del,” and then recited, with much pathos, the following Sonnet-a copy of which, as well as of the other pieces that follow, my friend Dickson afterwards procured for me: Sonnet,

By a Lady of Sensibility. “I saw a beggar knock at Mary's door, As old a man as ever I had seen; I daresay he was eighty-five, or more, And pale, and weak, and very, very lean;

And, as he walk'd, his poor old limbs

seem'd sore,

Mary soon saw him, and the generous soul Gave him a penny to procure a roll."

Long and loud was the applause with which this production was receiv. ed, and it unfortunately produced the same effect on the sweet poetess which applause, in general, is too apt to do. It silenced, at once, any faint whisperings of modesty, and brought into full play all the conceit of a little mind, puffed up, almost to bursting, with the consciousness of its own powers. Spontaneously, therefore, and with a smile of condescension, she announced to us her intention of favouring us with something more. "I was at Ramsgate," said she, "in the autumn of last year, and the shocking barbarities which I saw daily committed on the shore, called from me, in a fit of indignant inspiration, the following

Sonnet.

Poor little innocent! I grieve to see

Thy mother plunge thee in the deep, deep ocean,

Whose waves, although they hardly reach her knee,

Sweep o'er thy shoulders in severe commotion.

Indeed it is a fearful thing to me,

To view thee sprawl, and scratch, and

tear, and kick;

And hear thee, in thy depth of misery, Vent all thy soul in one unbroken shriek.

Sweet artless victim! if thou wert my child,

(Which thou art not, and ne'er, alas ! can be,)

I'd snatch thee from those billows salt and wild,

And, putting on thy clothes, would set thee free ;

But, as it is, I must in silence gaze, Omniscient Heaven! how strange are all thy ways!"

"With your ladyship's permission, I shall now read my Sonnet," cried a voice from the lower end of the table, which proceeded from a little man, with bright grey eyes, a brown scratch wig, and a cork-leg. "We shall be delighted to hear it, Mr Winterdykes,' answered her ladyship. All eyes sparkled, for Mr Winterdykes was looked on as the Peter Pindar of the Society, and though nobody liked to be made the subject of his satire, yet every one was pleased when he seemed disposed to vent it on another. Assuming the solemn air of mock-heroic dignity, he rose from the table, walked into the middle of the room, planted his cork-leg firmly behind, moved his wig somewhat awry, rolled his little twinkling eye "in a fine phrenzy," and casting up his hands to heaven, remarked, before commencing, in a sort of parenthesis, but so gravely, that it was impossible to say whether he was in joke or in earnest, "You know I make Milton my model; and happening, last week, as I returned home a little tipsy from a convivial party, to have my attention arrested by the Moon, these lines flowed from my mouth in a fit of irrepressible inspiration:

Sonnet to the Moon.

Cream-coloured Moon! you now are in the sky

Smiling, aye laughing, till you hold your sides;

You don your 66 seven-leagued boots," and then you fly

Through the blue ether with a giant's

strides ;

Your face is far too round, and rather yellow

You've surely got the jaundice, Mr
Moon."

Some of the younger members stuffed their handkerchiefs into their mouths, and others laughed outright; but Mr Winterdykes walked back to his seat with the same composure that he had left it.

Mr Theodore Peacock was next applied to; rather a handsome young man, with a Roman nose, and a Grecian brow, but withal, somewhat too fashionably dressed to have much genius. He who allows his mustachios to grow, who wears a diamond ring on his little finger, and buries his ears within the collar of his shirt, can never write good poetry; he will never produce any thing superior to the following translation of Mr Theodore Peacock, who, turning with an air of fashionable badinage to Miss Ellen Sommers, beside whom he sat, recited these lines:

Cantata,

From the Italian of Zappi.
"Dunque, O vaga mia diva," &c.
"Because no blushing roses deck
My gentle Clementina's cheek,
Fears she to see my love decay,
And fade like evening light away?
Ah! knows she not her's is the huc
Of love most tender, warm, and true?
Ah! knows she not young lovers slight
The flowers with flaunting colours bright,
But never willingly forget
The pale, but modest violet?
Ah! knows she not, at break of morn,
Though no vermilion tints adorn
The lily, yet Aurora loves,

As o'er the mountain's brow she roves,
To pluck that flower so white, so fair,
And bind it in her golden hair ?"

Miss Sommers, whose face was, in fact, remarkably pale, seemed not a little disconcerted by the somewhat indelicate manner which she was thus made the object of general attention. With the hope of concealing her confusion, as soon as her admirer had finished, she hastened to comply

with Lady Caroline's request, that she would read or recite the poem which she had selected for this evening from her numerous stock. There was something peculiarly interestingin this young lady's countenance. Her eye was of a deep melancholy blue, and her whole appearance presented me with a personification of female genius, more in unison with the beau-ideal of my fancy, than I ever expected to have seen realized. I listened, therefore, with much attention, to the following verses, or, as the Italians would call them, quadernarii.

The Enfant's Dream.

"I look'd upon a sleeping infant's face, And saw a smile come o'er it, brightly

beaming

The next candidate for public applause was a gentleman in black, at least six feet high, and though probably on the borders of fifty, yet as slender as a stripling of eighteen. He was certainly one of the most awkward beings I had ever seen, yet there was something like humour in his face. I was not surprised to hear him commence with hoping that the ladies would recollect he was an old bachelor, and, besides, that he was answerable only for the words, not for the ideas, of the poem he was about to recite, it being a translation, and was entitled

Cupid's Love.

Imitated from the Italian of Rossi. "One day, as all ancient historians agree, Master Cupid determin'd to hold a levee ; So he call'd for his porter, to stand at his gate,

To admit all his guests in due order and state.

His porter soon came, and his name is Caprice,

Conceit is his daughter, and Prudery his niece;

He stood at the gate in his high-powder'd wig,

And, like all other porters, he look'd migh. ty big:

The whole of the crowd had now paid their addresses,

And Cupid had heard all their cares and distresses;

One only remain'd, whom Caprice had refus'd

To admit, and, besides, had most grossly abus'd,

For he bore him a grudge; if you ask me his name,

You must know it was Wisdom-I tell it with shame;

But at last, when he saw that he would not depart,

Caprice sought his master with wrath at his heart,

pretends,

He only admitted particular friends. First, Youth was receiv'd with a smile

and a bow,

A favourite of Cupid's, as all men allow; Then Beauty was welcom'd with much complaisance,

For the Graces were with her each charm to enhance ;

Then, next, were admitted both Laugh. ter and Sport,

But the time of their stay, it is said, was but short;

They are not at their ease when they visit the court: Next, Jealousy came, with two friends by her side,

Mistress Folly was one, and the other Don Pride;

And long was the audience they had of their lord,

For this was a trio that Cupid ador'd; And many the weighty affairs they debated, Too important by far to be publicly stated: Then Treachery made his appearance,

with face

sneer,

'Old Wisdom's below, shall I show him up here ?'

Poor square-toes!' cried Cupid, suppressing a smile;

"And has he been waiting, kind soul, all this while?

Pray tell the old boy I am busy to-day, He may call the next time that he passes this way.'"

Every body declared that this was positively libellous, and that, as none but an old bachelor would have writ→ ten it, no one but an old bachelor would ever have thought of translating it. "Here, I am sure, is a gentleman," said Lady Caroline, turning to me with one of her sweetest smiles," who entertains less satirical notions of the tender passion, whether he be a bachelor or not." swered I, with a bow." I am a baladyship docs me only justice," anchelor, and I may say an old one too, but I have not yet forgot the time when I enjoyed

❝ Your

land beauties of the other. In short, I entered into all the simple concerns of these simple rustics, and I was then as much impressed as they were themselves with their interest and importance. The minister of a parish in Scotland, at that time, did not occupy a station which, in point of wealth, could entitle him to put himself above the sphere of the humblest cottager. Enjoying, as my father did, the respect and attachment of all his flock, he was at the same time admitted more as an equal than as a superior; and the minister's son was not treated with more respect. From the indulgent course of studies which my father had prescribed, I was sent to college, and to severer masters, in the town of, where I remained for ten years, without having visited my native village. I went through my trials and public examinations with what my friends were pleased to term considerable éclat, and I had been licensed to preach at the neighbouring Presbytery, before I made my appearance at the manse. I came home the night before, and was to begin my public ministry by preaching my first sermon in my father's pulpit.

What a change was here effected in a few years! From the wild, regardless youngster, I had become the staid, sober, religious instructor. Instead of associating familiarly, and entering heartily into their little schemes of adventure and of mirth, I was to address them and rule them in the character of teacher and master. After a sleepless night, I was indulging in these reflections, which partook as much of a melancholy as a pleasurable colouring, when I was reminded by my father that the religious duties of the morning were about to be performed. These were gone through with that piety and peace which are exclusively the characteristics of God's people. When seated at the breakfast-table, I could perceive the varied aspect and demeanour of the domestic circle; my mother was pale and agitated, and I saw her tremble as she handed me the cup. My lovely sister was flushed with hope, and anxiety, and pride, and joy, and my father, as if striving with similar feelings, or as if wishing to impress me with the dig

nity and seriousness of my duties, was more than ordinarily grave and austere. I was struck also with the peculiar expression of our old servant John's countenance, as he occasionally came into the room. He had known me from my infancy, and it was but as yesterday that he had seen me a "hafflins callan," running wild about the braes. There was an odd mixture of mirth and melancholy, a repressed smile, and an assumed gravity, which, if I had been in other mood, or in other circumstances, would have afforded me some pleasure to analyse. But notwithstanding every effort, I could not free myself from something like a feeling of anxiety or apprehension. I succeeded, however, in bringing myself into a state of calmness and self-command; and after conning over my sermon for the sixtieth time, I took the road to the church. My spirits were cool, and though I felt a slight tremor in my frame, I was firm and collected. I was accompanied by my good old father. The neighbouring roads were crowded with people cleanly and decently dressed, proceeding on their way to church, to hear their former companion deliver his maiden sermon, and there was something extremely interesting in the sight of people gathering from all parts of the country, to the house of God. It is here that the powerful influence of religion is felt much more universally, and is displayed much more unequivocally, than in the artificial societies of towns or cities. The glens, and hills, and dales, speak in the native language of religion, and their inhabitants yield to the divine influence which is impressed upon every thing around them, and lead their views from "Nature's works to Nature's God." Their contemplation is not obscured, or their attention distracted, by the forms of art or the distortions of fashion; and they join in the simple worship of their forefathers with a simplicity and singleness of heart which is not to be found amidst the refined and artificial votaries of fashion and folly. On my entering the church, I saw many faces of old acquaintances, whose eyes were directed towards me with friendly and anxious interest; and when I entered the pulpit along with