my study window in the garb of a mourner-on that day month John C led her past the same window in the gay attire of a bride.

The old couplet reads→→

"Blessed is the bride whom the sun shines on,

Blessed is the corpse which the rain rains on."

But many an adage is founded in fallacy. Had the first line of this couplet been true, then had poor Alice been one of the happiest brides ever led to the altar. The sun shone brilliantly, and all nature rejoiced in its beams. As for our village, it was unusually gay. Having come to his fortune, John C acting up to the character which Alice had given him, resolved to cheer the hearts of his neighbours by something more substantial than airy song. The bells were ordered to be rung without intermission, and the doors of the White Swan were thrown open for all to enter who pleased to enjoy themselves at John's expense. Many a boor did I see passing up our village on that day reeling drunk, and hiccupping hurrah for John C! He was the best fellow in all the universal world!

Thus was poor Alice at length bound in the holy bonds of wedlock to the man she loved, and John C was made a gentleman! It had been happy for both if they had never known each other. The event was at least a death-blow to every comfort which Alice Chad hitherto enjoyed. Misery was poured into her cup to the brim, and she drank it to the very dregs.

As might be expected, John C having come to his fortune, instantly threw aside his spade. For some few weeks I indulged the hope that I might meet him in my rural walks, walking about at his leisure with a gold-headed cane like another gentleman. Had such been the case I should have held out the right-hand of fellowship to John, and encouraged his notions of gentility. But my hope proved visionary. I could neither meet him in the village nor in the haunts of solitude. It was as though the bells which rang on his wedding day had ushered him into another world.

There could be no doubt, however, on my mind as to what was going forward. I felt certain that John C had settled down on the settle of the White Swan, at his heart's content, and that he was committing an act of slow suicide. I was convinced that he was poisoning himself; and as I was musing on this one day, I became alarmed for his fate, and taking down my hat from its peg, resolved to go to the White Swan to make some enquiries about him. I knocked at the door, and was civilly invited by the landlady into the parlour, which invitation I accepted and sat down.

I observed there was a look of surprise on the face of mine hostess of the White Swan as she led the way, and the cause was soon unfolded. "There must be something extraordinary the matter, sir," said she, as she seated herself full in my face, or you would never enter my doors. You philosophers are such queer folk, that you are not like other people. You never come to take a cup of

the 'good creature,' although I am sure I would make you comfortable. If it is cold, I always keep a roasting fire; and look at my furniture how it shines! Though I say it, I don't think you could find a neater parlour than this for many a long mile. The Squire always takes his rents in it, and he never fails to tell me that it is equal to his own in point of comfort and elegance, although not quite so large. It is fit, he says, for a prince. But I am anxious to know what brings you here, sir; I am sure, as I said before, it must be something extraordinary."

66

Perhaps you may think it so, madam (I replied), but if so you will excuse it, I am sure. Landladies, I believe, are proverbial for good nature."

"You are right, sir (interrupted mine hostess) they are, and to tell you the truth, they had need be good-natured, for they have a deal to put up with. What with the drunken husbands and weeping wives, I am sometimes almost worried to death. The wives are especially troublesome. If they would only let their husbands alone in their enjoyments, I should be happy enough. But they are ever knocking at my doors, and sometimes it is a full hour before I can get rid of them. Why, now, there's Alice C▬▬, who as you know was only married a few weeks ago, she is quite a burden to me. She is perpetually coming for her John, as she calls him, and her eyes may be likened to the stream which washes the foot of our village, they are always streaming with tears. This is very unpleasant, and I often tell her that if she will let him alone he will do well enough. Men should go out and in just when they please, but women should abide within doors. I have no patience with a woman who wishes to mar her husband's comforts. It does not become them."

Taking no notice of the sentiments of the landlady of the White Swan, when she ceased I rejoined" The question, madam, I called to put to you is already answered. Not having heard or seen anything lately of John C as I used to hear his voice in passing your door, I ventured to step in to enquire if you knew anything about him. I perceive that he is still alive, and that he spends his hours at your house. Would you allow me to speak with him a moment?"

Lowering her brow, mine hostess led the way to the bar in silence. There was only John C― there, or I think I should have mistaken his identity. Instead of that healthful glow which sat on his cheek when I conversed with him at his work, there was a bloatedness about his face which infallibly marked the progress of disease within. As I stood before him, I could not refrain heaving a deep sigh, which caught John's ear; and as it died away, looking up in my face, he observed, "I thought you was not happy: your long thin face tells me that life is a burden to you, my friend, but I can tell you what will cure you. Nay, hang me if I don't cure you, too, before you leave this house. I bear no malice. Although you did give me a sermon one day, and try to persuade Alice not to marry me, you shall have a drop of something good.

Make haste, landlady, and fill up my glass, and bring another for this gentleman. I am a gentleman now you know, and we can drink together as gentlemen. Care!-give it to the winds! Sorrow! -cast it to the dogs! A short life and a merry one; that's the life for me! Hurrah for Alice! She has made me the happiest creature alive. Hurrah, I say again, for Alice!"

The landlady was proceeding to replenish John's glass, and to mix one for me, when I put my hand upon her arm to stay her movements, and thus replied:-"I am not, as you suppose, John, an unhappy man. The sigh I heave, indeed, was for yourself and poor Alice. As I predicted, misery is fast gathering around you both, and I would fain arrest it. Leave this house with me, John, and never enter it again, for Death is here! Mine hostess has daily administered it to you in the smoking glass and in the well-primed tankard: without being aware of it, she is Death's cheerful handmaiden!"

The look of mine hostess on hearing my address was one of mingled fear and astonishment. On John, however, it had the reverse effect. Bursting into an uproarious laugh, he raised the glass to his lips, and exclaiming, "Here's a health to the bugbear Death!" drank off its contents to the last drop. As he replaced it on the table, John gave me a fierce look, and holding his fist in my face, bade me leave the house instantly, or I should no longer look like a gentleman. Perceiving that it was no use to reason with him, I was about to obey his injunction, but, as I turned round to depart, my eyes met the eager gaze of Alice. Her face wore such a spectral appearance, from grief, that it inspired me with courage. Again facing John, I lifted up my cane in a threatening attitude, and exclaimed-" If, John, the laws of God and man did not forbid us to lay hands upon our fellows, I believe I should endeavour to lay this cane lustily about your shoulders. Seest thou this woman? But a few weeks ago your lips promised to nourish and cherish her all your life, and that at the altar of the Most High! And now, what is your conduct towards her? While you carouse in this sink of debauch, you leave her at home a prey to grief and misery. The money that she brought you, I have no doubt is fast changing hands. Mine hostess here, will soon count the last change, and Alice will be left pennyless!

"O for a law to noose the villain's neck

Who starves his own; who persecutes the blood

He
gave them in his children's veins, and hates
And wrongs the woman he has sworn to love."
Cowper.

The bold attitude which I assumed effectually cowed John C――. He hung down his head with shame and fear, and it would have been no Herculean task to have inflicted severe punishment upon him for his cruelty, as regarded himself. I had now, however, raised up another antagonist on each side of me. Mine hostess had taken courage, and requested me to leave her house instantly; and the gentle Alice dried her tears, and took the part of her John with great

I

warmth. "Sir (said she), my John is a good creature, and I dont see why any one should reprove him: if he does wrong me he does not mean it, and no one has any business to interfere. John loves me, and I love him, and what is life without love?"

"What, indeed! (interrupted mine hostess)-what, indeed, Alice? Now you act like a woman and a wife; and you shall have the glass which John ordered for this gentleman, or philosopher, as our villagers call him-John will pay for it, I know! So sit down, Alice, and make yourself comfortable-life is given to be enjoyed."

I caught the landlady's address to Alice, as I departed for the door; and when I gained it, I turned round to see how Alice acted. Poor creature! She had defended her John from my reproofs, but she was too heart-broken to listen to the invitation of mine hostess. She sat down, but it was to weep, and to implore her John, in broken accents, to return home. The sight was a bitter one; but as I could not hope to render any assistance to the broken-hearted, or to break the fetters in which John was bound, I closed the door, and retired home with a heart impregnated with pity, not only for them, but for every afflicted child of humanity.

"Turn to private life,

And social neighbourhood: look we to ourselves—
A light of duty shines on every day

For all; and yet how few are warm'd or cheer'd!
How few who mingle with their fellow-men,

And still remain self-govern'd!"-Wordsworth.

The mirth of fools has been well compared by the wise man to the crackling of thorns under a pot. It is a blaze quickly succeeded by darkness. John C drank deeply for a few brief months, and was right merry over his glass, but his riotous career was succeeded by want and death. The landlady of the White Swan had pocketed the whole of John's fortune, and he was then directed to go and seek solace elsewhere. It could only be found in the glass, and, as he had no money, it could not be obtained. He wandered abroad for a few days, but the sudden transition from intemperance to total abstinence proved too much for his strength. He died, and was buried on the day twelvemonth from the date of his marriage!

There is no love equal to that which influences the breast of a woman. Although John C had proved such a monster to poor Alice-although he had reduced her to the most abject state of poverty and distress, she not only wept, but fell down as one dead over his grave. Years have rolled away since that event, but even now she mourns for him as the turtle is said to mourn for its slain mate. Every evening, after she returns home from her daily avocations, she spends a full hour in looking at his old hat, which hangs up on the very nail where he placed it the day before he died! To remove it would be deemed sacrilege in her sight; for as she has often observed to me, it does her heart good to look at it. If it does, let her enjoy it, for truly it is an innocent enjoyment. OBSERVATOR.

107

ALL IS VANITY.*-BY MRS. E. SMITH.
(From the French.)

OH! whence, in this unquiet heart,

Despite of every soothing art,
Do restless wishes reign?

In vain I strive each weary day

To drive each doubtful wish

away,

By quietude or industry, by study or repose;

The tide of thought no earthly power can stay,

And from earth's varied scene a sad disgust still flows.

Come, let us try each soft delight,

With odorous flowers my brow enwreathe,

Hither quickly bring my lyre;

Ye Lovers and sports on airy wing

Hither haste, the Graces bring:

Let smiles, pleasures, sports, my heart inspire

Let wine be poured as nectar bright,

And sweetest perfumes breathe;

But see! how soon the roses fade
And lose their brilliant hues;
I feel distaste my heart invade,
No more the perfumes sweets diffuse,
The lyre escapes my languid hand,
And lost is pleasure's influence bland.
Now we fly to bloodstain'd plains,
Where the fierce Bellona reigns-
Perhaps the warrior's laurel crown
May make my heart forget its care,
And chase the horrors of despair.
Hark! e'en now the charge is sounded-
Iron glitters, cannons roar,

The neighing steed now springs to war,

Shining steel with steel confounded,

Makes Olympus' snowy height

Re-echo with affright;

The victor's shouts, which cries of vanquish'd drown,

Around me pours a sanguine flood,

The horrid picture chills my blood;

I back with freezing horror start,

And pity mourns within my sadden'd heart.

Ambition calls me with a calmer mien,
Sometimes sublime, too often cruel found,
I own her law that I myself may reign-
The earth, the sea, confess my sway,
I rule a subject world around,

But o'er myself, alas! boast no control;

From the "Ode to Immortality," by the Abbé de Lille. The whole Ode is too long for insertion here.