-Then, when around the winter hearth they crowd,

With rapid step, and laughter light and loud;

While the red flames that high and crackling rise

Light up the mirth within their eager eyes;

Silent she sits-a little space apartBrooding o'er thoughts deep treasur'd in her heart.

Round her are flowers, and sunshine, and green trees

The song of birds-the murmuring of bees

The heavy waving corn in golden gleams-The broad smooth meadows and the quivering streams.

There, hearing words of worship murmur'd low,

Happy she wanders-while upon her brow The breeze that fans but cools not, vainly strays

Through the dim leaves with mocking freshness plays,

Shrinks back and dies upon her burning cheek,

And shuns the spot her feverish footsteps seek.

Some playful touch the fond enchantment breaks,

And, with a pang of bitterness, she wakes! Then as the peals of laughter louder ring, And those young tones in broken snatches sing,

She shrinks, and vainly struggles not to weep;

Feels that she fails; and while the slow

(Soon still'd because she knows it is in vain)

Rose in her heart and died away again: Bitterly when the evening hour grew dim She clasped her wasted hands and thought of him:

And now-she is at rest-the simple tomb Tells but the fix'd-the known-the common doom

That fond of earth, but yet too frail to stay, Breath, soul, and life, have left the senseless clay.

This to the crowd: but oh! to me-to me!

How much that name can wring from memory!

How many transient hopes, and buried fears,

"Whether Donna Margaretta connected any vague idea with the stranger, or whe ther it was the mere instinct of weakness, it is impossible to tell, but from that day a strange terror of death fell upon her; she could not bear to be left for a moment-she would wake in the night and implore Beatrice piteously to save her. This impression was, however, as transitory as it was violent. As she grew weaker, she grew calmer and more affectionate. She would lean her head for hours on Beatrice's shoulder, only now and then applying to her some childish and endearing epithet. She was soon too much reduced to leave her bed; they used to raise her head with pillows, and Beatrice would sit beside, her arm round her neck; and her poor mother seemed, like a child, happy in being soothed and caressed. There is mercy in affliction; Donna Margaretta's memory could only have awakened to sorrow, and she died without a pang or a struggle, so quietly, that Beatrice, in whose embrace she lay, thought it was sleep. Wishing to wake her at her usual hour for refreshment, she kissed her-the chill of the lips made her shudder-she leant over them for a minute-the breath had passed away for ever.

"Donna Margaretta's death was a blessing, but Beatrice could not think so at the time; her few objects for affection had made that affection proportionably intense. She had lost the only being she could serve the only one to whom her care and kindness were of value-and we all know how they endear the objects on which they are bestowed-the whole business of her life was gone.

"Perhaps the worst pang of death is the burial. One touch of human weakness mingled with the young Spaniard's sorrow. She was proud—very proud of her high and noble birth. A hundred chiefs of her blood slept in the chapel of San Francisco. But since the confiscation of her father's property, the house adjoining it in the town, besides being a day's journey distant, was turned into a military depôt. She had no choice-her mother's tomb must be the green grass of the village burying-place. With added sorrow she had her interred there by torch-light-herself sole mourner. It was a relief to be unwitnessed. The two peasants who had assisted returned to the village-old Pedro and the negro, one of whom still retained his torch, attended Beatrice home-she followed the light mechanically. The agony with which she had watched the body laid in the earth-that fearful shudder which follows the falling of the mould on the coffin-the pressing down of the grass sods, as if the dead were con

scious of their weight and soil-all this had subsided into stupor. She felt that strange disbelief in its reality that always succeeds violent grief.

"Weak creatures that we are, for the body to overcome the mind as it does! Beatrice slept that night long and soundly-the bitterness of sorrow, affection, and anxiety, sank beneath fatigue. The awakening after such sleep is one of the most dreadful moments in life. A consciousness of something terrible is upon even the first sensation-a vague idea of the truth comes like the remembrance of a dream; involuntarily the eyes close, as if to shut it out-the head sinks back on the pillow, as if to see whether another dream would not be a happier one. A gleam of light, a waving curtain, rouses the sleeper; the truth, the whole terrible truth, flashes out-and we start up as if we never could dream again. In losing her mother, Beatrice lost her great employment-to provide her with small indulgences, and such amusements as she could enjoy, had been a sweet and constant study. The homely associations of life are its tenderest. No tears were more bitter than those Beatrice shed over the beautiful purple grapes which she had so carefully dried for her parent. One consolation she had-a little English Bible became the chief companion of her lonely hours.

Don Henriquez had much of that indifference to religion too often termed liberality. The bigotted beliefs of his native creed were the last he ever thought of impressing. Their country-house stood entirely by itself, and the few priests who passed that way belonged to mendicant orders. Beatrice, with the generosity inherent in her nature, readily filled their scrips; and the friars were not very anxious about the principles of one whose actions were so truly Catholic. But it was impossible for a girl who lived in the solitude of nature, and who had been early tried by sorrow, not to be religious.

"There are some works of God which most especially seem the work of his hands, and some ills of humanity which seem most of all to ask aid from above. The mighty gathering of the storms on her native mountains-the thunder that shook the earthand the lightning that in an hour laid bare the depths of the forest which had stood still and shadowy for years-the starry silence of the summer nights-the mystery of the large and bright planets, filled the young heart that was lifted up by their beauty with deep and solemn thoughts. Again, her desolate situation-the dangers beyond her ability to foresee or to avoid,

made her at once feel her nothingness and her need of protection. The holy page, read at first for its beauty, was soon resorted to for its power. Beatrice dwelt on the gentle promises made to the afflicted, ́and the words of encouragement spoken to the simple, till hope rose strong within her, and grew to be that clear and steady light 'which hideth not its face in the time of trouble.' Beatrice was a genuine Christian, if entire trust, deep humility, and earnest conviction, could make one. True, the Bible was almost the only religious book she had ever read, but she had indeed read it with all her heart."

The following is of a somewhat different style :

"One evening Emily had been prevailed on to try the fresh air of the deck. Like most invalids whose disease is on the mind, she was indisposed to any thing of bodily exertion; but, though she might reject Beatrice's advice, she could not refuse her request; and she took the place which had been so carefully prepared for her. The air was soft and warm, and she soon suffered the cloak in which she was wrapped to fall about her; when suddenly a pas senger, whose crimson pelisse had quite illuminated the deck she was pacing, approached with the exclamation, Well, now, Lord help this wicked world! the lies people do tell! and no manner of gain whatsoever. Only for to think, miss, of meeting you here! Why, they said you had been crossed in love, and had turned into a nun; and instead of that, here we all are, sailing away for Old England. But, bless your pretty face! you look mighty ill -I hope the crossing-in-love part of the story isn't true. I know it's very disagreeable to young people; but, deary me, you'll soon get over it-it's nothing when you're used to it. When I was a girl, I used to sing,

"I am in love with twenty;

I could adore as many moreThere's nothing like a plenty." Lord love you! I never took on about any of them.'

"Now don't say so, Mrs. Higgs,' said a corpulent gentleman, thrusting in a face which looked equally wide and weak; 'you know you'd have broke your heart if we two hadn't been made one.'

"Broke my heart! no sich nonsense: there were as good pigs in the market as yours any day. Not that I'm noways grumbling at the bargain I've had of you; though you weren't my first love neither. So you see, miss, to lose a first chance aint much.'

"Beatrice did not comprehend the dialogue, but she saw Emily look as if ready to sink into the earth, and she beckoned her father to help her companion to the cabin—at the same time collecting her best English to explain that Miss Arundel was too ill for conversation. All affectation,' said Mr. Robert, who still resented her silence in the chapel.

"Two, however, of the passengers in the vessel were very agreeably employed they were making love. By the by, what an ugly phrase 'making love' is -as if love were a dress or a pudding. Signor Giulio's fortunate star was in the ascendant. Miss Amelia Bridget Higgs was not, it is true, the beauty of the family; she was therefore the more grateful for any little polite attentions. And to tell in a few words what took them a great manyMr. Higgs, who had come to Marseilles to meet his family, landed his feminine stock with warm congratulations that they had not taken up with any frog-eating fellow abroad.

"The old Greek proverb says, call no man happy till he dies. A week after their arrival in Fitzroy Square, Miss Amelia Bridget thought it good for her health to walk every morning before breakfast. 'A very fine thing,' observed Mrs. Higgs; 'I am sure it used to be Job's own job to get her out of her bed.'

"One morning, however, Fitzroy Square must have been more than usually delightful: there was an east wind

Amid whose vapours evil spirits dwelt ;' the poor little daisies and crocuses, 'Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,'

seemed to implore their mother earth to receive them into her bosom again; the smuts, those fairy favours' from the gnome queen of coal fires, fell fast and thick; and the laburnums looked so many practical Rousseaus denouncing the progress of

"I am sure,' rejoined Jack, 'I don't want to be educated-I hate going to school.'

"Ain't you ashamed of yourselves, you little ungrateful rascals? Don't you cost us a mint of money, that you may have the blessing edication ?

"I don't care,' returned Jack. "Don't care! you undootiful wretch, do you know that Don't Care came to the gallows?'

“'Well, ma', if it's my fate to be hanged, I shall never be drowned.'

"I'll be the death of you, Master Saucebox!' said Mrs. Higgs, rushing wrathfully forward; but the box on the ear was arrested by the sudden entrance of Miss Bridget Amelia, and Signor Giulio Castelli. The young gentleman made his escape; but Mrs. Higgs's store of indignation was not so instantly to be assuaged, even by the oil of courtesy; though, by dint of eating two lozenges, getting her a glass of brandy during a gale, and seeing to the safety of a bandbox, Signor Giulio was rather a favourite. As to Mr. Higgs, he hated all those foreigneering people.

"A pretty time this is to come in to breakfast. The muffins are quite cold, I can tell you, Miss Higgs.'

"Not Miss Higgs, but the Countess di Castelli,' said Giulio, stepping gracefully

forward.

"The countess took out her handkerchief.

"Our felicity asks but the paternal blessing to make it complete. Kneel, my Amelia.'

"Lord, father, don't be angry, and begin to swear; but I've been and got married this morning.'

"Not to that damned jackanapes of a Frenchman!' cried the father.

"Married, and got never no wedding clothes!' said the mother.

"I'll lock you up on bread and water for a year,' said Mr. Higgs.

"To think of you going and getting married before your eldest sister. But you never had no manners,' said Mrs. Higgs.

"Miss Biddy's in for it now,' whispered Jack.

to

"

'Signor Giulio began an eloquent speech about his noble blood, his country's wrongs, and his fair countess; and his lady began cry. Tears did more than words. Nei. ther Mr. nor Mrs. Higgs could ever abide the sight of crying: their anger melted like barley-sugar exposed to the moist air the young couple were forgiven-and

CABINET CYCLOPÆDIA. Lives of the most eminent British Military Commanders. Vol. I. By the Rev. G. R. Gleig. London. 1831. Longman and Co. This volume forms the 25th Number of Dr. Lardner's "Cabinet Cyclopædia," and is the first of a series to be devoted to the biography of men eminent either as Divines, Statesmen, Military or Naval Commanders. The object of this volume, as stated by the author himself, is to render the English reader acquainted not only with the personal adventures of certain of our most distinguished military command. ers, but to convey to his mind some general notion of the military history of his own country. He has therefore given, in a judicious and well-written Introduction, a "condensed view of the rise and progress of the British Army, from its rude beginnings, in ages prior to the Norman conquest, down to its systematic organization in modern times." The Biogra phies chosen for this volume are those of SIR WALTER DE MANNY-Being a specimen of the warrior during the chivalrous age, when bodily prowess was more esteemed than military science. SIR FRANCIS DE VERE-Being a specimen of the military commanders of the Elizabethan age, and marking the introduction of a new system, originating in the invention of fire-arms.

OLIVER CROMWELL-As the founder of standing armies in England; and JOHN DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH-The general who, by his great military science, elevated the character of the British soldier to a level with, if not beyond, that of the most skilful of his European rivals in glory.

By this happy selection Mr. Gleig has been enabled to exhibit in strong points of view four distinct and most important eras in the military history of our country.

The lives of great men, be the distinguishing characteristics of their genius what they may, are always the source of much interesting contemplation; they form at once an excitement and an examplethey tend to foster and direct the spirit of man; they convert that which would degenerate into mere restlessness and disor der into the beauty of patriotism, and the laudable exertions of a pure ambition.

Such a work as the present, when executed with judgment and fidelity, is highly calculated to keep alive that military spirit on which in fact depends a nation's greatness. And we must accord to our author