mused on the dangers which they had passed, and rendered their secret but fervent thanks to Providence for a preservation almost miraculous.

THE AUCTIONEER AND THE LAWYER.

Humorous narrative, burlesque, and flattery. 2 Importunity. Assurance and flattery. Peevish irony. "Humorous narrative. Sycophancy. Mock gravity.

1A CITY Auctioneer, one Samuel Stubbs,
Did greater execution with his hammer,
Assisted by his puffing clamour,

Than Gog and Magog with their clubs,
Or that great Fee-fa-fum of war
The Scandinavian Thor,

Did with his mallet, which (see Bryant's
Mythology) fell'd stoutest giants:-

For Samuel knock'd down houses, churches,
And woods of oak and elm and birches,
With greater ease than mad Orlando
Tore the first tree he laid his hand to.

He ought, in reason, to have raised his own
Lot by knocking others' down;

And had he been content with shaking
His hammer and his hand, and taking
Advantage of what brought him grist, he
Might have been as rich as Christie;-
But somehow when thy midnight bell, Bow,
Sounded along Cheapside its knell,
Our spark was busy in Pall-mall
Shaking his elbow,—

Marking, with paw upon his mazzard,
The turns of hazard;

Or rattling in a box the dice,

Which seem'd as if a grudge they bore

To Stubbs: for often in a trice,

Down on the nail he was compell'd to pay
All that his hammer brought him in the day,

And sometimes more.

Thus, like a male Penelope, our wight,
What he had done by day undid by night:

No wonder, therefore, if like her,

He was beset by clamorous brutes,
Who crowded round him to prefer
Their several suits.

One Mr. Snipps, the tailor, had the longest
Bill for many suits-of raiment,

And naturally thought he had the strongest
Claim for payment.

But debts of honour must be paid,
Whate'er becomes of debts of trade;
And so our stylish auctioneer,

From month to month throughout the year,
Excuses, falsehoods, pleas, alleges.

Or flatteries, compliments, and pledges.
When in the latter mood one day,

He squeezed his hand, and swore to pay.--

"But when?"-"3 Next month you may depend on't. My dearest Snipps, before the end on't;

Your face proclaims in every feature,

You wouldn't harm a fellow-creature

You 're a kind soul, I know you are, Snipps."

"Ay, so you said six months ago;

But such fine words, I'd have you know,

Butter no parsnips."

This said, he bade his lawyer draw
A special writ,

Serve it on Stubbs, and follow it

Up with the utmost rigour of the law.

Where business interposes not its rubs;
For where the main chance is in question,
Damon leaves Pythias to the stake,

Pylades and Orestes break,

And Alexander cuts Hephæstion;

But when our man of law must sue his friends,
Tenfold politeness makes amends.

So when he meets our Auctioneer,

Into his outstretch'd hand he thrust his

Writ, and said, with friendly leer,

6.66

"My dear, dear Stubbs, pray do me justice;

In this affair I hope you see

No censure can attach to me

Don't entertain a wrong impression;

I'm doing now what must be done

In my profession."

"And so am I," Stubbs answer'd with a frown, So crying "Going-going-going-gone!" He knock'd him down!

THE BROKEN HEART.

'The whole of this piece must be read in a varied, but exceedingly pathetic tone.

1 Every one must recollect the tragical story of young Emmett, the Irish patriot; it was too touching to be soon forgotten. During the troubles in Ireland, he was tried, condemned, and executed, on a charge of treason. His fate made a deep impression on public sympathy. He was so young-so intelligent—so gene‐ rous—so brave—so every thing that we are apt to like in a young man. His conduct under trial, too, was so lofty and intrepid. The noble indignation with which he repelled the charge of treason against his country-the eloquent vindication of his nameand his pathetic appeal to posterity, in the hopeless hour of condemnation-all these entered deeply into every generous bosom, and even his enemies lamented the stern policy that dictated his execution.

But there was one heart, whose anguish it would be impossible to describe. In happier days and fairer fortunes, he had won the affections of a beautiful and interesting girl, the daughter of a late celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him with the disinterested fervour of a woman's first and early love. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself against him; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened around his name, she loved him the more ardently for his very sufferings. If, then, his fate could awaken the sympathy, even of his foes, what must have been the agony of her whose whole soul was occupied by his image! Let those tell who have had the portals of the tomb suddenly closed between them and the being they most loved on earth--who have sat at its threshold, as one shut out in a cold and lonely world, from whence all that was most lovely and loving had departed.

But then the horrors of such a grave! so frightful, so dishonoured! There was nothing for memory to dwell on, that could soothe the pang of separation-none of those tender, though melancholy circumstances, that endear the parting scene-nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent, like the dews of Heaven, to revive the heart in the parching hour of anguish.

To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had in

curred her father's displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by horror, she would have experienced no want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of quick and generous sensibilities. The most delicate and cherishing attentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. She was led into society, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement to dissipate her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of her lover. But it was all in vain. There are some strokes of calamity that scathe and scorch the soul-that penetrate to the vital seat of happiness—and blast it, never again to put forth bud or blossom. She never objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but she was as much alone there as in the depths of solitude. She walked about in a sad reverie, apparently unconscious of the world around her. She carried with her an inward wo, that mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, and "heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he ever so wisely."

The person who told me her story had seen her at a masquerade. There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more striking and painful than to meet it in such a scene. To find it wandering like a spectre, lonely and joyless, where all around is gay -to see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and looking so wan and wo-begone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After strolling through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd with an air of utter abstraction, she sat herself down on the steps of an orchestra, and looking about for some time with a vacant air that showed her insensibility to the garish scene, she began, with the capriciousness of a sickly heart, to warble a little plaintive air. She had an exquisite voice; but on this occasion it was so simple, so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of wretchedness, that she drew a crowd mute and silent around her, and melted every one into tears.

The story of one so true and tender, could not but excite great interest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm. It completely won the heart of a brave officer, who paid his addresses to her, and thought that one so true to the dead could not but prove affectionate to the living. She declined his attentions, for her thoughts

were irrevocably engrossed by the memory of her former lover. He, however, persisted in his suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by her conviction of his worth, and her sense of her own destitute and dependent situation; for she was existing on the kindness of friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assurance that her heart was unalterably another's.

He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene might wear out the remembrance of early woes. She was an amiable and exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy one; but nothing could cure the silent and devouring melancholy that had entered into her very soul. She wasted away in a slow but hopeless decline, and at length sunk into the grave, the victim of a broken heart.

It was on her that Moore, the distinguished Irish poet, composed the following lines:

She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers around her are sighing:

But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.

She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking-
Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking!

He had lived for his love-for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwined him—
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him!

Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;

They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west,
From her own loved island of sorrow!

Washington Irving.

MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS.

Descriptive. 2 Tenderness and regret. Increasing. 'Gloomy narrative. Indignation. Tenderness and weariness. Alarum, fear, confusion, and fierceness. Resolution. Gloomy description. 10 Contempt and resolution. " Proud regret.

1 It was a labouring bark that slowly held its way, And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay;