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In continuation.

A WEEK has passed since I wrote the above. This morning the colonel came, and informed us that his sister was arrived, and wished to see us: he therefore proposed, if agreeable, to take us with him directly. We made no objection; but, equiping ourselves in neat morning dresses, attended him. Maria whispered me, that she felt rather agitated. Foolish,' said I, 'what are you afraid of? I, however, was not surprised. The colonel chatted very agreeably during our ride; but, I believe, he noticed Maria's tremor. I have,' said he, mentioned my sister to you as a sensible, and even a learned woman: I leave you to discover a thousand good qualities of more value in my estimation; for I own, although I admire learning in your sex, I never could find a charm therein to counterbalance the want of an amiable temper and agreeable manners; and, much as I esteem good sense, there is a sort of understand ing which I term common sense, that I greatly prefer.'

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But surely, sir,' said I, a person endued with a superior under standing cannot be deficient in common sense.'

There certainly are instances of that deficiency, miss Harriet, and some have fallen within my know. ledge. But we are arrived.

He then handed us out of the carriage, and, taking a hand of each, led us into the parlour, where was his sister, sitting at work, with spectacles on.

I am much obliged to the young ladies,' said she, rising from her seat, for their early attendance :'at the same time saluting Maria and me with the most engaging freedom.

By this time the colonel had

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'I am,' said she, looking in each of our faces by turns, well acquainted with you both; and as that is the case, we will, if you please, lay aside that reserve that usually attends a first visit, and enter into chat as freely as though we were old acquaintance.'

We smiled at her good-humour, and, after thanking her for so kind a proposal, obeyed her; and having chatted away for near two hours, we took our leave, I should have told you, that the colonel left us in about half an hour, saying- Now I have brought your visitors, and introduced them, I have done my part.'

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Aye, aye,' said his sister, we have done with you now; so you may march off.'

She did not drop a hint relating to her brother and Maria. I thought this was delicate and considerate. She pressed us much to stay dinner, but we declined it. She rang to order the chariot; but, as the weather was fine, we chose to walk home. She then insisted on fixing a day to dine, accompanied by our brother. The day after the morrow was fixed; and we took our leave, highly pleased with our visit.-As I shall have occasion to speak often of this lady, I shall say no more now.

Our long visit and walk had

brought it past our dinner-hour at home; the cloth was just taking away. 'Oh, oh !' said my brother, you are returned then, like bad pennies: I thought I should have saved a dinner to-day.'

No, not to-day,' said I; 'but on Thursday we have engaged you and ourselves to dine at the colonel's.'

He made no objection, but asked if Mr. Curtis was invited.

'Dear, no!' I replied: how do you think he would look in such a visit?'

Look! why, how should he look? I think he is a very goodlooking young man. But you have taken it into your heads to laugh at him. I tell you, he is a very clever young fellow in business.'-I did not dispute my brother's assertion.

After we had dined, we began to tell him the particulars of our visit. -'And now,' said I, do not you long to see Mrs. Ambrose ?'

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No,' said he ; 'she is only a woman, I suppose.'

But she is a very fine one,' said Maria.

'Her fineness did not get her a husband. I suppose she knows nothing of good housewifery, and so forth-how should she, for her father taught her nothing but reading and writing, both of which are unnecessary to a woman, unless it be books that relate to household management.'

'I am sure you will like her,' said I; and we shall be able to judge of her housewifery by her management of her table.'

I retired up stairs to finish this letter; but hearing an uncommon noise in the kitchen, I stopped to listen.

Dorcas was exalting her voice to a very loud key, with a 'Come from behind the door; I will have no such doings in my kitchen, I assure you!' -I now found it was Jerry kissing VOL. XXXVIII.

the maid (I suppose behind the door)."

And who made it your kitchen, old madam Grumpus?" said Jerry.

I have been mistress of my master's kitchen these twenty years, replied she, and will not be ruled by such a jackanapes as you. I will acquaint the ladies, I assure you.' Who

'Go tell them,' said he. cares for you, or they either?'

Dorcas, angry enough before this, was enraged still more. -Youngster,' said she, I give you to know, you must speak more respectable of my young ladies, if you live here: marry, truly you are pretty pass in a week.'

come to a

'Don't make such a rout to me,' retorted Jerry: 'I don't care a fig for either of them, although they are such wits.'

'Wits!' said she, no more wits than yourself: you had not best stand there, calling names!"

Thus they went on for some time, when master Jerry was sent out on business; and I shall here conclude myself affectionately yours,

H. VERNON, (To be continued.)

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Paulina,
Miss Kelly.
Mistress of the Revels, Miss Fearon.

This drama is founded on a German tale, which affords full scope to the wild fancy of Mr. Lewis, author of The Castle Spectre, &c. who has acquired so much celebrity for productions of this description. The scene is bid in Holstein, and the interest and incidents of the piece almost wholly arise from the devotions paid to the Wood Damon, to whom, it seems, it was the sur perstition of the place yearly to immolate a child,

Mr. Lewis has chosen Denmark as the scene of his magical incanta tions; and has fixed the period when the power of Dæmonology was implicitly believed. It appears, that Hardyknute, being born deformed and poor, exchanges these disadvántages for their contrarieties, through the influence of the Wood Dæmon, to whom he pledges himself, under penalty of destruction, that on a certain night in each revolving year he will sacrifice blood upon the altar of the spirit, before the clock exhibited by the side of the altar strikes the awful hour of one!-For eight succeeding years he ha, kept his sanguinary vow; and on the ninth he is so far fortunate, that his victim Leolyn, a dumb boy, is secreted in the fatal cavern; whence he is delivered by Una, to whom Hardyknute is betrothed. The time is within a quarter of one, and Hardyknute, dreading his immediate dissolution, prepares to immolate Una; when the boy, climbing near the clock, by the assistance of a spear, accelerates its movement: One is struck!--Hardyknute perishis!-The boy is saved!-- And the restored Una is united to the virtuous but unassuming Oswy.

Mr. Lewis has given such loose to his imagination, and introduced so

many spectres of various descriptions, that nothing less than a jury of ghosts can decide upon the merits of this extraordinary performance. Whatever credit may be given to his powers of invention, his repu tation, as an author, will be rather diminished than increased by the Wood Dæmon; which owes its principal attraction to a profusion of splendid scenery, admirably arranged; some charming and appropriate music by Mr. Kelly; and the laudable exertions of De Camp, Dowton, Gibbon, Mrs. H. Siddons, Mrs. Harlowe, and Miss C. Bristow, who performed the interesting Leolyn with great propriety of gesture and expression. A miss Fearon made a vocal début, and from the sweetness and power of her voice promises to prove a valuable accession.

Of the scenes it is difficult to say which was the most beautiful. We were most struck, however, with the picturesque variety of the third scene, which exhibits a splendid Gothic Hall, with a gallery crowded with spectators, and an emblematic representation of the Four Seasons, who, as they move in a superb pageant, make offerings peculiar to each to the Count-The scenes, machinery, &c. were worked with wonderful ease and dexterity for a first exhibition of so complex and elaborate a nature At the close of the last scene, when the Wood Damon and the Clock sink into the earth, that opens to devour them, amidst all the horrors of the infernal regions, there was a general cry of Bravo! which was redoubled when the piece' was announced for a second representation. It promises, indeed, to be of lasting attraction, and amply to repay the vast expence that must have attended the getting up a spectacle of such splendour, magnificence, and variety.

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APRIL had for some day's led the infant steps of Spring, and had begun to clothe the world in her drapery of green, when I commenced my present night walk; in which I am precluded, by the time of it, from describing

* The lab'rer trudging to his daily task;
Who goes, loud carolling his untaught song,
In emulation of the soaring lark:
Without a care to canker in his breast,
He breathes the air of liberty and peace.'
Author's Poems.

Now, all such as him had long been stretched in slumber; for it was the time when

Silence soothes the woe-worn mind,
A balm to sorrow's wound is giv'n;
Religion leaves this world behind,
And soars on seraph wings to heav'n.'
MURRAY.

I had been at a friend's house, about
three miles from London, to a dance;
yet not to one,

Where crowded ball-rooms fascinate the
train,

Who worship Folly in each varying mood;
Where blazing chandeliers, with shining light
That fain would mimic morning's vivid
beam,

Guide the light-footed throng in mazy dance;
but to one given in commemoration
of my friend's union with Eliza, his
present wife; the handsomest and.
best of women,

"The clock had told its longest tale' before I set off: no part of the company were going my way, so that I was quite uninterrupted in my ideas, as I paced homewards. April had wept but once this day, and that was over a beautiful violet, which the fervid ray of Sol had nearly withered; but the kindly drops had cheered the drooping sufferer, and restored him back to blooming healthfulness. The paths were, on

this account, tolerably dry, and
though I could not discern the beau-
ties that Spring had begun to spread
around, I could yet feel her genial
influence in every breath of air. The
night was dark and starless, but
perfectly serene, and very pleasant;
it was so silently still, that I might
have said with Hurdis,

A whisper is too loud for solitude
So mute and still."

It must have been a similar night that he had in contemplation, when he wrote the following lines:

So have I gone at night, When the faint eye of day was hardly clos'd, And turn'd the grating key which kept the

door

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Has stood and paus'd, half startled at the
sound

Of its own tip-toe pace. I've held my breath,
And been offended that my nimble heart
Should throb so audibly. I would not hear
Aught else disturb the silent reign of death,
Save the dull ticking of a lazy clock.
That calls me home, and leads the pious soul
Through mazes of reflection, till she feels
For whom and why she lives. Ye timid fair,
I never saw the sheeted ghost steal by,
I never heard th' imprison'd dead complain,
And gibber in my ear, though I have lov'd
The yawning time of night, and travell'd

round

deem

And round again the mansions of the dead.
Yet have I heard, what fancy well might
Sufficient proof of both; the prowling owl
Sweep by, and with a hideous shriek awake

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As I went on, methought it was a night well suited for the lone maiden whose lover is no more to seek the sea-shore, and thus complain :

When joy's bright daughters slumber,
These wave-wash'd bounds I reach,
And with a tear-drop number

Each sand that paves the beach;
Then chaunt some mournful ditty
In broken accents faint,
Till echo sighs in pity,

And answers to my plaint.
'But soon will life be over,
These pangs for ever sleep;
And I rejoin my lover,

Embosom'd in the deep.
Yon golden orb that sinking
Ilumes the rosy west,
Ere ocean's waters drinking,

Shall view my griefs at rest!

• This frail heart, worn with aching,
Can bear its load no more;
Its fibres now are breaking,

Its suff'rings well nigh o'er.
Then be this rock my pillow,

That eating waves consume;
And swift the rising billow

Shall waft me to my tomb!'

DIMOND.

On such a night the child of sorrow, too, may seek the silent grove, and pour his pensive plaint, unseen and unheard by all, save that omniscient Being who will attend to his sorrowful ejaculations, and heal his lacerated bosom. We may suppose his complaint to be similar to the following:

"I long to lay this painful head
And aching heart beneath the soil,
'To slumber in that dreamless bed
From all my toil.

For mis'ry stole me at my birth,
And cast me helpless on the wild;
I perish;-Oh! my mother Earth!
Take home thy child.

On thy dear lap these limbs reclin'd,
Shall gently moulder into thee;
Nor leave one wretched trace behind,
Resembling me.'
MONTGOMERY,

There is something peculiarly

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tumult

Was hush'd at this dead hour, and darkness slept,

Lock'd in the arms of silence. She alone,
Medea slept not!'

On the contrary, when the bosom is at rest, and no sorrows but those long forgotten remain to in

trude upon its peace, it is pleasing to stroll at night, when every noise is hushed, and giving to the fancy its fullest range, recal past events, or anticipate the future; while, if, in so doing, a recollection of grief, long gone by, should arise, the tear it will call into the eye will seem sweeter than the loudest burst of the rudest merriment.

Sweet is the odour of the morning's flower, And rich in melody her accents rise; Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour, At which her blossoms close, her music dies

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