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and the amiable Mrs. Barker for could exceed the meanness of Mr. many acts of kindness during the and Mrs. Nollekens ; for whenever time I was laboring under a tremen- they had a present of a leveret, which dous loss by fire. One evening, when they always called a hare, they conI was drinking tea with her at her trived, by splitting it, to make it last lodgings, she showed me a little book for two dinners for four persons. The in which she had put down Mr. Nol- one half was roasted, and the other Jekens's way of spelling words in 1780, jugged." with the manner in which they should “ In the year 1817, in the 74th be written. I copied a few of them year of her age, his congenial partwith her permission, which, I must ner was taken away from the light of say, she gave me with some reluctance, the sun of her life,' as she termed notwithstanding she disliked Nolle- her husband, and the disconsolate kens most cordially, though they were Nollekens soon sported two mould both Catholics.”

candles instead of one; took wine “ Mr. Nollekens, when modelling oftener; sat up later ; laid in bed the statue of Pitt, for the Senate longer, and would, though it made no House, Cambridge, threw his drapery change whatever in bis coarse manner over his man Dodimy, who after stand- of feeding, frequently ask his morning ing in an immovable position for the visitor to dine with him: and I have unconscionable space of two hours, been informed that the late Rer. had permission to come down and rest Thomas Kerrick, Principal Librarian himself; but the poor fellow found of the University Library of Camhimself so stiff, that he could not bridge, to my very great astonish

What!' exclaimed Nolle- ment, had stomach enough to partake kens, 'can't you move yourself? then of one of his repasts. As for my part, you had better stop a bit. I am sor- his viands were so dirtily cooked with ry to say there are other artists who half melted butter, mountains high of go on painting with as little compas- flour, and his habits of eating so filthy, sion for their models.-Mr. Arminger that he never could prevail upon me to bas declared that, in eating, nothing sicken myself at any one of his fcasts."



BY THOMAS HOOD, AUTHOR OF WHIMS AND ODDITIES." [The late Admiral Burney went to school at an establishment where the unhappy Engene Aram was usher subsequent to his crime. The admiral stated, that Aram was generally liked by the boys; and that he used to discourse with them about murder, in somewhat of the spint which is attributed to him in this poem.] "Twas in the prime of summer time,

His hat was off, his vest apart, An evening calm and cool,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze; And four and twenty happy boys

For a burning thought was in his brow, Came bounding out of school:

And bis bosom ill at ease : There were some that ran and some that leapt So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read Like troutlets in a pool.

The book between his knees! Away they sped with gamesome minds,

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er, And souls untouched by sin ;

Nor ever glanced aside ; To a level mead they came, and there For the peace of his soul he read that buos They drave the wickets in :

In the golden eventide : Pleasantly shone the setting sun

Much study had made him very lean,
Over the town of Lynn.

And pale, and leaden-eye'd.
Like sportive deer they coursed about, At last he shut the ponderous tome ;
And shouted as they ran,-

With a fast and fervent grasp
Turning to inirth all things of earth, He strain’d the dusky covers close,
As only boyhood can ;

And fix'd the brazen hasp: But the Usher sat remote from all,

"O God, could I so close my mind, A melancholy man !

And clasp it with a clasp?"


Then leaping on his feet upright,

Were looking down in blame ;
Some moody turns he took,-

I took the dead man by the hand,
Now up the mead, then down the mead, And callid upon his name !
And past a shudy nook,-

Oh God, it made me quake to see
And, lo! he saw a little boy

Such sense within the slain ! That pored upon a book !

But when I touch'd the lifeless clay, “ My gentle lad, what is't read

The blood gush'd out amain! Romance or fairy fable

For every clot, a burning spot, Or is it some historic page,

Was scorching in my brain ! Of kings and crowns unstable ?”

My head was like an ardent coal, The young boy gave an upward glance, " It is · The Death of Abel.'"

My heart as solid ice ;

My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, The Usher took six hasty strides,

Was at the Devil's price : As smit with sudden pain,-,

A dozen times I groand; the dead Six hasty strides beyond the place,

Had never groan'd but twice! Then slowly back again ;

And now from forth the frowning sky, And down he sat beside the lad,

From the heaven's topmost height, And talk'd with him of Cain;

I heard a voice—the awful voice And, long since then, of bloody men,

Of the blood-avenging sprite : Whose deeds tradition saves;

Thou guilty man! take up thy dead, Of lonely folk cut off unseen,

And hide it from my sight! And hid in sudden graves ;

I took the dreary body up, Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn,

And cast it in a stream, -And murders done in caves;

A sluggish water, black as ink, And how the sprites of injured men

The depth was so extreme. Shriek upwards from the sod,

My gentle boy, remember this Ay, how the ghostly hand will point

Is nothing but a dream ! To show the burial clod;

Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, And unknown facts of guilty acts

And vanished in the pool; Are seen in dreams from God!

Anon I cleansed my bloody hands He told how murderers walk the earth And wash'd my forehead cool, Beneath the curse of Cain,

And sat among the urchins young With crimson clouds before their eyes, That evening in the school!

And fames about their brain : For blood has left upon their souls

Oh heaven, to think of their white souls,

And mine so black and grim! Its everlasting stain !

I could not share in childish prayer, “And well," quoth he, “I know, for truth, Nor join in evening hymn : Their pangs must be extreme,

Like a devil of the pit I seem'd, Wo, wo, unutterable wo

'Mid holy cherubim ! Who spill life's sacred stream! For why Methought , last night, I wrought And peace went with them one and all,

And each calm pillow spread ; A murder in a dream!

But Guilt was my grim chamberlain One that had never done me wrong

That lighted me to bed, A feeble man, and old :

And drew my midnight curtains round, I led him to a lonely field,

With fingers bloody red !
The moon shone clear and cold :

All night I lay in agony,
Now here, said I, this man shall die,
And I will have his gold!

In anguish dark and deep ;

My fever'd eyes I dared not close, Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, But stared aghast at Sleep : And one with a heavy stone,

For Sin had rendered unto her One hurried gush with a basty knife, The keys of hell to keep!

And then the deed was done! There was nothing lying at iny foot,

All night I lay in agony, But lifeless flesh and bone !

From weary chime to chime,

With one besetting horrid hint, Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,

That rack'd me all the time,That could not do me ill ;

A mighty yearning, iike the first
And yet I fear'd him all the more,

Fierce impulse unto crime !
For lying there so still :
There was a manhood in his look,

One stern, tyrannic thought, that made

All other thoughts its slave; That murder could not kill!

Stronger and stronger every pulse And, lo ! the universal air

Did that temptation crave,Seem'd lit with ghastly flame,

Still urging me to go and see Teu thousand thousand dreadful eyes The dead man in his grave!

Heavily I rose up, -as soon

That earth refused to keep; As light was in the sky,

Or land or sea, though he should be And sought the black accursed pool

Ten thousand fathoms deep!
With a wild misgiving eye;

So wills the fierce avenging sprite,
And I saw the dead in the river bed,
For the faithless stream was dry!

Till blood for blood atones!

Ay, though he's buried in a cave, Merrily rose the lark, and shook

And trodden down with stones, The dewdrop from its wing;

And years have rotted off his fleshBut I never mark'd its morning flight, The world shall see his bones!

I never heard it sing :
For I was stooping once again

Oh God, that horrid, horrid dream
Under the horrid thing.

Besets me now awake!

Again-again, with a dizzy brain,
With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, The human life I take ;
I took him up and ran,

And my red right hand grows raging hot, There was no time to dig a grave

Like Cranmer's at the stake.
Before the day began :
In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves,

And still no peace for the restless clay I hid the murder'd inan!

Will wave or mould allow ;

The horrid thing pursues my soul,And all that day I read in school,

It stands before me now !"
But my thought was other where ; The fearful boy looked up, and saw
As soon as the inid-day task was done, Huge drops upon his brow!

In secret I was there :
Avd a mighty wind bad swept the leaves,

That very night, while gentle sleep

The urchin eyelids kiss d, And still the corse was bare !

Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, Then down I cast me on my face,

Through the cold and heavy mist; And first began to weep,

And Eugene Aram walked between, For I knew my secret then was one

With gyves upon his wrist.


Very altar

To " welcome the coming, speed the to its antecedent attractions ! L'ami parting guest,” is so universal an in- de la maison who wishes to secure stinct among the human race, that it himself an appetizing perspective of can lead us to rejoice over the loss of future dinners, must not omit to repay an integral portion of our very exist- the luxuries of the past by an à compte ence, and to hail the dawning sun of of sugar plums and gilt paper on the a new year, forgetful that its main eventful day “à Strenna consacré ;" object is to light the pilgrims of the and the “step-dames and dowagers, earth “ their way to dusty death.” who wither out a young man's rere

In London, thanks to parliaments nue” by their obstinate adherence to and fox-hunters, who have introduced the possession of many happy new a new style into the fashionable calen- years, must be duly propitiated by dar, New Year's Day is left to mere liberal sacrifices on the plebeian celebration ; but, on the con- which renders their worship hateful. tinent, it still remains the first signal I have more than once witnessed for the renewal of social intercourse, the excitement produced in France —the harbinger of the gaieties of the by the arrival of le jour des étrennes.. Carnival,—the rallying point for dis- I have seen elderly gentlemen in full membered families. Under its mag- costume, -buckles, silk stockings, and netic influence, the absent return,- pigtails,-simper the livelong day from the frugal wax generous,—the reserved house to house, with the cornet d open their hearts and their houses ! compliment d'usage. I have seen bonWoe to the female form which does bons distributed in the service, and not on that day prove the powers of under the influence of erery passion;

new adornment,--and woe to for love, vanity and ambition, contrithe soupirant who neglects the occa- bute in equal shares to the débit of the sion of doing rich and fitting homage Rue des Lombards.


But the acknowledged, the almost sient and dazzling brightness might boasted levity of the French charac- still farther tax the well-worn simile ter, renders these inconsistencies a of maiden fame,—where the rich ammatter of little marvel. Among the ber tubes, studded with blue enamel, Germans,—the sober, undemonstra- afford objects of no niggardly interest. tive, deliberate Germans, I was sur- Bohemian pearls, whose size and lusprised to find the Neu Jahr a festival tre compensate for their want of oriof equal importance, and commemo- ental regularity,–garnets from the rated with almost equal frivolity. same rich land,- opals, chrysophrases Anxious to note every variation of and turquoises from Hungary, as well popular character, I mingled on the as the glittering topazes of Silesia, last day of the year with the idlers of were not less in request. The eternal the Graben, which is the Bond-street almanacs of every literary city or vilor Rue Vivienne of Vienna.

lage of the empire-diable les What cheerful faces met me at belles-lettres vont-elles se nicher !) every step! What a gay appearance Uranias, Mnemosynes, Auroras, apevery shop had assumed to entice the peared to attract only the petite-maiwary and to ruin the generous ! The tresse and the setimental universityporcelain, rivalling that of Sévres,- student; while the painted cards exthe millinery, affecting to be an im- hibited in thousands in the same shops, portation from the banks of the Seine, whose transpositions usually illustrate -the varnished wares of Nuremberg, some far-fetched specimen of German -the delicate carvings of Berchtols- pleasantry, afford a cheap resource to gaden,—the lackered saints of Augs- those economists whose friends are burg, enchased in fillagree,-put forth enriched with a numerous offspring. in turn their daintiest allurements. It To myself, as a stranger in the appeared, however, to my casual ob- land, the purchasers themselves were servation, that the character of the objects of stronger interest than those purchasers,—of the frequenters of the articles heaped before them on the galanterie shops, differed materially counters. On that day, all ranks befrom that of the coureurs des bou- came inevitably united. The high tiques in Paris. There is more frank- and puissant Princess of Hungary, ness, more simple plain-dealing wor- preceded by a gorgeous Heiduke, dethiness, more loyauté, about an untra- scends from a splendid carriage, of velled German, than I have found in which the coachman is enveloped in the native of any other continental the richest furs of Siberia, and the country; and the spirit which dictated hussar behind is glittering with emsuch purchases as fell under my ob- broidery, at the door of the same servation was, without exception, that warehouse to which the simple Bauerof affectionate good will. The utility mädchen, the peasant-girl of the Wieof the objects selected,—the taste of ner-wald, clad in an ample scarlet petthe intended possessor, were consulted ticoat and towering gold cap, brings in preference to that passion for dis- her well-hoarded forin. In the strife play which is so generally-actuating a between extortion and frugality, you motive with the French.

hear the guttural patois of the Fau-I will not certify, however, that bourg contrasted with the mincing colored paper and gilding,—ormoulu affectation of the Saxon dialect; nay, and mother-of-pearl, -wreaths of Lil- —for Austria extends her “leaden liputian roses,-comestibles of papier- mace” over many tongues and many maché, and fruit of plaster of Paris, nations,—you may hear on one side not intended to be maché at all, -had the softest accents of the lingua Tosnot their share of ainateurs. But the cana, and on the other the less polishcrowd was more than equally distri- ed, but equally musical language of buted in the Niederlagen of the vend- Sclavonia." The dark-browed Jew in ers of Meerschaum pipes, whose tran- his furry tunic, apparently escaped

from one of Rembrandt's pictures, the motley throng, I direct my steps mingles with the excited crowd in towards the now deserted bastions. hopes of securing a bargain; the How unexpected-how glorious a Greek's high cap is seen above the spectacle, greets ine on my ascent! sea of heads; and the scowling Turk The last sun of 1827 is setting clear turns hastily away as the plan of Na- and brilliant, and magnificent as a varin greets him among the splendid king who abdicates his throne in the engravings in Artaria's window.- splendor of his pride. The Vienne is There, too, stands the chartered men- pouring its tributary waters into the dicant-the wild Slavack from the Danube like a stream of radiant lava. mountains, with his coarse but pic- The cupola of St. Carl looks like a turesque white woollen draperies, and crown of glory, and the numerous his long matted hair escaping from spires of the Vorstadt seem tipped under his broad-flapped hat; who, with fire. Beyond, the distant moundespite his wretchedness, looks down tains, receding far in the horizon, apwith scorn upon the ragged Zingaro, pear obscured by a veil of gold; and, the Paria of Hungary, whose appeal over all, the glowing sky shines as to the charity of passengers is as loud though half its secret glories were reand fervent as starvation can make it. vealed for a moment !

These, however, are objects which But those mountains, melting in the may be found on the same spot every clouds,—that mighty stream, which day in the year; it is only on the last, flows at their feet, -yonder busy that a spirit of universal animation crowd, stretching far away in the dissparkles upon every countenance, and tance,--they are not of my country, heightens every voice into exclama- they are not of my race ! Their wation. The murmur of the crowded ters are waters of bitterness to me; street deepens till it resembles the and “ I have no part in them or theirs." roar of a stormy sea ; and the loud But why should I speak of this !laugh of the merry girl, who is coax- To-day is a season of rejoicing; and ing a parsimonious grandmother at my those who have words of grief or wisside, becomes lost in the general con dom to unfold, must speak with a still fusion. To escape from the din of small voice, or defer them for a time.



“ There is nothing in the wide world so like the voice of a spirit.”—Gray's LETTERS.

Ou! many a voice is thine, thou Wind! full many a voice is thine,
From every scene ihy wing o'ersweeps, thou bear'st a sound and sign.
A minstrel wild, and strong thou art, with a mastery all thine own;
And the Spirit is thy harp, o Wind! that gives ihe answering tone.
Thou hast been across red fields of war, where shiver'd helmets lie,
And thou bringest thence the thrilling note of a Clarion in the sky;
A rustling of proud banner-folds, a peal of stormy drums,
All these are in thy music met, as when a leader comes.
Thou hast been o'er solitary seas, and from their wastes brought back
Each noise of waters that awoke in the mystery of thy track;
The chime of low sofi southern waves on some green palmy shore,
The hollow roll of distant surge, the gather'd billows' roar.
Thou art come from forests dark and deep, thou mighty rushing Wind!
And thou bearest all their unisons in one full swell combined ;
The resiless pines, the moaning stream, all hidden things and free,
Of ile dim old sounding wilderness, liave lent their soul to thec.

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