all the romance of green eighteen brightened, with the light of early love, the magnificent scene before him. But when, after a prosperous voyage, the young soldier landed at Jamaica, in that region of perpetual sunshine and life, his feelings (as he honestly avowed) underwent some little change. All was so delightfully strange to eye and ear, everything in the moral and physical world offered such a contrast to his native Cambria, that attention and curiosity were constantly excited, and at the same time gratified. In his own country, though pre-eminently gifted with picturesque beauty, or romantic grandeur, nature was seen struggling with sterility and poverty. But in this land of light and loveliness, she brought all her treasures together, to delight man; and, blending utility with ornament, seemed to have made this favoured island an epitome of all the comforts and luxuries scattered over divers lands. The mountains abounded with variety of fruits, as they united within the smallest possible compass a variety of climates, according to their altitude. There was the cocoa, whose delicious milky nut hangs so temptingly from the bright foliaged bough; the orange towering there to a considerable height, with all its golden fruitage; the stately palm tree, dear to holy song; the pineapple, that appears fit only to have been one of the fruits of our first parents in their unfallen state; and the prolific tamarind, at whose very name the fevered patient seems to quench his burning thirst. As nature, too, was here profuse in her gifts, so the hospitality of the inhabitants was likewise unbounded,-a hearty and a genuine hospitality, in which pride or ostentation evidently had no part.

Clement passed through "the seasoning" which the climate exacts from almost every European, and his naturally strong and vigorous constitution carried him through it without even the appearance of danger. After a few months had rolled on, he had settled down in his habits and ideas, with the pliancy natural to early youth, into a regular member of the West Indian community. All things conspired to make him contented with his situation, and to reconcile him even to the separation (a separation once so painful) from his Patty. They had interchanged several letters after his arrival in Jamaica, which breathed mutual vows of unalterable love. A space of some months then intervened, during which the anxious lover received no tidings whatever from the fair cottager. Sometimes he tormented himself by fancying that she might be changed-or dead; but hope, as usual, at that buoyant period of life, generally prevailed. He had not, in fact, much time for reflection-what soldier has ? The boon companions of the mess--and, sooth to say, the pretty West Indian girls, with their dark silky curls wreathed with blossoms of light, or glittering as with jewels from the collected lustre of the radiant fire-flies-occupied much of his leisure time, and often of his thoughts. And though sometimes he might bestow a kiss upon that little lock of fine fair hair, which at parting he cut from the long tresses of Patty, it was perhaps custom, almost as much as passion, which kept up this observance.

It was after the young soldier had been some considerable time in Jamaica that a circumstance occurred to him which, from its singularity, and its apparent connexion with the distant object of his love, filled him with the most painful apprehensions and anxiety on her

account. Walking one day leisurely, by reason of the intense heat, through an extensive grove of trees, to join his brother officers at the mess, to his inexpressible astonishment he saw, as suddenly he looked up, the figure of a female suspended, as it were, from one of the lower boughs of a banana tree, that stood almost close to his path. Almost doubting his own eyes, he immediately drew near to it, and, gazing intently on the mysterious object, who can describe his dismay and horror, when he distinctly recognised the face and figure of his beloved Patty, beautiful as when he last saw her, but with such a splendour about her as though her whole body were a transparent lamp, or, as he said, "like the sun shining through a silver gauze." Still, she was dead, and dead apparently by violent means. The young soldier stood rivetted to the spot, and it was with some difficulty that he prevented himself from sinking to the earth. He wiped away the large drops of perspiration from his brow, rubbed his eyes, looked at the surrounding objects, to satisfy himself whether those organs represented them correctly, and then reverted to the fearful banana. There still hung suspended the radiant but lifeless form of her whom he had so fondly loved. He gazed intently and anxiously for several minutes, and then, hurrying past the affecting sight, he soon reached the messroom, but in such a state of agitation, that all questioned him as to the cause. Clement's explanation, however, only elicited bursts of laughter from his merry friends, and good-natured jokes about Welsh fairies and mountain sprites. They had no idea, they said, that such delicate little creatures would ever have migrated voluntarily to so warm a climate as Jamaica, and still less for the mere purpose of hanging themselves. Clement endeavoured, though not very successfully, to join in the laugh which he had raised against himself. He was unwilling to appear the slave of his country's superstitions, and he regretted that, in the agitation and surprise of the moment, he had been betrayed into any communication on the subject. He rejoiced, however, that the delicacy of a pure affection had prevented him from saying anything as to the resemblance the vision bore to his beloved Patty; as one of the lieutenants, a roguish young Irishman, swore that the case reminded him exceedingly of the "captain_bold of Halifax and unfortunate Miss Bailey," and he sincerely hoped, for his young friend's sake, that it would not turn out to be anything of that sort. Clement strove hard to blunt the points of these random shafts, by rallying his depressed spirits, and, after some more than usually copious libations, both at and after dinner, he in some degree succeeded, and forgot for a moment his trouble and anxiety in the hilarity which surrounded him.

This relief, however, as it was forced, was but transient. When at night he retired to the solitude and seclusion of his own chamber, an oppressive weight began again to gather round his heart. He closed his eyes, and endeavoured to compose himself to rest; but the mysterious and appalling vision once more rose before his mental sight, almost as fresh and vivid as it had appeared to him in the morning, and in the open light of day. He could not shake it off; and these ideas began irresistibly to force themselves upon his mind, in connexion with it. He thought that his Patty might be dead,-that she had died by violence,-yet that she was now enjoying a state of rest

and happiness. These were the conclusions to which his romantic turn of mind impelled him.

After a sleepless night, he rose at an early hour, uneasy and unrefreshed. He went out; and involuntarily, nay, almost against his own will, wandered towards the wood, where he had witnessed the strange sight on the preceding day. When arrived within its precincts, the same instinctive feeling led him towards the same spot, and the identical tree. As he slowly approached it, he lifted up his eyes, which had been fixed musingly on the ground, and he then gazed anxiously and intently, as if he hardly knew what he might expect to see. It was an unspeakable relief to him, and he was not ashamed to confess it, when he discovered that there was nothing more than usual. There stood the tree, a lofty banana, in its tropical grandeur; and the scene around him was tranquil and beautiful, as all the scenes of nature, at least her forest scenes, invariably are. The sky was cloudless; the dew-drops glitttered like gems on the guava's snowy flowers, and on the varied foliage, which excluded the rays of the early sun; the hum of myriads of insects floated on the air; and the gorgeous tribe of birds and butterflies, as they flitted past him, enlivened the pleasant glades of the surrounding wood. The air was balmy, but of an agreeable coolness; and the young soldier felt his nerves again in some degree restrung. He returned homeward, and partook of breakfast with his wonted appetite.

He would have now gladly persuaded himself, that his eyes had deceived him on the previous day; but this he found to be impossible. If they had deceived him in that, he could no longer trust them in anything. The painful apparition was too clear, too distinct and defined, in outline, colour, and proportion, to admit of such a solution. Nor was it transient, or of brief duration, as passing visions are sometimes said to be. He had examined and scrutinised it with his eyes so long, and with such deliberate and minute attention, that he fancied it must be almost palpable to the touch. He saw the trees, and other surrounding objects, as plainly as before; but not more plainly than he saw the strange and affecting vision before him. It was not to be wondered, therefore, strongly attached as he was to his distant Patty, that it recurred frequently to his anxious thoughts, in spite of all his efforts to the contrary. Again and again, especially in the hours of silence and solitude, it would rise before his mental sight, gather itself distinct into shape, and fix upon his mind, with all the force of conviction, the ideas before alluded to.

But Time, which wears down all things, gradually wore off the sharper outlines of this distressing image. And as He first effaces the delicate tracery of a Gothic building, or the sharp relief of a beautiful medal, and then crumbles and destroys the more solid and substantial parts; so the recurrence of the painful idea to young Clement's mind was less and less frequent, and the impression grew fainter and more faint, until at length he had almost ceased to think about it at all. It was only when packet after packet arrived from England, without bringing him any letter from the object of his affection, that the mys terious vision would again obtrude itself upon him, with many fearful misgivings.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

BY H. B.

I HEAR, I hear glad voices sing
In that loved home of mine,
And laughter wake her echo there
As in the olden time;

There's not a spot I look on, but
To me 'tis hallowed ground-
O stranger! cease the revelry,
I cannot bear the sound.

Oft we have raised our songs of joy
Within those very walls,

And hearts as light as thine can be
Beat in my father's halls;

But one by one, those voices dear

Were hush'd-those hearts grew cold. O stranger! let me gaze in peace, This was my home of old.

One moment cease the festal song,
'Tis torture to my breast;

I would but take one last, last gaze,
Ere I too silent rest.

Around that hearth our childhood smil'd,
Beneath yon oak we play'd;

But now within the green churchyard
All side by side are laid;

And I am left a blighted wreck
To mourn my kindred gone;

To feel that in this vast, wide world,
I am myself alone.

Forbear! forbear that sound of mirth,

I cannot bear the tone;

O stranger! Do not wake the past,

Thy home was once my own.

THE FORTUNES OF AN AUTHOR.1

BY MRS. ABDY.

THE next day Percy journeyed with his friend to the hospitable mansion of Sir Evan Apreece, and he found Apreece's assurances of a cordial welcome fully realized; the old gentleman and lady actually overwhelmed him with thanks for relinquishing the gaieties of London to share the dull visit of their son; and the girls were lively, pleasing, and unsophisticated, and promised rambles over Welsh mountains, and rides on Welsh ponies, to their guest with unsparing liberality.

Percy retired to rest delighted with the whole family; how long he might have continued to like a house without music, literature, or visitors, it is not in my power to say, for he awakened in the morning after a disturbed and feverish night, feeling seriously indisposed. He attempted to rise, and he was not deterred from proceeding in his toilet by cold trembling hands, and flushed burning cheeks; he was sensible of the exceeding unpleasantness of being ill in the house of other people, before opportunity had been given to him to render himself popular and agreeable to them.

"It would never do," he said, while he resolutely sought for his waistcoat, "to be laid on the shelf as a regular invalid, and to bring illness and trouble into the family that I have been invited on purpose to enliven."

Poor Percy in the midst of his heroic resolutions he fainted, and when Apreece came to summon him to breakfast, he found him quite insensible. The mansion of the Apreeces laboured under the serious disadvantage of being five miles from the town wherein resided their medical practitioner, and a horse had to be caught and saddled before any messenger could be sent to him. Apreece's own man volunteered his services, as being twice as young and active as anybody else in the servants'-hall; and resolving that his message should be equally dignified and exciting, he informed Mr. Watkins, the Galen in question, that "his master's intimate friend, the distinguished Mr. Percy, author of a great many celebrated poems and novels, had been found insensible in his bed; that if not dead then, there was no doubt he must be so by this time, and that the family were all in a state of distraction." Mr. Watkins's daughter, Euphemia, uttered a faint shriek; she was acquainted with the name of Percy, having recently read several of his poems, transplanted into the columns of a county newspaper; and Mr. Watkins hastened to prepare for his departure, feeling that even if Percy were actually dead, composing draughts would be required for the young ladies, and cordials for the old people. Fortunately, however, by the time he arrived, Percy had recovered 1 Continued from p. 184.

July 1843.-VOL. XXXVII.—NO. CXLVII.

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