lately seen a foreign prince, an ally, in a time of peace specu lating with much playful naïveté on the best modes for squibbing our shipping and rocketing our harbors-the facility with which he could ignite the Thames and mull the Medway-sink the Cinque Ports-blow off Beachy's head, shiver Deal into splinters, and knock the two Reculver steeples into one. His Highness, it is true, contemplated a bellicose state, ceremoniously proclaimed according to the usage of polite nations; but suppose some outlandish savage, as uncivilized as unshorn, say from Terra del Fuego, animated with an insane hostility to England, and burning to test his skill in Pyrotechnics-might not such a barbarian be tempted to dispense with a formal declaration of war, and make a few experimental essays how to introduce his treacherous combustibles into our perfidious towns and hamlets? Foreign incendiaries for me, rather than native; and accident or spontaneous combustion before either! But if we must believe in it home-made-surely, in preference to the industrious laborer, suspicion should fall on those sturdy trampers that infest the country, the foremost to crave for food and money, the last to ask for work, and one of whom might light up a dozen par. ishes. If it be otherwise, if a class eminently loyal, patient, peaceable, and rational, have really become such madmen throwing about fire, it is high time, methinks, with universal Artesian borings, to begin to scuttle our island for fear of its being burnt. But no-that Shadow of an incendiary, with uplifted hands, and streaming repentant eyes, disavows with earnest gesture the foul intent; and shadow as he is, my belief acquits him, and makes me echo the imaginary sigh with which he fades again into the foggy distance between me and Port Sydney. It is in your power, Sir James Graham! to lay the ghost that is haunting me. But that is a trifle. By a due intercession with the earthly fountain of mercy, you may convert a melancholy shadow into a happier reality—a righted man—a much pleasanter image to mingle in our walzing visions, as well as in those dreams which, as Hamlet conjectures, may soothe or disturb us in our coffins. Think, sir, of poor Gifford White-inquire into his hard case, and give it your humane consideration, as that of a fellow-man with an immortal soul-a "possible angel "-to be met hereafter face to face. To me, should this appeal meet with any success, it will be one of the dearest deeds of my pen. I shall not repent a wide deviation from my usual course; or begrudge the pain and trouble caused me by the providential visitings of an importunate phantom. In any case, my own responsibility is at an end. I have relieved my heart, appeased my conscience, and absolved my soul. [HE BRIDGE OF SIGHS "Drowned! drowned!"-HAMLET. ONE more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Take her up tenderry, Look at her garments Drips from her clothing Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing.— Touch her not scornfully; Make no deep scrutiny Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, Wipe those poor lips of hers Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas! for the rarity Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly, Feelings had changed: Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence; Even God's providence Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. The bleak wind of March Or the black flowing river: In she plunged boldly, Picture it,―think of it, Dissolute Man! Lave in it, drink of it Then, if you can! Take her up tenderly, Ere her limbs frigidly Smoothe, and compose them; And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly! Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity, |