FOR THE BOWER OF TASTE. he beheld the murdered body of his son, he was bound for the safety and escape of the murderer. As soon as darkness approached, the sorrowful Moor, without making known his purpose, retired to his garden as if to grieve alone. Then accosting the cavalier, he said, "Christian, he whom thou hast killed is my son his body lays in my house." The cavalier confounded, shrank from his presence. The substance of the following story is recorded in Spanish History. It is a memorable instance He groaned in the excess of his of honour and regard to truth; feelings, and bade the corpse to be and furnishes an example worthy removed from his sight. "My son! of imitation. my son! the only hope of my age! "A Spanish cavalier, in an alter-art thou gone to the shades so soon! cation with a Moorish gentleman, Nay, nay, thou dost but sleep! receiving as he thought, a contra- Bring him before me, I command diction, slew him upon the spot. A-theenay, quick remove him. I larmed the next moment at what he see his soul has departed-the vital had committed, he fled, and obser- spark has fled-the warm blood of ving he was pursued, he threw him- his veins is exhausted!—My God, self unperceived over a garden- my God, inspire me for mine honwall. The owner, a Moor, happen- our, and give me strength to suping to be in his garden, was startled port my sorrow and my sufferings.” at the sudden appearance of the stranger, and hastened towards him. The cavalier threw himself at his feet, confessed what he had committed, and supplicated for safety. "Eat this," said the Moor, presenting a peach. "Behold now I receive thee in my protection, and give you security-in my word you are safe; retire here," he continued, pointing to his garden apart- "But hold-thou art safe. You ment, "and when darkness ap- ought to suffer-but you have eaten proaches, I will provide for thy fur- with me, and I have given you my ther safety." The cavalier stept faith; shall I then break it? God, into the apartment, struck at the who is just, forbid! Rise, I comgoodness of his mind and generos- mand thee, and follow me-for I ity of his actions, and was only have provided for thy escape." prevented from expressing his grat- The astonished and trembling itude and obligations by the exigen-Spaniard followed him to his stable. cy of the moment. "Now God," Now mount this, my fleetest charwho is just and good, be with you," ger! Thou hast taken the life of and having locked the apartment, my son; but I thank God I am inretired. This generous extension nocent of thine!" of friendship served to aggravate his feelings of remorse, & to draw forth the fierce upbraidings of conscience. In a few moments the pursuers passed the wall within three feet of his concealment, entered the gate, and with loud lamentations, presented the Moor the lifeless body of his son! they related to him the circumstances of the affair, and a thought at once struck the Moorish father, from the connection of the story to that of the stranger's, that whilst "I will not mount!" said the Spaniard, whose firmness of mind was overpowered by convulsive feelings of remorse and shame, and tearing open his garments to his naked breast, and unsheathing his sword, he threw the glittering steel at the feet of the Moor. Moor turned from his presence, exclaiming, "Let me not behold that which is damp with the blood of my son." "Plunge that steel into my bosom! God shall nerve thy am The that it be steady and certain. Plunge! for it is the demand of justice, and my last desire!" "Return thy dagger to its sheath; I will not break my faith, nor take that which I cannot give; but mount, for time is pressing; mount, for I must return." The cavalier, half assisted upon the horse, was guided by the Moor to the road. "Now haste away; the beast is thine; and whenever thou landest in safety, may experience teach thee to practice virtue, and regard truth; to follow that repentance that may obtain pardon; and to lead that life that shall deserve happiness hereafter." FOR THE BOWER OF TASTE. DANCING. 'We go to a ball.' Mercy upon us! Is this what you call dancing? A man of thirty years of age, and with legs as thick as a gate-post, stands up in the middle of the room, and gapes, and fumbles with his gloves, looking all the time as if he were burying his grandmother. At a given signal, the unwieldy animal puts himself in motion; he throws out his arms, crouches up his shoulders, and, without moving a muscle of his face, kicks out his legs, to the manifest risk of the bystanders, and goes back to his place, puffing and blowing, like an otter after a half hour's burst. Is this dancing? Shades of the filial and paternal Venus! Can this be a specimen of the art which gives I have ever had a 'propensity' for a elasticity to the most inert confirmfair-haired beauty. There is some-ation? which sets the blood glowing thing so soft, and so retiring, in the with a warm and genial flow, and vision-like loveliness of a creature, makes beauty float before our ravwhose sunny tresses seem almost to ished senses, stealing our admiramingle with the light that surrounds tion by the gracefulness of each new her, that I always feel half-inclined motion, till at last our souls thrill to to' worship as I pass.' Her mild each warning movement, and disblue eye, too, reflecting the hue of solve into ecstacy and love? Maiheaven! and her tender blush steal- den, with the roses lying among the ing like morning's beam upon a twinings of thy long red hair! wreath of snow- -Oh! I love to think not that the art of dancing gaze upon such a woman!-She consists merely in activity and seems incorporate with the pure strength. Thy limbs, which are elements that form her being-yet none of the weakest, were not inless of earth in her compound than tended to be the rivals of a pavier's falls to the share of other terrestri- hammer: the artificer who trimmed als. I love a fair-haired girl, of spi- thy locks, had no idea that his larit meek and mild-her very look-bours were to be lifted three feet her soul-appealing confidence in higher than thy natural height from man's protection, knits a charm the ground!-spare thyself such that holds his heart in thraldom! The bold unbending gaze of the dark eye, may fascinate-nay, even take the prison'd soul,'-and the crimson blush of conscious victory with such saltations.!' seal the bond;-but Woman, in her lovely gentleness--such as God gave in paradise to man-she of the azure eye and golden hairHers are the chains my heart would fondly wear! AMICUS. dreadful exertion, we beseech thee, and consider that thine ankle, tho' strong and thick as St. George's pillars, may be broken or sprained, "Her's was a Seraph's His a Gorgon's head!" "LONG, long ago, (and the mists of thirty years are lifted from our retrospective vision as we speak,) we went with a party of amiable and circling for a moment round a jutting ledge, folded his pinions on that desolate pinnacle, and brought to our fancy, amid all the wildness and majesty of the scene, thoughts, humbler and more gentle, of the quiet cottage in the far-off land, which had been the shelter of our boyhood, and which, with such a girls, to see one of the grandest objects in England. Shall we forget the sunny day which lighted us merrily over valley and plain, till we entered at last on the magnicent defiles of the Cheddar Cliffs in Somersetshire? Never!-We still, (with a minuteness, of which, as we look at our diminished legs-companion as we then possessed, which are at this moment swathed might be the no less fondly cherishin flannel-we are half ashamed,) ed shelter of our age. Yes, young remember the fawn colored pelisse, and beautiful Honora! even amid and white straw bonnet of a young the sterness of nature's works, our and beautiful maiden of the party. heart was softened by thy calm and We remember the beauties of her lovely smile! But what the devil flexible form, and the moving lights you could see in that thin-necked which danced across her counte- curate, who has since become your nance as she spoke, and still more husband, it passes our comprehenthe bright wild innocence which sion to divine. He is the most sealed love's seal upon her downy enormous eater we ever encouncheek, whene'er her sweet soft lips tered in our life. Could such were curled into a smile. On we a being, after swallowing two pound went, the maiden and ourself, and of mutton, fourteen potatoes, three we talked of or if we talked at all, rounds of bread, two quarts of beer, we do not remember-or at least, besides pudding and cheese, dare we have no inclination to reveal. to hint a syllable of love to any As we wandered up the pass, and thing but a southdown sheep! the gradual winding of the ascent Could he have soothed thy young brought us every instant into view heart in its lonely and perhaps its of some more sublime and grander melancholy thoughts, as we could aspect of the scene, our conversa- have done? Could he have looked tion became less sustained, till when into the blue recesses of thy rich we came to the middle of the steep, deep eyes, and forgotten every thing where on each side of us, rose in but gratitude to heaven for having wild and stern magnificence," the bestowed on him a creature so pure, grand and rugged crags, with their so beautiful? Could he have wanrude projections clothed in brush- dered into the calm solitudes, by wood, and mellowed by the warm the side of some romantic burn, and tints of the noon-day sun, we should pulled the long blue bells wet with have thought it a profanation of na- the spray of the dashing linn, and ture's holiest mysteries, if we had twined them in thine auburn hair, uttered one word even of admira- and rested beside, with a sweet and tion, to the mute and interesting chastened affection, and read to girl, who rested on our arm. The thee "through the lang simmer hawk poised himself on his broad day," on some heathery knowe, far and moveless wing, far up within from the noisy and observing world, the shadow of a beetling cliff, and a world within yourselves? Oh, then dashed into the sunshine and no! But thou, Honora! thou art away! a joyous and delighted thing, the mother, we hear, of nine boys down the windings of the mountain. and girls, while we-are slowly reThe wild pigeon, too, came sailing covering from a four months' fit of with a flood of light upon his wings, I the gout! 66 R. II." ORIGINAL SKETCHES-No. 1. promptness alone could insure suc cess, De Lamet hastened from the palace, in order to obtain the habit of Father Michael, after having previously stated to the guard, that he was that night expected. In this garb, as has been heretofore related, he intended to enter the palace, and having transferred it to the king, immediately resume his own, and attend him as he had often done; father Michael past the outer guard; when, instead of returning to the palace, as formerly, he proposed meeting the king at a place not far distant, where several of the fleetest horses were stationed, in order to convey them, as also Marie and Henriette to a safe retreat, until measures could be taken to remove them from France. Eager to accomplish these plans, in a few hours, De Lamet appeared at the palace gate disguised as Father Michael, and was admitted unquestion THE reader will recollect that the last chapter closed with the conversation between Henri De Lamet and Christelle, the femme de chambre of the Queen, whose confidence he endeavoured to secure by bribery, without reflecting that he was at this moment in the power of a woman, who had herself confessed the possibility of her accepting a "higher" bribe, if offered. Yet so ardent was he, in his determination to free his sovereign from the power of his enemies, that he thought not a mo-ed to the apartments of the king— ment on the peril of his own situation. Glowing with all the romantic spirit of chivalry, he believed that his single arm was destined to liberate the whole Royal Family from bondage, and that his blade was all sufficient to defend them, and all those who were accessary to this plan, from an infuriated Republic, who would of course recognise him as a traitor, should his plot be discovered. However honorable to the character of De Lamet, as a subject, his loyal principles might be, still the deceitful part which he conceived it was his duty to sustain, in order to accomplish his wishes, could scarcely admit of justification. He had been appointed to a post of trust by the Revolutionists-nay, had even sworn to support the rights of the people! What then was his fate in case his apostacy was discovered? Disgrace and--death! Averting these thoughts, which for a moment crossed his mind, and knowing that VOL. 1. who assumed his dress, while his companion soon arrayed himself in his usual costume, and having remained long enough for the supposed performance of his religious duties, the king descended from the gallery, attended by his intrepid friend! Suddenly, the confusion of voices, and the clashing of arms, were heard! when in an instant they were surrounded by a band of exasperated soldiers, among whom they recognized Julian, the husband of Christelle! The king was immediately remanded back to prison and loudly accusing De Lamet as a TRAITOR, he was hurried before a lawless tribunal, where after having obtained from him the secret of the Queen's residence, on the promise of pardon-they insulted him for his credulity, in relying on their promise, and sentenced him to the guillotine to expiate the crime of a TRAITOR! Next morning his head branded with this mark of disgrace, was displayed above the palace 78 gates! After seizing upon all the property and effects of the house of De Lamet, they permitted his sister to retire to a convent, where horror, at the fate of all her family and friends, soon put an end to her existence. The sequel of this story will be found in the history of the French Revolution. The fate of the unfortunate Louis and Marie Antoinette of France, is too generally known, to require a repetition. THE EDITOR. "Hail thou first great declaration That made us a great a glorious nation," "Pshaw!" he belched forth. "Lines to Silvy, on hearing ber say she should like to go to the fourth of July." And down that went with a shrug. Now, his Journal was one of much respectability, and was pat ronised and supported by some of the best talents of the city ofSo it was to be supposed his letterbox, although filled with a great deal of trash, had nevertheless many a flower mingled with those vile weeds, wherewith to deck his col umns. But fate had so ordered it this time, that all the gems of lite rature had fastened themselves at the bottom of the box, and conse quently before he could reach one of them, he had to open and read like the above. He was hasty and fifty "communications," something I KNEW an editor, once-the besthearted, noblest fellow in the world -one who was all good humour and kindness, full of anecdote and good feeling at home and abroad--in short, one who seemed to take the world as he found it, and make the best of it, for himself and those about him, too; a most pleasant, agreeable friend and companion, ex-irritable withal, and before he got cept when at his letter-box. Then, good heavens! how he'd fume and fret!-Swear? why, sir, he'd swear like a trooper!-Many the anathema that many a poor scribbler un consciously received, while my friend was opening one scrawl, and then another, and another, penned by unfortunate aspirants to poetic bays. I never shall forget one sultry evening in the latter part of the month of June; I accidentally popped in, just as he had engaged himself in his task of reading half way through his letter-box, he stamped and swore by the holy gods it was too bad!-He was already from his seat abruptly, fanning him melting with perspiration, and rising self most violently with the last "Ode to the fourth of July" he had oper ed; he paced his office till the floor cracked again, when suddenly, as if some fixed determination had struck him, he called out to his foreman "Wilson!" "Wilson, send the devil to me, "communications."-"Lord. help for heaven's sake, Wilson!" the Editor of a Literary paper," he Throwing the paper at his feet, His devil appeared. "Here--you devil—take this box-take this box, sir-and empty the whole of its contents the whole, sir-into your fire!-quick, sir! Nay, Mr. Editor "Start not-'tis but fancy's sketch.” He who knows not the sweets of industry, may obtain wealth, but he cannot enjoy it. |