網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版

deed and weather-beaten, but betokening a heart full of piety and peace, that has long closed its reckoning with the world, and with all worldly joys and sorrows

But how shall our worthy Monk and his dog suffice to withdraw the sleeper from his perilous position, where the least false step on the slippery snow, the slightest lo-s of balance in disengaging him from his heavy burthen, might precipitate the whole group into the yawning Crevasse ? Further aid, is, however, at hand Another party from the Convent now approach the spot. aware, from the signs made by the good Brother, that it is here their assistance is wanted. They draw near--they remove himhe is saved-Yes! Yes!-God be praised, he is saved!

On our next view of friend Conrad, (for who but him should be the rescued traveller?) we find him established in a quiet room in the Convent gradually returning to life and consciousness, under the watch'ul superintendence of the beneficent Brother. He opens his eyes, gazes in astonishment at the strange objects around him attempts to rise from his bed, and would fain ask where he is, and what has hefallen him; but his faltering tongue is not yet unloosed, and the weight of mountains seem to lie on his aching limbs. The Monk watches with careful tenderness every fresh symptoms of returning animation, makes signs to him to keep quiet for a little time longer, administers comforting restoratives, and promises to give a full explanation of all that now seems so mysterious, as soon as his patient is able to bear the fatigue of listening to it.

Conrad had been with some diffi culty removed by the united efforts of the party from the Hospice, and when brought into the Convent, was at first supposed to be dead; but all the wonted methods were instantly resorted to, and at length succeeded in rousing the spark so nearly extinguished, and restoring the breath of life to the powerless frame. His passport had been found in his pocket; and the name and place of abode it record

ed, immediately recalled to the mind of the good Monk who had first gone to his rescue, the remembrance of the kind treatment he had met with, the preceeding Autumn, in the little town of Z. when overtaken by illness on his return from Suabia. He referred to his journal, found the names of Gertrude's parents, and recognised in the object of his present solicitude, that very Conrad whom he he had so often heard mentioned in their domestic conversation, as the intended husband of their daughter. With uplifted hands he returned thanks to Heaven, for hestowing upon him, in addition to the often tasted happiness of saving the life of a fellow-creature, the blessed privilege of thus discharging a debt of gratitude; and when the combined skill of pious Bretheren had succeeded in awakening their patient to sense and feeling, and made a more numerous attendance unnecessary, he claimed for himself the office of being his sole guardian.

The young traveller soon began to regain his strength under the fostering care and wholesome regimen of his generous hosts, while from the pious lips of his venerable friend, he heard, as he had never heard before, the edifying precepts of that Christian charity, so well exemplified in his life and actions. But when the kind brother began to recount to him the story of his journey into Suabia, and of his abode in the very village, even the very house, where Gertrude resided, how did his heart burn to revisit this beloved home, despite the dangers of the snowy regions which divided him from its cherished precincts! One morning, when the first glow of dawn began to gild the frosty horizon, he stole unperceived into the Convent Chapel, poured forth his fervent thanks to the Almighty for his wonderful preservation, and, for the religious instructions which had sunk so deeply into his soul, deposited in the offering-box all the money he possessed, reserving only what would be absolutely necessary for his journey, and then, having collected all his little property, went in search of his benevolent preserver.

"Reverend Father!' cried he, "I can no longer withstand the yearning which calls me home. You know that there were mules up here last night from the Valais-the road is open, the weather is fair, and away from my home, I can abide no longer! Lead me, I pray you, to all your reverend Bretheren, that I may thank them from my inmost soul for their care and kindness and you, my best of friends, take to yourself the warmest thanks of all, and with them, my heartiest farewell. Sooner can I forget myself, than forget you, and all you have done for

me.

It was vain to remonstrate. Conrad was resolute, and his adieus were spoken. The kind Monk bore him company a part of his journey, and they separated; Conrad with tearful eyes and a trembling voice, the pious Brother with a firm and fervent blessing. "My son" said he, "let thine eyes be turned towards God in joy and in sorrow and remember

When most thou fearest,
God is nearest."

Swiftly, as if borne on the wings of the wind, our young pilgrim pursued his way over the dazzling snows, through the opening verdure of the Valais and onward, by long days journeys, to his distant home. Who could describe his almost aching joy when he trod once more his native plains, and beheld the spire of his own beloved village, just as his trembling limbs began to sink nnder their toils! Who could paint the transports of the meeting, the blessed tears of his mother, his sister, and his bride, and the honest pride of his father, as he squeezed his hand again and again, eyeing him over from head to foot, and turning to the rest to share in his admiration of the noblelooking youth.

The day after Conrad's return, (it was Sunday) the two families sat toge ther at their cheerful board, Conrad, with Gertrude beside him, relating the history of his adventures. And the wedding-day was fixed, and healths were drank, and glasses filled, and joy, almost tumultuous joy, reigned amidst the happy group; but a thought of the distant Brother of St. Bernard

came over their mirth, and chastened it into a feeliug of sober bliss, and heart-felt thanks-giving to Heaven. H. B.

From the Winter's Wreath.

DRAMATIC SKETCH OF A

THIN MAN.

A long lean man, with all his limbs rambling-no way to reduce him to compass, unless you could double him like a pocket rule with his arms spread, he'd lie on the bed of Ware like a cross on a Good Friday bun, standing still, he is a pilaster without a base-he appears rolled out or run up against a wall, so thin that his front face is but the moiety of a profile if he stands cross-legged, looks like a Caduceus, and put him in a fencing attitude, you would take him for a piece of chevaux-de-frise, to make any use of him, it must be as a spontoon or a fishing-rod---when his wife's by, he follows like a note of admiration --see them together one's a mast and the other all hulk---she's a dome, and he's built together like a glass-house when they part, you wonder to see the steeple separated from the chancel, and were they to embrace, he must hang round her neck like a skean of thread on a lace-maker's bolster---to sing her praise, you should choose a rondeau; and to celebrate him, yon must write all Alexandrines.---Sheridan's MSS. in Moore's Life.

BACKGAMMON BOARDS. WB frequently find backgammon boards with backs lettered as if they were two folio volumes. The origin of it was thus; Eudes, bishop of Sully, forbade his clergy to play at chess. As they were resolved not to obey the command. men', and yet dared not have a chess-board seen in their houses or cloisters, they had them bound and lettered as books, and played at night, before

Testament or the Lives of the Saints; and the

they went to bed, instead of reading the New monks called the draft or chess-board their wooden gospels. They had also drinking vessels found drinking, when it was supposed they bound to resemble the breviary, and were

were at prayer.-Literary Gazette.

A MON DERNIERE E'CU. Reste de mon leger trésor,

O toi, ma derniére ressource
Toi, qui du moins peupte encore;
La Solitude de ma bourse;
E'en modeste, il fant partir.
De ce départ non cœur murmure,
Pourtant la nécessité dur
Me commande d'y consentir.
Je te l'avonrai de bonne foi,
Je te regrettrai sans cesse,
Ami fidéle auprès de moi

A pen piès seul de ton espéce;
Depuis long-tems j'avois sur toi
Réuni toute, ma tendresse.
Pauvre éen quel sera ton sort?
Iras tu courir par la ville
Ou languir dans le coffre fort,
D'un vieux Harpagon imbecille?
De moi tu te souviendras,

Et si le grand monde t' ennuie,
Mon cher écu tu te diras
Avec mon ancien maître hélas!
Je passois doucement ma vie,
Chez lui je ne me trouvais pas
En si nombreuse compagnie.
Tu riras de notre foiblesse,
De nos vices, de nos travers;
Et tu sauras que ton espèce
Gouverne tout dans l'univers.
Mais déja tu fais loin de moi,
J'entends sonner l'heure faneste,
Adieu! chèr écn! souviens toi,
Du meilleur ami qui te re te,
Si tu reviens un jour loger
Dans mon asile poëtique;
Je te proruets de rediger

Ton voyage philosophique.

St. Clement, Mr. Leverton to Miss Spry
On Thursday 20th, T. Stafford, Esq. of Lougford
to Miss E. Still of Font Hill

Truro, Mr. S. W. Passmore to Miss E. May
IN JANUARY.

Lostwithiel, Miss Coath to Mr. W. Cory
St. Clement, Mr. Baynard to Miss Baynard
Fowey, Mr. T. Peak to Miss Rendle
St. Gluvias, Mr. Bryant to Miss Cudlip
Falmouth, Mr. Davidson to Miss R. Joseph
St. Breock, Mr. R. Gatty to Miss E. Thomas
Walcot Church, Mr O. Cookes to Miss F. Enys
Gwennap, Capt. J. Ferris to Miss M Pwden
Mr. R Kinsman to Miss M. Kinsman
Redruth, Mr. Paul to Miss Teague
St. Tudy, Mr. S. Tom to Miss R. Lang
DEATHS IN DECEMBER.

West Looe, Mr. R. Bowden
Mrs. Hambly

Penzance, Mr. H. Roberts
Redruth, Miss L. Dunstone
Highclicker, Mrs. Moon
Redruth, Mr. J. Trenerry, aged 76
Mr. T. Harris

Mr. T Johns

Boshym, Mrs. Bosnstoe

St. Agnes, Mr. S. Evans, aged 71
Penryn, Miss H. Cock, aged 69

Ashfield, Mary, daughter of S. Tregellas, Esq.
Penzance, infant danghter of Mr. J. Harry
Launceston, Mr. Collins, aged 98.

IN JANUARY.

St. Just, Mrs. Trenear

Helston, Mrs. Cade

Fowey, Mr. S. Jewel

Gwinear. Mr. M. Harvey, aged 91

A.

BIRTHS IN DECEMBER.

Truro, Mrs. W. "onse of a son
Mrs. W. Rowe of a son

IN JANUARY.

Chacewater, Mrs. S. Bennett of a son

Camelford, Mrs. West of a son
Camborne, Mrs. Pascoe of a son
Hayle, Mrs. Ellis of a daughter

East Looe, Mrs. W. Rowett of a daughter
Mrs. Warn of a son

Mrs. John Martin of a daughter

MARRIAGES IN DECEMBER. Lamerton, Mr. J. Rosvear to Miss Langman Madron, Mr. James to Miss E. Matthews Falmouth, Mr. Blight to Mrs Hocking Redruth, Mr. Nancollas to Miss Ford

-Capt. J. Teague to Miss Trevena Falmouth, E. Oxenford, Esq. to Miss E. Tippet

Penryn, Mr. W. Bunster

St. Columb, Mr. T. Salmon

Padstow, Mrs. J. Mawke, aged 74
Mrs. J. Frvan, aged 75

Falmouth, Mrs. Oster, aged 90

Linkinghorne, Mr. P. Strike
Charlestown Mills, Mrs. Hawker
St. Ewe, Mr. Stephens

Fowey Mr. T. Chapman, aged 73
St. Agnes, Capt. T. Williams, aged 80
Marazion, Mr. W. Mills, aged 75
Callington, Mrs. Kinsman, aged 84
Penzance, Mr. W. Noy

Truro, Mr. T. Trewin, aged 33
St. Austle, Mrs. Vivian, aged 72
Miss R. Clemer

Camelford. Mrs. Hoskyn, aged 80
North-hill, Mr. A. Peter
Liskeard, Mr. J. Edgenmbe, aged 76
St. Kew, Mr. J. Curgenven, aged 80

Printed and rublished by J. PHILP, Falmouth, and sold by most Booksellers in the County.

The Cornish Magazine.

"Profit and pleasure then to mix with art,
To inform the judgment and delight the heart,
Shall gain all votes-

"

Francis' Horace.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][graphic][merged small][merged small]

And unhewn sphere of living adamant,

Which, pois'd by magic, rests its central weight

On yonder pointed rock, firm as it seems,

Such is its strange and virtuous property,

It moves obsequious to the gentlest touch."

For a full description of this natural curiosity, see Vol. 2, Pages 63-4.

[merged small][ocr errors]

"Vires acquirit eundo."

WE formerly went on quietly and modestly, doing neither good nor harm, -committing no offence against the rules of good manners, and fewer than might have been expected, against those of the language; and these our readers were not very ready to disco ver, nor very eager to punish.

This was our infancy;-when we could only amuse the great children and the very aged people who were so kind as to notice us, with such stories as we learned from the good old woman, to whom the care of our childhood was confided. We have, at length, outgrown the care of that excellent creature; and we hope that we have outlived the need of her assistance.

Our first years were weak and unpromising; but they have been succeeded, as sometimes happens, by a sudden, and we trust, not an unhealthful manhood. It is time, therefore, that we should take upon us the office for which we have been intended by our parents, from our very birth: and, little suited as our education has been to that intention, we may yet, possibly, supply what is wanting, by diligence and observation: the benefits of experience will come in their own time.

Our proper business is to instruct and amuse the people of this good town, of all sorts and descriptions; as well the dwellers upon land, as that amphibious race, who go down to the sea in ships. The old and the young, -the rich and the poor,-the grave and the gay, the ruminating and the fumigating, all are the objects of our concern, and may receive the benefit of our exertions. We proceed to explain the manner in which our labours will be performed, — the objects to which they will principally be directed, and the rules and restrictions by which they will be regulated.

It is usual for persons professing what we have undertaken, to talk about folly, vice, and vanity, as if they could promise not merely to abate these nuisances, but entirely to correct and remove them. We know better.

We know, that while the world stands, there must be such things in it. They are necessary to the infirmity and imperfection of the human character; and, until we enter upon a new state of existence, they will continue, both in ourselves and others, to poison the happiness of mankind, and to mar the moral beauty of the creation. These, as they ordinarily occur, do not call for our animadversions; and we are not aware of their being distinguished, in this place, by any peculiar features of deformity. The follies that we see around us are such as commonly prevail in the world, the shewy or gloomy absurdity by which people of different habits and tempers make themselves ridiculous,-the mimicry of fashion,-and the mockery of devotion. These are both equally harmless, and we let them alone. We do not carry our strictures into the assemblyroom or the conventicle. We are neither the critics of tea-parties, nor the censors of the streets. We have no quarrel with fancy-balls or charityschools. We make no war upon the innocent ghebers, whose fire-worship fills our public places with fumes so wholesome and so odorous. Still less do we meddle with follies purely personal. It matters not to us that one gentleman marries a woman who boxes his ears; and that another happens to be half-a-head shorter than his wife. The first is a common misfortune;— the second a mere accident; — and, however nearly they may concern the parties themselves, they are of no moment to any other persons under heaven.

So much for the follies-and what are the vices? Why the ordinary filth and pollution of a sea-port; with which it is by no means necessary that we should interfere. We leave this where it belongs, either through office or officiousness: we are neither constables nor saints. And as to the vanities,―Talk to us of vanity! Why, under proper circumstances, and with proper modifications, it is not only a very sufferable, but a very praise-worthy thing, and deserves abundant laud and encouragement. Vanity is the birth-right of genius and beauty,-the

« 上一頁繼續 »