way led to it, bounded on one side by the billowy ocean, and on the other by tiers of invincible rocks, rising like giants in battle array, and frowning over the smiling fields and plantatious below. The path here wound around the foot of a beetling cliff, where scattered fragments, once hurled from their heights, were now over grown with vegetation, then intersected a little wood, where the branches of the trees in summer formed a verdant canopy almost wholly impeding the sun rays. But fancy dares not dwell upon those scenes, dear to the writer from their sweet association, but too harrowing to be often recalled. Whilst memory has been busy in picturing other scenes and reviewing other days, the sun has made his exit, the shadows are deepening, and sable night begins to assert her right of dominion over the landscape. Another day has closed, and added its account of good and evil to the great accounts. Thus, days, and weeks, and months, and years succeed each other almost unnoticed, and when they are gone they are but as a dream; but the wise will endeavour to improve each fleeting hour, and suffer not one to escape unimproved. drivelling, and insane past cure, if he be otherwise than a most religious character, and he may well dread, that his divine talent, Heaven's own peculiar gift,-the very mantle of inspiration--will be taken from him, to descend, doubly fraught with potency and spirit, upon some worthier individual. Would that piety and poetry (where the latter is attempted to be written) always went together, we should then escape the annoyance of well intended religious rhymes, in which their union is attempted with about as much success, as that of oil and water; but we do contend, that every true Poet, generally has been, and certainly ought to be, a devout Christian, whether or not the fact be apparent in his compositions. By the very constitution of his mind, he is susceptible in a very high degree of veneration for his Creator and Redeemer; he is feelingly alive to the Presence of the Deity in his works; and to a sense of the moral perfection of his Saviour's character and precepts, and the LOVE which induced His cruel sufferings for the redemption of the human race. Yes-the Poet has a vivid perception of the awful and sublime, the magnificent and beautiful, the soft, the sweet, the just, the true, the tender, and affecting, and where, but in Religion, shall we meet all these combined? The Poet has acute feelings, high and generous sentiments, warm and refined affections, and an enthusiastic heart; it is his to reflect, how these may be best cultivated, how best employed, and how best made to yield a lavish interest, for the enjoyment they afford him, to their gracious Donor. The Poet perceives the ethereal nature of his And what pen shall assume the task of pour-talent-he has an abiding sense of the favour traying-the POET? That creature of the elements! awarded him in the gift of Song; and instinctively that being of fancy and feeling, whose spirit is aware, that to him has been vouchsafed, as to the played upon by all circumstances and situations, prophets of old, a spark of divinity which does as is the wind harp by every passing breath! Who not ordinarily warm and animate other men, he shall essay to paint that very cameleon, the hue of labours to keep his spirit, high, holy and pure; whose mind ever varies according to the lights, generous, affectionate, and unsullied by the world; shadows, and colouring of life? Who shall depict yet is he not proud, but humble, remembering him-the opal-souled?-whose spirit, in the rays that he is still but a mortal, fallible being, subject of divine illumination flashes and sparkles like the to the infirmities of his race, that "by the goodorient gem, with a mingling of softness and bright-ness of God, he is what he is," and that if he does ness, of Heaven's cerulean, holy lustre, and with the warmer tints of earth's "purple light of love!" We may not delineate,-it is beyond our power, to paint, in masterly outline, in glowing colours, and in bold relief-the POET; but we may hint at what he is-imply what he is not, and consider the varied, and noble sources of enjoyment, which to him, of all the children of an Almighty Father, have been granted. Is it not a fine idea of Schiller's-that the Poet, having no part and portion upon the earth, and no occupation binding him to it, is ever free of Heaven? indeed stand on an eminence amongst men,— "From heights so proud and lofty, Greater the fall is wont to be,' so he taketh heed to his feet, and scorneth not his humble fellows, who walk on ground more lowly and secure. Again, through the wilderness of this world, he wanders, seeking like an angel, some small remnant of the flowers of an Eden which hath been, contemplating the Paradise to which he is bound, and singing to the chaimed ears of care-worn mortals, such songs of Heaven, beautiful, soothing, and divine, as "make glad the "Deare sonne" quoth Jove, "how may I soothe solitary place, and the desert to blossom as the thy dreare? Chase, market, harvest, nor aught else I see This, is indeed the Poet's enviable privilege, and rose. The Poet is not a man of this world, though its denizen for a brief space; be may rather be said to dwell in a Beulah, an Enchanted Land of his own, upon which is continually shed a light from the far Celestial City, and here, he cannot be approached but by those who are even as himself. Now, when the idle, stupid, and vicious, perceive this, great is their anger, and great their scorn, at the heaven-favoured man; they forthwith begin to bespatter him with stones and dirt; and the little puerile. minded, who are always evil-minded, because they | sketch-but it is enough,-to multiply words were cannot raise themselves to his elevation, urgently endeavour to bring him down to their own level; they pretend to despise, and think of small account, those gifts and graces of intellect which their envious souls would give worlds to possess, and they delight in finding out, if they can, that the Poet, "is after all, but one of us,-a very ordinary man." Verily, these have their reward, and he has his, though of a somewhat different nature. To enumerate the sources of enjoyment liberally opened for the Son of Song, were impossible; Nature and Art unite in pouring their treasures at his feet. Taste, feeling, observation, judgment, memory, imagination, and many other qualities, are his valuable servants; and a loftier mood of thought is his,-noble purposes, and ardent aspirations! Vain dreamings perchance are some of these, and yet not utterly vain,-even if their enchanting promises be never performed, because they imbue the immortal spirit with benevolence, - gladness and peace. But, it will be objected, if the poetical temperament renders its possessors peculiarly susceptible of enjoyment, its reverse will be proportionably severely felt. This, in some degree cannot be denied; but yet, without considerable mitigation, it cannot either, be granted; since allowing, that He, who is keenest alive to the flowers Is always the first to be touched by the thorns," we are strongly of opinion, that he finds fewer of the latter than his neighbours, and more, many more, of the former. To speak without metaphor, he is not the individual to make himself miserable about trifles, though many of his supreme gratifications arise from sources positively trivial to the bulk of mankind. Sunlight and clouds. calm and storm, the barren wild and the romantic glen, the solemn mountain, and the sweet secluded vale, the limitless ocean and the sedgy rill, the necromantic midnight, and the glorious meridian day, the visible host of heaven, and the almost invisible insect myriads of earth; but most "All influences of soul and sense," the melting eloquence of music; the silent, but felt, and comprehended eloquence of feature; the blue eyes' languish; the black's peculiarly mournful and imploring look; the ravishment of tone; the interpretation of sentiment and thought, by look and gesture; the high privilege of audible commiseration by speech; and the inexplicable intercommunication, which, in a toneless, wordless tongue, spirit holds with spirit! the truth and beauty of painting, the awful majesty of architecure, and the divinity of sculpture; these, these form some part of the Poet's exquisite gratifications. He is not indeed, more "mute Nature's worshipper" than the devotee of beautiful Art; to him, the poetry of others, felt in the deepest recesses of his soul, is the very language of the celestials; and for him, many a thing which is but cold and lifeless to others, lives, like the dead bones to the Prophet. The Poet-shall we proceed? We cannotfaint is the tracery, feeble the colouring of our A cottager had once upon a time " a strange gentleman" lodging with her, for the benefit of his health, but vainly; the soft, scented country air failed to cool the hectic on his cheek, and to— perhaps his heart was fevered, consuming away in his bosom? and, there is no cure for that; one day, "he was not; for God took him;" the humble widow followed his mortal remains with tears to their earthly resting-place; she remembered him ever after, and spoke of him as "the Gentleman," but one, who from her description, drew the following metrical portraiture of "the early lost," was at no loss to recognize in him THE POET: Oft would he sit, the Poet, the strange wight With placid joy; earth, streamlet, lowliest flower, Where bowery wreathing trees, all odours shed, Not distantly) he loved: and the deep tone For him, when canvas forests waved, their bloom Seem'd Nature's miniature realities; Is ever of it; and for this, he'd sit Of sudden, silent tears, came down his cheek, When low, sweet music sigh'd; perchance, some pain Then pierced his heart, of which he could not This sphere roll'd forth; unveiled HEAVEN gives more! "Tis sunset in the valley now-and yet I pass not on! The wishing and the waiting one, the loving friends are gone; The fire is kindled by my hearth, and near the ancient chair, The things inanimate remain ;-the living are not there! Oh, Home! that wast the temple where love and pleasure met, Where anger was a thing proscrib'd, an idle name regret ; Oh, Home! that art the funeral dome, where Memory bends her eye Upon the 'scutcheon that reveals the tomb of vanish'd joy! No wonder that I seek thee not, as in the days of yore, Since then hath science to my mind unroll'd her vaunted lore; Into thy page, Experience, it hath been my lot to look, Oh! would that never unto me, had been unclasp'd thy book! There seems a breathing voice, a sound borne to me by the gale, That passes through the bowing trees of this frequented vale "With increase of your years, there is increase of Oh! yes, there's a pleasure in breathing a sigh of soft visions which once delighted- LITERATURE. THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ELDERLY GENTLEMAN; BY THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 1 Vol. Longman and Co. This is an exceedingly entertaining volume, and there is a good deal of novelty in the idea; we trust it will be followed up by the confessions of A SPINSTER, which in nine cases out of ten, we think would afford as much scope and variety as those of the elderly Bachelor. The plates render the work doubly attractive, being equal in execution to those lovely portraits that have rendered the "Book of Beauty" so popular. As our extract will be a long one, we must bring our remarks to a close, and let our readers judge for themselves if our good opinion of the "Elderly Gentleman" is not well founded. MY SECOND LOVE. Well, I think I may venture to recount the story of my second love, without the fear of becoming lachrymose. No, no! Arabella Wilton, who was its object, never brought a serious thought into my head, unless it was on the folly of mankind in general, and mine in particular, for being so easily made the dupes of such women. In justice to my fidelity and sensibility, I ought to state, that I sincerely mourned for my poor lost Louisa, during two long dreary years; and I was romantic enough to believe that I never could love again; a belief that most persons similarly situated are apt to indulge until experience proves its fallacy. Here is the portrait of Arabella: the artist has caught the half imperious, yet winning expressior of her sparkling black eyes, which seemed to say, as plain as ever such orbs could speak, "Resist me if you can." What a profusion of raven tresses fall round that oval face! how rich is the sunny tint of her cheek, and the ripe crimson of her lips; lips that never opened except to smile or give utterance to some sprightly badinage, whose malice, as the French call it, was forgiven in consideration of the beautiful mouth that originated it. Arabella was the very opposite of the gentle Louisa; she commanded rather than won, her admirers into love, and seemed so certain of their hearts, and gave so little security of yielding hers in exchange, that she kept them (and she had not a little battalion) in a perpetual state of qui vive. The sentiment, if such it might be called, that Arabella inspired, was a much more common one than real affection. Her admirers commenced with love for her, but ended in love for themselves; as she was eminently skilled in wielding that powerful weapon, l'amour propre, and by its judicious treatment rarely failed to gain an empire over those she wished to influence. The equal encouragement she administered to all whom she desired to enchain, rendered the chace of her heart as exciting as-what shall I say—I have it—a fox-chase; if so homely a simile may be allowed to be addressed to so dignified a theme; and like that exciting amusement, vanity creating the desire of surpassing all competitors, furnished the chief charm of the pursuit. Scarcely a day, nay, an hour, elapsed, that each candidate for her favour did not imagine himself the preferred; and did not inwardly smile at the vanity of his slighted rivals, while she was secretly laughing at them all, having predetermined to wed the richest, whoever he might be. If I called and found her with only her aunt, she never failed to amuse me with piquant anecdotes illustrative of the betise of Lord Henry, or pungent satire against Sir John; though her attention to each of these worthies had excited my jealousy the day before. Nay, so adroitly did she point out all the ridiculous defects in their characters, manners, and appearance, that she not only quieted my jealous fears, but actually created in me a degree of commiseration for there unhappy wights: though, truth to say, I was never more amused, or more inclined to admire Arabella, than when she was using every weapon in the armoury of her wit, in attacking my rivals. It never for one moment occurred to me, that her hypocrisy, in thus ridiculing those whom she openly encouraged, was reprehensible; or that, probably, she was equally severe in her animadversions on me during my absence. No: vanity, gratified vanity, prevented my discovery of aught, except that she was charming, and that I must be the preferred, or she would never have thus selected me as the con. fidant of her real opinion of her admirers. Nay, I am persuaded, that had my best friend informed me that Arabella made me the object of her ridicule, I should have disbelieved the assertion; and attributed it to some little feeling of envy or jealousy on the part of the narrator. Such is the confidence vanity gives a man, not in the sincerity of his mistress, but in the irresistible power of his own attractions. Lord Henry and Sir John were, nevertheless, the only formidable rivals among the train of her danglers; not that they were superior in either mental or personal attractions to the rest, but simply because they were richer. Lord Henry had lately inherited a very large fortune from an old bachelor uncle, and was consequently considered a very excellent parti; and Sir John was in possession of a clear £20,000. a year, a possession which in those days, no less than in these, rendered the possessor very popular with all ladies who had to give, or were to be given in marriage. Neither of these admirers had as yet asked for Arabella's hand, save for a contre dance; and she was skilfully playing them off against each other and me, in order to elicit a demand for her hand for life. Yet, this manœuvre, I in my infinite wisdom, never once suspected; but, vain men (and I confess I was one) ever were, and will be fools to the end of the chapter. At this epoch, Lord Henry was called away by the illness of his father, and Sir John had taken his departure to attend the Newmarket meeting. The field was consequently left open to me, and I determined on making the best use of my time to bring Arabella to a decision in my favour before the return of my rivals. How delightful, thought I, to witness their mortification and disappointment at my success; and with this laudable motive-and I verily believe it was the predominant, if not the sole one--I looked forward to proposing to enter a state in which the whole happiness or misery of life depends on the selection of the object with whom it is to be shared, and the respect as well as affection entertained for her. Yet, if all about to assume the holy tie of matrimony were to analyze their motives for seeking it, how few would find them stand the test of reason; or how few dare to conjecture the probable duration of the sentiment-if sentiment such fancies may be denominated-that led to it. But a truce to moralizing, and back to my story. On my next visit to Arabella, after the departure of Lord Henry and Sir John, she received me with even more than her usual kindness; congratulated me that I could exist without attending Newmarket, protesting that she held in horror the votaries of the turf, who, she said, seldom possessed as much intelligence as the quadrupeds on which they betted thousands, and possessed infinitely less sagacity than the bipeds in the shape of grooms, who outwitted them. Severe animadversions on her absent admirers, and implied compliments on my superiority, encouraged me to make her the proposal of my hand. I said all that it is customary to say on such occasions, when a man is, or fancies that he is, enamoured; but, while uttering these platitudes, I could not help thinking how different had been my sensations when making a similar declaration to my first love, my gentle, lost Louisa. Nor could I avoid observing, how differently the proposal was received. Here was no tremulous sensibility, no bashful timidity, no tears starting from the downcast lid, and, like a pearly dewdrop, stealing over a cheek of rose. No, her grandmother, had she been alive, could not have been more perfectly unembarrassed; though, after the pause of a few moments, she affected (and even I, infatuated as I was, yet saw it was affectation) to look down, and murmur something about "the unexpectedness of my proposal." "Then, am I to understand that it is disagreeable to you?" said I, piqued by her want of feeling. Disagreeable!" repeated the syren, "what a word!" and she placed her small white band in mine, as she turned away her head, to conceal, not her blushes, but the want of them. I was fool enough to throw myself on my knees before her; by Jove, at this moment, the very thought of such an attitude gives me a twinge in my foot. There again—what a horrible shooting pain-and that blockhead, John, has let the time elapse for bringing me my colchicum -Here he comes at last-so, that will do, sirrah! Well, let me remember, where was I when that twinge put it all out of my head-Oh! I have it-I was on my knees, kissing the little band she abandoned to me, and her head averted, probably to hide a smile of either triumph or ridicule, when a loud voice in the anti-room (loud voices in anti-rooms are often convenient) gave me notice that we were about to be interrupted. I had only time to start on my legs, and look nearly as unconcerned as-my "ladye love," ere her bustling aunt entered the apartment, to announce that a letter had just reached her, requiring their immediate presence at Clifton, where a near relative was dangerously ill. She had sent to order post-horses, and desired her niece to commence preparations for her journey. While Madame la tante retired to the anti-room to give orders to her femme de charge, Arabella whispered me to write to her aunt, to make my proposal in form. "Why not make it now, and in person," said I, "and declare our mutual affection and engagement?" "Oh! no, on no account," replied the deceiver, you know not how precise and prudish my aunt is," (and that I was utterly ignorant of those features of her character, was very true, for I had never seen even the most remote symptom of them in the old lady). "She would never forgive us," pursued Arabella, "if she knew you had proposed to me before you had asked her permission; so pray don't commit me. Write her a formal proposal, and name the settlements you intend to make; for, though I, dear Henry, do not regard such matters, she, I blush to say, regards little else, (avarice being the besetting sin of the old), and we must conciliate her." There was something repugnant to my feelings in all this cold, calculating policy: and yet, fool as I was, I attributed the confidence reposed in me by the niece, relative to her aunt's mercenary disposition, to her affection for me. Thus, are we ever ready to be misled by our vanity? I left the house with reluctance; and no sooner reached home than I obeyed Arabella's dictates, and wrote the formal proposal; in which, after expressing, with all the exaggeration of sentiment usual to the occasion, my attachment to her niece. I offered settlements so liberal, that not even the most mercenary aunt could have objected to them. I waited impatiently for an answer; for, though sure of Arabella's consent, I wished to have it confirmed by the sanction of one, who stood in the light of a parent and guardian to her. But no answer came; and, when I dispatched my servant a second time to demand one, he was informed that the ladies had left town. Day after day elapsed without bringing me the desired reply from the aunt, whose silence seemed most unaccountable. Various and painful were the reflections it occasioued me, the prominent one being regret for having made the offer; for I now began to feel that, when no longer present to dazzle me by her beauty, or to amuse me by her satirical sallies, Arabella's fascinations were forgotten, and little or no semblance of passion in my breast, reminded me that I had once fancied she was dear to me. I almost wished that the aunt would refuse her consent; though some little feeling of humiliation as to what Lord Henry would say, or Sir John think of me, as a rejected suitor, crossed my mind each time I indulged the vain hope. At length, after many days of suspense, a letter was brought me from Mrs. Spencer, apologizing for not having sooner replied to me; but stating, that the imminent danger of her relative had driven every thought, not connected with him, out of her head; that as he was now convalescent, she turned with pleasure to my proposal, admitted the liberality of the settlement offered, and would be in London in a day or two, when every preliminary for the marriage could be finally arranged. My feelings on reading this characteristic epistle were anything but of a joyous nature. It was unaccompanied by a single line, or even message from Arabella, indeed her name did not even once occur in the letter, an omission that both offended and disgusted me. congratulated myself on the precaution which had induced me to use this barrier. "When did you come to town?" asked Lord Henry. "I only arrived an hour ago," was the reply. Avonmore's." "I came late last night, and am on my way to Wilton, is going to be married? and to Lyster too?" "Have you heard that our pretty friend, Arabella "Est il possible?" "Yes, positively to Lyster, whom we have heard her abuse and ridicule a thousand times." I felt my ears begin to tingle, and verified the truth of the old proverb, "Listeners never hear good of themselves." "By the bye, you were a little smitten there, and tions, as they call it-Eh! Sir John?" at one time I began to think you had serious inten fancy too, but I was not quite so young as all that. Why, so Arabella took it into her wise head to No, no, Arabella is a devilish nice girl to flirt with ; but, the last, the very last, I would think of as a wife." cisely the sort of person I should think of as a Now, there I differ from you; for, she is "You don't say so?" pre wife." another; and when she is so, I intend to be—one of "Yes, I do; but then, it must be as the wife of her most assiduous admirers," I felt my blood boil with indignation; and was on the point of discovering my proximity to the speakers, when Sir John resumed. "What a flat Lyster must be, to be gulled into marrying her. I never thought they could have succeeded in deceiving him to such an extent, though I saw they were playing off against the poor devil." "Oh! by Jove, so did I too, and if our supposed matrimonial projects led to his real one, I don't impatient to change her name.' regret it, for poor Arabella's sake; for she was most letter of proposal." Capital, capital, the plot thickens; for, she also sent it to me.' "You don't say so?" I swear she did; and what is more, I can give fact in detailing his readiness to make liberal settleyou chapter and verse; for Lyster was so matter-ofments, and liberal they certainly were, that I remember nearly the words of his letter to Madame la tante. They arrived in two days, and I almost got rid of my doubts and fears when I saw Arabella in increased beauty and animation, meet my greetings with unrepressed symptoms of complacency. The arrangements for our marriage were put en train; but, with what different feelings did I enter into them, to those which influenced me on the former occasion. Though I still admired Arabella's beauty, and felt her fascination, yet the passion she excited, if passion it might be called, was of a nature that reflected little honour on the inspired or the inspirer. It was unrefined by the tenderness that ever accom-sulting me." panies real love, and unredeemed by the respect which hallows that sentiment, and robs it of all grossierte. In this state of mind I entered my club, to dine; when, not wishing to encounter any of my acquaintances, I ensconced myself in a corner of the large room, and had an Indian screen of vast dimensions, so placed, that I was isolated from the general mass and could not be seen by any new comers. While I was discussing my solitary repast, I heard voices, familiar to my ear, command dinner to be brought to them at the table next to mine, and only divided from me by the screen. When I recognized the tones of Lord Henry and Sir John, for whose vicinity at that period I felt no peculiar desire, I "And what reason did the old she-fox assign for consulting you on the subject?" friend to the family." "The old one, to be sure, of considering me as a Exactly the same reason she gave for con"She stated to me that Arabella had a positive dislike to Mr. Lyster; and she feared (mark the cunning of the old woman) that this dislike to so unexceptionable a parti originated in her having a preference elsewhere; and therefore she had determined to ask my opinion whether she ought to influence her niece to accept Lyster." "In short a roundabout way of soliciting you to propose for Arabella yourself. The exact sense of her letter to me." "I dare be sworn they were fac-similes. Madame la tante added, that her niece was by no means committed with Mr. Lyster; for, that she had been so guarded when he asked her (on observing her coldness) if his proposal was disagreeable to her, as merely to repeat, with a shudder, the word he had uttered-disagreeable." |