In continuation. A WEEK has passed since I wrote the above. This morning the colonel came, and informed us that his sister was arrived, and wished to see us: he therefore proposed, if agreeable, to take us with him directly. We made no objection; but, equiping ourselves in neat morning dresses, attended him. Maria whispered me, that she felt rather agitated. Foolish,' said I, 'what are you afraid of? I, however, was not surprised. The colonel chatted very agreeably during our ride; but, I believe, he noticed Maria's tremor. I have,' said he, mentioned my sister to you as a sensible, and even a learned woman: I leave you to discover a thousand good qualities of more value in my estimation; for I own, although I admire learning in your sex, I never could find a charm therein to counterbalance the want of an amiable temper and agreeable manners; and, much as I esteem good sense, there is a sort of understand ing which I term common sense, that I greatly prefer.' But surely, sir,' said I, a person endued with a superior under standing cannot be deficient in common sense.' There certainly are instances of that deficiency, miss Harriet, and some have fallen within my know. ledge. But we are arrived. He then handed us out of the carriage, and, taking a hand of each, led us into the parlour, where was his sister, sitting at work, with spectacles on. I am much obliged to the young ladies,' said she, rising from her seat, for their early attendance :'at the same time saluting Maria and me with the most engaging freedom. By this time the colonel had 'I am,' said she, looking in each of our faces by turns, well acquainted with you both; and as that is the case, we will, if you please, lay aside that reserve that usually attends a first visit, and enter into chat as freely as though we were old acquaintance.' We smiled at her good-humour, and, after thanking her for so kind a proposal, obeyed her; and having chatted away for near two hours, we took our leave, I should have told you, that the colonel left us in about half an hour, saying- Now I have brought your visitors, and introduced them, I have done my part.' Aye, aye,' said his sister, we have done with you now; so you may march off.' She did not drop a hint relating to her brother and Maria. I thought this was delicate and considerate. She pressed us much to stay dinner, but we declined it. She rang to order the chariot; but, as the weather was fine, we chose to walk home. She then insisted on fixing a day to dine, accompanied by our brother. The day after the morrow was fixed; and we took our leave, highly pleased with our visit.-As I shall have occasion to speak often of this lady, I shall say no more now. Our long visit and walk had brought it past our dinner-hour at home; the cloth was just taking away. 'Oh, oh !' said my brother, you are returned then, like bad pennies: I thought I should have saved a dinner to-day.' No, not to-day,' said I; 'but on Thursday we have engaged you and ourselves to dine at the colonel's.' He made no objection, but asked if Mr. Curtis was invited. 'Dear, no!' I replied: how do you think he would look in such a visit?' Look! why, how should he look? I think he is a very goodlooking young man. But you have taken it into your heads to laugh at him. I tell you, he is a very clever young fellow in business.'-I did not dispute my brother's assertion. After we had dined, we began to tell him the particulars of our visit. -'And now,' said I, do not you long to see Mrs. Ambrose ?' 6 No,' said he ; 'she is only a woman, I suppose.' But she is a very fine one,' said Maria. 'Her fineness did not get her a husband. I suppose she knows nothing of good housewifery, and so forth-how should she, for her father taught her nothing but reading and writing, both of which are unnecessary to a woman, unless it be books that relate to household management.' 'I am sure you will like her,' said I; and we shall be able to judge of her housewifery by her management of her table.' I retired up stairs to finish this letter; but hearing an uncommon noise in the kitchen, I stopped to listen. Dorcas was exalting her voice to a very loud key, with a 'Come from behind the door; I will have no such doings in my kitchen, I assure you!' -I now found it was Jerry kissing VOL. XXXVIII. the maid (I suppose behind the door)." And who made it your kitchen, old madam Grumpus?" said Jerry. I have been mistress of my master's kitchen these twenty years, replied she, and will not be ruled by such a jackanapes as you. I will acquaint the ladies, I assure you.' Who 'Go tell them,' said he. cares for you, or they either?' Dorcas, angry enough before this, was enraged still more. -Youngster,' said she, I give you to know, you must speak more respectable of my young ladies, if you live here: marry, truly you are pretty pass in a week.' come to a 'Don't make such a rout to me,' retorted Jerry: 'I don't care a fig for either of them, although they are such wits.' 'Wits!' said she, no more wits than yourself: you had not best stand there, calling names!" Thus they went on for some time, when master Jerry was sent out on business; and I shall here conclude myself affectionately yours, H. VERNON, (To be continued.) Paulina, This drama is founded on a German tale, which affords full scope to the wild fancy of Mr. Lewis, author of The Castle Spectre, &c. who has acquired so much celebrity for productions of this description. The scene is bid in Holstein, and the interest and incidents of the piece almost wholly arise from the devotions paid to the Wood Damon, to whom, it seems, it was the sur perstition of the place yearly to immolate a child, Mr. Lewis has chosen Denmark as the scene of his magical incanta tions; and has fixed the period when the power of Dæmonology was implicitly believed. It appears, that Hardyknute, being born deformed and poor, exchanges these disadvántages for their contrarieties, through the influence of the Wood Dæmon, to whom he pledges himself, under penalty of destruction, that on a certain night in each revolving year he will sacrifice blood upon the altar of the spirit, before the clock exhibited by the side of the altar strikes the awful hour of one!-For eight succeeding years he ha, kept his sanguinary vow; and on the ninth he is so far fortunate, that his victim Leolyn, a dumb boy, is secreted in the fatal cavern; whence he is delivered by Una, to whom Hardyknute is betrothed. The time is within a quarter of one, and Hardyknute, dreading his immediate dissolution, prepares to immolate Una; when the boy, climbing near the clock, by the assistance of a spear, accelerates its movement: One is struck!--Hardyknute perishis!-The boy is saved!-- And the restored Una is united to the virtuous but unassuming Oswy. Mr. Lewis has given such loose to his imagination, and introduced so many spectres of various descriptions, that nothing less than a jury of ghosts can decide upon the merits of this extraordinary performance. Whatever credit may be given to his powers of invention, his repu tation, as an author, will be rather diminished than increased by the Wood Dæmon; which owes its principal attraction to a profusion of splendid scenery, admirably arranged; some charming and appropriate music by Mr. Kelly; and the laudable exertions of De Camp, Dowton, Gibbon, Mrs. H. Siddons, Mrs. Harlowe, and Miss C. Bristow, who performed the interesting Leolyn with great propriety of gesture and expression. A miss Fearon made a vocal début, and from the sweetness and power of her voice promises to prove a valuable accession. Of the scenes it is difficult to say which was the most beautiful. We were most struck, however, with the picturesque variety of the third scene, which exhibits a splendid Gothic Hall, with a gallery crowded with spectators, and an emblematic representation of the Four Seasons, who, as they move in a superb pageant, make offerings peculiar to each to the Count-The scenes, machinery, &c. were worked with wonderful ease and dexterity for a first exhibition of so complex and elaborate a nature At the close of the last scene, when the Wood Damon and the Clock sink into the earth, that opens to devour them, amidst all the horrors of the infernal regions, there was a general cry of Bravo! which was redoubled when the piece' was announced for a second representation. It promises, indeed, to be of lasting attraction, and amply to repay the vast expence that must have attended the getting up a spectacle of such splendour, magnificence, and variety. APRIL had for some day's led the infant steps of Spring, and had begun to clothe the world in her drapery of green, when I commenced my present night walk; in which I am precluded, by the time of it, from describing * The lab'rer trudging to his daily task; Now, all such as him had long been stretched in slumber; for it was the time when Silence soothes the woe-worn mind, I had been at a friend's house, about Where crowded ball-rooms fascinate the Who worship Folly in each varying mood; Guide the light-footed throng in mazy dance; "The clock had told its longest tale' before I set off: no part of the company were going my way, so that I was quite uninterrupted in my ideas, as I paced homewards. April had wept but once this day, and that was over a beautiful violet, which the fervid ray of Sol had nearly withered; but the kindly drops had cheered the drooping sufferer, and restored him back to blooming healthfulness. The paths were, on this account, tolerably dry, and A whisper is too loud for solitude It must have been a similar night that he had in contemplation, when he wrote the following lines: So have I gone at night, When the faint eye of day was hardly clos'd, And turn'd the grating key which kept the door Has stood and paus'd, half startled at the Of its own tip-toe pace. I've held my breath, round deem And round again the mansions of the dead. As I went on, methought it was a night well suited for the lone maiden whose lover is no more to seek the sea-shore, and thus complain : When joy's bright daughters slumber, Each sand that paves the beach; And answers to my plaint. Embosom'd in the deep. Shall view my griefs at rest! • This frail heart, worn with aching, Its suff'rings well nigh o'er. That eating waves consume; Shall waft me to my tomb!' DIMOND. On such a night the child of sorrow, too, may seek the silent grove, and pour his pensive plaint, unseen and unheard by all, save that omniscient Being who will attend to his sorrowful ejaculations, and heal his lacerated bosom. We may suppose his complaint to be similar to the following: "I long to lay this painful head For mis'ry stole me at my birth, On thy dear lap these limbs reclin'd, There is something peculiarly tumult Was hush'd at this dead hour, and darkness slept, Lock'd in the arms of silence. She alone, On the contrary, when the bosom is at rest, and no sorrows but those long forgotten remain to in trude upon its peace, it is pleasing to stroll at night, when every noise is hushed, and giving to the fancy its fullest range, recal past events, or anticipate the future; while, if, in so doing, a recollection of grief, long gone by, should arise, the tear it will call into the eye will seem sweeter than the loudest burst of the rudest merriment. Sweet is the odour of the morning's flower, And rich in melody her accents rise; Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour, At which her blossoms close, her music dies |