when, suddenly brightening up his placid countenance, like one that had found out a riddle, and looked to have the solution admired, "At last," said he, "I advised him——” Here he paused, and here we were again interminably thrown back. By no possible guess could any of us aim at the drift of the meaning he was about to be delivered of. "I advised him," he repeated, "to have some advice upon the subject." A general approbation followed; and it was unanimously agreed, that, under all the circumstances of the case, no sounder or more judicious counsel could have been given. A laxity pervades the popular use of words. Parson Wis not quite so continent as Diana, yet prettily dissembleth his frailty. Is Parson W therefore a hypocrite? I think not. Where the concealment of a vice is less pernicious than the barefaced publication of it would be, no additional delinquency is incurred in the secresy. Parson W- -is simply an immoral clergyman. But if Parson Wwere to be for ever haranguing on the opposite virtue-choosing for his perpetual text, in preference to all other pulpit topics, the remarkable resistance recorded in the 39th of Exodus-dwelling, moreover, and dilating upon it-then Parson W- might be reasonably suspected of hypocrisy. But Parson W-- rarely diverteth into such line of argument, or toucheth it briefly. His ordinary topics are fetched from "obedience to the powers that be"- -"submission to the civil magistrate in all commands that are not absolutely unlawful"—on which he can delight to expatiate with equal fervour and sincerity. Again, to despise a person is properly to look down upon him with none or the least possible emotion. But when Clementina, who has lately lost her lover, with bosom heaving, eyes flashing, and her whole frame in agitation, pronounces, with a peculiar emphasis, that she "despises the fellow," depend upon it that he is not quite so despicable in her eyes as she would have us imagine. One more instance :-If we must naturalise that portentous phrase, a truism, it were well that we limited the use of it. Every commonplace or trite observation is not a truism. For example: "A good name helps a man on in the world." This is nothing but a simple truth, however hackneyed. It has a distinct subject and predicate. But when the thing predicated is involved in the term of the subject, and so necessarily involved that by no possible conception they can be separated, then it becomes a truism; as to say, "A good name is a proof of a man's estimation in the world." We seem to be saying something when we say nothing. I was describing to F-- some knavish tricks of a mutual friend of ours. "If he did so and so," was the reply, "he cannot be an honest man." Here was a genuine truism-truth upon truth-inference and proposition identical; or rather a dictionary definition usurping the place of an inference. No. IV. The vices of some men are magnificent. Compare the amours of Henry the Eighth and Charles the Second. The Stuart had mistresses -the Tudor kept wives. We are ashamed at sight of a monkey-somehow as we are shy of poor relations. C-imagined a Caledonian compartment in Hades, where there should be fire without sulphur. Absurd images are sometimes irresistible. I will mention two. An elephant in a coach-office gravely coming to have his trunk booked ;a mermaid over a fish-kettle cooking her own tail. It is praise of Shakespeare, with reference to the play-writers his contemporaries, that he has so few revolting characters. Yet he has one that is singularly mean and disagreeable-the King in "Hamlet." Neither has he characters of insignificance, unless the phantom that stalks over the stage as Julius Cæsar, in the play of that name, may be accounted one. Neither has he envious characters, excepting the short part of Don John in "Much Ado about Nothing.' Neither has he unentertaining characters, if we except Parolles, and the little that there is of the Clown, in "All's Well that Ends Well." It would settle the dispute as to whether Shakespeare intended Othello for a jealous character, to consider how differently we are affected towards him and Leontes in the "Winter's Tale." Leontes is that character. Othello's fault was simply credulity. Is it possible that Shakespeare should never have read Homer, in Chapman's version at least? If he had read it, could he mean to travesty it in the parts or those big boobies Ajax and Achilles? Ulysses, Nestor, and Agamemnon are true to their parts in the "Iliad:" they are gentlemen at least. Thersites, though unamusing, is fairly deducible from it. "Troilus and Cressida" are a fine graft upon it. But those two big bulks! It is a desideratum in works that treat de re culinaria that we have no rationale of sauces or theory of mixed flavours: as to show why cabbage is reprehensible with roast beef, laudable with bacon; why the haunch of mutton seeks the alliance of currant jelly, the shoulder civilly declineth it; why loin of veal (a pretty problem) being itself unctuous, seeketh the adventitious lubricity of melted butter, and why the same part in pork, not more oleaginous, abhorreth from it; why the French bean sympathises with the flesh of deer; why salt fish points to parsnip, brawn makes a dead-set at mustard; why cats prefer valerian to heart's-ease, old ladies vice versa,-though this is rather travelling out of the road of the dietetics, and may be thought a question more curious than revelant; why salmon (a strong sapor per se) fortifieth its condition with the mighty lobster sauce, whose embraces are fatal to the delicater relish of the turbot; why oysters in death rise up against the contamination of brown sugar, while they are posthumously amorous of vinegar; why the sour mango and the sweet jam by turns court and are accepted by the compliable mutton hash, she not yet decidedly declaring for either. We are as yet but in the empirical stage of cookery. We feed ignorantly, and want to be able to give a reason of the relish that is in us; so that if Nature should furnish us with a new meat, or be prodigally pleased to restore the phoenix, upon a given flavour we might be able to pronounce instantly, on philosophical principles, what the sauce to it should be,what the curious adjuncts. ROSAMUND GRAY. DEDICATED TO MARTIN CHARLES BURNEY, ESQ. Forgive me, BURNEY, if to thee these late My verse was offered to an older friend; 1 Those humorous clouds that flit o'er brightest days, (And I have watched thee almost from a child), I have not found a whiter soul than thine. CHAPTER I. It was noontide. The sun was very hot. An old gentlewoman sat spinning in a little arbour at the door of her cottage. She was blind; and her granddaughter was reading the Bible to her. The old lady had just left her work to attend to the story of Ruth. "Orpah kissed her mother-in-law, but Ruth clave unto her." It was a passage she could not let pass without a comment. The moral she drew from it was not very new, to be sure. The girl had heard it a hundred times before; and a hundred times more she could have heard it, without suspecting it to be tedious. Rosamund loved her grandmother. The old lady loved Rosamund too; and she had reason for so doing. Rosamund was to her at once a child and a servant. She had only her left in the world. They two lived together. They had once known better days. The story of Rosamund's parents, their failure, their folly, and distresses, may be told another time. Our tale hath grief enough in it. It was now about a year and a half since old Margaret Gray had sold off all her effects to pay the debts of Rosamund's father-just after the mother had died of a broken heart; for her husband had fled his country to hide his shame in a foreign land. At that period the old lady retired to a small cottage in the village of Widford, in Hertfordshire. Rosamund, in her thirteenth year, was left destitute, without fortune or friends; she went with her grandmother. In all this time she had served her faithfully and lovingly. Old Margaret Gray, when she first came into these parts, had eyes, and could see. The neighbours said they had been dimmed by weeping: be that as it may, she was latterly grown quite blind. "God is very good to us, child; I can feel you yet." This she would sometimes say; and we need not wonder to hear that Rosamund clave unto her grandmother. Margaret retained a spirit unbroken by calamity. There was a principle within which it seemed as if no outward circumstances could reach. It was 1 Coleridge. a religious principle, and she had taught it to Rosamund; for the girl had mostly resided with her grandmother from her earliest years. Indeed she had taught her all that she knew herself; and the old lady's knowledge did not extend a vast way. Margaret had drawn her maxims from observation; and a pretty long experience in life had contributed to make her, at times, a little positive: but Rosamund never argued with her grandmother. Their library consisted chiefly in a large Family Bible, with notes and expositions by various learned expositors, from Bishop Jewell downwards. This might never be suffered to lie about like other books, but was kept constantly wrapt up in a handsome case of green velvet, with gold tasselsthe only relic of departed grandeur they had brought with them to the cottage -everything else of value had been sold off for the purpose above mentioned. This Bible Rosamund, when a child, had never dared to open without per mission; and even yet, from habit, continued the custom. Margaret had parted with none of her authority; indeed, it was never exerted with much harshness; and happy was Rosamund, though a girl grown, when she could obtain leave to read her Bible. It was a treasure too valuable for an indiscriminate use; and Margaret still pointed out to her grand-daughter where to read. Besides this, they had the "Complete Angler; or, Contemplative Man's Recreation," with cuts; "Pilgrim's Progress," the first part; a Cookery Book, with a few dry sprigs of rosemary and lavender stuck here and there between the leaves (I suppose to point to some of the old lady's most favourite receipts), and there was "Wither's Emblems," an old book, and quaint. The oldfashioned pictures in this last book were among the first exciters of the infant Rosamund's curiosity. Her contemplation had fed upon them in rather older years. Rosamund had not read many books besides these, or, if any, they had been only occasional companions: these were to Rosamund as old friends, that she had long known. I know not whether the peculiar cast of her mind might not be traced, in part, to a tincture she had received, early in life, from Walton and Wither, from John Bunyan and her Bible. Rosamund's mind was pensive and reflective, rather than what passes usually for clever or acute. From a child she was remarkably shy and thoughtful; this was taken for stupidity and want of feeling; and the child has been sometimes whipped for being a stubborn thing, when her little heart was almost bursting with affection. Even now her grandmother would often reprove her when she found her too grave or melancholy; give her sprightly lectures about good-humour and rational mirth; and not unfrequently fall a-crying herself, to the great discredit of her lecture. Those tears endeared her the more to Rosamund. Margaret would say, "Child, I love you to cry, when I think you are only remembering your poor dear father and mother. I would have you think about them sometimes: it would be strange if you did not; but I fear, Rosamund,— I fear, girl, you sometimes think too deeply about your own situation and poor prospects in life. When you do so, you do wrong. Remember the naughty rich man in the parable. He never had any good thoughts about God and his religion and that might have been your case." Rosamund, at these times, could not reply to her; she was not in the habit of arguing with her grandmother; so she was quite silent on these occasions; or else the girl knew well enough herself that she had only been sad to think of the desolate condition of her best friend, to see her in her old age so infirm and blind. But she had never been used to make excuses when the old lady said she was doing wrong. The neighbours were all very kind to them. The veriest rustics never passed them without a bow or a pulling off of the hat-some show of courtesy, awkward indeed, but affectionate-with a "good-morrow, madam," or "young madam," as it might happen. Rude and savage natures, who seem born with a propensity to express contempt for anything that looks like prosperity, yet felt respect for its declining lustre. The farmers and better sort of people (as they are called), all promised to provide for Rosamund when her grandmother should die. Margaret trusted in God and believed them. She used to say, "I have lived many years in the world, and have never known people, good people, to be left without some friend; a relation, a benefactor, a something. God knows our wants-that it is not good for man or woman to be alone; and He always sends us a helpmate, a leaning place, a somewhat." Upon this sure ground of experience did Margaret build her trust in Providence. CHAPTER II. ROSAMUND had just made an end of her story (as I was about to relate), and was listening to the application of the moral (which said application she was old enough to have made herself, but her grandmother still continued to treat her, in many respects, as a child, and Rosamund was in no haste to lay claim to the title of womanhood), when a young gentleman made his appearance and interrupted them. It was young Allan Clare, who had brought a present of peaches and some roses for Rosamund. He laid his little basket down on a seat of the arbour, and in a respectful tone of voice, as though he were addressing a parent, inquired of Margaret "how she did." The old lady seemed pleased with his attentions-answered his inquiries by saying, that "her cough was less troublesome a-nights, but she had not yet got rid of it, and probably she never might; but she did not like to tease young people with an account of her infirmities." A few kind words passed on either side, when young Clare, glancing a tender look at the girl, who had all this time been silent, took leave of them with saying, "I shall bring Elinor to see you in the evening." When he was gone the old lady began to prattle. "That is a sweet-dispositioned youth, and I do love him dearly, I must say it-there is such a modesty in all he says or does. He should not come here so often, to be sure, but I don't know how to help it; there is so much goodness in him, I can't find it in my heart to forbid him. But, Rosamund, girl, I must tell you beforehand, when you grow older Mr. Clare must be no companion for you: while you were both so young it was all very well; but the time is coming when folks will think harm of it if a rich young gentleman like Mr. Clare comes so often to our poor cottage. Dost hear, girl? Why don't you answer? Come, I did not mean to say anything to hurt you. Speak to me, Rosamund. Nay, I must not have you be sullen. I don't love people that are sullen." And in this manner was this poor soul running on, unheard and unheeded, when it occurred to her that possibly the girl might not be within hearing. And true it was that Rosamund had slunk away at the first mention of Mr. Clare's good qualities; and when she returned, which was not till a few minutes after Margaret had made an end of her fine harangue, it is certain her |