it always sounds to my ears, What! ar'n't you dead yet, Captain ?' Then he sits down in that chair; speaks three words in two hours, and that in a whisper ; pulls a long face; squeezes out a tear his dismal undertaker-countenance lowering over me all the while! I'm not a nervous man, but-"; and here he rose from his sofa, struck a blow on a table which made every article upon it spin, and roared out in a voice loud enough to be heard from stem to stern of his old seventy-four, the Thunderer :- "I'm not a nervous man ; but d—n me if he doesn't sometimes make me fancy I'm riding in a hearse to my own funeral, with him following as chief mourner. I shall die of him one of these days," added he emphatically, "I know I shall." "He is not exactly the companion for an invalid," said I: "the cheerful address of a friend, and his assuring smile, are important auxiliaries to the labours of the physician; whilst, on the contrary, the "Ay, ay; the bore of such visits as his! They would make a sound man sick, and hasten a sick man to the grave. And, then, that face of his! I couldn't help saying to him the other day, that when I shot away the figure-head of the French frigate, La Larmoyeuse, I should have liked to have his to stick up in its place." "It is evident his visits are irksome and injurious to you. Why, then, do you encourage them?" "I don't encourage them, and if he had any feeling he would perceive I don't; but bores have no feeling. Besides, I can't altogether help myself. His father was useful to me; he managed my money-matters at home when I was afloat-a kind of work I never could have done for myself-and so well, too, that I consider my present independence as of his creating. Remembering this, I could not decently toss the son out of window, do you think I could, eh?" My honest opinion upon the matter being one which might have put the Captain to some trouble at his next interview with the gentleman in question, I suppressed it, and merely observed, "Mr. Doleful has told me how useful his father was to you." "Ay, and so he tells everybody, and so he reminds me as often as I see him, and that's a bore. Now, I am not an ungrateful man, and am as little likely as any one to forget a friend, or a friend's son; but every time this king of the Dismals reminds me of my obligation, I consider the debt of gratitude as somewhat diminished: so that if I live much longer, the score will be entirely rubbed out, and then, d-n me, but I will toss him out of window." After a momentary pause the Captain resumed: "Then, there's another bore of his. We take physic because we are obliged to take it; it isn't that we like it, you know; nobody does, that ever I heard of. Now, he fancies that I can't relish my medicine from any hands but his ; and he will stand by whilst I take my pills, and my draughts, and my powders. Ipecacuanha and Dick Doleful! Faugh! two doses at once! Will you believe it, my dear fellow? the two ideas are so connected in my mind that I never see physic without thinking of Dick Doleful, nor Dick Doleful without thinking of physic. I must own I don't like him the better for it, and that he might perceive. But, as I said before, bores have no feeling-they have no perceptionsthey have no one faculty in nature but the faculty of boring the very soul out of your body." Seeing me take a book from amongst several which lay on the table, he continued: “ Ay; there's Mr. Dick again! I send him to get books to amuse me, and that's what he brings. Pretty lively reading for a sick man, eh?. Nice things to keep up one's drooping spirits? There's Reflections on Death,' Dodd's 'Prison Thoughts,' the 'Death-bed Companion,' 'Hell: a Vision.' I must have a fine natural constitution to live through all this!" I took my leave of the invalid; and, at the street-door, met Dr. Druggem, his physician, and his surgeon, Sir Slashly Cutmore, who were about to visit him. I mentioned that I had just left their patient, suffering under considerable irritation, caused by the unwelcome interference of Doleful; and ventured to express an opinion that a hint ought to be given to the latter, of the desirableness of diminishing both the length and the frequency of his visits to the Captain. "Hint, Sir?" said Druggem; "a hint won't do. Slight aperients will have no effect in this case; I am for administering a powerful cathartic:-this Mr. Doleful must be carried off at onceforbid the house, Sir." "I am quite of Dr. Druggem's opinion," said Sir Slashly; "the Captain must instantly submit to the operation; he must consent to the immediate am putation of that Mr. Doleful, or I'll not these occasions, so vehemently did he answer for his life a week." The next day Mr. Doleful favoured me with a visit. "I call," said he, "to lament with you the unhappy state of our poor dear friend,'" and he burst into a tear. Now, as I knew that the state of "our poor dear friend" was no worse then than the day before, I interrupted his pathetics, by telling him that I was not in a lamenting mood; and, rather unceremoniously, added that it was the opinion of his medical advisers, that the state of "our poor dear friend" might be considerably improved if he, Mr. Doleful, would be less frequent in his visits, and if, when he did call upon upon our poor dear friend," he would assume a livelier countenance. "Well!-Bless my soul! this is unexpected-very unexpected. I-! Me—! The son of his friend-his best friend! Why though I say it, had it not been for my poor departed father-[And here he burst into another tear]-I say, had it not been for my poor father, the Captain might, at this moment, have been-Well; no matter-but Me!-how very odd!-I, who sacrifice myself for the poor dear sufferer! with him, morning, noon, and night, though it afflicts me to see him-as he must perceive: he must observe how I grieve at his sufferings he must notice how much I feel for him. Why, dear me! What interest can I have in devoting myself to him? Thank Heaven, I AM NOT A LEGACY-HUNter. This voluntary and uncalled-for abnegation of a dirty motive, placed Mr. Doleful before me in a new light. Till that moment, the suspicion of his being incited by any prospect of gain to bore "our poor dear friend" to death, had never entered my mind. Captain Chronic lived on for a twelvemonth, during the whole of which, excepting the very last week, Dick Doleful, spite of remonstrance and entreaty, continued to inflict upon him his three visits per diem. A week before his death, the Captain, who till then had occupied a sofa, took to his bed and feeling his case to be hopeless, and conscious that he had not many days to live, he desired that his only two relations, a nephew and a niece, might be sent for, and that they alone should attend him to the last. Dick, greatly to his astonishment, thus excluded from the bed-chamber, still continued his daily three visits to the drawing-room. Upon the last of insist upon seeing "his poor dear friend," that, without asking the Captain's permission, he was allowed to enter his bed-room. The opening of the door awoke the Captain from a gentle slumber into which he had just before fallen. Perceiving Dick, he uttered a faint groan. Dick approached the bed-side, as usual, on tip-toe; as usual, he softly pressed the tip of the Captain's fore-finger; squeezed out the usual tribute of one tear; and with the usual undertakerlook, and in the usual dismal tone, he said, "Well, how d'ye do now, Captain?" The Captain faintly articulated, "Dick, Dick, you've done it at last!" fell back upon his pillow, and expired! me. At about ten o'clock on the same morning, Dick Doleful, looking very like an undertaker's mute, called upon He was dressed in black, and had a deep crape round his hat. "The dear departed!" was all he uttered. "Is it all over with the poor Captain, Mr. Doleful?" "He's gone! Thank heaven I was with the dear departed at his last moments. If ever there was an angel upon earth! so good, so kind, so honourable, so everything a man ought to be. Thank heaven, I did my duty towards the dear departed. This loss will be the death of me. I haven't the heart to say more to you; besides, the will of the dear departed will be opened at twelve, and it is proper that some disinterested friend should be present at the reading. Good morning. Oh! the dear departed! But he's gone where he will get his deserts." At about two o'clock Mr. Doleful was again announced. I observed that his hat was dismantled of the ensign of mourning, which it had so ostentatiously exhibited but a few hours before. He took a seat, remained silent for several minutes, and then burst into a flood of real, legitimate tears. "Be composed, my dear Sir," said 1; "recollect, your grief is unavailing; it will not recal to life the dear departed." "The dear departed be d-d!" exclaimed he, starting in a rage from his chair. "Thank heaven I am not a legacy-hunter, nevertheless I did expect You know what I did for the old scoundrel, you know what time I sacrificed to him, you know how I have watched the hour and minute for giving the old rascal his filthy physic, and yet! I repeat it, I am not a legacy-hunter; but I put it to you, Sir, as a man of sense, as a man of the world, as a man of honour, hadn't I a right to expect, a perfect right to expect- -What should you have thought, Sir? I merely ask how much should you have thought?" Why, perhaps, a thousand pounds." "Of course-to be sure-I am anything but an interested man; and had he left me that, I should have been satisfied.” "How much, then, has he left you?" "Guess-I only say, do you guess." "Well-five hundred ?" "Why, even that would have served as a token of his gratitude; it isn't as money I should have valued it: or had he left me fifty pounds for mourning, why even that- or five pounds for a ring, even that would have been better than- -But, sir, you won't believe it; you can't believe it: the old villain is gone out of the world without leaving me a farthing! But I am not disappointed, for I always knew the man. So selfish, so unkind, so hard-hearted, so ungrateful, so dishonourable, so wicked an old scoundrel!-If ever there was a devil incarnate, take my word for it he was one. But he's gone where he will get his deserts." And, so saying, exit Dick Doleful. It is but justice to the memory of the Captain to state, that in the body of his will there had stood a clause to this effect: "To Richard Doleful, Esq., in testimony of my grateful remembrance of the services rendered me by his late father, I bequeath One Thousand Pounds." By a codicil of a later date, this bequest was reduced to five hundred; by a third, to three hundred; and so on, by others, till it was reduced to-nothing. Thus had poor Dick Doleful bored his friend out of his life, and himself out of a legacy. MAGNANIMITY. The following morning he was ordered out at day-break, for execution. He requested to be heard in extenuation; but the prince was so angry at the offence, that he refused to listen to him. Well remembering, however, that this man had signalized himself upon several occasions, and been hitherto of irreproachable conduct, he spared his life; at the same time (chiefly for the sake of example) ordering him to be beaten before the whole army, and then thrust out of the camp, as unworthy to remain among his fellow-soldiers. Foaming with this disgrace, the sol dier went forth into the woods, where he accidently met with a little child, who was playing there. It was the only son of the prince, who most tenderly loved him, In the fever of the moment, the soldier gave way to a sense of revenge; and, catching the boy in his arms, bore him off. He carried him away into the depths of the wood, many miles distant; and being of a great and generous spirit, he treated the child with extreme kindness; so that, in a short time, they grew mutually attached to each other. Meanwhile, the prince was inconsolable at the loss of his son. As their food was supplied by the soldier's hunting, he was not unfrequently followed by some of the wild beast, almost to the mouth of his rude shed; and one evening, as he was lying asleep, a wolf, who had been watching round the environs all the day, suddenly sprang in and seized upon him! The child at first screamed with terror; but seeing the danger of his protector, snatched a brand out of the wood fire, and running up, as they were struggling on the ground, thrust it into the wolf's face! The ferocious animal immediately New Monthly Mag. loosed his prey, and springing upon the child, carried him swiftly out of the cave. The soldier instantly pursued, with his drawn sword, and killed the wolf; but the child was so mangled by its jaws, that it only survived a few mi A warlike prince of Etruria had taken The camp One night, a soldier, stationed on a bridge, was found absent from his post. He had gone away for a few minutes, to see his father, who was just dying of wounds inflicted in a recent skirmish; and, having received his blessing, was hastening back, when he was detected by the patrol. nutes. Upon this, the soldier was overcome with grief and remorse; and taking up the child in his arms, he folded it round with his mantle, and straitway set off for the camp. On arriving there, he gave out, that he brought news of the prince's lost son; and was immediately taken into his pre sence. "Prince," said he "I am the soldier who was absent from his post one night, whose offence you punished without a hearing. My father was a veteran in your service; and you will remember that he was as faithful as brave. He was dying of his wounds, and I solicited my officer that I might be relieved from my sentry for a little while, in order to go and receive his last breath. This was denied me; so I privately removed the main supporters of the wooden bridge I was guarding, in case the enemy should arrive in my absence. On my way back I was discovered; and the punishment awarded me was worse than death-I was for ever disgraced before all those who knew me, and whose opinion I valued. In the high excitement of this sense of my life's irremediable blight, I met your child in the woods, and carried him away. But I have too great a pride to be revengeful, as I have too much humanity to be cruel; so I treated the boy with tenderness, and, after a while, would have returned him to you had I known how to do so, without danger to myself. Now, am come to say that he is dead. He was killed by a wolf, in saving my life from its fangs. This life is therefore forfeited. I have a grieved disgust to it, both from my heart-stamped disgrace, and at this unintentional revenge upon you who disgraced me. It places me below your level, as I before felt above it; so being quite reconciled to die, I am now here only for that purpose." Saying this, he unfolded his mantle, and laid the dead body of the child before the prince's feet. The father caught up the child in his arms, and hurried away into his private tent. Three days after this, the prince ordered the soldier to appear before him, in presence of all his chief officers and men; and he said thus:-"I pardon you for the unintentional death of my son; and, as my deep grief for his loss is without remedy, it may induce you to pardon me for the irremediable disgrace I have put upon you, not knowing the nobleness of your nature. Accept this purse of gold. Depart with honour. Go, and live happy in some foreign land." The soldier stood with an overwhelmed heart. Confused--prostrate-absorbed, in sense, and spirit, and mind. He received the purse with an abstracted air; and, bowing low, departed, his knees almost failing under him as he went. His comrades came thronging round him with congratulations and expressions of friendship and respect; but it was too much to bear, and he avoided them. Taking one aside, however, he sent the purse to his aged mother, who was living at a considerable distance, with these words: -"Honoured parent,―The prince sends you this purse, in acknowledgment of the long and faithful services of your deceased husband." He then hurried away into the woods. Some days after, the prince received the following ::-"The soldier who was the means of the prince losing his only child, returns all grateful thanks for the undesired clemency so generously shewn him. This, added to the other circumstances, fills his bosom to bursting, and will continue so to do, until his last sigh." A short time after this, the body of the soldier was found in the shed wherein he had protected the child, he having died there of a broken heart. These two men were worthy of each other; for the actions of both were thoroughly consistent with the elevation of their moral characters. TO MARGARET. R. H. H. THE DUTCH LOVERS. your stove." - SITTING one evening in a parlour next the street, at a window, in order to enjoy a beautiful moonlight night, I saw from behind the blind, without being seen myself, my next-door neighbour's daughter, a sweet, modest, and orderly young girl, eighteen or nineteen years of age, stand on the steps before her door, with a stove under her apron-[a stove is a small wooden box, a hollow cube of ten inches, with holes in the top, containing an earthen pan with lighted turf, which the women in Holland place under their feet in winter], probably waiting for her mother, a worthy decent widow, who, assisted by this her only child, creditably gained her livelihood by needlework. While she was standing there, a carpenter's apprentice, a wellmade young lad, apparently not much older than the girl, but somewhat clumsy, approached her with his hat in his hand, and with every symptom of bashfulness. She immediately retreated towards the door, a little surprised, when the young man accosted her thus: "O! neighbour, I beg you will not be afraid of me; I would not hurt a child, much less you; I only request, my dear girl, that you will permit me to light my pipe at These words, spoken with a trembling voice, and which rather appeared to proceed from one who was himself afraid, than who wished to make others so, made Agnes easy. "O yes, friend," answered she, "'t is much at your service; but what ails you, you appear to be disordered." (She then handed him the stove). "That I am, my dear child," replied he, "and if you will allow me a few minutes, I will tell you the reason." In the mean time he was busy in attempting to light his pipe as slowly as possible, and every puff ended with a sigh. At last being a little recovered, "Do not you know me then, neighbour?" said the poor lad. "Well, I own I have some slight knowledge of your person," says she, "as I have seen you pass this way more than once." "No wonder, surely," replied the young man; "I have passed by this door above a hundred times, but I never dared to speak to you: 't was as if I had an aguefit, when I only attempted to move a foot towards you. But now I have taken courage. Listen, I must break the ice, without which I cannot rest night or day, for your sake; and I hope, my dear girl, you will take it in good part, and not be angry with me, because I love you, which est. ... cannot possibly do you any harm." "Ah! do but hear this mad boy," interrupted Agnes, "how nicely he wheedles; one might think him in earnCome, come my lad, that pipelighting lasts too long, you have not met with the proper person I assure you; had I known you came here to make a fool of me, you should not have had the use of my fire, come, quickly friend, return the stove, and march off to other girls, who may believe such stories." "I make a fool of you! I make a fool of you! see, when I hear such words from you, 't is as if a knife was piercing my heart. Oh! my angel, my dear soul, do not believe that of me, there is not a bit of falsehood in my whole heart from top to bottom: every one who knows me will bear witness to that, my dearest girl." "Come, come," said she, "don't dally, give me my stove directly, I must go in doors, and moreover I am not called dearest nor angel, and I do not permit you to call me by those names any more. Agnes was I christened, and so you must call me, if you have any thing to say to me." "Well, now then, my dear Agnes," resumed the lad, apparently hurt by the spitefulness of the girl, "I did not know I thereby offended you: those words issued from my mouth of their own accord, I never sought for them, they were at my tongue's end. I am quite inexperienced in the world, and you are, as true as I live, the first young woman I ever spoke to. I shall take better care in future, my dear Agnes; here is your stove, but beg you will grant me leave to say a few more words; what would you gain by my becoming ill through sorrow? you need not believe what I tell you of myself, but only hear me. My parents live just by, in the next street, and are esteemed as worthy honest people. I am their only son, and have one sister. They are in easy circumstances, and I am of a good profession, which I diligently follow: moreover, I have an old aunt, who lives warmly on her income, she loves me as if I were her own child, and my sister and I are her heirs so that in time I may be master-carpenter, and make you a happy wife, my dearest Agnes. Nobody ever sees me in taverns or alehouses, I go to church every Sunday, and at Easter I hope to make my confession. You will, on inquiry, find all this to be exactly as I have stated, and if I have told you the smallest fib, I am content never more to see your pretty face, and that is all I can say." |