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steward of the London University:-Breakfast, 9d.; Soup, 6d.; Dish of Coffee, 4d.; Dish of Chocolate, 6d.; Beef Sandwich, 4d.; Ham, Sandwich, 6d.; Hot Beef or Mutton, with Vegetables and Bread, 1s.

From the Winter's Wreath.

GIBBON IN HIS GARDEN.

"It was on the day or rather night of the 27th June, 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the last page, in a Summer-house in my garden. And laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of Acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene-the silver tint of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all creation was silent. *** But I feel, and with the decline of years I shall more painfully feel that I am alone in Paradise." Gibbon's Memoirs.

HE sate in his own loved bowers,

While the summer-moon's soft light Was bathing the roses and jessamine flowers, That bloom'd through the noon of night; The spirit of nature benignly had blest The scene and the season with beauty and rest.

Before him a bright lake lay,

And a fruitful valley smil'd; And beyond, in the moon-beam's glancing ray, Were the polished glaciers piled;

And the splendour of million worlds was lent To the face of the dark blue firmament.

And not the charm alone,

Of visible nature was there;

For the MIND's high triumphs and beauties shone

Even more divinely fair;

After years of labour the patient sage

In rapture gazed on the perfect page.

He had traced an Empire's fate,

And the star of Cæsar's line,
From the blaze of its high meridian state,
To its dark and cold decline;
And the lofty magnificent tale was told
In words that glittered like burnished gold.

He had linked his humble name

With that of the mighty dead; And already he felt the rich wreath of fame On his throbbing temples shed; The splendent circle was round them twined, And he reigned a king in the realms of mind!

But in this, his hour of pride,

Was his spirit truly blest?
And felt he no longing for aught, beside

The high hopes that thronged his breast?
Oh yes!-for his bosom yearned to impart
Its burden of bliss to some kindly heart.

He knew that fate had given

All other boons than this

From Friendship's Offering.

THE ELECTION.-A TALE.

BY MISS MITFORD.

A FEW years back a gentleman of the name of Danby came to reside in a small decayed borough town-whether in Wiltshire or Cornwall matters not to our story, although in one of those counties the aforesaid town was probably situate, being what is called a close borough, the joint property of two noble families. Mr. Danby was evidently a man of large for. tune, and that fortune as evidently acquired in trade, indeed he made no more secret of the latter circumstance than the former. He built himself a large, square, red house, equally ugly and commodious, just without the town; walled in a couple of acres of ground for a kitchen garden; kept a heavy one-horse chaise, a stout pony, and a brace of greyhounds; and having furnished his house solidly and handsomely, and arranged his domestic affairs to his heart's content, began to look about amongst his neighbours; scraped acquaintance with the lawyer, the apothecary, and the principal tradesmen; subscribed to the reading room and the billiard room; became a member of the bowling green and the cricket club, and took as lively an interest in the affairs of his new residence, as if he had been born and bred in the borough.

Now this interest, however agreeable to himself, was by no means equally conducive to the quiet and comfort of the place. Mr. Danby was a little, square, dark man, with a cocked-up nose, a good-humoured, but very knowing smile, a pair of keen black eyes, a loud voluble speech, and a prodigious activity both of mind and body. His very look betokened his character, and that character was one not uncommon among the middle ranks of Englishmen. In short, besides being, as he often boasted, a downright John Bull, the gentleman was a reformer, zealous and uncomprising as ever attended a dinner at the Crown and Anchor, or made a harangue in Palace-yard. He read Cobbett; had his own scheme for the redemption of tithes; and a plan, which, not understanding, I am sorry I cannot undertake to explain, for clearing off the national debt without loss or injury to any body.

Besides these great matters, which may rather be termed the theorique than the practique of reform, and which are at least perfectly inoffensive, Mr. Danby condescended to smaller and more worrying observances; and was, indeed, so strict and jealous a guardian of the purity of the corporation, and the incorruptibility of the vestry, that an alderman could not wag a finger, or a churchwarden stir a foot, without being called to account by this vigilant defender of the rights, liberties, and purses of the people. He was, beyond a doubt, the most troublesome man in the parish-and that

And he sighed, when he felt that the hand of is a wide word. In the matter of reports and

heaven

Had denied the crowning bliss

The Eden around him was all his own, But amid that Eden he stood alone!

Museum.-VOL. XIV.

inquiries Mr. Hume was but a type of him. He would mingle economy with a parish dinner, and talk of retrenchment at the mayor's H. R. feast; brought an action, under the turnpike act, against the clerk and treasurer of the commissioners of the road; commenced a suit in chancery with the trustees of the charity No. 79.-B

school; and finally, threatened to open the borough-that is to say, to support any candidate who should offer to oppose the nominees of the two great families, the one whig and the other tory, who now possessed the two seats in parliament as quietly as their own heredita. ry estates; an experiment which recent instances of successful opposition in other places rendered not a little formidable to the noble

owners.

What added considerably to the troublesome nature of Mr. Danby's inquisitions was, the general cleverness, ability, and information of the individual. He was not a man of classical education, and knew little of books; but with things he was especially conversant. Although very certain that Mr. Danby had been in business, nobody could guess what that business had been. None came amiss to him. He handled the rule and the yard with equal dexterity; astonished the butcher by his insight into the mysteries of fattening and dealing; and the grocer by his familiarity with the sugar and coffee markets; disentangled the perplexities of the confused mass of figures in the parish books with the dexterity of a sworn accomptant; and was so great upon points of law, so ready and accurate in quoting reports, cases, and precedents, that he would certainly have passed for a retired attorney, but for the zeal and alertness with which, at his own expense, he was apt to rush into lawsuits.

With so remarkable a genius for turmoil, it is not to be doubted that Mr. Danby, in spite of many excellent and sterling qualities, succeeded in drawing upon himself no small degree of odium. The whole corporation were officially his enemies; but his principal opponent, or rather the person whom he considered as his principal opponent, was Mr. Cardonnel, the rector of the parish, who, besides several disputes pending between them (one especially respecting the proper situation of the church organ, the placing of which harmonious instruinent kept the whole town in discord for a twelvemonth,) was married to the Lady Elizabeth, sister of the Earl of B., one of the patrons of the borough; and being, as well as his wife, a very popular and amiable character, was justly regarded by Mr. Danby as one of the chief obstacles to his projected reform.

Whilst, however, our reformer was, from the most patriotic motives, doing his best or his worst to dislike Mr. Cardonnel, events of a very different nature were gradually operating to bring them together.

Mr. Danby's family consisted of a wife,—a quiet lady-like woman, with very ill health, who did little else than walk from her bed to her sofa, eat water gruel and drink soda water, and of an only daughter who was, in a word, the very apple of her father's eye.

Rose Danby was indeed a daughter of whom any father might have been proud. Of middle height and exquisite symmetry, with a rich, dark, glowing complexion, a profusion of glossy, curling, raven hair, large affectionate black eyes, and a countenance at once so sweet and so spirited, that its constant expression was like that which a smile gives to other faces. Her temper and understanding were in exact keeping with such a countenance-playful, gen

tle, clever, and kind; and her accomplishments and acquirements of the very highest order. When her father entered on his new residence she had just completed her fifteenth year; and he, unable longer to dispense with the pleasure of her society, took her from the excellent school near London, at which she had hitherto been placed, and determined that her education should be finished by masters at home.

It so happened, that this little town contained one celebrated artist, a professor of dancing, who kept a weekly academy for young ladies, which was attended by half the families of gentility in the county. M. Le Grand (for the dancing master was a little lively Frenchman) was delighted with Rose. He declared that she was his best pupil, his very best, the best that ever he had in his life. "Mais voyez, donc, Monsieur?" said he one day to her father, who would have scorned to know the French for "How d'ye do:"-" Voyez, comme elle met de l'aplomb, de la force, de la netteté, dans ses entrechats! Qu'elle est leste, et légère, et petrie de graces, la petite!" And Mr. Danby comprehending only that the artist was prais ing his darling, swore that Monsieur was a good fellow, and returned the compliment, after the English fashion, by sending him a haunch of venison the next day.

But M. Le Grand was not the only admirer whom Rose met with at the dancing school.

It chanced that Mr. Cardonnel also had an only daughter, a young person, about the same age, bringing up under the eye of her mother, and a constant attendant at the professor's academy. The two girls, nearly of a height, and both good dancers, were placed together as partners; and being almost equally prepossessing in person and manner, (for Mary Cardonnel was a sweet, delicate, fair creature, whose mild blue eyes seemed appealing to the kindness of every one they looked upon,) took an immediate and lasting fancy to each other; shook hands at meeting and parting, smiled whenever their glances chanced to encounter; and soon began to exchange a few kind and hurried words in the pauses of the dance, and to hold more continuous chat at the conclusion. And Lady Elizabeth, almost as much charmed with Rose as her daughter, seeing in the lovely little girl every thing to like and nothing to disapprove, encouraged and joined in the acquaintance; attended with a motherly care to her cloaking and shawling; took her home in her own carriage when it rained; and finally way-laid Mr. Danby, who always came himself to fetch his darling, and with her bland and gracious smile requested the pleasure of Miss Danby's company to a party of young people, which she was about to give on the occasion of her daughter's birthday. I am afraid that our sturdy reformer was going to say, No!-But Rose's "Oh papa!" was irresistible; and to the party she went.

After this, the young people became every day more intimate. Lady Elizabeth waited on Mrs. Danby, and Mrs. Danby returned the call; but her state of health precluded visiting, and her husband, who piqued himself on firmness and consistency, contrived, though with some violence to his natural kindness of tem

per, to evade the friendly advances and invitations of the rector.

The two girls, however, saw one another almost every day. It was a friendship like that of Rosalind and Celia, whom, by the way, they severally resembled in temper and character Rose having much of the brilliant gaiety of the one fair cousin, and Mary the softer and gentler charm of the other. They rode, walked and sung together; were never happy asunder; played the same music; read the same books; dressed alike; worked for each other; and interchanged their own little property of trinkets and flowers, with a generosity that seemed only emulous which should give most. At first, Mr. Danby was a little jealous of Rose's partiality to the rectory; but she was so fond of him, so attentive to his pleasures, that he could not find in his heart to check hers: and when, after a long and dangerous illness, with which the always delicate Mary was affected, Mr. Cardonnel went to him, and with tears streaming down his cheeks, told him he believed that under Providence he owed his daughter's life to Rose's unwearying care, the father's heart was fairly vanquished; he wrung the good rector's hand, and never grumbled at her long visits again. Lady Elizabeth, also, had her share in producing this change of feeling, by presenting him, in return for innumerable baskets of peaches and melons and hothouse grapes (in the culture of which he was curious,) with a portrait of Rose, drawn by herself a strong and beautiful likeness, with his own favourite greyhound at her feet; a picture which he would not have exchanged for "The Transfiguration."

Perhaps too, consistent, as he thought himself, he was not without an unconscious respect for the birth and station which he affected to despise; and was, at least, as proud of the admiration which his daughter excited in those privileged circles, as of the sturdy independence which he exhibited by keeping aloof from then in his own person. Certain it is, that his spirit of reformation insensibly relaxed, particularly towards the Rector; and that he not only ceded the contested point of the organ, but presented a splendid set of pulpit hangings to the church itself.

the election. Rose wept and pleaded, pleaded and wept in vain. Her father was obdurate; and she, after writing a most affectionate note to Mary Cardonnel, retired to her own room in very bad spirits, and, perhaps, for the first time in her life, in very bad humour.

About half an hour afterwards, Sir William Frampton and Mr. Cardonnel called at the red house.

"We are come, Mr. Danby" said the rector, "to solicit your interest"

66

Nay, nay, my good friend," returned the reformer- you know that my interest is promised, and that I cannot with any consistency"

"To solicit your interest with Rose"-resumed his reverence.

"With Rose!" interrupted Mr. Danby. "Ay-for the gift of her heart and hand,— that being, I believe, the suffrage which my good nephew here is most anxious to secure,' rejoined Mr. Cardonnel.

With Rose!" again ejaculated Mr. Danby: "Why I thought that your daughter"

"The gipsy has not told you, then!" replied the Rector. "Why William and she have been playing the parts of Romeo and Juliet for these six months past.”

"My Rose!" again exclaimed Mr. Danby. "Why Rose! Rose! I say!" and the astonished father rushed out of the room, and returned the next minute, holding the blushing girl by the arm.

"Rose, do you love this young man?"
"Oh Papa!" said Rose.
"Will you marry him?"
"Oh, papa!"

"Do you wish me to tell him that you will not marry him?"

To this question Rose returned no answer; she only blushed the deeper, and looked down with a half smile.

"Take her, then," resumed Mr. Danby; "I see the girl loves you. I can't vote for your though, for I've promised, and you know, my good Sir, that an honest man's word-"

"I don't want your vote, my dear Sir," interrupted Sir William Frampton; "I don't ask for your vote, although the loss of it may cost me my seat, and my uncle his borough. This is the election that I care about; the only election worth caring about-Is it not my own sweet Rose?-the election of which the object lasts for life, and the result is happiness. That's the election worth caring about-Is it not, mine own Rose?"

Time wore on; Rose had refused half the offers of gentility in the town and neighbourhood; her heart appeared to be invulnerable. Her less affluent and less brilliant friend was generally understood (and as Rose, on hearing the report, did not contradict it, the rumour passed for certainty) to be engaged to a nephew of her mother's, Sir William Frampton, a young gentleman of splendid fortune, who had lately passed much time at his fine place in the neigh-moment-"I can't vote for you, for a man bourhood.

Time wore on; and Rose was now nineteen, when an event occurred, which threatened a grievous interruption to her happiness. The Earl of B.'s member died; his nephew, Sir William Frampton, supported by his uncle's powerful interest, offered himself for the borough; an independent candidate started at the same time; and Mr. Danby found himself compelled, by his vaunted consistency, to insist on his daughter's renouncing her visits to the rectory, at least until after the termination of

And Rose blushed an affirmative; and Mr. Danby shook his intended son-in-law's hand, until he almost wrung it off, repeating at every

must be consistent; but you're the best fellow in the world, and you shall have my Rose. And Rose will be a great lady," continued the delighted father; "my little Rose will be a great lady after all!"

A CABINET PICTURE. A GRACEFUL form, a gentle mien, Sweet eyes of witching blue, Dimples where young Love nestles in Around a "cherry mou":"

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"Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound." Childe Harold.

WHENCE is the might of thy master-spell?
Speak to me, Voice of sweet sound, and tell!
How canst thou wake, by one gentle breath,
Passionate visions of love and death!
How call'st thou back, with a note, a sigh,
Words and low tones from the days gone
by-

A sunny glance, or a fond farewell?—

Speak to me, Voice of sweet sound, and tell! What is thy power, from the soul's deep spring In sudden gushes the tears to bring; Even 'midst the swells of thy festal glee,

Fountains of sorrow are stirred by thee! Vain are those tears!-vain and fruitless allShowers that refresh not, yet still must fall; For a purer bliss while the full heart burns, For a brighter home while the spirit yearns! Something of mystery there surely dwells, Waiting thy touch, in our bosom-cells; Something that finds not its answer hereA chain to be clasped in another sphere. Therefore a current of sadness deep, Through the stream of thy triumphs is heard to sweep,

Like a moan of the breeze through a summer sky

Like a name of the dead when the wine foams high!

Yet speak to me still, though thy tones be fraught

With vain remembrance and troubled thought;

Speak for thou tellest my soul that its birth Links it with regions more bright than earth!

EPIGRAM.

From Friendship's Offering.

THE BROTHERS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE SUBALTERN."

Ir was on a fine morning in September, Anno 1813, that a friend and myself, after standing the customary time with the troops under arms, made ready to pay a visit to a common acquaintance, whose duties still detained him in the immediate vicinity of St. Sebastian. At the period to which I now allude, the tents of the regiment of light infantry were pitched, beneath the shelter of a grove of dwarf oaks, on the top of a gentle eminence not far from the Bidassoa, and at the base of the Quatracone mountain. It is scarcely necessary to add, that the Bidassoa is fully five leagues distant from the point which we proposed to reach; and as it would have been a hazardous measure to sleep abroad, at a moment when a general action was every day expected, we felt that the sooner we set out the better it would be, both for our horses and ourselves. The early parade, therefore, was barely dismissed when we mounted our steeds; and as we pushed on at a brisk trot, we speedily clearging along over a path as lonely and seed the encampment, and found ourselves jogcluded, as if two huge armies, instead of being close at hand, were not within a hundred miles of it.

The road by which we travelled was not the great causeway, which, passing through Irun, leads by a glen or deep defile towards Vittoria, but a wild mountain track, which skirting the sides of the range, at the height of perhaps five hundred feet from their base, comes down, over the amphitheatre of low hills that encircle the town of St. Sebastian on every side. We had hardly struck into it, when the sun, which had risen about an hour, but which had hitherto been obscured by thick inists, burst, as it were, the veil that shrouded him; and the clouds, rolling down in unspeakable majesty, displayed to our view the gigantic peaks of the Pyrennees, towering over-head like so many rocky islands out of the bosom of the ocean. These, bold and rocky, but not on that account the less magnificent, contrasted finely with the waters of the Bay of Biscay, which lay at this moment in all the stillness of a dead calm; and as we were enabled for awhile, as often at least as breaks in the wood occurred, to command a distinct view of both, it were difficult to conceive scenery more striking than their combination produced. Nor was it the sense of sight alone which, during this delightful excursion, received ample gratification. The region of the eastern Pyrennees, like other mountain districts, abounds in rivulets and small streams,

From the Greek Anthology. (Author unknown.) which, falling here and there over ledges of

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rock, or rushing with headlong violence over stony channels, produce a ceaseless murmur, seldom loud enough to drown the voice of an ordinary speaker, but almost always sufficiently audible to check the progress of conversation. In addition to this, the trees of the forest seemed to be each of them peopled with singing birds; the bees were abroad in thousands, making the morning air ring with their music, and the roar of the sea, as it broke upon the

beach beyond Fontarabia, came up, upon a soft west-wind, with peculiar harmony. I perfectly recollect, to this hour, the effect which this accumulation of exquisite sights and sounds produced both upon my companion and myself. Though usually not deficient in colloquial powers, we this morning maintained a profound silence, as if we had been afraid to interrupt the dominion of universal solitude by obtruding upon it the sound of human voices.

A three hours' ride brought us to the domicile of our host, where a substantial breakfast for ourselves, as well as an ample supply of provender for our horses, was in readiness. It was a snug cottage, or rather a small farm house, composed, like most buildings in this part of the country, chiefly of wood, and beautifully situated in the heart of an extensive orchard, about two miles from St. Sebastian. Not more than a bow shot from it stood another mansion, of dimensions somewhat more ample, though in structure and general character in perfect keeping with it. The latter was, we found, filled with sick and wounded men, in charge of whom our host, who was a medical officer, had been left; indeed it constituted the hospital, set apart from the first for the use of that portion of the army to which the siege of St. Sebastian had been intrusted. Our host frankly told us, that the crowded state of its wards, and the deplorable condition of many who occupied them, would present no very gratifying picture of war in its realities,-yet, with the inconsistency which attends most men's actions, he proposed, immediately after breakfast, to conduct us over it; and we, partly from curiosity, and partly, I trust, from a better feeling, readily closed with his offer.

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There was something in the air and general appearance of that poor fellow, which excited, I could not tell why, my liveliest sympathy; so I went towards him, with the design of asking him a few questions, touching the nature of his hurts, and the occasion on which he received them. But though I addressed him in the same kindly and familiar tone in which I knew that it was the custom of our guide to address his patients, the soldier took no notice of me. Once, indeed, he raised his eyes and looked me full in the face,-and the motion enabled me to perceive that his cheeks were wan and sallow, and that an expression of the deepest dejection overshadowed his whole countenance-but he withdrew his gaze from me again without speaking, and almost immediately relapsed into a stooping attitude. Being much struck with the whole air of the man, turned to my host, and requested him to give me the information which his patient seemed indisposed to communicate. But he, too, merely shook his head and walked away. We had not, however, returned many minutes to his quarters, when of his own accord he reverted to the subject, and in a manner certainly not calculated to diminish the impression which had previously been made, thus addressed me: "You inquired a minute ago, respecting the fate of the poor fellow in the corner: that is one of the most distressing cases which ever came under my observation; and as I happen to be acquainted with the whole of the young man's story, I will, if you desire it, repeat it to you." It will readily be imagined that neither my friend nor myself offered any opposition to this obliging proposal; so drawing our stools towards an open window, which commanded a magnificent view of the city and the ocean beyond, we listened, with very considerable interest and excitation, to the following his

We found it, as he had foretold, filled with pitiable objects; but we found also, that every thing was arranged there in a manner honourable, in the highest degree, to the British go-tory:vernment, and no less creditable to the commander-in-chief, and to the heads of the medical department. A single glance served to convince us, that no expense was spared in order to alleviate the sufferings of those who suffered for their country; and that whatever might have been the case in other days, now at least a medical hospital was a place, into which no soldier, be his rank whatever it might, need fear to enter. The different rooms in the house were each furnished with pallets, spread in regular rows, and at proper intervals from one another, over the floor; and all were as neat and comfortable as clean linen, and blankets white as the wool of which they were formed, could render them. Then again, as to ventilation, though in some of the larger chambers at least twenty patients were laid, not the slightest inconvenience was experienced by any of us, whilst threading our way through them; and the kind and affectionate tone in which the poor fellows blessed the doctor as he passed, gave proof enough that the state of things to which we were witnesses, was one of every day's occurrence.

We had visited several of the apartments, and were preparing to quit the place, when the figure of a tall man, who sat with his head hanging down upon his breast, in the corner of one of the last wards, arrested my attention.

"It is now about six years ago since the regiment to which I am attached, being quartered at the time in the citadel of Plymouth, was joined by a batch of recruits from Scotland; among the rest, by two brothers, natives of the town of Fort William, the elder of whom, the poor fellow whom you noticed in the hospital, alone survives. Being myself a denizen of that place, I was not long in discovering that the youths were the sons of a widow woman, and the orphans of an old pensioner-who after serving his country for upwards of thirty years, married, according to custom, a mere girl, and died within a few days after the birth of his youngest son. The name of their father was Cameron-an ancient and honourable clan, I assure you, much respected in former times for its warlike exploits, and still famous for the number of brave men which it produces; and Donald and Allan, the two young men of whom I am now speaking, were in no respect inferior to their kinsmen in any quality befitting the good soldier.

What the circumstances were which induced them to take service in the army, I never accurately understood; but I have heard that Donald, whose disposition was daring and adventurous, involved himself in some difficulties with the excise, and that to avoid the consequences likely to arise out of them, he secret

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