while the fruitless search went on! Young Watson's escape having no doubt reached the ears of government, Mr. Holl was liberated, after enduring much anxiety of mind and body.

Young Watson reached America in safety, and strange as it may appear, Mr. Holl never heard from him but once, and that "his best remembrance conveyed to him in some letter to a friend. He lived but a few years, and died in exile, and we believe in distress. His family-who ever testified the greatest gratitude for his preservation-remained some years in England, but the Doctor's patient industry in the carrying out his schemes for political freedom, and Parliamentary Reform, removed him in a great measure from the practice of his profession, in consequence of which he made but a scanty living. After some years of hardship and endurance, he left with his family for America, and no communication has ever been received to tell if they are dead or living.

The good genius that seemed to wait upon Young Watson's steps is evidenced by the number and singularity of his escapes. That he had great presence of mind, and strength of nerves, is instanced by the readiness with which he availed himself of the young woman's fainting on board the vessel, as a means to take suspicion off himself, and it is still more worthy of remark, that of the many persons in whose power his life was trusted, none betrayed him, although tempted by a heavy reward-—a fortune to a poor man— -and nearly all were poor. In the midst of poverty and distress, he found fast friends, who sheltered-aided -and finally assisted him in his escape.

There is no fable mixed with this narrative. It is homely truth, and a sense of duty, and a justice to the dead, has alone imposed the task. The agitation of the times in which these occurrences took place has passed away. The ends for which so many toiled, in later days have been achieved; and we are now reaping the full harvest of what was sowed by patient toil in struggle with misrule, which viewed with jealous eye encroachments on its policy and power. The times are gone when agitation for political reform was met with cord and scaffold. Quietly and steadily it has kept its march, and the still growing murmur of a people's discontent, has carried out its purpose and its will. And we now look back, almost with distrust, to times so little passed, when treason could be gathered from a household gossip, and a man's hearth be no security from a minister's suspicion, or a

spy's mistrust. And without wishing to uphold the rashness and intemperance which brought upon this young man, whose adventures have been detailed, so much sad consequence, we must still make some allowance for oppression then endured, and the necessities which in part led to the nine days' wonder of Young Watson, and the Riots of 1816."

66

H. HOLL

THE TWIN BROTHER.

THE Brothers of La Trappe were allowed no intercourse with the world that lay beyond the walls of their Convent; they had hardly learned the demise of one king when they had lived several years under the rule of another. The death of their kindred was only announced by their religious Superior requesting the prayers of the congregation for the soul of a brother or sister who had passed The dead were not mentioned by name. The labour allotted to the Monks was peculiarly severe; they were hewers of wood and drawers of water. All loves beyond that of Heaven and God were banished their domicile; they were laid to die on a bed of dust and ashes. The scenery around was of the most dreary kind, consisting of dark woods and a stagnant lake.

away.

FATHER! spread out mine ashy bed,
For dust with dust is blending fast,
Far o'er the Future light is shed-
Yet pause with me upon the past!
Tho' I have crucified desire,
And in the altar's holy fire,
Have made a holocaust of all
That does not lie beyond the pall;

Tho' I have fasted, watched, and wept,
One altar human love hath kept-
One altar in the heart that gave
Itself to God and to the grave!
The love of woman-it hath fled
The aching fast and horse-hair vest--
Such light temptation was not spread
For this emaciate stricken breast-
The short-lived, feverish, fond untruth-
I learned its worth in stormy youth.
The pride of human pomp and power-
Say-lives it in this awful hour?
When false and failing, blank and drear,
The fairest dreams of earth appear,
And hope scarce triumphs over fear!

When dimly in the soul's dark skies
The heavenly moon of faith can rise-
Of my old self remains one thing,
To which long years no changes bring-
One love, I ne'er could bend nor break
With it—Oh God! my heart thou’lt take!

Father! I had a brother born

With me, on one fair summer morn;
And the first face that met mine eye,
Beaming with innocence and love,
Was that twin-brother's-ever nigh;
And, like the young of the wild dove,
We lay within one happy nest,

Were formed and fed in one dear breast.
Father that love it seemed to grow
E'en with our stature and our strength;
So streamlets gather as they flow,
And roll in mighty tide at length.
I seemed of him, and he of me,
Knit by some wond'rous sympathy;
Yet we were different; I was grave,
To sad foreboding e'er a slave.
On me the shadow of the tomb
Fell with a dull and sullen gloom;
Life was a feverish troub❜lous thing-
Passion-repentance-suffering-

and

prayer,

Wild gleams of joy, then Scourge
To this sad birthright I was heir;
God's judgments, in their deadliest guise,
Hung as a darkness o'er mine eyes;
While my bright brother could but see
The mercies of the Deity-
Long-suffering-patient-loving-mild,
As mother with a sickly child,
Averting lingering judgments due,
Carrying, like lambs, the blessed few,
Healing old griefs by mercies new—
These were his visions.
Promised in life a heavenly bliss,
And he was glad with hope and mirth,
Enjoying all things from his birth
Wisely and well-the gifts of Heaven,
As blessings, not temptations given.

Faith like this

Father! when settled on my soul
A sorrow hopeless-past controul,

On my horizon's gathering night
Our love yet shed one gleam of light;
But I would live and pray alone,
And yield an undivided heart
For the Eternal Spirit's throne,
A temple consecrate, apart,

From whose pure courts all thought was driven,
All hope, but that of Death and Heaven.
And I came here,-I need not tell

Thee of my penitence and pain;
Within the walls of this dim cell

I've wrestled with my heart in vain :
His image haunts the fevered sleep
That fainting nature steals from prayer;
When Angels with me vigil keep

The face of my twin-born they wear-
The only one that ne'er deceived,
That I, in darkest mood, believed.
His voice upon our anthem swells,
He sighs amid the parting knells;
My brother at my side hath stood,
Viewless, in this deep darksome wood,
Where the oak's knotted trunk I hewed,
And granite blocks to atoms broke,
And strove, amid the solitude,

To tame my spirit to the yoke:
Then, from the long grass at my feet,
There rose a murmur low and sweet;
Fancy in human utterance wove
The rustling of the wind-stirred grove;
The hollow reeds, around the lake,
With mortal's anguish seemed to quake,
While on the silence thrilled his tone,
Plaintive as parting spirit's moan-
"Brother! why leave me thus alone?
All the temptations shunned by thee
Yet gather darkly over me.'

Father! I may not paint my dread,
When, at our vespers, thou hast said,
"Pray, brethren, for the kindred dead!
Unto his rest hath passed away
A kinsman's spirit-let us pray!"
Oh! then, I thought of my twin-born,
Was it for him they bade me mourn ?-
And had he died, and I afar ?-
Parted his soul in grief and pain?

And did he whisper, from yon star,
I'd taught him trust in man was vain ?

Father! 'tis years since I have heard
Of him, or from him, news or word :
The chestnut hair, that decked his brow,
Is, doubtless, streaked with silver now;
And o'er his clear eye's laughing light
Gather the shades of coming night;
While, from his tones, have passed away
The thrilling joy and melody:

Yet should I know him were the change
Deeper and sadder than my thought.
Oh! what may sever, what estrange
That tie amid our being wrought?
How it hath fared with him in life,
Alas! it is not mine to know;
I've loved him thro' the weary strife,
'Mid hopeless prayer, and causeless woe:
For him my parting spirit yearns,
And o'er Time's backward path returns.

There, on Heaven's threshold, in the light,
Golden and roseate, there he stands-
As in life's morning young and bright,
With beaming brow, and outstretch'd hands-
Father! he seems awaiting me

To enter in Eternity!

MRS. ACTON TINDAL.

CLUB-CROTCHETS AND CHEAP COMFORTS;

BEING

CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE WHITTINGTON FUND.

No. IV. OUR BEHAVIOUR.

A FEW paragraphs on the behaviour of full-grown men and women, may be thought by some to savour more of the fopperies of Aywyos, with his precepts how to sneeze, which leg to put foremost, what compliments suit teens, and what belong to ties, &c., than befits the plainness of the Shilling Magazine, or the dignity of a popular assembly, like our Cheap Club. And yet, seeing