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His fainting limbs. Upon the pilot's forehead
The dews of terror stood,

And all in awe-struck mood,

Ponder'd in silence on that omen horrid.

The sun went down, and far into the gloom
The monster shot away,-but none

Of the bewilder'd Argonauts resume

The vessel's guidance as her way she won.None spake none moved-all sate in blank dismay, Revolving in their minds this dread portent, And thus, abandon'd to the sway

Of the blind wind and watery element, Through the whole silent night the Argo bore Those throbbing hearts along the Pontic shore.

H.

MY RELATIONS.

I AM arrived at that point of life, at which a man may account it a blessing, as it is a singularity, if he have either of his parents surviving. I have not that felicity-and sometimes think feelingly of a passage in Browne's Christian Morals, where he speaks of a man that hath lived sixty or seventy years in the world. "In such a compass of time," he says, "a man may have a close apprehension what it is to be forgotten, when he hath lived to find none who could remember his father, or scarcely the friends of his youth, and may sensibly see with what a face in no long time OBLIVION will look upon himself."

I had an aunt, a dear and good one. She was one whom single blessedness had soured to the world. She often used to say, that I was the only thing in it which she loved; and, when she thought I was quitting it, she grieved over me with mother's tears. A partiality quite so exclusive, my reason cannot altogether approve. She was from morning till night poring over good books, and devotional exercises. Her favourite volumes were Thomas à Kempis, in Stanhope's translation; and a Roman Catholic Prayer Book, with the matins and complines regularly set down,-terms which I was at that time too young to understand. She persisted in reading them, although admonished daily concerning their Papistical tendency; and went to church every Sabbath, as a good Protestant should do. These were the only books she studied; though, I think, at one period of her life, she told me she had read with great sa

tisfaction the Adventures of an Unfortunate Young Nobleman. Finding the door of the chapel in Essexstreet open one day-it was in the infancy of that heresy-she went in, liked the sermon, and the manner of worship, and frequented it at intervals for some time after. She came not for doctrinal points, and never missed them. With some little asperities in her constitution, which I have above hinted at, she was a steadfast, friendly being, and a fine old Christian. She was a woman of strong sense, and a shrewd mindextraordinary at a repartee, one of the few occasions of her breaking silence -else she did not much value wit. The only secular employment I remember to have seen her engaged in, was, the splitting of French beans, and dropping them into a China basin of fair water. The odour of those tender vegetables to this day comes back upon my sense, redolent of soothing recollections. Certainly it is the most delicate of culinary operations.

Male aunts, as somebody calls them, I had none-to remember. By the uncles' side I may be said to have been born an orphan. Brother, or sister, I never had any-to know them. A sister, I think, that should have been Elizabeth, died in both our infancies. What a comfort, or what a care, may I not have missed in her!-But I have cousins, sprinkled about in Hertfordshire-besides two, with whom I have been all my life in habits of the closest intimacy, and whom I may term cousins par excellence. These

are James and Bridget Elia. They are older than myself by twelve, and ten, years; and neither of them seems disposed, in matters of advice and guidance, to waive any of the prerogatives, which primogeniture confers. May they continue still in the same mind; and when they shall be seventy-five, and seventy-three, years old (I cannot spare them sooner), persist in treating me in my grand climacteric precisely as a stripling, or younger brother!

James is an inexplicable cousin. Nature hath her unities, which not every critic can penetrate; or, if we feel, we cannot explain them. The pen of Yorick, and of none since his, could have drawn J. E. entire-those fine Shandian lights and shades, which make up his story. I must limp after in my poor antithetical manner, as the fates have given me grace and talent. J. E. then-to the eye of a common observer at least seemeth made up of contradictory principles. -The genuine child of impulse, the frigid philosopher of prudence-the phlegm of my cousin's doctrine is invariably at war with his temperament, which is high sanguine. With always some fire-new project in his brain, J. E. is the systematic opponent of innovation, and crier down of every thing that has not stood the test of age and experiment. With a hundred fine notions chasing one another hourly in his fancy, he is startled at the least approach to the romantic in others; and, determined by his own sense in every thing, commends you to the guidance of common sense on all occasions.With a touch of the eccentric in all which he does, or says, he is only anxious that you should not commit yourself by doing any thing absurd or singular. On my once letting slip at table, that I was not fond of a certain popular dish, he begged me at any rate not to say so-for the world would think me mad. He disguises a passionate fondness for works of high art (whereof he hath amassed a choice collection), under the pretext of buying only to sell again-that his enthusiasm may give no encouragement to yours. Yet, if it were so, why does that piece of tender, pastoral Dominichino hang still by his wall?-is the ball of his sight much

more dear to him?-or what picturedealer can talk like him?

Whereas mankind in general are observed to warp their speculative conclusions to the bent of their individual humours, his theories are sure to be in diametrical opposition to his constitution. He is courageous as Charles of Sweden, upon instinct; chary of his person, upon principle, as a travelling Quaker.-He has been preaching up to me, all my life, the doctrine of bowing to the great-the necessity of forms, and manner, to a man's getting on in the world. He himself never aims at either, that I can discover-and has a spirit, that would stand upright in the presence of the Cham of Tartary. It is pleasant to hear him discourse of patience-extolling it as the truest wisdom-and to see him during the last seven minutes that his dinner is getting ready. Nature never ran up in her haste a more restless piece of workmanship, than when she moulded this impetuous cousin— and Art never turned out a more elaborate orator than he can display himself to be, upon his favourite topic of the advantages of quiet, and contentedness in the state, whatever it be, that we are placed in. He is triumphant on this theme, when he has you safe in one of those short stages that ply for the western road, in a very obstructing manner, at the foot of John Murray's street-where you get in when it is empty, and are expected to wait till the vehicle hath completed her just freight-a trying three quarters of an hour to some people. He "wonders at your fidgetiness "where could we be better than we are, thus sitting, thus consulting?"" prefers, for his part, a state of rest to locomotion," with an eye all the while upon the coachman-till at length, waxing out of all patience, at your want of it, he breaks out into a pathetic remonstrance at the fellow for detaining us so long over the time which he had professed, and declares peremptorily that "the gentleman in the coach is determined to get out, if he does not drive on that instant."

Very quick at inventing an argugument, or detecting a sophistry, he is incapable of attending you in any chain of arguing. Indeed he makes

wild work with logic; and seems to jump at most admirable conclusions by some process, not at all akin to it. Consonantly enough to this, he hath been heard to deny, upon certain occasions, that there exists such a faculty at all in man, as reason; and wondereth how man came first to have a conceit of it-enforcing his negation with all the might of reasoning he is master of. He has some speculative notions against laughter, and will maintain that laughing is not natural to him-when peradventure the next moment his lungs shall crow like Chanticleer. He says some of the best things in the world-and declareth, that wit is his aversion. It was he who said, upon seeing the Eton boys at play in their grounds What a pity to think, that these fine ingenuous lads in a few years will all be changed into frivolous Members of Parliament!

His youth was fiery, glowing, tempestuous-and in age he discovereth no symptom of cooling. This is that which I admire in him. I hate people, who meet Time half-way. I am for no compromise with that inevitable spoiler. While he lives, J. E. will take his swing.-It does me good, as I walk towards the street of my daily avocation, on some fine May morning, to meet him marching in a quite opposite direction, with a jolly handsome presence, and shining sanguine face, that indicates some purchase in his eye-a Claude-or a Hobbima-for much of his enviable leisure is consumed at Christie's, and Phillips's or where not-to pick up pictures, and such gauds. On these occasions he mostly stoppeth me, to read a short lecture on the advantage a person like me possesses above himself, in having his time occupied with business which he must do-assureth me that he often feels it hang heavy on his hands-wishes he had fewer holidays-and goes off-Westward Ho!-chanting a tune, to Pall Mall -perfectly convinced, that he has convinced me while I proceed in my opposite direction tuneless.

It is pleasant again to see this Professor of Indifference doing the honours of his new purchase, when he has fairly housed it. You must view it in every light, till he has found the best-placing it at this distance, and at that, but always suiting the focus

of your sight to his own. You must spy at it through your fingers, to catch the aërial perspective-though you assure him that to you the landscape shows much more agreeable without that artifice. Woe be to the luckless wight, who does not only not respond to his rapture, but who should drop an unseasonable intimation of preferring one of his anterior bargains to the present! The last is always his best hit-his "Cynthia of the minute."

Alas! how many a mild Madonna have I known to come in-a Raphael! keep its ascendancy for a few brief moons-then, after certain intermedial degradations, from the front drawing room to the back gallery, thence to the dark parlour,-adopted in turn by each of the Carracci, under successive lowering ascriptions of filiation, mildly breaking its fallconsigned to the oblivious lumberroom, go out at last a Lucca Giordano, or plain Carlo Maratti!-which things when I beheld-musing upon the chances and mutabilities of fate below, hath made me to reflect upon the altered condition of great personages, or that woeful Queen of Richard the Second

set forth in pomp,

She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hollowmass or shortest day.

With great love for you, J. E. hath but a limited sympathy with what you feel, or do. He lives in a world of his own, and makes slender guesses at what passes in your mind. He never pierces the marrow of your habits. He will tell an old established playgoer, that Mr. Such-a-one, of Soand-so (naming one of the theatres), is a very lively comedian piece of news! He advertised me but the other day of some pleasant green lanes which he had found out for me, knowing me to be a great walker, in my own immediate vicinity

- as a

who have haunted the identical spot any time these twenty years!He has not much respect for that class of feelings, which goes by the name of sentimental. He applies the definition of real evil to bodily sufferings exclusively - and rejecteth all others, as imaginary. He is affected by the sight, or the bare supposition, of a creature in pain, to a degree which I have never witnessed out of womankind. A constitutional acute

He was black-balled

out of a society for the Relief of because the fer

vor of his humanity toiled beyond the formal apprehension, and creeping processes, of his associates. I shall always consider this distinction as a patent of nobility in the Ela family!

Do I mention these seeming inconsistencies to smile at, or upbraid, my unique cousin? Marry! heaven, and all good manners, and the understanding that should be between kinsfolk, forbid!- With all the strangenesses of this strangest of the Elias-I would not have him in one jot or tittle other than he is; neither would I barter or exchange my wild kinsman for the most exact, regular, and every-way-consistent kinsman breathing.

ness to this class of sufferings may in of debating.
part account for this. The animal
tribe in particular he taketh under
his especial protection. A broken-
winded or spur-galled horse is sure
to find an advocate in him. An over-
loaded ass is his client for ever. He
is the apostle to the brute kind-the
never-failing friend of those who have
none to care for them. The contem-
plation of a lobster boiled, or eels
skinned alive, will wring him so, that
"all for pity he could die." It will
take the savour from his palate, and
the rest from his pillow, for days and
nights. With the intense feeling of
Thomas Clarkson, he wanted only
the steadiness of pursuit, and unity
of purpose, of that " true yoke-fellow
with Time," to have effected as
much for the Animal, as he hath
done for the Negro Creation. But
my uncontrollable cousin is but im-
perfectly formed for purposes which
demand co-operation. He cannot
wait. His amelioration-plans must
be ripened in a day. For this rea-
son he has cut but an equivocal
figure in benevolent societies, and
combinations for the alleviation of
human sufferings. His zeal con-
stantly makes him to outrun, and
put out, his co-adjutors. He thinks
of relieving, while they think

In my next, reader, I may perhaps give you some account of my cousin Bridget-if you are not already surfeited with cousins — and take you by the hand, if you are willing to go with us, on an excursion which we made a summer or two since, in search of more cousins— Through the green plains of pleasant Hertfordshire.

Till when, Farewell.

ELIA.

SONG.

I SAW her but a lover's hour,

That beauty without beauty's pride,
As humble as the wayside flower

That blushing droops when fondly eyed.

Her hair was like the golden rays

That fall on mountain-heads of snow;

And angels might with wonder gaze
Upon the whiteness of her brow.

Her eyes were like twin violets,

The violets of the sunny south,
Which dewy Morn delighted wets

And kisses with delicious mouth;
Her cheek was pale as the wan moon,
The young moon of the virgin year,
When as her night is past its noon,
And the warm-kissing sun is near.
Her closed mouth was like a bud

Full of the balmy breath of May;
Her voice was like a summer-flood

That noiseless steals its gentle way;
Its sound on Memory's ear will start
Like to a sweet forgotten tune,
Whose echoes live within a heart

That what it loves forgets not soon.

C. W.

TRADITIONAL LITERATURE.

No. VI.

ELEANOR SELBY AND THE SPECTRE-HORSEMAN OF SOUTRA.

And she stretched forth her trembling hand,

Their mighty sides to stroak,

And ay she reached, and ay she stretched,
'Twas nothing all but smoak;
They were but mere delusive forms,
Of films and sulphry wind,
And every wave she gave her hand,
A gap was left behind.

"A BRIGHT fire, a clean floor, and a pleasant company," is one of the proverbial wishes of domestic comfort among the wilds of Cumberland. The moorland residence of Randal Rode, exhibited the first and second portions of the primitive wish, and it required no very deep discernment to see that around the ample hearth we had materials for completing the proverb. In each face was reflected that singular mixture of gravity and humour, peculiar I apprehend to the people of the north. Before a large fire which it is reckoned ominous ever to extinguish, lay half a dozen sheep dogs spreading out their white bosoms to the heat, and each placed opposite to the seat of its owner. The lord or rather portioner of Fremmet-ha himself lay apart on a large couch of oak antiquely carved, and ornamented like some of the massive furniture of the days of the olden church, with beads, and crosses, and pastoral crooks. This settee was bedded deep with sheepskins-each retaining a fleece of long white wool. At each end lay a shepherd's dog past its prime like its master, and like him enjoying a kind of half ruminating and drowsy leisure peculiar to old age. Three or four busy wheels, guided by as many maidens, manufactured wool into yarn for rugs, and mauds, and mantles. Three other maidens, with bared arms, prepared curds for cheese, and their hands rivalled in whiteness the curdled milk itself. Under the light of a large candlestick several youths pursued the amusement of the popular game of draughts. This piece of rude furniture ought not to escape particular description. It resembled an Etruscan candlebra, and was composed of a shaft, capable of being depressed or elevated by means

James Hogg.

of a notched groove, and sunk in a secure block of wood at the floor, terminated above, in a shallow cruse or plate, like a three cocked hat, in each corner of which stood a large candle, which rendered the spacious hall where we sat as light as day. On this scene of patriarchal happiness, looked my old companion Eleanor Selby contrasting, as she glanced her eye in succession o'er the tokens of shepherds' wealth in which the house abounded, the present day with the past-the times of the fleece, the shears, and the distaff, with those of broils and blood, and mutual inroad and invasion, when the name of Selby stood high in the chivalry of the north. One might observe in her changing looks the themes of rustic degradation and chivalrous glory on which she brooded-and the present peaceful time suffered by the comparison-as the present always does in the contemplation of old age. The constant attention of young Maudeline Rode, who ministered to the comfort of her ancient and wayward relative, seemed gradually to soothe and charm down the demon of proud ancestry who maintained rule in her breast; and after interchanging softer and softer looks of acknowledgment and kindness with her fair young kinswoman, she thus proceeded to relate some of the adventures she had witnessed in the time of her youth. These she poured out in a very singular manner-unconscious, apparently, at times of the presence of others and often addressing herself to the individuals whom her narrative recalled to life, as if they stood life-like, and breathing before her.

When I was young, like thee, Maudeline Rode, a marvel happened, which amazed many-it is, and will be a lasting tale, and a wonder-for

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