"They will not die!" said she sternly, and drawing herself up to her fullest height-"They will not die, unless their father deserts them, and then I will require their blood at his hand. Charles Hamblin have you now nothing to live for? I commit our children to you. I hold you answerable for their lives." There was a majesty in the mother's bold pleading for her infants; an almost awful dignity in her dilated form, so different from her customary meek endurance, that the guilty man trembled and bowed before it. It was his darling too who was stricken. Yet he moved mechanically, and like one in a dream; but he proceeded to take such steps as his knowledge and experience suggested; and the mother watched him with a keen and steady eye that followed his every movement. But when he had done all that for the moment was practicable, and sank with a deep sigh exhausted on a chair, then too the unnatural strength which had supported her through that trying night gave way, and bursting into a flood of unrestrained tears, she flung herself upon her husband's neck. At length, when their violence had a little passed away— "Charles," she whispered, "Pray, pray with me!" She took his hand, and led him unresisting to the little bed; and as she knelt at its side she drew him down with her. The knees that had bent too seldom before now bowed low, and he buried his face in his hands upon the bed-clothes. Her words were few and simple, and they told as much of resignation as of entreaty; but before they were ended, the quick and choking sobs of the vanquished man shook the bed. She did not interrupt him, but suffered the torrent of feeling freely to run its course; and when at last he rose, his eyes for the first time during many weeks frankly encountered hers, and his arms twined round her neck. That night Charles Hamblin slept-yesdestitute, afflicted, heart-broken as he was, he slept and the wife and mother, with tearful eyes but a lightened heart, watched together the sick and the despairing. : With the first dawn of morning the father woke to his new care; but he woke refreshed, and the very magnitude of the occasion seemed to give that tone to his mind which it had long wanted, and to call back the energy of earlier days. He read, he thought, he studied, all for the one absorbing object; and then, distrustful of himself, he went abroad to seek out those who were reputed of the greatest skill; and pride, shame all forgotten, he dragged them to his miserable home, and there demanded their aid and their advice. Who could refuse it? The fever meanwhile burnt its scorching way till it had spent itself: and then succeeded the deadly weakness-that deep debility of exhaustion when life just flutters in the scarce-to-bedetected pulse. "Wine!" murmured Hamblin, "He must have wine, or he will die yet!" His wife made no reply; but in a minute she was seen passing from the house, with a bundle hid beneath her cloak; and scarce another minute had elapsed when she returned and placed the coveted liquors in her husband's hand. "God bless you!" he cried with fervour, as with a blow he dashed the neck from the bottle, and held the strengthening cordial to the sick child's lips. He drank, and visibly revived, and the parents looked with tearful eyes into each other's faces." He will live! yes, he will live!" And they who had before knelt side by side in prayer now knelt again in thanksgiving-if it could be-more deep, more fervent still. And he did live, and every day added per ceptibly to his increasing strength. Their joy perhaps would have been too excessive, but that now the little Helen sickened also. With her, however, the capricious disease assumed so mild a form as scarcely to occasion even an uneasiness; while the baby, little Charlie, obsti nate and self-willed as ever, positively refused to contract the contagion at all. "To you, Charles, to you, under Heaven whispered the grateful wife, as, with a hand rescued children; and while tears of thank clasped in his, they gazed together upon the moment that a single care or sorrow st ness filled their eyes, they forgot in that b mained behind. steady and unwearying in its pursuit; and if Poverty, however, is like a slot-houndfor a moment the silently-tracking foot is for gotten, the deep bay is soon heard again in the distance, telling that the unrelenting for still marks his destined victim's steps, and borers chill the new-sprung joy of the suffering family, on his trail. Thus a very few days sufficed to and to make the pinching gripe of want keenly felt as ever. One morning Mrs. Hamblin was sitting at her accustomed work, which now indeed formed the principal support of her family, when a stranger entered, inquiring for her husband; and when he learned that he was at the moment from home, he expressed his intention of waiting his return, and without further into the little parlour, drew himself a char beside the almost empty grate, grumbled at the wretched fire they kept, and proceeded to heap on it all the coals intended for the day's consumption. ceremony walked He gave his name as Mr. Woodington, and his appearance was that of a hale elderly country gentleman. There was a somewhat eccentric abruptness in his manner, and his voice was harsh and loud; but there was a good humoured twinkle in his small grey eyes, which would have gone far to warrant a kindly heart under a much rougher casing. 66 said, when he had arranged the fire to his Don't let me interrupt you, Ma'am," he liking, and thrown a quick glance round the room and its contents. "You've got enough to do, I dare say. Sickness, too," he added, fixing his eyes upon the convalescent boy"Hem! just like the doctors!-pretend to cure other people, and have sick houses themselves at home!" "He is nearly well now," said Mrs. Hamblin, apologetically. Hem!-wants the butcher and baker, I suspect, more than the physician and apothecary," muttered Mr. Woodington to himself, turning his eyes from the thin pale face of the boy to the scarcely less thin and pale face of the mother. "All starving together, I'm afraid! What are you doing there, ma'am?" he added aloud, rising and examining a pair of card-racks to which she was just putting the last touch. "Upon my life! I am the luckiest old fool that ever lived. This is exactly what my old sister Mary told me to be sure to bring her from London, and I had forgotten all about them! These are for sale?" he said inquiringly. "They are," she answered, with a faint blush. "They are mine then," he cried, laying his broad hand on the delicate drawings, and at the same time placing a £10 note on the table. Mrs. Hamblin's cheek grew for a moment paler than even before, and then flushed to the deepest crimson. "I understand you, Sir," she said, with a trembling voice, and pushing back the note "but I am-I cannot-I “I understand you, ma'am,” said the visitor, with warmth, "you mean that you are a lady; and he must be a fool or blind that could not see that with half an eye; and you mean that you cannot receive what might be thought charity. Ma'am, I would horsewhip the fellow who dared offer it to you. But all that," he continued, taking breath, "is no reason why I should lose my card-racks. I shall take them;" and he quietly wrapped them up, and put them in his pocket. And if you choose to indict me for larceny, why you must, that's all. As for this"-he continued, taking up the bank-note, and turning to little Edward-" Come here, you whey-faced young dog! This was meant for you. Give it your father to take care of for you; and tell him if he does not return it to you on your twenty-first birth-day, with compound interest at five per cent., I'll publish him as a swindler through all Worcestershire." Mrs. Hamblin endeavoured to speak; but her white and quivering lips could force no sound. 66 Nonsense! ma'am, nonsense! don't be foolish!" muttered Mr. Woodington uneasily: "nothing wonderful in it. I knew your father, ma'am; knew yourself when you were not so big as that one. I've nursed you on my knee, though you forget me. Nothing at all wonderful in it, I tell you. Bid your husband expect me back in an hour or so I want to consult him: I'm a dreadful invalid!" and so saying, he hurried out of the house as abruptly as though he had just done some act of which he was very much ashamed. It is needless to dwell on Charles Hamblin's amazement at finding, on his return, the note on the table, and his wife's eyes red and swollen with tears. The children too, each eager to have the first telling of all about the strange gentleman, but added to the confusion by their noisy and disjointed recitals; and to crown all, before the tale was half understood Mr. Woodington himself reappeared. "Now don't interrupt me, Mr. Hamblin," he at once began. "My time is very short, and I can't afford to let any one talk but myself. I want to consult you. You recollect a man of the name of Peters? had his jaw smashed? you cured him? Well, that Peters is now my coachman; and ever since he has been with me I have heard of nothing but Mr. Hamblin's wonderful skill, Mr. Hamblin's attention, Mr. Hamblin's kindness, and I dont know what all. Now don't interrupt me, sir! Natural enough, you know, for the poor fellow to be grateful--though perhaps not very common. Well, my old country doctor, Philtre, having made a fortune out of me and some score more of wretched diseased human creatures, is going to retire; and what to do I could not tell, for I have wretched health, and am obliged to be always taking physic. I thought I heard my death-warrant when old Philtre told me of his giving up business. But go to Mr. Hamblin, sir,' says Peters, he's the man to make you well; worth a score of Philtres any day in the week: you must and shall go to Mr. Hamblin :' and I verily believe, if I had refused, the fellow would have overturned me on purpose, and then driven me here while I was helpless, with a broken leg or a concussion of the brain! So you see, sir, here I am. And now feel my pulse: look at my tongue: sound my chest; and tell me what you think of my case. Amazed and almost overwhelmed, Hamblin gazed in silence on the sturdy figure before him. Yet he did as he was directed: and when the examination was ended, he answered with something between a smile and a sigh— 66 Sir, you have greatly overrated my poor skill, for I confess that so far from being able to detect any complaint, I can find nothing but signs of the most perfect health." What do you mean, sir?" cried the patient, in a passion. Will you pretend to be honest, with a wife and family like that? I tell you, sir, I am ill; and I can afford to be ill. I can't live without a draught every four hours, and two pills at bed-time. Don't look so horrified! you need not poison me, you know. I suppose you can make pills of bread crumbs, and draughts of aqua pumpa and rose-pink, as well as other people; and if I fancy they are physic, they will do just as well, I daresay. Now, hark'ye, sir! I am in London for a month, stopping at Hatchett's, in Piccadilly: I shall expect to find on my dressing-table every morning six draughts and a pill-box. But I don't mean to let you ruin me, as old Philtre has done. I mean to save something handsome by employing you; and I shall fix my own prices for the physic:-eighteenpence for each draught, and a shilling the pills. That's my price; and I won't pay a shilling more nor less, and I shall make you give attendance in for nothing. I shall expect you to dine with me three times a week, just to watch how I get on, and perhaps I may look in here once or twice to see- and the little grey eyes sparkled merrily" to see the effect of my own prescription. By the way, I have two or three sick friends in town that I shall want you to see; and since you are such a marvellous surgeon, I shall keep my eye upon Charing Cross, and the Regent's Circus, and a few of the other ugly crossings, and try to pick you up a good case or two. So, now remember, to-morrow morning I shall expect my draughts and pills, and the next day you dine with me at five. Goodbye! Goodbye, ma'am!" and before either had time to utter a syllable, he shot out of the house, and disappeared. "Who and what is he?" cried Hamblin, turning in bewilderment to his wife. "An old friend of my father's, he tells me, and one whom the grateful remembrance of poor Peters has directed to us. Oh, Charles! was there no light concealed behind the dark ness?" yet "little Edward" is now no longer checked in his aspirations after his father's noble profes sion, but is already freely spoken of as his future partner and successor. And Helen, the long-tried, the patient, the constant and all-enduring wife-where now is she? Does her husband's heart still cherish as dearly in his prosperity her who was for s many years the one support and solace of his griefs and cares? Oh, yes! distrust it not The same who was of old the light of his dari ness is still the light of his day! land. "There was, there is, and ever will be light And the lark would not carol his sweet song abo Without me young maidens would never know lose. where you are, Helen!" he passionately an- The poet, I own, can dispense with my aid, swered, clasping her with tears to his breast. Yet, without me, his lay would never be made Mr. Woodington was as good as his word; and I ever was known to laughter inclined, whether he picked up patients in the streets Yet always in spleen I enter the mind. (which was shrewdly to be suspected), or not I'm the head of the land, though far from the qua Charles Hamblin had soon his hands full of prac-Yet always in purple am dress'd and am seen. tice, and the very poorest had somehow or other I'm always at large, and yet, sooth to say, always a fee prepared for the doctor, while Mr. I never am seen in the broad, open day. Woodington listened with unwearying interest But fear not, dear ladies, I'm the last one to tell. No lover escapes from my powerful spell; to the minutest details of every case, chuckling I make like and unlike-and, unknown to the past, and rubbing his hands over every success of his Look well to the present, you'll find me at last. protégé. Before his month had expired, he announced that that greedy old scoundrel Philtre could not bear to give up his business to be scrambled for with no advantage to himself; but wanted to transfer it entire to some one who would for three years allow him a share of its profits. All had been already arranged before it was even told; and Charles Hamblin, he scarce knew how, found himself old Philtre's suc cessor. He has now the largest practice in all Worcestershire; and he has had the exquisite happiness of carrying his benefactor safely through a real illness, which required far more active medicines than aqua pumpa and bread pills. His delight on this occasion was only exceeded by that of the kind-hearted Mr. Woodington himself, who, on the strength of the cure, would have persuaded him to take out a diploma, and practice in London as a physician! But Hamblin's heart and attachment are far too warm for any dreams of fame or wealth to have the power to seduce him from the happy circle to which he has now grown so necessary. And though he can never hear the name of hydrocyanic acid without a shudder and a prayer, and would willingly expunge it from the Materia Medica, STANZAS. J. R. W. L. Go, dreams of my youth! I have loved you too long Too heedless, whilst weaving this fairy-like chain, But sadder the heart, from such day-dreams awaking Go, dreams of my youth! both deceitful and vain, But deepen its shadows, and strengthen their power, heart; But, phanto-deceiver, I bid you depart! VIOLA THE NECROMANCY OF CHANGE. BY CALDER CAMPBELL. "Variety is charming," says the song The love of change is man's most bitter curse; In the false world; for, petted babes, who long What urges, then, this fever of the brain This blind desire for change-this wish to have The rath-flowers of our youth, that shine so bright, There is a whirl in fate that drives us on To brave the peril it were wise to shun; That will come down again, our tasks undone; Age comes upon us, in our "palmy state," Unnerves our strength, and shrivels up our powers; The blinded gaze meets nought but snows, where late Appeared bright vistas, parsemès with flowers; Tho' when it lived there, death it oft would crave; Instead of love, we catch the look of hate, Is it Ambition, which "o'erleaps itself?" Or Avarice, dying 'midst its heirless pelf? Or is it Vanity-that mental mole?— The dense ophthalmia of the vacant mind, Of alternations till, like men struck blind, End in foul fens, black bogs, and stagnant ditches! My early love was Flowers! I loved to cull My mistress in those days was some Fay-queen, And to the heathy hills and glens confined; For her the sweetest garlands fondly twined; And vapours hide from sight the stately bowers That to Ambition's eye seemed Heaven to dare, Soaring aloft-true "castles in the air." When I was young I dreamt of landscapes bright— And Friendship looked as placid as the close Now I am young no more-my heart hath bled, And Friendship, like a stormy day's decline Yea!-Hope remains! and time may yet restore Of some fair plant when bud and bell have passed, And tranquil thoughts o'ercome the angry blast; While true Affection-Nature's purest gemBrings for my brow its holy diadem! WHY IS IT THAT MAN STRIVES TO Why is it that man strives to hide That bids him thus resort to art? Oh! rather should his light so shine That all its glad'ning beams might share, It has frequently occurred to us that an oc- | casional notice of some of the works of those foreign authors whose talents are highly esteemed in their own country, and whose fame has not failed to reach us, might prove acceptable to the readers of the Belle Assemblée; and it is in pursuance with this idea that we have now taken up our pen in order to introduce "Der Rechte" (The Right One), a novel by Ida Gräfin Hahn Hahn, to their notice-a work which has been so successful in Germany as to reach a second edition. This authoress is already known to English readers through a translation of her graphic and interesting tour in Greece, Italy, and Syria, published some time since; and lately through a translation of one of the most poetical of her prose works, "Gräfin Faustine," a composition replete with eloquence, graceful in style, and abounding in pretty metaphors, but truly continental in spirit; the heroine occupying a position not in exact accordance with our notions of female propriety, and yet pictured everything that is good and excellent. It is a question in our minds whether an actual portraiture of vice in all its coarseness, such, for instance, as that so ably commented on in the December number of this work, is not preferable to the poison insidiously instilled under the mask of delicacy, romance, and enthusiasm; the one instantly strikes us with disgust, while the other is apt to fascinate the senses, even while the reason rejects it. The works of the Gräfin Hahn Hahn are peculiar in their style: there is little of incident, few, if any striking situations, and little action; the scenes are generally simple tableaux of public or domestic society. The thoughts and feelings, rather than the actions of her dramatis persone, occupy her pages; and it is the mind, rather than the manners, which she endeavours to pourtray. The conversations, which constitute the chief part of the works, are easy, fluent, and natural, abounding in simple truisms, lively satire, beautiful metaphors, and, occasionally, with romantic and somewhat utopian ideas. There is a strong family likeness between all her heroines; they are all more or less enthusiastic, ideal, romantic, exigéant, and, withal, beings of perfect intellectual beauty and grace, perfectly comme il faut in person and manners. It would not be fair to judge some of them according to English customs and proprieties, neither the authoress nor the creations of her pen being English women, and there being much difference in the habits, both of thought and action, between us and foreigners; at any rate, so far as the "outward and visible signs" go. He men are by no means "perfect monsters;" there is more than a touch of human frailty about them, and but few of them have much claim to the title of "hero." In fact, judging from the general tone of some of her writings, the "ers of the creation" enjoy no great share of the favour of the Gräfin; for while her heroines ar gifted with every imaginable perfection, she usually leaves her heroes mere men. But to our subject. The opening chapter of "Der Rechte" int duces us to all the principal characters excepting one. It is a soirée given by the Frau von Rose one of a periodical series. This lady may be considered as a sort of connecting link, fors chiefly at her house and at her parties that leading characters meet and converse. rine Lady Desmond, the heroine en es quitting the party very early, and in some part. induced either by the railleries of the Her Ohlen, or the silence and neglect of her coast Gaston Lapperg; she refers it to the former cause. No sooner is her back turned, than she is abused, admired, criticised, quizzed, and slandered by the assembled party, male and female; for let them deny it as often as they will, the "lordy sex do love a bit of scandal quite as well as we de Frau von Rosen, however, takes up the defence of her absent friend, and offers to relate ber history. It appears that Catharine was an only child, and an heiress of great wealth, idolized and indulged in every whim by her doating paren but so naturally amiable as to escape becoming that disagreeable, peevish, miserable being, a spoiled child. Lovely, gentle, lively, and a complished, she approaches womanhood; and when her young companions and she speak at think of marriage, and each wishes for a husha according to her own fancy, Catharine's wishes thus shape themselves:-"Oh that it may my lot to meet with a noble, enlightened, and truly good man-one to whom my heart and mind can cheerfully submit themselves-one to whom I can look up with pride and perled confidence." be Poor Catharine! how sex have of your many wished for this same Phoenix! few, if any tellectual, enthusiastic, affectionate women have not, at some early period of life, indulged in such visions of matrimonial utopias, so rarely realized in this every-day world. Catharine's father is in a very bad state of health, and exceedingly anxious to see his chid married and settled before he dies; consequently |