of our entertainers, we read our fate in each

other's eyes, and made a simultaneous movement towards the door; whence, with ill

THE

street and made the best of our way home.

Such was the nature of our evening pastime in the Borough at the time I first resided there; but returning after an absence of long

years,

"I looked and saw the face of things quite changed;" many old friends and old fashions had died, and among the rest "Tea and Turn-out" had given up the ghost, and better things, of which it was only the type and shadow, reigned in its place. Instead of that meagre mockery, the supper table, plethoric even to apoplexy, exhibited in beatific vision such varieties as the following:-A large round of boiled beef smothered among cabbage, through whose silvery canopy of mist appeared a smoked goose, a large mutton ham, a roast of pork, a dish of dogfish, and of welsh-rabbits melted in their own fat. The light meal was diluted by copious draughts of strong home-brewed ale, and the whole etherealized by several large bowls of rum-punch; after which the happy guests retired to rest, to enjoy those pleasant dreams which are the never-failing reward of such good living.

In this way they managed matters at the time of my last visit to the Borough; but, alas! there is nothing permanent on earth except change; for I have lately been informed that "Supper and Turn-in" hath gone the way of "Tea and Turn-out." A great and goodly conversion hath taken place at their evening parties, where controversial divinity is the standing dish. Mutton hams, smoked geese, and welsh-rabbits, are superseded by knotty points of faith, still harder of digestion, and punch has given place to prayers.

HE THAT LOVES A ROSY CHEEK.

He that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain its fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd,
Kindle never-dying fires;
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.
THOMAS CAREW (1635).

AND THE

SCHOOLMASTER BAKEL.

FROM THE GERMAN OF AUGUSTUS F. LANGBEIN.

"Where are we now? See nought appears

But cattle on the hill;

I told you oft to shun the left,
But you would have your will.

You've brought us here;-now save us both
From rock, and pit, and rill."

"Hic hæret aqua,' honoured sir,

Trust now no more to me;
But mark! I tremble not although
We thieves and wolves may see.
Says Horace,- Purus sceleris
Non eyet Mauri jaculis.””

"Oh that you and your Latin were
In Styx, and I-in bed.
Is this a time to laugh and jest

With my distress and dread? But see! low in the valley gleams

A light; O let us seek its beams!"

"Cur non, mi Domine,' for there
A mortal must abide;
In such a place the cloven feet

And tail would ne'er reside.
On, quickly on! for now I think

How sweet their potent ale will drink."

Then, reeling, for the light they steer,
These heroes of my strain;

But whence they came, I, with your leave,
In one word may explain--
They staggered from a bridal feast
With all they could contain.

The hut is reach'd; a man appears
All clad in sullied brown,
Who eyes our two benighted friends
With dark suspicious frown.
They begg'd for beds, till rising day
Should dawn to light them on their way.
"Indeed, to tell your honours true,

Of beds I've none to spare,
But solace such as straw may yield
You're welcome here to share.
If that can please you, soon you'll find
A truss and chamber to your mind."

Most piteously upon his paunch
The parson cast his eye;
"How now, thou fat rotundity,

He said, and soon was fast asleep.

The parson look'd around For peg to hang his wig upon, But no one could be found: Himself upon the straw he cast, His wig upon the ground.

Between the guests and host alone
A thin partition stood;

They heard him sing an evening hymn,
Then pray for faith and food;
And now the godly service done,
Unto his spouse he thus began-

"My dear, as soon as morning dawns,
The black ones I shall slay,
They will be, when I think again,
Much fatter than I say.

Oh how that bullet-round one will-
He makes my very chops distil!"
"Ah, Bakel! do you sleep? or hear
These cannibals declare,
That, when the morning sun ascends,
On us they mean to fare?

Oh from this horrid murderous den
Were I but out alive again!"

'Proh dolor,' sir; but still there's hope,
We're not in Charon's barge;
Still may some good Conviria

Your little paunch enlarge.
Nay ope your eyes,-look here and see
A window; from it leap with me."
"Yes! such a goose-quill thing as you
May leap, and dread no harm;
But, were I such a leap to take,
I'd die with pure alarm;
This ponderous body would but drop
Into Death's open arm."

Now Bakel used his eloquence
To urge his friend to fly;
He painted dangers great and dread
If they should longer lie;
Till he took courage from despair,
The unknown dreadful leap to dare.

But still there was a point to fix,
Which first the leap should try;
Each urged the other, and again
Replied, "Oh no, not I."
At last our friend the pedagogue
Down like a bird did fly.

He lighted, salva venia,

Upon a hill of dung, And bounding from the dirt unhurt

Like dunghill cock he sprung: But like a cliff from mountain cast,

Fell the fat parson, and stuck fast!

He sunk up to the waist, nor could
Move on a single hair;

While Bakel cursed and scampered round,

In impotent despair:

Meantime the roof poured torrents down

On the poor parson's naked crown.

Now Bakel found all efforts vain

To ope the dunghill's side; And though his friend there still had lain, No help could he provide.

At last a powerful lever's found;

With it he heaves him from the ground.

But ah, how adverse still their fate! For now they found a court, Whose towering walls and barred gate Cut further egress short.

Thus fruitless all these dangers run

The dreadful cannibals to shun!

Now they prepare their hearts to sing
A "valet" ere they die,
And only seek a sheltering roof,
Till then to keep them dry.
Experience tells we best may claim
Success, if humble be our aim.

So found the candidates for death
A shelter in their need;
It was a hovel near a shade

Where cattle used to feed.

It chanced that in that hole, his swine
Our host, while feeding, did confine.
But they had burst their little door,
And so had stole away,

And in the garden with their snouts
Did hold their merry play;
While in their place our pious friends
Most fervently did pray.

"Oh think, dear Bakel, that the grave
Is but the gate of life;
There beggars equal mighty kings;
There ends ali mortal strife;
The injured slave feels not the thong,
Nor drags his weary chain along."

"Ah yes, how truly says the bard, Si hora mortis ruit

Is fit Irus subito

Qui modo Cræsus fuit."

Thus spent they all the hours of night Till dawn the little court did light.

Now hideously the door did creak,
From which came out the man,
Whose eye beam'd murder; and he straight
To whet his knife began;

And mutter'd as he rubb'd away.
"Ye black ones, ye shall die to-day!”

The host a Flesher was by trade,
And spoke still of his swine.
While all these dreadful thoughts beset
The teacher and divine;
Who fell into the odd mistake,

That he their lives design'd to take.

So forth he stretch'd his hand to draw
The swine from out their hole :-
The first thing that he seized upon
Was Bakel's thickened sole:

He cried in terror and affright,

"The Devil! oh ye powers of light!"

Now was their foolish blunder clear;
They show'd themselves in day;
And soon the Flesher's deadly fears
And dread were chased away.
A hearty breakfast crown'd the board
And laughter loudly at it roar'd.

At parting all swore solemnly

The blunder to conceal, But lately when I made a feast

Of venison and veal,

The parson in a merry mood The whole truth did reveal.

Edinburgh Mag.

THE EVENING OF A VILLAGE FESTIVAL.

BY DEAN ALFORD.

While our shrub walks darken,
And the stars get bright aloft,

Sit we still and hearken

To the music low and soft. By the old oak yonder

Where we watched the setting sun, Listening to the far-off thunder

Of the multitude as one.

Sit, my best beloved,

In the waning light;

Yield thy spirit to the teaching
Of each sound and sight,
While those sounds are flowing
To their silent rest;
While the parting wake of sunlight
Broods along the west:

Sweeter 'tis to hearken

Than to bear a part; Better to look on happiness Than carry a light heart. Sweeter to walk on cloudy hills With a sunny plain below, Than to weary of the brightness Where the floods of sunshine flow.

Souls that love each other,
Join both joys in one;
Blest by others' happiness,
And nourished by their own.
So with quick reflection,
Each its opposite

Still gives back, and multiplies
To infinite delight.

S.W. AND BY W. W.

[Captain Frederick Marryat, R.N., C.B., born in London, 10th July, 1792; died in Norfolk, 2d August, 1848. As a naval officer, "he was brave, zealous, intelligent, and even thoughtful, yet active in the performance of his duties," was the verdict of the late Earl of Dundonald (Lord Cochrane). As the inventor of the code of signals for the merchant vessels of all nations Captain Marryat has earned the gratitude of all seafarers; but it is as a novelist that he is most distinguished. He was thirty seven when his first work appeared-Frank Mildmay, and twenty-four others followed in rapid succession. It will suffice to mention The King's Own; Newton Forster: Midshipman Easy: Jacob Faithful; Percival Keene; Snarly Yow; The Phantom Ship: Joseph Rustbrook, or the Poacher; Valerie; Diary in America; The Settlers in Canada; The Pacha of Many Tales, &c. "His stories of the sea are unquestionably the first in their peculiar line."-. - Dublin University Magazine. Christopher North said he would have stood in the first class of sea-scribes had he written nothing but Peter Simple." Various editions of his works are issued by Routledge and Sons, by whose permission the following tale is quoted from Olla Podrida. The biography of Captain Marryat, edited by his daughter Florence Marryat-herself a novelist-was published in 1872.]

Jack Littlebrain was, physically considered, as fine grown, and moreover as handsome a boy as ever was seen, but it must be acknowledged that he was not very clever. Nature is, in most instances, very impartial; she has given plumage to the peacock, but, as every ones knows, not the slightest ear for music. Throughout the feathered race it is almost invariably the same; the homeliest clad are the finest songsters. Among animals the elephant is certainly the most intelligent, but, at the same time, he cannot be considered as a beauty. Acting upon this well-ascertained principle. nature imagined that she had done quite enough for Jack when she endowed him with such personal perfection; and did not consider it was at all necessary that he should be very clever; indeed, it must be admitted, not only that he was not very clever, but (as the truth must be told) remarkably dull and stupid. However, the Littlebrains have been for a long while a well-known, numerous, and influential

family, so that, if it were possible that Jack could have been taught anything, the means were forthcoming: he was sent to every school in the country; but it was in vain. At every following vacation he was handed over from the one pedagogue to the other, of those whose names were renowned for the Busbian system of teaching by stimulating both ends: he was horsed every day and still remained an ass, and at the end of six months, if he did not run away before that period was over, he was invariably sent back to his parents as incorrigible and unteachable. What was to be done with him? The Littlebrains had always got on in the world, somehow or another, by their interest and connections; but here was one who might be said to have no brains at all. After many pros and cons, and after a variety of consulting letters had passed between the various members of his family, it was decided, that as his maternal uncle, Sir Theophilus Blazers, G. C. B., was at that time second in command in the Mediterranean, he should be sent to sea under his command; the admiral having, in reply to a letter on the subject, answered that it was hard indeed if he did not lick him into some shape or another; and that, at all events, he'd warrant that Jack should be able to box the compass before he had been three months nibbling the ship's biscuit; further, that it was very easy to get over the examination necessary to qualify him for lieutenant, as a turkey and a dozen of brown-stout sent in the boat with him on the passing day, as a present to each of the passing captains, would pass him, even if he were as incompetent as a camel (or, as they say at sea, a cable) to pass through the eye of a needle; that having once passed, he would soon have him in command of a fine frigate, with a good nursing first lieutenant; and that if he did not behave himself properly, he would make his signal to come on board of the flag-ship, take him into the cabin, and give him a sound horse-whipping, as other admirals have been known to inflict upon their own sons under similar circumstances. The reader must be aware that, from the tenor of Sir Theophilus' letter, the circumstances which we are narrating must have occurred some fifty years ago.

When Jack was informed that he was to be a midshipman, he looked up in the most innocent way in the world (and innocent he was, sure enough), turned on his heels, and whistled as he went for want of thought. For the last three months he had been at home, and his chief employment was kissing and romping with the maids, who declared him to

be the handsomest Littlebrain that the country had ever produced. Our hero viewed the preparations made for his departure with perfect indifference, and wished everybody good-by with the utmost composure. He was a happy, good-tempered fellow, who never calculated, because he could not; never decided, for he had not wit enough to choose; never foresaw, although he could look straight before him: and never remembered, because he had no memory. The line, "If ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise," was certainly made especially for Jack; nevertheless he was not totally deficient: he knew what was good to eat or drink. for his taste was perfect, his eyes were very sharp, and he could discover in a moment if a peach was ripe on the wall; his hearing was quick, for he was the first in the school to detect the footsteps of his pedagogue; and he could smell anything savoury nearly a mile off, if the wind lay the right way. Moreover. he knew that if he put his fingers in the fre that he would burn himself; that knives cut severely; that birch tickled, and several other little axioms of this sort which are generally ascertained by children at an early age, bat which Jack's capacity had not received until at a much later date. Such as he was, our hero went to sea; his stock in his sea-chest being very abundant, while his stock of ideas was proportionably small.

We will pass over all the trans-shipments of Jack until he was eventually shipped on board the Mendacious, then lying at Malta, with the flag of Sir Theophilus Blazers at the fores splendid ship, carrying 120 guns, and nearly 120 midshipmen of different calibres. (I pass over captain, lieutenant, and ship's company. having made mention of her most valuabl qualifications.) Jack was received with a hearty welcome by his uncle, for he came in pudding-time, and was invited to dinner: and the admiral made the important discovery. that if his nephew was a fool in other points, he was certainly no fool at his knife and fork. In a short time his messmates found out that he was no fool at his fists, and his knock-down arguments ended much disputation. Indeed, as the French would say, Jack was perfection in the physique, although so very deficient in the morale.

But if Pandora's box proved a plague to the whole world, Jack had his individual portion of it, when he was summoned to box the compass by his worthy uncle Sir Theophilus Blazers; who, in the course of six months, discovered that he could not make his nephew box it in the three, which he had warranted in his letter:

every day our hero's ears were boxed, but the compass never. It required all the cardinal virtues to teach him the cardinal points during the forenoon, and he made a point of forgetting them before the sun went down. Whenever they attempted it (and various were the teachers employed to drive the compass into Jack's head), his head drove round the compass; and try all he could, Jack never could compass it. It appeared, as some people are said only to have one idea, as if Jack could only have one point in his head at a time, and to that point he would stand like a well-broken pointer. With him the wind never changed till the next, day. His uncle pronounced him to be a fool, but that did not hurt his nephew's feelings; he had been told so too often already.

I have said that Jack had a great respect for good eating and drinking, and, moreover, was blessed with a good appetite: every person has his peculiar fancies, and if there was anything which more titillated the palate and olfactory nerves of our hero, it was a roast goose with sage and onions. Now it so happened, that having been about seven months on board of the Mendacious, Jack had one day received a summons to dine with the admiral, for the steward had ordered a roast goose for dinner, and knew not only that Jack was partial to it, but also that Jack was the admiral's nephew, which always goes for something on board of a flag-ship. Just before they were sitting down to table, the admiral wishing to know how the wind was, and having been not a little vexed with the slow progress of his nephew's nautical acquirements, said, "Now, Mr. Littlebrain, go up and bring me down word how the wind is; and mark me, as, when you are sent, nine times out of ten you make a mistake, I shall now bet you five guineas against your dinner, that you make a mistake this time: so now be off and we will soon ascertain whether you lose your dinner or I lose my money. Sit down, gentlemen, we will not wait for Mr. Littlebrain.'

Jack did not much admire this bet on the part of his uncle, but still less did he like the want of good manners in not waiting for him. He had just time to see the covers removed, to scent a whiff of the goose, and was off.

"The admiral wants to know how the wind is, sir," said Jack to the officer of the watch. The officer of the watch went to the binnacle, and setting the wind as nearly as he could, replied, "Tell Sir Theophilus that it is S. W. and by W.

W."

"That's one of those confounded long points that I never can remember," cried Jack, in despair.

"Then you'll get goose,' as the saying is," observed one of the midshipmen. "No; I'm afraid that I sha'n't get any," replied Jack, despondingly. "What did he say, S. W. and by N. & E.?"

Not exactly," replied his messmate, who was a good-natured lad, and laughed heartily at Jack's version. "S. W. and by W. W."

"I never can remember it," cried Jack. " I'm to have five guineas if I do, and no dinner if I don't; and if I stay here much longer, I shall get no dinner at all events, for they are all terribly peckish, and there will be none left."

"Well, if you'll give me one of the guineas, I'll show you how to manage it," said the midshipman.

"I'll give you two, if you'll only be quick and the goose a'n't all gone," replied Jack.

The midshipman wrote down the point from which the wind blew, at full length, upon a bit of paper, and pinned it to the rim of Jack's hat. "Now," said he, "when you go into the cabin, you can hold your hat so as to read it without their perceiving you.”

'Well, so I can; I never should have thought of that," said Jack.

"You hav'n't wit enough," replied the midshipman.

"Well, I see no wit in the compass," replied Jack.

"Nevertheless, it's full of point," replied the midshipman: "now be quick.”

Our hero's eyes served him well if his memory was treacherous; and as he entered the cabin door he bowed over his hat very politely, and said, as he read it off, "S. W. and by W. W.," and then he added, without reading at all, “if you please, Sir Theophilus."

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