Did such "a nose" haunt my bitterest foe, I should wish him no severer punishment. M. G. Lewis

MY home is the home of a little sprite, Which haunteth my presence by day and night; His voice hath a tone of the wildest glee, Which comes o'er my heart like a witchery. Scarce ever at rest — like the changeful air, He frolics and gambols everywhere; Now, as a lamb, in the green meadows found; Now wantonly rolling on dusty ground; Now merry as wild-bird flitting along, Mine ear he greets with a snatch of song; Now he has climb'd to forbidden shelf; And he plays me a trick like a fairy elf, And I turn to chide, and look wonderous wise, But he laughs as he meets my angry eyes, And I smile at his arch and joyful look, As he shows me his prize — a pictur'd book. With a face grotesque, and a scorn of time, Like the painted imp of a pantomime, No scene from his whims and freaks is free; His moods are as vane-like as moods can be, As many as harlequin's suit hath dyes, Or the hues of an arch of the showery skies. And now, with a dwarfish sword and shield, The carpeted floor is his mimic field; Now he beats a tattoo on the tiny drum; Now he dances about with a bee-like hum; Now he chases the top, or the slender hoop, With a gleesome shout, and a merry whoop; Now tir'd with his noisy romp and play, Toys are hurl'd with a careless hand away; Now mounted aloft on his little chair, He uses his infant skill to rear The painted cards in a structure light, And marks its growth with an earnest sight; From the table upspring the paper walls — A cry of joy and the fabric falls; As the air-built mansions of men decay, And fade at the breath of their judgment away. My darling boy, oh, my frolicsome sprite! Thou art clear as the captive's gleam of light: As to storm-tost sailors the sight of land; As a sinner sav'd to the angel band. No sorrow or boding fear hast thou, But glad and serene is thine open brow; As the sparkling bubbles that float on wine, To thy lip springs up every thought of thine; An echo art thou, for each trivial word, Which thy ear drinks in, from thy tongue is heard; And questions ask'st thou, in simplicity, Which the wisest are puzzled to answer thee. May'st thou brightly and gaily through life             pass on, As a mote through a beam of the midday sun; May thy years be from sin and pollution free; May no shadow of guilt ever rest on thee; May the attributes of thy heart and mind Pass through every ordeal — pure, refin'd; And, oh, may death open the path to thee Of a glorious immortality.

I know not why, mine only love, alas, I             know not why The dew that flows from sorrow's fount             should gather in thine eye; 'Tis true that thou art fallen now from             high to low estate, Yet not alone dwells joy with wealth,             contentment with the great. What though amid thine auburn locks             no jewels glitter now, What though no white and stately plume             waves o'er thy whiter brow; Thou need'st not coronal nor plume thy             loveliness to deck, Nor pearls of snowy purity to wreath thy             purer neck. Oh! cold indeed must be his heart whom             only wealth could move, And surely thou would'st deem him all             unworthy of thy love; Although, with vow and smile, no more             proud flatterers round thee press, I will not boast — I only say I do             not love thee less. When in the gay and lighted hall, girt             by a festive crowd, Or at the banquet, when the sounds of             revelry are loud, Or where, whilst music fills the air, she             glideth through the dance, Then beauty, for a transient space, may             well the soul entrance. But 'twas not in the lighted hall, 'mid             sounds of mirth and glee, That first I pour'd into thine ear my             heart's deep love for thee: No eye beheld, no voice was heard — we             breath'd our vows alone — In silence, and in solitude, love ever             builds his throne. Like gaudy flowers that court the sun,             and shrink when night comes on, The minions of thy brighter days at fortune's             frowns have gone; Mourn not for them, the faithless ones —             thou yet may'st find that those Who shunn'd thee in thy day of pride, will             cheer thee at its close. Then let thy smile, love, chase the tear, as             twilight's silver mist Is chas'd at morn, when sunny beams the             dewy rose have kist; Thy grief is twofold in its birth — each tear,             sweet girl, of thine, Each sigh that heaves thy gentle breast an             answer hath in mine. It was not at the shrine of wealth that             first I bent the knee — I bow'd to beauty, not to gold; and thou             still liv'st for me: Let narrow worldlings stand aloof; let             pride and pomp depart; Whate'er thy lot, thou still shalt find             one true and changeless heart.

HISTORY may tell us of the vanish'd past,     Or chronicle the days now sweeping by; A gloomy shade is round the future cast,     Unsearch'd, unsearchable by mortal eye. Forests have been where crowded cities rise,     And lift their domes and turrets in the air; And stars have faded from the far-off skies,     Passing away, no tongue may tell us where. Rivers have rush'd where verdant islands bloom,     Shedding their perfume on the restless breeze; And beauteous lands have found a spacious tomb     Within the waters of the mighty seas. Will heaven again shower down its dreadful ire,     And whelm the world beneath a watery grave? Or cast o'er all its bright consuming fire?     A blazing sea from which no ark may save! We know such things have been in bygone years,     But o'er the coming darkness throws its pall; Our hopes may be in vain — in vain our fears,     Yes, our own fate is vain conjecture all. We know not our own fate — why should we strive     With destiny, or wish its flag unfurl'd? Enough for us that now we breathe and live,     Yet know not when from life we may be hurl'd. We know the rose of beauty will turn pale,     Wrinkles will gather on the fairest brow, The light and bounding step of youth will fail,     And all must perish, blossoming below. The destin'd path we have to tread conceal'd,     How much of woe is hidden from our sight; While yet enough is to the mind reveal'd,     To shape our course and guide our steps aright. Nature's great secrets though we may not scan,     We know how frail the tenure of our breath; We know the period to the race of man,     And all the beings born of earth, is death. The end of life is death — then let our aim     Be fix'd on things beyond our earthly doom; Though dust return to dust, the soul may claim     Its refuge then — its earliest, latest home!

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EXTRACTS FROM
THE DIARY OF A SUICIDE

JUNE 9TH. — The sun is shining brightly, and the light and snowy clouds flit across the horizon, as heralds of his glory.  The birds sing sweetly, as though they wooed the flowers, who lift their heads like young and beauteous maidens, smiling through tears, for their leaves are wet with the dews of morning.  I have been confined in the dull and smoky town; it is long since I looked on "nature in her green array," and I feel a pleasure in this lonely place, that I might seek in vain amidst the noise and bustle of society.  This is the very meadow in which I gambolled when a child, before the cares and coldness of the world had withered the glad feelings of my heart.  Recollections of other and happier days are with me.  The landscape appears the same as ever — I alone am changed — the bluebell gleams in the hedges, and the meadow seems like a green heaven, starred by the daisy and the cup of gold.  Blessed time! when a simple flower was a treasure to me; when I chased the butterfly from blossom to blossom; and the hum of a bee, or the carol of a bird, came over my heart like a sound of sweetest melody.  Can I look back to what I once was, without sighing to think of what I now am?  I sicken when I look forward, for all my prospects of the future are gloomy ones.

JUNE 20TH. — If there be anything which can make life worth enduring, it is the devoted affection of a virtuous and beautiful woman.  The only happy moments of my existence are those which I pass with Adelaide, and even these temporary dreams of bliss are sometimes broken by my unhappy temper.  I have the most jealous of dispositions, and if we are in company, and Adelaide bestows the least attention on any one besides myself, I am miserable.  Excellent girl!  I feel that I am unworthy of her.  I visited her last night, and maddened by a supposed slight, I quarrelled with her — she wept — my passion was over — I felt that I had wronged her — I sued for pardon, and she forgave me.  I am convinced that she loves me fervently, yet I can perceive that my settled despondency, and increased fretfulness, are the bane of her happiness.  Would to God I could shake off the gloom that preys upon me — this utter lack of interest in the things which are sought after by other men!  Would to God I could cease to give pain to the only being on earth whom I love, and by whom I am beloved!

JUNE 29TH. — I have been at a fashionable party.  I have mingled with those who call themselves votaries of pleasure.  Can it be possible that so many human beings spend the chief part of their lives in such frivolous amusements as I have just witnessed?  I was disgusted with the unmeaning jargon of the coxcombs who were around me.  I found myself neglected and unnoticed; the females preferred the company of any forward puppy who had the art of talking nonsense, and I retired from the scene of folly, to nurse my hatred of the world in solitude and silence.

JULY 3RD. — I am unhappy; and why am I so!  I possess the same means of procuring happiness as many whom I behold with the smile of gaiety almost continually on their faces.  I was not born to mingle with men.  That which gives pleasure to others, creates but an emotion of contempt in me at the insignificant minds which are the portion of the generality of mankind.  Gracious heaven! how can a creature endowed with reason submit to go through the same unvaried round of things day after day — to consume his health and strength, for the mere privilege of walking and breathing in this world of sorrow?  Surely it never was meant that man should rise in the morning, and toil through the blessed hours of the sun, with no intermission to his labour, save the short space set apart that he may take in the necessary sustenance to enable him to continue his task.  Surely so many millions were not placed on the earth for the purpose of performing the bidding, bowing low, and coming and going at the beck of the wealthy and the high-born; and yet it is so — the greater part of mankind are only allowed to eat, drink, and sleep, that they may labour with more vigour for the pampered few.  All that I see and hear convinces me of the worthlessness of life.

JULY 21ST. — 'Tis past — the struggle is over — Adelaide, the only being in whose fate I felt an interest, is dead!  I am now quite desolate and joyless in the world.  She had been fading for some time — she wasted gradually and calmly away.  With what agony did I mark the bloom depart from her cheek, and the brightness from her eye.  She had become a perfect shadow of what she once was, yet she was beautiful to the last.  They told me she was dying, but though I saw every symptom of approaching dissolution, I could not think that she whom I clung to with such tenderness, she whose lips had so often been fondly pressed to mine, would be torn from me — no, no, I clasped her to my bosom, and I could not think she would shortly be insensible to my caresses.  She died in my arms, and her last words blessed me.  Seldom was I absent from the chamber of death — I sat gazing on her lifeless body for hours, as she lay in calm and fearful beauty.  Sometimes I would start, and think she still lived and smiled upon me, for her features, even in death, had all their wonted sweetness, and she reposed like a sleeping child beguiled by blissful dreaming.  Even this mournful pleasure was soon denied me — she was shut from my view, and deposited in the cold, cold grave.  I saw her laid in the earth, and, oh, how I wished that I might share her dwelling, and be senseless and dead as she was.  I shall soon have done with the noise and tumult of the world; I feel myself rapidly decaying — my hatred of life increases — my blood is chilled, and creeps languidly through my veins, and my heart seems as though it were a mass of ice.

AUGUST 12TH. — Still do I live — still do I drag on a wretched existence.  Ere this, I thought I should have ceased to be; but the powers of life which a short time since seemed exhausted, are now strong as ever, I have wandered out when the thunder rolled, and the lightning flashed, and I have wished that the blaze might consume me, or the bolt of heaven annihilate me.  I have prayed for death, and it comes not.  Strange ideas pass across my mind, and I have imagined that I was doomed to eternal misery — destined to exist for ever, and like the fabled wanderer of old, cursed with immortality.  Why should I entertain these thoughts? why should I linger in society, like a weed which destroys the flowers of joy that bloom in the path of others?  A poisoned draught — a ball — a plunge — fool!  I have not the courage.

SEPTEMBER 9TH. — I have rushed into the vortex of dissipation; I have committed things which a rational being should blush at, and why have I done so?  I know not.  My passions are like the waters of ocean, dark and impetuous in their course.  I am the victim of impulse: as the waves of the sea are chafed into a tempest by the blast, so am I at times impelled by a dread fatality to commit acts which, at other times, appear to me as the result of madness.

OCTOBER 1ST. —No one was ever more susceptible of female loveliness than myself; spite of the gloom which shrouds my heart, the sight of a beautiful woman will for a moment light it up with admiration.  This, instead of decreasing, adds to my misery; no sooner has the fair creature passed away, than my soul becomes, if possible, darker than before, for I am the more reminded of my own loneliness.

NOVEMBER 22ND. — Extraordinary as it may seem, I am again deeply in love — I have declared my passion and am a successful wooer.  Maria S―――, the interesting, the gentle Maria, will soon be my own, and I may yet be happy.  I saw her at the house of a friend, and was struck by her resemblance to Adelaide.  She has the same mild blue eyes, the same delicate and expressive features, and the same bashful and retiring demeanour.  When I think of the circumstances attendant on our brief wooing, I almost consider it all a dream, so exquisite however, that I am afraid to reflect, lest I should wake to a sad reality.  I can scarcely deem it possible, that such a melancholy and discontented creature as myself, should have won the affections of one so fair and sinless as she whose young heart throbs with transport when I approach, and who strives to dissipate the despondency of my spirits, by her own innocent gaiety.

DECEMBER 30TH. — I have deceived myself — love and happiness are to me indeed a dream.  I am like a dark and ruined pile, to which the verdure of the ivy may impart an outward appearance of freshness, but cannot chase the dreary loneliness that dwells within.  Maria has ceased to waken in my breast a passion corresponding with her own, and I feel a listless indifference towards her.  My love, compared to that which animates the bosoms of other men, has been like the comet, which, though it may for awhile eclipse with its dazzling light, the ever-burning stars, soon passes, and leaves the space it has shone on, gloomy as before.  I have gone too far to retract; in haste to secure that which I thought would constitute my bliss, I set on foot preparations for our union; Maria's bridal robe is already finished, and I stand pledged in the eyes of her family; if I break that pledge, scorn and disgrace will be my portion.  How shall I act? If the ceremony take place, such is my disposition, that my indifference may become hatred, and I shall destroy for ever the peace and hopes of a lovely girl. One course alone will enable me to prevent it — it must, and shall be taken.

DECEMBER 31ST.—I have been, as a vessel, long tossed on the waves of worldly strife-rage on, ye billows! — I leave the storm and the tempest behind, for my pilot is death, and my haven is the grave. I have chosen a strange time to execute my purpose: it is the dying hour of the year, and in a few short minutes we shall both be no more. Many sweet remembrances will be blended with the recollections of the departed year, but for me — no matter. The poisoned goblet is before me — my hand is firm and steady — I raise the draught of death to my lips — the potion is swallowed! What sound is that which swells upon the breeze? it is the merry peal of the bells, and they bring joy even to me, for they ring my knell. This deed may be termed madness — perchance it is so — yet my mind feels calmer now than ever, and I welcome death, as the drowsy waker welcomes sleep. The poison has commenced its work—there is a swelling and burning at my heart――― my fingers refuse to guide my pen ――― I shall soon be ―――

 
 
THE LADY OF MY HEART

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SERENADE

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LOVERS' TOKENS

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A FIDDLER'S DREAM

IT was in the winter of the year l8――, when the whim of learning the art of fiddling came into my head.  After searching all the second-hand music shops in the town, I at length fixed my attention on an instrument which the vendor assured me was even BETTER than when it was new.  I drew the bow several times across it, and appeared to listen to its sound with all the skill of a consummate connoisseur in violins.  Of course I found fault with it, in order to lower the price, which the seller of music had fixed at the ENORMOUS sum of fifteen shillings.  With a good deal of haggling I placed fourteen shillings and six-pence on the counter, declaring that, rather than give more, I would depart without the fiddle.  The money was swept into the drawer with seeming reluctance, and I marched off with the prize under my arm.  Whilst within sight of the shop, I walked leisurely enough, but, the moment I thought myself free from observation, I hurried on with as much celerity and delight as a child returning from a fair with a new toy, which it is all impatience to exhibit before its playmates.  When I gained my home, having previously purchased a note-book, I began my studies, with all the eagerness with which people usually enter upon a fresh pursuit; it always being a hundred chances to one against their obtaining any degree of perfection.  In a short time by dint of constantly annoying the ears of all my kindred, I produced a something between harmony and discord — I must confess it was rather inclining towards the latter — that, to me, sounded like "God save the king," though no doubt to any one else, it would have seemed as unlike that air as it was to the hunting-chorus in "Der Freischutz."  One dull night after having thrummed away for several hours, I fell into a sound slumber.  The subject of my waking thoughts took possession of my dreams, and you may easily imagine my surprise on seeing the fiddle raise itself erect, and after bowing politely, address me in the following terms, with rather a harsh voice, that varied, however, as the subject required, from the lowest bass to the acutest treble: —

    "It will appear strange to you, who have been brought up in the belief that fiddles are destitute both of sense and feeling, to hear me address you in a somewhat rational discourse.  Before I commence a brief outline of my history, allow me to ask you whether it is not almost impossible for those of your own species to affect the passions of others without being in some degree, affected themselves; and, to reason from analogy — I know you will be sceptical — what is more capable of exciting emotion than a fiddle? and why should not we ourselves feel a part of that emotion we excite in others? — but to my tale.

    "I cannot give you an account of my parentage, for, alas! our race are outcasts from the first period of existence; we are sold to servitude, torn from our fellows, and abandoned by our maker.  Suffice it to say, my first master was major-domo of a theatrical orchestra; and the time I passed in his service I account the most glorious part of my life.  My abilities were displayed amidst the beauteous and the gay, the dazzling brilliancy of lamps, and the magic splendour of scenery.  I assumed as much superiority over my fellow-fiddles as my master did over his companions; and my voice was always the loudest and most distinct.  Sometimes I went through a solo, to the delight and astonishment of the whole house; and even when acting in concert with the rest, I was always listened to with more attention than any other, and all my acquaintances looked upon me as a fiddle of first-rate genius, each paying the greatest deference to my opinion.  This course was too pleasant to last long.  By one of those unforeseen strokes of destiny so prevalent in human affairs, my master was suddenly thrown out of his situation, and after several unsuccessful attempts to gain another, was obliged to part with me, in order to procure him the necessary means of subsistence, and accordingly, with tears in his eyes, he did so.  It is impossible to paint the grief I felt on finding myself in a second-hand music-shop, hung amongst a crowd of unfortunates like myself; some indeed, were so superannuated as to be entirely unfit for any respectable service, whilst most of them had been hurled down in the height of their pride: and thus it is with life — it opens with promise and gladness, and is too often followed by blight and sorrow.  I do not know how long I remained, in this abject state, for I became utterly indifferent to all that was passing around me, and I found my constitution and faculties rapidly decaying.  My fibres were relaxed, some of my screws were lost, my bridge was broken, and I began to feel all the symptoms of an early dissolution, when I was purchased by a dancing-master, who, with a good deal of labour, restored me to almost all my pristine vigour.  Still in my prime, it was with no small share of pleasure that I found myself rescued from oblivion, and my talents again admired by the lovers of harmony.  I soon grew as much attached to my second master as I had been to my first.  Generally surrounded by a happy band of sweet creatures tripping to my music, my new duties were of the most pleasing nature.  However, I was doomed to be unfortunate; at the expiration of twelve or thirteen months, my master contrived to hop off with one of his female pupils, who was heiress to twenty thousand pounds.  No sooner did he gain possession of his wife's fortune, than I was sold, as an article for which he had no further use.  Here, were I of a censorious disposition, I might rail against the ingratitude of man, who no sooner arrives at wealth and affluence, than he casts off the companions of his less prosperous days; but I know enough of the world to be aware that the complaints and revilings of the helpless are seldom, if ever, attended with any result except that of producing contempt.  From this time my life has been a continued succession of misfortunes.  I will not tire your patience by describing the low scenes I was witness to whilst in the services of a common tap-room fiddler, and a ballad-singer, for they chiefly consisted of pictures of human degradation and vulgar inebriety, which I, though reputed to be bereft of reason, could not avoid beholding with loathing and disgust.  Nothing can equal the tortures I have felt from the scraping of fiddling students, all commencing with as much eagerness as yourself; and all in the course of a few weeks throwing me aside.  But I will no longer protract a worthless existence — my resolution is fixed — nay, hold me not — you strive in vain to divert me from my purpose — thus will I put a period to my sufferings."

    Here the fiddle, in a paroxysm of grief and despair, precipitated itself from the table, and was shivered to pieces.  The noise of its fall awoke me, and I found that in my efforts to save it, I had actually dashed it to the ground, where it lay a a mere wreck of its former self.  Thus ended my dream, and my propensity for fiddling.

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I SIT BESIDE HER IN THE HALL

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THE RUINED MAN

WE dashed rapidly along the well-paved streets of the metropolis; the lamps shone brightly, and the windows of the shops sent forth streams of clear and dazzling light.  It was a cold winter night.  The pale moon, and the trembling stars gleamed above us, and what with the splendour of the ever-burning orbs of heaven, and the mimic stars of earth, a radiance was shed over the scene, which made the glorious city appear to me a place of gladness and rejoicing.  Crowds of people were hurrying through the streets, all apparently intent on business of emergency; and the emporiums of commerce, the magnificent buildings, and the stately domes, which every where greeted, me, forced me to exclaim ― "Can this famed and beautiful London be the abode of want, and the habitation of wretchedness? can squalid misery and lean starvation here find an abiding place? — surely not."  Thus do we reason, when we look on the surface of things — when we content ourselves with what is presented to casual observation.  Alas, how deceitful are external appearances!  Many a countenance has a glad and smiling look, whilst the heart of its owner is bursting with hidden sorrow — we gaze on the diamond with admiration, and think not of the toil and suffering which have given to it its beauty — the stream flashes onwards with a pleasant murmur, we dream not that death lies hidden beneath its waters.

    The mail stopped, and my delusion faded away.  A host of wretched beings pressed round the passengers, anxious to earn a trifling pittance, by carrying away their luggage.  There was one man who stood aloof from the rest; he thrust not himself forward to offer his services, yet his eye followed, with a longing and envious gaze, those who had succeeded in procuring employment.  I pushed aside his more obtrusive companions, and proposed that he should bear away my trunk.  He eagerly accepted my offer, and walked on before me with his burden.  We had not proceeded many yards ere I perceived that his strength was unequal to the task he had undertaken; his steps began to totter under his load; he staggered and fell at full length on the pavement.  I conveyed him to a neighbouring tavern, where he remained for some time in a sort of stupor.  Never shall I forget his famine-stricken appearance.  He could not be thirty years of age, and his clothes, which had evidently seen better days, hung in rags about his attenuated frame.  His features were almost absolutely fleshless, and his eyes seemed as though starting from their sockets.  By degrees his senses returned; he gazed wildly around him, and endeavoured to speak, but his voice was inaudible.  With difficulty we distinguished the word "food."  I procured him some provisions; he seized them with avidity, and devoured them with the most greedy voracity.  When he had finished his meal, he observed my eyes bent on him in astonishment.  "I had not tasted food for three days," he muttered, and burst into tears.  Before I left the house, I gave directions that every care should be taken of the unfortunate being, and proper nourishment given to him.  To ensure the fulfilment of my orders, I deposited my purse in the hands of the landlord.

    I visited the man, on the following day, and found him confined to his bed from debility and disease.  In conversation he displayed much knowledge and intelligence; his language was elegant and refined, and the more I conversed with him, the more I was astonished, when I thought of the low and degraded state in which I had found him.  He continued to grow daily worse; medicine had no effect on him, and the physician, whom I had engaged to attend him, assured me that it was impossible he could recover.  His constitution was completely worn out.  I often requested him to inform me what had reduced him to the state of poverty in which I beheld him.  At first he evaded my questions, but a few days previous to his death — for he died in the retreat I had provided him — he consented to relate to me a portion of the events of his life.  His tale made at the time a strong impression on me, and when I left him I committed it to paper.  It was as follows.



    "I was born in affluence — you see how I am about to die.  No matter.  You have been kind to me, and I have not the means of repaying you.  You wish me to relate to you the particulars of my fall from wealth to poverty, and I will endeavour to obey you; yet even from you I must conceal my name, for I would not that they who once called themselves my friends, should possess a clue to lead them to a knowledge as to how I died.  When I am dead, inscribe on my coffin only these words — 'A Ruined Man' — deposit me in some lonely burial ground, and let me rot in obscurity.  My parents were rich, and I was brought up in indolence and luxury.  I was liberally educated, and reading was one of my greatest delights.  My favourite playmate was a beautiful girl, who was also the child of wealthy parents.  We played, read, danced, and sang together, until we grew too old to indulge in the familiarities of childhood.  Our respective mothers suddenly fancied that there was something improper in our being so frequently in each other's company, and they therefore, read us separate lectures on the subject.  Suddenly, too, our own feelings underwent a change.  I no longer kissed the lips of my play-mate with the same careless freedom as formerly, and, in fact, she now began to repel such freedoms, with a face crimsoned with blushes.  This all seemed to me mighty odd, and I was rather at a loss to account for it.  I felt quite tremulous if any one mentioned her name, and this was a sensation which until lately I had been a stranger to.  I knew a little of drawing, and one day in sport I had sketched her likeness; this had been thrown aside, but I now sought it out, and regarded it as a treasure.  Since I was debarred from kissing the original, I took a fancy for kissing the likeness.  This state of things could not last long.  Something besides friendship must be at the bottom of this, thought I; so I began to ruminate, and after a few hours meditation, discovered that I was over head and ears in love.  Big with this discovery, I sought my former playmate, and communicated to her the result of my ruminations.  It needed not any great degree of rhetoric to convince her of the important fact, and accordingly, from that time, we were sworn lovers.  This happened in my sixteenth year — my mistress had not reached fifteen.  Our intercourse now daily grew of a more tender nature; when we were only friends we loved to roam over sunny hills and vales, chasing butterflies, or gathering wild roses, and this we then thought the height of enjoyment; but we now had joys and delights of a different character.  We loved to wander in the moonlight, to stray by murmuring streams, to listen to nightingales, and praise the beauty of the stars.  We now were enamoured of silence, though formerly our tongues were constantly in motion; and we sometimes sat for hours gazing in each other's eyes, intensely happy, yet fearful of speaking, lest words should break the spell that bound us.  I took a pleasure in disfiguring trees with the initials of her name, and sat up at nights writing sonnets on her loveliness, wherein I almost exhausted nature's calendar, to find comparisons for her charms.  Thus ran the world away until I was about nineteen.  My mistress was then taken from me to be introduced amongst the circles of fashion, and exhibit her beauty in town, as all well-bred young ladies are expected to do.  Vows were exchanged, and tears were shed on both sides; however the decree for our separation was passed, and neither vows nor tears had power to alter it.  The carriage rolled up to the gate, my mistress stepped into it, the horses swept on, and I stood gazing towards the route of the vehicle long after the white hand and waving handkerchief of her I loved had vanished from my view.  I dried my eyes, heaved a deep sigh, and returned with a heavy heart to my father's house.  I shut myself in my chamber, and wrote a poem on the subject.  I could not for several days eat at meal times, and I was only happy when asleep, for I saw my mistress in my dreams.

    My father wished me to make choice of a profession, and I was at a loss what to choose.  I was not knave enough for a lawyer, hypocrite enough for a parson, or pragmatical enough for a physician, besides I should be sufficiently rich to live in idleness; but my father's will was absolute, and he had decided that all young gentlemen should have a profession, so I was compelled to make up my mind to be something or other.  I made choice of a soldier's life, partly because I thought a red coat would become me, and partly because I had an ardent love for my king and country, and should have liked nothing better than to defeat their foes.  My father purchased me a commission, and my regiment was shortly afterwards ordered abroad to join in the campaigns of the Peninsula.

    I went up to town before I left England, to see my mistress, and to assure her of my fidelity.  I found her seated in a fashionable drawing-room, surrounded by a group of well-dressed young men, who all seemed candidates for her smiles.  I could scarcely think it possible that twelve months should have effected so great a change in her.  She was tastefully and elegantly attired, and dispensed her favours with an easy and aristocratic air that perfectly surprised me.  I should have hesitated to approach her, but no sooner did the servant announce my name than she started from the languid attitude in which she sat, and ran towards me with a frank expression of joy on her countenance that assured me her heart was still my own.  I conducted her to her seat, and took my place by her side.  The crowd of flatterers finding themselves now unnoticed soon slunk away.  She presented me with a beautiful ivory miniature of herself, and promised to write to me often.  Again we parted, and I left England with a light heart.

    Every incident connected with the behaviour of our troops in the memorable Peninsular campaigns has been laid before the public, and I do not mean to trouble you with any repetitions.  I will not boast of my own conduct; I shall merely say I did my duty, and obtained promotion.  My mistress kept her promise of often writing to me, and the perusal of her letters was my chief source of delight.  My military duties were of short duration.  Ere I had attained my twenty-first year, my father died, and my presence was required at home.  I returned, was warmly welcomed by my first love, sold my commission, and took possession of my estate.

    I now commenced my career as a man of fashion, and attended my mistress to balls, concerts, and parties innumerable.  We went through an eternal round of visiting, waltzing, quadrilling and singing.  Preparations were set on foot for our marriage.  I sold my estate in the country, to purchase another which was more to my taste.  The title deeds to the property were prepared, and a day was fixed for their execution and the payment of the purchase money.  I was seated by my mistress, at a party held by a lady of birth, speaking of the wedding dress which was intended to grace my future bride, when a note was delivered to me by a servant.  I was going to thrust it into my pocket without looking at the contents, but the words "Read it immediately" met my eye on the outside, and apologizing to my mistress, I broke the seal.  I saw the import of the communication at a glance — it was to inform me that a rumour was in circulation that the bankers in whose hands my whole fortune was lodged, had stopped payment.  I sat for a moment motionless as a statue, then the room appeared to whirl round with me; I felt almost suffocated, and large drops of perspiration burst from my forehead.  I uttered some indistinct words, seized my hat, and rushed from the house.  Oh, ill luck flies apace — the news was true, and I was a beggar!

    The next day I called at the abode of my mistress, but my progress was checked by a servant, who coldly repeated "Not at home," though I knew the fellow lied, and I had previously been a welcome visitor at all hours.  This was even a greater shock than my loss of fortune.  I thought I had known her heart too well; I had deemed that if all the world besides looked coldly on me, she would be unchanged.  It was not so; I was a bankrupt both in love and fortune.  I sought my lonely home, and retired to my chamber, muttering curses on her perfidy.  I took from my bosom her long-cherished miniature, and dashed it to atoms.

    I succeeded in rescuing a few thousands from the wreck of my wealth, but it mattered not — the restoration of all would have availed not now.  I had trusted in woman, and had been deceived — fool! — woman's faith — write it on the waves of ocean.  My mother was dead, and I felt glad that she had not lived to witness my fall.  I sought the gaming-table, as a relief from my mind's anguish.  I played recklessly, and my thousands were soon diminished to hundreds.  I drowned the remembrance of my losses in wine, and thus my days were spent in dissipation, and my nights in gaming.  I was to sink still lower.  It was said my mistress was to marry a baronet, a fool, but wealthy.  In an obscure part of the church I witnessed unseen the ceremony, for I was determined to let my eyes avouch the cursed fact.  I saw it, and I vowed revenge; I cared for nought, would stick at nought — no, not even MURDER.  I furnished myself with a pistol, and stopped the carriage of my rival on his wedding-night.  I would have discharged my weapon at his head, but it missed fire.  I regretted I had not another.  I was seized but my MERCIFUL rival would not urge my committal for the crime; he simply accused me of madness, and caused me to be confined in a hospital for idiots.  Here, the brooding over my miserable fate, and the horrid sights and sounds I saw and heard, drove me really, desperately mad.  I made the whole building echo with my howls.  Stripes and chains were my daily portion.  When I became too weak to indulge in those paroxysms, I was discharged.

    Where to go I knew not.  All shunned me, all avoided my path; they were right — why should they NOT?  I was a ruined, friendless, miserable being, blighted in my hopes, broken in health and spirit, and destitute of a penny wherewith to buy a morsel of food.  They were right to shun me then, for "what advantage could they hope from me?"  For a day and night I was without sustenance, and that day and night I spent near the dwellings of those who had known I me in other times, and bitterly did I smile to see them pass by me without deigning to cast a glance on the starving beggar.  The second day I directed my steps towards the abode of my false mistress.  I had not lingered long near it when I saw her husband, the hated destroyer of my reason, come into the street.  My heart bounded with revived hope.  I tracked his steps until we reached a lonely spot.  I then sprung upon him — I saw he knew me not — I breathed my name in his ear.  "Am I mad?" I said, —"if I am, who made me so?  Villain, the curse of my madness be upon thee!"  I grasped him convulsively by the throat.  He called aloud for help, and consigned me to a prison — not because I had attempted his destruction, but because I was homeless and a beggar.

    During my misery and my madness, I had never parted with the letters which I had received, when abroad, from my mistress.  I always bore them about my person, for I felt a wild delight in thinking that so abject a thing as myself possessed tokens of love, and words of burning affection inscribed by the hand of a proud and well-born beauty.  I now prevailed on my gaoler to forward to the faithless woman a packet containing the memorials of her guilt.  I told her that I had been mad, that I was now the inmate of a prison, and the companion of felons.  I told her that I exulted in my degradation, for she had been its author and the vengeance of heaven would crush her for it.  I bid her read the damned scrolls I sent her, in the brilliance of a luxurious drawing room, to her titled husband, and tell him that he to whom she once plighted her faith was the mate of the vilest criminals, the tenant of a dark and loathsome cell — PLACED THERE BY HIM.

    She procured my release, and when my dungeon-gates opened for me, the keeper deposited a purse of gold in my hands, the produce of her bounty.  I took the money — I was without a coin or a friend in the world — I knew not where to get a morsel of bread; but I hastened towards a river, with the vile dross in my hand, and cast it into the water.  I would starve, die, perish in the public streets, rather than exist on HER CHARITY.  Thus did I live for three days, unsheltered by a roof, and without food; but, oh, nought subdues the soul like hunger — none but a wretch like me can conceive the craving, the gnawing agony of a famishing man.  You saw me — you offered me the means of relief; and nature triumphed — I accepted your offer, you know the rest — I am now what you see me, an outcast dying in an obscure tavern, my very bed of death furnished by a stranger."

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THE RESTORATION
OF CHARLES THE SECOND

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ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY

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CANZONET