well acquainted with the town, and that I was the Commandant of it. Hah! hah! said he laughing, and shook hands with me over the table. 'My lucky rival, to whom I must be under obligation for his own good fortune!" Thus acquaintance was made, and frankness was the order of the day. Only think Papa, he declared that Miss Amelia herself told him that she was promised to me, and that she begged of him not to render her and me unhappy; on which he seized her hand pressed it to his lips and said that he had been obliged to obey his father's will unconditionally, to visit Herbersheim, and court Amelia; but that he had hoped to change affairs to his purpose for that he loved, and secretly had made promise to the daughter of a Professor at the university, who besides her mental treasures had few earthly ones, which to an old Banker wàs horror and abomination. The old Gentleman under the penalty of disinheritance, had interdicted him every thought of the professor's daughter, that the young gentleman had sworn fidelity to her, and that he was firmly resolved to marry her after his father's death."

"How?" said Mr. G. “ You Amelia knew all that from him?" "Children, children, 1 really think you have played the fool with your father! How is it you did not tell me a word, not a syllable ?"

Amelia kissed her father's hand and said, "Remember, my dear Papa, before you reproach your Amelia, that when I returned so gaily from Von Huber and went up to you to speak in his praise, and as I was going to relate every particular, how angry you grew; you know that you forbade me to speak, and that in recompense for my silent obedience you promised to substitute Watteville for Von Huber ?"

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So? Have I done so ?—Nothing in the world outdoes obedience, when one wishes to connect it with a little advantage !" "Was I not obliged to obey? Did you not threaten to lock up dear Mamma and me in the cellar, if * * *99

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Very well you prating gossip! Don't recall my sins."

"But since you chattered with young Huber could not you have told him, what a singular prejudice existed against him? He surely would have been able to convince us that he was not the Dead Guest described by his roguish rival. At least you might have given a more reasonable cause for our foolish behavior!"

"That I did. As soon as he knew that there was no spare place in my heart, he was happy and related to me the story of his own heart; soon after Mamma and I invited him to dinner, but.....

"Be silent! Captain go on with your tale! He then was not in a rage with us? What must he think of the honorable citi

zens of Herbesheim! Did he not think that he had enter madhouse, when he arrived in our town?"

"Something similar he thought indeed. The behavio all the inhabit ants must have struck him, for he related t the most laughable and whimsical scenes occasioned by the neral fear. But when the story of the Dead Guest was relate him, and he was informed that they did him the honor to him for the Winter King, who was reported to have bee violently sent from this world two hundred years ago, h joiced at the terror which he innocently caused by his per

"And of which you, with your wicked story, are solely cause" said Amelia-Who before that evening party knew the Dead Guest looked? The following day the childre the street related it to one another.

"Well, I was honest enough to confess my whole si Von Huber, as soon as I had recovered the use of my voic ter a full quarter of an hour's laughing. That a foolish f just painted his figure to my imagination, was pardonable. at that moment I should sooner have thought of the fallin the heavens than such a consequence of my story. Huber laughed with me till his sides were sore. He relat me that in order to terrify the more enlightened inhabi of Herbesheim and to strengthen them in their pious belief played a number of tricks in the fashion of the Dead Guest plague a police sergeant, he visited his bride the milliner put his landlord in greater fear and astonishment, he asse that he wished to go to bed early to set out early on the day, but that as soon as it was dark he had his baggage rem by his own servants; that by the moonlight he had taken a to, the next village and that from thence only he had taken ses to the next station after a night's rest there. N have two men in this world so well imitated the u tinguishable laughter of the Gods of Homer about the act of Vulcan, than we both with our convulsive laughter at the tivity of the inhabitants of Herbesheim with the Dead Guest. a bottle of Champaign, we banished rivalry, made ourselves cellent friends and parted later than we first expected wher sat down to dinner.”

Father Guyot though he smiled as Watteville went on his tale yet seemed to be at war with himself. Chagrin gladness were singularly mingled on his countenance. lia coaxed him with greater tenderness for she well saw passed within him and smoothed the contractions of his l with kisses as often as they made their appearance.

"Children," said Mr. Guyot; "you now see what a trai folly and nonsense, superstition carries along with it, and

I, old philosopher as I am, was obliged to wear the foolscap and to swim with the stream. I wish I could be ashamed but yet I find it ridiculous to be ashamed of our poor human nature. Then it is certain let no one think himself too high, firm or strong on his feet, but let him look well that he may not stumble. Mamma order a bowl of Punch that we may get cheerful with our Captain. I say we, that is to say my own little self: for you mamma, you have carried the palm of victory and require no such auxiliary to become cheerful, and as for you Amelia, it is clear that you are not very sorrowful near Watteville through whose means you have gained the object you most desired."

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Mamma took the Captain's hand with a kindly and truly motherly smile and said; Did you well understand the last words of Papa ?"

"No," said Watteville blushing and embarrassed, but I wish almost to be indiscreet enough to understand them."

"Mamma let the punch be served; let all this idle talk be put aside. We must banish with punch that infernal story from our memory. Even the strongest and most courageous man who has heard with coolness a hundred bullets whistle about his ears has his run-away moments; the circumnavigator who can trace his way through the wide ocean, may lose his path on a promenade; the most pious and purest bride of heaven has once a moment like other daughters of Eve."

"Do begin to speak of something else Papa." said Amelia coaxingly.

"Bye the by, Captain" continued Mr. Guyot, "do you know that I have sold you? For the prize of getting rid of the Dead Guest I have sold you to Amelia. Don't take it amiss that without your consent, I have disposed of you in your absence. As your former tutor I have assumed that right. Here Amelia take him. Be happy together!"

Both sprung from their seats and embraced him.

"Captain!" said he, " put away your uniform !"

"It shall be off!" said the Captain with tears of joy in his

eyes.

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And quit the military Service" continued Guyot. For Amelia is to live with her parents, and I have given you away to her, not her to you."

"To-morrow I shall resign my commission !"

"Children" said father Guyot, "my_joy is too oppressive; I can hardly speak,-give me a glass of Punch-may you be happy and wise, and never tremble at such superstitious fears as those which made a fool of an old Philosopher, and turned the son of a rich banker into a DEAD GUEST."

V. R.

SONNETS.

BY CAPTAIN R. CALDER CAMPBELL.

1.

It was a Turret high, that once had been
Most fair within that gardened space,-and frowned,
Beetling in grandeur o'er the deep moat's bound,
With spires and bastions towering o'er the scene:
The steps that led to it were broken now,
And threatened danger to th' intruder there;
And, as I sought the battlement's steep brow,
My steps shrunk, trembling, back; yet did I daro
To climb the dark ascent. The hall I gained,—
Its walls yet bright with specks of blue and gold;
And, browsing in that desolate spot, behold!
A solitary Goat !-how it attained

That perilous place I know not; but it fed
Quietly there,-starting to hear my tread.

2.

Sweet, peaceful creature! -love'st thou too to trace
The haunts where grandeur once held revels loud?
Where devastation boldly now takes place
Of wassail-triumph-and the sensual crowd
Of pleasure's vassals?—here no longer sounds
The laugh of frivolous mirth; nor meets the ear
The tone of soft kitar, or lute; for here
Afrits and spectres walk their dismal rounds!
Oh man! dost thou not shudder thus to see

Thy noblest works o'erthrown ?—and dost thou dare
To lift in pride thy recreant head, and bear
The mien of one all potent?-yonder tree
Hath flourished there for ages, they are dust
Who planted it !-be humble, holy, just!

ON POETRY

AND THE SUPPOSED UNSOCIABILITY OF POETS.

THERE is perhaps no man so little understood, or so ill appreciated in general society, as the Poet. He is unintelligible and even repulsive, to all but those who think and feel. like himself, or who have an especial partiality for the same pursuits. While his heart overflows with social love, he is apparently the most unsocial of human beings. He is silent and reserved in crowds, and has an appearance of pride and coldness that are the very reverse of his natural disposition. One of the most essential attributes of the true poet is a profound sympathy with buman nature, and with the whole external world. It is the very depth and intensity of his emotions that compels him "to wreak himself on expression," and appeal to the hearts of his fellow creatures. He is only indifferent to indifferent things: and when his companions are struck with his seeming apathy, his soul is perhaps tossed upon a sea of thought, and his whole being is involved in a tempest of wild and incommunicable dreams. At such a time it could no more be expected that he should be interested by ordinary affairs, than that a man. should occupy his mind with the frivolities of fashion in a storm on the Atlantic ocean, when the elements appear to threaten the dissolution of a world.

It may be said that no human being could be continually in a state like this, and that the poet must have intervals of calm, when he should be alive to the influences of things around him. That the poet is always in such a condition of extraordinary excitement, we by no means maintain, but his thoughts and emotions, come and go, "when no one knoweth", and therefore is it unreasonable in the man of the world, to accuse the poet of a deficiency of social feeling, when he is unable to draw the curtain of the poet's heart. The man of genius is as incapable as other men of regulating his moods of mind, and he is sometimes melancholy in the gayest scenes, and cheerful in the dreariest. It is often the strong contrast of the state of the external world, with that of his inner soul, that makes him shrink into himself, and appear unsocial. But it is the world, and not the poet that is cold, and unsympathetic. If the poet were always sure that his emotions would be understood and shared in by his companions, he would not hesitate to reveal his soul, but the expression of deep feelings whether of joy or sorrow, to those whose minds are of a sterner temperament, and cannot vibrate with the same delicacy of tone,