prevent our readers from falling into a paroxysm of surprise, when we tell them that the author, page 33, zealously argues from internai evidence, that the lines beginning "Within this awful volume lies," are Lord Byron's, though they are well known to be by Sir Walter Scott, and occur in the Monastery, vol. ii. So much for the knowledge of Byron's "peculiar style and genius" possessed by this letter-writer, who is not in the least abashed at confessing his blunder in a postcript to the reader. From the New Monthly Magazine. THE PARTED YEAR. I STOOD upon the sunless shore Beside oblivion's sea, And saw its sluggish waves break o'er It was a melancholy sight To see it part from day, A cold thrill to my feeling taught From out those waves no palmy isle And Love turns trembling from the sight, And Fame stands silent near, All watch the last skirts of the year, Where fleets the past?-But to life's task- Time's lapse may be a change of scene From Blackwood's Magazine. HANSEL MONDAY. "WILL you never hold your little, yelping tongues to-night?" said Beaty Lawson to the nursery brood, whom she had presided over ever since their birth, and whom she had just tucked into the various sized cribs which surrounded an ample nursery. "Your elder brothers are all quiet in the next room, and so is your sister; I'll warrant they dinna get leave to cheep a word at school, after they are in their beds; and they will be weel sleepit, and up before any of you bairns, to wish their mamma a good Hansel Monday." "Well but, Beaty, just answer me this one question," said a pertinacious little rogue, raising a curly bullet of a head from a well tumbled pillow;-"I'll go to sleep this instant if you will only tell me. Was that a guinea mamma sent out to get silver for ?-I wonder how much we'll get to our hansels?" "Oh, Jemmy, you should not be thinking about money after you have said your prayers,' whispered a fair-haired little girl, whom Beaty loved above all the rest; "you know that nurse says, the fairies can turn it all into chucky stones, if we think about money in our beds." "Tut, nonsense!" said Jemmy;-" Mary is always dreaming about the fairies, because papa calls her his little elf. Well, if I get five shillings for my hansel, I'll buy you a little green coaty, Mary, if you'll promise not to turn my money into chucky stones." Well, do not say another word about it, but go to sleep this instant. See, you are wakening Willie, and I'll have the whole pack of you up; and if that's the case, Jemmy, I'll positively leave you at home when we go to the shops in the morning." This terrible threat had the desired effect, for Beaty was known to reign despotic in the nursery; and her judgments being as merciful as just, they were never interfered with by Mrs. Seaton, the mother of these children. Sweet were the young voices, and the pattering of little feet, which assailed the happy parents' ears, as the little troop burst into their room to wish them a good Hansel Monday. Mr. Seaton kissed his children, and then led them to their mother's bed. The three elder of Beaty's charge could just on tiptoe reach the mother's lips; whilst the father helped a round face little girl to scramble up the bed, and Beaty held the crowing baby in her arms. "Now, little Jane, you must not sit on mamma's pillow," exclaimed the dauntless James; "for I know all our hansels are under it." No, not all," said the silver-tongued Mary, "for I see something very pretty peeping out on the other side. Oh, mamma, may I see what it is?" The mother smiled, and Mary drew out a little green silk frock, with silver clasps. "Oh, it is for me," said the happy child, "because I am papa's fairy!--And here is a doll for Jane, and a purse for James, and another for William; and a little one for me, I declare, besides my pretty frock!" "Oh, mamma and papa, how good you are!" exclaimed the joyous creatures, and the kisses were renewed. "Now, my little ones, you must go to break-ready come, and that Beaty has to attend to fast. Nurse, take your boy; his mother's kiss is all he cares for yet." May God bless my infant!" breathed the grateful mother, imprinting a kiss upon his rosy cheeks. To breakfast the little ones went; but what child who knows the value of a sixpence, and sces before him the toy-shop's boundless range, can look at "parritch," on a Hansel Monday! No! we may all remember the tumbled bed, the untasted breakfast, which told how unnecessary was sleep or food to the happy expectants of a day like this! And now the little coats, the worsted gloves, and snow-boots were duly buckled on, and the mother saw the joyous troop depart. She did not detain them with ill-timed cautions, lectures, or advice, to check the freedom of their wildest wishes; she stayed but for a moment her little Mary, and, wrapping the Indian shawl still closer on her breast, she bade Beaty take care of her gentle child. The two elder boys had already gone out with Mr. Seaton; and Fanny, being a little beyond Beaty's control, remained to accompany her mother. It was a pleasant sight for old and young, to behold the various groups of restless, happy beings, which that day crowded the far-stretched line of Prince's Street. Already were to be seen some impatient little urchins, the offspring of chicken-pecked mothers, returning with their load of gilded baubles from their carly walk. And passing them came upright, pale-faced girls the governess's pride! Poor things, one day of freedom might have been permitted you, just to gild the gloom of such a life of vain and heartless toil! And now came youthful mothers, and proud young papas, with riotous boys, and giggling rosy girls, as happy in the toy-shop as their children were. But amongst all the various throng, none were more naturally joyous than Beaty Lawson's brood. They were the children of a good old-fashioned nursery, where much kindness and little discipline kept all in order. Beaty knew nothing of the thousand methods and never-ending books, which are now thought necessary for the education of youth. But she had all her Bible by heart, and the greater part of Shakspeare, besides a superabundance of fairy tales, and romantic ballads; and the little Seatons knew no severer punishment than Beaty's declaring that she would not tell a story for a week. Never was an impure word or a base action known in Beaty's nursery. Her own mind was the mirror of purity and truth; her heart the seat of ardent and active feeling. The little Seatons felt it no penance to be confined to such a nursery. They looked upon it as privileged ground, where they could enact a thousand sports, sure of Beaty Lawson's assistance and applause. Even Sunday, that day of injudicious gloom to many, shone a holiday to them; nay, it was the happiest day of all the seven, for the pious father spent it with his children; and when retired from their parents, they had still to look to Beaty's Bible story; and whether it was to be Daniel in the lion's den-the children in the fiery furnace, or Mary's favourite Ruth, was the only question. But we must not forget that Monday is alother high behests. No light task was hers, to hear and answer the thousand questions and never-ending projects, as to what their exhaustless wealth might be equal to procure. But, before entering the tempting precincts of the toy-shop, Beaty's custom had ever been to exact from each child a tenth of its treasure, to be appropriated by her to some object of charity; and this being given with open heart and willing hand, there was no farther check to the disposal of the rest. It was delightful to listen to the various projected purchasesthe magnificent presents they intended to bestow. William knew his papa wanted a barometer, and did nurse think they would get it at the toy-shop, and that Mrs. Connel would give it him for half a crown? Then came a list of gifts, commencing with a satin gown for mamma, and ending with a tea-canister for Betty the cook. If these things were at last discovered to be beyond their grasp, and something humbler was suggested when in the toyshop, great at least had been their delight in talking of them, and Beaty was sure to make honourable mention of the first intention on their return home. And now the toy-shops having been ransacked, and the merits of goodhumoured Mrs. Connel been thoroughly discussed, another pleasure was still in store-a visit to George's Square, to taste old aunty Stewart's bun. This had always formed a part of the routine of Hansel Monday. As long as the little Seatons could remember George's Square, so long had aunty Stewart inhabited the same house, and sat at her little wheel in the same chair, just between the fire-place and the window. Her grey silk gown, her beautiful pinched cap, her silver hair and smooth unwrinkled skin, these had never altered. There stood the little table with her Bible, the newspapers and a volume of the Spectator, and from year to year these dear children had come, and still found all the same. The bright brass grate with its shining utensils, the mahogany cat, on which the frothy buttered toast was placed at breakfast, and the plates were warmed at dinner;-the china figures on the mantel-piece, where Sir John Falstaff, with his paunch stuffed full of fun, still stood so temptingly beyond their reach; these wellknown sights were sure to meet their eyes as the little folk marched into aunt Stewart's parlour. "Well, my bairns, and is this you?" said the good old lady laying aside her spectacles, and carefully marking with a pin the place in the newspaper she had been reading; for since her memory had begun to fail, she found this the surest way of making straight work of the pa pers." "Is this you, my bairns, come to wish your old aunty a good Hansel Monday, and tell her all your news? Mary, my little woinan, give Annie a cry; she'll be up in the store-room looking after the bun." But it was not necessary to hurry Annie, for she had heard the well-known little tongues in the parlour, and, "Is that the little Seatons?" in her kindly voice, was answered by their running to meet her as she came down the stair, with a beaming face, and a plate well heaped with short-bread and with bun. Annie, the unmarried daughter of Mrs. Stewart, was past the age of beauty, if she ever had possessed it; but there was a charm about the whole of the Stewart family far beyond that of beauty, although some of them had been eminent for loveliness,-their minds seemed never to grow old. There was within a springing well of warmth and kindliness, of cheerful thoughts and lively fun, which all the cares of this weary world had never checked. They had met with many trials, yet still they saw the bright side of every thing, and their lives seemed but a continual song of thankfulness to God. The children now being seated, the great coats unbuckled, the cold shoes taken off, and the little feet rubbed into a glow, a drop of Aunty's cordial and a piece of bun was duly administered to each. Then came the display of all the wonderful things which had been bought-the large Hansels which they had got; and how the little tongues did go about all that had been felt, seen, and done since the morning! Oh, what a pity that Hansel Monday should ever end! But Beaty Lawson reminded them that it was getting late, and they had still to visit cousin Stewart in his room. It was not to every one that this gentleman chose to show himself, and few besides the little Seatons dared to intrude on his Sanctum Sanctorum ; but they were always sure of a kind reception. How, with his kindly feelings and lively delight in every thing which looked young and happy, Mr. Stewart had remained a bachelor, was like many other wonders, never rightly understood. But there he sat surrounded by his books, the picture of content. His pen seemed never idle, yet what he wrote, or where it went, or if the world was ever the wiser for it, no one ever knew; but at all events he was the busiest and the happiest of men. Himself, his room, and all about him, was the picture of comfort, order and scrupulous tidyness. He had been a very handsome man, and when dress was more the distinguishing characteristic of a gentleman than it now is, his had still been conspicuous. Regularly as nine o'clock struck was Mr. Stewart to be seen under the hands of an ancient barber, who had shaved, powdered, and tied his cue for more than thirty years, discussing at the same time the politics of the day, mourning over the degeneracy of the times, and quitting his master with the daily renewed feeling, that it would be well for the country in general, and his pocket in particular, if there were many such gentlemen of the good old school. The entrance of the little cousins was preceded by a gentle tap from Mary, who, being the decided favourite, was the first to peer in her little head. bless the little creature-it is Queen Mab herself. "Come in, my little Fairy-God "And where got ye that gown sae gay, I got it in the Fairies' land, Where you have never been." And where are my little men, Jemmy and Willie?-Will your purses hold another halfcrown, boys? God bless their comely faces! Annie! have you given them plenty of shortbread? and Beaty, did you get a glass of wine? Remember, "Christmas comes but once a-year, But once a-year, but once a-year; So sung the old gentleman in the glee of his heart, rubbing his hands in pure delight. "And now, my little Fairy, you must give cousin Stewart his song." The little maid needed no second bidding, for she had sat and sung on cousin Stewart's knee, as long as she could remember, and still her song had been, "O gin my love were yon red rose, Into her bonny breast I'd fa'." He had heard her mother sing it when she was somewhat older than Mary; and, perhaps, that might account for the tears that dimmed the good man's eyes when he kissed the child, and said she was the image of her mother. But Beaty must now collect her flock and carry them off; for there was yet one visit to be paid, which her benevolent heart could not omit. It was a visit to the house of mourning. In one of those narrow closes which abound in the old part of the town of Edinburgh, lived a poor widow of the name of Gray. This day of happiness to many, rose to her the anniver sary of lasting sorrow. But it had not always been thus: No,- -one year ago and not the youngest heart on Hansel Monday had looked for fuller happiness than that of widow Gray. On that day twenty-two years before, she had been made the blessed mother of a thriving boy. He was her only child,-long wished for, and granted when hope was almost dead. He seemed to bring a blessing with him, for every thing had thriven with Agnes Gray since George's birth. Hansel Monday had been to her the happiest day of her life,-it was the birth-day of her child; and though she had since mourned over the grave of a kind husband, yet, when the day came round, the heart of Agnes still renewed her hymn of gratitude to God. That day twelve months past had been the day which the mother had fixed upon for the wedding of her son. "It was the happiest day of my life, George," said she, "and I would have it the happiest day of yours; and if God spare me to see your Peggy as blest a mother as I have been, then may I say, 'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.'" Thus, with his mother's blessing warm at his heart, and happiness brightening every feature, did the youthful bridegroom quit his parent's roof. He was to return in the evening with his bride, who was henceforward to be the inmate of his mother's dwelling. The widow had no fears or misgivings as to the worth or excellency of George's wife; for she had known and loved her from a child; and the first wish of her heart had been, that George should marry pretty Peggy Burns. The daylight had long passed away, and more than once had widow Gray trimmed the fire, and looked with pride and pleasure at the well-furnished room which was to be the abode of her new daughter. The hours passed by, and still they did not come; Oh, what could stay them now? And for the first time alarm arose in the mother's heart. She took her seat beside the fire, and tried to read her Bible; but her heart throbbed and fluttered so, it was in vain. At last she heard a noise, her ears could not be deceived, it was their footsteps on the stair. She hurried to the door with a light, a man, indeed, stood there; but the light fell upon the face of a stranger. "Who are you?" said the agitated mother. "Why do I see you here? My God; has any thing happened to my boy? Whose are those voices that I hear below?" And she would have rushed past him, but he caught her arm. "Come into the house," said the compassionate stranger, and I will tell you all."-" Oh, I know it all already;" said the mother; (6 my boy, my boy is gone!"-"No, he is not dead; believe me, my poor woman, your son lives, but he has been severely hurt, and they are now bringing him here at his own desire. I have dressed his wound and perhaps" The mother heard not what he said-she remained fixed to the spot-her eyes raised to heavenher heart in silent prayer, as if imploring God for strength to bear her misery. It was indeed a sight to harrow up the soul; her brave, her beautiful boy, was now brought back to his mother's house, and laid upon the bed, pale, bleeding, and almost lifeless. He was supported by the surgeon and some of the bridal party whilst his poor Peggy pressed close to his side, her face as white as her bridal garments. wedding guests were the first to observe him, and come to his assistance; he was carried into the house of his Peggy's father, and it was some time before he uttered a word. At last he opened his eyes; and as Peggy hung over him, he pressed her hand, and faintly uttered, "Let them carry me to my mother." After a while, however, he recovered so far, as to be able to give some account of what had happened. The surgeon who had been called in, having now made his appearance, the poor young man again petitioned to be taken to his mother's house; and seeing that quiet was not to be obtained where he was, the surgeon agreed to his immediate removal. All now having quitted the house of Mrs. Gray, except the surgeon and poor Peggy, the mother, with trembling hands, assisted to undress her son, and stood by while he was bled. The doctor now saw him laid quiet, and proposed to leave them for the night. He had given no hope he had said nothing; and the unhappy widow dared not to ask a question, for she read in his face the sentence of her son's death. Next morning, George desired to see the surgeon alone, and after conversing with him for some moments, he sent for Peggy. They remained for some time together, and when the mother entered the room, the poor girl was seated by the bed, holding the hand of her lover, paler if possible than before, but still, and silent, as death itself. now, "Mother, I have been telling Peggy what I need not tell you, for I saw you knew how it would be, when you laid me on this bed. And dear mother, I have only one wish, and that is to see our good minister, and once more hear his voice in prayer.-Oh! I hoped to have seen him perform an office far different from this! but the Lord's will be done." The good man came, and after a few words to the afflicted mother, he seated himself by the bed of her son. Peggy now rose for the first time, and taking the widow aside, she said some words in a low and earnest voice, but at that moment the minister called to them to kneel round George's bed, and then he prayed aloud with all the fervour of a feeling and a pious heart. His were indeed the words of eternal life; and as he poured out his spirit in prayer, this world, with all its sins and its sorrows, faded from their eyes. The mother asked not a question, but the facts were soon made known by those around her. Her son had arrived within a few paces of his father-in-law's door, when his attention was attracted to the opposite side of the street, The holy man now arose, and would have by the screams of a young girl, apparently left them, but Peggy starting forward, laid her struggling to disengage herself from the rude hand upon his arm with a look of earnest supattack of two young men. He stopt for a mo- plication, and tried to speak; but the effort was ment, but persuading himself they were only too much for her, and the mother then advanclaiming the privilege of Hansel Monday, to ced to explain her wishes. "If you think there obtain a kiss from a pretty girl, he prepared to is naething wrang in it, sir, Peggy wishes to be hurry on to his own appointment. A second made the wife of my poor boy." The minister appeal for help, however, in a voice of unequi- looked at the dying man, and shook his head. vocal terror and supplication, rendered him "Peggy knows that, sir," said widow Gray; ashamed of his momentary selfishness, and "she knows he has not many hours to live, but thinking of his own Peggy, he flew to the as- yet it is natural for her to wish And sistance of the poor girl. Forcibly seizing the then her father could let her live with me." arm of the most troublesome of the two ruf "And then," said Peggy, rousing herself to fians, he enabled the girl to make her escape; speak, "Oh! then, sir, I would be laid in " but at that moment, the other young man turn- She could not say the word, but George clasping upon George, threw him head foremosting her hand, added, "In my grave, Peggy! with all his force against the iron lamp-post. The blow was fatally severe, and he lay at their feet bleeding and senseless. A party of the is that you would say. God bless you, dearest, for the wish." The good man made no further objection, and their hands were now joined in wedlock. George's strength supported him through the sacred ceremony, and when the clergyman pronounced them man and wife, he opened his arms, received her to his bosom, and saying, "God bless my Peggy," he expired. Such was the story which the children had heard from their nurse soon after it had happened. Since then they had frequently visited the widow and her daughter, for Peggy had never left her mother-in-law. Though poor now, they were not altogether destitute, and the young widow added to their little stock, by taking in plain work. This was all she was able for. She had always been a delicate girl; and now sorrow, though quietly endured, was making deep inroads in her feeble frame. The cold of winter had borne hard upon Peggy; and when Beaty now saw her seated by the poor old woman, she felt that it would be difficult to say, whether the ripe fruit or the blighted flower was likely to be soonest taken. The children, with instinctive feeling, had hid their toys in Beaty's mantle as they ascended the stair. "Do not let poor Peggy see our playthings, to put her in mind of Hansel Monday," said little William. Poor things, it was kindly meant; but Hansel Monday was written in Peggy's heart in characters too deep to be ever effaced from it. As they softly entered, they found the widow seated by the fire, her wheel, for that day, was laid aside, while Peggy sat beside her with her open Bible upon her knee, apparently reading to her. "Do not let me interrupt you, Peggy," said the nurse; "our visit must be very short; but my bairns have brought Agnes and yourself some little things to show their good-will, for they well know it is not what this world can now bestow that is any thing to you."-"That is true," said Peggy, clasping her Bible to her breast, "this book is my best treasure; and oh! may these dear bairns feel it to be such even in their young days of happiness and joy! So may God spare them the sore lesson He saw fit that I should learn; yet sweet are the uses of adversity."-"Yes," said the old woman, "Peggy children, amongst all the happy faces you have seen to-day, think that God has forgotten us. No; he has made his face to shine upon us in all our sorrow, and filled our hearts with peace, and hope, and joy! Poor Peggy had but one care when she rose this morning, and felt how weak she was; and even that is now removed, for both our good minister, and your dear mother, have been here to-day, and they have promised Peggy that if it pleased the Lord that she should join him that's before his poor old mother does, they will take care of her. So now her poor heart is at rest, and we can both wait for God's good time in peace." The children now bestowed their little gifts, and received the blessing of the widow and her daughter. Their little hearts were full, and the tears stood in their bright eyes when they departed. But at their age, such tears may purify, but do not long sadden, the heart. doesna mean to murmur. And do not, dear gone, -Think-wouldst thou part with all? Fill with forgetfulness!-there are, there are, Fill high the oblivious bowl! Yet pause again!—with Memory wilt thou cast That make such visions bright? Fill with forgetfulness, fill high!-yet stay-Tis from the past we shadow forth the land, Where smiles long lost, again shall light our way, And the soul's friends be wreath'd in one bright band: Pour the sweet waters back on their own rill, I must remember still! |
