information from the occurrence. The majority of passengers by the short stages, while they are purified from the ignorance and from the consequent barbarism of the lowest orders of the people, are not in that condition in which l'usage du monde produces a courteous but insipid monotony, if not of actual, at least of apparent character. Voltaire says, that the English are like a pot of their own porter.-The top is froth; at the bottom are the dregs; the middle is excellent. The simile may be too broad, but there is some truth in it. It occasionally affords me no little entertainment, while I listen to the animated discussion that frequently prevails in these "leathern con veniences," to guess the peculiar Occupations and habits of those by whom it is carried on. Practice has, I flatter myself, conferred upon ine tolerable skill in this respect. I have sometimes been led, by very slight indications, to form conjectures which subsequent enquiry has proved to be well-founded. I have detected a stock-broker, by his remarking, that the barometer looked up;" a solicitor by his " demurring" to the observations of a gentleman on the opposite seat, and an artist, by his praising the "fine tone of colour" of an iron-grey horse that passed us on the road. Candour, however, compels me to confess, that I now and then commit a little blunder. I once mistook a sheriff's officer for a musician, because he spoke of bars," and "a good catch;" and just after the death of our late venerable Sovereign, I nearly escaped insulting a young dandy, who talked a great deal about "men and measures, and who, I afterwards understood, was a junior clerk to one of the Under Secretaries of State, by asking him the ready-money-price of a suit of the best French black. 66 In most short stages, there belongs to every regular set of passengers one person of greater self-importance than the rest, who affects to assume an authoritative tone and manner. This especially occurs, when an individual so pre-disposed, happens to be invested with any of the parochial dignities of his neighbourhood. It is this person who draws up or lets son down the windows. It is this pern who rates the coachman for waiting more than exactly two miof a dilatory cus nutes at the this person who pre tomer. It is scribes the precise line of streets through which the stage shall be driven to the place of its destination. -Sometimes, his assumption is silently acquiesced in; sometimes, it is stoutly resisted. More than once, after an absence of several months, I have again taken my station in the narrow arena of a contest of this description, for the sole purpose of gratifying my curiosity, by ascer taining whether, in the interval, the ancient autocrat had been able to maintain his despotism, or whether he had been deposed by a well-concerted and vigorous rebellion. Another striking characteristic of these vehicles is, the inclination evin ced by many of their temporary occupants (although seldom on the part of the regular passengers, be tween whom and interlopers there is often much jealousy,) to communicate to utter strangers a thorough knowledge of their own affairs. In passing from Turnham Green to Piccadilly, I have been entertained with every particular of a compli cated and interminable law-suit; and I have had the distance from Leadenhall Street, to Limehouse rendered apparently short by an accurate enumeration of the various connexions, down to the fifth cousin, by marriage, of one whom I had never before seen, and whom I trust it is no breach of Christian charity to pray to Heaven I may never see again. But it would be gross injustice were I not to repeat that the gratification which I have sometimes experienced on these occasions has much exceeded the annoyance. One of the most delightful incidents that I ever witnessed, and which afforded me a pure and unmixed enjoyment, occurred the other day in the Chelsea stage, at a moment when I was so lucky as to be seated in it. I have a friend in Sloane Terrace, who is an excellent fellow; and, which is more (to use Dogberry's phraseology) a great reader; and, which is more, a tolerable chess player. Having passed an evening with him in chatting on books, he at length induced me to sit down to the board; at which, as his custom is, he checkmated me repeatedly without mercy. I certainly revenged myself very amply on his sandwiches and liqueurs; but before his hostility and my spirit of retaliation were satiated, it became so late, that I gladly accepted his offer of a sofa and a blanket for the night. As I had an affair of some importance in town next morning, I determined to go by the nine o'clock stage; at the office for which my friend's servant accordingly booked a place, and I was punctually called for at the proper hour. In the coach I found two gentlemen, who I have no doubt belonged to one of the respectable classes to which I have already alluded, and were on their way to their daily employment. By the time that we had determined that it threatened rain, had predicted what would be the amount of the subscription for the distressed Irish, and had supposed that Parliament would not be prorogued until the the latter end of July, the coach arrived at the junction of Sloane-street with Knightsbridge; and the coachman hastily drew up, in order to admit a lady who was there, awaiting his approach, but whom he did not appear at all to know. She saluted us with much civility. Her age seemed to be about five and forty. She was rather en bon point. Her countenance was intelligent, and, if not handsome, (of which I will not be sure) possessed an expression of mingled sweetness and frankness which in my opinion is peculiar to our countrywomen. Conversation, which this little stoppage had interrupted, was resumed, but the topic was again changed. "I wonder," exclaimed one of my male companions, "what has become of that young lady as we used to take up here, and sit down at the bottom of Chancery Lane ?" "I can't guess," replied the other. "She came for a long time very regular; but she has not been with us for a fortnight." "It's a great loss. She was always so chatty and pleasant." "Yes; and very diffident too; that's what I call properly diffident; -not sheepish or shame-faced." "O! not a bit. Just what a young woman should be. Do you remember how, by two or three quiet words she confounded the spark as kept staring her in the eyes one day, 'till I was going to say something to him which he would not have liked, only she saw what I was about, and spoke herself, to prevent what she thought might be mischief?" 66 Aye; and do you recollect that snowy morning last November, when, though the coach was crammed, she begged that the poor little child of a soldier's wife outside might be taken in, and all I could do, insisted on carrying it, wet as it was, in her own lap ?" "Yes; she was a good creature, and very pretty into the bargain. Every body liked her. Even Sam the coachman, when he let down or put up the steps for her seemed to do it with a half smile; though I think he's about the gruffest fellow as I ever saw. I should like amaz→ ingly to know what is become of her." "So should I. But with her disposition, she's sure to be uncommon happy, go where she may." Towards the close of the above dialogue my eye happened to glance on our female fellow-passenger, and was suddenly arrested by observing that her fine face was lighted up with no ordinary emotion, which she vainly endeavoured to suppress, but which at length she succeeded in checking so far as to hide it from any scrutiny but that of a physiognomist. I have already owned my vanity on that score. Of course, immediately set about divining the cause of the appearance I had noticed. Many sagacious conclusions did I draw; but they all fell far short of the affecting truth, told with great simplicity by the lady herself, as she was preparing to leave us in Henrietta Street, Covent Garden. "Gentlemen," said she, with the most gracious smile conceivable, "I cannot wish you farewell, without thanking you for your very handsome praises of my daughter! She is indeed an excellent girl, and deserves your good opinion.' Her eyes filled with tears, and she made short pause. "I am sure you have kind hearts; and that you will be but I would cheerfully endure the jolting of the worst-hung coach that a patentee for easy carriages ever invented, over a hundred miles of the most rugged road that commissioners were ever appointed to keep in repair, to experience such another sensation as I felt at that moment. W, H. W. THE SURRENDER OF FORT ST. PHILIP. A Dramatic Sketch. SCENE I.The Castle. ALMANZOR. HIE thee, Silvestre, to the arsenal; Q! direful strait !-Hedg'd in betwixt two evils; Forc'd to choose one, yet fearful each were wrong. While 'fore the stern inexorable King My head would answer my too-ready yielding. Supreme in power, or but obedient to it. And which were best, to farther push the siege, Enter RODERIGO. Rod. Surrenderment! Who names surrenderment? Look not deject, good Governor, nor shrink Many a heart zealous and brave as mine; This one day's truce hath made new men of them. 1 1 Our bold attempt To hold communion with the Spanish ship, 17 Hath fail'd, and he, trust-worthy, faithful Leon, Rod. Let not the soldiery behold thee thus; I've caught a fiery spirit of thy words; Go, my good cousin, say whate'er you list. Enter MATILDA. (Exit RODERigo. Alm. Now, fair Matilda, wherefore art thou here? Mat. I cannot think me safe but where thou art; Widows call down the stony heights to crush them; And infant innocence turns wildly savage; Each face looks fear and ghastly wonderment. They whom the sword hath spared, perish of famine; Mine ears do bleed, To hear my damsels' tales of death and slaughter; And now myself behold a scene so horrid, As makes me shudder to repeat or think on: A scant supply of food, himself forbore Might eat and live. His tott'ring step had gain'd While from his strengthless hold the treasur'd loaf An infant boy ran forth, and, so had hunger Sought th' untempting meal, when strait the bread So soak'd in blood, devour'd he greedily. Alm. Forbear, my love, to ravel out these horrors. Mat. When may we hope that they shall cease to be ? O! be persuade to grant th' unequal contest; To yield were honour now; open the gates, For not the bitterest hate of furious foe Could curse with suff'rings like fierce famine's torture. Alm. Alas, Matilda! little dost thou reck The pillaging, the lawless violence, and all Th' unhallow'd revelling of victory. No temple's holy fane shall sacred be To saintly relic, or to virgin fears. And thou, the wife of scarce two months- The English have an honourable fame, And on my knees I'll crave the gallant Stanhope And raising piteously my streaming eyes, Alm. False traitress, hold! thou dost occasion seek To be seam'd and intersected o'er with scars; Mat. Alas! my lord, what means this sudden humour? T'were worth my life to see thee often thus. Teach me my fault; I false? what is't you say? Alm. Sweet Maud, my words were hasty and unmeaning, I'll be more strange, and cold, and look displeas'd, I have a wild surmise, a mad design; Say, wilt thou bind thyself to do my bidding, Mat. I have no other will than what is thine. Alm. Promise; nay, swear, you will not shrink from it. Curse on my clammy tongue, the words do choke me SCENE II.-Outside the walls.-Distant part of the enemy's camp. SEVORINO and BRIAN. Sev. Why sirrah, knave, how now? didst thou not hear me call thee varlet; whereupon didst thou not answer more quickly? Bri. Truly, methinks, I am over-ready to answer such discourteous summoning, seeing my name is neither sirrah, knave, nor varlet, but honest Brian O'Shilfenord to command. Sev. Yet this thy baptismal name carrieth no patrimony, whereas that I did confer on thee hath an estate entail. Bri. An estate! I pray thee shew it me, captain? Sev. To wit, a halter, fellow, and a scaffold. Bri. I wot I'm undeserving to fill so elevate a station; no, though I be content to hold the title wherewith thou'rt pleased to dub me, yet do I most unreservedly demise the aforesaid hemp-ground to some dear friend who may stand more in need of it. Sev. A truce to foolery; has any one been here during my absence? Bri. Truly has one been waiting this hour. Sev. Villain, why not have given me to know of this at the first? what was his name, who was he? Bri. Exactly no other than myself, who have been looking your return ever since you left me. Eur. Mag. Vol. 82. E |