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of the Queen's friends. By his intercession, the Hamiltons have been reprieved from the death of traitors, and to his kindness I owe a manumission which I received yesterday of Patrick's attainder, in consideration, as it stated, of his youth and of his father's services in the right cause. Patrick is therefore now at liberty; and I have been thinking that, in the event of his marriage, he might take possession of the small estate of Polmadie, which his mother by will lias left him. As to the young lady's mother, I have not yet consulted with her on the matter, but I doubt she will be very unwilling to part with her daughter, seeing that none other of the family remains."

"She will indeed be very lonely, my lord," said the doctor, "and of that I have been led to speak with her very frequently in private, when I observed the attachment of Master Patrick and Mrs Martha."

"So—so," said the baron, smiling, "you have been already condoling with the widow on the subject, and you could not dolesssurely, doctor, than offer to cherish and comfort her in her apprehended loneliness, by taking her to wife."

"I will not deny, my lord, that some such understanding may exist between us,'' said the doctor, blushing as deeply as a bachelor of fifty could blush.

"Then all is well,—and we shall make two weddings of it at once, my old buck!" said the baron, poking the sides of the confused doctor with humorous glee.

The marriages, however, did not take place at the same time. The young Master and the fair Martha were first espoused, and great was the rejoicing of the whole barony; for, in addition to the usual excitement of a marriage, the people were delighted at the restoration of their favourite, whom they had accounted lost, and at his union with one of their own native children. But great as was the rejoicing on this occasion, it did not equal the uproar which took place, six weeks afterwards, when worthy Dr Macclutch was united to widow Menzies. Every fire-arm was then in requisition to welcome the auspicious morn; mummeries, in which the cutlers played a distinguished part, were enacted on the streets; and the walls of the Boar's Head shook with dancing and revelry for three successive 403 THE THREE WESTMINSTER BOYS.* BY MRS JOHNSTONE.


Dans l'alcôve sombre,

Près d'un humble autel,
L'enfant dort à l'orubr*

Du lit maternel.
Tandis qu'il repose,
Sa paupière rose.
Pour la terre close,

S'ouvre pour le ciel.

II fait bien des rêves-
11 voit par momens
Le sable des grèves

Plein de diamans,
Des soleils de flammes,
Et de belles dames,
Qui portent des ames

Dans leurs bras charmans.

Une voix qui chante
Sort du fond des eaux-

Ses sœurs sont plus belles

Son père est près d'elles.

Sa mère a des ailes
Comme les oiseaux.

Il voit mille choses
Plus belles encor;
Des lis et des roses

Plein le corridor;
Des lacs de délice
Ou le poisson glisse.
Où l'onde se plisse

A des roseaux d'or I

Enfant, rêve encore!
Dora, ô mes amours I
Ta jeune ame ignore

Ou s'en vont tes ;ours. Comme une algue morte Tu vas, que t'importe! Le courant t'emporte,

Mais tu dors toujours!

Sans soin, sans étude,
Tu dors en chemin \
Et l'inquietude

A la froide main.
De srm ongle aride.
Son ton front candide
Qui n'a point de ride.

N'ecrit pas: Demain!

In the dusky court,
Near the altar laid,
Sleeps the child in shadow

Of his mother's bed:
Softly he reposes,
And his lids of roses,
Closed to earth, uncloses

On the heaven o'erhead.

Many a dream is with him:
Fresh from fairy land,
Spangled o'er with diamonds

Seems the ocean sand;
Suns are gleaming there,
Troops of ladies fair
Souls of infants bear
In their charming hand

O! enchanting vision 1
Lo, a rill up-springs.
And, from out its bosom

Comes a voice that sings.
Lovelier there appear
Sire and sisters dear.
While his mother near,

Plumes her new-born wings.

But a brighter vision
Yet his eyes behold;
Roses all, and lilies.

Every path enfold;
Lakes in shadow sleeping,
Silver fishes leaping,
And the waters creeping,

Through the reeds of gold.

Slumber on, sweet infant,

Slumber peacefully;

Thy young soul yet knows not

What thy lot may be.
Like dead leaves that sweep
Down the stormy deep.
Thou art borne in sleep,

What is all to thee?

Thou canst slumber by the way;

Thou hast learnt to borrow

Nought from study, nought from rare;

The cold hand of sorrow, On thy brow unwrinkled yet, Where young truth and candour sit, Ne'er with rugged nail hath writ

That sad word, 'To-morrow f

♦ The original French of this fine piece is by Victor Hugo. For the English version we art Indebted to the Foreign Quarterly Review.

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Mais l'ange le touche,
Et bercant sa oouche,
Un doigt sur sa bouche One finger, one displays
His native skies.

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Mv gentle girl, my fondest prayers
Avert from ill thy simple breast,

And free from evils, ails, and cares,
May all its wishes- tend to rest.

May the soft sunshine of the soul,
The soothing calm, by nature given,

Be thine, that 'neath its mild control,
Thou live a favoured child of heaven!

Thy open brow untouched by care,
Thy beaming eye so mild and meek.

The ringlets of thine auburn hair,
That fall to hide the vermeil cheek:

Speak—thou art fair I and all that love
Could wish a gentle maid to be,—

With face—each tender thought to move,
And form—to claim a bended knee.

Thou art thine own reward—aoft Peace,
And Love and Joy must dwell with thee.

Thy heritage, till life shall cease,
Thy passport to eternity.

Adieu, fair girl! 'twere vain to bless, Or call for biessiogs on thy lot;
God watcheth o'er thy happiness,—

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The Magic Lantern, which belonged to Mr Dodsley, was elegantly and ingeniously formed. He chose to exhibit its wonders himself; and story, and picture, aiding and illustrating each other, agreeably occupied several Nights Of The Round Table.

"Peep, and tell us what you see, Charles," said the reverend showman to our old friend Charles Herbert.—" An old building, forms, desks, a lofty large room, many boys and youths, and three apart and prominent."—"Let me look," cried Sophia,—" Westminster school, I declare! and those three boys!—one very noble and graceful; the next dark, thoughtful, resolute, with keen eyes, and compressed lips; and the third—O! how gently, yet brightly he smiles, dear bashful boy, as his dark, bold companion extends his arm, haranguing and pointing forward to some high distant object! A picture is it,—a figure in state robes?—or is it to the insignia blazoned on that desk?—Nay, I daresay he wishes to be head-master."

"Have you all seen the three school-fellows?" asked Mr Dodsley; "look at them well, for here they part on the path of life, never to meet again. Presto! change:—What see you now, Sophia?"— "Still the dark stern youth, and the gentle timid one:—they are older now, but I know them well. The noble-looking boy has disappeared. The scene seems chambers in the temple. Through an open window I have a glimpse of gardens: piles of huge books are lying on tables, floors, and shelves. The dark resolute youth pores on a black letter folio, and makes as it were notes or extracts. The other leans by the window, gazing over the gardens, a small open volume fluttering in his relaxed hand. Ha! I read on it 'Thomson's Seasons.'"—" Yes, Sophia, your gentle law-student is an idle rogue; he has been seduced into the 'primrose paths of poesy' —let us see the result;—meanwhile here is another picture."— "Beautiful! beautiful!" cried the admiring girl, "A large ship!" —" An outward-bound Indiaman," said Mr Dodsley. "All her sails set," continued Sophia. "How proudly, how statelily she

• From " Nights of the Round Table," the First Series. This piece has also appeared in a cheap and excellent periodical conducted at Edinburgh by the husband of the authoress, and entitled, 'The Schoolmaster, and Edinburgh Weekly Magazine.' At present we are indebted for our extract to 'The Schoolmaster,' but in justice to the work in which it originally appeared, we may state that we had marked the story off for insertion in 'The Republic' long before 'The Schouhnaster' commenced his meritorious labours.

ploughs her way, breasting the waters like a swan. And there, on her deck, that noble gentleman, the third Westminster boy,— and yet not he,—walking so proudly as if in accordance with the majestic motion of the brave ship. I am glad to meet him again: —and all those military attendants—the gaudily dressed musical band, —the plumed officers,—and he the centre of all 1 What a great man he must be, and how well honour becomes him!"

"Shall we follow his progress to the East, or return to yonder gloomy, sombre chamber in the temple?"—" Both," cried several young eager voices; "we must trace them all,—all the three schoolfellows."

The next view was of a large Oriental city, its architectural splendour and magnificence of outline glittering in the dazzling, but uncertain brilliance of the morning sun; domes and minarets, Mahomedan mosques, and Indian pagodas, fountains, and palaces, and stately dwellings, sparkling in the out-pouring of the increasing flood of intense and golden light. Over this scene were grouped and scattered Mussulmans, Arab warriors, Brahmins, and Sepoys,—all in diversified and picturesque costumes,—ornamented palanquins, European officers richly dressed, and mounted on beautiful horses; elephants prancing in their splendid trappings; females and children, their dark skins and silky hair, and large black eyes, contrasting with their white and gaudily spangled dresses; dancing girls, and marabouts,—all, in short, that could compose a picture of Oriental beauty and splendour; and that princely man, now of middle age, on the large white elephant, still the centre of all.

The scene changed slightly, and discovered the interior of the magnificent saloon of a residence that appeared royal, where the noble figure, whom Sophia still declared the third boy of Westminster school, received, in Oriental state, homage, paid with the lowliest prostrations of the East, from a long train of nawaubs, rajahs, and envoys, illustrious captives or princely tributaries, whom his policy or his prowess had subdued to the dominion of England. Royal and magnificent was all about him; his aspect grave, dignified, and elate, his step and air majestic; yet the shadow of deep, anxious thought, of heart-struck care, at times darkened his embrowned visage. Whence then had fled the generous, sunny, open smile, that lightened the grey walls of Westminster school ?—the noble, free expression of the younger man, who so proudly trode the deck of the outward-bound Indiaman?

"Alas! what change I" said Sophia; "I almost dread, yet long to follow him farther."

Dim, troubled, misty scenes next flitted by; battles hid in smoke and obscurity, the wide plain of Hindostan flooded or desolate,—

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