Your hat adorned with fine leaves, A DIRGE. "Earth to earth, and dust to dust!" Here the fearful and the bold, Here the matron and the maid Here the sword and sceptre rust- O'er this pale and mighty throng; Ne'er shall break their slumbers more. But a day is coming fast, Then shall come the judgment-sign; Then thy mount, Jerusalem, CROLY. A FAMILY SCENE. [Susan Edmonstone Ferrier, born in Edinburgh, 1782; died November, 1854. She was the daughter of James Ferrier, one of the clerks of the Court of Session, Edinburgh. In 1818 she published her first novel, Marriage, which earned her a lasting reputation. Scott in his epilogue to the Tales of my Landlord, distinguishes his "sister-shadow, the author of the very lively work entitled Marriage," as one of those best qualified to illustrate the varieties of Scottish character which he had left untouched. Miss Ferrier's second work, The Inheritance, appeared in 1824; and in 1831, Destiny, or the Chief's Daughter, a story illustrative of Highland manners and scenery. The following amusing sketch is from the second work.] The great use of delineating absurdities is, that we may know how far human folly can go; the account, therefore, ought, of absolute necessity, to be faithful.JOHNSON. The first appearance of the Holm was highly prepossessing. It was a large, handsome-looking house, situated in a well-wooded park, by the side of a broad placid river, and an air of seclusion and stillness reigned all round, which impressed the mind with images of peace and repose. The interior of the house was no less promising there was a spacious hall and a handsome staircase, with all appliances to boot -but as they approached the drawing-room, all the luxurious indolence of thought, inspired by the tranquillity of the scenery, was quickly dispelled by the discordant sounds which issued from thence; and when the door was thrown open, the footman in vain attempted to announce the visitors. In the middle of the room all the chairs were collected to form a coach and horses for the Masters and Misses Fairbairn.-One unruly-looking urchin sat in front, cracking a long whip with all his might -another acted as guard behind, and blew a shrill trumpet with all his strength-while a third, in a night-cap and flannel lappet, who had somewhat the air of having quarrelled with the rest of the party, paraded up and down, in solitary majesty, beating a drum. On a sofa sat Mrs. Fairbairn, a soft, fair, genteel-looking woman, with a crying child of about three years old at her side, tearing paper into shreds, seemingly for the delight of littering the carpet, which was already strewed with headless dolls, tailless horses, wheelless carts, &c. As she rose to receive her visitors it began to scream. "I'm not going away, Charlotte, love-don't be frightened," said the fond mother, with a look of ineffable pleasure. "You no get up-you shan't get up," screamed Charlotte, seizing her mother's gown fiercely to detain her. "My darling, you'll surely let me go to speak to uncle-good uncle, who brings you pretty things, you know;"-but, during this colloquy, uncle and the ladies had made their way to the enthralled mother, and the bustle of a meeting and introduction was got over. Chairs were obtained by the footman with some difficulty, and placed as close to the mistress of the house as possible, aware that otherwise it would not be easy to carry on even question and answer amid the tumult that reigned. "You find us rather noisy, I am afraid," said Mrs. Fairbairn with a smile, and in a manner which evidently meant the reverse; "but this is Saturday, and the children are all in such spirits, and they won't stay away from me-Henry, my dear, don't crack your whip quite so loud-there's a good boy-that's a new whip his papa brought him from London; and he's so proud of it!-William, my darling, don't you think your drum must be tired now? -If I were you I would give it a rest. Alexander, your trumpet makes rather too much noise-one of these ladies has got a headache-wait till you go out-there's my good boy, and then you'll blow it at the cows and the sheep, you know, and frighten themOh! how you'll frighten them with it!" "No, I'll not blow it at the cows;-I'll blow it at the horses, because then they'll think it's the mail-coach."-And he was running off, when Henry jumped down from the coach-box. "No, but you shan't frighten them with your trumpet, for I shall frighten them with my whip. Mamma, aren't horses best frightened with a whip?"-and a struggle ensued. "Well, don't fight, my dears, and you shall both frighten them," cried their mamma. "No, I'm determined he shan't frighten them; I shall do it," cried both together, as they rushed out of the room, and the drummer was preparing to follow. "William, my darling, don't you go after these naughty boys; you know they're always very bad to you. You know they wouldn't let you into their coach with your drum."Here William began to cry.-"Well, never mind, you shall have a coach of your own-a much finer coach than theirs; I wouldn't go into their ugly dirty coach; and you shall have" Here something of a consolatory nature was whispered, William was comforted, and even prevailed upon to relinquish his drum for his mamma's ivory work-box, the contents of which were soon scattered on the floor. "These boys are gone without their hats," cried Mrs. Fairbairn in a tone of distress. Eliza, my dear, pull the bell for Sally to get the boys' hats."-Sally being despatched with the hats, something like a calm ensued, in the absence of he of the whip and the trumpet; but as it will be of short duration, it is necessary to take advantage of it in improving the introduction into an acquaintance with the Fairbairn family. Mrs. Fairbairn was one of those ladies, who, from the time she became a mother, ceased to be anything else. All the duties, pleasures, charities, and decencies of life, were henceforth concentrated in that one grand characteristic: every object in life was henceforth viewed through that single medium. Her own mother was no longer her mother; she was the grandmamma of her dear infants, her brothers and sisters were mere uncles and aunts, and even her husband ceased to be thought of as her husband from the time he became a father. He was no longer the being who had claims on her time, her thoughts, her talents, her affections; he was simply Mr. Fairbairn, the noun masculine of Mrs. Fairbairn, and the father of her children. Happily for Mr. Fairbairn, he was not a person of very nice feelings, or refined taste; and although, at first, he did feel a little unpleasant when he saw how much his children were preferred to himself, yet, in time, he became accustomed to it, then came to look upon Mrs. Fairbairn as the most exemplary of mothers, and finally resolved himself into the father of a very fine family, of which Mrs. Fairbairn was the mother. In all this there was more of selfish egotism and animal instinct, than of rational affection or Christian principle; but both parents piqued themselves upon their fondness for their offspring, as if it were a feeling peculiar to themselves, and not one they shared in common with the lowest and weakest of their species. Like them, too, it was upon the bodies of their children that they lavished their chief care and tenderness, for, as to the immortal interests of their souls, or the cultivation of their minds, or the improvement of their tempers, these were but little attended to, at least in comparison of their health and personal appearance. Alas! if there "be not a gem so precious as the human soul," how often do these gems seem as pearls cast before swine; for how seldom is it that a parent's greatest care is for the immortal happiness of that being whose precarious, and at best transient, existence engrosses their every thought and desire! But perhaps Mrs. Fairbairn, like many a foolish ignorant A FAMILY SCENE. "It's her teeth, darling little thing," said her mother, caressing her. "I'm sure it's her teeth, sweet little dear," said Miss Bell. "It undoubtedly must be her teeth, poor little girl," said the major. "If you will feel her gum," said Mrs. Fairbairn, putting her own finger into the child's mouth, "you will feel how hot it is." mother, did her best; and had she been satis- | Miss Charlotte, indignant at finding herself "Is that possible?" said the major. "I assure you it's very true-she's a very naughty girl sometimes," bestowing a long "Who was and rapturous kiss on the child. it that beat poor papa for taking her from mamma last night? Well, don't cry-no, no, it She knows every word wasn't my Charlotte. that's said to her, and did from the time she was only a year old." "That is wonderful!" said Miss Bell; "but how is my little favourite Andrew?" Then "He is not very stout yet, poor little fellow, and we must be very careful of him.' turning to Miss St. Clair, "Our little Andrew has had the measles, and you know the dregs of the measles are a serious thing-much worse than the measles themselves. AndrewAndrew Waddell, my love, come here and speak to the ladies." And thereupon Andrew Waddell, in a night-cap, riding on a stick, drew near. Being the major's namesake, Miss Bell, in the ardour of her attachment, thought proper to coax Andrew Waddell on her knee, and even to open her watch for his entertainment. "Ah! I see who spoils Andrew Waddell," cried the delighted mother. The major chuckled-Miss Bell disclaimed, and for the time Andrew Waddell became the hero of the piece; the blains of the measles were carefully pointed out, and all his sufferings and sayings duly recapitulated. At length This was addressed in a sort of general way At that moment Mr. Fairbairn entered, "I don't But Bobby continued to chew the cud of his own thumb in solemn silence. "Will you speak to me, Bobby?" said Miss Bell, bent upon being amiable and agreeablebut still Bobby was mute. "We think this little fellow rather long of speaking," said Mr. Fairbairn; "we allege that his legs have run away with his tongue.' "How old is he?" asked the major. "He is only nineteen months and ten days," answered his mother, "so he has not lost much time; but I would rather see a child fat and thriving, than have it very forward." "No comparison!" was here uttered in a breath by the major and Miss Bell. "There's a great difference in children in longer of speaking than they would otherwise have been-indeed, I never saw an infant suffer so much as Andrew Waddell did he had greatly the heels of William Pitt at one time, till the measles pulled him down." A movement was here made by the visitors to depart. "O you mustn't go without seeing the baby," cried Mrs. Fairbairn-" Mr. Fairbairn, will you pull the bell twice for baby?" The bell was twice rung, but no baby answered the summons. "She must be asleep," said Mrs. Fairbairn; "but I will take you up to the nursery, and you will see her in her cradle." And Mrs. Fairbairn led the way to the nursery, and opened the shutter, and uncovered the cradle, and displayed the baby. "Just five months-uncommon fine child-, the image of Mr. Fairbairn-fat little thing neat little hands-sweet little mouth-pretty little nose-nice little toes," &c. &c. &c., were as usual whispered over it. Miss St. Clair flattered herself the exhibition was now over, and was again taking leave, when, to her dismay, the squires of the whip and the trumpet rushed in, proclaiming that it was pouring of rain! To leave the house was impossible, and, as it was getting late, there was nothing for it but staying dinner. The children of this happy family always dined at table, and their food and manner of eating were the only subjects of conversation. Alexander did not like mashed potatoes and Andrew Waddell could not eat broth-and Eliza could live upon fish-and William Pitt took too much small-beer-and Henry ate as much meat as his papa-and all these peculiarities had descended to them from some one or other of their ancestors. The dinner was simple on account of the children, and there was no dessert, as Bobby did not agree with But to make amends, Eliza's sampler was shown, and Henry and Alexander's copybooks were handed round the table, and Andrew Waddell stood up and repeated-"My name is Norval," from beginning to end, and William Pitt was prevailed upon to sing the whole of "God save the King," in a little squeaking mealy voice, and was bravoed and applauded as though he had been Braham himself. fruit. To paint a scene in itself so tiresome is doubtless but a poor amusement to my reader, who must often have endured similar persecution. For, who has not suffered from the obtrusive fondness of parents for their offspring? -and who has not felt what it was to be called upon, in the course of a morning visit, to enter into all the joys and the sorrows of the nursery, and to take a lively interest in all the feats and peculiarities of the family? Shakspeare's anathema against those who hated music is scarcely too strong to be applied to those who dislike children. There is much enjoyment sometimes in making acquaintance with the little beings-much delight in hearing their artless and unsophisticated prattle, and something not unpleasing even in witnessing their little freaks and wayward humours;—but when a tiresome mother, instead of allowing the company to notice her child, torments every one to death in forcing or coaxing her child to notice the company, the charm is gone, and we experience only disgust or ennui. Mr. and Mrs. Fairbairn had split on this fatal rock on which so many parents make shipwreck of their senses-and so satisfied were they with themselves and their children, so impressed with the idea of the delights of their family scenes, that vain would have been any attempt to open the eyes of their understanding. Perhaps the only remedy would have been found in that blessed spirit which "vaunteth not itself, and seeketh not its own." BABY MAY. We [William Cox Bennett, D.C.L., born at Greenwich, 1820. He has taken an active part in the political and social movements of his native town, whilst he has won fame as a poet, and especially as the poet of infant life. "Of all writers, the one who has best understood, best Miss Mitford, in her Recollections of a Literary Life, says, painted, best felt infant nature, is Mr. Bennett. see at once that it is not only a charming and richlygifted poet who is describing childish beauty, but a young father writing from his heart. Baby May is amongst the most popular of Mr. Bennett's lyrics, and amongst the most original, as that which is perfectly true to nature can scarcely fail to be." His chief works are, Baby May, The Worn Wedding-Ring, and other Home Poems: Queen Eleanor's Vengeance; Ballads and Narrative Poems: Songs by a Song Writer: Poems of Thought and Fancy; and The Ballad and Song History poetical works is published by Routledge & Sons.] of England. A complete edition of Mr. Bennett's Cheeks as soft as July peaches, Lights and shadows swifter born Than on wind-swept autumn corn, To be caught from tray or table; Deep as thoughts of cares for nations, BABY'S SHOES. O those little, those little blue shoes! Those shoes that no little feet use! O the price were high That those shoes would buy, Those little blue unused shoes! For they hold the small shape of feet And O, since that baby slept, So hush'd! how the mother has kept, For they mind her for evermore Look up from her knees, With the look that in life they wore. As they lie before her there, That's a gleam in the place, Then O wonder not that her heart Than those tiny blue shoes And whose sight makes such fond tears start. W. C. BENNETT. THE BRIGAND OF THE LOIRE. It matters not to my story to enumerate the countries I visited, or the route by which I eventually entered France. At the expiration of two months after crossing the frontier, I found myself traversing a gloomy forest road in the department of the Mayenne and Loire; -my path chosen at a venture;-my restingplace for the coming night a matter of vague speculation. But neither the loneliness and intricacy of the way, nor my uncertainty as to the place where I might sleep, gave me uneasiness. True it was that the brigand cohorts of Napoleon-a crest-falien and desperate remnant, escaped from the recently fought field of Waterloo-had but lately been disbanded: but I knew that the French soldier rarely turns robber in his own country; and as to a bed, I had already oftener than once had no cause to regret my having relied on the hospitality of the brave and simple Vendéens. Nevertheless, as the day began to decline, I felt a strong desire to exchange the rich repast of brambleberries, which nature had displayed by the way-side, and of which I had freely partaken, for the produce of some well-stored larder; and it was, therefore, with a feeling of agreeable satisfaction that I at length descried the waters of the Loire sparkling in the brilliant rays of the setting sun. He who has once beheld that majestic stream-the boast of troubadour song -will not soon forget the assemblage of charms which its banks present. Vine-clad hills, crowned with castles and towns;-shady glades, echoing to the chime of the vesper-bells;-farspreading meadows of perennial verdure;—and groups of prosperous and picturesquely-dressed peasants; arrest the eye in every direction. |