obliged to leave it and return home, as her brute of a husband would not suffer her to remain any longer.' me. 'Oh Heaven!' cried Sabina, then it was the harmless hand of our dear Martha which terrified me so much that I could not remember her features, as I snatched a look at her claycold countenance.'-She then informed Mary of the horrors she had endured, of the groan she had heard. Alas!' interrupted her sister, that groan was breathed by me: little. did I think my Sabina was so near Jane had offered me the keys of our cottage, which I declined taking, and walked on to farmer Wellingbrough's, intending to stay there the night; but my reception was so exceedingly cold, and so many inuendos were levelled at me, that I soon wished them a good night, and they seemed glad to see me depart, never asking me to stop, though you must remember what a favourite I once was there: indeed I was shocked, and determined to enter no other house, but to pass the night in the deserted melancholy shades of our dear cottage garden. I passed the parlour door, which opens on the Bitter little lawn behind the house. bravest. recollections crowded to my memory, wanting comfort herself, yet wishing The morning was breaking, and The No (To be continued.) A NIGHT WALK IN FEBRUARY. By J. M. L. shadowy veil of night enwraps the scene; moon-beam cheers the trav'ller on his way. Loud howls the storm yon aged oaks be tween, Where brooding Horror seems to hold his sway. Author's Manuscript Poems. A WALK at night in the dismal month of February could not possibly be productive of much plea sure. The ground was exceedingly wet, owing to preceding rains; and as I went the sharp-talling shower was impelled in my face by as heavy a gale of wind as I almost ever remember. It was, indeed, a night when Horror might be truly said to hold his sway. The leafless trees were bent almost to the ground by the violence of the storm; and, had not necessity compelled me, I should certainly have preferred the comforts of a house to the uncomfortableness of the tem pest. But I was well defended from the bitterness of the blast by good cloathing. Alas! how many thou sands at the sa ne moment were ex- • See yonder shiv'ring wretch so meanly clad, Food hardly earn'd! for small the poor Alas! too oft his famish'd offspring claim The promis'd bread he has not got to give; Though poor, perchance he scorns the bread of shame, And rather dares to die than so to live! The only fire his humble hearth can boast The scanty produce of the neighb'ring street, Glean'd by his children, some few chips at most. These are the woes sad want is doom'd to meet!' Author's Manuscript Poems. As I walked, my mind insensibly caught the gloom of the season, and reverted to the many calamities which the unfortunate campaign, at the close of last year, had produced to the wretched inhabitants of the continent of Europe. Oh Heaven! of thy infinite mercy, long avert such dreadful scenes from the fair vales of my beloved country! Long grant us to be an example to the whole world of unanimity and patriotism! These ideas brought to my recollection the celebrated soliloquy of Selim in the play of Barbarossa, at the end of the third act, when the conspirators and himself have determined on the destruction of the tyrant. Now sleep and silence I proceeded hastily along. Neither moon nor stars afforded a single ray to guide me in my way; no sɔund cheered me, save the dreary bark of a distant dog; • Or where from yon' ancient tower, As I went, the violence of the gale Too true, alas! it is, that when despair has grasped the soul of man, he finds a gloomy pleasure in what, at a time when his mind was the abode of peace, would have caused him to shudder; For the sad mind where sorrow rule supreme Will find the storm congenial to its doom: The darkest night despair will ever deem Light, when compar'd with grief's heartreading gloom. The pensive wand'rer dearly loves to stray, When night and solitude attend his way.' Author's Manuscript Peems. A late pensive authoress, Mrs. Charlotte Smith now gone to seek in a better world the justice denied to her in this, has in many of her sonnets described night-scenes like the present, mournfully yet beautifully one that now occurs to my remembrance will, I am confident, need no apology. In moody sadness, on the giddy brink, From giant horrors wildly warring there. He seems (uncurs'd with reason) not to know The depth or the duration of his woe.' I now reached the outskirts of London; for the metropolis was at this time my resting-place, and the buildings in some degree sheltered me from the blast. It was late, and the streets were comparatively empty. Here and there a drowsy watchman going his round, and sleepily mumbling out the hour, in a tone that set at defiance every attempt to discover what he said; or a wretched, outcast female, in drenched garments, wandering about, scarcely seeming to know or care whither, and whose shocking appearance must rather tend to dispel than to excite the impulse it was her horrid profession to stimulate. Oh woman! lovely solacer of the hours of man! how is the mind affected by seeing thee in this degraded situation! Alas! my pen seems to shudder as I write, to this thou art almost always brought by the baseness of my own sex. Dishonoured be the memory of that man, who, by plausible pretences, draws a lovely female into ruin, and then casts the withering blossom from his polluted arms, to seek refuge in death, or what is worse, in prostitution. 'On the cold stone see her laid! Artless, young, and fair! Forgive her, righteous Heav'n!' I soon reached my house of rest, completely wet through. Alas! I am a solitary bachelor! I had no expecting wife to welcome me; no lovely offspring, wrapped in rosy sleep, over whose bed I could glance the eye of tenderness. If all these things had been mine, the concluding lines of Bloomfield's pleasing poem, Market Night,' might at this moment have been very applicable to me; except that I was on foot, and the good Benedick, in that instance, on horseback. Where have you staid? put down your load. Oh! what a night I've travell'd through! Dear partner of my nights and days, That smile becomes thee!-Let us then Learn, though mishap may cross our ways, It is not ours to reckon when!' As it was, I made the best I could of it, and as I was stepping into bed apostrophised my Night-cap, in some lines I had long ago addressed to that very serviceable little friend. VOL. XXXVIII How oft, with satisfaction's smile, Thy form shall clasp my aching head And bid my sorrows slumber : If peace the mind possesses; LONDON FASHIONS. (With an Engraving, elegantly coloured.) thin satin, with sleeves of the same 1. BODY and petticoat of white respond: the sleeves are trimmed laid in plaits, and the body to corwith fine white silk lace, or swans down over the whole a Turkish vest of brown muslin or crape, without sleeves: a satin ribbon of the same colour runs all round the vest, at a little distance from the edges cap of crimson velvet, made in the Austrian style, ornamented with a narrow silver trimming, and terminating in a point, with a silver tassel on the right side. Hair dressed plain in front, with a few spiral curls on the left side. White kid shoes and gloves. 2. An Italian robe of blue muslin or crape, the sleeves and front trimmed with white satin ribbon, and ornamented with fancy broaches: the robe trimmed all round with a broad white satin ribbon: cap of white satin, intermixed with lace footing, and trimmed with narrow shaded ribbon, and a plaiting of net round the front. Indian scarf shawl, fastened to the back of the robe by M a broach, and hanging down in front. Hair dressed as above described. PARISIAN FASHIONS. KERSEYMERE dresses, of a silver grey, are now much worn: they have square lapels and black velvet collars, with a deep cape à la pele-. rine. The vandyke frill plaited à la queen Elizabeth is almost general. Hunting bonnets similar to the kerseymere dresses, and bound with black velvet, bows and ends in front trimmed to correspond, are in great vogue. The hair is usually dressed in confined curls. Shoes of crimson velvet. OPERA DRESS. MADAME CATALANL.-A long flowing veste and drapery of crimson velvet, lined with white sarsnet, and richly ornamented with a Turkish border, in gold; the drapery drawn through a cestus, formed of gold and sapphire, and terminated with a large gold tassel; confined in front of the right shoulder with a broach to correspond, from whence flows another point of the vest, finished with a similar tassel. A double tunique, or under dress, of French net, with loose long sleeves, and round bosom, cut low, spotted, and most splendidly embroidered in gold at the bottom. White satin petticoat embroidered to correspond. A Grecian diadem of gold, and brilliants. A square Brussels veil of the most transparent texture, lightly embroidered in gold, fixed at the back of the diadem, and flowing negligently over the left arm. Hair close cropt behind, falling in irregular corkscrew ringlets in front and on the sides. The neck lace, one row of fine brilliants, set ON MODERN EMPIRICS. The first physicians by debauch were made, food Toil strung their nerves, and purified their The wise, for cure, on exercise depend; AMONG the numerous disco- |
