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thers, in forcing their daughters on the attention of the public. Without doubt, markets have to be made for the tender objects of their care, and, mothers themselves having gone the round of a courtship, and, with some little experience of the world, know better how to give advice, and direct the tactics of manoeuvre; but, obstinate as I am, I retain as much sense of delicacy about me as to perceive some bad taste in this conduct, and think little of the smile of the fair one attempting to draw me into the meshes of a courtship, when prompted by the mother. On this head, my advice, therefore, is—mothers, leave these affairs to your daughters; they will manage, though with less artifice, yet, with greater power oa the heart. I am, however, rambling from the main object of my epistle,'which was, to detail to you a few of the hardships of my situation; and, to give you one or two instances, you would be astonished at the inquisitiveness of some old ladies, how I can contrive to keep house at all without a wife. They will then, with the greatest coolness, lay out the advantages of having one, and wind up a well concocted harangue with such Interrogations as " Does not the servant crack the china? smash the crystal?" ac. be. ; yea, even, in the exercise of their impertinent, though, I daresay, sometimes well-meaning curiosity, they do not hesitate to throw out inuendos as to the moral integrity and honesty of the poor servant girl, who has no capital to trade upon but her good character, and thus my attentive girl must frequently come off with no great palm of reputation, just because it is her misfortune to be serving with a bachelor; but, I would ask, why should any part of the odium rest upon her, though, it seems, she must share in it with her master, who is pryed into, and interrogated out of his wits, because he has no wife; and a better reason I cannot assign for their misplaced interest in my affairs, than that I do not choose to select a rib from among their daughters—it may be, to crack and smash as much as the servant, and, to boot, waste, in one new gown, by following the current of a ridiculous fashion, as much as she would do in a twelvemonth. There is, however, no reasoning with these sexagenarians but upon the principles of their own logic, which is to apply the sovereign remedy. For Miss Letitia I do entertain the most profound esteem, but not with any love nearer than that which philosophers call the Platonic. Judge, then, Mr. Editor, if, at our interviews in presence of a few friends, she has a liberty to construe any delicate attention, which usual politeness demands from me, into the symptoms of a love passion. On that tender point she is perpetually hitting me; and in some of her thieveless errands to my quiet domicile, just to perplex me, and shew me what a nice intelligent help-mate she would make, she criticises my pictures, Informs me where to get my linens well dressed—instructs me in the mode of preparing my jellies, and a thousand other little things which I can ascribe ouly to her fondness to be employed by me. As I happen to have a good musical instrument in the house, she vexes my life out to have a party, and, when I plead my inability to have such matters arranged in a style of becoming etiquette, for an assemblage of young ladies, she replies in language of the most artless persuasion, "Oh .' she will come and manage it," so that it requires all the ingenuity I am possessed of, to escape respectably from the horns of a dilemma. To recount to you, Mr. Editor, the various ways I am attacked, and infested, whether more openly or more covertly by male and by female, at home and abroad, besides narrating how I am beset by a very amiable young widow, would tire out your own, and your readers1 patience. In one word, I am teased, agitated, nay, even persecuted, and am now of opinion that some conspiracy has been entered into against me, that I shall not be allowed to remain tranquil out of matrimony, so that, if in due time after the printing of this letter, I do not find some abatement, I suppose I shall be compelled to marry, just to please the public; for, though I flatter myself I have a good sweet temper, I find it has, involuntarily, become more irritable, and you know "that much dropping wears away the rock." The situation in . 1 tun placed, is, if possible, even more intolerable since the ancient of this year, and I can only explain
ed courage and railleries of the ladies, from its being what is called "Leap Year," during which, I am told, they are licensed to change sides, and to make, on their own part, the advances usually expected to come from the nobler sex; but, whatever be its style in the catalogue of years, I am determined to be as obliging and courteous to all my friends and admirers as formerly, only
craving this from them, in the charity of their own bosoms, that they would desist from the tender point I feel sore upon, and allow me to think and act for myself, which privileges I cannot see, but I am entitled to, independently of the rights of a private citizen, as well as being the subject of a free country-- I am, Sir your friend,
From my lodging—up a flight of three stairs, )
THE ROSE OF THE CANONGATE:
A LAY OF MIDDLE LIFE.
There lived a maid in Canongate—
So say they who have seen her; For me, 'tis by report I know,
For I have seldom been there.
Her father was a Baker;
Who was a Candle-maker.
'Tis said she long had loved the youth—
And loved him passing well;
But why—no one could tell.
The fair one's fickle fancies;
By reading of romances.
She dreamed of lords, of knights, and 'squires,
And men of high degree j But lords were scarce, and knights were shy—
So ne'er a joe had she. Alarmed, at last, to see old age
Was like to overtake her, She wrote a loving valentine
Unto the Candle-maker.
"She hoped," she said, "for her disdain
He did not mean to slight her;
To make it burn the brighter.
To keep it brightly blajing;
Than by a little teazing?"
He owned "her arguments were good,
And weighty as a feather;
The flame out altogether;
Her charms were sadly blighted j
Love's taper could be lighted."
With grief this billet-doux she read,
And, while her heart was bleeding, Took tbree-and-ninepence from the till,
And paid her quarter's reading.
Embittered every feeling;
Suspended from the ceiling.
Now, ladies all, of every grade,
I hope you'll here take warning; And when you meet with lovers true,
J'lease show some more discerning. You're not aware how much by scorn,
The flame of true love suffers; Yet, should you think it fit to snuff,
Be gentle with the snuffers.
Nothing Is now talked of except the Cholera—it is, in fact, the Gossip of " The Day." We are happy to find that every thing is doing by the authorities that can possibly be thought of to meet the exigencies of the moment. A carriage, upon the most approved plan, has been presented by Convener M'Lellan to the Board of Health, for transporting patients to the hospitals. Baths have been prepared, and the cleansing of houses is in full operation. As a means of aiding the Board of Health in the dissemination of useful hints relative to the prevention and cure of the frightful malady, now at our door, we purpose presenting our readers, in an early Number, with a plain, short, and succinct set of directions, drawn up by a medical gentleman, applicable to the present emergency.
The splendid Return Ball, which was to take place in the course of February, it is said, is to be converted into a Grand Charity Assembly for the benefit of the poor and destitute.
Conundrum.—Why ta Jamaica Street Bridge a Classical Relic? Ans Because it is the foundation of belles-lettres—(Bell's
Another.—Why are the Glasgow watchmen proof against broken pates? Ans.—Because they are without a head.
A Riddle What is every body's theme? Ans The Gossip
of " The Day."
THE BOHEMIAN BROTHERS
We have already spoken of these Foreigners, who, we are happy to hear, are obtaining that patronage which they deserve. Whether we consider the characteristic and striking beauty of the national melodies which they sing, the energetic and excellent style in which they are executed, or the very unusual extent and quality of the voices of the vocalists, we are ready to admit that, we scarcely remember any musical treat that has given us so much pleasure. Many of our readers, no doubt, still remember the Tyrolese, or Rainer family, who were so well received in this country a few years ago; but, we are of opinion, that the Bohemians are much superior, both in respect to the character of the music and its performance. The melodies of the Rainer family were of the most simple and unpretending kind, and, except the novelty of "Jodlen," which, we think, only pleased for the night or so, had few claims to attraction. The melodies of the Bohemians, on the other band, are more complete and varied in their harmonies, and, when sung by such voices, are singularly elective. The first, or leading voice, is a soprano, of great compass and beauty. In some of the variations, when he is accompanied by the other voices, in imitation of instruments, be shews much taste and flexibility. The next two are tenores, but, from the nature of their parts, have little opportunity for display; but it struck us that the one next the bass, has a tine, full and sonorous quality of tone. Lastly comes the bass, which is certainly, of all the voices we have ever heard, the most astonishing fur depth and power. We are not sure whether it has ever been before hinted that, this is not a legitimate voice, but an artificial one, after the manner of a verytriloquist. We are inclined to think so from its quality, which is that of the strong, reedy tone of an organ trumpet stop, from its limited compass, and also from its unusual strength in the lowest notes that the human voice was ever known to reach. We have not yet heard the Bohemians sing the Huntsman's Chorus in the Freischutz, which, we understand, they do in a manner unequalled by any, except their own countrymen. Let us hint to them to give it immediately.
To the Editor of The Day.
Sir,—In the course of my reading Sir Walter's "Count Robert of Paris," I was somewhat astonished at stumbling on the following expression, which he puts into the mouth of Edward the Varangian :—" The people of this country (Constantinople) have so many ways of saying the same thing, that one can hardly know at last what is their real meaning. We, English, on the other hand, can only express ourselves in one set of words, but it is one out of which all the ingenuity of the world could not extract a double meaning." I should like to know what then becomes of the inuendos, double entendres, 'e. that so much abound in the writings and conversations of the English? By throwing light on the subject, you will certainly oblige
Glasgow Subscription Library, 29th Jan. 1832.
Mr. Chambers, the author of the " Book of Scotland," &c. has announced a new weekly print, to be published every Saturday in Edinburgh, to be entitled " Chambers' Edinburgh Journal."
Cholera A Pcezlkr !—At a recent sitting of the Westminster Medical Society, Dr. Gordon Smith declared, that he had read all the books, and reports, and essays, that had been published on the all-absorbing question; that he had spelt the labouring columns of the newspapers; that he had consulted philosophic men in the profession, and the philosophic men out of the profession— nay, he had consulted philosophic women also; that he had thought upon the subject by day, and had dreamt on it by night; and he had arrived at a conclusion, for which he was, alone, responsible; of which neither the credit, nor the discredit, would he impart to another, viz. :—That, after all his reading, his talking, his thinking, and his dreaming, he knew nothing more about the matter than he did before!
TirrLiNO On Sunday The following is the German mode of
preventing Sunday tippling :—All persons drinking and tippling upon Sundays, or holidays, in coffee-houses, &c, during divine service, are authorized to depart without paying for what they have had. This would have a most beneficial tendency in improving the morals of the lower orders of society, and greatly contribute to the comfort of their families.
On Duelling Listen to the reason of the thing, and consider
whether such a custom can obtain, as that which we term the duello, in any country of civilization and common sense. Two great lords or high officers quarrel in the Court or in the messroom. They dispute about a point of fact. Now, instead of each maintaining his own opinion by argument or evidence, they go to work thus :—" Why, thou liest in thy throat," says the one; "and thou liest in thy very lungs," says the other—and they measure forth the lists of battle in the next meadow. Each swears to the truth of his quarrel, though, probably, neither well knows precisely how the fact stands. One—perhaps the hardier, truer, and better man of the two—lies dead on the ground: and the other comes back to predominate in the Court or in the messroom, where, had the matter been inquired into by the rules of common sense and reason, the victor, as he is termed, would have been sent to the gallows! And, yet, this is the " Law of Arms," which your nice sense-of-honour people are pleased to call it!— Count Robert of Paris.
NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.
We feel much indebted to Giovanni for his kind come tions, and will feel obliged by his continuing to be a Correspondent. Let us warn him, however, not to send us anything which he, at the same time, despatches to other Journals. We had given out his "Love a la Mode" for publication, when we fortunately noticed it In the " Edinburgh Weekly Chronicle." This is a species of Love d la Mode which we cannot admire, and is apt to make us afraid, in future, of inserting the Communications of those whose anxiety for notoriety appears so voracious. Surely our extensive circulation might satisfy most authors; and, if the production be really first-rate, it stands every chance of being transplanted, which is far more honourable to the writer than to follow the London penny-a-line men, who send a copy of every thing they write to every newspaper in the metropolis.
"Peggy's" kind letter has been received; but she must excuse as inserting the Lines which she picked up at the Assembly t'other night.
"A Legend of Glasgow" is i
A MORNING JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, FINE ARTS, FASHION, &c
GLASGOW, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1832.
SOME ACCOUNT OF THE EARLY PERIODICAL LITERATURE OF GLASGOW.
For the following notices, respecting the early state of the periodical press in Glasgow, we are indebted to a valuable and interesting volume, entitled, "Notices
and Documents, illustrative of the Literary History of Glasgow, during the greater part of the last century," lately printed, and presented to the president and members of the Maitland Club, as a contribution by Richard Duncan, Esq. As Mr. Duncan's work, from its being, in a great measure, confined to the members of that club, is not accessible to the public, we have no doubt but those among our readers, who may have the slightest inclination towards antiquarian research, will consider our extracts from the volume alluded to as a very judicious manner of devoting a part of our columns. The general merits of Mr. Duncan's work, and the rare and very interesting documents he has brought to light, we intend, in a future Number, to make the subject of more mature and critical reflection.
"The first newspaper published in Glasgow, appeared on the 14th November, 1715, and was entitled the 1 Glasgow Courant, containing the occurrences, both at home and abroad: Glasgow, printed for R. T. and to be sold at the Printing-house in the Colledge, and at the Post-office.'* It soon, however, changed its name, as the fourth number was published under the title of * The West Country Intelligence.' The following is a copy of the prospectus :—' This paper is to be printed three times every week, for the use of the country round, any gentleman or minister, or any other who wants them, may have them at the University's Printing-house, or at the Post-office. It's hoped this paper will give satisfaction to the readers, and that they will encourage it, by sending subscriptions for one year, half year, or quarterly, to the above directed places, where they shall be served at an easie rate."f
"' Advertisements are to be taken in, at either the Printing-house in the Colledge, or at the Post-office.
"' The gentlemen in the towns of Aberdeen, St. Andrew's, Inverness, Brechin, Dundee, St. Johnstone, Stirling, Dumbarton, Inverary, Dumfries, Lanark, Hamilton, Irvine, Air, Kilmarnock and Stranraer, are desired to send, free post, any news they may have, and especially sea-port towns, to advise what ships come in, or sail off from these ports'."
** It is not known how long this paper continued.}
q 'J hi* curious article is preserved in, the University Library. + What this " most easie rate" was, is thus noticed in number 33—" N. B. This paper is not sold in retail, under three halfpence, but, for encouragement to subscribers, for one penny, i Let the following suffice as a specimen of its Poetry :— From the Flying Post.
M A It ALIAS RAM. AN ASADIAK.
Mar (read it Ram the other way)
Has made a push, and lost the day.
And turns his tail to firth of Tay.
Perhaps (tho* so well taught to trick it)
Caught by his back in Highland thicket,
At least, a victim he may bleed,
For leading wrong that shagged breed,
Which now, in doleful manner stain.
Cover the fields about Dumblain, fkc. Sec. See,
The set of it in the College Library, extends to the 1st of May, 1716, being in all 67 Numbers; it was printed on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, in a small quarto form, (each paper containing 12 pages,) and was made up of extracts from foreign journals, from London newspapers, private letters, and occasional poetry, with very little local intelligence.
"The Glasgow Journal was begun, under the editorship of Andrew Stalker, a bookseller, in July, 1741. With what degree of talent it was conducted, for the first few years, would be difficult to ascertain—no copy of it, during that period, being known to remain; fortunately, the numbers from 1745 to 1749 have been recovered—a period, one would suppose sufficiently interesting. The editor, however, appears to have consulted his own personal security too much to permit him to give a firm and candid detail of the events which were then taking place. He has omitted several of the most important facts in the history of the rebellion; and, at length, when the danger approached his own door, was constrained to give vent to his terror, in a letter which he inserted in his journal. He had offended his readers by his omissions, and determined to retire for a time, from his public duties. The following is his advertisement:—
"• Oct. 14, [1745.]—TotheEncouragersoftJieGlasgow Journal.—Gentlemen,—I have carried on this paper from the beginning, and have to the utmost of my power endeavoured to give an impartial account of facts as they happened, but finding that, considering the situation of affairs, I cannot with safety publish so as to please the generality of my readers, I have therefore given over being concerned in the writing or publishing this paper, till such time as the peace of this country be restored, and have committed the care of it to an unexceptionable hand; and, as you have favoured me with your countenance and encouragement, I hope you'll continue to do so to him, and I am, thankfully and respectfully, Gentlemen, your most humble servant, Andrew Stalker.'
"It would seem this advertisement had been misunderstood, and, to set the public right, Stalker published another letter in the next paper.
"'Oct. 21.— To the Encouragers of the Glasgow Journal.—A wrong sense being put upon my last advertisement, as if I intended entirely to drop this paper, I hereby inform my readers that I continue to have the same share in it as formerly, though for some time I am not to write it nor collect the news from other papers.—Mr. Urie having undertaken that part, who I am convinced will give satisfaction, and I hope that such as have hitherto been my Friends and Encouragers, will continue to be so. Andrew Stalker.'
"Whether he resumed his Editorship in quieter times we are nut informed. His name still continues as the publisher of the paper, although immediately after the last letter appeared, Urie's name as printer was suppressed.
"Yet, whatever may have been the defects of the Editorial department of this paper, it was printed in. B style creditable in the highest degree to the town, and infinitely better than the newspapers published forty years afterwards".*
Such are the few of the particulars connected with the Glasgow Newspaper Press which we find in Mr. Duncan's volume. Before the year 1715, our good citizens in Glasgow depended, in a great measure, for their local and political intelligence, on the "Edinburgh Gazette," a journal which, on the accession of Queen Anne, had reached its 313th number. This number was published on Monday the 16th March, 1702, and contained, among other matters, the death of King William, and the Proclamation of his successor. By it we also find that the good folks of Glasgow and its neighbourhood had scarcely any method of advertising their merchandise, but the "Skellat belC and " The Edinburgh Gazette.") The following notice, which we copy from the above-mentioned number of the Gazette, in our possession, appears to have been alike useful in Edinburgh and in Glasgow: "Fine Starch and Powder, fully as good as any from abroad, and much cheaper than can be1 imported, is made at Cameron, and Sold at the Shop below the Caledonian Coffee House, Edinburgh; and at James Witherspoon's Shop in the Gallowgnte head, Glasgow, where merchants can have any quantity of the said Starch and Powder, from 1,000 lb. weight to 5,000."
If the following Hue and Cry had fallen under the observation of Mr. Tytler, the historian of Scotland, we conceive he would not have hazarded the assertion that slavery had been abolished in Scotland, before its final suppression in England, by Elizabeth :—" These are to give Notice, That James Gib, John Tasker, John Lumsden, Alexander Cowie, Thomas Watchman, George Gibb, David Mason, James Cairns, Coalhuers, belonging to his Grace the D. of Hamilton, have mutinied and deserted their said master's work, and that none Receive, Fee, Hire, supply or maintain anie of the saids Coalhuers, nor their wives or bairns, under the certifications and Penalties mentioned in the Acts of Parliament, and, in particularlie in the 11th Act, Pari. 18, Ja. 6th." Our limits prevent us from dwelling longer on this subject at present. We intend, in an early Number, to return to Mr. Duncan's very interesting and valuable contribution.
* The notices of marriages are somewhat amusing, as the following will show :—
March 24, 1746, on Monday last, James Dennistoun, junior, of Colgreine, Esq. was married to Miss Jenny Baird, a beautiful young lady.
May 4, 1747, on Monday last, Dr. Robert Hamilton, Professor of Anatomy and Botany in the University of Glasgow, was married to Miss Mally Baird, a beautiful young lady with A HandSome FORTUNE.
August 3, 1747, on Monday last, Mr. James Johnstone, merchant in this place, was married to Miss Peggy Newall, an agreeable young lady With .£4,000.
f This print, in point of size, is very similar to " The Day." It was " Printed by John Reid, and sold in the shop below the Caledonia Coffee Room."
A TALE Or REAL LIFE.
She is as constant as the stars—
Mart Campbell was the youngest daughter of respectable parents, who rented an extensive farm in one of the islands which skirt the western coast of Scotland. Though distant from public seminaries, they were not inattentive to the future prospects of their family—consequently, spared no expense in furnishing them with a liberal education, in the course of which, Mary was eminently successful. Her reading, writing, and dancing called forth the plaudits of the several masters; but if, at times, a tribute of respect to her talents would brighten her sloe-black eyes, or deepen the tinge of her rosy cheek, it was only for a moment. Every movement was regulated by a scrupulous self-denial, which af
fected no superiority over her leas-gifted compeers; and the benign look and sympathizing smile chased away any feeling of envy or disappointment which they might, on such an occasion, experience. As she grew in years she also grew in beauty. Her raven tresses hung in careless luxuriance aroand a neck which could rival the whiteness of the winter's wreath, or twined in graceful ringlets about a bosom free from the fluctuating anxieties which attend maturer years. She engaged with the lark in her morning's devotions, and with her sallied forth to view nature, with welcome smile, hailing the approach of the infant day. Care or grief never crossed her path. Her heart was pure as the western breeze which swept over the heath-clad bills, and her ambition seemed to be bound in the pious and benevolent wish—that she might merit the love of her parents, and render those around her comfortable and happy.
But the sun which had hitherto shone so bright on the dawn of her life was suddenly clouded. She was doomed to leave the rocky grandeur of her native isle, the soul-soothing echo of the billowy Atlantic, and the invigorating air she was wont to inhale, to experience the tainted atmosphere of a crowded city—see the gaudy pageantry which distinguishes wealth—the cold formality which characterizes civilization, and the disgusting flattery which marks the insincere. Her father had suddenly died; and her mother finding it inconvenient to retain the farm, sold off its effects, with the receipts of which and a small annuity left her, she arrived at Glasgow; and, practising economy, lived comfortably with her family, and completed them in those departments of their education in which they were deficient. Her beauty and accomplishments soon secured to Mary the homage of those fluttering noon-day insects who, like the bees, hop on every new-bora flower which opes its unsullied bosom to the genial ray; but hers was not a heart to be won by the selfish attractions of the fawning parasite. Her shrewdness easily pierced the thin veil which screened their motives; and, though she was courteous for their attention, she was steeled against any impression. Yet she wti formed to love, and a first and virtuous passion entangled her affections almost unknowu to herself. In the subtle meshes of Cupid her heart revealed a tale to which she long had held a deaf ear—that it beat warmest when she listened to Colin's praise— that with him she was at peace, without him unhappy.
The object of her choice might be a few years her senior; and, being from the same country, it was not wonderful that he often visited the family—but it was soon discovered that something more than friendship led him so often to a house which Mary's presence converted into a paradise. Often did he walk past her windows to catch a glimpse of her aerial form—the most trivial excuse was converted into an important matter, provided it afforded an opportunity, with any degree of grace, to be ushered into the presence of the idol of his heart. His days passed with pleasing thoughts—his nights with happy dreams. Assured of Mary's love, he saw all before him smooth and smiling—not i mist could he trace on the extensive landscape which obscured any of its visionary beauties. He was respected by her friends— his advances were favoured by her mother, and it wanted but a few words to make both completely happy, when a fatal truth, like a noxious vapour, blighted the tender flower they had carefully nursed; or, like a remorseless giant, dashed the cup from their lips, of which both had deeply drank.
Some speculation, in which Colin was engaged to a considerable amount, proved a failure, and he had no alternative but to become bankrupt; but, wishing to give his creditors every reparation in his power, he handed them over his remaining property, with the intention of leaving his country and pursuing Fortune's eluding shadow on a foreign shore, far from his friends, his Mary, and his home. With this resolution he waited upon her, and was shown into a small parlour in which they had spent many happy hours; but, from this interview, happiness had retired. An unwonted darkness sat on Colin's brow—a brooding sadness was visible in his forced smile, and they sat together for several minutes* in mute contemplation ere he had courage to reveal the direful tale, or she divine the cause of his melancholy reverie.
Such disappointment does the weary traveller experience who crosses the trackless desert. Fancy points out to him in the distance the waving boughs of the sheltering forest, under the shade of which he can stretch his exhausted limbs. He thinks his hears the chirping of the feathered songsters inviting him to listen to their warbling concert; while, as if to render his comfort complete, a bubbling streamlet, in which he can allay his parched thirst, is seen flowing with unceasing pace along its verdant embankments. Hope rouses him to energy—he quickens his pace; but the objects which stimulated him to exertion are suddenly dissipated, and the same burning heat, the same trackless desert, and the same solitary waste bound the perspective.
Colin, at length, broke the painful silence, and, without evasion or reserve, informed her of the extent of his losses. She listened with calm, yet dignified attention, till he came to the recital of his intended departure—this had never occurred to her. She looked forward to a long period of distant bliss, and, when the dreadful reality first flashed across her mind, the starting tear and the deep drawn sob, whose influence are rarely withstood, were the only language she employed in order to wean him from his projected scheme. She saw no cheering beam to illume the dark night which was gathering round her. She was rudely awakened from the security into which she had lulled herself, like the home bound mariner who waits the favouring gale, spreads all his cauvass to the winds, and chides the tardy breeze that wafts him to the desired haven. The blue hills of his country crowd upon his sight—his friends, with unfeigned smiles, stand to welcome him on the beach —the partner of his cares, with anxious gaze, looks far over the undulating waters, and derives a solace in teaching her babes to lisp their father's name—the very winds seem to whistle joy at his almost accomplished voyage, when— hark! a crash—the ship has struck, and the hopes of the mariner's anticipated welcome is buried in the overwhelming sea.
Tears brought relief to Mary. She remonstrated with him on the folly of leaving his country on the first frown of fortune, advised him to pursue the same industrious course which, till lately, had marked his career; warned him of the danger by sea and the difficulties to be met with on shore, and, as a last argument, told him, with a faultering voice, (in which modesty, love and pride, alternately triumphed) that no other should share her thoughts, or participate her affections, till the fickle Goddess again lavished on him part of her bounty, and till he was restored to that footing in society which his unforeseen calamities unfortunately deprived him of. If he was sad she would cheer him with her company, and if, after another effort to retrieve his loss, he found his exertions unrewarded, then she would submit to a parting, and sigh forth a prayer for his welfare and prosperity.
But Colin was unmoved in his purpose; she, therefore, did ■lot harass his feelings by pressing him farther. They took leave of each other after mutual vows of love and pledges of constancy. Jit parting, Mary took a favourite ring off her finger, which she had received from a respected friend, and placed it upon his, and then sought her couch, with a heavy heart, to ruminate over events which, in a short space of time, from the height of fancied happiness, plunged her into an abyss of apparent misery.
Time flew on with unceasing pace, and yet no word came from Colin. Five years had elapsed since he left his home, and he was now almost forgotten by bis former acquaintances; but there was one who could not so easily forget. Eager did she listen when the post-boy announced a letter, and hope-sick has she turned away, when she found it was not from him. None knew the ■hip in which he had sailed, and it was generally supposed that he had been cast away, or had died on his arrival; but Mary grasped at every shadow which held out a hope that he still lived. She rejected the addresses of the many suitors who contended for her hand, and it was not till seven long years of doubt had laid t heir heads ou the lap of the preceding ages, that Mary was decked in a bride's apparel, to give away her hand to one who might deserve, but, to whom she was unable to give, her heart. Preparations were going on for the marriage, yet Mary seemed almost unconscious of what was passing around her. The bridemaidens had decked her in all the finery which wealth could supply or fancy invent; and endeavoured to rouse her from her cheerless lethargy, but all in vain: her thoughts seemed to wander on scenes which had been—and acted only a passive part in the drama in which she should have borne the principal character. The clergyman had now arrived, who was to have performed the ceremony —the bridegroom and his suite waited the announcing of the bride; but, in breathless terror, they were informed that she was no
where to be found. A fruitless search confirmed their fears, and the melancholy which preyed upon her spirits, for some time past, made them dread she had taken a step which they shuddered to contemplate. A young child, indeed, to whom she was attached, said that, a short time previous to her being missed, she observed her kiss a letter in which a ring was inclosed, and, wrapping a mantle around her, leave the house. Still, this threw no light on the course she had pursued, and the party broke up, and retired to their homes, in mournful silence.
A week had passed, and still no tidings of her was received, and a number of friends had met at her mother's, to condole her on the untoward event, when a coach drove up to the door, and in came the fugitive Mary, leaning on the arm of a gentleman, on whose bronzed cheek a burning sun had made visible traces, and whom she introduced as her husband. After begging and receiving pardon for the anxiety she had occasioned, Colin burst from several voices at once, and was welcomed, with joy, as one who had been long since thought dead. The story draws to it close. After he had left Glasgow, he took his passage in a ship bound for Grenada, where he since held a lucrative situation, and in which he realized a handsome competency. He had written several letters to Mary after his arrival; but, from their having unfortunately miscarried, he never received an answer, and concluded he was forgotten, till a friend of his, who had known them both, in their happier days, informed him that her heart was unchanged. He instantly arranged his affairs, and, getting aboard a ship which was then bound for Britain, Colin's prayers for propitious winds were heard, and he arrived at Glasgow, just in time to prevent a circumstance which would have sealed Mary's fate, and completed his wretchedness. To prevent any suspicion, he sent a trusty friend with a letter to her, in which he inclosed the ring she gave him, and requested an interview. This, as we have seen, she found means to accomplish. Former vows were immediately renewed, he prevailed on her to accompany him to the home of one of his friends in the country, where their hands were joined, as their hearts long had been united. I need scarcely add, that Colin now holds a respectable rank in society, and that Mary proves a loving and dutiful wife, a tender mother, and an affectionate friend.
THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED.
Glasgow's great genius boasts he hath put on
The hide and hues of the Chameleon;
tluch raw conceit, but proves, how wits may wander;
The Queen Street fire avouch'd the Salamander.
Old London Bridge. —It is well known that Peter of Colechurch, the founder of Old London Bridge, did not live to witness the completion of the structure, but died in 1205, and was buried in a crypt within the centre pier of the bridge, over which a chapel was erected, dedicated to St. Thomas-a-Becket. Mr. Bradley, in his " Londivina," wrote, about five years since, says that "if due care be taken when the old bridge is pulled down, the bones and ashes of this venerable architect may still be found;" and, true enough, the bones of old Peter were found ou removing the pier about a fortnight since.—The Mirror.
Gar At Men Kot Always Visible There is this difference
between men and things, that, while some things are too small to be seen, some men are too great to be seen.— The Usurer's Mauyhter.
Fors.—There is no order of society which changes so often and so completely as that of Mrs. Your miser always looks the miser, your arrogant man the arrogant; but the fop of forty years ago was a macaroni; of thirty a buck; of twenty a dandy; of ten an exquisite; of to-day an exclusive. What fully will come next? — The Opera.
One Lawyer unjustly charged another with theft; Diogenes, being chosen umpire, condemned both, declaring that the accused was a thief, but the accuser had lost nothing. Seeing an unskilful archer shooting, he went and sat down by the target, declaring it the only place of safety.—Athenteam.
It is estimated that two hundred and forty-three dramatic works to which M. ScaiBE has affixed his name have pro duced ts him the sum of 918.0OU francs Court Journal.