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For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
( HAUNT OF LONELINESS.
Ah! hours, how sad and slowly
Ye move, when from the breast,
The first fresh glow of feeling
Is gone, that brought
Its wing to thought,
While rapture did the rest.
Ah! Hopes, why mock ye ever,
Sad spectres of the past,
That, on the dark horizon,
Still linger lone,
When all is gone,
(If gleams that once ye cast!
Why conjure Memory ever,
Though well yc know, in vain
Might pray’r recall the vision,
That known too late,
’Tis not in fate
To wake or warm again!
Sweet swallow, wanton soaring,
Oh! for a wing like yours—
Not seeking hopes departed,
Nor one delight,
But only flight
From memory haunted shores.
Give me the swallow's winglet.
That, with the speed of light,
My form might fly to regions.
Which still, in dreams,
Os joyous gleams,
Bring blessings to my sight.
Oh ! thither, at the shutting
Os bowery eyes at eve,
How blest, to wander freely,
And lose the care,
That ever here,
The weary soul must grieve !
No bird that skims the mountain,
No fish that darts the lake.
Would speed more gaily forward, —
First taught to sweep
Through air or deep,
Its prey or joy to take.
For, ah ! how dull is morning,
How dark the day, the night,
How silent all in sweetness.
To spell the heart,
With tuneful art,
Or wing the thought for flight!
LEON.
Savannah, Geo.
If 818 IBiBSffl&ElSBIB.
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
THE COLONEL’S STORY.
BY LACY, OF KENTUCKY.
“Talking about pigs,” said Col. Over
ton, hitching his chair up to the fire, and
ejecting a cloud of tobacco smoke from his
mouth, as he tossed the stump of his Ha
vana into the embers —“ talking about
pigs, reminds me of an adventure of mine;
and, Master Lacy, if you will take your
arm from around that bowl of apple-toddy,
and pass the same in this direction, togeth
er with an empty tumbler, I will tell you
the story.”
I complied with his request, and the Col
onel began as follows:
“ I once had occasion to go from Hop
kinsville, Kentucky, to Natchez —it has
been many years since—and to go alone
and on horseback. I had to travel what
was known as the “ Wilderness Road”—a
name which, years ago, was sufficient of
itself to give one the terrors—connected, as
it was, with tragedies the most frightful
imaginable— tales of horror, which would
harrow up your very soul.
“ Hopkinsville, in those days, was about
as much like what it now is, as a negro cab
in is like Dr. Montgomery’s splendid brick
mansion. The old ‘ Buzzard Roost’ was the
only tavern in the county, and was ac
counted the finest house in the burg. If
old Tom Patton were to come out of his
grave, and be set down on Nashville st.,
he would think that he was in New Or
leans, and not Elizabethtown, as they call
ed it in those days. Our magnificent Asy
lum, and Squire Dillard’s villa, would
®care him out of his wits. But instead of
vast tobacco plantations and handsome
country-houses, the whole country then
was a great prairie. From Ford’s Ferry,
on the Ohio river, to Natchez, the whole
route was infested with ,‘ierce and daring
highwaymen and cut-throats—men such
as “ Big ’ and “ Little Harpe,” possessed
of all the audacious skill and daring of
Claude Duval and Dick Turpin, with none
of the gallantry and generosity of spirit
which the legendary stories ascribe to
those hero-highwaymen of the olden time.
These were stern, iron-hearted, relentless
men. Pity and compassion were senti
ments without a germ in their breasts; re
morse was unknown to them; crime was
the natural instinct of their dark souls—
and they would blow out the brains of an
unwary traveler, from an ambush, with
about as much compunction of conscience
as a backwoodsman would experience in
bringing down a squirrel with his rifle.—
There was, as 1 have said, a connected
chain of them from the Ohio river to
Natchez. A rnan who had carried a flotil
la of flatboats to New Orleans, was re
turning overland, by the Wilderness Road,
as they had to do in those days, when
steamboats were unknown, and stopped at
Ford’s Ferry Tavern, to stay all night—
intending to cross the river in the morn
ing. No trace of him, his horse, or any
thing belonging to him, were ever found
afterwards; from the time he entered the
tavern, the clue to his movements ceas
ed. He was seen to stop at the tavern by
someone going the other way. Ford de
clared that he had ferried him across the
river, and he had gone on his route, he
knew not where. Yes, he had ferried him
across the river Styx, and charged him a
heavy toll. His notorious bad character,
however, caused a suspicion, amounting
almost to certainty, to be created against
him by the scattered settlers around, and
he was arrested. But it was known that
Ford could produce witnesses, who would
swear to anything he wished.” He had
often escaped from a just punishment, by
that means, before. As they were con
ducting him to jail, he was shot through
the head, by some foe whom he had wrong
ed. It was in the dusk of evening, and
amidst a crowd, and it could not be disco
vered who had perpetrated the deed of re
venge or retributive justice, though, I sup
pose, not much inquiry was made.
Many stories, such as this—many much
more dark and bloody than this, formed, in
those days, and for many years after, the
subject of the evening fireside conversation
of the South Kentuckians. I had heard
them from my youth upwards. I was then
about twenty years old. I had been down
to Natchez on business, and was returning,
with my saddle-bags full of gold and sil
ver. I ‘ camped out’ at night—that is, I
tethered my horse, and mounted into a tree
where I roosted among the limbs like a
catamount —for in many places, it was
more than a day’s journey from one house
to another, and even when they were to
be found, the woods were generally the
most hospitable, and by far the safest rest
ing-place. So I bought provision for my
self and horse during the day, and lodged
in the trees at night, not daring to kindle a
fire, though it was in the winter, for fear
of attracting attention to my ‘camp.’ By
wrapping up in my buffalo robe and blan
ket overcoat, I managed, however, to keep
warm.
“ One night, as I was drawing near to
the lower edge of Tennessee —it was rain
ing and sleeting like the very old Nick,
and bitter cold, and I was tired, hungry,
and half frozen—l came to a comfortable
looking, double-log cabin, every crack and
crevice of which, as well as the windows,
were blazing with light; and a savory
odor of fried venison fell on my nostrils,
creating a more exquisite titilation than
ever did an orange flower to a dark-eyed
Southern maid. I looked around —the
night was pitchy dark, the cold wind was
howling through the trees, and the sting
ing hail pelting against my chattering jaws.
I could not resist the temptation.
“ ‘ Hello!’
“ ‘ Hello, yerself,’ cried a swarthy, sal
low-visaged, sandy-haired fellow, in yellow
jeans trowsers, cowhide boots and cotton
shirt, coming to the door.
“ ‘ Can a man find lodging with you for
the night ?’
“‘I reckon so,’ he replied, in a rather
good-humored tone, which somewhat re
assured me—for I had been not without
misgivings that I was purchasing a fire
and bed at the expense of my throat. I
dismounted, saw my horse disposed of, and
entered the cabin. My heart began to
misgive me, when I saw what a company
1 had got into. There were three men, be
sides the one who had accompanied me to
the stable, a youth of nineteen, and an old
woman, all silting around a blazing fire,
in a chimney built of unhewn stone, which
took up nearly the whole side of the house.
On the hearth, which was of baked dirt, of
proportionate size, was a gridiron, and on
it the venison-steak which had assailed my
nostrils with its grateful flavor. They
were the most villainous-looking set I had
ever seen, and I thought if I had sought
for a nest of bandits, I could not have been
more successful in finding one. One fel
low, in particular, who eyed me curiously
as I entered, I thought, had ‘gallows-bird’
written all over him. He was dressed
much as the one who came to the door—
who, by the way, had the pleasantest
countenance of them all—with the addi
tion of a very ill-treated beaver, that had
never been acquainted with Beebe & Cos
tar, when it was new. He had a low,
sunken forehead, with his coarse, straight,
red hair covering it almost entirely, and a
bristly beard, about an inch long, of the
same color, covered his face completely,
except his nose and a little spot under each
eye.
“The room had no ceiling but the loose
plank floor of the garret, and a couple of
long, wooden-stocked rifles in the corner,
a rusty musket over the fire-place, a wood
en cupboard and table, a rude bed with a
ditty patch-quilt, and a few chairs of home
manufacture, constituted the furniture of
the room.
“‘Stranger, you’ll have to put up with
rough far’ ’mong us backwoods folks,’
said an old man, in a coarse blue blanket
coat, who was sitting in the chimney cor
ner, and seemed to be the host.
“The idea of a comfortable log fire, ven
ison steak, fried eggs, and ash-cakes and
buttermilk, being rough fare to a man who
had been roosting in the trees, made me
smile, as I replied—
“ ‘That’s the sort I have been used to.’
“‘Which way are you traveling, if 1
mought ask 1’
“‘lam going to Kentucky.’
“ ‘From below ?’
“ I nodded.
“ ‘ Ah, you tote a decent par’ of shootin’
irons,’ observed the red-haired brigand, as
I threw off my wet overcoat, and display
ed a couple of heavy horseman's pistols in
my belt. His eyes shone as he spoke.
“ ‘ Yes,’ said I, fixing my eye on his ;
‘ they are very pleasant and useful com
panions for a traveler. I’ve got the full
set,’ I added, drawing a finely-chased bow
ie knife from my breast, and handing it to
him.
“ ‘ She ar’ a beauty,’ said he, drawing
his horny thumb along the keen and pol
ished blade, which shone in the red glare
of the fire-light, as he bent forward to ex
amine its temper more closely—his sharp
gray eye sparkling with pleasure as he
observed its admirable workmanship.
“ ‘ Stranger, I’ll give you the best horse
in Massessippi for her. Don’t find them
sort often in these diggins’. I tell you,
Bill’s razor aint nothin’ to it. What d’ye
say to a swap ?’
“And he gazed at it with the air of a con
noisseur, as he passed it to the next.
“ ‘ Could n’t trade, 1 reckon,’ said I, re
placing it in its silver sheath, after it had
gone the rounds. ‘ I could not afford to
part with it.’
“ ‘ You are mighty l ight, hoss,’ said the
old man in the corner, puffing out a whiff
of smoke ; ‘ I would n’t, es l was you.—
She's the clean grit, certain; she’d go
through bones and all.’
“‘Yes, would she,’ said the red-haired,
laughing gleefully at the idea. ‘ I could
shave a man's head off with that ar’, before
hell could scorch a feathei. He would n’t
know what hurt him.’
“ ‘ Come, stranger, supper’s ready. I'm
’fraid that we can't give you as good a
breakflTbt, though, for the last slice of meat
about the house is on the table.’
“We all sat down to the table together,
the men without donning their coats, and
the red-haired without doffing his hat.—
After supper, of which 1 partook most vo
raciously, a bottle of whiskey was set out.
The men appeared to me unusually friend
ly and hospitable, and laughed and talked
in their rough way very jovially ; but I
could not help suspecting that my well-ap
pointed weapons had more influence in
making them so good-humored, than even
the whiskey, of which, I must confess,
however, that they partook very mode
rately.
“There was a cock-loft above, which
was accessible only by a ladder and a trap
door, which was to be my sleeping apart
ment.
“‘Your saddle-bags are mons’ous hea
vy,’ observed the red-haired man, picking
them up, as I started to bed, and weighing
them in his hand.
“‘Yes,’ said I, taking them myself, ‘I
j got a good supply of pqgrder and lead for
myself, when I was below.’
“ ‘I ’spec’ so,’ he replied, and, as I fan
cied, in a sinister tone, though his words
might have meant nothing.
“ The attention of the whole company
was drawn to my saddle-bags, and I im
agined I saw them exchange looks in a
significant manner, which redoubled my
uneasiness, as I thought that they suspect
ed them to be full of gold.
“ After I had retired to bed, I moved the
bedstead as noiselessly as possible, with
one foot of it on the trap-door, so that they
could not take me by surprise. I endeav
ored to lay awake, to listen to what was
going on below, which I could readily do
through ttie cracks in the floor; but, in
spite of all my efforts. I was overcome
with drowsiness and fatigue, and in a few
minutes fell asleep.
“When I awoke, day was just break
i ing. I was startled by hearing a gruff
I voice below, saying—
“‘l say, Bill, it’s time we were killin’
that feller we were talkin”bout last night,
aint it ?’
“I could recognize, in this speaker, the
red-haired brigand. ‘ God ! they intend to
murder me, after all,’ said I to myself, as I
got out my pistols from under my pillow.
“‘ I reckon so,’ said the other. ‘ We'll
have to kill him some time, and now will
do as well as any.’
“ ‘ He’s in mighty good order, in my
opinion.’
“ ‘ He’s as fat as the very devil!’
“ ‘How shall we kill him ?’
“ ‘ Shoot him.’
“ ‘ No. I s’pose we'd better knock him
in the head with an axe. Thar is no use
wastin’ powder and shot on him, scace as
they is these hard times,’ said Red Beard.
“ ‘ What cold-blooded scoundrels ! But
| I’ll make them waste powder and shot yet,
if they don’t take care. I heard them get
ting up and dressing, and more talking be
tween them, which their moving about
prevented my catching the sentences of,
though killing seemed lobe the theme.—
Soon they came to the foot of the ladder,
and one said to the other—
“‘Go uj), Bill, while I go and make a
fire. Don’t make a noise, for fear of wak
ing the stranger. It’s no use wakin’ him
up.’
“ I could hear him mounting the ladder,
to perpetrate the deed of villainy. Find
ing the door fast, he said to the other —
“ ‘ He’s got the door shet.’
“‘You’ll have to wake him up, then.’
“ ‘ Hello, stranger. I say, mister, hello
-thar!’
‘“What do you want there?’ I asked,
cocking a pistol.
“‘1 want to get that mash-tub out o’
thar. We ’ re goin’ to lall a pig for your
breakfast.”
“ Murder will out! thought I, bursting
into a laugh, as I saw through the ludi
crous mistake I had made. I wiped the
sweat trom my brow, for it had stood there
in drops, and let him in, saying, as I
did so—
“‘Well, it’s well I fastened that door.’
“ ‘ Why so ?’
“ ‘ Why, I should have blown you to the
devil as soon as you poked your head
above it.’
“ ‘ The devil you say! What for ?’
“ I related to him what part of their con
versation I had overheard, and how I had
misconstrued it. He laughed heartily, as
did the rest when he told them. But I
was n't murdered that tim€. I made a cap
ital breakfast off of the fat pig, for which
and my lodgings, they would not let me
pay a cent, although 1 urged it almost to
offending; and after taking a swig of ‘ red
eye’ all around, I went on my way rejoic
ing. But even now, I can never think of
that pig-scrape without a laugh.”
From Knight's Quarterly Magazine.
MY FIRST FOLLY.
[at the age of seventeen.]
In all the pride and condescention of an
inmate of Grosvenor Square, I looked upon
Lady Motley’s “At Home.” “ Yes,” I
said, flinging away the card with a trage
dy twist of the fingers —“yes; I will be
there. For one evening I will encounter
the tedium and the taste of a village ball.
For one evening I will doom myself to fig
ures that are out of date, and fiddles that
are out of tune ; dowagers who make em
broidery by wholesale, and demoiselles who
make conquests by profession; for one
evening I will endure the inquiries about
Almack’s and St. Paul’s, the tales of the
weddings that have been and the weddings
that are to be, Hie round of curtsies in the
ball-room, and the round of beef at the
supper-table; for one evening I will not
complain of the everlasting hostess and the
everlasting Boulinger, of the double duty
and the double bass, of the great heiress,
and the great plum-pudding :
Come on, come all,
Come dance in Sir Rogor’n great hail.’*
And thus, by dint of civility, indolence,
quotation, and antithesis, I bent up each
corporal agent to the terrible feat,and “would
have the honor of waiting upon her lady
ship”—in due form.
1 went: turned my uncle’s one-horse
chaise into the long old avenue about an
hour after the time specified, and perceived
by the lights flashing from all the windows,
and the crash of chairs and carriages re
turning from the door, that the room was
most punctually full, and the performers
most pastorally impatient. The first face
I encountered on my entrance was that of
my old friend Villars ; I was delighted to
meet him, and expressed my astoishmentat
finding him in a situation for which his in
clination, one would have supposed, was so
little adapted.
“By Mercury!” he exclaimed, “I am
metamorposed, fairly metamorphosed, my
good Yyvyan; I have been detained here
three months by a fall from Sir Peter, and
have amused myself most indefatigably by
humming tunes and reading newspapers,
winding silk, and guessing conundrums.
I have made myself the admiration, the ado
ration, the very worship of all the coteries
in the place; am reckoned very clever at
cross purposes, and very apt at ‘ what’s my
thought like!’ The ’squires have discov
ered I can carve, and the matrons hold me
indispensable at 100. Come! lam of little
service to-night, but my popularity may
be of use to you : you don’t know a soul!
—I thought so : —read it in your face the
moment you came in—never saw such a
there, Vyvyan, look there! I will in
troduce you.'’ And so saying, my com
panion half limped, half danced with me
up to Miss Amelia Mesnit, and presented
me in due form.
When I look back to any particular scene
of my existence, I can never keep the
stage clear of second-rate characters. I
never think of Mr. Kean's Othello without
an intrusive reflection upon the subject of
Mr. Cooper’s Cassio; I never call to mind
a gorgeous scattering forth of roses from
Mr. Canning, without a painful idea of
some cotemporary effusion of poppies from
Mr. Hume. And thus, beautiful Marga
ret, it is in vain that 1 endeavor to separate
your fascination from the group which was
collected around you. Perhaps that do
minion, which at this moment I feel almost
revived’ recurs more vividly to my imagi
nation when the forms and figures of all by
whom it was contested are associated in
its lenewal.
First comes Amelia the magnificent, the
acknowledged belle, of the county, very
stiff and very dumb in her unheeded and
uncontesled supremacy ; and next, the most
black-browed of fox-hunters, Augusta,
enumerating the names of her father's stud,
and dancing as if she imitated them ; and
then the most accomplished Jane, vowing
that for the last month she had endured im
mense ennui, that she thinks Lady Olivia
prodigiously fade, that her cousin Sophy is
quite brdlante to-night, and that Mr. Peters 1
plays the violin a merveille.
“I am bored, my dear Villars—positive
ly bored! the light is bad and the music
abominable! there is no spring in the boards
and less in the conversation; it is a lovely
moonlight night, and there is nothing worth
looking at in the room.”
I shook hands with my friend, bowed to
three or four people, and was moving off.
As I passed to the door, I met two ladies in
conversation ; “ Don’t you dance any more,
Margaret ?” said one. “ O no,” replied the
other, “I am bored, my dear Louisa—pos
itively bored ; the light is bad and the mu
sic abominable; there is no spring in tfie
boards and less in the conversation ; it is a
lovely moonlight night, and there is noth
ing worth looking at in the room.”
I never was distanced in a jest. I put
on the look of a ten years’ acquaintance,
and commenced parley. “ Surely you are
not going away yet; you have not danced
with me, Margaret; it is impossible you
can be so cruel!” The lady behaved with
wonderful intrepidity. “ She would allow
me the honor, but I was very late ;— real- j
ly, I had not deserved it!” And so we
stood up together.
“ Are you not very impertinent T’
“ Very ; but you are very handsome.—
Nay, you are not to be angry; it was a
fair challenge, and fairly received.”
“And you will not even ask my par
don ?”
“ No! it is out of my way! I never do
those things; it would embarrass me be
jond measure. Pray, let us accomplish
an introduction; not altogether an usual
one; but that matters little. Vyvyan
Joyeuse—rather impertinent, and very for
tunate—at your service.”
“ Margaret Orleans—very handsome,and
rather foolish—-at your service !”
Margaret danced like an angel. I knew
she would. I could not conceive by what
blindness I had passed four hours without
being struck. We talked of all things that
are, and a few beside. She was something
of a botanist, so we began with flowers; a
digression upon China roses carried us to
China—the mandarins with little brains,
and the ladies with little feet—the emperor
—the Orphan of China—Voltaire—Zayre
—criticism—Dr. Johnson—the great bear
—the system of Copernicus—stars—rib
bons—garters—the order of the Bath—sea
bath i ng—Dawl ish —Sidmou ill Lord Sid
mouth—Cicero—Rome
Metastatio—fountains groves gardens
and so, as the dancing concluded, we con
trived to end as we began, with Margaret
Orleans and botany.
Margaret talked well on all subjects, and
wittily on many. 1 had expected to find
nothing but a romping girl, somewhat
amusing, and very vain. But I was out
of my latitude in the first five minutes, and
out of my senses in the next. She left the
room very early, and 1 drove home, more
astonished than I had been for many years.
Several weeks passed away, and I was
about to leave England, to join my sisters
on the Continent. I determined to look
once more on that enslaving smile, whose
recollection had haunted me more than
once. I had ascertained that she resided
with an old lady who took two pupils, and
taught French and Italian, and music and
manners, at an establishment called Vine
House. Two days before l left the coun
try, 1 had been till a late hour shooting at
a mark with a duelling pistol—an enter
tainment, of which, perhaps from a lurk
ing presentiment, 1 was very fond. I was
returning alone, when I perceived, by the
light of an enormous lamp, a board by the
way-side, bearing the welcome inscription,
“Vine House.” “ Enough,” I exclaimed,
“enough! One more scene before the cur
tain drops—Romeo and Juliet by lamp
light!” I roamed about the dwelling-place
of all I held dear, till 1 saw a figure atone
of the windows in the back of the house,
which it was quite impossible to doubt. 1
leaned against a tree, in a sentimental po
sition, and began to chant my own rhymes
thus:
Pretty coquette, the ceaseless play
Os thine unstudied wit,
And thy dark eye’s remembered ray,
By buoyant fancy lit,
And thy young forehead’s clear expanse,
Where the locks slept, as through the dance.
Dream-like, I saw thee flit,
Are far too warm, and far too fair,
To mix with aught of earthly care ;
Bat the vision shall come when my day is done,
A frail, and a fair, and a fleeting one !
And if the many boldly gaze
On that bright brow of thine,
And if thine eye’s undying rays,
On countless coxcombs shine,
And if Ihy wit flings out its mirth.
Which echoes more of air than earth,
For other ears than mine—
I heed not this : ye are fickle things,
And I like your very wanderings ;
1 gaze, aud if thousands share the bliss.
Pretty capricious : I heed not this.
In sooth, 1 am a wayward youth,
As fickle as the sea,
And very apt to speak the truth,
Uupleasing though it be ;
I am no lover, yet, as long
As I have heart for jest or song,
An image, sweet, of thee,
Locked in my heart’s remotest treasures,
Shall ever be one of its hoarded pleasures ;
This from the scofler thou hast won—
And more than this he gives to none.
“Are they your own verses ?” said my
idol at the window.
“They are yours, Margaret! I was on
ly the versifier; you were the muse her
self.”
“The muse herself is obliged to you.—
And now, what is your errand ? for it
grows late, and you must be sensible—no,
that you never will be—but you must be
aware that this is very indecorous.”
“I am come to see you, dear Margaret;
—which I cannot without candles; —to see
you, and to tell you that it is impossible I
can forget—”
“ Bless me ! what a memory you have!
But you must take another opportunity for
yourtaie! for—”
“Alas! I leave England immediately !”
“ A pleasant voyage to you! There, not
a word more ; I must run down to coffee.”
“Now, may I never laugh more,” I
said, “if I am baffled thus;” so I strolled
back to the front of the house, and pro
ceeded to reconnoitre. A bay-window was
half open, and in a small, neat drawing
room, I perceived a group assembled : —an
old lady, with a high muslin cap and red
ribbons, was pouring out the coffee; her
nephew, a tall, awkward young gentle-
man, sitting on one chair and resting his
legs on another, was occupied in the study
of Sir Charles Giandison; and my fair
Margaret was leaning on a sofa, anil
| laughing immoderately
“ Indeed, Miss,” said the matron, “ you
should learn to govern your miith. Peo
ple will think you came out of Bedlam.”
I lifted the window gently, and slept in
to the room.
“Bedlam, madam!” quoth 1; “I bring
intelligence from Bedlam. I arrived last
week.”
The tall, awkward young gentleman
stared ; and the aunt half said, half shriek
ed—“ What in the name of wonder are
you?”
“ Mad, madam ! very particularly mad !
mad as a hare in March, or a Cheapside
blood on Sunday morning. Look at me!
do I not foam ? Listen to me! do 1 not
rave ? Gotfee, my’ dear madam, coffee;
there is no animal so thirsty as your mad
man in the dog-days.”
“Eh! really!” said the tall, awkward
young gentleman.
“ My good sir,” I began ; but my origi
nal insanity began to fail me, and I drew
forthwith upon Ossian’s—“Fly! receive
the wind and fly; the blasts are in the hol
low of my hand, the course of the storm is
mine!”
‘‘Eh! really!” said the tall, awkward
young gentleman.
“ 1 look on the nations and they vanish;
my nostrils pour the blast of death : I come
abroad on the winds; the tempest is before
my face; but my dwelling is calm, above
the clouds : the fields of my rest are pleas
ant.”
“ Do you mean to insult us?” said the
old lady.
“Ay ! do you mean to insult my aunt ?
—really!” said the tall, awkward young
gentleman.
“I shall call in my servants,” said the
old lady.
“ I am the humblest of them,” said I,
bowing.
“I shall teach you a different tune,”
said the tall, awkward young gentleman,
“ really!”
“Very well, my dear sir; my instru
ment is the barrel organ;” and I cocked
my sweet little pocket companion in his
face. “ Vanish, little Kastril; for by Han
nibal, Heliogabalus, and Holophetnes, time
is valuable; madness is precipitate, and
hair-triggers is the word. Vanish !”
“Eh! really!” said the tall, awkward
young gentleman, and performed an entre
chat, which carried him to the door. The
old lady had disappeared at the first note
of the barrel organ. I locked the door,
and tound Margaret in a paroxysm of
laughter.
“ I wish you had shot him,” she said,
when she recovered; “ f wish you had
shot him: he is a sad fool.”
“ Do not talk of him ; I am speaking to
you, beautiful Margaret, possibly for the
last time! Will you ever think of me?
Perhaps you will. But let me receive
from you some token that I may dote upon
in other yeais; something that may be a
hope to me in my happiness, and a conso
lation in calamity. Something -nay ! I
never could talk romance; but give meone
lock of your hair, and I will leave England
with resignation.”
“ You have earned it like a true knight,”
said Margaret; and she severed from her
head a long, glossy ringlet. “ Look,” she
continued, “yon must to horse : the coun
try has risen for your apprehension.”
I turned towards the window. The
country had indeed risen. Nothing was
to be seen but gossoons in the van, and
gossips in the rear, red faces and white
jackets, gallants in smock frocks, and gay
damsels in grogram. Bludgeons were wa
ving, and torches were flashing, as far as
the gaze could reach. All the chivalry of
the place was arming and chafing, and
loading for a volley of pebbles and oaths
together.
I knelt down and kissed her hand. It
was the happiest moment of my life !
“ Now,” said I, “au revoir, my sweet
Margaret,” and in a moment I was in the
lane.
This was my first folly. I looked at the
lock of hair often, but I never saw Marga
ret again. She has become the wife of a
young clergyman, and resides with him on
a small living in Staffordshire. I believe
she is very happy, and I have forgotten
the color of her eyes.
S&- A young lady having purchased an
assortment of music, turned suddenly back,
and said to the clerk, “There is one thing
I have forgotten.” “What is that?” The
lady replied —“ One kiss before ice part /”
upon which the clerk vaulted over the coun
ter, and saluted her with a “ buss.”