two.

provincial government of this part of Russia wisely though still classing as a peasant, was washing
bestows a small reward in money for every pair one day before the door of her house, with her
of wolf's ears that is brought to the magistrate only child, a little girl of four years old, playing
of the district; thus setting up one powerful pas-about close by. Her cottage stood in a lonely
sion in the human breast against another. But part of the estate, forming almost an island in the
superstition has the best of it at present, and, per- midst of low, boggy ground. She had her head
haps, in the long run, is the better thing of the down in the wash-tub, and, hot and weary, was
bending all her efforts to complete her task, when
a fearful cry made her turn, and there was the
child, clutched by one shoulder, in the jaws of a
great she-wolf, the other arm extended to her.
The woman was so close that she grasped a bit
of the child's little petticoat in her hand, and with
the other hand, screaming frantically, beat the
wolf with all her force to make it let go its hold.
But those relentless jaws stirred not for the cries
of a mother-that gaunt form cared not for the
blows of a woman. The animal set off at full
speed with the child, dragging the mother along,
who clung with desperation to her grasp. Thus
they continued for two or three dreadful minutes,.
the woman only just able to hold on.
Soon the
wolf turned into some low, uneven ground, and
the woman fell over the jagged trunk of a tree,
tearing in her fall the piece of petticoat, which
now only remained in her hand. The child hith-
erto had been aware of its mother's presence,
and, so long as she clung, had not uttered a
scream; but now the little victim felt itself de-
serted, and its screams resounded through the
wood. The poor woman rose in a moment, and
followed over stock and stone, tearing herself piti-
ably as she went, but knowing it not; but the
wolf increased in speed, the bushes grew thicker,

The wolves make their nests usually deep in the
morasses, a few sticks being dragged together in a
small hollow, or under a juniper-bush, where the
young wolves lie with great jaws, which open
wide at the slightest noise, like the bill of a young
bird, and equally disproportionate to their size. It
is at this season that the wolves are the most ra-
pacious and dauntless, defying danger, and facing
daylight to provide prey for their young. In old
times, if tradition is to be believed, the abduction
of peasant children for the young wolves was a
thing of no uncommon occurrence, so that the
father of a former day had as little chance of rear-
ing all his children as the farmer of the present
his foals. But now, with the culture of the land,
and the gradual increase of farming stock, a favor-
ble change has taken place, and the recent intro-
duction of sheep especially has proved a great
accommodation to both parties. Nevertheless, the
wail of a poor peasant mother for a missing child
is still raised from time to time, though the widely
scattered population, and the remote situation of
single villages, on that account more exposed to
such depredations, allow only the occasional echo
of such distress to reach the ears of the upper
classes. The peasant also is an uncommunicative
being; the slave of one set of foreigners, the sub-the ground heavier, and soon the screams of the
ject of another, and oppressed by both, he shuts
up his mouth and his heart, and cares little to
divulge the more sacred sorrows of his life to those
who are the authors of almost every other.

The evening visitors, however, related a wonderful instance which had occurred under their own knowledge:-A peasant child, just able to trot alone, and as such left to trot just where it pleased, was carried off unperceived and unhurt by a she-wolf to her nest at some distance. The young wolves, however, had just consumed some larger and commoner prey, and knew when they had had enough; so they let the child lie among them, and saved it up for another day. The little creature remained thus through the night, when the old one quitting the nest again, and the young ones probably sleeping, it crawled gradually away, as unintentional of escape as it had been unconscious of danger, and at length reached the fence of a remote field, where it was picked up by a laborer, and brought to the house of the narrator. But the innocent child had suffered terribly, and bore upon its tender body such marks of the wolf's den as would, so long as it lived, sufficiently attest an otherwise almost incredible fact. The young wolves had forborne to devour their prey, but they had tasted it! the skin of the forehead was licked raw, all the fingers were more or less injured, but two of them were sucked and mumbled completely off!

This tale was now followed by another more tragic and equally true, having taken place only the summer before upon a neighboring estate, so that the lady of the house, her beautiful brow contracted, and her voice lowered, related it herself to the party. A woman, whose husband, being a bailiff or something of the kind, lived in a more comfortable way than the usual run of peasants,

child became her only guide. Still she dashed on, frantic with distress, picked up a little shoe which the closing bushes had rubbed off, saw traces of the child's hair and clothes on the low, jagged boughs, which crossed the way; but oh! the screams grew fainter, then louder, and then ceased altogether!

"The poor mother saw more on her way, but I can't tell what that was," said the lady, her voice choked with horror, and her fair face streaming with tears. Her hearers did not press to know, for they were chilled enough already "And only think," she continued, "of the wretchedness of the poor afflicted creature when her husband returned at night and asked for the child. She told me that she placed the piece of petticoat and the little shoe before him, but how she told him their great misery God only knows! she has no recollection. And now you don't wonder," she added, "that I shuddered at seeing those footprints;" and she shuddered again. "Sometimes I am in terror when my children are longer out of my sight than usual, and fancy every person that approaches me is charged with some dreadful announcement; but God avert this! mistrust is wrong."

With these words the circle broke up. The long droshky, like a chaise-longue put upon wheels, came to the door, and the guests drove off. It was one of those exquisite nights peculiar to these climes, which the French aptly term les nuits blanches-a night, light without moon, a day shaded without clouds, the last glow of evening, and the first grey of morning melted together; a period when all the luminaries of the heavens see to rest their beams without withdrawing them. cousins stood at the door, hand in hand, ga the direction which their guests had take

looker-on might have imagined they were envying them that calm, cool drive. But they envied them not; they honored all that was good in this strange land, and prized all who were good to them; but a sense of solitude hung heavily upon them in the society of others, which only the solitude of their own could dispel. They had much, also, to say to one another, which a native of these climes could not comprehend, or would not like. Not that they said ought that was strange, or wrong, or unkind; but they spoke as they thought, and they thought unlike all the world around them. So they lingered beneath that beautiful light, talking calmly of what was peculiar in their lot, yet not complaining of the evil, but rather extracting the good; and they spoke, too, as those speak who have no time to lose, but rather much to recover, plainly, earnestly, and touchingly, because so truly; each seeking to give knowledge of her own mind, and comfort to that of her companion. And from that which concerned their own hearts individually, they soon passed on to that which concerns every heart that beats; and thoughts came which all have heard, but not ali have listened to-thoughts which are locked to some, checked to others, and not even breathed freely to the most kindred spirit, except at those moments, few and fleeting, which favor their utterance and suit their sacredness. They discoursed on the wonderful economy of happiness in a world full of woe; how, the fewer the joys, the higher the enjoyment, till the last and highest of all, true peace of mind, is found to contain every other. And they then spoke of the blessing of sorrow and the mystery of sin, and turning to her companion that angel's face, more angelic still in the soft light, and with a transition of expression peculiar to herself, the lady added

"You need not shut the children's door, nor any as you go along; the house is oppressively warm, and Constance is hot."

Louisa came through two halls and down the corridor, looked at the door into the new building, and remembered that the bar had again been forgotten; pushed the box again up, and then went into her own room and shut the door.

The night, as we have described, was one of those which seem too good to be passed in sleep. Louisa was sad and serious, and all without and within tempted her to watch. But so long as the heaviness of the heart can yield to that of the head, there is not much that is amiss in either. By the time, therefore, that she had fully resolved to lie awake, recalling old griefs and conjuring up new, past and future, with their cares and fears, had vanished away, and of the present she knew as little as the children she had left in their cots.

How long this lasted she knew not, some hours it seemed, when she was roused by a sound in the adjoining unfinished building. At first the drowsy senses paid little attention, and dozed on; but again she was roused louder and louder, and, starting up, she shook off sleep, flew out of bed, and, opening the door, looked into the dark passage. To her astonishment the door into the new building was half open; she advanced to shut it, when again a noise made her turn her head in the opposite direction; and there-oh, heavens! the poor girl's blood froze in her veins-there, stealing down the passage, its back towards her, was -a wolf! An exclamation of horror, which burst from her lips, disturbed the animal; it turned, and the light from the half-open door shone on its green eyes and white teeth as it sprang upon her. With one convulsive bound Louisa cleared the threshold, dashed her door to, locked it, barred it, flung a chair against it, and, this done, stood in a state of agony for which no words exist. She seemed to see all in a moment; herself safe, but those children-those children! not a door And so they turned and went into the house. closed between them and those dreadful jaws! They now took their usual last look at the chil- She was stupified with terror; and a strange, dren, who slept in opposite cots in the same room. dinning sound, like her heart's own throbbing, Each lay the sleeping effigy of her waking self. filled her ears, and shut out every other sense. The eldest, composed, cool, and orderly; with" Dreist wie ein Wolf!-Dreist wie ein Wolf!" pale cheek and smooth hair; the limbs straight, the head gently bent, the bed-clothes lying unruffled upon the regularly heaving chest; all that was beautiful, gentle, and meek; looking as if stretched out for a monumental effigy. On the other side, defying all order and bursting all bounds, was the little Constance, flushed, tumbled, and awry; the round arms tossed up, the rosy face flung back, the bed-clothes pushed off, the pillow flung out, the nightcap one way, the hair another; all that was disorderly and most lovely by night-all that was unruly and most winning by day.

"And sin brought the wolves too, dear one!" "True, true," said Louisa; "I thought of that when the poor beast lay dead at our feet today."

"Come, my lovely one, mamma will set all to rights!" And, with a few magical movements, which the young mother's hand best knows, the head was raised up, the limbs smoothed down, the little form adjusted into a fresh position, and, with sighs and smiles, and a few murmuring sounds, the blooming creature was fast asleep again.

"Only think, that poor woman's child was the age of Constance!"

"Don't think of it," said Louisa, "it will haunt your sleep" and she led her cousin to her room through the children's, where they parted for the night.

she repeated twice, mechanically; and then, force ing herself from the fainting, trance-like feeling that oppressed her, she thought for one moment that she would follow the wild beast. Her hand was on the lock, but she looked round for some weapon of defence. There was not a thing she could use-not a stanchion to the window, not a rod to the bed. Then she listened at the door, and distinctly heard the trampling claws on the boards. The animal was still close to her door, and there was time, if she could keep her senses together, to consider some means of help. Oh, if she could but have stopped that dinning sound in her ears! but it came again, beating louder and louder, and perfectly paralyzed her. The effort to open the window restored her. How she got out she knew not, but there she was on the damp ground, alone in the open garden. And now there was no time to be lost; she had to get round! the end of the house which was half closed up. with bushes, half blocked up with building mate-rials, stones, and timber. But the night had' grown darker; she could not see the path; she knew that she was losing time, and yet that all depended on her haste; she felt fevered with impatience, yet torpid with terror. At length she disengaged herself from the broken, uneven

"L'Envoy.

"Come, buy my lays, and read them if you list;
My pensive public, if you list not, buy.
Come, for you know me. I am he who sung
Of Mister Colt, and I am he who framed
Of Widdicombe the wild and wondrous song.
Come, listen to my lays, and you shall hear
How Wordsworth, battling for the laureate's
wreath,

ground, and struggled forward. There were the tier, on the other hand, presents us with a genuine windows of the children's and her cousin's rooms; bundle of ballads, various in form and character, she had fancied that she could open them with and each and all parodistic of the style and the her own hands, and call to those within; but how characteristic effusions of some one or other of our confused was her head! they belonged to a later lyric writers, either recently dead or still flourishpart of the house, and were much higher than ing, amongst articulately speaking men, after his her own. She called and called, but her voice peculiar fashion, and according to his capability. failed, and no one answered; she stooped for a But let him speak for himself:stone or something to throw up, but only soft grass or moist leaves came into her hand. Suddenly a scream was heard, it was Constance's voice-scream over scream. Frantic with terror, Louisa now dashed to another part of the house where the servants slept. As she reached it, a figure came towards her. Thank Heaven, it was old Pertel! But those screams!-they reached her louder and louder! She could only ejaculate, "Weiche Preilns !-Weiche Preilns!"-" The little ladies-the little ladies!" But he seemed Bore to the dust the terrible Fitzball; neither to heed her words, nor the thrilling sounds How N. P. Willis for his country's good, that impelled them, and took her hand, in peasant In complete steel, all bowie-knived at point, fashion, to kiss it. "Weiche Preiln!-Weiche Took lodgings in the Snapping Turtle's womb. Preiln!" she reiterated; but again he took her Come, listen to my lays, and ye shall hear hand. She struggled, but he held it firm. She The mingled music of all modern bards looked down, and there was the fairest, softest Floating aloft in such peculiar strains, hand locked round hers; she looked up, and there As strike themselves with envy and amaze; was the sweetest, gentlest face bent laughing For you bright-harped' Tennyson shall sing, over her. Macaulay chant a more than Roman lay, "I must say, darling, you speak better Esth-And Bulwer Lytton, Lytton Bulwer erst, nish in your sleep than you do when you are Unseen amidst a metaphysic fog, awake. What has made you sleep so late? Olga Howl melancholy homage to the moon; has been knocking twice at your door-she would For you once more Montgomery shall rave not come in unbidden for the world-and Con- In all his rapt rabidity of rhyme, stance has been screaming, in one of her fits of Nankeened Cockaigne shall pipe its puny note, play, till the whole house heard her. And when And our Young England's penny trumpet blow." I came at last, and took your hand to waken you, you only knocked it aside, and ejaculated, Weiche The ballads are of all sorts, except bad and Preiln! with such a pitiable expression, that I indifferent; that is to say, they are of all sorts of woke you with my laughing. How sound climature and country,-English, Scotch, Amerihave slept!" can, German, Spanish, French, Turkish, and "Slept!" said Louisa, "indeed I have-such finally, Utopian. Taken in one aspect, they give a sleep as I never wish for again! But I see it evidence of Bon Gaultier's wonderful command all; the wolf of yesterday-Olga's knocking-over our language, and his exquisite facility of Constance's screaming-your hand!" And so versification; while in another they show how

she related her dream.

you

The cousins laughed together, but also thanked God together that such scenes only exist in dreams. For wolves neither jump up to windows nor open doors, nor walk up and down corridors. Neverthe. ss, a bar was put on to that door before night.

plastic are his powers of imitation, and how perfect his apprehension of the very spirit of the writer whose verses he parodies; and, be it observed, that nothing can be farther from his intention than to disparage the effusions of those worthy children of the Muse with whose productions he deals; his sole object is to disport his fine powers in merriment, and to make his readers share that frank and genial merriment in which he revels. His is not the soul that could be insensible to the glories which crown the lays of Wordsworth and Southey, of Lockhart and Macaulay. His is not the hand that would tear one leaf of laurel from their honored brows; and, with respect to the feebler children of song, if there be any under-current of bitter ridicule in his ludicrous imitations, it could not well be avoided, as it corsists chiefly in the fact, that the parody is more vigorous and harmonious than the original. He cannot conquer quite the difficulty of writing down to an imitation of the effusions of these small fry of literature; the fiery spirit unconsciously flashes forth ever and anon; the stalwart hand discloses its powers through the muffle in which he wraps Tom Moore sings,

From Fraser's Magazine. BON GAULTIER'S BOOK OF BALLADS.* FUN! fun! fun! is a common weekly motto now-a-days for the contents of some singularly dull journal. The author of this volume does not adopt the fashionable motto, but in his sparkling pages he gives us the real thing. Since our introduction in boyhood to Colman's Broad Grins, we have met with no volume of sportive verses which has afforded us half so much laughter. Let it not be imagined, however, that there is any similarity between the two works, except in their potential power over the nerves and muscles of the risible animal. Colman's book is a collection of comic tales in flowing verse, glittering with it. puns, and rich with double entendre. Bon Gaul

The Book of Ballads. Edited by Bon Gaultier, and ted by Alfred Crowquill. London, 1845. W. S. Co., Amen Corner.

"Where bright eyes so abound, boy, "T is hard to choose, 't is hard to choose." And we say to our readers, Where good and right

the ring,

And I rather should imagine that I'll do the business, king!'

funny ballads so abound, boys, 't is hard to choose. And my old steed, Bavieca, swiftest courser in But for our love for the thundering versification of Lockhart's Spanish Ballads, and from many pleasant reminiscences of drollest Andrew Ducrow and his theatre-the true national theatre; for there alone is it we have our national achieve ments presented in dramatic form to stir the hearts and minds of future Nelsons and Wellingtonswe will turn, in the first instance, to "The Lay

of Don Fernando Gomersalez."

It is unnecessary to point out the fine lay of Lockhart's of which it is a parody. But, for the sake of such of our readers as have never had the good fortune to see the grand equestrian and dramatic spectacles at Astley's-our readers, for example, bred in the seclusion of the country, or born in our Indian empire or our distant colonial possessions-it is requisite we should state that Mr. Gomersal has been for many years the representative of the foreign heroes in the wars waged on the Astleian boards. Ducrow, who now, alas ! "Sleeps the sleep That knows no waking,"

Then they carried down the armor from the garret
where it lay,
Oh, but it was red and rusty, and the plumes were

shorn away;

And they led out Bavieca, from a foul and filthy

tear of walnut largeness to the warrior's eyelids rose,

As he fondly picked a beanstraw from his coughing courser's nose.

Many a time, O Bavieca, hast thou borne me through the fray!

Bear me but again as deadly through the listed ring this day;

Or if

Time

Then

thou art worn and feeble, as may well have

come to pass,

it is, my trusty charger, both of us were sent to grass!'

he seized his lance, and, vaulting in the saddle, sat upright,

mailed knight;

And a cry of admiration burst from every Moorish lady

Five to four on Don Fernando!' cried the sablebearded cadi.

but, still true to his vocation, sleeps, melodramatically, in his grand mausoleum in the cemetery at Kensal Green, was too great a patriot not to reserve to himself the personation of all our native heroes, (to say nothing of our patriot saint, the good knight St. George,) from the Sir Lancelots, and Sir Percivals, and Sir Gawains, of the Table Round, to the Marquess of Anglesea and the Duke of Wellington, of our living chivalry. But Marble seemed the noble courser, iron seemed the Gomersal was, and delighted are we to say is, the embodiment in the flesh of the mighty warriors who have fallen before British prowess, and especially of the greatest of them all, Napoleon Bonaparte. Indeed, his likeness to the emperor is so marvellous, that, in the strictest sense of the words, he may be said to double his part when he appears upon the field of Waterloo, en petit chapeau et redingote gris, with the petite épée by his side, in white smalls and long jacks, grim with despair as he sees that the stupid English will not find out that they are beaten; and fiercely taking snuff as he orders charge after charge, in whirlwind vehemence, against the serried ranks of "that astonishing infantry." It will now be un-In the derstood how appropriately is Gomersal made the hero of this lay of foreign derring do." Mr. And

Warriors three from Alcantara burst into the
listed space,

Warriors three, all bred in battle, of the proud
Alhambra race:

Trumpets sounded, coursers bounded, and the
foremost straight went down,
Tumbling, like a sack of turnips, just before the
jeering clown.

Like

second chieftain galloped, and he bowed to the king,

his saddle-girths were tightened by the master

of the ring;

desperate fight began

Fernando! bear thee bravely!—'t is the
Moor Abdorrhoman!

a double streak of lightning, clashing in the
sulphurous sky,

Met the pair of hostile heroes, and they made the sawdust fly;

Widdicombe, it must next be told, is the urbane, the witty, the accomplished, and the venerable Through three blazing hoops he bounded ere the master of the ring. Great in his professional career, still greater as the oracle of the neighbor-Don ing hostelrie, where he is reverentially regarded as the writer of the principal leaders in the Times. With this explanation we may pass on to the story of the ballad. It will be remembered on a day of high triumph and solemnity "in Grenada's royal town," the Moorish king, hurt in his pride, as he presides at the tournament, at the praises by his minister of a captive Spanish knight, causes him to be released from his dungeon, and promises him life and liberty if he can overthrow in combat three Moorish champions before the sun has sunk But he below the horizon. Then quoth Don Fernando Gomersales to the monarch Al-Widdicombe :

"Give me but the armor, monarch, that I wore within the field,

Give me but my trusty helmet, give me but my dinted shield,

And the Moslem spear so stiffly smote on Don Fernando's mail,

That

he reeled, as if in liquor, back to Bavieca's

Sore astonied was the monarch, and the Moorish | But I give thee warning, caitiff! Look thou sharply warriors all, to thine eyeSave the third bold chief, who tarried and beheld | Unavenged, at least in harness, Gomersalez shall

We must give one more extract from this portion Caught him tightly by the girdle, and behind the of the work-the Spanish ballads. But that which

And he struck the Moor so fiercely, as he grap-forth a multitude of epithets as rich in gorgeous