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mander and his beggarly crew, pulled down my old daub of the Bear and Ragged Staff, and erected this, my own handywork, as a most appropriate symbol of the title of my house. They're cut, sir-woundily cut, take my word for't-the Bear and Ragged Staff, sir, eh! and all fac-similes, eh, sir, eh! But you haven't tasted my punch."

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I excused myself from mine host's pressing invitation to sip a bowl or so" with him, but accepted the tender of a slight repast in the best room. A polished oaken tri-cornered cupboard occupied a nook by the fire-side. It was gorged with cracked punch bowls, odd cups, silver tea-spoons, chipped porcelain dishes, with their damaged parts dexterously turned inwards; but in spite of the crafty good wife's stratagem, the looking-glass which lined the little buffet, on the most trivial scrutiny, betrayed the gaps and seams in the reputation of her treasures. The Marquis of Granby, with his bald head, elaborate waistcoat skirts, and gilt truncheon perched on his hip, held the most conspicuous station above the hearth; while the notorious Turpin, and gentlemanly Hind, in carved wooden frames, were gibbetted above him. One side of the room was decorated only with a fading sampler, "worked by Dorothea Kirby, anno domini, 1777,"-with the ten commandments nearly legible in its body, and at the base of their inclosure bearing a prim sky-blue tree, a party-colored dolphin on its topmost spray, and supported by two pert little birds with furled wings and gaping beaks, perched on nothing, about the centre of the tree's trunk. On the opposite side of the room, a glass of goodly dimensions, but betraying ragged-edged spots from which time had dislodged the quicksilver, set in a dingy branching frame, and crowned by a noble stag's front and horns-gleamed above an ancient oval table, whereon was a pyramid made up of a folding draught board, Fox's Book of Martyrs, an old edition of immortal Crusoe, and a tobacco box divided into two compartments, in one of which was a rich store of the precious weed, and the other exhibited a longitudinal aperture for the reception of small coin, and a shrewd memento of honesty inscribed on its polished rim.

After quaffing a few bumpers of the goodwife's bright ambercolored ale, I walked forth to the village-green. A group of athletic young men were wrestling in the smoothest part of the

sward, while the elders of the place looked on with folded arms, dreaming of some youthful feats. The magic notes of some well known fiddle suddenly burst forth from the lawn of the adjacent park; in an instant every sport was adjusted, and the players unanimously decamped. I followed them at my leisure, and when I arrived at the spot from whence the music proceeded, the young girls, in their holiday dresses, were linked with the lads they loved, and dancing with all their might to the sounds which emanated from the fiddle of a merry-looking ebony-visaged footman, in gorgeous livery, who apparently was one of the domestics from the great house on the hill. He had taken his station in the centre of the several parties, as the great sun of the system, and seemed deeply intent on making each perform its allotted evolutions in harmonious order. His elbows, fingers, tongue, eyes, and legs, were in constant and most turbulent motion; and his head gallopped round and round like a weathercock vexed by a varying wind. Occasionally he would subside into comparative stillness, look fiercely into his fiddle, and flourish his bow with redoubled vigor. A good humored old woman, in a prim kerchief and cotton gown, whose immense and many-colored pattern was a wilderness of flowers and fruits, interwoven and rambling in all directions, defying every law of gravity and nature, and a carefully-starched cap, which rose up like a pyramid above her head-bustled about with a bottle of her own currant wine in one hand, and a mottled glass goblet in the other, ministering cold draughts to the burning lips of the merry dancers and their vigorous musician. I soon discovered that it was the wedding night of the gamekeeper's blooming daughter, who inhabited a cottage near at hand. They warmly pressed me to partake of their rustic festivity. The old woman with the high-cauled cap and mottled glass goblet would hear no refusal, and insisted on my drinking joy to the young couple. My inquisitive glances soon detected the bride, by her comely blushes, and her happy but down-looking eyes. She was arrayed in simple white, with a wreath of pure maidenly lilies and constant evergreens woven in her light tresses, and a few meek violets and primroses smiling and nestling beneath her young bosom. I remained with the happy merrymakers until the young moon had risen from her soft cloudy

pillow, and departed for my Village Inn, after conferring a hearty benison on the young couple, in the language of the good old poet :

"On your minutes, hours, days, months, years,
Drop the fat blessings of the spheres ;
That good which heaven can give
To make you bravely live,

Fall like a spangling dew
By day and night on you;
May fortune's lily hand
Open at your command,

With all the lucky birds, to side

With the bridegroom and the bride."

On my return I found the pulpy old lady of the house seated in state on the rocking chair, with her infant grandchild sleeping on her broad lap, and the whole of the female part of the household, with one ruddy-cheeked blinking but delighted urchin, gathered around her, and listening with open mouths to her heart-chilling legendary tales. At the sound of the bustle which my return excited, the busy and officious host made his appearance in his night-cap and dressing gown, and after apologising for his " pickle," asked my permission to show me to my chamber himself. The bedstead, he assured me, was the first fruit of his talents and labour as a handicraftsman ; he had never been able to surpass its beauty or convenience— it was his pride, his glory-he would not barter it for a manor. The bolster, he said, was of pigeons' feathers, on which man could never die: they were plucked with his own hands : and the poppies and down that were in the soft pillow, were gathered by himself in his evening walks. I closed my latch as he turned his back, saying, "It was useless to wish my honor a good night, for, heaven be praised, I should certainly sleep as light as a young lark."

I awoke in the morning cheerful and refreshed, and on putting aside the grape tendrils and woodbines which shaded my casement, discovered mine host's youngest daughter, under his immediate surveillance, turning up the green leaves and shooting tendrils in quest of ripe strawberries for my morning's repast.

"IF I FORSAKE THEE."

AN UNPUBLISHED POEM, BY LORD BYRON.

[The following lines were given at Venice, in 1818, to an officer of rank in the English service, by the late Lord Byron, and have hitherto never appeared in print. The kindness of the possessor has permitted us to gratify the world with a copy of them. They are here given verbatim from the original in the hand-writing of the noble bard. Even without this being authenticated, the writer would be apparent by his style.

If I forsake thee, early be my tomb,
My bed untended, and unwept my doom;
Around my grave let no fresh verdure spring,
No plaintive bird within its precincts sing:
Let no fair flower adorn my turfy bed,
No violets spring, no roses lift their head:
But there let weeds, and noxious nightshade thrive;
There only what to life is fatal, live.

So shall mankind avoid the hated place,
Shunned and detested by the brutal race :
All but the shrieking owl, and bat obscene,
Shall fly the relics of a thing so mean.

But if, as Heaven is witness, such shall be;
Death only can divorce my heart from thee:
If this fond breast shall heave its parting sigh,
Loth only, as 'tis leaving thee, to die.
Then let affliction drop the pious tear,
The tribute sacred to the heart sincere :

Let not the gaudy pomps of seeming woe,
The paltry debt that pride to pride may owe-
Let, while surviving summers still are thine;

Ed.]

Let all thy thoughts, thy tenderest thoughts, be mine:
And when thy peaceful course fulfilled in this,
Thy fate shall call thee to the world of bliss,
In one sepulchral mansion let us rest,
By the same simple grassy tomb comprest;
Let mingling urns our mutual loves requite,
And death which parted once, once more unite!

1813.

BYRON.

FORCE OF ELOQUENCE.

Polemo, who succeeded Xenocrates in the direction of the academy, was an Athenian of distinguished birth, and in the earlier part of his life a man of loose morals. The manner in which he was reclaimed from the pursuit of infamous pleasures and brought under the discipline of philosophy, affords a memorable example of the power of eloquence employed in the cause of virtue.

As Polemo was one morning, about the rising of the sun, returning home from the revels of the night, clad in a loose robe, crowned with garlands, strongly perfumed, and intoxicated with wine, he passed by the school of Xenocrates, and saw him surrounded with his disciples. Unable to resist so fortunate an opportunity of indulging his sportive humour, he rushed, without ceremony, into the school, and took his place among the philosophers. The whole assembly was astonished at this rude and indecent intrusion, and all but Xenocrates discovered signs of resentment. Xenocrates, however, preserved the perfect command of his countenance; and with great presence of mind, turned his discourse from the subject on which he was treating to the topics of temperance and modesty, which he recommended with such strength of argument, and energy of language, that Polemo was constrained to yield to the force of conviction. Instead of turning the philosopher and his doctrine into ridicule, as he at first intended, he became sensible of the folly of his former conduct; was heartily ashamed of the contemptible figure which he had made in so respectable an assembly; took his garland from his head; concealed his naked arm under his cloak; assumed a sedate and thoughtful aspect; and, in short, resolved from that hour to relinquish his licentious pleasures, and devote himself to the pursuit of wisdom. Thus was this young man, by the powerful energy of truth and eloquence, in an instant converted from an infamous libertine to a respectable philosopher.

In such a sudden change it is difficult to avoid passing from one extreme to another. Polemo, after his reformation, in order to brace up his mind to the tone of rigid virtue, constantly practised the severest austerity, and the most hardy G. 28.

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