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bitants of the metropolis, sought every opportunity to annoy them by swearing, shouting, and the most reckless conduct, particularly in the presence of females, the wives, sisters, or daughters of their better conducted brother captives. As soon as I was ushered into No. 6 Ward, I was waited upon by an individual who represented himself as steward, and demanded from me 16s.: this sum, he told me, would entitle me to the use of cooking utensils; and stated that if it were not paid within twenty-four hours, I should have to wash the ward and yard, to clean the knives and forks, and to be a fag to the prisoners for a specific period. The flattering prospects thus held out to the nonconformist to this code of bye-laws induced me instantly to discharge the demand of the steward of the ward, who repeated the pleasures to come to the other new arrivals -two of whom were minus the required sum, to raise which they doffed their coats and waistcoats, which they sent to pledge: but unfortunately they did not realise the required sum; the tickets were therefore lodged with the steward as an additional security, and their owners paraded in their shirt-sleeves, not having yet received their robe de chambre, or other portions of their wardrobes. After two days I was removed to the 'Queen's Prison,' where my situation was very little better than at the 'Cross.' The restrictions of this place are hideous; the unfortunate are treated like felons; even the consumption of the commonest beverage in the form of malt liquor is limited; the wife is separated from her husband, and the child from the mother; such as have the ill-fortune to be remanded are subjected to every possible privation and degradation; whilst the unheard, or rather untried, debtor fares very little better. This state of things pressed heavily on the sensitive mind of my beloved wife, who dreaded my being remanded for accepting bills of accommodation. This was my fate-I was sent back for nine months, when I only saw my wife at stated periods. These adverse circumstances broke her heart: four months after my remanded sentence she fell a victim to rapid consumption; and some weeks before my release from prison both my daughters followed the fate of their angelic mother. From that moment I became disheartened in all my pursuits; I felt an inveterate hatred for mankind, and 'registered a vow in heaven,' that I would never again do a good-natured act to the prejudice of my own comfort and happiness; and I conjure my fellowmen not to hold their names or fair fame too cheap by giving their autographs to every swindler who chooses to ask for them. 'The softness of the best-natured fellow in the world requires a large admixture of hardening alloy to give the proper temper.' The folly of being too good-natured is well set forth by that great censor of public morals, and champion of the distressed, the author of Pickwick,' who says, "There are few kinds of extravagance more ruinous than that of indulging a desire for being excessively good-natured, as the good-natured cat learnt when the monkey used her paw to draw chestnuts from the fire. A man of circumscribed means may with comparative safety keep horses and dogs, drink Champagne and Burgundy, bet upon races and upon cockfights, he may even gratify a taste for being very genteel, for these things may subside into moderation; but being very good-natured, in the popular acceptation of the phrase, is like the juvenile amusement of sliding down Market Street Hill on a sledge. The farther one goes, the greater is the velocity; and if the momentum be not skilfully checked, we are likely to land in the water.'

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"The best-natured fellow in the world is merely a convenience-very useful to others, but worse than useless to himself. He is the bridge across the brook, and men walk over him. He giveth up all the sunshine, and hath nothing but chilling shade for himself. He waiteth at the table of the world and serveth the guests, who clear the board, and for food and pay give him fine words-which, culinary research hath long since ascertained, cannot be used with profit, even in the buttering of parsnips. He is in fact an appendage, not an individuality; and when worn out, as he soon must be, is thrown aside to make room for another, if another can be had. Such is the result of excessive and obsequious good-nature. It plundereth a man of his spine, and converteth him into a flexile willow, to be bent and twisted as his companions choose, and, should it please them, to be wreathed into a fish-basket.

:

"I will conclude by assuring my auditors that there are no friends for the man in difficulties-the ties of blood are extinct, forgotten; and would also impress on the minds of the rising generation not to be reckless or thoughtless in pursuit of pleasure; and, above all, not to depend upon rich relatives for pecuniary assistance, or even the less expensive aid of patronage. It is said that 'poverty is no sin.' This assertion is of course only applicable to the next world, for in this it is a crime of the blackest dye. Misfortune closes the door of the father against the son, the daughter against the mother, and the sister against the brother of the cold shoulders of kinsmen I say nothing; neither will I name certain eloquent divines, who can draw tears from the most flinty-hearted, yet refuse the smallest aid to their near kindred; and subscribe to a public charity in their own parish, but refuse even their blessing out of it. propensity is not confined to any particular class; it is equally conspicuous in the patrician as in the plebeian; in fact, if individuals cannot keep pace with their equals in rank, they become outcasts of society; birth, talent, virtue, gallantry, honour, are of no use without money. Such is the disposition of man but; as Sam Weller says, 'Natur's natur-and natur's a rum un.' It may be thought that I have been somewhat too descriptive in my slight sketches: to this I can only say

'When a cap amidst a crowd is thrown,

He whom it fits may take it for his own.'"

This

At the conclusion of this detail of woes and mishaps, it was proposed to postpone their next meeting to that day se'nnight, when other brothers of their non-wealthy fraternity would recount their adventures and pecuniary misfortunes; but from motives best known to themselves, it would be advisable not to make their intended place of rendezvous public. This precaution was loudly applauded; and the honourable members, after singing the National Anthem, repaired to their respective secluded abodes, which it is to be hoped they reached in safety ere midnight.

DANTE'S BEATRICE.

BY NICHOLAS MICHELL.

[The love which Dante had conceived for Beatrice Portinari was as enduring and extraordinary, as in its results it proved of value to the literature of his country. The question once raised by commentators, that the Beatrice of the "Divina Commedia" was but an allegorical personage, the representative of Divine Wisdom, has long been set at rest, the heroine of that great work being no other than the fair Florentine girl, whose beauty had so captivated the author in his early years, and whose memory remained with him, and influenced his actions, to the latest period of his life.]

A MAIDEN once, dark-eyed and glossy-haired,
Lived in gay Florence with an aged sire;
To shine amid the famed no deed she dared,
No genius lit for her its heavenly fire;
The soft deep languish of a Southern eye,

A hand well skilled to wake the dulcet wire,
A bosom chaste as hermit's dying sigh,

A heart whose prayers did morn and eve aspire-
These were her own; yet what were these to save
Her sweet good memory from oblivion's grave?
Yet shall that maid's renown endure for ever;
A monument is raised to her more strong
Than Egypt's pyramid, its granite never
To wear or fail, as ages sweep along-
A monument of all-enduring mind!

An adamantine sepulchre of song!

And there her name embalmed the world shall find,
When kings have mouldered, empires perished long;
Dante hath reared the pile so grandly fair,

And Beatrice in glory resteth there.

Ay, it was she inspired the daring verse

Of Paradise and Hell; to place her high

Above the wrecks of time, and earth's dark curse,
He sought the realms where nothing more can die.
Had Beatrice ne'er lived, we well believe

No wondrous "Rhyme" had woke a thrill or sigh;
The bard those fancies had not thought to weave;

The gold had lain concealed from every eye;
"Twas woman's love that bade the minstrel soar,
And made the world her debtor evermore.
But Dante's passion was not such as glows

In common hearts, a common fire awaking,
Like that the bounding, youthful bosom knows,
Steeping all things in light, an Eden making;
It was to him "new life," a thing intense,

Root in his wild hard nature deeply taking,
Absorbing inward thought, and outward sense,
A blast the strong oak of his spirit shaking;
A love beyond all grosser loves below,
With warmth of fire, yet purity of snow.

And Beatrice did love him, though a smile

Rare lit his thoughtful, melancholy brow;

And though his words were few, nor might beguile
Hearts to more sprightly language wont to bow;
Dearer to her his sadness than the joy

Sparkling in other eyes, his low-breathed vow

Than bursts of passion which so oft decoy

The female breast, and rare repulse allow;
His very sternness, and his iron pride
Seemed to exalt, and bind him to her side.
She died in youth and beauty's sunny hour,
The fates unwilling slow and dark decay

Should waste her form's bright bloom; the sweetest flower
'Twere best to cull, nor leave to fade away;
The loveliest things thus fleetest pass from earth;
How quickly melts the iris' matchless ray!
The Aurora dies while flashing into birth!

The gorgeous insect shines one summer day;
The sun most glorious that brief time appears,
Just as he sets, and leaves the eye to tears.

THE VIRGIN BRIDE.

PART III.

"OH, Frank! dear Frank!" cried Fanny Torrens to her husband, "I fear we have been too precipitate. I tremble when I think what your friends and mine may say of the marriage when they come to know of it, as they soon must.'

Compose yourself, my love: your mother will soon be satisfied and reconciled to the match. A mother-a widowed mother, who has nothing but the kindness and the attentions of a daughter to rely upon for comfort, cannot well be otherwise. I have written to my father, telling him that I intend to marry; I expect his answer every minute. I am his only son: he is rich, and can easily provide for us to the utmost bounds of our ambition."

"But we ought, Francis, to have obtained his consent before taking a step that can never be recalled."

"Let the worst come to the worst, Fanny, dearest, I have an allowance of 500l. a year, besides my pay. I have some debts to clear off, it is true; but that can easily be done whenever we have time to set about it; and you, too, must have something considerable to come to you. Cheer up, dearest; we are young; the world has many blessings in store for us."

At this moment a domestic entered with the information that Captain Torrens's servant was waiting to see his master.

"Excuse me for one moment, love; it is the letters from my father." "Oh, Francis! my heart misgives me. I feel as if my fate hung on the contents of these letters."

Captain Torrens gave a consoling kiss, and imploring her to be of good cheer until his speedy return with joyful intelligence, he hastened from the room.

The servant presented Captain Torrens with a whole bundle of letters; separating out those which from former experience he knew to be only bills and accounts, and which he returned in no very amiable mood to his domestic, Captain Torrens hastily broke open the seal of one which promised to be of a different import. It was from Shepherd, and gave laconically to understand that he had been commissioned as trustee and legal adviser of Mrs. Templeton; that the estate of the late Mr. Tem

THE VIRGIN BRIDE.

pleton, though supposed to be very valuable, was so much encumbered with debts, and of such an inconvertible nature, that it would be long before it could realise anything beyond the annuity at present given to Mrs. Templeton, who enjoyed the life-interest on the whole of the estate, and on whose good-will and pleasure its future disposition principally depended. The letter concluded with the hope that Captain Torrens would see the propriety of visiting less frequently a family whose resources must be much more limited than his expectations.

Whatever effect such information might have had on Captain Torrens at an earlier period, it had none now, not only because he was already married, but because he now really and truly loved the dear confiding woman who had committed herself to his guidance and protection; nay, he almost rejoiced at the proof that he could now exhibit of the disinterestedness of his affection.

"Away with such shallow, intermeddling dictation," said he, "as he tore Shepherd's letter in pieces, and scattered it to the winds. Now let me read my good or evil destiny," said he, as he opened the letter from his father. His hand faltered and his face became pale as he reviewed it. It was short but peremptory:

"DEAR FRANCIS, -Before you even think of marrying you must come to London, or expect to hear no more from,

"Yours, &c.,

"FREDERICK TORRENS."

Such a note at such a moment almost overpowered him. his father's unbending character-he knew that to disobey was to be He knew disowned-he knew that during the whole course of his life he had been treated by his father not from any feelings of paternal love, but solely from a sense of paternal duty; and he felt assured that no trivial motive could induce his father to summon him so promptly to his presence for the first time since he had entered the army.

When Torrens returned into the room, Fanny's keen and scrutinising eye foreboded evil omens, despite of the composed air with which Francis endeavoured to dress his countenance.

"Tell me the worst at once, Francis," cried she, throwing herself on his neck; "tell me everything-read the letter-I must share your joys as well as your sorrows now. Francis, what does he say?"

"I am summoned to London instanter, Fanny; I know not why or wherefore. Let us augur the best. Do not sob, love-I will not, cannot leave you thus, within two hours after our marriage."

"Yes, you must, Francis; you

at once.

shall

Do not let us add the crime of disobedience to that of disgo this very day-you must go courtesy-let us face our first trials at once. daughter who will never disgrace him; that she longs for the opporTell your father he has a tunity to embrace him. Shall I go with you, Francis ?-he could not resist the tears and smiles of a woman. silly, but I have an anxious and fearful misgiving that I shall never see I must go with you-it may be you again."

"No, no, Fanny, you must not go with me; that would at once betray us here before our future plans were matured. You little know my father, Fanny; he is a stern old man, into whose establishment a woman's foot has not entered for twenty years. Let me go at once-since

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