I endeavoured to appear as if I did not feel the insult, and said nothing in my own defence. When the company, however, overpowered by drink, had all sunk into sleep, I seized my knapsack, found my way out through an open window, and, before a soul was on the road, set out in the first fogs of the morning to pursue my journey. My manner of escaping prevented any person knowing what was become of me; and Steinacker's efforts to find me, of which I afterwards heard, were unavailing, because I could procure no work in the city to which he was going, and was obliged, on the following day, to seek another home. I was afterwards more fortunate; and though sitting behind a loom now appeared a monotonous miserable life, yet I was obliged to submit, and happy, by this means, to obtain food. I was fortunate in making myself agreeable by the goodness of my manners and my industry, and I had many occasions to know that a man becomes immediately interesting to the other sex when his melancholy and solitariness give them to understand that he carries in his bosom the unhealing wounds of an unfortunate attachment. The reader will scarcely be interested by anything concerning the several masters whom I served, nor by anything concerning the masters' daughters, who severally appeared to cherish a soft and kind regard for me. I shall therefore pass over a period of two years and a half, and again take up my story, as a letter at this time recalled me home, by the news that my mother was dangerously ill. It was on a beautiful spring evening, after a long journey of nearly three hundred miles, that I approached my native village. It would be in vain to attempt to describe my feelings when I first saw the aged pines on a hill in the clergyman's garden, rising far and proudly above the other surrounding trees. Doubt and anxiety, curiosity and desire, fear and hope, followed one another rapidly through my troubled mind; my heart beat quick, and the perspiration stood in great drops on my forehead as I entered my mother's house at the beginning of night. From her sick-bed she stretched out her arms to welcome me; overpowered by sorrow and grief I threw myself on my knees beside her; speechless sighs were our only greeting after our three years' separation, and it was only by tears that our hearts were made easy. A single glance at the scantiness of the furniture convinced me that many unpleasant changes had taken place during my absence, and that my mother had become much poorer than when I left home. Nor was | I long in learning that she had been reduced to the greatest poverty by having been robbed and by a very long sickness. This news destroyed all my courage, and all the hopes I had nourished till this moment were at once overthrown. Nothing was, however, to be gained by giving myself up to the gloomy despair that at first seized me. Courage and exertion were necessary, for on me now depended my sick and affectionate parent. Something must be immediately done to stop increasing misery. I gave up at once and for ever my plan, long nourished in secret, of gaining back Lina's affections. It was not possible, under my circumstances, to talk to her of love; and I employed myself in procuring, by mortgaging our house, as much money as would buy me the necessary materials for carrying on my trade. It was with difficulty I gained my ends. The house was old and in want of repairs. Wind and rain found a free passage in many places, and it promised, ere long, to fall entirely in ruins. Nobody, therefore, liked to lend me money on it, and it cost me much trouble before I could place myself in a situation to begin work. Even then I was in want of employers; the guild funds were extremely low, and with a sorrowful heart did I see our situation growing daily worse. Not to make my joyless existence still more miserable, I had carefully avoided any communication with Lina, and had only saluted her in passing, when I had carefully turned away my eyes as speedily as possible. I had, however, remarked that the charms of youthful grace and loveliness were still spread over her in all their former full measure. I was separated only by a wall from the most affectionate of all the daughters of Eve; and yet separated, by unconquerable difficulties, for ever. wandered about, when I reflected on this, like a miserable criminal, and was incapable of entertaining one pleasant thought. I One evening, as I sat at the window in this melancholy mood, I heard the noise of a carriage, which stopped at our neighbour's door, and, in spite of the feeble light, I saw Lina's mother descend and enter the house in company with a man, and the carriage immediately drove off. "Perhaps Lina's bridegroom!" was my first thought, which, with anxiety, weighed heavy on my soul. Nor could I get rid of this supposition by all the arts of reason. obtain certainty, or to relieve the horrid fear, if possible, I quitted the house, and pryed into Lina's. The little room into which I looked was well lighted, and formed, from the comfort which apparently reigned there, a strong To mained for a time of greater need. We hired a house at the farther end of the village, and the impatience of the new proprietor drove us speedily away from the place where we had passed so many years. We felt this severely, but I was doomed to be yet more humiliated. My loom was scarcely erected in our new house when Steinacker sent me a large parcel of yarn to weave into linen as quickly and as well as possible. It was the first work I had received since I had been admitted a master. Lina's hand might be traced in the fineness and equality of the thread, and thus my first per contrast with our dwelling. It was not possible | it; and after paying all our debts a little rethis alteration could have been effected by the spinning-wheel; and the whole riddle would have been inexplicable, had not a closer in spection of the persons sitting at table cleared it up. With astonishment I saw that the man who had accompanied Lina's mother into the house was Steinacker. He appeared quite at home. Lina sat close by his side, and had her arm laid in a most familiar manner on his shoulder. Her gestures were so cheerful, and she appeared so perfectly friendly with Steinacker, that I cried for vexation. Immediately I thought I had found the clue to the whole matter. On that evening, so full of adven-formance was to form a part of her dowry. In tures, when Steinacker had questioned me so closely about Lina and her mother, I had displayed my eloquence at the expense of my discretion; and, in the fulness of my heart, had sketched so charming a picture of Lina that he had been tempted to visit her, had found appearance justify my praises, and had thought her an admirable assistant in that quiet plan of life he meant to follow. He had fallen desperately in love with her-how could it be otherwise?-had thrown his well-stuffed purse on the table, and everything was right. These were the thoughts with which I left my post of observation, and returned home bitterly vexed. It might be perhaps some hours after this when Steinacker entered our house. He was perhaps astonished at the appearance I made, sitting still and silent in the corner, for it was some time before he was able to speak. At length he began to reproach me for my secret flight from the public-house-spoke of a distant relationship between him and Lina's motheralluded to the service I had rendered him, and said he still cherished the wish to show me his gratitude. I repeated that I was already rewarded, and assured him that I was now, as then, far from wishing to make any use of his offer. He called me obstinate and capricious, spoke in a dark sort of manner of domestic comforts, and closed his tiresome conversation by making me an offer of buying our old house. I was glad to get rid of him by referring him for an answer till to-morrow. On this he left me and took up his night's quarters at our neighbour's. a sorrowful mood I began the piece, and chose rather to labour at night when everything about me was still. In the meantime I learned that our former house and the neighbouring one were pulled down, and that a new stone one was building in their place with great haste. This was sufficient reason for my hastening with the web, which, as I had little else to do, was soon completed. It was sent home, and as it was extremely disagreeable to me to think of being paid for it, poor as I was, I imagined a thousand means of rejecting any reward which might be offered. My cares were, however, at present ill-founded. Steinacker said nothing of payment, but expressed his satisfaction at the work, and sent me another parcel of yarn to be woven into cloth. In this manner the summer passed gradually away, no smile had ever mixed with the melancholy that had now become habitual to me. My mother, indeed, had recovered so much as to be at present out of danger, but this was the only consolation I enjoyed. By my retired manner of living I can safely say I had no hand in unfairly spreading my reputation as a clever weaver, but in truth, such an account was gradually given of me. Good friends may, perhaps, have spoken of me; perhaps Steinacker himself; but certain it is, that at this time I had more work than two persons could perform. The second web for him had long been done and he said nothing of payment. I could not believe that he had guessed my wishes, and though I felt contented with his silence, I was at a loss to My mother, on my representation that it explain it. At length he appointed me to was impossible we could retain and repair our come to him at a particular hour on a Sunday house, consented to part with it, and the con- evening, requesting me at the same time to tract for selling it to Steinacker was concluded stay to supper with him. I went at the apwithout much difficulty. What he offered and pointed hour, but with the firm determination gave for it was a mere trifle, but my wish to of refusing all payment, and of leaving him to get far away from Lina made me readily accept | eat his supper alone; and now, for the first time, I saw the new house, which I had hitherto | carefully avoided. The owner received me in a cheerful room close to the door, asked me to sit at a table covered with a green cloth, and requested my account. Now began our dispute. I persisted I had no account to give, that I was happy in this way to show my gratitude for the money advanced on our house, and that I had always resolved not to take anything for the linen. He said the workman was worthy of his hire; that he could not hear of such untimely generosity; that I was an obstinate fellow, but that he knew a way to bend me, which he would soon employ, if I did not give in. In the midst of our dispute somebody rang at the outer door; Steinacker opened it, and, by the aid of the light in the room, I saw a female, whom I believed to be my mother. This supposition added considerably to my confusion, and, when Steinacker returned, as I was again defending my opinion, and constantly blundering from one thing to another, I at last said the yarn was spun by Lina, and that there was no necessity for a third person to interfere between us. At this moment Steinacker clapped his hands and laughed aloud. To my astonishment a sidedoor opened, and Lina, with her mother and my own, entered. I stood as if rooted to the spot, felt as if all my limbs were paralyzed, and stared at them all, one after another, without saying a word. Steinacker put an end to this by conducting Lina to me, and assuring me that the elected of my heart had always been true to me, and that, now he had done everything necessary to cancel an old debt, nothing was wanting to complete our happiness, if the interference of a third person was not declared to be of no use or value. But who could think this? It now turned out that Steinacker was a half-brother of Lina's mother, and had resided here a twelvemonth, constantly occupied in carrying a project into execution he had formed on the first evening of our wonderful acquaintance. There was no deception; Lina hung on my arm, I could press her to my heart; and the founder of our fortunes wished us happiness and joy by his smiles. "Is it possible," said I to Lina, "that you have constantly thought of our former friendship, though I insulted you so rudely? Can you always have loved me, when I formerly treated you so ill?" "Always," said she, with a glance that was more convincing than her words; "and I have even preserved more carefully than, from circumstances, you suppose, perhaps, the present which I formerly received from your hand." At these words she drew away the green cloth, and, with joyful surprise, I there saw the very red cock which I myself had formerly made for her. He was now pasted on the middle of the table, and destined to be the lasting ornament of this piece of furniture. A paper with the magistrate's seal lay near it. Times and customs change," said Steinacker. "Formerly the cock gave you pennies to satisfy your boyish appetites; now he gives you a stone-built house to dwell in, and large enough for you to supply old Steinacker with a place of repose for the rest of his days." "The cock," said I, “had no need to give any orders on this point." Here, then, do I gaily and cheerfully, as I began, conclude my narration. I live in a well-built, airy, roomy house, have been for some time united to Lina, rejoice in the daily increase of my business, and expect shortly that a young Godfred will hail me with the name of father. In taking leave of the welldisposed reader, I cannot do less than entreat the favour of his company at the expected christening. From the German of PRATZEL THE SANDS OF DEE. 'O Mary, go and call the cattle home, The western wind was wild and dank with foam, The creeping tide crept up along the sand, The blinding mist came down, and hid the land: Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair- A drowned maiden's hair Was never salmon yet that shone so fair They rowed her in across the rolling foam, But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home CHARLES KINGSLEY. LAURA'S BOWER. THE CELEBRATED CANZONE OF PETRARCH, BEGINNING "CHIARE, FRESCHE, E DOLCE ACQUE." Clear, fresh, and dulcet streams, Which the fair shape, who seems To me sole woman, haunted at noon-tide; Bough, gently interknit, (I sigh to think of it) Which form'd a rustic chair for her sweet side; And turf, and flow'rs bright-eyed, O'er which her folded gown Flow'd like an angel's down; And you, O holy air and hush'd, Where first my heart at her sweet glances gush'd; Give ear, give ear, with one consenting, To my last words, my last and my lamenting. If 'tis my fate below, And Heav'n will have it so, That love must close these dying eyes in tears, May my poor dust be laid In middle of your shade, While my soul, naked, mounts to its own spheres. The thought would calm my fears, When taking, out of breath, The doubtful step of death; For never could my spirit find A stiller port after the stormy wind: Nor in more calm, abstracted bourne, Slip from my travaill'd flesh, and from my bones out worn. Perhaps some future hour, To her accustom'd bower, Might come th' untamed, and yet the gentle she; And where she saw me first, Might turn with eyes athirst, And kinder joy to look again for me; Then, oh the charity! Seeing betwixt the stones The earth that held my bones, A sigh for very love at last Might ask of Heaven to pardon me the past; As with her gentle veil she wiped the tears away. How well I call to mind, When from those bowers the wind Shook down upon her bosom flower on flower; In midst of all that pride, And seem'd to dress the curls, Some, snowing, on her drapery stopp'd, Some on the earth, some on the water dropp'd; While others, flutt'ring from above, Seem'd wheeling round in pomp, and saying, "Here reigns Love." How often then I said, Inward, and fill'd with dread, -"Doubtless this creature came from Paradise!” For at her look the while, Her voice, and her sweet smile, And heav'nly air, truth parted from mine eyes: So that, with long-drawn sighs, I said, as far from men, "How came I here, and when?" I had forgotten; and, alas! Fancied myself in heav'n, not where I was; And from that time till this I bear Such love for the green bower, I cannot rest elsewhere. LEIGH HUNT. EXTRACTS FROM THE [William Cowper, born in Berkhampstead, Hertfordshire, 15th November (old style), 1731; died 5th April, 1800. He was the son of the rector of Great Berkhampstead. At the age of eighteen he entered a solicitor's office in London, where he remained three years. He then took chambers in the Middle Temple and studied for the bar. In 1763 the influence of a relative obtained for him the appointment of Clerk of the Journals of the House of Lords. Before this appointment was confirmed, however, he was unexpectedly required to stand an examination at the bar of the House to show his fitness for the post. His anxiety on this account so much affected his over-sensitive nature that be became insane and attempted to commit suicide. His friends removed him to St. Alban's and placed him under the care of Dr. Cotton, where he remained until his recovery in 1765. His insanity assumed the form of religious despondency; and the malady unhappily returned to him at three subsequent periods. It was not until the winter of 1780-1 that he prepared his first volume of poems, comprising Table Talk, Hope, The Progress of Brror, &c., which was published two years afterwards. In 1785 appeared the Task and Tirocinium, the former, as is well known, having been suggested to the poet by the widow of Sir Robert Austen. His translation of Homer occupied him six years, and was published in 1791. His last composition, The Castaway, was written in 1799, during a brief interval of relief from the affliction which darkened the six years preceding his death.] to publish, and I were to be summoned to at- Whoever means to take my phiz will find himself sorely perplexed in seeking for a fit occasion. That I shall not give him one, is certain; and if he steals one, he must be as cunning and quick-sighted a thief as Autolycus himself. His best course will be to draw a face, and call it mine, at a venture. They who have not seen me these twenty years will say, It may possibly be a striking likeness now, though it bears no resemblance to what he was: time makes great alterations. They who know me better will say perhaps, Though it is not perfectly the thing, yet there is somewhat of the cast of his countenance. If the nose was a little longer, and the chin a little shorter, the eyes a little smaller, and the forehead a little more protuberant, it would be just the man. And thus, without seeing me at all, the artist may represent me to the public eye with as much exactness as yours has bestowed upon you, though, I suppose, the original was full in his view when he made the attempt. I have often promised myself a laugh with you about your pipe, but have always forgotten it when I have been writing, and at present I am not much in a laughing humour. You will observe, however, for your comfort and the honour of that same pipe, that it hardly falls within the line of my censure. You never fumigate the ladies, or force them out of company; nor do you use it as an incentive to hard drinking. Your friends, indeed, have reason to complain that it frequently deprives them of the pleasure of your own conversation while it leads you either into your study or your garden; but in all other respects it is as Nov. 30, 1783. MY DEAR FRIEND,-I have neither long visits to pay nor to receive, nor ladies to spend hours in telling me that which might be told in five minutes, yet often find myself obliged to be an economist of time, and to make the most of a short opportunity. Let our station be as retired as it may, there is no want of playthings and avocations, nor much need to seek them, in this world of ours. Business, or what presents itself to us under that imposing character, will find us out, even in the stillest retreat, and plead its importance, however trivial in reality, as a just demand upon our attention. It is wonderful how by means of such real or seeming necessities my time is stolen away. I have just time to observe that time is short, and by the time I have made the observation, time is gone. I have wondered in former days at the patience of the antediluvian world; that they could endure a life almost millenary, with so little variety as seems to have fallen to their share. It is probable that they had much fewer employments than we. Their affairs lay in a narrower compass; their libraries were indifferently furnished; philosophical researches were carried on with much less industry and acuteness of penetration; and fiddles, perhaps, were not even invented. How then could seven or eight hundred years of life be supportable? I have asked this question formerly, and been at a loss to resolve it; but I think I can answer it now. I will suppose myself born a thousand years before Noah was born or thought of. I rise with the sun; I worship; I prepare my breakfast; I swallow a bucket of goat's-milk, and a dozen good sizable cakes. I fasten a new string to my bow, and my youngest boy, a lad of about thirty years of age, having played with my arrows till he has stripped off all the feathers, I find myself obliged to repair them. The morning is thus spent in preparing for the chase, and it is become necessary that I should dine. I dig up my roots; I wash them; I boil them; I find them not done enough; I boil them again; my wife is angry; we dispute; we settle the point; but in the meantime the fire goes out, and must be kindled again. All this is very amusing. I hunt; I bring home the prey; with the skin of it I mend an old coat, or I make a new |