her way into Rosamund's rooming, when paying a long bill.

(To be continued.)

From the London Examiner.

Rosamund Gray:* Recollections of Christ's Hospital, &c.
By Charles Lamb. Moxon.

This volume may take its place, with every other by the same writer, among the best productions of the best age of English literature. Mr. Lamb's audience hitherto has been few, though not unworthy, but it is now widely extending. He is gathering in at last the public honours he has so long deserved, and from which the very simplicity and apprehensiveness of his genius have been instrumental in withholding him. He has now in a double sense ended his mortal days. The world may congratulate itself upon a gain. It is for those only who enjoy. ed Mr. Lamb's private friendship to deplore a loss which no chance or time can ever adequately restore.

worn out with fatigue and fright, when she found the girl not there, she had laid herself down to die."

It was a dreadful night! The villain Matravis, a young man with gray deliberation, who had long been watching his opportunity, met Rosamund :

"Late at night he met her, a lonely, unprotected virgin-no friend at hand-no place near of refuge. Rosamund Gray, my soul is exceeding sorrowful for theeI loathe to tell the hateful circumstances of thy wrongs. Night and silence were the only witnesses of this young maid's disgrace-Matravis fled. Rosamund, polluted and disgraced, wandered, an abandoned thing, about the fields and meadows till day-break. Not caring to return to the cottage, she sat herself down before the gate of Miss Clare's house-in a stupor of grief. Elinor was just rising, and had opened the windows of her chamber, when she perceived her desolate young friend. She ran to embrace her-she brought her into the house-she kissed her she spake to her; but Rosamund could not Besides the matters mentioned in the title, this volume speak. Tidings came from the cottage. Margaret's contains some of the most masterly essays of the author death was an event which could not be kept concealed -those on the tragedies of Shakspeare and the genius of from Rosamund. When the sweet maid heard of it, she Hogarth with all the inimitable things that were pub- languished, and fell sick-she never held up her head lished some years ago in Mr. Leigh Hunt's Reflector-after that time. If Rosamund had been a sister, she and the memorable farce of Mr. H-, on the morning of whose performance the sun, according to all accounts, shone so brightly, but which came to an untimely end for its witty tricks, and for want of a better name to pass them off. "Mr. H—, thou wert damned!"

The story of Rosamund Gray is a masterpiece of delicacy and pathos. We cannot conceive of any thing, more beautiful, more simple, or more touching. We have read it here for the fiftieth time, with the same ef. fect that it had upon us when we read it first. Its quaint

* Rosamund Gray is now republishing in Waldie's Library.

VOL. XXVII. NOVEMBER, 1835.-65

could not have been kindlier treated, than by her two friends. Allan had prospects in life--might, in time, have married into any of the first families in Hertfordshire-but Rosamund Gray, humbled though she was, had yet a charm for him-and he would have been content to share his fortune with her yet, if Rosamund would have lived to be his companion. But this was not to be-and the girl soon after died. She expired in the arms of Elinor-quiet, gentle, as she lived-thankful that she did not die among strangers-and expressing by signs rather than words, a gratitude for the most trifling services, the common offices of humanity. She died uncomplaining; and this young maid, this untaught Rosa,