Then to their little cottage home
The merry playmates hied,

To fill with mirth the simple dome,
Their parents' heart with pride.

Another spring I stood upon

That well-remembered scene,
And traced where, in the seasons gone,
The hand of change had been.

The elm whose boughs the well o'erhung,
Had felt the woodman's wrath,
And the green grass and brambles sprung,
And filled the untrodden path.

And the small cottage by the green,
With woodbines at its door,
Where signs of happy life are seen,
Sent up its smoke no more.

Upon its hearth, so lately gay,
Cheerless the sunbeam falls;
Whilst Robin trills a pensive lay
On its forsaken walls.

I strayed the village tombs among,
And marked a stone that told
There slept the beautiful and young-
And there were laid the old.

They four who in that cottage dwelt
Did there in death unite;

They, who the frosts of age had felt

And beauty's early blight.

And as I stood all silent there,

J

And inly mourn'd their doom, I thought upon their flower-wreath'd hair; Now flowers grow on their tomb.

THE GRAVE OF THE OCEAN WARRIOR...

BY V. V. ELLIS.

Lit by the setting sun's red beams
Proud rolls the emerald deep,
The sky a throne of glory seems,
And the winds are hushed to sleep.
White-winged, upon the water's dark,
A glorious thing and free,
How bravely stands yon bannered bark,
Like a spirit of the sea!

But death is there, and manly grief,

Silent and deep, for one,

Whose brilliant course was all, too brief, And his day too quickly done.

The fairest buds which spring gives birth,

Proud were his features; and they wear
Even now, life's breathing hue;

His was a noble soul to dare,
And a manly arm to do.

In beauty's mould his form was cast,
Fire lit his eagle eye;

But the glory and the gloom are past,
And the last sad rite is nigh!

No sign of outward pomp is shown,
No hasty prayer is said;
The inward spirit breathes alone,

The requiem of the dead.
Around his bier, with tearless eyes,

The hardy veterans crowd;

One look, one sigh for the brave, who lies

Cold in his simple shroud.

The agony is past. Far down

The sea's unfathomed deep, - -
With many a true and valiant one,
He sleeps his dreamless sleep.
But long for him, who in the leaf,
Of his young years is dead,
Shall many a heart be filled with grief,
And many a tear be shed.

Bloom but to live a day;

'Tis useless such assertions to repel; But what if chance has also made a hell?

And the noblest spirits of the earth

W.

Are the first to pass away.

Not in the glorious hour of flight,

Death round, and victory nigh,

Published by J. ROBINS, Bride Court, Fleet Street, where all communications (post

Was it his proud boon to die.

Not on the wave, nor in the storm,

The dark destroyer came;

But when sharp pains had bent his form,

And disease unnerved his frame.

by J. DUNCOMBE, 19, Little Queen Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields; SHERWOOD AND Co. Paternoster Row; SUTHERLAND, Edinburgh; MAC PHUN, Glasgow; and all Booksellers and Newsmen.

much, and her happiness, which he values little, is it not evident that magic here is busy also? Yes, undoubtedly; and a hundred such evidences would arise in proof of my assertions. Do not Spain, Italy, and Sicily, still preserve a tribunal to watch over sorcerers and magicians; an additional proof that their art is not so chimerical as some would fain imagine it. As a further demonstration, I shall offer the following anecdote, a fact obtained from actual eye-witnesses.

Rosalba, sole heiress of a noble and illustrious family, was born at Palermo. Fortune did much for her nature still more. Beauty, grace, gentleness, and intelligence, rendered her a father's idol. The most costly education, the best selected masters, developed these precious gifts of Providence. At fourteen Rosalba eclipsed all other Sicilian belles. She spoke and understood the languages of Racine, of Pope, of Cervantes, and even a little of Gessner. She wrote verses; she sang the airs of Leo in accents more delightful than those of the famous Faustine; and when they were accompinied by her harp, cardinals and prelates (excellent judges of music) agreed that the angels themselves could not surpass Rosalba.

To these diversified talents--these numerous attractions, she added one hundred thousand ducats per annum. We may well believe that such an heiress was sought by the first nobles in Sicily. The old Compte de Scanzano, her father, wise enough to perceive that the most splendid alliances are not always the happiest, placed no value on the wealth or titles of those who demanded his daughter - he left her absolute mistress of her own inclinations.

Rosalba was scarce seventeen, yet her heart possessed all the strong emotions of a Sicilian, and the young Duke de Castellamare had already

known how to call them forth. His personal attractions surpassed those of all the other noblesse; but wild and impetuous, his being left at an early age uncontrolled master of himself and immense riches, could alone excuse a life of juvenile dissipation. Rosalba's will was, notwithstanding, a law to her father, and the marriage was concluded accordingly. The youthful Duchess appeared at court, and formed its brightest ornament. Her charms were the general subject of conversation, every one envied the Duke. The happy Rosalba saw in the future but an uninterrupted career of felicity, yet six months had scarce flown till her husband, drawn away by dangerous society, gradually returned to those pursuits which his marriage had only interrupted. Rosalba needed not to be informed by those officious persons who take pleasure in disclosing misfortunes. She loved, and painfully observed the change in Castellamare. Yet her sorrows were concealed from every eye, from her father especially, whose tenderness would have sunk beneath the anguish of such a blow. Feigning, while in his presence a happiness far from her heart, smiling, while tears suffocated her respiration, she excused the frequent absences of the Duke when the old Compte complained of them. She sought to find motives for their continuance; and invented pretexts for total solitude in the state of her health, which was visibly declining. The anxious father, on his part, now concealed alarms and inquietudes; and each, mutually fearing to distress the other, permitted themselves to be deceived through the delicate sensibilities of a feeling heart.

Rosalba had one confidential domestic, named Laura. Better informed than her mistress of the infidelities of the Duke, and despairing of ever seeing him restored to his duties, she endeavoured to weaken the passion of his devoted wife, and exhorted her to live for herself, for her father, and for the soothing consolations of friendship. Rosalba could not; her heart was still enslaved by a dear, though guilty, spouse. She even endeavoured to attribute to herself the change in his affections; she reproached herself with believing that it only sufficed to love in order to please, and with having neglected, since her marriage, those talents and agremens, which she esteemed little, but which seduce -which flatter the vanity of a hus band, and which have sometimes even more power over the other sex than solid virtues. She dressed to greater advantage, she heightened her beauty by every innocent attraction, she had recourse to her forgotten harp, and drew tears from her father's eyes, while breathing in plaintive accents those tender verses where Armida recalls Rinaldo. Alas! her efforts were vain; her gentleness, her patience, her tender cares made no impression on the heart of Castellamare: his days and nights were passed abroad, and Rosalba, reduced to despair, seemed likely to find that repose in death for which she now sighed so bitterly.

The faithful Laura grieved at beholding her mistress's afflictions. "Beloved Lady," said she to her one day, "since it is not in your power to control the force of those feelings which are undermining your existence-since you have exhausted every effort of which love and virtue are capable, in order to regain the affections of an unworthy object, let us, rather than see you expire, have recourse to some measure extraordinary. I know an old Jewess, established at Palermo for two years past, highly celebrated for witchcraft, especially the efficacious charms which she composes in cases similar to yours. Some of our wise

citizens pretend to laugh at her prodigious undertakings, and even to doubt their success, but for myself I believe it well; one cannot question what their own senses have witnessed sufficiently. You may probably recollect, my dear lady, the young Lisbette, for whom you expressed an interest last winter. Her good conduct was as remarkable as her beauty, which my sister, with whom she lodged, has frequently observed to me. A young nobleman made dishonourable proposals, Lisbette indignantly rejected them, returned his letters unopened, and shunned every opportunity of an interview. The nobleman, in despair, resorted to the Old Jewess, related the circumstances, and offered a large sum for the accomplishment of his pursuit. The sorceress placed in his hands a green taper, which she desired him to light each time he wished to behold the unfortunate Lisbette. Poor girl! since that luckless day she has repaired every evening to her lover. My sister, on discovering this, loaded her with reproaches; but the devoted victim of witchcraft disarmed her resentment by declaring, that sleep over whelmed her at an unusually early hour, when, impelled by supernatural force, she arose, dressed, and, without any voluntary act, hastened to the house of the young nobleman, whom she detested. There (she added) is a green taper, which burns a certain time, and presently extinguishes itself with a tremendous noise. Then my senses are restored; I appear to wake out of a frightful dream, and I return home drowned in tears. You may judge, my dear mistress, by this anecdote, which is, alas! but too well authenticated, of the powerful force of this woman's enchantments. Why not then consult her? If you wish to be incognito, make use of my apparel ; and if you fear to go alone, I shall willingly accompany you."

The Duchess hearkened to Laura with a melancholy smile: she rejected the proposition, disdaining a resource so unworthy an intelligent mind. But when one passionately loves, sense, reason, and understanding, will gradually yield to the powerful sway of the affections. Rosalba, in fine, repaired to the Jewess. Her ardent imagination rendered her more easily the slave of creduility, her natural disposition paying the tribute which every Sicilian renders to the national character of his country, was persuaded by the reiterated miracles which Laura daily

recited.

The old woman never came out but at night. She was introduced with much mystery into a secret apartment, wherea dim light scarcely relieved obscurity. The Duchess entered, accompanied by Laura; she drew back, overpowered by terror, at the aspect of the sorceress. A diminutive figure, nearly bent double, was supported on an ebony stick, and clothed in a madder-coloured garment, with a yellow girdle. On her head, which trembled violently, a litte black riding hood scarcely concealed the matted grey hairs. A sharply-pointed bone, which had formerly been a nose, covered with parched skin, was horizontal with, and almost joined another bone, once assuming the appellation of chin. Her little piéreing eyes were surmounted by shaggy grey eyebrows; and two wrinkled cavities indicated the spots where cheeks might have been found fifty years preceding. The Duchess, having a little recovered her presence of mind, desired the Pythoness to be seated, and fully explained her situation. "If you can restore me his affections," added she, "my gold, my diamonds-all that I have is at your disposal."

The sorceress bent down her eyes, gathered up her grey eyebrows, and rubbed her forehead with her withered hand. After a moment's silence :

"Madam," said she, in a voice hoarse and scarcely articulate, “I am acquainted with many charms for the recall of lovers, but husbands are a thousand times more difficult. Notwithstanding, last winter I was summoned by a young princess, situated as you are at present. Her spouse was enamoured of a public singer, whose youth was past, and who had never possessed a trait of beauty. I tried in vain two of my most potent spells. Astonished to find them ineffectual, I believed the singer must be assisted by magic, and that her enchantments destroyed the effect of mine. Piqued by selflove, so powerful a stimulant to talent, I repaired to the house, and ascended to her apartment. It was secured by three bolted doors; -you may believe I did not require keys to open them. Having thus found entrance, I soon perceived what opposed my incantations. I saw a cock chained by the neck, by the wings, and by the feet. This cock, had on his eyes spectacles of boiled leather, which entirely deprived him of sight. I laughed in derision. I seized the animal, and performed the simple act of taking off his spectacles. I returned home triumphant; for from the same instant in which the cock recovered his sight, the blind infatuation of the prince vanished. He saw the singer as she was, ugly, old, wicked and perfidious; and recognized again the charms of his spouse, young, faithful, and adorable. Our present task, noble lady, is infinitely more formidable. Unfortunately, you cannot point out any one particular person loved by the Duke; his affections may be divided, and the effect of my incantations, divided in consequence, must necessarily be much weakened. Yet let us not despair. I am mistress of a terrible secret; and if I could obtain the hair, cut by yourself, from the head of a criminal suspended on the gibbet, I would secure to you,