looks, size, and disposition, are resorted to in vain. Sometimes I cannot use this evasion, and am obliged to own that I do know a little of the object of inquiry. This is not sufficient; I am expected to understand his temper, his abilities, his character,-in fact, to use the querist's expression, "all about him." I find myself placed in a terrible dilemma, between the fear of offending and telling a lie; to get out of which I am, in self-defence, obliged to avow that I have but few intimate friends, and that I am not acquainted even by name with half my schoolfellows. This is certain to astonish every one, and I am considered, if not a blockhead, at least a very extraordinary and singular 'youth, and one who has very little intercourse with his equals. As I neither like wine nor politics, I contrive to steal away, after some time, unperceived, from the dessert, and retire to my chamber to compose a few lines of my holiday task, which becomes à pleasure, solely because it is an occupation, or tó doze over a rusty old novel; then, with singular success, I unite myself to the merry party, just as they are on the point of entering the drawing-room.

I am usually severely dismayed when I understand that we tare to accept the invitation of some of our neighbours and, feeling obliged to go, I solace myself with the reflection that I may, perhaps, in the course of purgatory, meet with some congenial spirit in the shape of a 'stranger. But all these frights are trifling and imaginary compared to the terror with which I heard it once proposed and unanimously resolved (for my alarm completely stopped my dissentient voice) that we should give a grand ball; and, to my additional consternation, give it on my birth day. In vain did I protest, as soon as my utterance returned, that dancing was my utter abhorrence'; that I neither knew steps nor time; and conjured them most earnestly, if they really wished to gratify me, to put off this entertainment, at least till I had gone to Eton, which would only occasion the delay of a day or two. All my objections were overruled; they were ascribed to my usual shyness and modesty. I, forsooth, should cut as good a figure as any body; how could I refuse, unless under pain of being laughed at by the whole county? Besides, it was necessary for me to lead off the ball; and they even went so far as to ask me, out of all the fair ladies, whom I would honour by requesting her hand. Resistance was vain; so I feigned acquiescence, looked more happy than usual as the day approached, and pretended great anxiety lest the artist should not arrive in time to chalk the floors, or lest an ill-natured fall of snow should totally prevent the intended fête. Little did the good people foresee my resolution, or they would have taken all bars and bolts far out of my reach. On the fatal evening, when I should have been employed in preparing myself for the gaiety, I secured the door of my bedroom, and remained

there, stoutly resisting all external communications. Messenger after messenger announced that the company were arriving, that they had all come together, and that the ball was at a stand on my account. To each of these I gave evasive answers; but when all my brothers besieged my fortress, I positively told them that I would not surrender, and that I did not intend to appear. This final determination I suspected would bring up more authoritative deputies, so I jumped into bed, and was soon lulled to sleep by the distant sound of the music and the merry feet of the dancers. I was almost ashamed to show myself the next morning at the breakfast table. However, I wisely considered that I might as well encounter all the blame or laugh at once. My mother thought it was very odd that a young man of my age should dislike dancing, and instanced the splendid display which many of my equals made on the preceding night. My Father rather defended my conduct, and said that he did not see why Mat should dance if he did not like it. My Aunt was fortunately so knocked up by her fatigues, that she drank her refreshing tea by herself up stairs. I congratulated myself on having escaped so easily; indeed, I believe few knew the real reason of my absence, for sudden illness was alleged as the cause. All suspicions, which are generally very busy in our county, gradually died away, for I luckily soon after returned to Eton, where I now remain, and which I shall be the more sorry to leave, since "The King of Clubs" has published its amusing lucubrations.

I have the honour, Sir, to remain your constant admirer in every thing (the punch-bowl excepted)

MATTHEW SWINBURNE.

THE CONFESSION OF DON CARLOS.

(Loosely imitated from the Spanish.)

O TELL not me of broken vow-
I speak a firmer passion now;
O! tell not me of shatter'd chain—
The link shall never burst again ;
My soul is fix'd as firmly here
As the red Sun in his career;
As Victory on Mina's crest,
Or Tenderness in Rosa's breast,

Then do not tell me, while we part,
Of fickle flame, and roving heart;
While Youth shall bow at Beauty's shrine,
That flame shall glow-that heart be thine.

Then wherefore dost thou bid me tell
The tale thy malice knows so well?
I may not disobey thee!-Yes!

Thou bidst me, and I will confess :-
See how adoringly I kneel-

Hear how my folly I reveal;

My folly!-chide me if thou wilt,
Thou shalt not-canst not call it-guilt.
And when my faithlessness is told,
Ere thou hast time to play the scold,
I'll haste the fond rebuke to check,
And lean upon thy snowy neck,
Play with its glossy auburn hair,

And hide the blush of falsehood there.

Inez, the innocent and young,

First snar'd my heart, and wak'd my song;
We both were harmless, and untaught
To love as fashionables ought;
With all the modesty of youth,

We talk'd of constancy and truth;
Grew fond of Music, and the Moon,
And wander'd on the nights of June,
To sit beneath the chestnut tree,
While the lonely stars shone mellowly,
Shedding a pale and dancing beam
On the wave of Guadalquivir's stream.
And aye we talk'd of faith and feelings,
With no distrustings, no concealings;

And aye we joy'd in stolen glances,

And sigh'd, and blush'd, and read Romances.
Our love was ardent and sincere,-
And lasted, Rosa-half a year!
And then the maid grew fickle-hearted,
Married Don Jose-so we parted.
At twenty-one, I've often heard,
My bashfulness was quite absurd;
For, with a squeamishness uncommon,
I fear'd to love a married woman.

Fair Leonora's laughing eye
Again awak'd my song and sigh:
A gay intriguing dame was she;
And fifty Dons of high degree,
That came and went as they were bid,
Dubb'd her the Beauty of Madrid.
Alas! what constant pains I took
To merit one approving look:
I courted Valour-and the Muse,
Wrote challenges—and billet-doux;
Paid for Sherbet and Serenade,
Fenc'd with Pegru and Alvarade;
Fought at the bull-fights like a hero,
Studied small talk,-and the Bolero;
Play'd the guitar,—and play'd the fool;
This out of tune,-that out of rule.
I oft at midnight wander'd out,
Wrapt up in love-and my capote,
To muse on beauty-and the skies,
Cold winds-and Leonora's eyes.
Alas! when all my gains were told,
I'd caught a Tartar*-and a cold.

"

* The original was a Spanish idiom which we found it impossible to render literally we believe it comes very near to the English expression which we have substituted. P. C.

And burst the bond whose fetters bound me,

And broke the spell that hung around me,
Recall'd the heart that madly rov'd,

And bade me love, and be belov'd.
Who was it broke the chain and spell?
Dark-eyed Castilian!-thou canst tell!
And am I faithless?-woe the while,
What vow but melts at Rosa's smile?
For broken vows, and faith betrayed,
The guilt is thine, Castilian maid!

The tale is told and I am gone :-
Think of me, lov'd and lovely one,
When none on earth shall care beside
How Carlos liv'd, or lov'd, or died!
Thy love on earth shall be to me
A bird upon a leafless tree
A bark upon a hopeless wave-

A lily on a tombless grave—
A cheering hope—a living ray,
To light me on a weary way.

And thus is Love's Confession done;

Give me thy parting benison;

And ere I rise from bended knee,

To wander o'er a foreign sea,
Alone and friendless,-ere I don

My pilgrim's hat, and sandal shoon,—