their hearts, they are not a little scandalized that I don't try to win the next world, by trembling like an ague. Faith, now, I never could believe that Heaven was so partial to cowards nor can I think, Morton, that Salvation is like a soldier's muster-roll, and that we may play the devil between hours, so that, at the last moment, we whip in, and answer to our names. Od'sfish, Morton, I could tell thee a tale of that; but 'tis a long one, and we have not time now. Well, well, for my part, I believe reverently and gratefully of God, and do not think He will be very wrath with our past enjoyment of life, if we have taken care that others should enjoy it too; nor do I think, with thy good mother, that an idle word has the same weight in the Almighty's scales as a wicked deed." ,, Blessed, blessed are they," I cried, through my tears,,,on whose souls there is as little stain as there is on yours!" ,,Faith, Morton, that's kindly said; and thou knowest not how strangely it sounds, after their exhortations to repentance. I know I have had my faults, and walked on to our common goal in a very irregular line; but I never wronged the living nor slandered the dead, nor ever shut my heart to the poor 'twere a burning sin if I had; and I have loved all men and all things, and I never bore ill-will to a creature. Poor Ponto, Morton, thou wilt take care of poor Ponto, when I'm dead nay, nay, don't take on so. Go, my child, go compose thyself while I see the priest, for 'twill please thy poor mother; and though she thinks harshly of me now, I should not like her to do so tomorrow. Go, my dear boy, go." I went from the room, and waited by the door, till the office of the priest was over. My mother then came out, and said Sir William had composed himself to sleep.,,I will-watch over him," answered I. So I stole in, with a light step, and seated myself by my uncle's bed - side. He was asleep, and his sleep was as hushed and quiet as an infant's. I looked upon his face, and saw a change had come over it, and was increasing sensibly; but there was neither harshness nor darkness in the change, awful as it was. The soul, so long nurtured on benevolence, could not, in parting, leave a rude stamp on the kindly clay which had seconded its impulses so well. The evening had just set in, when my uncle woke; he turned very gently, and smiled when he saw me. ,,It is late?" said he, and I observed with a wrung heart, that his yoice was fainter. ,, No, Sir, not very," said I. ,,Late enough, my child: the warm sun has gone down; and 'tis a good time to close one's eyes, when all without looks grey and chill: methinks it is easier to wish thee farewell, Morton, when I see thy face indistinctly. I am glad I shall not die in the day time. Give me thy hand, my child, and tell me that thou art not angry with thine old uncle for thwarting thee in that love business. I have heard tales of the girl, too, which make me glad, for thy sake, that it is all off, though I might not tell thee of them before. "Tis very dark, Morton. I have had a pleasant sleep. Od'sfish, I do not think a bad man would have slept so well. The fire burns dim, Morton it is very cold. Cover me up the legs, Morton. It is double the counterpane over colder and colder, Morton raise the blankets more over the back; faith, Morton, 'tis ice now where art thou? is the fire out, that I can't see thee? Remember thine old uncle, Morton and and don't forget poor - Ponto! - Bless LORD BYRON'S LAST LINES. 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it has ceased to move; Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love! My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone: The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone! The fire that in my bosom preys No torch is kindled at its blaze A funeral pile! The hope, the fear, the jealous care, But wear the chain. But 'tis not thus and 'tis not here Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now, Where glory decks the hero's bier, Or binds his brow. The sword, the banner, and the field, Was not more free. Awake (not Greece she is awake!) And then strike home! Tread those reviving passions down, Of beauty be If thou regret'st thy youth, why live? Seek out up to the field, and give Away thy breath! less often sought than found A soldier's grave, for thee the best; Then look around and choose thy ground, And take thy rest. OLD MATTHEW, THE MATSELLER. BY MISS MARY RUSSEL MITFORD. We are persons of great regularity in our small affairs of every class, from the petty dealings of housekeeping to the larger commerce of acquaintanceship. The friends who have once planted us by their fireside, and made us feel as if at home there, can no more get rid of our occasional presence than they could root out that other tenacious vegetable, the Jerusalem artichoke; even if they were to pull us up by the stalk and toss us over the wall (an experiment by the way which, to do them justice, they have never tried) I do rily believe, that in the course of a few months we should spring up again in the very same place; and our tradespeople, trifling as is the advantage to be derived from our custom, may yet reckon upon it with equal certainty. They are, as it happens, civil, honest, and respeable, the first people in their line in the good town of B.; but, were they otherwise, the circumstance" would hardly affect our invincible constancy. The world is divided between the two great empires of habit and novelty, the young following pretty generally in the train of the new-fangled sovereign, whilst we of an elder generation adhere with similar fidelity to the ancien régime. I, especially, am the very bond-slave of habit love old friends, old faces, old books, old scenery, old flowers, old associations of every sort and kind nay, although a woman, and one not |