certainly more becoming than the monstrosities we remember some years ago. The short waists were our utter abomination. Men's buttons took post exactly on the tip of their shoulder-bones, while their swallow-tails dangled their immensity of length till they tapered off below the knees like the tail of an ourangoutang. The ladies were equally ridiculous. The bend of their figures was entirely destroyed; and as to the waist of a very sylph of twenty years of age, it was in no respect, unless by its superior breadth, to be distinguished from any other part of her form. At that time the backs of all the ladies in his Majesty's dominions were so precisely the same in appearance, that few men could recognize even their wives and daughters, unless they were gifted by nature with lameness or a hump. All distinctions of age were lost in the universal destitution of shape. Matrons of forty-five were by no means to be detected; even the mature ages of sixty and sixty-three, as long as the faces were concealed, reaped all the admiration due to twenty and twenty-five. Life and admiration were a complete puzzle to the most attentive observers. Impossible was it for Edipus himself to discover whether the object of his praise, who so gracefully walked the whole length of Prince's Street before him, was old enough for his grandmother or young enough for his child. We remember an odd adventure happening to ourself. We were at that time poor, and then, as at all other times, handsome, good-natured, and obliging, and, of course, very much admired. This admiration, however, we are bound in candour to allow, was much more warm among the maids than the matrons of our acquaintance, and between us and one of them, who, besides a beautiful face, had an estate in Ayrshire, and expectations from her uncle, we confess the admiration was mutual. The mother, who was as watchful as mothers of rich daughters always are, did not seem quite to approve of our approaches; of which we had a gentle hint one day, when she requested our absence from her house, and begged to have the pleasure of a discontinuance of our acquaintance. Water thrown on flame makes it only burn the stronger, and a little opposition is the soul of love. We correspondedblessings on the black-eyed waitingmaid! and agreed one day to meet. We went, and walking before us, we saw a figure which set our blood dancing in our veins. We followed-" Who," we exclaimed, “can gaze on that dear green silk gown, nor guess what a lovely form is enshrouded below it? Who can see that nodding umbrella-looking bonnet, nor guess what sparkling eyes and snowy teeth and rosy cheeks it maliciously conceals beneath it?" We saw her step into Montgomery's, she stood at the counter" Now, now we shall hear her voice, and see her beloved countenance again." In an instant we were beside her, and, with beating heart and quivering lips, whispered in her ear" Have you come at last? have you escaped the old dragon, your mother?" Our tongue clove to our mouth, our eyes glared like Roman candles, our lips trembled, and the last thing we remember, was the voice of the servant-maid crying," John, John, bring some water here, a gentleman's in a fit!" It was her mother! When we recovered, the vision had disappeared; but woful were the consequences to us. We had fallen half across the counter; and after with our dexter arm demolishing two dozen tumblers, six glasses of jelly, and a marriage cake, we had subsided with our left arm among seven-and-thirty cranberry tarts, and finally got half choked as we sunk with our head totally immersed in an enormously wide-mouthed jar of pickled cabbages. This, in more senses than one, was the demolition of our suit; and fervently have we hated short waists, and watchful mothers, since that memorable day. More particularly, as before our cheek was healed, which we cut among the tumblers, or our three teeth became firm, which we loosened upon the counter, our love was married to an English dragoon, who, we understand, is going to stand for a rotten borough on the strength of her Ayrshire estate. Hundreds of similar mistakes, we have no hesitation in believing, rose from the doubtful waists, the medium anceps, of maid, wife, and widow. Now, however, these things are somewhat better managed. Now that nature is left comparatively to herself, it is impossible for any one to walk towards you, creating wonder and fear from the ghastliness and wrinkles of her face, and, as you turn round to wonder who has passed, to walk away from you, creating love and admiration from the beauty and gracefulness of her back. For the sameness of the colours in general use, we are still, no doubt, much to blame. But greatly as we approve of an independent exertion of each indivi dual's taste in the selection and combining of her hues and shades, horrible and truly abominable is the search after singularity which actuates some of the ladies whom we have lately seen. Low-bosomed gowns are happily not in vogue; but wherefore, because every thing is not revealed, should every thing be totally covered up and hidden? Have we not seen ladies with their necks entirely and closely buckled round in a thick stuff stomacher, and looking as starched and stiff as a half-pay lieutenant, whose military surtout is always (except on Mondays, when his shirt is clean) buttoned tightly over his black leather stock, for the double purpose of shewing his chest, and saving the necessity of a waistcoat? Haven't we known some of them, because ornaments which were useless were voted ungenteel, get quit even of their watches, sell them for the benefit of Bible Societies, and enrol themselves members of clubs for the making of shirts and flannel drawers for the poor and destitute? "Oh, save," as Mr. Bowles says in his beautiful, and in many places sublime poem of Banwell Hill “Oh, save us from the tract-mad Miss, Who trots to every Bible club and prates Of this awakening minister and that, She sat under! A slavish adherence to custom is very bad, but an absolute running counter to it is equally so. A dress which is in accordance with the age, complexion, and situation of any one, can never be wondered at as out of the way, nor laughed at as not being in the fashion. If people go to condole with an acquaintance on the death of her husband, which happened the last week, it would perhaps not be quite correct to do so on their way to a ball, with spangles glistening over their gowns, and silver laurel leaves shining on their foreheads. But perhaps as bad as this would it be, to go to an assembly dressed "in the sable suits of woe," to waltz with a widow's veil upon their heads, or jump through a reel with weepers on their sleeves. Dresses ought to be adapted also to the occupation the wearer intends to pursue. How ridiculous a gentleman would appear if he dug in his garden with white kid gloves on his hands, and dancing shoes on his feet! How absurd a lady would seem, mending her husband's worsted stockings, dressed all the time in her ball-room finery! But enough of this. Fathers have odd fancies, and dress their family more in accordance with their own taste than their daughters' appearances. We called, when we were last in Suffolk, on an old friend of ours, whom we had not seen for many years. He was an humorist in his way, and was blessed with the most complete credulity, mixed with the least quantity of shrewdness, of any matter-of-fact individual we ever knew. Old Simon's reception of us was kind, his invitation to stay with him was pressing, and we stayed. The room in which we saw him was remarkably well furnished; but the sun was shining bright-it was the middle of summer-and the whole apartment was one blaze of light. The curtains of the windows were of the most dazzling yellow-the carpet was yellow, with here and there a blue spot on it-the walls were yellow-the grate was yellow-the chairs and sofas all of the same hueand all the pictures round the room were enshrined in bright yellow frames. Our old friend himself, from the reflection of the colour, was as yellow in the face as a jaundiced man, or a new brass button; and our eyes began to be affected by gazing on the same changeless, unmitigated tint. We asked him for a snuff, and a yellow box containing Lundyfoot was immediately put into our hands. We drew from our pocket a handkerchief, which unfortunately was of the fated hue. "Beautiful handkerchief!" exclaimed our friend; " such a very lovely colour. Pray, sir, let me see. Ay, real Bandana; and such a bright glowing yellow!" "Yes," we replied, resolving to play a little on the simplicity of our friend; "it is a good handkerchief; and it is sometimes right to run a little risk, though a silk of any other shade would do just as well, and not be at all dangerous." "Dangerous! risk!" exclaimed our yellow friend, with a slight tinge of blue spreading over his features-" What can you be talking_of? Yellow is the very best colour of them all. My gig is yellow-my carriage is yellow-I keep no birds but canaries-and what do you talk about risks and dangers for?" "Then you haven't heard the discovery made by the German metaphysicians, that our thoughts take the colour of what is presented to the senses? — Yellow is a most dangerous colouryellow thoughts make people misers, pickpockets, and murderers. "God have mercy upon us all! if that's the case; for I'm sure my thoughts must be yellow, beyond the power of man to change them. My wife's thoughts must be as yellow as this sofa. And, Mary, poor dear yellow-thoughted Mary! what shall I do to dye them?" "Give them a slight infusion," we said, as solemnly as possible, "of blue damask furniture; and let Mary be feasted on a green silk pelisse." "Ah now," said our friend, "I know you're only joking.—Curse metaphysics! I never could understand a word of them in my life. Feast on a green-silk pelisse! Ha, ha! I'll tell Mary what a supper you propose." "No, sir-serious as a judge-even in the time we have been here, we feel as if ill with the yellow fever." "Fever!" cried Simon, wofully alarmed; "is it infectious? How pale you look! Shall I ring the bell, sir? Mary, Mary, do leave the room; the yellow fever is raging here already; and all from these confounded yellow curtains! The gentleman has swallowed a sofa-cover! -How do you feel now, sir?" "A few yards, properly applied, of a dark green crumb-cloth would be very advantageous. A black coal-scuttle would also be a great relief." mediately explained; and the ladies, who seemed accustomed to Simon's absurdities, were easily satisfied of his mistake; more especially as he promised them dresses of the colours they themselves should prefer; and we saw the pretty Mary, before our departure, in a gown of the purest white, a deep blue ribbon round the waist, with white silk stockings and black shoes; which, to the young, the simple, and the unaffected, is the handsomest and most interesting dress they can possibly put on. Blackwood's Magazine, December. LOVE AND GOLD. HowEVER the moral passions are above the animal, as those which exalt human nature are above those which lower it by meanness or depravity, both, when urged to their utmost, are, nevertheless, equal in the uncompromising violence of their results. A young Flemish gentleman, having lived in voluntary seclusion the greater part of his life, in company with his father, who had been banished for some political quarrel in which he had engaged, returned, on the death of this father, to his native town, which was in We looked at Mary as we said this, and saw a very pretty little girl of seventeen or eighteen, dressed all in the everlasting colour-yellow from top to toe, her very hair being slightly golden, and Shortly after his arrival, he fell in love her sandals of yellow silk. Her mother with the daughter of a merchant in also came in, and was closely followed very reduced circumstances. He, being by servant in yellow livery. All seemed a youth of strong feeling and honorable fixed in the utmost astonishment. We sentiments and conduct, soon won upon ourself sat quietly on the sofa, after the sensibility of the young girl, and having bowed to the ladies; while Simon their affection became mutual and inwent on with a string of questions and tense. The father, however, refused his exclamations, which were totally unin- consent to their marriage, because of telligible to them; and ended at last with their mediocrity of means, since the a denunciation of his favourite furniture, youth had but little property, and he which seemed to give great satisfaction himself had not wherewith to give his to his wife and daughter. daughter the least fortune. "But go," said he to the young gentleman, "employ what money you have in business, and, if you follow my directions and experience, you may, with assiduity, possess, in a few years, sufficient for an affluent support; and I shall then no longer deny my daughter." "We were remarking to Mr. Yellowly, when you came in, madam," we said to the lady, in our usual bland and insinuating manner, "that we thought this room would be somewhat improved by the addition of some furniture of a different colour, and he seems now to agree with us in opinion."-"God bless me !" cried Simon, stopping short in his walk "I understood you to say you had been infected by the furniture with the yellow fever; that the fever had made you mad, and you wished to swallow a crumb-cloth, and sup on the coal-scuttle. Mary was to eat a green pelisse, and you, my dear, were to be treated with an infusion of a chest of drawers." We im This advice was as good as it was unwise. It was the most proper thing to recommend, and the least likely to be done. The youth was of an ardent temperament, and had passed his life in solitude, with his sensibilities and passions yearning for an object. This he had now found, and, having means to live, did not care to wait tedious years for the chance of doing so affluently. He had found his long desired object of entire sympathy, and this he was determined not to forego for a question of worldly possessions, wherein no man living is happy, or justified, we had almost added; for "there are secrets in all trades," which is only a conventional palliative for chicaneries. Lest, however, he should lose the young lady's society, the youth agreed to her father's propositions. He considered the old gentleman's postponement of the ceremony as involving a responsibility for the consequences. Meantime, they were much together, and their affection being excessive, the young man frequently besought her, in the tenderest manner, and with the most earnest entreaties, to grant him a private meeting in the garden after night-fall. But she, fearing detection, could never be prevailed upon; till one day, walking pensively through a remote bower, she accidentally discovered the entrance to a cave, the existence of which she had never before suspected; and, having communicated the circumstance to her lover, he so redoubled his entreaties, that she would meet him there alone the next night, that, overcome by his ardour and her own feelings, she at length gave her consent. It so happened, that a labourer, who had been for some time at work in the adjacent fields, came into the garden to get some fruit, on the morning of the day on which the lovers were to hold their appointment. The trap-door of the cave having been opened by the young girl the preceding day, it had disturbed the earth surrounding it, so that the man presently discovered the entrance, and descended, In groping about he stumbled over something, and, upon examination, he found it to be a large earthenware jar, full of gold, which the father of the merchant had placed there in his last illness, and, being a perfect specimen of the miser, he had died without breathing a syllable of the matter. At this moment a sound of voices alarmed the labourer, and quickly ascending and replacing the trap-door, he escaped out of the garden. Now this man, who had been bred in obscurity, and surrounded with indigence all his life, was by nature of an ambitious disposition. He was sensual, envious, and dissatisfied accordingly. He longed for power, that he might abuse it; and for money, as the means of depraved indulgence. He now saw a prospect of quickly gaining all his desires, and revelling in his low appetites; and after wandering about the fields a whole day, in a state of feverish absorption, now mounting a hill, then climbing a tree, so as continually to take a view of the merchant's garden, he repaired at night-fall to the spot that contained his heartfelt gold, determined to possess himself of it at any risk. The labourer had scarcely descended into the cave when the young man came to keep his appointment. Finding the trap-door open, he descended also. It was quite dark, but hearing something move, he demanded who was there? Receiving no answer, he repeated the question in an authoritative voice. "One who will defend his cause," said the labourer, setting his teeth, "be you man or devil:" for he thought that either the one or the other had come to seize the gold. "For what purpose do you come here?" demanded the youth. "The same that you come for," replied the other with a sardonic laugh. At this the youth's jealousy took fire, and he asked fiercely, "By what right?" "By right of previous conquest," said the labourer, "by my own will-by good luck-or any other right you please." At these insulting words the youth closed with him, and endeavoured to thrust him out of the cave; but the labourer was the stronger, and could not be moved. Panting for breath, the young man went to the entrance of the cave, followed by the labourer, who watched every movement. Seeing by the rising stars that it was the exact time of appointment with his love, whom he momentarily expected, he addressed the other in these words: "Infamous and rude defamer, think not thy gross falsities obtain the least credence from me; but since you will not come out from the cave, so neither will I go forth without you, but will drag down the trap-door, and enclose both for ever!" The labourer's will was too much involved to give up the point; but seeing the youth in such a state of excitement, he now began to think that this might be the rightful owner of the gold, and he brought himself to concede so far as to say, "I will not give up the hope, ay, and opportunity, of possessing what my soul holds too dear to relinquish except with life: na'theless, if you will consent to share the treasure-' At this monstrous insult, as he understood it, to the delicacy and sincerity of his love, the youth seized the trapdoor, crying out furiously, "Wilt thou come forth?" The labourer paused. "What! " muttered he to himself, "to be a beggar again, or work in the field?" Then, raising his voice, he answered sternly, "No, I will not come forth-so let death put us to what use he thinks fit, for I'll sweat i'the sun no more!" He had not concluded, when the youth dragged down the trap-door, and tearing out the handle of the spring, they were both buried alive. The young lady was unable to keep her appointment with her lover, being intercepted on her way by her father, who, in part, guessed her intention. After secluding her for a few days, he sent her to a convent in France, to "get over" her girlish attachment, where she fell into a consumption, and died in less than a twelvemonth. It is always wrong to thwart a sincere and intense affection from any worldly or secondary causes whatever. The result is always tragic or miserable: and what father or mother will admit that this is their intention? But it ever turns out so. Many years afterwards, the cave was broken into by accident when the mouldered remains of two men were found lying at the remote extremity, with their bones grappled together in decay. It is thus shewn how a low passion may equal a fine one in its last results, provided it have equal concentration of purpose, and strength of animal will to support it. And thus do all men of strong passions, however unworthy, feel equal with the highest; the object in such case, being secondary to the sensation of identity. It is this which prevents those who are mean of soul from railing at the meanness of their creation: and herein is supreme wisdom shewn in men's varied characters, that require not monotonous similarity, as necessary to their individual satisfaction. COLERIDGE. R.H.H. [We snatch the following sketch from the Athenæum, believing that, slight as it is, it cannot fail to interest our readers.] WE have this week to record the departure of another mighty spirit from among us—the quenching in the dark ness of the grave of another of the few bright stars which yet remained to us. We have it not in our power to offer any detailed biographical notice of Mr. Coleridge. That he was born at Bristol, educated at Christ's Hospital, studied at Jesus College, Cambridge, and accompanied the late Sir Alexander Ball to Malta as secretary, are facts which are already public. His tour to Germany, (accomplished through the liberality of the Messrs. Wedgewoods,)—his residence at Nether Stowey and at the Lakes-his marriage, and the birth of his children-his labours in the Friend, the Watchman, and the Morning Posthis residence, during the latter years of his life at Highgate-are things so well known to the greater number of our readers, that they call for no particular mention on this occasion. His life was one of precarious fortunes-the consequences of those singularities of character, temperament, and habits, which grew out of his original and peculiar genius. Those who have read his 'Biographia Literaria,' will not forget his account of his journey to solicit subscriptions for his Watchman-nor his extraordinary harangue against periodical literature, in the house of one for whose patronage he was then soliciting. It was a type of the man-a sure token that, in the hard business of life, its strivings, and its amassings, he could not be successful. Another anecdote of him, no less characteristic, may not be so generally known. We have reason to believe, that during the earlier period of his life he enlisted as a common soldier in the dragoons; of course he did not remain long in the service; perhaps his,then democratical principles made his officers willing to get rid of him—perhaps (which is a fact) because he could not be taught to ride. The news of his death came upon us at the very moment when a complete edition of his poems (on which his fame will rest) was calling for some few remarks on our part, which we had purposely delayed, in the earnestness of our desire to do justice to the subject. These last tidings have invested them with a sacredness which would make any critical anatomy of their beauties and defects unseemly and irreverent at the present moment. Yet it may not be amiss to point out their three-fold nature-as works of passionate and exalted meditation (witness his Sunrise in the Valley of Chamouni,' his 'Lines on an Autumnal Evening,' his 'Religious Musings,' his 'Ode to |