his way to London. He was tall and handsome; but a close and unwearied enthusiasm in his application to his art, had evidently impaired his health. I soon entered into conversation with him, and found that he had travelled in Greece and Italy; had once visited Paris, solely with a view of going through the Louvre; and was now journeying to London, for the purpose of studying from the the Elgin Marbles. His great townsman Rubens was the god of his idolatry; whenever his merits formed the subject of conversation, his eye would kindle with unusual light, and his whole frame seemed animated by some extraordinary impulse. It is true, that he was apt to be a little intolerant of those who ventured to differ with him on this subject; but this is a fault with which I fear that we are most of us chargeable, when our favourite topic is undergoing discussion.

Opposite to me sat an Officer in the Prussian service, who had distinguished himself in the last campaign in Flanders; and was now conducting his Lady, the only female in our party, over the scenes of his former exploits. He had taken her to view the fields of Waterloo and Ligny, and the ramparts of Antwerp; and he was now about to inspect the fortifications of Ostend. He had proved himself a good Soldier, and was withal a

man of strong sense, but not uninfected with strong prejudices. He hated the French; believed that Prussia was the greatest, grandest, and most glorious kingdom in the world; and maintained that the battle of Waterloo was won by Blücher. He did not seem very fond of Catholics, and at first eyed the Abbé somewhat askance; but the good humour and lively manners of the Priest speedily triumphed over the reserve of the German, and before we had proceeded far on our journey, they were seated side by side, and were partaking very cordially of the contents of the same snuff-box.

The preceding Fragment, which thus is abruptly terminated in the MS., was originally intended to have had a second title, and to have been called, either "The Decameron of the Canals," or, "Tales told in Flanders;" and to have introduced about a dozen different narratives: several of which are contained in the present Volume, and the remainder are included in Mr. Neele's last work, the "Romance of History."-Editor.

HYMNS FOR CHILDREN.

I.

OH thou! who sitt'st enthroned on high,
Ancient of Days! Eternal King!

May Childhood and mortality

Hope thou wilt listen whilst they sing!

We raise our Songs, but, Oh! to Thee,
What praise can mortal tongue impart;
Till thou hast tuned to harmony,

That jarring instrument, the Heart?

Then, Infant warblings in thine ear,

As sweet as Angel notes shall roll;
For thou wilt bend from Heaven to hear
The still, soft music of the Soul.

Oh! teach us some celestial Song,
Some note of high and holy joy;
And that shall dwell upon the tongue,
And that shall all our Souls employ.

Then, Time shall hear, while Time is ours,
The Song of praise we pour to Thee;
And Heaven shall lend us nobler powers
To sound it through Eternity!

II.

Oh Thou! who mak'st the Sun to rise,
Beam on my Soul, illume mine eyes,
And guide me through this world of care:
The wandering atom thou can'st see,
The falling Sparrow's mark'd by thee,
Then, turning Mercy's ear to me,
Listen! Listen!

Listen to an Infant's prayer!

Oh Thou! whose blood was spilt to save
Man's nature from a second grave;

To share in whose redeeming care,
Want's lowliest child is not too mean,
Guilt's darkest victim too unclean,

Oh! thou wilt deign from Heaven to lean,
And listen, listen,

Oh Thou! who wilt from Monarchs part,

To dwell within the contrite heart,
And build thyself a Temple there;
O'er all my dull affections move,
Fill all my Soul with Heav'nly love,
And, kindly stooping from above,
Listen! Listen!

Listen to an Infant's prayer!

III.

God of Mercy! throned on high,
Listen from Thy lofty seat:
Hear, Oh! hear our feeble cry,

Guide, Oh! guide our wandering feet.

Young and erring Travellers, we
All our dangers do not know;

Scarcely fear the stormy sea,
Hardly feel the tempest blow.

While our bosoms yet are young,
Kindle in them Love divine;

Ere the tide of sin grow strong,

Take us, keep us, make us, Thine!

When perplex'd in danger's snare,
Thou alone our guide can'st be:

When oppress'd with deepest care,
Whom have we to trust but Thee?

Lord! instruct us then, and pour
Hope and Love on every Soul;
Hope, till Time shall be no more,
Love, while endless ages roll.