royal abbey, as it might be called, not merely from its extent and the feudal powers which its priors wielded in the middle ages, but from its having been actually the residence of more than one exiled monarch. It was the scene of the amours of Charles the Seventh and Agnes Sorelthe state prison of various dukes and princes first robbed of their dominions, and then accused of high treason. The eastern extremity of the abbey is a mere heap of ruins, but enough of the great central tower, and of the towers of the portal, still remains to attest the splendour by which the establishment was distinguished in the days of its pride. Alas! while I gaze upon its ancient ivy-mantled walls, round which numbers of birds are hovering, the sacred pile is rapidly receding from my view, but not without compensation, for in no part of the Seine, perhaps, is the panorama more romantic than immediately above Jumièges. Poplars, willows, olive-trees, seem to have been planted by the hand of nature herself with a view to picturesque effect amidst abrupt hills, and undulating vales watered by meandering brooks, and animated by cottages and herds and flocks, goats and sheep, sometimes climbing the neighbouring declivities, sometimes reposing by the side of the river. The tinkle of the sheep-bell was constantly in the ear, mingled with the joyous shouts of children who ran out to gaze upon our Normandie," as she rushed against the flowing stream.

In some of the chalk cliffs on our left dwellings were excavated, which appeared to be inhabited. The chalk formations are very curiously mixed with other rocks immediately beyond Ducler. There is one of these white cliffs particularly which stands out boldly from the side of the hill, and is not inappropriately called "The Giant's Chair;" for though at first a shapeless mass to the eye, it opens gradually out until it assumes the appearance of an immense arm-chair, fit for Gog or Magog to take a nap in after dining upon a fat ox or two. Other rocks of the same material looked like the giants themselves.

Those who take delight in romantic scenery will find ample gratification in the whole way from Ducler to Rouen. Islands, thickly wooded -peninsulas jutting into the river, and forming apparent lakes-groups of poplars, enclosing gardens that remind one of the Hesperides-numerous boats, their white sails spread to the breeze-cottages, the walls of which are composed partly of wooden beams, in the Swiss style, painted red or black, the gables towards the river-lofty rocks thrown into all sorts of fantastic shapes, combine to tell a story of their own, to which a true lover of the "wild and wonderful" would listen with a rapture he had never felt before.

For the more practical order of minds the same portion of the Seine also possesses its charms. Heaps of newly-manufactured bricks submitted to the indurating powers of the furnace-piles of firewood collected for embarkation-groups of lighters becalmed and laden with the produce of all parts of the world-windmills busy on the heights-steamrafts of two or three tiers bearing passengers for a few sous from Ducler to Rouen, or from Rouen to Ducler-rocks yielding to the crow-bar of the quarryman, and transforming under the chisel of the stone-cutterorchards, olive-grounds, vineyards-every sign of industry, and every emblem of prosperity that can bespeak a great and growing nation, abound the whole way, until the spires and steeples of Rouen rise upon the view.

(To be continued.)

THE TWO SIBYLS.*

GLORIOUS SIBYL! on thy brow
The light of hope is kindling now;
Proudly, thy dark and flashing eye
Beams with impatient ecstacy;
Eager, those rosy lips would fain
The quick tumultuous breath restrain;

Watching, thy lovely head upturn'd,

What hears't thou-what hast thou discern'd?

Before thy gaze the shadows fly

That darken yet futurity;

Sounds, such as mortals should not hear

Are thrilling on thine anxious ear;

The present now is fading fast,

With wither'd flow'rs, and sun o'ercast;
But still how sweet the faint perfume,
As float life's roses to their tomb;
And, oh! how soft the ling'ring strain
Of Nature, warning to refrain.
Why rashly urge the mad pursuit,
And crush the bloom, to grasp the fruit?
The gift thou crav'st is fraught with ill;
Retain thy peace and blindness still!
The veil is slowly rent away,

Thy goal is won-a moment stay!
Glance, radiant Sibyl so elate,

On her who sought and grappled Fate :
Where is the triumph, where the glow,
On thine enlighten'd sister's brow?
Within her downcast, tearful eyes,
What depth of misery there lies!
That drooping head and golden hair
Are bow'd beneath a mute despair,
And round those mournful lips in vain
A smile will seek to play again.
Listless that hand rests on the scroll
Where she her knowledge must enrol,
As if it fear'd thereon to trace

The destiny of all her race,
Unconscious, all-but she alone,

Who sees their doom, and feels her own!

The world has nothing to bestow

On one, whose curse it is to know;

Love, hate, joy, sorrow, foe, and friend,
With her in a dark chaos blend,

For life is but a poison'd weed,

When from its bright illusions freed.
Gladly would she resign her power,
To wish, and hope, a single hour,
Believing she might struggle on,

And conquer when the strife was done!
But silent, rolling on, to see

The irreversible decree,

That sweeps mankind and realms away

In the dread storm she cannot stay;

* These celebrated paintings by Domenichino and Guercino, so striking from their beauty and their contrast, are placed almost side by side in the Gallery of the Capitol.

Powerful, so powerless to feel;
Human, oblig'd her heart to steel;
Lonely, with all the homage paid
By ignorance, of might afraid;
Sibyl! enrich'd by gifts divine,

Who would exchange their lot with thine?
Rash one! when thou hadst laid all bare,
What 'twas receiv'd thee but Despair?
Mortal! how didst thou think to cope
With Life, when thou hadst yielded Hope?

THE ADMIRAL'S DAUGHTER; OR, THE MAN OF
FASHION AT SEA.

A NAUTICAL NOVEL.-BY WATTY COCKNEY, ESQ.

[Of WATTY COCKNEY since little is known little can be related. Concerning him, though the biographer might expatiate in the pleasing Realms of Fiction, yet shall he not be allured beyond the rigid boundaries of fact. Curiosity, eager for intelligence, may stimulate inquiry and provoke interrogation; but with so much information must she rest contented as Truth, alone and unassisted, is able to supply.

In Bow Lane, Cheapside, on the 1st of April, 1780, our Author, then, was born; and, by one of those astounding co-incidences which alike elude inquiry, baffle research, and resist elucidation, on the 1st of April, 1838, there, also, he died.

By the vicissitudes and accidents of human existence upon which Biography fondly loves to dwell, it is rarely that the life of a hosier is illustrated; nor will it be found that the Memoirs of WATTY COCKNEY afford an exception to the rule. Confined to his counter and serving in his shop, his excursions from the scene of his needful avocations, as they were of rare occurrence so were they of limited extent. But the allurements of Adventure what man is at all times fortified to repel? and if usually pleased in a punt at Putney, or in a wherry at Woolwich, who shall censure WATTY if twice he was tempted beyond the tranquil bosom of the Thames, to dare the waves that lash the shores of Thanet? The world may decry in envy, or in malevolence condemn; yet to those aberrations from prudential habit must the world acknowledge itself indebted for the work before us.

Of the ADMIRAL'S DAUGHTER much might be said, but little must suffice. Whether in the drawing room of fashion, or in the field of harmless recreation; whether in the tranquillity of the chamber whence our Navy receives its laws, or on the stormy and blood-stained deck of the battle-ship; whether in the hour of danger or in the moments of marine conviviality, its views of human life, of human manners, and of human character, however varied by accident, or however modified by tacit convention, are alike and equally correct. No human work is perfect; and if the ADMIRAL'S DAUGHTER be disfigured by some faults, it is embellished by many beauties.-P*.]

CHAP. I.

A Country Morning in Fashionable Life.

FROM the earliest period of my life, to the hour when this history commences, I had manifested an unconquerable predilection for a naval

life. This, my father, Sir Primrose Jessamine, Baronet, M.P., always endeavoured to remove; for, being in possession of an unencumbered estate in the country of fifty thousand a-year, and I being his only son, he naturally was anxious (to use the sublime words of the poet) “to keep his only son, myself, at home."

It was on the morning of the 20th of June, 181-, at about half-past ten, that my father and Lady Jessamine (my mother) were taking their breakfast in one of the numerous and elegantly-furnished rooms of our spacious mansion in Jessamine Park. The morning was one of the loveliest that, even at that genial season, had ever shed its sweet influence on the earth: not a cloud bedimmed the brightness of the blue heavens; and, although from the southern terrace of the house we commanded a view of London's stately dome, yet did our great distance from the metropolis protect us from the murky influence of its smoke, for the whole of Hampstead's spacious heath lay stretched between us. "I étonner myself beaucoup where Narcissus can be," said the Baronet; who, enveloped in a rich satin morning-gown, was sipping his chocolate from a costly cup of Sèvres china.

"In verità, my dear Baronet, je ne sais pas," replied her Ladyship, in that piebald, or tessellated, style of phraseology, which at once denotes the person of fashion and quality.

"Where is your young master?" said my father to one of the train of servants who, dressed in their state liveries, were in waiting.

The man thus addressed came forward, and, with a low bow and in a tone of profound respect, replied, "Really, Sir Primrose Jessamine, Baronet, I don't know."

"I fear," said my mother, in a whisper," he has taken his party to go to mer."

"Heavens!" exclaimed my father, in alarm; gone to sea, and taken a party with him!"

"Taken a party! how bête you are, caro mio!" said her Ladyship. "Pris son parti-made up his mind, you understand."

"Ah!" said my father with a sigh, "I ought to have décourage'd that whim long ago: it will be difficult now to empêcher him, for he is almost trop fort for me."

My entrance put a stop to this conversation. I took my seat at the breakfast-table; first giving to one servant my hat, to another my gloves, to a third my hundred-guinea double-barrelled Manton, and to a fourth my well-filled game-bag.

"How you have échauffe'd yourself, caro mio figlio!" said Lady Jessamine, wiping my forehead with a French cambric handkerchief of the finest texture; and she continued: "You are wrong to go out shooting the partridges and pheasants on a hot morning like this in the middle of June. Je vous demande cui bono, caro mio young Sir?"

"May it please your Ladyship," said I, addressing my mother, "it may be very well to lie a-bed till four or five in the afternoon when we are residing at our town mansion in Grosvenor Square, because in London it is the fashion to do so; but here in the country the case is different. For my part I'm a sportsman, keen and true. Scarcely has the clock struck nine, when (anxious for a pop at the birds), with gun in hand and my greyhounds at my side, I'm scampering about amongst the covers. Yoicks! tally ho!-start a flock of partridges and pheasants-away they

go, we after them-yoicks! tally ho!-pop! pop! pop!-down they come-prime and load-after them again-yoicks! tally ho!-pop again -down they come again-catch more than I know what to do withfill my bag-feed my faithful dogs with the rest-and then home to a recherche breakfast. And that is how we young top-sawyers of fashion begin the day in the country."

"Vraiment, mon cher Narcissus," said her Ladyship, raising a cup of the most aromatic Mocha to her lips, "your vivacity is absolument overpowering this morning, parole d'honneur !"

"When once Narcissus entamer's a description," said the Baronet, "he enfoncer's himself into the most little details: he is graphic tout-àfait."

My lady mother having asked me whether I chose to take coffee, chocolate, or gunpowder tea of the finest quality, I decided for the latter; and this she poured out for me from a massive silver tea-pot into a cup of Dresden china of most exquisite design. This, with a plover's egg, a wing of a chicken à la Marengo (for which our cook was famous), and a thin slice or two of bread and butter, constituted my breakfast; although there were plenty of hot buttered muffins, rolls, and toast, lamb cutlets, cold chicken and ham, and a profusion of other delicacies, on the table. Iced creams and liqueurs were then served, and, at my father's bidding, the livery-servants removed the breakfast-things. And this, considering the honourable Baronet's rank and fortune, none but those who are totally ignorant of high life will be astonished to learn was a specimen of our morning meal, not on Sundays only, but every day in the week.

Her Ladyship then rang the bell for the head footman, whom she ordered to order the coachman to have the carriage and four, with two outriders, and two footmen in their state liveries, ready in an hour, that she might take an airing along some of the lovely drives with which our park abounded; to prepare for which she then rang for a couple of her lady's-maids, and retired to her own room in order to change the simple morning-dress she then wore, for one of superb crimson velvet trimmed with ermine. The Baronet desired his principal valet to bring him his coat. He put it on; and, his horse being brought to the door, he rode out, followed by two grooms, to call upon our intimate friends, his Grace the Duke of Nobs, K.G.; the most noble the Marquess of Bobs, K.B.; the right honourable the Earl of Fobs, K.T.; and Sir Walter Dobs, Baronet, M.P. For my own part, being tired of shooting, I ordered one of our keepers to turn out a stag; and, mounting a horse, I whistled for Lion, my favourite Newfoundland dog, and amused myself with hunting for an hour or two.

CHAP. II.

A Peep at the Admiralty (for the edification of the uninitiated in such matters), and Preparations for a young Man of Fashion's going to Sea.

A few mornings subsequent to the events narrated in the preceding chapter, my father desired my attendance in the library-a spacious room, furnished in a manner befitting our station, with large-paper copies