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because of the intemperate expression of a headstrong young man-about an idle petulancy, the froth of the cup?"

The captain stared me full in the face. His practice as a physiognomist shewed him the injustice of a rising suspicion. He made no reply. I continued :

"Some would perhaps think it wisest to disguise their feelings on such an occasion. They fear the reflections of others. I dread my own, Let me ask, once for all, if there be no honourable mode of escape from a duel with Rodney?"

"Mr. Earnshaw," he answered, "do you suppose that if there had been any, I, Fitz Daly, would be scouring Madrid in this rascally jingle, to the neglect of my natural rest, and his majesty's regimental duty? There is no road but one, sir, and that is straight before you. An officer of

the -th would die a thousand times over, rather than snaik chickenly away under a disgraceful imputation. It's as a friend I spaik-let there be no misconception. Aither you or I will read this youth a lesson in Chesterfield, that's as sure as there's brogues in Balruddery!"

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There was no use in reasoning with a mind like Daly's. He looked exclusively to the "received thing," and the "credit of the corps." Determined to maintain these at every risk to himself, it could not be expected that he should deal out a different measure to others. I took my resolution. Since I was perforce to proceed in the farce, I would at least guard against adding criminality to folly. I might walk through the part of a ceremonious homicide, but nothing should induce me to lift a weapon with a deadly purpose.

The calesero was ordered to remain in readiness near the place of meeting. This was the gardens of Buen Retiro, a fashionable walk, commanding the city; adorned with fountains, fruit-trees, shrubs, flowers, and lawns. The particular spot was close by the statue of Charles the Fifth-a locality known to all but the most absolute strangers. When within sight of it, we observed Peel and Rodney pacing the sward, arm in arm.

"Now," said the captain, "I shall ascertain their ultimatum. If we go to the ground, remember that your pistols are hair-triggers; a look will discharge them. I would have told you this on the road, but you'll hold the sacret the faster for getting it on the nick."

He saluted Peel, and parleyed aside with him for a few minutes. Rodney,

wrapt in a camlet cloak, was gazing in the direction of the Prado. Had his features been aniinated by one vagrant gleam of the expression that won my early confidence, I would have overstepped the gladiatorial routine, and entreated him to unsay his inconsiderate speech. But his brow had lost its attractive flexibility; his lip, that used to curve so persuasively, displayed an outline cold and brassy as if it emulated the imperial severity of the neighbouring figure in bronze. Daly rejoined me. "No concessions," said he, "proud as Lucifer, and hard as flint. Choice of ground is ours-I won the toss you fire together-when you are ready a falling handkerchief will be the signal-think of nothing else." We as

Twelve paces were measured, sumed position. I glanced at Rodney as he advanced. His eyes were blood-shot: a hectic flush had banished the bloomy lustre of his cheek. His name trembled upon my tongue.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?" cried the seconds.

"Yes," answered my opponent, raising his right arm.

"Yes," echoed I, imitating the motion with the intention of firing in the air.

The handkerchief dropped. The pistols exploded simultaneously. I felt the shock of a ball at the wrist of the left arm. It is too much to say I felt it-the voice of Rodney pealing to my heart, monopolized sense and soul.

"Robert! you have shot me!"

It was true-irremediably true. By my hand he had fallen. An unwitting hand -for the trigger had deceived me. As he drooped on his second's knee, I bathed his pale forehead with my tears, imploring forgiveness. It was a bootless suit. Flown was the spirit of the oracle, and silent its responses for ever!

I was conveyed to the General Hospital of Madrid, for the cure of my wound. It is an admirable establishment, open to every applicant. For six reals a-day I had a separate room, good victuals, and unremitting attention. A brother of the Order of Charity nursed me with an assiduity and tenderness certainly more a-kin to our ideas of the inhabitants of a higher sphere than of this. The barber-surgery of Spain I knew, distrusted, and avoided. The injured arm was amputated by an English operator, a few inches below the elbow. He promised a daily visit, and to secure against contingency, instructed brother Pablo, my attendant, the mode in

which to dress the wound. Strict injunctions were given, prohibiting whatever might agitate or disturb.

The ordinary precautions after amputation were insufficient in a case like mine. A consuming fire burning within, multiplied the chances of inflammation. The scene on the Buen Retiro-its ceremonial mockery, and deadly consummation, flitted continually before me in horrid emblazonry. To re-assemble the direful images by which reason and existence were assailed during my hospital confinement, would, notwithstanding the lapse of years, be a renewal of affliction. Whatever an avenging spirit could inflict upon itself, that I endured. The last great act of ill was the colossus of a procession in which the accumulated transgressions of a whole life passed in black review.

After a second visit, I saw my professional countryman no more. Brother Pablo discharged his trust neatly, diligently, and well.

Giving way to a gush of mental bitterness, I have marked, in the moment of returning calm, his fervent supplications for the hapless sinner. That intercession produced fruits, apart from providential interposition. It revived in the desponding soul the hope of comfort from above, and cherished the growth of charity towards the divided posterity of Adam. Though far and long asunder, kind-hearted friar, in my petitions to the seat of Mercy, thou still art unforgotten !-Pp. 305


This is not the first time that the cup, which pleasure and dissipation present to their devotees, has contained a potion bitter indeed. Alas, what an awful transition, from the feverish excitement of wine and gambling, and the field of blood, to the presence of the Almighty Arbiter of our eternal destiny!

While our wounded penitent was in the hospital, Madrid was evacuated by the English, and fell again into the hands of the French; Guillaume Lamarque, a young Frenchman, whose leg had been amputated above the knee, was brought into Earnshaw's apartments, and laid on a pallet by his side.

His history, of which he gave a modest relation, was one of the sorrowful tales of the conscription, then too common to lead


its narrator to conceive that he was eutitled to any peculiar share of sympathy.

"My father," said Guillaume, "was killed at Austerlitz-two of my uncles were blown up, by the premature explosion of a mine, at the siege of Saragoza— another perished in a sea-fight-the sole survivor is pastor of the village of Montcecile. Eusebe, my brother, went, as a captain of Chasseurs, to Russia, with the grand army. I was at school when he was enrolled. At eighteen, I married Justine Thomieres. Justin and I used to dance together: I thought her graceful. Mudume Lamarque praised her good temper, and bade me make her my wife. -So I brought her home, and we were happy with my mother and sisters until the conscription forced me to bid them all adieu !"-P. 311.

Here is another cluster of the fruits of war; however tempting to the eye, they are, like Milton's fruit in hell, ashes and cinders to the taste. It is in vain to attempt to defend the operations of war; they are repugnant may attempt to palliate them. The to humanity and religion, however we French surgeon, commiserating the condition of Earnshaw, sent him to Bayonne, with a letter to the governor, who facilitated his return to England; and he landed at Portsmouth six weeks after he left Madrid. He arrived by the coach about eight o'clock in the evening at Eproceeded to the travellers' room, and called for some wine; by a conversation between some farmers, he discovered that calumny had arrived before him, accusing him of having cut Rodney's throat; upon hearing this he left the inn, and proceeded in the direction of Thorncroft; he found in it new inmates, from whom he learnt, that his undutiful conduct had inflicted a wound on a father who doted on him, from which he never recovered; that he died about a month back, at a labourer's cottage not far from there, where his aunt now lived. He then directed his steps to the cottage; his aunt received him with maternal affection.

My wet clothes filled her with apprehension, and she insisted on my retiring


her to remove there, to

which she readily consented; where, after having revisited a seat of medical learning, to improve himself, he followed the profession of a surgeon; and, to secure the shelter of oblivion, he changed his paternal name for another connected with his family.

to bed. To none would she intrust the to reside with him, Róbert entreated arrangement of the couch. The finest sheets were selected from her stores-for she had, in the changes of fortune, preserved the family linen-and were aired and spread by herself. Viands which her independent housewifery reserved for festive emergencies, tempted my sickly palate. Wine, the produce of grapes gathered from the vine that mantled the sunny south wall of Thorncroft, fermented and blended with the aroma of spices, offered its inspiring sweets to cheer the weary and heavy-laden spirit.

In compliance with my urgent desire, she remained by the bed-side until after midnight. I related what I had seen and suffered from the period of my flight. Shocked by exaggerated stories of Rodney's death, the statement of the facts relieved her, and elicited a prayer of thanksgiving. The kindness of the French medical officer drew forth her warmest benediction, and she expressed a fervent hope that the benevolent brother Pablo would be plucked "like a brand from the burning." "And now, Robert," said she, "can you of a truth say, I have seen the error of my ways, and, by my God assisting me, will do so no more?" "Not for the world would I retrace my steps, or be again as I have been!" "Do you remember the words inscribed in the pocket-book I gave you when going to college?" "No, aunt-no-but I am sure they were good." ""Godliness, with contentment, is great gain.' These were the words-will you recollect them hereafter?" "As long as I live! and by Divine aid, will act upon them. Instead of raising the arm of flesh, I shall henceforth endeavour to fight the good fight.' "Yes, Robert-for 'what doth it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?'" "Alas! if in this life only I had hope, I were of all

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men most miserable !"

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The treasures of the East deposited at her feet would not have imparted a shadow of the delight communicated to the pious woman by the conviction that the frame of my mind had undergone a real renovation. Past trials she regarded as dust in the balance compared to the auspicious weight of spiritual improvement. Pp. 328-330.

Robert's old teacher, Mr. Bartholomew, who was married, and master of a thriving seminary in Wales, having sent the aunt an earnest invitation

Earnshaw's fatal duel with Frank Rodney foreclosed any further intercourse with the family of St. Aymers, and blasted all his future prospects of union and happiness with Ellen Rodney; he however thought it due to the family, and to himself, to despatch to it a letter, relating the tale of his misfortunes, and his unavailing



We must now draw to a close our notice of a work, upon which we have lingered with pleasure. evinces an intimate knowledge of the springs of human actions; the events it records, and the scenes it describes, are not overcharged, but accurately delineated and true to nature. The moral inculcated is correct, and well supported in the catastrophe-the filial disobedience of the son leads to acts which blight all his earthly prospects. Instead of returning home crowned with honours, and made happy in successful love, he is doomed to forego his name, and live in obscurity and cheerless celibacy; disappointment and remorse are made the companions of the remainder of his days, except so far as repentance and faith brightened up the prospect beyond the bounds of mortality. The concluding remarks of the author are excellent, and with an extract from them we shall close our notice of a work, the literary and moral merits of which cannot fail to recommend it to our readers.

My self-imposed task is brought to a close. Should the purpose for which it was undertaken be attained, then I shall be amply compensated for copying a blotted register. If I have freely interpreted conventional terms if I have said that the laurels of war tarnish the brow

they encircle, my heart justifies my motives, and history embodies my defence. Though subdued by time and by a higher influence than belongs to aught so transitory, I cannot revolve the untoward circumstances which governed my destiny without the most poignant regret. Could I have discerned the depth of a father's unrevealed fondness or could he have

perceived how intensely I thirsted for the evidence of its power-how much of bitterness had been spared us both!

I have passed the meridian of my days. Among these hills I have, for sixteen years, laboured to lessen the sufferings of my fellow-creatures. In the journal of my gains the poor man's mite was never numbered-yet Penury cannot charge me with backwardness to its call. I have had my reward in the growing reconcilement of the spirit to itself. But moods intervene when the consciousness of the zealous performance of duty, and the blessed assurances of faith are darkened-awfully darkened-by clouds of remorse.-Grievous is the guilt of filial ingratitude and the shedding of blood.Pp. 335-337.

The Annals of my Village: being a Calendar of Nature for every Month in the Year. By the Author of "Select Female Biography," "Conchologist's Companion," &c. London: Hatchard and Son. 1831. THE study of the works of nature, of their wonderful adaptation to the purposes for which they are designed, and the almost endless variety and beauty which they present to our view, is calculated to impress the mind with an adoring sense of the power, wisdom, and goodness of God. Some authors, in their scientific researches into the wonders that are to be discovered in the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms, open to the reader those operations of nature which come within the grasp of man's intellectual powers, without adverting to the proofs, with which they are pregnant, of an omnipotent intelligent Being, by whom they must have been brought into existence, and by whose power they must continue to be upheld. Far be it from us to

charge such authors with any premeditated design to exclude the Creator from his works. The scientific nature of their investigations they may think a sufficient apology for this silence, as they only give facts without attempting to dive into the occult causes of those facts which

lie beyond their reach; but let them reflect that this their ignorance is the reason that they should direct their readers to the irrefragable proof those facts contain of the existence of an intelligent first great Cause; and which is a satisfactory solution of the veil that is thrown over their further investigations. Thus their scientific researches would answer the end of all knowledge, which is to make men good as well as wise. Divorce these two from each other, and the result will be learned folly. Nothing can more forcibly mark the ominous nature of the omission to which we advert than the fact, that in such works the infidel and atheist find nothing to disturb their unbelief-nothing to smite their conscience with alarm for having rejected the moral government of the Deity; or for having, with the fool, said in their heart, "There is no God."

If some writers overlook the great Author of nature in their works, there are others who have shown how the being, wisdom, and goodness of God are displayed in the works of creation, such as Ray, Derham, Sturm and Paley, among whom will deservedly rank the author of the work now before us; a work which, to every admirer of rural scenery, must be no less fascinating than instructive. The face of nature-its productions, whether vegetable or animal, and the occupations of the farmer, which distinguish the various seasons of the year, are delineated with the freshness and vigour of a mind possessing a lively susceptibility of the beauties. of nature; and the moral and pious reflections which are intermingled with the lively descriptions of rural

scenery and manners, give a charm to the work peculiar to itself.

Agreeable to the title, the work is divided into twelve sections, each descriptive of a month in the year; it commences with January and ends with December. The author has not favoured us with the name of the village, the annals of which she gives; but it appears, from several allusions to its site, to be in Gloucestershire. We will endeavour to justify our commendation of this little work by some extracts, selected almost at random. The following are from the account of that most unpromising season of the year with which the author begins her annals.

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I love thee, all unlovely as thou seemst, And dreaded as thou art !"-TASK.

"That man," says the accomplished Cowper," who can derive no gratification from a view of nature, even under the disadvantage of her most ordinary dress, will have no eyes to admire her in any."

This thought arose within me during a late walk in the neighbourhood of my village. The morning was cold and clear, but the sun shone bright, and not a cloud flitted across the heavens. The little river flowed over its rocky bed, and on either side, the spreading branches of the oak, the elm, and birch, had intercepted the flakes of snow, and formed a sparkling arcade. Every twig glittered with hoar-frost; even the coarser herbage, ferns, reeds, and mosses, seemed as if fledged with icy feathers; while here and there the daphne-laurel and the holly firmly grasped the rugged banks. Their dark shining leaves were gemmed and edged with frozen particles, that reflected the colours of the rainbow; and across them,

innumerable spiders, as if proud to display their skill, had spun and interlaced their glittering webs.

It is very amusing to watch a spider when thus employed. He first throws out a thread, which becomes attached by its adhesive quality to some near bough, or leaf, tuft of moss, or stone. He then turns round, recedes to a distance, attaches another floating thread to some other part, and darts away, doubling and redoubling, so as to form figures the most pleasing and fantastic, spinning a thread at every movement, through the holes of his bag, by an operation similar to the drawing of wire.

"And thus he works, as if to mock at art,
And in defiance of her rival powers;
By these fortuitous and random strokes
Performing such inimitable feats,
As she with all her rules can never reach."

Two purposes are thus accomplished in the economy of nature. A feeble creature, which it has pleased Omnipotence to call into being, for reasons, though inscrutable to us, yet undoubtedly both wise and good, is put into a condition to provide for its own safety. An exquisite effect is also produced in the winter landscape-an effect of a character so new and beautiful, though annually recurring, that few regard it without admiration and delight.

In passing down the lane, and through the fields, it was instructive to observe how meek and patiently the sheep and cattle awaited their accustomed provender, "not like hungering man, fretful if unsupplied." They screened themselves beside the loaded hedges, and looked wistfully towards the gate.

"For frozen pastures every morn resound With fair abundance thund'ring to the ground;

Now, though on hoary twigs no buds peep

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