Whilst his Lordship was making to himself this observation, the Doctor picked up a small scrap of paper, which he handed to his companion, with a knowing wink, saying, "If your Lordship will peruse that cantalene, you will perceive some symptoms of love, and of despair, and so forth: it dropt, I doubt me, from the departing man of rhyme. Truly, I opine, from the glance I gave it, that he has treated the subject, which is somewhat old, after a rather newish fashion. Yet, put it up, put it up, my Lord-There goes the bell, there goes the summons to the hot rolls and butterand on to breakfast, with what appetite you may."

Lord Umberdale's urbanity could scarce repress the look of indignation which he threw on the philosophic Doctor, at this point of precedence given to the hot rolls and butter on a July morning, over his new friend's poetry; and though he suffered himself to be led along, he read as follows:

"Not a tear, not a sigh, can I give to thy fate,

Thy willow-branch claims no compassion from me;
In vain shalt thou tell me of scorn and of hate,

If thou garland thy brows with a wreath from yon tree:
An ingrate thou art, at thy lot to repine,

For oh, that a garland of willow were mine!

Say, does it not tell, that a joy thou hast proved,
Which Remembrance might lengthen to ages of bliss,
She cannot be faithless who never has loved?
Then what would I give for a token like this!—

Your brows let the rose and the myrtle entwine,

But oh, that a garland of willows were mine!

Only one golden moment-I ask'd but for one-
But one look of love had she given to me,

Down the dark vale of years, when that moment had flown,
Its light on my path still reflected would be!

Yet ne'er shall such look or such moment be mine,
And the garland of willow I may not entwine!"

"For a poet," thought Lord Umberdale-(he did not consider doctor Clapperton a proper person to entrust a love-thought with, and therefore gave no utterance to it)" for a poet, this is the most humble lover I have yet met with: he even refines upon the sentiment of Romeo, when he exclaims,

6 Come what sorrow can,

It cannot countervail the exchange of joy

That one short moment gives me in her sight.'

This bids defiance to the absence, not the unfaithfulness, of his mistress. Love, I do believe," Lord Umberdale continued to himself,-" love will subsist on wonderfully little hope, but it cannot subsist very long altogether without it ;" and with this reflection he entered the breakfast parlour.

As nothing worthy of record occurred during this repast, I will only observe,

"The whole party made a most brilliant appearance,

And ate bread and butter with great perseverance." Breakfast over, as the company loitered through the airy rooms of the old-fashioned mansion of Hopewell, the Colonel, with Mary hanging on his arm, approached an open window, where Lord Umberdale had placed himself, and where, in spite of his better reason, he was bewildered in fruitless conjectures respecting the materials of which the poet had boasted himself as possessed, and of which he proposed to compound his ballad.

"I fear," said the Colonel, as they joined him, "that your Lordship's visit from Queen Mab was prevented by my poor protegée, Charles Selby; a being scarce less whimsical in his fancies than her Majesty of Dreams. The old servant here tells me, he with great difficulty, and not until after much altercation, pre

vailed on him to retire from the spot he had chosen for the indulgence of his midnight fancies, and which was directly under your windows."

"Queen Mab's dominion over me last night," returned Lord Umberdale, "was absolute, notwithstanding; and I have this morning been so fortunate as to form an acquaintance with the poet of Hopewell."

"Then you have seen our poor Charles?" said Mary.

"I have indeed seen him," said Lord Umberdale, "and am greatly interested in his story," he smiled as he added, "though told by Doctor Clapperton. I am, I confess, not a little anxious to see more both of him and of his poetry; for this last may I not look to Miss Hopewell ?"

""Tis long," said Mary, sorrowfully, "since his ideas have been sufficiently connected, or, indeed, since he has been sufficiently composed to commit his effusions to writing. I will show you," continued the young lady," a production of his earlier and happier day; but I must first give you a little history of the circumstance which gave rise to it. Whilst my father was with General Greene in the Carolinas,-"

She blushed, and hesitated, as a sudden recollection of the rank and country of the person to whom she was speaking came over her. But Lord Umberdale perceived her embarrassment, and hastened to relieve it.

"Go on, go on, Miss Hopewell," said he, laughing; "if I have the fortune, whether good or bad I will not say, to be a peer of Great Britain; I am, I can assure you, a protesting peer, in all that regards her late conduct to this beloved country."

Thus encouraged, Mary commenced afresh

"It was during my father's absence, that this part of the state was overrun by the British; and-and—” Again she found she was about to trench on delicate ground, and paused--and again Lord Umberdale pressed her to proceed.

"Why we are like to have the second edition of Corporal Trim's story of the King of Bohemia and his Seven Castles," said the Colonel, laughing. "Let me try my hand at it.

"Your Lordship is not ignorant of the devastations committed by the troops of General Arnold and Phillips during their invasion of this state. A detachment under the command of an unprincipled and unfeeling officer, was distressing and terrifying this district by every species of violence and outrage, when the harassing fears of my family were relieved by the appearance of the army of our country's great and good friend the Marquis de la Fayette.

"He made the hall here his head-quarters for a few days; and in the artless expressions of gratitude which he received from my children and their cousin Charles Selby, appeared to enjoy, in anticipation, the boundless burst of thanks he was to receive from the lips of a rescued nation. Numberless are the instances, preserved by the tradition of the hall, of his efforts to restore to tranquillity the feelings of my affrighted family, and more particularly of the children. The brave, the ardent, the high-minded soldier, was soon their kind and playful companion; and poor Charles Selby can show you a spot which he regards as sacred to friendship and patriotism, and which retains to this hour the marks of his conquest over the great Marquis, when he beat him at hop-skip-and-jump. His enthusiastic remembrance of the great defender of

America's liberty will account for the subject of the composition which I presume Mary is about to show you."

"I have promised also to show it to the Miss Belcours," said Mary; " and here are the young ladies—— and here the verses. Will you read them, sir?" she added, handing them to her father.

"No, no," he replied; " you have a claim, I suspect, to a full moiety in them, and therefore a right to read them yourself."

"Nay, my dear sir," said the young lady, blushing; 56 your insinuation puts an end to all proceedings on my part, though I utterly disclaim any participation in the composition."

"Well, well," said her father, "read them-read them-let us hear." And then, without the affectation of pretending not to wish to do that, which she knew she could do well, Mary read the following lines:

COLUMBIA'S FAREWELL

TO

GENERAL LA FAYETTE,

On his Return to France at the close of the Revolutionary War.

Adieu, then, my hero! my hero returning

To his vine-cover'd hills and fair valleys again;

With gratitude's ardours Columbia was burning,

Whilst thus she pour'd forth to her champion the strain;
Farewell, thou beloved of Columbia, farewell!

The contest is over, my cause it is won;

But oh, who may tell how deep is the swell

Of my feelings, whilst owning thy succour, my son!

And now, whilst thy country upon thee is gazing,
Flush'd high with thy glory, ennobled by fame;
May freedom's pure flame in thy bosom bright blazing,
Form a hallow'd effulgence round La Fayette's name!
Wherever sweet Liberty's standard shall fly,

May it still be the word for the brave to set on ;'
And when it sounds high in the loud battle cry,

May the minions of tyranny tremble, my son!