LORD BYRON'S WORKS.

(Subject of the Plate.)

As we originally promised to give an illustration of some part in each of Lord Byron's works, it would be a breach of faith if we were to pass over his Don Juan. On this account, and not from a partiality to the work itself, we presented to our readers the engraving which accompanied the eleventh part of our Magazine. Don Juan was evidently his Lordship's favourite production, and if he had divested it of its indecencies and immoralities, it was certainly not calculated to injure his literary reputation. Many of our cotemporaries have condemned the work as being dull and prosy, at the head of whom, as far as this opinion is concerned, stands our learned brother of the Literary Gazette. Much as we may admire this and their intentions, we cannot but call in question the propriety of the means by which they have endeavoured to effect their object. Much as we may dread the disease, we condemn the remedy. As a literary production Don Juan is studded with beauties, and as literary men we admire them.— As a work calculated to destroy our best principles, we, as members of society, visit it with our severest condemnation.

Uncontaminated as are the minds of thousands of our youth, and characterized as our females are for their delicacy of conduct; it is to be lamented that their feelings should be polluted by gross and immoral publications. Lord Byron, however, is not the only writer whose pen has warred against our virtues. There are many living authors we could ennumerate, whose works are far from being free from such pollution. This, we confess, does not palliate the offence in his Lordship; but it will serve to show, that whilst he has been exposed to the severest censure of society, others, whose productions are of an equally dangerous tendency, have been allowed to pass unnoticed. Don Juan, we repeat, is a dangerous work-it is in many *parts alarmingly impious, but still it is the production of Lord Byron, and as such we have, in accordance with our plan, given a design from it. The passage which the artist has selected for illustration will be found in the following stanza from the second Canto of the Poem :

"'Twas bending close o'er his, and the small mouth
Seem'd almost prying into his for breath;
And chafing him, the soft warm hand of youth
Recall'd his answering spirits back from death;
And, bathing his chill temples, tried to soothe
Each pulse to animation, till beneath
Its gentle touch and trembling care, a sigh
To these kind efforts made a low reply.
2 A

PART XIII.

51.

VOL. II.

"Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung Around his scarce-clad limbs: and the fair arm Raised higher the faint head which o'er it hung;

And her transparent cheek, all pure and warm, Pillow'd his death-like forehead; then she wrung

His dewy curls, long drench'd by every storm; And watch'd with eagerness each throb that drew A sigh from his heaved bosom-and hers, too. "And lifting him with care into the cave, The gentle girl, and her attendant—one Young, yet elder, and of brow less grave,

And more robust of figure-then begun To kindle fire, and as the new flames gave

Light to the rocks that roof'd them, which the sun

Had never seen, the maid, or whatsoe'er

She was, appear'd distinct, and tall, and fair.

"Her brow was overhung with coins of gold,
That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair,
Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were roll'd
In braids behind, and though her stature were
Even of the highest for a female mould,

They nearly reach'd her heel; and in her air
There was a something which bespoke cominand,
As one who was a lady in the land.

"Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes
Were black as death, their lashes the same hue,
Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies
Deepest attraction, for when to view

Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies,

Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew; 'Tis as the snake late coil'd, who pours his length, And hurls at once his venom and his strength."

TO MARY.

Mary, come and bless the home
That's desolate without thee';
Come, and dissipate the gloom
That hovers o'er about me.

Come array'd in pleasure's hues,
Come and ever cheer me;
Come, and happiness diffuse

Round him that loves thee dearly.

Come, and with thy smiles impart
The happiness I sigh for ;
Come and twine around my heart
The love that I would die for.

PG--J. E. H.

A COUNTRY FUNERAL.

WHEN I first left the remote mountain valley, in which my forefathers had lived for a period, respecting which tradition saith nothing, to mingle with the many-visaged forms of busy life, few of the strange things which attracted my attention struck me more forcibly, or gave me at the time more disadvantageous impressions of the feelings of man in a congregated state, than the pompous, but heartless formality with which the last offices for the dead are conducted. Death in a in a crowded city is an every day occurrence, and like every other incident, however impressive its effect, is lost in its frequency.

A person whose living lies between death and the grave, and whose name and occupation are unknown in human life, undertakes the performance of the funeral ceremonial, and gives his official assurance that all the formalities which custom has sanctioned as a substitute for sorrow shall be strictly observed; and he perforins his duty with scrupulous exactness-not a weeper is wanting, not a mourner out of his place:

But what effect is all the hired "mockery of woe," to the simple reality which may be witnessed at the funeral of the venerated father of a family in a country parish. I attended to a place where his ancestors were to rest the remains of an ancient friend of my greyheaded father. The body was carried from the house by his domestic servants, and placed on a couple of chairs at the door, where my father offered a prayer "to him in whose hands we all are."-Four sons of the deceased then placed the body on their shoulders (a duty which they would not for any consideration have delegated to other hands), and carried it towards the hearse which stood at a short distance, while the whole of the assembled multitude joined in the solemn hymn :

"Farewell, vain world I must thee leave!
"To dust I must return."

The body being placed in the hearse, upwards of a hundred individuals mounted their horses, and accompanied it to the place of interment, which was in the parish church-yard of E- more than six miles off. When the procession (in which no other attempt at regularity was observable than that the hearse went first, and the relatives of the deceased kept close behind it) arrived within about a mile of its destination, the small antique chnrch, with its little grey-tower, appeared in view, and the faint distant sound of its tolling bell was first heard.— A slight stop took place at the entrance of the village, when, the horses of the riders being secured, the four sons who had lifted the body before, now took it again upon their shoulders. The minister was standing at the gate of the church yard, ready to perform the last duty of his sacred office, and the procession advanced towards him singing to a mournful melody one of the sweetest songs of Zion. The venerable pastor under whose ministry the deceased had sat for nearly half a century, turned with the procession, and beginning with