thing rather jesuitical in this conduct of|| they partook much more largely of the

the Brownie: he would take food that was placed where he could reach it; but if offered to him, he went away from his haunts, and never returned more.

I shall conclude this account of the fairies of Scotland by quoting another of Mr. Erskine's supplemental stanzas to Mr. Collins's Ode, before alluded to.

-66

-See! recalled by thy resistless lay, Once more the Brownie shews his honest face. Hail, from thy wanderings long, my much-lov'd sprite !

Thou friend, thou lover of the lowly, hail! Tell in what realms thou sport'st thy merry night,

Trail'st thy long mop, or whirl'st thy mimic
flail.

Where dost thou deck the much-disorder'd hall,
While the tir'd damsel in Elysium sleeps,
With early voice to drowsy workman call,

Or lull the dame while mirth his vigils keeps ? "Twas thus in Caledonia's domes 'tis said,

"Notwithstanding the progressive increase of knowledge, and proportioned decay of superstition in the Highlands, these genii are still supposed by many of the people to exist in the woods and sequestered vallies of the mountains, where they frequently appear to the lonely traveller, clothed in green, with dishevelled hair floating over their shoulders, and with faces more blooming than the vermil blush of a summer morning. At night, in

Thou play'dst the kindly task in years of particular, when fancy assimilates to its

yore:

-At last, in luckless hour, some erring maid

Spread in thy nightly cell of viands store: Ne'er was thy form beheld among these

mountains more."

From this enumeration of the qualities of the Scottish fairies, it is evident, that

own preconceived ideas every appearance and every sound, the wandering enthusiast is frequently entertained by their music, more melodious than he ever before heard."*

W. C. S.

• Vol. xii. page 462.-Note.

HELENA, OF SAXE ALTENBURG.

IN THREE PARTS.-PART III.

THE Monk found Ernest traversing his || ing fortunes with so cloudy a brow? If apartment in a state of mind nearly bordering on madness. Galled by the presence of a witness to his mental agony, the youth turned fiercely to the intruder, and in no courteous tone bade him depart.

"Let me first deliver your father's message," said the Monk, in a sarcastic

you rise to rank and fame, the world will never question the steps by which you ascended. Your princely father has sent me to assure you, that you are his lawful heir. Is your conscience too tender to receive these good tidings?”

"Methinks he has chosen a fit agent for his lying message," cried Ernest, reddening with passion; for, though the Monk's face was concealed in his cowl, there was a mockery in his tone and manner which roused his utmost contempt and indignation. "Back to your employer, and tell him, that the son of Anastasia Carlsheim cannot give credence to his specious tale.”

"Your mother was not so scrupulous." "Or she never had been betrayed,"

returned the youth, glancing towards his pistols that were loaded on a table near him. "Hence! vile hypocrite! Or, by heaven, I shall be tempted to forget the respect I owe to that sacred habit! Away!—and leave me to myself.”

"To your worst enemy," rejoined Ladislaus, as he turned to depart. "Look to yourself, young man! This night is your's. To-morrow, the Prince may find some means to force you to obedience."

He laid a stress so peculiar on the last sentence, that the youth started, and, for a moment, thought these tones were familiar to his ears, yet could not trace them in his memory.

A dreadful vision floated before his sight. He already imagined himself in the situation of a lost and condemned spirit. Mercy no longer pleaded in his breast-a horrible and unknown feeling took possession of his soul, and he laughed with frightful exultation as though he already triumphed in the dying agonies of his victim. His look became steady, and his countenance composed; but it was with the fixed and determined coldness of despair, that had || reached its climax, and had nothing left to fear or to suffer.

"Follow me!" said the phantom, as he unsheathed his sword-" This night my soul will find rest in paradise."

"To-morrow!-Why does that word strike like a knell upon my heart?-To- The Prince followed her with noiseless morrow! He said well. It has reminded steps as she glided through the long galme that this night is my last on earth-lery that led to his father's chamber, that the sun will never again rise for me!" || and, pointing to the door, vanished from

The castle clock struck twelve !-He started-seized one of his pistols-" Aye, tis midnight—a fit hour to die. Why do I tremble? Why do I feel this fearful strife within? Surely it is an act less criminal to slay myself than to murder him! Let his crimes be what they may,|| I cannot be his executioner. I could not look upon his princely face, and strike the blow! Poor Frederica!" he exclaimed, with a heavy sigh, as the thought || of her agony rushed over his soul. "You will seek me in the morning, and I shall not be !-Farewell life!-Welcome Eternity."

his view. With a mind determined to execute the fatal errand which had carried him thither, Ernest approached the couch where his father lay in perturbed slumber. The light burnt feebly on a table before him: one hand rested on a book of devotions, and the other was held tightly over his breast. He had sunk to sleep without changing his clothes, and nothing but the steel corslet and helm had been removed. On his countenance was reflected, as in a mirror, the work|| ings of the soul within. The expressions produced by love, terror, and remorse, alternately succeeded each other, and were accompanied by the deep sigh, the convulsive start, or the gasp of agony. It was a fearful thing to look upon his face, and to watch the strong man in his slumbers." "What am I about to do?" exclaimed Ernest, recoiling involuntarily -"Murder my father! Does no angel warn thee of approaching danger? Is there no pitying spirit in heaven to plead for thee? Must thou die-and by my hand? Die, without one prayer for mercy-one appeal to that awful judge before whom thou must shortly appear Had I been thy humblest vassal, I could have loved thee; but now an insurmountable barrier is placed for ever be

He raised the pistol steadily to his head-his finger already pressed the trigger, when his glance was arrested by a shadow reflected in the large mirror op- || posite, and he again encountered the lustrous dark eyes of the phantom that had haunted his memory since the preceding night. They were bent scornfully upon him. The weapons fell from his grasp, and he dashed himself with a cry of anguish to the ground, as the sweet tones of that voice again met his

ear :-..

"Rise! The hour of vengeance is at hand! He sleeps Your sword must seal for ever his earthly slumbers!"

I cannot do this deed."

the weapon.

!

"My heart has changed its purpose-tween us.- -Die!" he continued, raising "And may God have mercy on thy soul." As he was about to strike, the countenance of the sleeping man be

"Hell yawns beneath you! Within this hour your oath must be accomplished." No. 42.-Vol. VII.

2 N

The Prince uttered a deep groan, and buried his face in the bleeding bosom of his son; while, in a tone of triumph, she continued

"You deemed me dead, and falsely concluded that the grave covered my in

66 Surely I dream," he cried; can this be indeed my son? Speak, Ernest! what means that unsheathed weapon? || Why dost thou stare so vacantly upon me? || juries. My Lord, vengeance never sleeps! What brought thee hither at this hour of night ?"

There was a frightful calmness in the young man's voice, as he replied " I came to murder thee."

"Gracious God! What could tempt thee to this dreadful deed ?"

"The powers of hell. The delusion is past. My eyes are opened to my guilt," || returned Ernest, turning hastily away, and sheathing the weapon in his breast. "The bolt of heaven has recoiled on my own head; let the memory of my crime be washed away; let the blood of thy unhappy son be sufficient atonement for the past," exclaimed he, as he laid the reeking weapon at the feet of the astonished and horror-stricken Leopold.

A violent struggle was heard in the gallery-the door was burst open-and Frederica Arnheim rushed into the apartment, followed by the Monk. "Where is the Prince Leopold?" she cried, in a loud and frantic voice-" I must speak instantly to the Prince." Her eye fell on the bleeding and prostrate form of her lover, whose dying head was supported on the knees of his agonized and guilty father. An icy dart seemed to transfix her brain, and to benumb every vital faculty. She neither advanced nor retired. No cry burst from her lips-no tear moistened her fixed and expanded eyes. She seemed a statue, whose breathing was a mockery of its cold and deathlike appearance.

The tears of the father were flowing fast over the pale brow of his first-born, as, raising his streaming eyes towards

Years have past vainly over me—they have not obliterated the memory of my wrongs. The blow has fallen short of the mark, and claimed a guiltless victim; but at least it is a satisfaction to behold the son of my hated rival bleeding at my feet."

"Woman!" exclaimed Leopold, raising his hand towards heaven, "tremble at thy fearful work, for thou hast slain thy son!"

The youth raised his dying eyes to her face-murmured, in broken accents, her name, and instantly expired.

Springing forward with the fury of a tigress robbed of her young, Helena grasped the arm of her husband with frightful energy:

"Ha! speak that word again—that word of misery! Didst thou not murder my lovely boy, my sweet Conraddin, that he that another-might fill his place?"

"Dost thou know this mark?" returned the Prince, removing the masses of raven hair that shaded the left temple of his son. "Is this red stain a forgery, or can you for a moment doubt lineaments that so strongly resemble your own?"

"I have dug a pit, and fallen into the snare that I so dexterously laid for another," said Helena, in a hollow and unnatural tone. "Oh, my son! my son! my beautiful, my noble boy, have I indeed slain thee? Oh, he is cold-is dead -is gone for ever! Hark!-did he not curse me? Did he not invoke heaven to call down vengeance on the heads of his guilty parents? Away," she cried, striv

ing to raise Frederica Arnheim from the || branch of the Ernestin family. Helena body; "he is not thine. Thou shalt not did not long survive the death of her son. hold him thus. Alas! she, too, is cold," She assumed a religious habit, and spent she continued, shrinking from the corpse. the residue of her days in penitence and "Death has finished his work, and we prayer; and when the anniversary of the are childless and alone upon this goodly day returned that had witnessed that fearearth." ful tragedy, she was found within the Years rolled on in their silent flight. || chapel of the castle, stretched, a lifeless Leopold fell in a bloody engagement, bat- || corse, upon the marble slab that covered tling against the Turks, and his hereditary the remains of Ernest and Frederica. towers passed into the hands of another

S. S.

TO ELLEN.

Original Poetry.

Oн, breathe, in mercy, ELLEN, breathe
No more that joyous strain;
And never 'mid thy tresses wreathe

That snowy wreath again!

For though those tones to other ears
Speak but of mirth and gladness,
To me they touch a source of tears,
And thoughts allied to madness.
And roses, pure as those which now
Thou twinest 'mid thy hair,

Once shed their perfume o'er the brow

Of one, as young and fair,

And, oh! I deemed as free from guile,
As thou, my ELLEN, art;
But treachery lurked beneath her smile,
And falsehood in that heart.

I cannot bear those tones to hear,

I cannot bear those flowers to see;
They wake within my heart, the fear,
Thou, too, should'st faithless be.
Then breathe, in mercy, ELLEN, breathe
No more that joyous strain,
And never 'mid thy tresses wreathe
That snowy wreath again!

A. L. H.

TO THE SON OF A BARD." By a Lady who had been requested to answer for him at the Font.

SON of the bard!-I feel for thee

A mother's hopes without her fears;
Thy birth brought heartfelt joy to me-
Joy, unalloyed by pain or tears:
A welcome, and a blithe good-morrow,
I give thee to this world of sorrow!

Mr. Bird's youngest son was born just after the publication of his poem-" Dunwich, a Tale of the Splendid City."-Vide pages 118 and 220 of the present volume of LA BELLE AS

SEMBLEE.

O, may'st thou, lovely boy, inherit

A spark of bright Promethean fire,
And, with thy mother's sense and merit,
Blend all the genius of thy sire !
Unsullied send, from age to age,
His name a deathless heritage !
For thou wast born a child of song-
Born, when thy father's genius gave
Again to fame, that city strong,

Whose ruins sleep beneath the wave:
In thee that kindling spirit wrought,
Twin brother thou of glowing thought.

Lo, above thy cradle bending,

Fancy points the mystic band;
The sacred Nine, from heaven descending,
Bid thy infant thoughts expand:
Sweet poesy thy soul shall fire,
To sweep again thy father's lyre.

O'er thee may Hope her vigils keep,

To guard thy morn from blight or gloom;
And no unkindly tempest sweep

This blossom to an early tomb;
But may'st thou live, the pride and joy,
Of those who bless thee now, sweet boy!
S. S.

LINES ON THE DEATH OF

GENTLE and young you have gone to your rest,
To join the spirits of the pure and blest;
Like a flower that is nipt in its early bloom,
You have sunk in your youth to a blameless

tomb;

You have pass'd from a world of sin and strife,
To inherit the land of eternal life.

And your cherub voice, that was sweet and clear,
And came richly and full on the list'ner's ear,
Like the night-bird's song, which, in thrilling

notes,

On the breath of the south wind softly floats,
Now hymns the praises of God on high,
In holy and sinless minstrelsy. B. B. B

Records of the Beau Monde.

FASHIONS FOR JUNE, 1828.

EXPLANATION OF THE PRINTS OF THE FASHIONS.

DINNER PARTY DRESS.

A DRESS of celestial-blue gros des Indes, trimmed at the border with two rows of pointed flounces, falling over each other, and the edges bound with satin. These pointed flounces are beautifully fluted; the upper one finished at the head by cinque-foil ornaments in silk, pointed and edged round by narrow rouleaux of satin. The body is en gerbe, and the sleeves à la Marie, confined by bands, and, on each band, at the outside of the arm, is a buckle. At the wrist is a cuff formed of

Round

flutings, and next the hand a bracelet of
dark hair, clasped by a cameo.
the bust is a very broad falling tucker of
white blond; and a white crape fichu is
worn under the dress, buttoning down the
front, and surmounted by a triple ruff of
lace or blond, just beneath the throat.
Hat of white crape, ornamented under
the brim with blue and white satin, en
spatula. Ribbons of the same two colours
adorn the crown, with a delicate plume of

white ostrich feathers.

BRIDAL COSTUME.

bouquet of orange flowers, with a small portion of the green foliage; on the left, a full-blown white rose. The ear-pendants and necklace are of fine pearls.

CARRIAGE DRESS.

A DRESS of striped batiste, of sea-green colour, striped with marshmallow-blossom; on which stripes are arabesque figures, in black. The body is made tight to the shape, and pointed in front at the base of the waist: it is made partially low, and finished round the bust by a collar, en paladin, pointed in front. The sleeves are long, and of white crape, à la Marie: they are confined at the wrists, by broad gold bracelets clasped by a cameo; a sautoir of white brocaded silk is tied carelessly round the throat. The hat worn with this dress is of white gros de Naples, trimmed with ribbons painted in different colours, on a white ground, and a beautiful plume of white

marabouts.

PUBLIC PROMENADE DRESS.

Chinese designs, in different colours. One deep flounce ornaments the border of this dress, the stripes of which are crosswise; and the flounce is full only at intervals, where it appears as though it had been

A DRESS of spotted tulle, over white A DRESS of Indian taffety, the ground satin, with two flounces, elegantly finish- white, striped with the colour of the ed at the edges with figured gauze rib- || lavender-blossom. On the white space bon: these flounces are set on, in slight || between the stripes, are painted various festoons, and each flounce is headed by a wreath of embossed foliage, in white satin. || The corsage is à la Marie Stuart, with a Sévigné drapery across the upper part of the bust, of plain tulle, drawn together in the centre by a rosette of white satin: || drawn together in the hand; leaving at the sleeves are full, and have mancherons the top a sort of tulip-ornament, at sepaformed of two scallops, on each shoulder, || of white satin, edged with blond. At the wrists are white satin antique points, and next the hand a very broad Hindostanee bracelet of gold, with a cameo head. The hair is arranged à la Grecque; in the centre, and placed very backward on the summit of the head, is a light, short plume of white feathers. On the left side is a

rate and equal distances from each other. The body is made close to the shape, and the sleeves are à la Marie, and very full. A pelerine of white lace is thrown over the shoulders, surmounted by a full, quadruple ruff of lace. The hat is of white chip, ornamented with very broad ribbon of green and white, with branches of willow.