her breath, sighed it out again in a tone so softso sweet-as seemed to harmonize every nerve of those who heard it into that delightful unison of pity which is only felt when the finger of charity touches the sympathetic chords of the heart. The officer retired: an impulse, which certainly was curiosity, induced me to inquire his name and situation. Of these the good woman was ignorant; she had never seen him before: she said he had asked for a breakfast at her house, and promised to pay for it on some future day. Till that day should arrive, she had requested he would always breakfast at her house. And he is welcome," said she, "though that day should be the day of judgment!" "And when the day of judgment arrives," said I, "you will hear more of this matter. You have done that which will stand in account, and gain you credit in the Book of Life! Should he call here to-morrow, lend him these few guineas, as from yourself." The next day he received the cash. I heard no more of the officer, or of my money, for nine years: at the end of which time the mistress of the coffee-room told me, that Ensign, now Lieut. Colonel had discharged the debt he had contracted, and given her a ring worth a hundred guineas by way of interest. Bravo! BLACK EYES AND BLUE. (From the Italian of Aurelio Bertola.) To contest were they come The black eyes and the blueThe black eyes fierce and dumb, The azure scarcely true: Sad is the gloomy shade of brown ; "We are the image of the sky-" "We burn like veiled brands;" "Blue orbs hath Juno, queen on high, In Pallas blue commands;" "And Venus from the Cyprian fane, Brown-eyed, o'erlooks her native main." More thus they would have said, but Love Between them interposed: A faithful shepherd now can prove How soon the strife was closed; "In these or those," he said, "the prize E. A. H. O. NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE. BY DR. SHELTON MACKENZIE. Like the golden light that dieth On the breast of twilight even, Thy angel-spirit flieth Back to its home in Heaven :- Each sinless one and blest. Though the sun of Hope declineth O'er Sorrow's troubled sea. In the home thy feet have trod : We should joy that thou art sleeping In the mansion of thy God. Though Fancy now entwineth No garland round thy head, And the stricken spirit pineth O'er thy cold and narrow bed; Yet, 'tis well that thou were taken In the morning of thy years— That thy fawn-like eyes awaken Where they never can know tears. Though our wounded hearts be swelling With this deep, deep grief for thee, In their waste may yet be welling Joy's fountain, fresh and free: For there comes a happy greeting, When this dream of life is o'er ; The child and parents meeting Where nought may part them more. July, 1836. STANZAS. Thou whom I sought in youth's bright hour, A refuge and defence, whose power Yes, if my name were ever dear, Or I your first love ever drew, As thou hast oft from me the tear, That only pure affection knew— If for my weal you ever pray'd, Or thank'd your God that we had met, If all is truth that once you said, I do defy thee to forget. In vain you strive to wear the smile, While sorrow or remorse are thine; No other love can now beguile; You are and must be always mine, Through every change, where'er you go, Till life's bright sun in death has set; In wealth or want, in weal or woe, I do defy thee to forget. CHARLES JAYNE. LITERATUR E. LIVONIAN TALES; by the Author of "Letters from the Baltic." (Murray).-These three tales from a recent number of that admirable series, "Murray's Home and Colonial Library;" and much of excellence of many sorts, as the reader must expect from the author of "Letters from the Baltic," we can promise that he will not be disappointed. We know that it is very, very long since we ourselves have been so enchained by any work of fiction; and that the power these tales have exercised over us, is one that fixes them in the memory with a vivid recollection of their exciting interest, and a large amount of knowledge, touching Livonian life peasant life more especially. Russian serfdom of the present day closely resembles the bondsman's slavery of the middle ages, when feudal customs and ignorant selfish tyranny pressed most heavily, and galled the labourer to the uttermost point of endurance. Thus there is no wonder that generous-minded authors, choosing these subjects, should often bring forward points of resemblance, and seem to approach each other even in style and treatment, however opposite their political views may be, or the general bias of their minds. Hence is it that in these powerful tales we have been frequently reminded of Miss Martineau's "Game Law Stories," and even of her "Prince and the Peasant." In the "Livonian Tales," as well as those, there is a sense of truth and reality conveyed, which can only be the reflection of the author's own earnest spirit. Her powers of description are most graphic, and her sympathies always right; add to this, the work abounds in passages at once profound and lucid, and highly suggestive, as a matter of course, to the thoughtful reader. How true are her observations on savage life, or rather her deprecation of the absurd notions entertained of its "simplicity!" where, as she truly says, not man's "nature, but its corruption is the law of his life." And how full of deep wisdom and Christian charity is the following passage, which occurs in the story of "The Disponent" (a word equivalent to bailiff), when the hero of the tale, with some of his fellows, is borne to the depths of misery by the revenge and cruelty of his oppressor, whom yet he has just saved from a dreadful death, and the fury of less enduring and more vindictive spirits. Mart, the poor serf, has been sentenced for no fault, to severe corporal punishment : "We have no right to search further into the feelings of ne much-tried man. There are secret passions in each nature hidden even to our own knowlege, till some circumstance out of the course of thec nature calls them forth, either to be crushed in 'neir birth or to live to our destruction. The camon foes and the common trials of this life are he only fair tests by which a good man should be judged, and not a monstrous conjuration of adversity, long the terror of his imagination, and now suddenly realized to his senses, like this which hung over poor Mart. It was a moral phantom before which the ordinary strength and courage of a man may quail, without any reproach to his manliness or to his religious principles. "Meanwhile the change seemed to affect body as well as mind. The strong hands trembled ; the muscular limbs refused to put forth their power. It was well the Disponent did not return as usual, for Mart could not work. He wore out the day as he had never worn out one before, not even with the terrors of the recruitage before him, and set off for home earlier than usual.” The italics are ours. Our next extract from the same story is a chapter almost complete in itself:— "As we have said before, Mart kept most of his lost ways and overturns in drifts and such incidents from the two women; but one incident he could not affected the inhabitants of the forest as well as those conceal. The scarcity and hardness of the season fastnesses with a boldness they do not often show. of the villages, and the wolves came out from their Many a single one, and even couples together, had skulked across Mart's path with an evil look, but quickened their retreat at that shrill shout, at the top of his voice, which he had practised since a child. "One evening his way home led through a desolate morassy wood, which stretched for ten wersts on one side of his little farm, and where the track, deep between accumulations of high snow, gave only just sufficient width for the little horse and sledge. Mart's eyes were closed and his senses heavy with that the animal was quickening its pace unwontedly; weariness; nevertheless, he soon began to be aware again it jerked forward-quicker still-and a low neighing sound of terror effectually roused the drowsy man. He looked in front; all was as usual-a wild scanty forest, standing knee-deep in a bed of snowthe narrow trough of a track winding through it— here and there pyramids of snow, which showed the huge ant-hills of the country-the heavens bright— the earth white-not a living object but the horse before him. He looked behind-the scene was just the same-white snow, and leafless trees, and a winding track; but close to the sledge were three dark fast gaining behind. The jaws of the foremost, with gaunt animals, heavily galloping, and another was the lowness of the sledge, were within reach of Mart's shoulder. He cared not for that he knew that it was his horse they wanted first; and saw in an instant that all depended on the animal's courage more than on his own. If the frightened creature could have the nerve to keep steady in the track, the chances were much in its favour, for the moment the wolves turned off in order to pass and get ahead of it, the depth of the snow diminished their speed; but should the horse, in its terror, plunge aside and flounder in the snow, Mart knew that it would be lost. He leaned forward, called the animal cheerfully by its name, and laid his hand on its back as he was often wont to do, in times of fatigue or difficulty; the poor beast knew the kind voice and hand, raised its ears, which were laid flat back with terror, and fell into an evener pace. "Mart shouted violently, but the wolves were either too keen or too many; it made no impression. It was an awful time both for master and horse. Mart kept his hand on the animal, while his eye watched the ferocious brutes, who were often within arm's length. He had a hatchet, which he always carried on these occasions, to chop the frozen fish; he felt for it and grasped it in his hand, but forbore to use it, for the closer the wolves kept at the back of the sledge, the less were they seen by the horse. Every minute, however, one or more of them broke out of the track in the attempt to pass; and although they instantly lost footing in the snow, yet the unblinkered eyes of the little animal had caught sight of the dreaded foe, and a plunge forward made Mart turn his eye with anxiety to see that it kept straight in the narrow track. returning to Anno, wagged his tail, ran back and whining again, scratched at the door. Karria Pois usually gave signal of Mart's approach, though not in so urgent a way, and Anno opened the door expecting to see her husband. The dog dashed furiously out, but no sign of Mart appeared. The young wife went out into the piercing air, saw and heard nothing, and was slowly turning in, when a sound caught her ear; it was the sound of hoofs striking full and sharp upon the frozen ground. So had Mart never approached before. But there was no time for wonder, for the next moment the horse galloped up to the door and stopped. Anno saw instantly that something had happened; the animal was dripping with foam and trembling all over; the sledge was reversed, and, above all, Mart was not there. "Anno was but the girl still; she called quick to her grandmother; the old woman did not answer; she flew into the inner room. Liso was standing motionless with her face turned from the door. There was no light, save from the little snowed-up window; but Anno saw enough to know that she stood in prayer. Oh! Jummal!' (God) said the poor girl to herself, hear her!' and leaving her undisturbed, she ran again out of the house, gave one look at the trembling horse, and then all trembling herself, began to retrace the jagged track in which it had come. "One of the wolves was more than usually huge and long-limbed, and more than once it had contrived, in spite of the deep snow, to advance nearer abreast of the sledge than any of its companions. Upon this grim creature Mart more especially kept watch, and caught the green light which played from its eyeballs. It turned off again; the snow laid fleeter for a space; the wolf kept its footing; it gained for their pace is enormous; the little horse's "We must now return to Mart, whom we have eye glared round at it. Mart withdrew his hand, wet left in a frightful position. He knew what it was to with the animal's perspiration; the wolf was just put forth his strength in games and wrestling-matches, beyond arm's reach, but he kept his hatchet in readi- and it was such as, shoulder to shoulder, and muscle ness. The horse was now in desperate gallop, and to muscle, few could withstand. But it was as nothe wolf just abreast: it suddenly turned sharp to- thing now against the heavy weight-the vice-like wards it; now was Mart's time. He dealt a tre-teeth-the rending grasp that held him down on mendous blow; the wolf avoided it, but stumbled in the snow, and in a moment was yards behind. "The distance from home was now quickly shortening beneath the horse's hoofs, which continued to carry the sledge at full gallop, till the fear of an overturn became a source of fresh anxiety. Mart was quite aware by this time that these were no common lazy wolves he had to deal with, but sharp-set determined brutes, to whom man or beast would be alike welcome. These were not the animals to be deterred by the signs of man's dwelling, as is usually the case, and there was an ugly werst of wide open space between the outskirts of the forest and his house, which he looked to with real apprehension. "They were now at the very edge of the wood; the road became opener; the wolves gained on each side; the horse bounded furiously forward, caught the sledge against the stump of a tree: it overturned, was swept away at a tremendous pace, and Mart was left alone in the snow. In a moment a heavy claw had slit the throat and down the front of his sheepskin; it was well Anno's wrappers lay so thick beneath. He threw off the brute and rose; his hatchet had been jerked out of his hand in the fall; he cast a desperate glance around, but saw it not. The horse was now almost out of sight, two of the wolves were close to the defenceless man, and the two others, de serting the animal, were bounding back to him. Mart faced the foremost, he could do no more, and in an instant was surrounded. "Here we must leave him, however cruel it may seem. Meanwhile the two women were as usual expecting him anxiously at home; for Mart was late. Anno was sitting beneath the pine-wood candle at the spinning-wheel. Liso had risen from hers and gone into the smaller chamber, especially devoted to her. Old Karria Pois was lying before the stove fast asleep. Of a sudden the dog pricked up his ears, listened, rose-ran to the door and whined-then, every side. For a few seconds the desperate violence of a man to whom life is sweet, and such a death most horrible, shook off the pitiless assailants; but his own blood had dyed the snow, and the sight of it seemed to turn ferocity into fury. The blood-hounds closed again upon him-they pulled him down! 46 People say there is no time to think in sudden dangers: they have never known one. There are more thoughts struck from the mind in one moment's collision with sudden and desperate peril than in days of fearless security. The sweets of this earth-the home that lay so near-the mystery of heaven, swept over poor Mart's mind; nay, even particulars found time to intrude. He thought how Anno and Liso would watch through the night, how his mangled remains would tell all in the morning-Anno's despair the village lament: he thought of all this, and more, and knew himself in the jaws of hungry wolves! Then those foul lurid eyes glared over him; the tightening of the throat followed, and thinking was over. Still he struggled to release his arms the grasp on the throat was suffocating him ; his senses reeled, when, on a sudden, dash came another animal, hard-breathing along; threw itself into the midst with one sharp howl, and fastened upon the chief assailant. The wolves relaxed their fury for an instant; Mart reeled giddily to his feet, and recognized his brave dog. For a second he stood stunned and bewildered; when he saw one wolf retreating, and all three attacking the dauntless Karria Pois. He turned to help him, and a bright object caught his eye; it was his hatchet lying on the snow within arm's length of his last struggle. Mart snatched it up, and was now himself again. Blood was dripping from him, but his limbs were uninjured, and furious were the strokes he dealt. "One wolf soon lay dead at his feet; the other cowed, and retreated, spilling its blood as it went, and held off, skulking round; and now Mart poured his whole fury on the great monster, which held Karria Pois in as stifling a grasp as he had done his master. It was no easy task to release the dog. The hatchet rung on the wolf's skull, rattled on his ribs, and laid bare the gaunt backbone; but the dog's own body interrupted any mortal wound, and the wolf seemed to feel no other. Poor Karria Pois's case was desperate; his legs were all drawn together, protecting the very parts he sought to wound, when suddenly he stretched himself out with some fresh agony, and the hatchet was buried deep in the wolf's throat. Many more fierce strokes were needed before life was extinct; and, as Mart rose, a hand on his shoulder startled him, and his wife fell on his bosom. 66 6 Mart!' "Anno!' 66 Long did the young couple stand in speechless embrace; but the weaker supported the stronger, for Mart's manly nerve was gone, and he leant on Anno like a strengthless child. "Mart, Mart! Oh! you are safe, dear Mart!' For all answer, Mart pressed her closer. "But what is here?' for her hand, which laid on his shoulder, was wet with a warm clammy substance, and there was light enough to see that dark stain which nothing else is like. "Mart! you are hurt-you are bleeding!' and going back a step, she saw for the first time her husband's condition. The two dead wolves, the gasping dog, the bloody and furrowed snow! And the full and dreadful truth came upon her, and she burst into passionate sobs. "In truth Mart presented a frightful aspect; his sheepskin hung in strips, for each claw had cut it like a knife; his shoulder was bare, not only to the flesh, but to the bone; his long hair was dishevelled; every article of clothing was torn and awry. It was too evident that some dreadful struggle had taken place, and Anno now saw with what. ears, by which token the Lettish peasant is entitled to a reward in money on showing it to a magistrate. "Mart was soon seated in his own warm house, waited on by his two tender companions, who examined his wounds and injuries with alternate horror and gratitude. "You were praying for me, grandmother, Anno tells me, when she left the house: God heard you. Never say again that you and old Karria Pois are of no use; you two have saved my life.' "These words were more than the venerable parent could bear with composure; and she turned away to lift up her heart again. "All have been of use to-night,' said Anno in a low tone; grandmother, Karria Pois, even the poor horse; only I have done nothing.' "You are my own Einokenne,' said Mart, lower still, and leant his weary head against her. "Now, Anno, pai! go and wash Karria Pois too.' This was done, and soon master and dog were deep in slumber." We hope we have said enough to recommend this interesting work to our readers. The second story is the shortest, and least important of the three; but in the last and highly wrought tale, of "the Jewess," we have some glowing descriptions of northern scenery, and a stirring account of the breaking up of the ice in the Baltic, connected with a narrative of thrilling interest. The Jewess is an exquisite creation, and the English lady not less so. MEMOIRS OF A FEMME DE CHAMBRE; by the Countess of Blessington. 3 Vols. (Bentley). -We take shame to ourselves for not having sooner introduced this lively sparkling novel to our readers; for, though only published a few weeks ago, to introduce it now is out of the It was now Mart's turn to support; his strength question, since it has found its way, and a ready was returned, and with it his unflagging sweetness. welcome, in every direction. Forgetfulness, how"Anno! Einokenne! Anno! pai! don't cry ever, has not been our fault, but a postponed so; I am safe and well, only a few scratches on my intention of indulging in a gossip about several skin: you'll have to patch me up as well as my new works of fiction. Meanwhile, we make a clothes. Let's attend to poor Karria Pois-nobody short extract from this, the Countess of Blesbut you could have made me forget him-I fear he sington's latest production, a work in which true "And the young couple leant over him, and ten-pathos, genial humour, and most shrewd discriderly examined his wounds. Then with many tears mination of character, are exquisitely mingled. Anno related how in the deepest sleep the faithful old dog had seemed to receive tidings of his master's danger; and Mart described how he had reached his side when his need was at the greatest-though he did not say how great that need had been-but Anno knew; and then both caressed him more and more. is more hurt than his master.' "There was life in the old dog yet, and more than they had ventured at first to expect; his throat was lacerated, his ear torn through, and many a bite and a rent had he on his body; but he licked the hands that felt his wounds, and, rising on his feet, shook a shower of blood from him. Then he deliberately smelt first at one wolf's carcass and then at the other, to ascertain that all was right, and having done this, hobbled off towards home as if he felt he was no further required. Come home, Mart; can you walk?' said Anno. "Yes, yes, as well as ever; but I have not done with these grey men yet (this being a common appellation for the wolves by the peasantry); the night's work is worth two silver roubles to me; the rest of the brutes will be down their companions' throats before the morning.' And, so saying, he cut off the "A tall, fat, stern-looking woman, who enacted the role of upper nurse, arose with an ill grace to receive Mrs. Buxton, and called out, Miss Buxton, Miss Mary, you must not run wild in that manner. It's very rude. Walk up slowly to your mamma, drop her a nice curtsey, and behave like young ladies.' But little was the caution or reproof heeded. The little girls rushed to their doting mother's embrace, clung to her, and almost smothered her with kisses. "Miss Buxton, Miss Mary! you must not behave so vulgarly,' said the stern woman, advancing to remove them from Mrs. Buxton. "No, Mrs. Price, pray let them kiss me as much as they like,' said the kind mother, her eyes beaming with tenderness, as they glanced from her first-born to little dimpled Mary. "Well, Ma'am, I must not be blamed if they are as wild as colts,' observed Mrs. Price, her colour, always a high one, becoming nearly crimson. I assure you, Ma'am, at her grace's the Duchess of Sheerness's, I was never interfered with in the nursery; and her grace would no more have per mitted the ladies Adelaide, Victoria, or Albertine to rush up and embrace her, as Miss Buxton and Miss Mary have just done you, than she would have allowed the Duke's great dog, Hector, to jump on her, and lick her grace's face.' "Poor Mrs. Buxton looked so guilty and embarrassed, that Selina no longer wondered that the termagant Mrs. Price had taken advantage of her gentleness and good nature to dictate to her mistress instead of receiving her instructions. "Perhaps,' said the fond mother, with a beseeching look, the Duchess of heerness was not so partial to children as I am?' "Oh! her grace had just the proper affection for them, Ma'am. Her grace used to say to me, 'Now run. mind, my good Price (her grace loved to call me her "good Price'), don't let them be boisterous or rude. Never let them run, I can't bear to see young ladies Make them always hold up their heads, walk slowly, and turn out their toes: and whenever I stoop to kiss their foreheads, don't let them attempt to put their arms around my neek, to derange my collerette and hair." And, indeed, before I was with them three months, they'd have no more dreamt of rushing up to their mamma, and deranging her dress, than of pulling me about; but, I must say, her grace, who was a great lady in every respect-the daughter of a duke, the sister of a duke, and the wife of a duke-knew perfectly how young ladies should be brought up.'" AMUSEMENTS HER MAJESTY'S THEATRE. It is not often we have to complain of any want of novelty, or of mismanagement in the affairs of this hitherto admirably-conducted resort; but certainly during the last month, we confess, we have been astonished at the "flatness" of the proceedings. Nothing of novel interest has been brought forward, not even on the extra nights. The operas enumerated in our last have been repeated till the subscribers (and not without cause) have become loud in their complaints. At a place of amusement like HER MAJESTY'S THEATRE, whose nightly income is so immense (granting their expenses are great), there should be some more extensive outlay, backed by a more judicious care in the obtaining and producing new and first-rate Operas and Ballets. The past month has been totally devoid of either, except only the ballet of Lallah Rookh, in which indeed there is more profuse display of expenditure in the "getting up" than has been usual of late. The mise en scène, groupings, and costumes in this ballet display taste and care, and that portion devoted to "the light fantastic toe" is at its usual high standard of perfection; but alas! the music which accompanies it-and is arranged, and in part composed, by Sig. Pugni-is frivolous, if not bad. The redeeming portions are those extracted from Felician David's Desart; but these are so strung together by the merest nothings, or worse, that they even lose their full effect. The story wants interest, since it merely confines itself to the journey of Tulip Cheek and Feramorz. With this lack of interest and excitement the most gorgeous display of costume soon palls the taste; and not unfrequently the scenic effects were produced in a style of imperfection unworthy even of a "minor," much less such an establishment as HER MAJESTY'S THEATRE. We have nothing new promised for the coming month, though we trust for brighter things than old operas and an unsuccessful ballet. DRURY-LANE. The opera of Stradella, composed by M. Floton, is intended to be written in the French O F THE MONTH. style. It consists of three acts, and has in them three finales, one duet, one terzett, and the rest consists of barcaroles, serenades, bridal choruses, pilgrim choruses, and one aria for the prima donna-"bad is the best;" it is weak and frivolous, yet doubtless an opera that catches the ear, but when "weighed in the balance" of science, is "found wanting." Mr. Floton has talent, which-if it be trained, and not allowed to run wild in extravagancies, as it has done in the opera of Stradella-may yet produce something which shall uphold his fame on a surer basis than that on which it is at present built. The great ! event of the month has been the production of the ballet called Paquita. The scene is in Saragoza, and its environs; the time is during the reign of King Joseph. The following is the plot-from the pages of the Athenæum :— "Paquita is the lost daughter of one Charles has been brought up amongst the Gitanos-one d'Hervilly, who had been assassinated in 1795. She inflict his rude affections on his lovely captive; but Inigo (Mr. Howell) being their chief. He would she repels him with ineffable scorn. And now, at a village fète, she makes the acquaintance of Lucien d'Hervilly (M. Silvain)-the son of the French general, Count d'Hervilly (Mr. Payne). Here was most effectively introduced the Pas des Manteaux : in which the scarlet cloaks, whether grotesquely or gracefully disposed, assumed all shapes, and pleased in all. The fete to which we have alluded, was given by Don Lopez, the Iberian governor (Mr. T. Matthews); who, notwithstanding this seeming French who were invited to it. Accordingly, he courtesy, entertains a national antipathy against the works on the jealousy of Inigo to avenge himself on Lucien; who is, consequently, betrayed into the power of assassins concealed in a Gitano's hut, whi ther he has been invited, as he supposes, to meet Paquita. This scene is occupied with the means adopted by her for effecting her lover's deliverance. A bolero, danced between Mdlle Grisi_and Mr. Howell, was very spirited and graphic. Exhausted by the excitement, and subdued by an opiate, Inigo falls into a deep slumber, while his victims escape. The last scene is indeed gorgeous. It is a ball-room in the house of the French general, bespeaking the magnificence of the Empire, and thronged with guests in splendid and varied costumes. Here cer |