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emotion on the bosom of her beloved mother, and conquered by this sudden and most agonizing Mr. Leslie's resumed calmness, when they again mental affliction. She had left her couch to met, removed every lingering fear.

attend his dying bed ; day and night she moved “Does she suspect ? Have I ruined her peace not from his pillow, save at the moment of Walter's for ever? Mary-Mary! why have I not your arrival, for she dreaded the effect of the shock control ?" was Mr. Leslie's agitated address to his upon him. And not alone was it the husband of wife, when all but themselves had retired to rest. her love, the gentle soother of her painful couch,

“ She suspects nothing, dearest Edward, save whom she had to mourn. There was a secret tie that your love for her is even stronger than she between them, calling for all the devotion, all the believed it; but oh, for the sake of our sweet girl's gratitude of woman's heart. In the first year peace, bid her not to wed again. It seems as if of their marriage, he had granted a boon, a that gentle heart were mercifully preserved weighty boon; one, perhaps, that none other but from all love save for us, to spare me the bitter Edward Leslie could have granted, and never from agony of giving her to another with the truth that hour evinced regret that he bad done so. untold ; the dark alternative of persisting in that And now that dread secret was all her own, only which is not, or ruining her peace for ever. You her own; and its heavy weight appeared to indo not feel this, and therefore believe that mar- crease the bitter anguish of her husband's loss. riage would give her greater security than re- At the moment Mrs. Leslie left the pillow of the maining with us; but oh, my husband, do not dying to meet her son, Florence alone stood urge it again. An all-seeing Providence is round beside his bed. His eyes were closed ; the livid us. Let us believe he specially watches over her hue of death had stolen over his features, and the sweet innocence, and by keeping her thus from all poor girl bent over him, stunned, motionless, unlove, guards her from dangers, from misery Iconscious that scorching tears were slowly rolling dare not speak.”

down her cheeks, and falling upon his. He Mr. Leslie seemed convinced and affected; but opened his eyes languidly, and tried feebly to draw whether, indeed, he would have followed his wife's her to him, and as she laid her head on his bosom, advice, could never be known; for, two short kissing again and again his sunken cheek, he months after this event, he was attacked by a whispered in broken and disjointed sentences : violent illness, terminating so suddenly and fatally, “ Florence, my child ! ny precious child ! that Walter had barely time to travel post to bless-bless you. You are indeed my daughter. London, called thither by a letter from Florence, Minie is not dearer. Love love your mother, in agony conjuring him to come to them without a darling ; cherish her, care for her as you have done. momeni's delay, ere the fond husband and affec- She has more than common claim for gratitude. tionate father breathed his last.

Florence-darling-blessOf all deaths, a sudden one is the most dreadful, And his voice had sunk from exhaustion, so as to the most agonizing to the survivors. It is said be wholly inarticulate, though his lips still moved death, whenever it comes, is sudden; a shock as if he spoke. Again and again those words always stunning, always overwhelming. Perhaps returned to Florence; the feeble tone, the look of it is so; but when only one week intervenes between death haunted her ; but there was no mystery life and death, one little week severs ties of years, attached to them, they seemed to her but the last bides under the cold damp earth features which warning accents of that parental love, which had beamed upon us in health and joy from every so long blessed her with the guidance of a friend accustomed haunt; when the beloved is removed as well as father. With more than usual claims directly from his domestic circle to the narrow for love, and gratitude, she recalled her mother's grave, missed from his usuai seat, not to be years of suffering, which yet had never checked her found in some other, which, though painful (if a devotion to her children, and she compared that couch of suffering), yet becomes dear, but missed, affectionate devotedness with the fashionable selto be remembered only as gone for ever ; when fishness and culpable neglect others whom she no intervening period of dependence on the part knew, and she felt she had indeed a double incenof the sufferer, of unremitting attention and in- tive to duty and affection. She knelt by the dead creased affection from the beloved ones, has taken body of her father, and secretly vowed to make her place, and (as it were) partially prepared us for mother the first object of her life, and then only the last dread change, the final separation; when felt relieved from the weight even of love which her none of these things take place, oh, who may father's last words had left. speak the agonies of death! And all this was felt by Mrs. Leslie and her

NEIGHBOURLY CANDOUR. children. They had had no time to fear, still less to hope, and it was long ere they could realize that one so ardently beloved indeed had passed away

Our neighbours dear, we fondly dream, for ever. The extremity of Mrs. Leslie's anguish

By our transcendent worth imprest; none knew but Him in whose ear in the watches of

Make our deserts their frequent theme,

And oft each generous deed attest. the night it had been poured. Her illness, her uncomplaining patience had bound her more Oh! were our tingling ears but nail'd closely than common to him, and his almost Behind the scenes, too oft they'd hear womanly care and gentleness through her long Each weakness artfully bew lid, years of suffering excited no common love ; and And all our errors canvass'd there. bodily disease itself seemed for the while subdued,

X, Y, Z,

HACKFALL.

BY W, G. J. BARKER, ESQ.

Few who are acquainted with Yorkshire scenery can have omitted visiting this attractive spoi, or will readily forget the beauties it possesses. Through a narrow glen, whose almost perpendicular sides are thickly covered with lofty trees, principally oaks, the river Yore flows for about a mile and a-half. Winding walks enable visitors 10 climb the rocky and precipitous banks, from various stations on which very extensive views are obtained. The name of the place has been derived from "hug," a witch, and full," a descent; thus literally signifying "the witch's valley.” It is situated about two miles from Masham.

Till from the distant village tower

Peals slow the curfew's knell,
And night's dun shadows settle down

Upon The Witch's Dell.
Fearless of magic's evil power,

Here blooming damsels rove
Whose ruby lips and dark eyes work

The witchery of love:
llence, fitly, the sequester'd glen

Suiting iheir walks so well,
E'en to ibis day, in ancient speech

Is named The WitchES' DELL! Banks of the Yore.

SONGS FOR STRAY AIRS.

BY DINAH MARIA MULOCK,

No. V.

* CABINHE OVER AN IRIsu CHIEFTAIN.

Irish Air- Brian Boroimhe's March,

The ancient trees are arching o'er

In dark and gloomy pride;
With murmur hoarse Aows on beneath,

The river's plashing tide :
Oh, could the cliffs around but speak,

What stories might they tell,
Of fearful deeds, in days of yore,

Done in The Witch's Dell!
Oft when the pallid stars withdrew

Their dim and trembling light,
While swiftly tempest-clouds were driven

Athwart the brow of night,
Unearthly sounds the storm-blasts caught,

As with dark word and spell,
In conclave dire the soul bags met

Amid The Wiich's Dell.
The hideous shriek—the demon cry,

By chaste ears never heard ;
The backward prayer, in muller'd verse,

To fiends of hell preferr'd,
These rocks, that now but give reply

To the lone river's swell,
Have echoed ost, as rites obscene

Defiled The Witch's Dell.
Here were thuse fatal charms enwove,

That smote the fruitful field;
Or made, untouch'd, on battle plain,

Some dauntless warrior yield :
And when o'er beauty's damask cheek

The cureless sickness fell,
The incantation dire was wrought

Here--in The Witch's Dell!
Like Aeeting days, years roll away,

And ages now have past Since the recesses of this glen

Beheld such orgies last. Where once the spectral voice rang loud,

The wild birds warble well;
And odorous flowers for gouts of blood,

Spangle The Witch's Dell.
Here now, at noon, beneath the shade

'Tis pleasant to recline;
Or, pensive, watch at evening cool

The waning day decline ;

Oh woe, Erin, woe!

For thy hero is filed ;
And solemn and slow

Sounds the wail o'er the dead!
The lightning hath broke
O'er the young mountain oak,
And here it is lowly lying;

While we are mourning-
Ever thus turning,

With our hearts burning,
But there is none replying.
Yes !-a voice from the tomb

Where our lost hero lies Calls us on to our doom,

“Vengeance! vengeance !" it cries. Shall he sleep here alone, While revenge is our own,

The pledge he has left in dying ?
Oh weep, Erin weep!

For thy glory is o'er ;
From that cold dreamless sleep

He will waken no more;
For the brave heart is chill,
And the strong arm lies still;
The bright eye is closed for ever!

After death tore him,
Hither we bore him;

Tears falling o'er him,
Ere from his corse we sever.
But why pour out our woe

O'er the young and the brave? 'Tis the blood of the foe

That shall weep o'er his grave. Dash the tear from each eyeLet“ Revenge !" be the cry,

Revenge, that shall slumber never !

* Pronounced " keen."

care,

JOAN OF ARC.

Who, who shall tell how many sank to die ! BY WILLIAM HENRY FISK.

Who, who shall tell of tears in anguish shed,

That coursed adown the maiden's cheek, lo lie, Soft, listless ease, and base voluptuous joy, Or mingle with the blood-drops on the head Held with their ruthless grasp and des pot sway, Of bim she loved : who tell of mother's sighs, The Dauphin's soul; while' France became a Of dying groans, of children's answering cries, toy

As, noiseless, soul in soul, sped viewless to the To the deep, crafty Tremouille, and the gay, skies? Licentious panders of a vice-bred throng.

Beautiful Joan ! Then good men trembled at each blood-steep'd wrong

Then burst the shout of victory again, Then arm'd, 10 crush their foes, the heroine of my “ The Maid of Orleans !” “ Joan of Arc!" the song,

hills Beautiful Joan !

Re-echoing the sound upon the plain,

Reverberating joy so full, ibat ills Why did'st thou gaze, with such soul-pitying The dying suffered dwindled on the air, eyes,

Which so surfeited, answered not their prayer,
Over thy loved, thy bleeding, sinking land ? + Till lise, impatient, fled, and death consumed its
Why ponder o'er iis long-borne miseries ?
Was it with thoughts, with hopes, that thy frail

Beautiful Joan !
hand
Might one day rescue her, to call her free,
That she might live to praise and honour thee ?

High on the turret of an ancient tower
No! Death-defying—nought of self could see,

Grew a slight blade of ever bending grass ; Heroic Joan!

Wooed by the warmth, e'er long, put forth its 'Twas then the sound of inspiration fell

flower, First on thy listening soul, which so drank in

Braving the storms, until the tottering mass Jis thrilling essence, that the holy spell

Tossed it (e'en when luxuriant it grew) To have resisted, thou had'st deem'd a sin ;

Into a dungeon : there it wept with dew. Though thou liad'st seen thy doom before'ibee Such was thy fate, whilst yet thy fame was new rise,

Beautiful Joan! The red brands burning to the reddening skies, Thy hot tears fell where thy last couch was made, Or heard the maddening shriek of thy last agonies, Upon the hardened earth— the dungeon keep, Fair, noble Joan !

'Neath whose damp breath the struggling flowers

would fade; Then didst thou leave thy native village wild, Where night-shades grew. In piiy, all did weep; The humble cottage, with its moss-clad roof,

Themselves lone prisoners, once by the wind Where thou bad'si lived a happy peasant child,

In dancing concert borne ; then, left behind, To bear the war-clang, and the charger's hoof

Deceived ; in silence wept but, could no comfort Teoring the blood-stained earth, where rippling streams

Poor, injured Joan ? Had sung melodious, where heaven's inspiring beams,

Not so with thee: thy“ Voices" lingering near, Lit with a holy ray, thy sweet, sad, midnight Infused a calm, when grief's first tears were dreams :

pass'd, Innocent Joan !

And at the stake no cry of anguished fear,

Save one for France ! One pirying gazethy Then wert thou deck'd, but not with jewels rare, last! As many, scarce less beautiful than thou,

Then glared the fire, high quivering in the day, Have been, and oft will be-thy silky hair Then yelled thy foes, as through each reddening Hung not in love-locks o'er thy snowy brow,

ray But in a warrior's casque of steel was bound; Thy writhiog, tortured form, its pangs would oft Again the war-poles rose-yet deeper grew the

display: sound,

Beautiful Joan ! And where thy banner waved the foemen fell around,

And higher still, and yet more high, the flame Death-daring Joan ! Rose lurid in the air ; upon whose wings

Faitu rode triumphant, and self hardened shame

Laughed as she watched the fire's unpilying • La Tremouille-Prime Minister of France.

sting † There is a clever picture (purchased by H. R. Pierce to thy maddened brain! One last wild H. Prince Albert, in the exhibition of the New cry, Society of Painters in Water-colours) of Joan of The death-shriek of thy life's past agony; Arc ruminating over the distressed state of France. Then sprang thy spirit forth, nged for Eternity! which gave the author the first idea for the above

Immortal Joan ! poem,

find,

BY LEITCH RITCHIE.

THE GHOST.

a dear departed grandfather, he assures us that mistake was impossible: that the old gentleman, besides exhibiting his own identical features, wore

his well-known three-cornered hat, his gold specIt is now the cock-crow of science, and appari- tacles, and his glossy cane. Thus our opposition tions are in the act of vanishing. Let us take the is borne down by a legend of ghosts, and we have opportunity of this parting glimpse to see what no inore to say: they are. Let us inquire into the character of the In fact, this difficulty is almost insuperable. If we Ghost.

suppose that the spirit of a man has the same form There are two kinds of inferior spirits mentioned as his body, we must believe it to consist of subin Scripture, the spirits of men, and the spirits of stance, or, in other words, of matter, otherwise it beasts; but the latter are less in the habit than the could not become visible to us; but even if we former of revisiting the glimpses of the moon. get over this by assuming that it has some mysThey prefer remaining in the earth, 10 which, we terious means of impressing us with the idea of are iold, they go down ; having, no doubt, had form and colour, without employing the agency of enough of the upper world while still in the Aesh. our senses, we have still its phantom habiliments, It is sufficient to mention that the spectre-beasts its wig, its cravat, its old shoes, its nether unimaare chiefly wolves, horses, hounds, and deer; ginables, like so many stumbling blocks before our that their habitat is, in a great measure, confined faith. to the forests of Germany; and that, even there, But supposing ghosts to be real, however incomthey have been discouraged of late years by roads prehensible, the next question is, cui bono? what's and manufactories.

the good of them ? Nothing exists in vain ; and if It is not to be concealed, that some difficul- ghosts exist, they must answer some purpose. ties attend the conception of the idea of a human We recollect reading of the apparition of a headless ghost. It cannot be merely an unsubstantial ap- cock (himself a notable layer of apparitions), which pearance, for without substance it would have appeared 10 some terrified seer, and beckoning neither colour nor form; without substance it could him to follow, strutted out of the room. Onward not sigh, or groan, or speak, for the vibrations they paced through the hall, the one almost as of the atmosphere cannot be produced by Nothing ; breathless as the other, down the steps, out into the and, above all, without substance it could not be misty night, across the chill court-yard to its farther felt, as in the case of the spectre-knight who over- corner, where the ghostly cock, at length standing threw his mortal assailant, or in that of the still, pointed mournfully to his head and feathers spectre-lover who squeezed his mistress's hand so lying on the stones. This is the history of almost hard that she was compelled for the rest of her all apparitions. They disturb the order of nature, life to wear a covering on her wrist."

and fright the souls of men, without any better But to say nothing of the apparent contradiction excuse than the cock. It is true there have been of spirit possessing the properties of matter, let ghosts who have brought about the discovery of a us inquire what the substance is of which we see murder, and the execution of the criminal; but we the appearance. A man is formed of the same have not heard of any well-authenticated affair of materials as a vegetable, viz.: hydrogen, oxygen, the kind since the advent of the New Police. and carbon, but with the addition of nitrogen and Others, it is said, were in the habit of directing other substances in smaller quantities. His bones, persons to pots of gold buried in gardens ; but, if merely composed of gelatine, would be elastic; alas! this was before our time, and, indeed, we but they are rendered hard by innumerable minute question whether it would be found comprehended particles of phosphate and carbonate of lime held within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, even if together by the gelatine. Five-sixths of the intire that non mi recordo witness were not in his doweight of his body are simply water. If the tage and proverbially incapable of recollecting ghost, having form and colour, and being capable anything. Ghosts then, taking them generally, of speech and action, is not immaterial-what is have no utility, and in this utilitarian age it is no it?' Is it a material representation of this com- wonder that they should meet with litile farour. pound mass of matter, of this lump of lime and They are like the orator in parliament, whose jelly, charcoal and water?

eloquence being, wide of the mark, provoked an But there is a greater difficulty still. It is not opposition member to observe: “If the honouraenough that we see the apparition of sundry bits of ble gentleman has not spoken to the purpose, to lime, and ounces of iron, and gallons of water; what purpose has he spoken?" for ghosts have too great a sense of decorum to The type of this class of spirits is the ghost of appear in puris naturalibus. The knightly spectre Cæsar : is clothed in the ghost of a suit of armour, some Brutus. How ill this taper burns! Ha! who thirty or forty pounds weight of cold iron; and comes here? the spectre lover is encased in the phantom of a I think it is the weakness of mine eyes Taglioni, or the spiritual essence of a pair of That shapes this monstrous apparition. kerseymere unutterables. This is what gives us It comes upon me : Art thou anything ? pause. We have not merely to contend for the Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, reality of the ghost of a man, but for that of the That mak’st my blood cold, and my hair to stand ? ghosts of his old clothes. When we would comfort Speak to me, what thou art ? a friend with the idea that he must have been mis- Ghost.-Thy evil spirit, Brutus. taken in supposing that he had seen the ghost o Brutus.-Why com’st thou ?

Ghost. To tell thee thou shall see me at are of imagination all compact, and the ghost is the Philippi.

magna parens of the whole array. As the heart Brutus.-Well;

ripens, so do his features change. The paleness Then I shall see thee again?

of death is slowly illumined by the purple light of Ghost-Ay, at Philippi.

passion; the winding-sheet Aoats around him in Brutus.-Why, I will see thee at Philippi then. the form of wings; and the youth who once hid

(Ghost vanishes. his face with a shudder in the bed-clothes, now They did meet at Philippi; at least it is to be gazes at the transmigrated phantom with eyes presumed so, for there - the noblest Roman of dewy with rapture. Youth, manhood, age ; love, them all” became a ghost himself. The meeting, honour, ambition ; "all thoughts, all passions, all however, was not brought about by the superna delights ;" each has its apparitions, and these are all tural visitation, which neither suggested nor ac- the descendants of the ghost. celerated nor retarded nor prevented it.

What do I not owe to thee, O parent of that Who are the ghost seers'? Not soldiers, nor sur- spiritual world in which I live, move, and have my geons, nor undertakers, nor sextons; not any of being! llow often in earlier years hast thou been those who slaughter the living, and mangle or bury my preserver and my solace! What were the dethe dead. The belated hind who approaches acci- privations of death to me, whose solitary hours were dentally and unwillingly a church-yard at night, haunted by the phantoms of the lost ? What cared is sure of a spectre or iwo; while the jolly grave- I for the unkindness of friendship, or the coldness digger, who sings and jokes as he kicks the skulls of love, who was surrounded by those out of his way, and like Juliet, “madly plays with “ Who did not change through all the past, bis forefather's joints," has no such luck. A And could not alter now.' murderer, it is true, is sometimes appalled by the How often have I been thrust back by the world! ghost of his victim ; although this has been sup- How often have my soul's yearnings met with posed to be nothing more than " the painting of closed hearts and glassy eyes! How often have I his fear," and his companions are but too api to felt as if there was no place for me on the earth, reply to his narrative of the visitation, in the un

as if my thoughts had lost all means of communion polite terms used by Lady Macbeth on a similar with my fellow men, or as if they themselves had occasion : Oh, proper stúff!"

turned into phrensy, and must henceforth be shut We will not, however, permit the last of the up in my own bosom! And how often in darkghosts to vanish, dimmed into nothingness by the ness and solitude, in disappointment and sorrow, glare of gas-light, or carried away by a jet of steam, in feeble health and fainting spirits, have I been without a word of kindness and farewell. A ready to dash myself upon my mother earth, and belief in its existence was implanted in our breasts implore from her a grave; but thou wert there in by nature, and nature does nothing in vain. It the midst, rising like a star on my despair, and was a connecting link between the two worlds of reconciling me to mankind, by rendering me indetime and eternity; it was a perpetual memento of pendent of their sympathy! Honour to thee, pale mortality, and a perpetual assurance of immor- phantom, ere thou departest for ever! There is tality. The man who believed in ghosts could not

one at least among the myriads of men who is not be an atheist, and no man is utterly and hopelessly ungrateful—who whispers mournfully as thy form bad who is not so. To the young, ghosts are melts into thin air beneath the light of science, always “spirits of grace," for they are the inciters to virtue, and the punishers of vice; and at that

“ Alas, poor ghost !” season of the human year, when the boy, with his exuberant vitality, seems to have eaten of the tree IMPRESSIONS OF BEAUTY. of life, and to possess a self-sustained and immortal existence, it is not unwholesome to have a When the hopes and enchantments of beauty have secret intuition of a nature beyond his own, a fied, mysterious dread following his proud steps, and

And the spirit has taken its flight ; haunting his daring imagination. To the old, When the living are gathered to weep o'er the dead, ghosts are messengers with sealed lips, who point

And all that was lovely and brightand beckon, and draw away the weary eyes from looking backwards, and detach slowly and solemnly How many a heart that was ne'er known to quail the worn-out heart from the world, ere the shadows How many a bronzed cheek grows haggard and pale,

Laments o'er the tenanted bier! of the grave have closed upon its vanities: But it is in the progeny to which they have

That had never been altered by fear ! given birth that ghosts are most to be honoured; for For the sunshiue of life passes by like a dream, they themselves, it must not be concealed, are but

Or a vapour that blends with the air ; rude and wild aborigines, haunters of caves and And the dark clouds of death hide for ever its beam, forests, and prowlers of the still and mystic night:

That once was so lovely and fair.

be The spiritual world undergoes the same process of But the heart may be cold, and the eye may refinement as the moral world; and the same closed, train of circumstances which changed gradually the And the spirit may revel unchained; descendants of the rude Northmen into knights and Yet remembrance shall dwell where affection ree poets, converts the sheeted spectre into a spirit of joy posed, and beauty. The phantoms that haunt our soli- And linger where beauty once reigned. tude, however apparently distinct be their nature, Dublin, June, 1844.

BY J. W. GOSLIN.

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