beating time to the tune. The effect of the bell and voice, especially after a long winter-night, has always been very pleasing to me. Nor is the fuller chorus of the subsequent procession less so. The chant, by being somewhat monotonous, harmonizes with the stillness of the hour; and without chasing away the soft slumbers of the morning, relieves the mind from the ideas of solitude and silence, and whispers life and activity returning with the approaching day.. The fever having stopped its ravages about the end of autumn, and nearly disappeared a few weeks before Christmas, my friend and myself prepared to return home. I shall never forget our melancholy arrival in this town on the last evening of December. Besides the still existing danger of infection to those who had been absent, there was a visible change in the aspect of the town, no less than in the looks and manner of the inhabitants, which could not but strike the most thoughtless on the first approach to that recent scene of woe and misery. An unusual stillness reigned in every street; and the few pale faces which moved in them, conjured up in the mind a vivid representation of the late distress. The heart seemed to recoil from the meeting of old acquaintances, and the signs of mourning were every where ready to check the first risings of joy at the approach of friends that had been spared. The Sunday after our arrival, we went, according to custom, to the public walk on the banks of the river. But the thousands who made it their resort before the late calamity had now absolutely deserted it. At the end of the walk was the burying-ground, which, during the great mortality, had been appointed for that quarter of the city. The prevalent custom of burying in vaults within the churches kept the town unprovided with an appropriate place for interment outside the walls; and a portion of waste land, or common, now contained the remains of ten thousand inhabitants, who in their holiday rambles had, not long before, been sporting unconsciously over their graves. As we approached the large mounds, which, with the lofty cross erected on the turf, were yet the only marks which distinguished the consecrated from the common ground, we saw one of the Rosarios, or processions in honour of the Virgin, slowly advancing along the avenue of the public walk. Many who formerly frequented that place for recreation had, under the impression of grief and superstitious terror, renounced every species of amusement, and marshalling themselves in two files, preceded by a cross, and closed by the picture of the Virgin on a standard, repaired every Sunday to the principal place of burial, where they said prayers for the dead. Four or five of these processions, consisting either of males or females, passed towards the cemetery as we were returning. The melancholy tone in which they incessantly sang the Ave Maria and the Lord's Prayer, introducing the last after every ten successive repetitions of the first -as they glided along a former scene of life and animation-and the studied plainness of the dresses, contrasted with the gay apparel which the same persons used to display on that very spot, left us no wish to continue our walk. Among the ladies, whose penitent dress was most striking, we observed many who, not satisfied with mere plainness of attire, had, probably under a private vow, clothed themselves in a stuff peculiar to some of the religious orders. The grey mixture used by the Franciscans was most prevalent. Such vows are indeed very common in cases of danger from illness; but the number and class of the females whom we found submitting to this species of penance, shewed the extent and pressure of past affliction. So transient, however, are the impressions of superstitious fear when unsupported by the presence of its object, that a few months have sufficed nearly to obliterate the signs of the past terror. The term of the vows having expired with most, our females have recovered their wonted spirits, and put aside the dull weeds of their holy patrons. Many, it is probable, have obtained from their confessors a commutation of the rash engagement, by means of a few pence paid towards the expenses of any war that may arise between his Catholic Majesty and Turks or infidels-a Crusade in petto, for which government collects a vast yearly sum, in exchange for various ghostly privileges and indulgences, which the King buys from the Pope at a much cheaper rate than he retails them to his loving subjects. One loss alone will, I fear, be permanent, or of long duration to the gay part of this town. The theatrical representations, which, on the first appearance of the epidemic fever, were stopped, more by the clamour of the preachers than the apprehensions of the inhabitants, will not be resumed for years. The opinion formerly entertained by a comparatively small number, that the opening of the theatre at Seville had never failed to draw the vengeance of heaven sometimes on its chief supporters, sometimes on the whole town, has been wonderfully spread under the influence of the last visitation; and government itself, arbitrary and despotic as it is among us, would have to pause before any attempt to involve this most religious city in the unpardonable guilt of allowing a company of comedians within its walls. L. D. TO LELIA. FROM the rude summit of an Alpine height, I view'd the bosom of the vale below, Clad in its wintry robe of stainless white, Like beauty's fair cheek blushing in man's gaze, The smooth expanse, not deeming such calm brightness A quench'd sigh chill'd my heart, for, Lelia! then I turn'd from the false snow, and thought on thee again ! C. L.. MILK AND HONEY, OR THE LAND OF PROMISE. In a Series of Letters from America. LETTER I. SIR BALAAM BARROW TO MR. JEREMIAH, DAWSON. CONTENTS. The Wasp, Captain Waters-Yankee Porter at New York-Reasons for quitting England-Decline and Fall of the Mammonian Empire at Lloyd's-Gradation from private Carriage to public Stage "irksome"-Calamity at KenningtonHerne Hill and Madame Storace-Diogenes in his Tub-Tirade against Assessed Taxes, Tithes, and Parsons-Fox without a Tail. DEAR Sir, the American Brig, Captain Waters, Having landed me safe with my son and two daughters To con o'er the past, and descant on the future. You know-who does not? what commercial voids Time was, when my own coach (with biscuits the boot in) Well! finding trade shy, and the taxes encroach, As one of the six who were licensed inside; Kept asking how far we were off from Vauxhall; VOL. II. NO. XII. "But why"-in your last you interrogate-" roam At Dulwich I'll point out a glen, wild and patchy, All this, Jerry Dawson, 's undoubtedly true, In all the cross-grains of us mortals below, peepers : In the land that is flowing with milk and with honey. At the bare word " assessment" my diaphragm writhes, I don't care a farthing for gibbets and axes, But I can't bear the plural of tax, namely, taxes. Then hey! for the West,-how I grudge every hour I With woods where the view of an Englishman rare is, If I hit, well and good; if I miss, well and good too; B. B. LETTER 11. MISS SABRINA BARROW TO MISS FANNY FADE. CONTENTS. Opening allusion-Eneas and the Sibyl-Gradations-from a Beauty to a Blue- NAY, Fanny, you wrong me: I am not " quite frantic," My age, my dear Friend, I may say, entre nous, Let them strike out the " Two," and interpolate "Nine." The Sibyl's, who walk'd with the Son of Anchises, At lively eighteen, when the men praised my hair, I turn'd up my nose at a match in the City; Drove shopping to Bond-street, where few people knew me— Took mighty good care not to speak to a Cit: Set right, by mere pushing, each blundering fool; I therefore redoubled my ogles and freaks, Drew a hare's foot of rouge o'er the bones of my cheeks, |