hour was first practised in Germany; and in this he is partly borne out by Montaigne, who, in his travels through that country in 1580, observes that he thought the calling out the hours in their cities a strange custom. The watchman's rattle is unquestionably of German origin. The night-watch in Holland is called the ratel-waght. (To be continued.) EXTRACTS FROM THE CITY OF THE PLAGUE BY JOHN WILSON, AUTHOR OF THE ISLE OF PALMS. The scene opens with the conversation of Frankfort and Wilmot, two young naval officers, on the banks of the Thames, a few miles below the city. They had heard of the pestilence on their making the coast some days before ;-and one of them is pressing on with overwhelming fears and forebodings, to satisfy himself as to the fate of a beloved mother and brother, whom he had left in the devoted city at his last sailing, and not heard of since ;-the other belongs to a different part of the kingdom, and accompanies his friend from mere love and affection. The lonely and desolate appearances of the once gay and populous region through which they are advancing, oppress the despairing son with new terrors, while his friend endeavours to comfort him, by reminding him that it is then the sabbath evening. answers, O unrejoicing Sabbath! not of yore Did thy sweet evenings die along the Thames He In the same spirit of fanciful foreboding, he views all the objects that successively present themselves; and at last observes Here, on this very spot where now we rest, Oft past across my soul, and I have heard it Upon our homeward voyage, when we spake The ship that told us of the Plague, I knew That the trumpet's voice would send into our souls A shower of radiance from the blessed sun.' While they are pausing in these melancholy contempla tions, they are accosted by an old man flying from the city with a little infant, the sole survivor of a late happy family, • Know ye what you will meet with in the city? Together will ye walk, through long, long streets, All standing silent as a midnight church. You will hear nothing but the brown red grass Will speak a solemn language in the desert. The Second Act shows us Frankfort at the door of his mother's house, looking in agony upon its black windows, now gleaming in the silent moon; afra 1 to enter, and watching for the least sign of life or motion in that beloved dwelling. A pious priest at last comes and tells him, that his mother and little brother had both died that very morning. After some bursts of eloquent sorrow, the poor youth enquires how they died; and the priest answers Last night I sat with her, And talk'd of thee;-two tranquil hours we talk'd Sat in his sweet and timid silent way Upon his stool beside his mother's knees, And, sometimes looking upwards to her face, "You think," his mother said, "that William sleeps! "And breath'd no more!" -I found that she had laid upon her bed Many of those little presents that you brought her Shells From Of these her funeral sheets; and gorgeous feathers, Form'd a sad contrast with the pale, pale face Lying so still beneath its auburn hair. The Last Act, for there are but three, opens with a quiet conversation between Frankfort's friend and the reverend Priest, in which the latter describes some of the most remarkable effects of the first appearance of the plague. As thunder quails Th' inferior creatures of the air and earth, A voice came down that made itself be heard, Swept off whole crowded streets into the grave. And all the ordinary forms of life Moy'd onwards with the violence of despair. At which the Plague did scoff, who in one night The trumpet silenc'd and the plumes laid low.' And a little after 'Silent as nature's solitary glens Slept the long streets-and mighty London seem'd, ORIGINAL POETRY. TO THE THREE MISSES DENNETT, Again, again, sweet Maids! again, Ah! come and fascinate my sight! With your clustering hair and vestments white The First comes-like a Dryad maid The Second, with that Helen look When she her husband's home forsook, The Third-how like an evening star ' 'Round and around they swim, In movement graceful as the fawn, She who late own'd that Helen glance, Sweet girls, adieu!-and yet again October, 1816. PIERRE * "Like foam upon the highest wave."—Lord Byron. ZELINDA'S PLAINT SUNG BY MISS STEPHENS IN "THE SLAVE.” Sons of Freedom, hear my story Pity and protect the Slave. Free born daughters, who possessing Greet me with a sister's blessing, G. Stobbs, Printer, Catherine Street, Strand. |