THE BEREAVEMENT OF CONSTANCE (MOTHER OF PRINCE ARTHUR). 247 her child, and they told her the truth; but selfish- | THE BEREAVEMENT OF CONSTANCE. ness, one of the greatest faults of her character, was destroyed, and she refused to open, to new anguish, the wound which was almost healed. Aunt Jessy's sketch of the fortunes of her early friends is almost done. She acknowledges it would have been a more perfect love story, if Catherine Danvers had been suffered to die of a broken heart. But the question, whether a certain amount of grief will break a heart or not, chiefly depends on the constitution submitted to its influence, and Kate's happened to be a good one. Her marriage, at last, was true in itself and true to nature; for a woman who loves is never slow to forgive offences directed only against herself; and it was just that Arthur's devoted affection should at last rekindle a love which, though blighted by indifference, had never been destroyed. It was from aunt Jessy's house that Kate was married. The dear old lady vividly described the bride's beauty, and even her dress, on the wedding morning; and though some of the most youthful of her auditors smiled at the idea of an "interesting bride" of five-and-thirty, and the absurdity of an ardent lover of forty, aunt Jessy declared her belief that in their wedded life there was a more complete realization of the romance of love than in that of any pair she had ever known. Aunt Jessy has survived them; but she remembers that, in the confidence of friendship, Arthur Vane often confessed he once bitterly mistook the point of honour. THE RUSTIC LOVER. No lad in any country town Did something neat and fair suggest; Were much like Nancy's hair and eyes; MARIE F. (MOTHER OF PRINCE ARTHUR.) Talk not to me of patience! for my heart That not relieves, but seems to scorch the brain Brave the fell pow'r of the usurper's wrath? hate; Thou royal sapling of a royal tree, The mighty spirit of thy regal house To his brave king and brother, gallant Richard, Whilst thy fair sister pin'd away her youth And his own hand, his fratricidal hand, Struck at his brother in his brother's child, Child of the dead-the dead one's purer self: LITERATURE. AGUIDE TO THE BLACKWATER. By J. R.O'Flan Flows hourly o'er thy grave. My child! my agan. (How.)-This is an elegant little volume, with child! Shall I for this be patient? shall I cease To send through Christendom my tale of wrongs? woe; I know not what I say or do-my heart And there shall be thy doom; the foaming wave- There, worm-like, grov'lling on the sandy shore, Betray thy mortal agony, and rend Thy once all-callous heart with mighty pow'r, Till Death shall seize thee, tyrant; in that hour What shall avail the throne so dearly bought? FLORENCE. claims to our consideration far beyond those of an ordinary guide-book: it is exquisitely illustrated, and the tastes of the historian, antiquary, and geologist, admirably catered for in its interesting pages. Unlike the usual run of such directors, satisfied with pointing out the road, and repeating the cutand-dry details already upon record-our Guide indulges in the most charming gossip, at once so scholarly and gentlemanlike, that we feel we are in no common hands, and perceive that there is nothing of the professional about him but his accuracy. Lovely is the scenery through which he leads us, and dull indeed must be the heart of the tourist who does not partake of the author's enthusiasm, as he traces hand in hand with him the banks of the "broad-water:" rich in historical associations, every shattered castle and ruined abbey, has its romance; and the whole valley of the Avonmore teems not alone with local but international interest. Here Spenser wrote his "Fairy Queen," and Raleigh (his friend and patron) probably ruminated on the "History of the World," thereafter to be compiled within the precints of his prison-room. But let our Guide speak for himself. Here is his description of the river: "During its entire course, a distance of seventyfive miles, the Blackwater runs through a country rife with historic recollections, and diversified so agreeably as to offer an abundant field to the lover of the picturesque. Whether he delights in the quiet landscape of wood and water-sunny slopes crowned by tasteful mansions, or prefers the bolder prospect of the rapid flood foaming round the base of the rock sustaining the solitary castle, the massive walls of which seem to mock time in their strength, and long destined to survive the names of those who reared them. At one place the banks are richly wooded; at another the river glides through a plain of corn and meadow-land-now beneath frowning mountains steep and barren, anon midst fertile, smiling valleys. Memorials of the piety or chivalry of by-gone years are frequent along the river, and add to the natural beauty of the scene; while populous towns or quiet hamlets mark the abodes of men." The author's memory is replete with the wild legendary lore, that gives to every stream and valley, every rude cairn and mysterious cromleck embalmed in song or story, and transmitted orally throughout Ireland, some poetical reminiscence from generation to generation. Speaking of the Glen of Glendyne, he says:- "In the valley of Glendyne, a rocky basin, not so perfect now as it was some years ago, is kept constantly full by a stream falling from a cliff above, the superfluous water dripping over the sides of the basin. Tradition states that there were sorcerers who could raise the shadows of futurity on the surface of this fluid mirror; and it required | but little exertion of the credulous imagination to give form and pressure to the varying shades which indistinctly appear on its dark waters. Similar legends are found attached to these natural rock basins in all parts of Europe, confirming Warburton's assertion, that hydromancy is one of the most widely spread forms of divination. He thinks, from the name of the place where the witch resided who invoked Samuel," Endor," i. e. "perpetual fountain, that she intended to consult the shadows on one of these natural mirrors; and that this will explain her astonishment when a spirit appeared instead of a shade. An old man in Glendyne had some faint recollection of a tradition which described a fair lady going to discover in the rocky basin the fate of her lover, who had enlisted in the Irish brigade: she beheld him falling in battle, and soon after died of a broken heart. On the day of her funeral intelligence arrived of her lover having fallen in some skirmish, nearly at the time when she beheld the fatal vision." hunting this way, and sure enough, by the same token, I got a fall in the bogs beyant Wathergrasshill, that mottled my new coat into a rale piebald; for when I was dhrawn out, one arm was a dark brown, and so was one skirt; whilst the rest was a bright scarlet-only the first day's wear-such a regular half-and-half you never saw, just like fair grog; and laughing enough the boys had with me when I sat down to dine at Brooke Brazier's. We finished a magnum of port, and a six-bottle cooper of claret, to say nothing of half-a-dozen tumblers of ould Tommy Walter; and I fell asleep when I got into the jaunting car that was sent to drive me home, for they knew where I was to dine; an' I used to get comfortable there. But Brian Hegarty (your huntsman to-day, as honest a boy as ever broke bread) I fancy got a little comfortable too; the night was dark, he said, for he turned his horse's head the wrong way; and, by Jove, when I awoke (near twelve o'clock), instead of finding myself at my own demesne wall going into Ballyhooly, where should I be but passing Glanmire, and just entering the streets of Cork. What place is this Briar?' says I; Why, then, what other but Ballyhooly, sir,' says he, Brian, you omadhawn, do you call that Blackwather?" says I, pointing to the say. What else,' says he, if it isn't seeing double you are?' In the midst of this cross-fire a chaise drew up—'Are you going anywhere?' said a voice, familiar to me, continues the Captain: I am going home,' said I, innocently. Home to Gurteen, and your back to it? Well, Whackman, that's a good one,' said my friend, Ned Roche, laughing long and loudly. The end of this meeting is, that Ned Roche insists on the Captain's accompanying him In these, the rich humour, the gay, mercurial to the house of a lady on the South Mall, where he spirits of his country assert themselves, and the is invited to a ball-Stay,' rejoins the other, "Guide to the Blackwater" becomes an equally delightful companion by the banks of the Thames, or any other place in which we meet him. But however our author may linger in the cave of Gurtmore-rock, while he recounts the story of "Donal na Rasca" (Daniel the outlaw) and the fair but false Margaret Kelly, or pauses at Aundaluagh, to tell the gloomy legend of Mealane, it is evident that this is merely to oblige his sentimental readers; the pathetic, in spite of some natural touches of it, in the story of the "Old Follower," is not Mr. O'Flanagan's forte; but only listen to him in "Fion Macoul," The Seprehann's Bottle," "The Enchanted Horse of Cloghleagh Castle," and better than all, "Brian Hegarty, the Haunted Huntsman." We regret that want of space will not allow of our transcribing any of these capitally told stories; and to quote from them would convey about as fair an idea of their excellence as the single brick we have heard tell of, which some sapient architect produced as a sample of a building. And yet it is impossible to withhold the pleasure of making some one else laugh with us; therefore, without breaking into these distinct narrations, here is a sketch in the same character, and as exquisitely droll, as it is natural in its delineation. Captain Whackmans are daily becoming more scarce, but there are sufficient of them still left to bear witness to the genuineness of the specimen : "Some one spoke of the proposed fancy ball at Cork," on which the Captain observes, "there is great fun in a fancy ball." "Why?" asked some dandy of dragoons, peering at the vulgar monster through an eye-glass. "Pray were you"-laying great emphasis on the words were you "ever at a fancy ball?" "Oh, by this and that I was, faith!" Where, Whackman? let's have it." "With a heart and a-half, boys; wait till I 'plenish the thimble: hand over the groceries. Oh, that's the real perfume," and he sipped his glass with complacency. "You see we were out there's a little obstacle to my going; I have no clothes but what's on me,' an' I up and told him how I was out hunting in my new scarlet coat, and fell into the bog under Wathergrass-hill, and got my coat piebald. Stop,' says he, till I have a look at you.' Who, in the name of the saints, is your purty travelling companion, Roche?' I asked, as the door opened, and a great brawny girl, with worsted stockings and big brogues, having a basket of oranges slung over her shoulder, jumped on the ground. She dropped me a nice curtsey, crying, Fine Cheney oranges-Cheney oranges,' till the cry might be heard at Blackpool. Choke you!' says I; can't you silence that clatter of a tongue of yours,' as she again raised the echoes. I think I am not so bad, Whack, my boy,' said my friend, in his natural tone, or I would not have known him. Why, bless my soul, Roche, what's the fun of this?' The ball is a fancy ball, and I see you'll do famously,' said he, surveying me. 'I go as an orange-girl, and you can give them a tallyho!' 'Here goes!' said I: 'yoicks! tally, tally forward, my honeys! hark forward!' and Roche, in his turn, had to cry silence. "There was no need to ask the house; the shouts of merriment that burst from the crowd before the door, greeting each character, as well as "almost coeval with the language itself, and may be traced back to the period when the Latin tongue, corrupted by the vulgar pronunciation, and intermixed with the idioms of the different nations that from time to time overran Italy, degenerated into what was called the lingua volgare ; which language, though at first rude and unpolished, was, by successive exertions, reduced to a regular and determinate standard, and obtained at length a superiority over the Latin, not only in common use, but in written compositions of the learned. The form of the sonnet confined to a certain versification, and a certain number of lines, was unknown to the Roman poets, who, adopting a legitimate measure, employed it as long as the subject required it; but was probably derived from the provincials, although instances of the regular stanza now used in their compositions may be traced amongst the Italians, as early as the thirteenth century. From that time to the present, This is exquisitely Irish-but still more so is the cause of his being so universally recognized, for which, however, we refer the reader to the Guide itself; satisfied that without moving from his own fire-side, he will have much to repay him for the perusal of this graceful and interesting volume. But in the amusement we have derived from its pages, we have neglected the more important purpose of the work; a motive evident, as it is earnest, pervades it from the commencement to the end, and we feel that a higher aim is involved in its details than merely pointing out the beauties of the Black-the sonnet has retained its precise form, and has water. The desire to awaken an interest in the natural resources of his country, to point out how they may be made available for the purposes of commerce and improvement; in a word the motion of inland navigation is his object, and forcibly and eloquently does he depict the blessings that would accrue from the undertaking. pro "No measure more calculated to benefit the country and develope her vast natural resources can engage the attention of the patriot and philanthropist. The intercourse which it necessarily causes would do more to dispel erroneous notions and prejudices, and remove animosities, than centuries of legislation. By establishing lines of intercourse and promoting industrious pursuits, feelings of discontent would be dissipated, and crime, originating most commonly in poverty and idleness, receive a wholesome check by removing its main cause.' Mines of iron, copper, and lead exist in the valley of the Blackwater, that were formerly worked; but "which are now discontinued for want of fuel." "Unhappy Ireland!" exclaims our author, in a burst of sad and indignant feeling, "how long are your resources to lie dormant! how long is the disgraceful apathy of your landed proprietors to continue, driving your virtuous sons and daughters to seek as exiles, in distant regions, the means of subsistence so abundant in their native land !" In conclusion, we heartly recommend this little volume to the support it asks and merits. "SONNETS;" by the Rev. W. Pulling.-(J. and H. Bohn.)-So much has already been said in praise of this volume, that little remains to us but the repetition of past eulogy. In their poetical symmetry the sonnets are faultless; and exhibit a complete triumph over the supposed difficulty of accommodating our language to the pure Italian model. In the masterly and interesting essay prefixed, and which is entirely devoted to the "origin, form, and character" of this species of composition, the author observes: "The Italian sonnet is a species of composition," says the author of the Life of Lorenzo de Medici, been the most favourite mode of composition in the Italian tongue." In order to avoid details, the author of this essay cannot avail himself of all the valuable observations of Mr. Roscoe on this subject, and will merely translate a note in which he cites a remark in Italian on the sonnet by Lorenzo, who was himself a writer of sonnets:--"The brevity of the sonnet admits not that one word should be in vain; and the true subject and material of the sonnet ought to be some pointed and noble sentiment, appropriately expressed, and confined to a few verses, and avoiding obscurity and harshness." After pointing out the general failure of the English poets in the true construction of this mode of composition, the author continues-" Both Shakspere and Spenser, those transcendent luminaries, those mighty masters of the art of verse, were writers of sonnets; but to neither of them is any considerable degree of praise due for the composition of the sonnet;" and farther on he remarks, of the great, the true, and original poet Milton-" His sonnets, however, are decidedly of an inferior character, and it may be supposed that the mighty genius of the author of Paradise Lost,' when confined within the number of fourteen lines so artfully arranged, and so regularly divided as to fɔrm a sonnet on in a cage designed for a much smaller bird, or the Italian, the only true model, was like an eagle that nature, who is a kind mother and hath numberless children to provide for, gives not all talents to any individual." But whatever difficulties other poets have found in forming a compound of metaphor and metaphysics in the contracted shape of a sonnet, without overstepping the prescribed model, Mr. Pulling has fully evidenced the pliability of our language to all the purposes of sonnet writing; and the collection before us charms, not only by their artistical formation, but by the fine feeling, the tender seriousness and universal sympathy they evince. The language, euphonous, artless, and distinct, is exquisitely suited to the nature of the subjects, which, though greatly varied, preserve throughout two distinct tones, and either exalt the heart by their majesty, or soften it by their touching simpleness. It is almost impossible to select where all are admirable, and indeed we have hardly an opportunity of quoting one that has not already been adduced (in other publications) as a specimen of the excellence of the entire; but we cannot close the book without extracting one of these pure and beautiful effusions. "TO MEMORY. “Oh, what a wondrous power thou mem'ry hast, And wondrous is thy mansion in the brain; Within what little space thou bindest fast Forms numberless, in thy mysterious chain : And at thy bidding thence can bring again, What from the body's eye hath long since past; Yea, what can wound the soul with sharpest pain, Or o'er the brow the beam of pleasure cast. Ah! subtle mistress of a power so strange, At slightest touch to ope the secret cells; And all thy shapes to act their parts arrange; The man is blessed who with virtue dwells, His rest thou canst not to disquiet change, The more with thee his breast with rapture swells." The present is the second edition of these sonnets, a proof that their excellence is understood and appreciated. "LIFE, AND OTHER POEMS;" by S. S. S.(Smith, Fleet-street.)-This volume is evidently the production of a feeling heart; the principal poem, "Life", has many passages replete with reflection and sensibility; and the minor effusions, though mostly of a sombre character, are generally pleasing. We transcribe one of the sonnets, not as being the most favourable specimen, but because it is best adapted to our space. "THE LIGHTHouse. "What means that blaze of light amid the gloom, A little cot upon yon quiet shore: A sweet beguiler that doth never fail, Beneath the shelter it is thine to give, A GUIDE TO THE BALL ROOM, AND ILLUSTRATED POLKA LESSON BOOK.-(Mitchell.)-If popularity and an extensive sale be the test of merit, then must this little book deserve all favour from those whose "dancing days" are coming or come. It is a complete compendium of the ball room, and has reached a sale of forty thousand. CHAMBERS'S MISCELLANY OF USEFUL AND ENTERTAINING TRACTS.-Although the first number of the work which under the above title will be issued in the course of a few weeks, is ostensibly intended, as the editors powerfully and judiciously express it, for "the intellectual aristocracy of the middle and working classes," the intellectual of all degrees and denominations must hail such a publication, as another boon for which the British public owe a deep acknowledgment of gratitude. The Messrs. Chambers have long been recognized as public benefactors, and every day the debt of obligation is becoming more apparent. Rivals were the first to have faith in the public-a belief have entered the field with them, but they who that it would in the long run prefer healthy mental food to every other-have not been disappointed. They have never been tempted to swerve aside them; from their wide connexions and multiplied from the high moral purpose which has controlled resources, they have always been able to command the peculiar talent appropriate and desirable for every particular purpose, and they surely have a higher reward for their nobly-directed energies than mere publishers' success, in the consciousness of the high destiny it has been theirs to fulfil, and they are held by the right-thinking of all classes. the guerdon of admiration and esteem in which We make a brief extract from the prospectus which has recently appeared: : "It is intended that the work shall be published periodically. Every Saturday there will be issued a number, consisting of a sheet of large double foolscap (32 pages), price one penny. In most instances, each number will present one distinct subject, forming a separate and independent publication: In other instances, a number will be divided into half-sheets, or into one half and two quarter-sheets, each of which portions will in like manner be complete in itself. There will more rarely be subjects occupying two numbers. There will thus be embraced in the series "TRACTS of 32 pages at one penny. "TRACTS of 16 pages at one halfpenny. "TRACTS of 8 pages at one farthing. "And when the subject unavoidably extends to two weekly numbers, they will form "TRACTS of 64 pages at twopence. "The work will likewise be issued in sewed monthly parts, price fivepence; two of these forming a volume (256 pages), price one shilling, neatly done up in boards for the table or library. The annual cost of the work, therefore, will not exceed four shillings in numbers, five shillings in monthly parts, and six shillings in volumes-a degree of cheapness, the quantity of matter considered, which has no parallel. "The type with which this series of publications will be printed is large, clear, and legible; and the numbers will contain, for the greater part, one or more WooD ENGRAVINGS, from drawings by FRANKLIN and other eminent artists, designed either for embellishment or illustration of the text. "The matter of the tracts will be a mixture of the useful and entertaining; the latter, however, predominating. Conducted on the same principles which have been found so acceptable in CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL, the subjects will consist of Tales, moral and humorous, |