rate love, "all things both great and small," even that smallest of things, his rival, Thomas Maximilian Potts, tobacconist. Smith (the eminent biscuit-baker) was exactly the reverse of Fish in personal endowments. He was a short, pursy man, "scant of breath," and as fat as a dodo.* In venturing a wager on which of the various disorders flesh is heir to, was eventually the most likely to terminate the career of Mr. Smith, you might have backed apoplexy against the field. He was a man of few words; indeed his conversational powers were limited, in consequence of having devoted his faculties early in life solely to the absorbing study of biscuit-baking, by which he had made a fortune. He had no thirst for knowledge or information, or indeed any thing, excepting punch; so that he did little else than saunter about the doors in fine weather; doze by the fire in foul, smoke, tipple, read the newspapers, and give his assent to whatever Julia proposed. Julia herself was as merry, hearty, pretty a little girl as a reasonable man could desire, with cherry cheeks, fair complexion, hazel eyes, auburn hair, ten thousand pounds, and the sweetest little mouth in the town. She was of the middle height, neatly moulded, of a comfortable plumpness, yet without inheriting from her father the slightest tendency to undue obesity. Pleasant in manner, cheerful in temper, quick-witted, lighthearted, and of the loving and lovable age of nineteen, it was altogether a shame that Miss Julia Smith continued Miss Julia Smith. Whether she had ultimately to become Potts or Fish-but it is wrong to anticipate. Her cousin, Frank Lumley, was, as has already been observed, a good-looking, good-hearted, frank, spirited young fellow, whom everybody liked, and yet whom every body prophesied would never do good, in consequence of a singular deficiency in his intellectual qualifications, namely, an utter inability to calculate the value of money, although clerk to his uncle the rich banker, who prudently kept Master Frank's salary as low as possible, on the ground that there would be "the less thrown away." Poor was Frank, and poor was he likely to remain; a circumstance, however, which did not seem to give him the slightest uneasiness. In far less time than it has taken to *Vide Buffon's Nat. Hist. introduce the company, they had brought the tea-slopping to a termination; and the weak, washy, warm-water implements being removed, the conversation, under the cheering influence of Julia's eyes, became brisk and animated. True, Master Francis said little, rose suddenly from his chair, sat suddenly down again, crossed, uncrossed, and recrossed his legs, regulated the fire and candles, patted the poodle, and performed all those evolu.. tions proper to people not over and above comfortable; but Fish, who was deeply scientific, lectured away most innocently to Julia about sulphur-baths, medicinal springs, gases-oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrogen-acids, alkalies, and so on to the end of the chapter; while Potts, who was a kind of literary creature, being a soiler of commonplace-books, a scribbler of patriotic paragraphs, and president of a debating nuisance, kept chattering away at an amazing rate about Byron, Scott, Shakspeare, and the Ladies' Magazine. Julia sat in the middle, listening complacently, dividing her smiles equally, and occasionally inquiring of Francis "if there was any thing the matter with him?" But the conversation, from literary and scientific, suddenly took a personal turn. Fish had inadvertently made some disparaging allusion to littleness as connected with the human form, whereupon Maximilian became wroth and indignant exceedingly. He proceeded to assert that there had never been a lengthy poet, painter, player, or even warrior, of any eminence (he was a little ill-informed wretch, that Potts, "Brisk as a flea, and ignorant as dirt") —that extraordinary height, in fact, debased the intellectual faculties-that all great men, from Alexander to himself, had been little ones-winding up, in a magnificent manner, with that quotation which every man under five feet four inches, has at his tongue's end— "Were I as tall to reach the pole, The mind 's the standard of the man!" This furious piece of declamation was followed by an indescribable sound between a groan and a grumble from the eminent and recumbent biscuit-baker, who arose from his chair, shook himself, inquired the clock, said he felt inclined to sleep, (he had done nothing else for the last three hours), wished the company a good night, and waddled off to bed. Mr. Lumley also shewed an inclination to depart, and Fish and Potts reluctantly followed his example. Julia condescendingly volunteered to shew them the door herself. "Good night, Miss Smith," said Fish, with a mournfully tender inflexion of the voice, at the same time stretching forth his ponderous paw to perform the operation of shaking. "Good night, Mr. Fish," kindly responded Julia, placing her small, delicate hand in some part of his. But Potts parted not so prosaically. "Farewell, Julia," he muttered, in an impudent under-tone "Farewell! a word that has been and must be, A sound that makes us linger-yet farewell!" “Bless me,” quoth Frank, "I have forgotten my gloves-how unfortunate!" Very," said Julia, as she closed the door after Fish and Potts, and followed Frank up-stairs to look for the gloves. 66 Brightly and beautifully shone the sun on the ensuing morning. Mild and balmy was the air, blue and serene the sky, and a universal harmony and cheerfulness seem to pervade all nature. In a neat little church, a short distance from the town before alluded to, the bells were ringing merrily to and fro in consequence of the great heiress Miss Smith having that morning, as the old spinsters of the district said, "thrown herself away on handsome Frank Lumley, at the same time jilting" (as they alleged) "Mr. Potts who had an excellent business, and Mr. Fish who had a better." Be that as it might. Lovely looked the little rural church-yard of which we are speaking -lovely looked it, cheerful, almost gay. The vocalists of the spring, unconscious of the solemnity of the place, sent forth a continuous stream of rich and merry music from every bush and tree with which it was adorned; there was a murmur of music in the mild and myriadpeopled air, and there was most exquisite music in the gentle rustle of the bride's white satin dress as she tripped timidly down the narrow church-yard path to wards the carriage at the gates, which was waiting to bear her away to purling streams and pastures green, for the allotted month of honey. How quick flies evil tidings to those concerned ! As she walked along with her eyes modestly bent downwards, they rested, quite unexpectedly, on the perturbed visage of Mr. Potts. Manifold were the emotions depicted therein wrath, disappointment, affected disdain, wounded, self-conceited, and concentrated indignation were a few of them. He raised his arm slowly, and pointed impressively to the skies, as much as to say, "There are your deceits and perjuries registered." Julia instinctively looked up, when lo! high above her, but distinctly visible, she beheld the rueful, lugubrious physiognomy of Fish, bent reproachfully, though "more in sorrow than in anger," upon her. It was too much. She hastened forward, and, without venturing another glance, entered the carriage. Frank, who appeared most insultingly happy, bowed to each of the gentlemen, and followed his fair bride. The door closed, the driver mounted, the little boys clustered round the gates volunteered three cheers, and away drove the new-married pair. Fish stood as one entranced, until the last rattle of the wheels died upon his ear. He then buttoned his coat, let his hands fall to the bottom of his trowsers-pockets, and stalked solemnly homewards. When arrived there, he shut up his shop, retired to his private apartments, closed the window-blinds, sat down by the fire, and sought and found relief in a flood of tears. Potts, who was of a more fiery temperament, scorned to wet an eyelid. He strutted away, no one knew whither; but late in the evening of that eventful day, he was discovered in a state of insensibility at a small blind tavern in the neighbourhood, with the trivial remains of the seventh tumbler of brandy and water before him. On the table lay a loaded pistol, and from his waistcoat portruded an unfinished "Ode to Despair," all about Tartarus, Tantalus, Tisiphone, and other cramped classicalities. They carried the little fellow home, put him to bed, and left him to sleep off his love and liquor at his leisure. "But what of that little flirt, Julia?" exclaims some maid of many years.Why, what of her? What have I to do with her misdemeanours? I am not bound to follow the prescribed fashion of manufacturing immaculate heroines. I describe Miss Smith as I knew her. She might have a slight shade of coquetry in her composition, but it was very slight; and then she was an only child, a beauty, and an heiress. Not that Potts is to be adduced as any proof against her, for he was one of those presumptuous varlets that can extract meanings flattering to their vanity from the commonest civilities; but Fish-the meek, the modest, the unobtrusive. Yes, she must in sport have angled for Fish. Some tempting THE modern Greek may have been found corrupt, profligate, unsteady to his obligations, and treacherous in the council and the field. But when was the slave, high-minded, heroic, or pure? The weight of the fetter has withered away the nerve. The very air of the dungeon has stamped its tint upon the features. The perpetual presence of tyranny has taught him the perpetual subterfuges of deceit. But a new generation are rapidly rising up. The old will soon have gone down to the grave, with their fears, their sufferings, and their vices: the new will be free; and there is in freedom a noble pledge for the purification of a people. The eyes of Europe will be on them; every nation feeling an almost personal interest in the progress of a young power, placed in the centre of Europe, as if for the purpose of a common centre of the great operations and renovating influence of all. It inhabits a glorious region; of whose renown, even the debasement of a thousand years has not been able to disinherit the Greek. There is more of the original blood, of the ancient language, of the national manners, and of the ancestral character, preserved in Greece, than in any other nation upon earth. The first efforts of such a people may be perverse or feeble. But they have the material of greatness in their frame, and we shall yet see Greece reascending to her old pre-eminence, and shining out among the intellectual splendours of the world. PERIODICAL LITERATURE. THERE is no labour more destructive to health than that of periodical literature; and in no species of mental application, or even of manual employment, is the wear and tear of a body so early, so severely felt. The readers of those light articles which appear to cost so little labour in the various publications of the day, are little aware how many constitutions are broken down in the service of their literary taste. WOMAN. THERE is something very delightful in turning from the unquietness and agitation, the fever, the ambition, the harsh and worldly realities of man's character, to the gentle and deep recesses of woman's more secret heart. Within her musings is a realm of haunted and fairy thought, to which the things of this turbid and troubled life, have no entrance. What to her are the changes of state, the rivalries and contentions which form the staple of our existence? For her there is an intense and fond philosophy, before whose eye substances flit and fade like shadows, and shadows grow glowingly into truth. The soul's creations are not as the moving and mortal images seen in the common day; they are things, like spirits steeped in the dim moonlight, heard when all else are still, and busy when earth's labourers are at rest! They are "Such stuff As dreams are made of, and their little life Is rounded by a sleep." This is the real and uncentred poetry of being, which pervades and surrounds her as with an air-which peoples her visions and animates her love-which shrinks from earth into itself, and finds marvel and meditation in all that it beholds within—and which spreads even over the heaven, in whose faith she so ardently believes, the mystery and the tenderness of romance. MARRIAGE. A man who passes through life without marrying, is like a fair mansion left by the builder unfinished. The half that is completed runs to decay from neglect, or becomes at best but a sorry tenement, wanting the addition of that which makes the whole useful. WOLMAR: A German Legend. EY THE AUTHOR OF THE "EXPOSITION OF THE FALSE MEDIUM," &c. (For the Parterre). THERE lived in Germany many years ago, a nobleman of a proud and daring spirit, to which, indeed, he chiefly owed his titles and estates, neither having been hereditary. The great success that had hitherto attended all his efforts increased the confidence, which was strong in him by nature, till he thought that nothing could withstand him. Be it what it might, he believed that if he set his will upon obtaining it he could not fail; and the accomplishment of his will seemed to him its justification in all cases. The wars being now over for a time, Count Wolmar went to dwell in the retirement of a large chateau, and ere long fell in love with the beautiful daughter of a neighbouring baron of ancient ancestry. To his great mortification the baron declined his proposals, and he was not slow in discovering that the objection to an alliance was founded on his p. 165. want of hereditary honours. Indignant at being rejected on such a flimsy prejudice, and feeling as high a blood in his veins as any noble of Germany could boast of-or their ancestors either, whatever their rusty shields might containhe rode off hastily one morning, and insisted upon a fair hearing on the subject. In the course of the interview he talked to the Baron in so spirited and lofty a strain, not unmingled with certain very intelligible hints of feudal warfare, that the former was fain to declare himself convinced of the right he laid claim to of being himself the founder of a name and honours, and forthwith referred him to his daughter. He sought the fair Edith; but how grievous was his fresh disappointment! She declined his hand in the most decisive manner; and to add to his mortification, informed him when he subsequently pressed his suit, that her affections were already engaged to another. Count Wolmar knew not how to brook this refusal, especially as he could not discover who was her favoured lover; the old baron affirming that he had pledged his word not to name him at present, and the lady refusing to answer any questions on the subject. The idea of returning to the capital, and losing in the dissipation and frivolities of the court, the galling sense of his rejection, occurred to his mind; but previous circumstances made him averse to shew himself among a class of courtiers and nominal warriors, the greater part of whom he held in utter disdain. This feeling may be accounted for without difficulty. Independent, however, of the imbecility and fawning meanness of most of those who hover round princes, Wolmar had a personal cause of grievance, which we will briefly explain. A young officer, named Von Deutzberg, had served in the wars under the command of Wolmar. He was of very high family, and a younger brother of the Prince of G*** had recently married his sister. Von Deutzberg was one of those individuals who possess no particular character, and upon whom the title of "insignificance" is often conferred by nature, in about the same munificent degree that circumstance confers estates to support it. A few days before the last battle, which decided the contest between the adverse powers, an express arrived from the Prince, nominating Baron Von Deutzberg to the chief command of the army. The indignation of Wolmar was excessive; but affairs were now at a crisis, and he could not do otherwise than submit. By adopting all the plans which had been previously arranged by Wolmar, and appointing him to execute them in person, a signal victory was gained, and the fame of Von Deutzberg echoed throughout Germany. The proud spirit of Wolmar chafed at the injustice; but disdaining to claim the honour of the success, which might subject him at best to share it only with heraldic impotence, he speedily retired from the court, and betook himself in gloomy scorn to his chateau. It was here that he thought to solace his galled feelings in the constant society of a beautiful woman, and we have seen how he was disappointed. One evening as he was roving in a dissatisfied mood through a wood adjoining his chateau, a confidential vassal came hastily to inform him that a stranger, apparently of high station, with a large train of followers, had just arrived at the castle of the old Baron, and that it was every where said he was the accepted lover of the lady Edith. Without a moment's hesitation, Count Wolmar mounted his steed, and rode off unattended to ascertain the exact truth of this news from the parties themselves. It was dark when he arrived in front of the gates, and the porter refused to admit him. He demanded an audience with the Baron, stating who he was. The porter remained obdurate. He requested to see the lady Edith, but with no better success. "Say then," said he fiercely, "that Count Wolmar would speak a few words with the noble who arrived here this evening." "Nay, my lord," answered the porter, "it cannot be." "Villain!" exclaimed Wolmar, "by whose orders am I treated with this cowardly insolence?" "By the express orders of the noble warrior who is to marry the lady Edith." "And his name?" "The most noble Baron Von Deutzberg." "Bear this message to him!" shouted Wolmar; and he furiously dashed his glove in the porter's face. The two greatest mortifications of Wolmar's life being thus suddenly brought with united force upon him, as centred in the same individual, his exasperation against Von Deutzberg knew no bounds. He passed the whole night in riding round the walls of the chateau, or up to an eminence that commanded an entire view of it below, and seated thus on his steed he longed for the power of some god or dæmon, that swift lightning might follow the direction of his threatening hand! While the wish still yearned in his heart, the sky gradually darkened, and a sudden peal of thunder, as of the blasting of rocks, burst open the rugged clouds, and for an instant he saw the arrowy bolt rush down and play round the turrets of the chateau, as though wantoning in the power of revenge; thus embodying his present thoughts. The lightning did not however strike the towers, but cut its way downward into the earth, and all again was dark and silent. As the day dawned, Wolmar rode several times in front of the gates of the chateau, to see if any notice would be taken by Von Deutzberg of the defiance which he had given in so insulting a manner. He then retired some distance, unwillingly and slow. Seated immovable upon his steed, he remained for a long time fixed on the hill opposite the gates; but as nobody approached |