"Remember, Nan, that I put down three halfpence for you towards that last half pint of gin." And she-oh ye gods!-put her hand into her bosom, and from a piece of brown paper pulled out a hard, black, common copper penny, and gave it him, saying, "You must trust me the odd halfpenny." I could be sworn that it was the very penny she took from a sweep while the money-taker's back was turned, and to think of placing it where only doves and loves, and roses and posies,-foh! "Oh, her offer ce was rank." We fled into the interior: the drop-scene was down; it represented a street, without any perspective; the houses were piled one upon another, and the passengers placed between the roof of the one row and the base of the other. The candle-snuffer had no instrument saving his fingers, and when burnt, he invariably, after shaking them, thrust them into his mouth. Some of the candles were at all angles, reposing lovingly upon each other, and dropping down fatness upon the shoulders of the assembly; nor did the decapitator of luminaries pay much attention as to where he shook off the burning snuff from Lis fingers, so that there was a gathering of garments wherever he moved. At length the audience became impatient, and began to call aloud for the performance to commence-they stamped also with their feet-but as we all stocd alike upon our mother earth, they made but little noise, and the man with burning fingers" turned round and said, "The more row you chaps kicks up here, why we shall just be all that the longer afore we begins, that's all, my kiddies." At length a man thrust his head and arms through the midst of the drop-scene and drove the street each way, half the houses to the right and half to the left: from the noise made we concluded it moved upon a rod and rings, much like the old-fashioned untheatrical bed-curtains. This done, he laid himself down upon some ragged drapery which had once been red, and looking into the side wings said, "What the deuce did you tell me to shove the curtain away for, before you were ready?" He then lay down, and was of course fast asleep when we, who were close to the stage, saw a woman leap upon it, much after the manner we should get upon a table; she then knelt beside the sleeping man and said something about "a lonely cavern, and his murderers so near;" then she looked aside to another, who was pinning an old cloak around her, and said, "Come, I'm not a-going to kneel here all night;" and the woman who was to be the witch of the cave answered, "I shall be ready in about a minute;" then the kneeling lady arose and said, "I shall not wait any longer," so she placed her Lands on the edge of the stage, and jumped off, and the other climbed on. While she was repeating mething over the slumberer, he exclaimed, *Cut it short, or Bill will be here with the gin." Meantime another had very carefully climbed on the stage, as if he had suffered from reshly leaping thereon, as a long line of white staches upon a black ground plainly showed; never once was so ill-mannered as to turn his back upon the audience. He was smoking a very short black pipe in the wings, and when it was his turn to appear, he stuck the dudeen under his belt, and drew out an old whitehafted knife, and when he was about to stab the sleeper, the old man who had played the ghost for a score of years, jumped up on the other side, with a very dirty sheet over him; then the man who had been smoking went on one side and the ghost on the other, and the street was drawn back to its old place, and that was the first act. Bill also came in with the gin, so that, anticipating it would be some time before the street was again removed, we sallied forth in quest of further amusement. A MAIDEN UNROBING, -A lovely maiden, pure and chaste, With naked ivory neck and gown unlaced, Within her chamber, when the day is fled, Makes poor her garments to enrich her bed; First, puts she off her lily silken gown, That shrieks for sorrow as she lays it down, And with her arms graceth a bodice fine, En bracing her as it would ne'er untwine. Her flaxen hair, ensnaring all beholders, She next permits to wave about her shoulders, And though she casts it back, the silken slips Still forward steal, and hang upon her lips, Whereat she, sweetly, angry, with her laces, Binds up the wanton locks in curious traces, While twirling with her joints each hair long lingers only those plants which grow dark and green, and close toge her, and resemble those shadowy recesses in the greenwood in which he labours. Evergreens are there of almost every variety that can be found within an English forest, and thus throughout the year the old man dwells amid deep foliage, either in the wood or amongst that which surrounds his own hut. A staid and solemn man is Abraham Clark, for he has dwelt so long with solitude that they have become companions, and his countenance has caught the brown hue of the trees, and his garments are also coloured like their stems; so that when he stands motionless amongst them, a stranger would pass by without distinguishing him from the grey and moss-covered trunks. What quietude hangs around the old man, what contentment and peace-what knows he of the world! War may shake the distant nations, his own country be in a commotion with political feuds, but they affect not his tranquil haunts the sound reaches not the depth of his still green woods. He "among the leaves has never known" the fever and the fret" of cities, has never felt the pangs that chain society together; has never "coined his cheek to smiles," or lowered his voice to affected sympathy. Sorrow he has encountered, but the silence of the forest taught him a deep philosophy, and brought before him the tranquil As loath to be enchained but by her fingers."lity of the grave, where the weary shall for And whilst he stands to look for it in her eyes, THE OLD WOODMAN. ever be at rest. Hopes he had cherished, but they vanished without being fulfilled; so had he seen some goodly tree, the pride of "its place," towering in beanty and promise, all at once change, shake off its beautiful foliage, 1 languish and die. Light of heart had he been, and "Tuned his merry throat Unto the wild bird's note;" but his music was drowned with the approaching storm; he had heard the merry birds hush their notes on a sudden, and hide from the gathering tempest, and bury their mirth beneath the clouds, until a new return of sunshine.. Death affected the old man deeply, and he would sit listening to the forest stream that rippled at his feet for hours, seeking for images, and fancies, and soothing thoughts, in the bubble, or the leaf, or the fallen flour that floated by, and shaping the sounds of the water to his own thoughts, now sweet, now sadly complaining; then thrilling with notes of hope, or murmuring in a melancholy mood, as it struggled away, through the uncertain shadows, dim and mysterious as the great irereafter. At the very base of Warton Woodhouse stands the cottage of Abraham Clark, the old woodman. There is something in the appear ance of this dwelling which seems to accord Such a solitary life as Abraham leads would with his solitary habits, and that habitualbe painful to any other than a man of strong loneliness which is ever around him; for si- mind; but he is inured to it, was nursed tuated as it is at the termination of a deep val- amidst it; from childhood the trees have been ley, which in former times is said to have his companions, for his father was a woodman formed the bed of the river, there is a pictu- before him, and when a boy he often accomresque dreariness about it which is almost panied the old man into the forest, and had his fearful. own little axe;-he was born to be a woodman. Many a long year has old Abraham lived alone in that cottage, and it seems to have been almost his constant study to bring home Solitude, then, is his element; he has sought it with no disgust, derives from it no peculiar pleasure, but that which is drawn from contentment. A stranger would say he was stern, that his aspect was forbidding, that there was something awful in the deep tones of his voice; complain that he spoke not, only o answer their question, and even then in a br ef abrupt tone. But let them meet him often, and remember that for years he has had no companions but those hoary trees and his own thoughts; let them catch the sober hues of his mind, send their thoughts into those deep channels into which his own flow, and they will soon find that the old woodman has "Thoughts too deep for tears." THOMAS MILLER. LOVE IN THE COUNTRY. Love in the country is very often only a wild flower of chance growth; it springs up here and there almost unaware-sometimes is found by a woodside, in a green lane, or by a garden-gate. John is going to fetch up his horses at the same time that Mary sets out to milk her cows, and they very naturally join in conversation. It may at first only begin with a cold "good morning." But then, hang those cows! they play such freaks, and will often run away without giving a moment's warning: then John, of course, runs after them, and Mary thanks him for assisting her. Love is a very Proteus, and has before now come in the shape of a gad-fly-has first spoken in the creak of a gate-blushed while being helped up with a basket of butter-sprung up with a swarm of bees, or appeared in the shape of a stray lamb. In a large farm-house, too, there are nearly as many lads as lasses employed as servants; and in summer they all work together in the fields-eat and drink at the same table when at home, and thus have every opportunity of studying each other's temper. This I hold is a much safer way to choose a wife than mere chance wooing, where miss makes up herself beforehand to be very shy and very modest, and the youth can hardly say "boh to a goose!" as the old country wives have it. But when they live in "place" together for a year or two, what at first is affected, gradually gives place to reality. They appear to each other what they will be after marriage; and I have known them jog together to the market-town to purchase halfa dozen chairs or what not, to start housekeeping with, months before marriage. THE FLY'S LETTER-BOX. CONNUBIAL FELICITY. rated the constable. 66 "What case next?-quick! quick!" pro- WHO ARE THE POOR? Are they that small incorrigible band race, Stand idle in the world's great market-place? Who weave their garments, and build up their Or in what way the toiling hind is fed, Twixt sloth and dissipation alternate? From an original translation, in which are pre served all those peculiar graces and piquant observa- The Demon of Sicily. By E. Montague. Cuts, complete in 16 numbers. The Monk. By M. G. Lewis. The only edition verbatim from the original, which was suppressed. Twenty numbers, or 2s. 6d. boards. The Adventures of an Actor; or, Life of a Strolling Player. One of the most entertaining books ever published. Twenty numbers, or 2s. 3d. boards. self. From the genuine edition. In numbers and Memoirs of Hariette Wilson. Written by Her parts. Cuts. and T. P. Carlile, 220 Deansgate, Manchester. London: W. Dugdale, 37, Holy well-st., Strand; T Just Published, price One Penny each, HREE SERMONS, delivered by the Rev. J. R. STEPHENS, on Sunday, May 12, in the Shepherd-and-Shepherdess Fields, Islington; on Primrose-hill; and on Ken. nington-common, forming Nos. 6, 7, and 8 of THE POLITICAL PULPIT, an uniform series of Sermons preached at various places by this eminent Minister of the Truth. Re vised and Corrected by the Rev. Gentleman himself. Also, MARCUS on the POSSIBILITY of LIMITING POPULOUSNESS; to which is added the Theory of Painless Extinction. This edition contains a powerful Preface, expos ing the iniquity and horrible tendency of the Malthusian Doctrines. Price 3d. W. Dugdale, 37, Holywell-street, Strand. N.B. By attending to the hints laid down in this work, the undisciplined Working Classes of Paris overthrew 25,000 Regulars in the glorious Revolution of 1830. Ask for the " People's Edition," published by T. P. Carlile, 220, Deansgate, Manchester; and Alfred Carlile, General Newspaper Agent, Waterlane, Fleet-street, London. Sold by all venders of books, &c. We are waiting a more auspicious moment than the present to give the portrait of his Grace the Duke of Wellington. Our correspondent "Wrench" must allow us to be the best judges of the fitting season. An Acrostic by "W. V. H." next week. "M. A. P." No room in this number. "W. Medcalfe." The Rake's Soliloquy possesses merit, but we think requires a little more correction, ere it meet the public eye. Mr. M. should keep his pieces by him for a The 63 numbers which form the old serie Published for JAMES GLOVER, at Water-lane, few months after written, before requesiingmay be had of any bookseller, each accompaFleet-street. their insertion. nied by a lithographic print. THE OLD SERIES OF THE "FLY." John Cunningham, Printer, Crown-court, 72, Fleet-street. "UBI MEL, IBI MUSCA." No. 23-NEW SERIES.] SATURDAY, JUNE 8. Every purchaser of this number of "THE FLY," is entitled to an exquisitely-executed Lithographic PRINT, which is presented gratuitously.-[A similar print with every number.] FOR MY PART I HAVE LOVED FOUR OF THEM. (FOR THE "FLY.") The first-oh! how he was beloved! How explain to you my love for him! How describe the thrill of joy I felt on first hearing his voice; the delight I had in winning his regards, and the tender care I took in calling up a smile to his lips. And still, I must confess it, he was plain-most decidedly plain. But then he was my first love; the only being that had made my heart to palpitate throughout the day, who embellished my dreams of fancy, and made them always smiling, who opened to me new scenes of life, fresh sources of existence. From that time I knew no happiness that he was not the cause of; no sentiments that sprang not from him; no duty that I would not have relinquished for him. Every word he uttered would vibrate through my frame like a tender emotion. His look, whether calm or cheerful, seemed to be mirror'd in delightful feelings at my heart; and when his mouth multiplied kisses upon mine, and his arm formed a caressing circle round my neck, and when his hand untwisted a curl of my hair, delight then raised my thoughts to Heaven, for I fancied it must be so like the loves of ethereal beings. Thus near to him I felt all other pleasures of life flee away, that they were no longer for me but chains, imposed by laws or custom; that from this time the delights of society were nothing but the triumphs of self-love. How often, in order to be near him, have I spoiled my visiting dress, and preferred his simple talk to all the forced praises of the world. Oh! for him what would I not have asked of Heaven! How impossible I thought at that time that rivalry of affection could enter my heart. Must the truth, indeed then, be spoken? A year of this delightful illusion was hardly at an end, when another sentiment came to invade my heart. No powers could lull to rest the interest with which a being inspired me, possessing no rights of recollection over me, but whose frank, open countenance awakened in my mind a thousand charming hopes. He had two jet black eyes, from which, as a source, I loved to draw on for their tenderness; and when his head resting on my breast, and his lips which were schooled to murmur forth my name, I said within myself, There also I shall have the happiness of being loved again. Happy! I dwelt much upon that word, which had twice renewed my pleasures, and therefore I could not but love them both equally. How it happened that some time after I found near me a pretty youth, of pale countenance and blue eyes, I dare not positively tell you: nevertheless, as my pen desires only to record truth, and as my heart ought here to unfold all her secrets, I will confess that this passion was not only one of those piquant episodes which meral stars which shoot through the firmaoccur in the life of a woman, like those ephement, without in the least disturbing the harmony of it. My young lover came, therefore, and took his part in my affections, and to fix him I lavished upon him my wonted tenderness. I loved to follow the development of his first wishes, to draw to myself alone all the germs of his sensibility, convinced that the heart of a woman resembles a flower, [TWOPENCE. constrained, malgre moi, to finish by adoring a creature that had failen, I verily think, from the skies, beautiful as a cherubim. His mouth, small as it was, had a smile that might have caught our first mother, had the devil made his approaches after that fashion. In his eyes was a semblance of innocence which made you to love, hope, and pardon all on the instant. Amiable and graceful, a slave to your wishes, for you was reserved a profusion of kind looks and endearment: he could not be seen without being loved, and that was in sooth the cause why I did love him. But four! O! marvellous prodigality of heart, is it not true? Four to be loved at one time; happy from the same cause, sharing the same favours, the same looks and caresses, and this without a tincture of jealousy disturbing the harmony of their loves! It is one of those incomprehensible mysteries that the head of a woman alone can expound. And yet, if you would know how I love these four youths, how they all adore me, and how we live together in concord, draw up the curtain that shadows the her four hopeful boys! picture, and you will behold a mother with F. E. TO SPRING. Blest hope of man, enchanting Spring, whose perfume is love, and to whom an affec Which comes where violets make their beds, John Cunningham, Printer, Crown-court, Fleet-street. Thy robe is of the grassy mound; Thy gems are of the morning dew, Thy footsteps make a fairy ground. L. E. |