noisy admirers; when he took the favourable opportunity of announcing his "second appearance in the same character." I need not, however, pause_over this period of my narrative. Elinsley's success was such as not only greatly transcended his own expectations, but secured him a town engagement for the season, from his powerful patron, Scenicus. Elmsley was in ecstacies; for on his arrival in London, he found himself possessed of 501., which Scenicus had liberally handed over to him as his proportion of the town profits, over and above all travelling expences. Burton, and all his fashionable acquaintance, welcomed him with enthusiasm; he was lionized over again, and his company more flatteringly sought after than ever. Judicious hints were from time to time given out from the leading London journals, about the expected appearance of a "star" at the ensuing season; and all the other incentives and stimulants to public curiosity, were placed in requisition. In a word, Elmsley's new plan of life delighted and dazzled him. Adieu, adieu for ever to the cold formality, precision, and gloom of legal life and studies; and welcome the scenes of ever-changing gaiety and applause! He lost no time in severing the few remaining links which bound him to the serious classes of society, and attaching himself to the triflers! He boldly assumed his own name, and had the gratification of seeing "MR. THOMAS ELMSLEY" glare in a conspicuous shape upon passers-by, from most of the walls in the metropolis! He had now thrown down the gauntlet to all objections against the course he had taken; and finding that the number of reproachful letters from his relations weekly increased, he at length refused to take them in. He parted finally with his chambers-sold every law-book, and every one remotely thereto pertaining, he had in the world-removed his name from the Temple books, and his "deposit" from the treasury-and so ceased to be a member of the Hon. Temple. Here, Society of the - I must hurry on with his theatrical career. Mr. Elinsley duly made his appearance at one of the London houses-and successfully. He might even have produced "a sensation,” but for the unfortunate engagementsimultaneously with his own-of ten well-known stars of the first magnitude, in whose overwhelming splendour the beams of his rising orb were quenched! Those stern arbiters of theatrical destiny, the papers, quietly assigned him, "with the aid of study and experience, a fair prospect of reaching the station of second-rate excellence!" and Elmsley read the allotment with dismay. He continued, however, to mingle with gay, and even high society, and succeeded in obtaining, at the end of the season, a tolerable lucrative provincial engagement. He had no sooner, however, arrived at the scene of his labours, than he fell into the fangs of a fearful epidemic then raging over that part of the country, from which he was not released but in a most deplorable condition, and horribly pitted with the small-pox. He was in despair, and after awhile thought of returning to his forsaken business-the law: but, alas! where were his funds? his friends? and his character? his habits of study and business? These dreadful questions were easily asked, but could not be satisfactorily answered, as poor Elmsley found to his cost. He had no resources whatever but the stage, to which he therefore was impelled by necessity, and to which he clung with sullen despondency. He repaired to town; sought out Scenicus, and solicited an engagement. The actor told him, with every appearance of genuine sympathy, that he feared Elmsley's personal disfigurement would be a serious-an insurmountable bar to succeed on the London boards! * About nine o'clock one winter's evening, ten years afterwards, a party of gentlemen who were spending the Christmas holidays in the country, not knowing what to do with them selves after dinner, adopted a sudden suggestion from their host, to repair to an adjoining barn, which had lately been appropriated to the purposes of a theatre, by a company of strolling players. The night was cold and foggy. As they approached the scene of expected entertainment, they observed a few glimmering rays through the chinks of the walls, and a few wretched vagabonds clamouring for admittance at the door. After paying the fee of sixpence each, the party, six in number, took precedence, and entered. At one end of the barn was an elevation of some sort or other, which served for a stage, with six farthing candles stuck along the edge, by way of foot-lights! Expecting some little amusement, the party walked through the scant and seated A and motley assembly, THE PIRATE. He leaves her on the shore, Oh, he must tear her from his heart, One last embrace, it is his last One madd'ning pang, and all is past Aye, hang, poor mourner, on that breast No more to thine shall it be prest! He climbed the shallop's side; But the uncall'd, the unbidden sigh Whose voiceless tone was bitterness, As conscious it contained the brave, And sped to victory too A strange bark answered to their hail, Yet ere she struck the shatter'd sail, The pirate lover lifeless fell! And (meet for him that rude wild grave!) CHARLES M. WITH THEE! WITH THEE how bright the world appears, As though they ne'er had been ; With thee to mingle with the throng, How sweet each sound of glee, I take no count of moments flown, With thee unshrinking I can meet With thee contented I can bear Life's ills, whate'er they be; And oh what bliss at length to share Eternity WITH THEE! AMICA. A CALL FROM THE SPIRIT OF THE WOODS. COME hither! come hither! come follow Leave tumult, and trouble, and sorrow, The dullness that mortals inherit The shadows of sorrow and care, Shall be chas'd from thy brightening spirit- Oh, hie thee! the moments are fleeing, A CALL FROM THE SPIRIT OF THE WOODS. The skylark his matin-peal ringing, Their hymns from the dew-spangled boughs, In glory and majesty breaking, O'er scenes thou shalt gaze on with me. We will roam o'er the heights of the mountain, With the spirit of calmness possess'd; I will lead thee where streamlets are gushing, Pale, anxious, and worn, I have found thee; Oh, follow! and I will release From the shackles and chains that have bound thee, And guard thee with pleasure and peace; I will take thee where Nature is reigning, In splendour to mortals unknown To haunts where no trouble is staining 153 S. S. S. SKETCHES FROM LIFE. BY MRS. HOFLAND. (Concluded from page 116.) "I CAN tell you much of this unfortunate affair, dear Mary," said the earl; "but as all I say must be painful, had you not better remain in ignorance ?" "Certainly not. Surely you have been to blame to keep from me any information you may have received on a point so deeply interesting as that which involves much of good, or evil, in which my own conduct was concerned." "Yet it was hard to tell you, that on the only occasion in life, during our long union, in which (led away by your intense compassion for a young creature so situated,) you acted with out my knowledge, or concurrence, that the consequences were so unfor tunate as they proved, without draw ing upon you self-reproach you did not merit; and pain I could not bear to inflict." The countess pressed the hand of her long-loved lord, and by a look, indicative alike of fear and contrition, told him to proceed. "When Margaretta wrote that letter of apparent penitence, she knew that Colonel was in our house." "And what had that to do in her case?" "I fear it had a great deal: he had been not less the object of her atten tion, during the winter when his regi- wounded husband, after the battle of ment was stationed in the neighbour-, she found him in a state so hood of, than poor Frederic utterly deplorable we can hardly supwith whom she eloped; and on pose that her pity was not excited. 'I finding that the latter had no money understand she wept bitterly, and with which to gloss over her crime, lamented her own hard fate in being or to supply the luxuries to which she called to witness such horrible scenes, was habituated, she repented that she but on learning that Colonel —— was had given herself to the poorer lover, amongst the wounded, "smoothed her more especially as he was the penitent harrent brow," and contrived the one-the one who, remembering the means of informing him of her arprecepts of a mother he adored, and rival. Life hung on a slender thread abhorring the conduct of a father he with the husband, but Colonel — must despise, felt acutely the degra- soon recovered, and, from one or two dation he had incurred-from his sor- notes found in her baggage, it appears row for sin, and his situation as poor, that either gratitude to Heaven for his Margaretta alike turned indignantly preservation, or pity towards his bro ther officer, for awhile delayed his progress in the road to ruin: it was, however, delayed, not abandoned: being too weak to rejoin the army he was sent to Portugal to recruit, and Margaretta became the partner of his journey." away." "Fie, fie, my lord! woman could not do this at least a woman born as Margaretta was, and nurtured by such a mother; besides, she was little more than a child." "True; but she was by nature a cunning and a selfish child, and her education had gone only to those points which excite vanity, but neither inculcate principle, nor subdue the innate errors of nature. In short, during her residence here, (short as it was, and closely as you watched her,) she contrived to obtain interviews with the colonel, which induced him to believe her the victim of circumstances, and, in truth, devoted to him. She married Frederic, and accompanied him to the continent only because the man who was her object was already gone there. In consequence of her poverty, she for a time became, as you know, a boarder in a convent, where her husband fondly hoped that retirement, and religious observances, would affect a creature so young, and apparently so artless; for he apprehended that the very violence of her temper, and the acuteness of her feelings, argued a freedom from deceit." "That was my own opinion," said the countess, "even after I discovered that she had wronged the poor man by false accusation." 'Well, you may now judge how far she was actuated by the passion of the hour, or the intention of her life. When she was sent for, to receive (as was expected) the last breath of her "Oh! wicked, wicked wretch: come what may I will never, never see her more! no! she may perish in misery, and I—” "She has already perished! In passing the Guadilquiver the light boat in which they had embarked, to elude discovery, was sunk in one of those violent summer storms to which all mountainous districts are subject." Horror-struck, and deeply affected, the countess retired to wonder and to weep; to deplore alike the early depravity of a creature so nobly descended, and so richly endowed by nature, and that awful termination of existence by which repentance was denied. She no longer wondered that a hus band, perhaps still indignant towards herself, still sorrowing for a creature so fair, found himself incapable of addressing her on subjects so harrowing to recollection. Rapid returns from the Peninsula now took place, and the earl's seat became a rallying point to many a noble spirit, and many a wounded or mutilated frame, where the deeds of past days were discussed, and the merits of the absent panegyrized; no one was more frequently spoken of than General -; but the praise attending his actions never failed to |