I

by the head of the police that, perhaps, being innocent, a harsh examination was not calculated to conquer the prisoner's obstinacy; that it might be more politic to treat him with civility and moderation. A sworn jury was assembled, and the prisoner conducted into their presence.

"You must excuse the somewhat harsh style in which we began to examine you yesterday, sir." "Certainly, when you please to apprehend me aright." "Our laws are severe, and your affair made much noise. I cannot venture to discharge you without a violation of my duty: appearances are against you. I am anxious that you should state something which may remove this impression." "True! had I anything to allege.' "In such case, I shall be compelled to communicate the affair to government, and await its directions." "And what then?" "Then you encounter the risk of having attempted to pass the boundaries, and if you obtain mercy, you will be subject to the levy."

Wolf remained silent during some minutes, as if struggling with some deep internal feeling. Then turning suddenly towards the magistrate, be inquired, "May I be permitted a quarter of an hour's audience with you?"

The jury looked very suspiciously at him; but at a sign from the magistrate, they instantly withdrew.

"Now what is it you wish to say to me?" "Your deportment towards me yesterday, my lord, would never have brought me to confession. I laugh at compulsion. The difference, the kindness, of your conduct to-day inspires me with a feeling of confidence and esteem. I believe you to be a worthy man.' "What do you wish to say to me?" "I find, say, you are a worthy man. I have long wished to meet with such a one! let me for once shake hands with an honest man." "What is your object, sir, in this?" "Your hair is grown gray with years; you look respectable; you must have seen much of the world. And you must have known what it is to suffer is it not true?-and are since grown more humane!" "Good sir, why do you talk thus?" "Yes, you are just standing on the brink of eternity: soon you will stand in need of the Almighty's mercy. Will you deny it to one of his creatures? No, you will not. Do you not yet suspect? Cannot you conjecture with whom you speak?" "What is it you mean? you alarm me." "Still don't you suspect me? Write, sir, to the prince; state in what manner I was found, and how I became my own accuser. Impress upon him that God

Theodric, this is destiny above

Our power to baffle: bear it then, my love!
And though you're absent in another land,
Sent from me by my own well-meant command,
Your soul, I know, as firm is knit to mine
As these clasp'd hands, in blessing you, now join;
Shape not imagin'd horrors in my fate-
Even now my sufferings are not very great;
And when your grief's first transport shall subside
I call upon your strength of soul and pride
To pay my memory, if 'tis worth the debt,
Love's glorying tribute-not forlorn regret:
I charge my name with power to conjure up
Reflection's balmy, not its bitter cup.

My pardoning angel, at the gates of heaven,
Shall look not more regard than you have given
To me; and our life's union has been clad
In smiles of bliss as sweet as life e'er had.

Shall gloom be from such bright remembrance cast?
Shall bitterness outflow from sweetness past?
No! imaged in the sanctuary of your breast,
There let me smile, amidst high thoughts, at rest;
And let contentment on your spirit shine,
As if its peace were still a part of mine:
For if you war not proudly with your pain
For you I shall have worse than lived in vain.
But I conjure your manliness to bear
My loss with noble spirit-not despair;
I ask you by our love to promise this,
And kiss these words, where I have left a kiss-
The latest from my living lips for yours.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

THE TOWN DRUMMER.

For many a year one Robin Boss had been town drummer; he was a relic of some American war fencibles, and was, to say the God's truth of him, a divor bodie, with no manner of conduct, saving a very earnest endeavour to fill himself fou as often as he could get the means; the consequence of which was, that his face was as plooky as a curran bun, and his nose as red as a partan's tae.

One afternoon there was a need to send out

In all the mouths of men, for any-Pshaw ! I still respect your ears, you see; I—

Amel. You

Insult me, sir.

Went. Forgive me: I indeed

Am somewhat of a prude; you'll scorn me for it.

I still think women modest-in the mass.

Amel. Sir-Mr. Wentworth-you have used me ill. Yourself you have used ill. You have forgot All-what is due to me-what to your wife. You have forgot-forgot-can I forget

All that I sacrificed for you?-my youth,

My home, my heart-(you know-you knew it then)

In sad obedience to my father's word?

You promised to that father (how you kept
That promise, now remember) you would save
His age from poverty: he had been bred

In splendour, and he could not bow him down,
Like men who never felt the warmth of fortune.
He gave me up, a victim; and I saw
Myself (ah! how I shuddered) borne away
By you, the Evil Angel of my life,
To a portentous splendour. I became
A pining bride, a wretch,-a slave to all
Your host of passions; but I swore (may God
Forgive me!) to love you-you, when I loved
Another, and you knew it: yes, you knew
My heart was given away, and yet you wed me.
Leave me, sir!

Went. Have you done? Woman, do you think
This mummery is to work me from my purpose—
My settled will? Mistress, I leave you now:
But this remember, that your minion-Oh!
I do not heed your frowning-your boy-love
Will visit India shortly, or, it may be,

(You are his guide) a prison here, in England.
Farewell.

Amel. Yet stay-a word more ere we quit.
I do beseech you (though my wrongs are great,
And my proud spirit ill can stoop to this,)
You take your malediction from this youth.
He is as innocent-I think he's innocent
Of the least ill toward you. For me, I am
Too innocent to sue; yet let me say,
Since the sad hour I wed you, I have been
As faithful to our cold communion

As though my heart had from the first been yours,

Or you been generous after. Once more, sir,
I would implore you-for your comfort-for
Your honour, and my name, to spare this boy.
In the calm tone of one who has not erred

And I am here-oh! such a weary wretch.
Oh! father, father, what a heart had you
To cast me on the wide and bitter world,
With such a friend as this! I would have toiled
From the pale morning 'til the dusk of night,
And lived as poorly, and smiled cheerfully,
Keeping out sorrow from our cottage home.
And there was one who would have loved you too,
And aided with his all our wreck of fortune.
You would not hear him;-and,--and did I hear
His passionate petitioning, and see

His scalding tears, and fling myself away
Upon a wintry bosom, that held years
Doubling my own! What matters it?-'tis past.
I will be still myself: who's there?

To see us both so idle. Give it me.

Where? where do ladies hide their favourite flowers,

But in their bosoms, foolish youth. Away

'Tis I must do it. Psbaw! how sad you look, And how you tremble.

Jesting awhile; but my dark husband's frown

Comes like a cloud upon me.

You must go

I will depart-or may I kiss away

Amel. Is this jest?

You act well, sir; or-but if it be true,
Then what am I?

Ch. Oh! by these burning tears;

By all my haunted days and wakeful nights,
Oh! by yourself I swear, dearest of all,
I love-love you, my own Amelia !

Once I will call you so. Do-do not scorn me,
And blight my youth-I do not ask for love;
I dare not. Trample not upon my heart,
My untouched heart-I gave it all to you,
Without a spot of care or sorrow on it.
My spirit became yours-I worshipped you,
And for your sake in silence. Say but once
You hate me not, for this-Speak, speak!

Amel. Alas!

Ch. Weep not for me, my gentle love. You said
Your husband threatened you. Come, then, to me;
I have a shelter and a heart for you,
Where, ever and for ever you shall reign.
Amelia, dear Amelia! speak a word
Of kindness and consenting to me-Speak!
If but a word, or though it be not kindness:
Speak hope, doubt, fear,—but not despair Or say
That some day you may love, or that if ever
Your cruel husband dies, you'll think of me;
Or that you wish me happy,-or that perhaps
Your heart-nay, speak to me, Amelia.

Amel. Is then your love so deep?
Ch. So deep? It is

Twined with my life: it is my life-my food-
The natural element wherein I breathe---
My madness-my heart's madness-it is all
-Oh! what a picture have I raised upon
My sandy wishes. I have thought at times
That you and I in some far distant country
Might live together, blessing and beloved;
And I have shaped such plans of happiness
For us and all around us (you indeed
Ever the sweet superior spirit there),
That were you always-Fair Amelia,

You listen with a melancholy smile?

Amel. Let me hear all: 'tis fit I should hear all.

Alas, Alas!

Ch. Weep not for me, my love.

I-I am nought: not worth a single tear:

And yet-Oh! what a paradise is love:
Secure, requited love. I will not go:
Or we will go together. There are haunts
For young and happy spirits: You and I
Will thither fly, and dwell beside some stream
That runs in music 'neath the Indian suns,
Aye, some sweet island still shall be our home,
Where fruits and flowers are born through all the year,
And Summer, Autumn, Spring, are ever young,
Where Winter comes not, and where nought abides
But Nature in her beauty revelling.
You shall be happy, sweet Amelia,

At last; and I-it is too much to think of.
Forgive me while I look upon thee now,

And swear to thee by Love, and Night, and all
The gliding hours of soft and starry Night,
How much-how absolutely I am thine,
My pale and gentle beauty-what a heart
Had he to wrong thee, or upbraid thee! He
Was guilty-nay, nay: look not so.

A mel. I have

Been guilty of a cruel act toward yon.
Charles, I indeed am guilty. When to-day
My husband menaced me, and told me of
Public and broad disgrace, it met my scorn:
But have I, my poor youth, been so unkind
To you, as not to see this-love before?
Charles, I have driven you from your early home,

I see it now: I only-hate me for it.

Ch. I'll love you, like bright heaven. The fixed stars Shall never be so constant. I am all

Your own. Not sin, nor sorrow, nor the grave-
Not the cold hollow grave, shall chill my love;
It will survive beyond the bounds of death,
The spirit of the shadow which may there
Perhaps do penance for my deeds of ill.
Amel. Stay this wild talk.

Ch. Men have been known to love
Through years of absence, aye, in pain and peril,
And one did cast life and a world away
For a loose woman's smile: nay, Love has dwelt,
A sweet inhabitant, in a demon's breast,
Lonely, amidst bad passions; burning there,
Like a most holy and sepulchral light,
And almost hallowing its dark tenement.
Why may not I-

Amel. I thought I heard a step.

How strangely you speak now-again, again.
Leave me; quick. leave me.

Ch. "Tis your tyrant coming:

Fly rather you.
Amel.

If you have pity, go.

'Tis hard to suffer where we ought to judge,
And pray to those who should petition us.
'Tis a brave world, I see. Power and wrong
Go hand in hand resistless and abhorred,
And patient virtue and pale modesty,
Like the sad flowers of the too early spring,
Are cropped before they blossom-or trod down,
Or by the fierce winds withered. Is it so?-
But I have flaunted in the sun, and cast
My smiles in prodigality away:

And now, and now-no matter. I have done.
Whether I live scorned or beloved-Beloved!
Better be hated, could my pride abate,
And I consent to fly. It may be thus.

Nothing but cheerful words, thou idle girl.
Look, look! above: the canopy of the sky,
Spotted with stars, shines like a bridal dress:
A queen might envy that so regal blue
Which wraps the world o' nights. Alas, alas!
I do remember in my follying days
What wild and wanton wishes once were mine,
Slaves-radiant gems-and beauty with no peer,
And friends (a ready host)-but I forget.
I shall be dreaming soon, as once I dreamt,

When I had Hope to light me. Have you no song,
My gentle girl, for a sick woman's ear?

SONG.

His eye like the mid-day sun was bright, Hers had a proud but a milder light, Clear and sweet like the cloudless moon: Alas! and must it fade as soon?

His voice was like the breath of war,

But hers was fainter-softer far; And yet, when he of his long love sighed, She laughed in scorn:-he fled, and died. Mar. There is another verse, of a different air, But indistinct-like the low moaning

Of summer winds in the evening. Thus it runs :They said he died upon the wave,

And his bed was the wild and bounding billow: Her bed shall be a dry earth grave: Prepare it quick, for she wants her pillow.

Amel.

How slowly and how silently doth Time Float on his starry journey. Still he goes, And goes, and goes, and doth not pass away. He rises with the golden morning, calmly, And with the moon at night. Methinks I see Him stretching wide abroad his mighty wings, Floating for ever o'er the crowds of men, Like a huge vulture with its prey beneath. Lo! I am here, and Time seems passing on: To-morrow I shall be a breathless thingYet he will still be here; and the blue Hours Will laugh as gaily on the busy world,

As though I were alive to welcome them. There's one will shed some tears. Poor Charles! [CHARLES enters.]

Ch. I am here.

Did you not call?

Amel. You come in time. My thoughts

Were full of you, dear Charles. Your mother (now

I take that title) in her dying hour

Has privilege to speak unto your youth.

There's one thing pains me; and I would be calm.
-My husband has been harsh unto me,-yet

He is my husband; and you'll think of this
If any sterner feeling move your heart?
Seek no revenge for me. You will not?-Nay,
Is it so hard to grant my last request?
He is my husband: he was father, too,
Of the blue-eyed boy you were so fond of once.
Do you remember how his eyelids closed
When the first summer rose was opening?
'Tis now two years ago-more, more: and I-
I now am hastening to him. Pretty boy!
He was my only child. How fair he looked
In the white garment that encircled him-
'Twas like a marble slumber; and when we

No, that's not it: the words are hard to hit.

"His eye like the mid-day sun was bright"— Mar. 'Tis so.

You've a good memory. Well, listen to me. I must not trip, I see.

Amd. I hearken. Now.

I thought my heart was breaking-yet I lived:

But I am weary now.

Mar. You must not talk,

Indeed, dear lady; nay

Ch. Indeed you must not.
Amel.

Well, then, I will be silent; yet, not so.