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“ The friendship of Lamb and my father was once interrupted by some wilful fancy on the part of the latter. At this time, Southey happened to pay a compliment to Lamb at the expense of some of his companions, my father among them. The faithful and unswerving heart of the other forsaking not, although forsaken, refused a compliment at such a price, and sent it back to the giver. The tribute to my father, which he at the same time paid, may stand for ever as one of the proudest and truest evidences of the writer's heart and intellect. It brought back at once the repentant offender to the arms of his friend, and nothing again sepa. rated them till death came. It is as follows:-** * * * From the other gentleman I neither expect nor desire (as he is well assured) any such concessions as L- H- made to C- What hath soured him, and made him suspect his friends of infidelity towards him, when there was no such matter, I know not. I stood well with him for fifteen years, (the proudest of my life,) and have ever spoke my full mind of him to some to whom his panegyric must naturally be least tasteful. I never in thought swerved from him; I never betrayed him; I never slackened in my admiration of him; I was the same to him, (neither better nor worse, though he could not see it, as in the days when he thought fit to trust me. At this instant he may be preparing for me some compliment, above my deserts, as he has sprinkled many such among his admi. rable books, for which I rest his debtor ; or, for any thing I know or can guess to the contrary, he may be about to read a lecture on my weaknesses. He is welcome to them, (as he was to my humble hearth,) if they can divert a spleen, or ventilate a fit of sullenness. I wish he would not quarrel with the world at the rate he does ; but the reconciliation must be effected by himself, and I despair of living to see that day. But -protesting against much that he has written, and some things which he chooses to do; judging him by his conversations which I enjoyed so long, and relished so deeply, or by his books, in those places where no clouding passion intervenes-I should belie my conscience, if I said less than that I think W. H. to be, in his natural and healthy state, one of the wisest and finest spirits breathing. So far from being ashamed of that intimacy which was betwixt us, it is my boast that I was able for so many years to have preserved it entire; and I think I shall go to my grave without finding, or expecting to find, such another companion. But I forget my manners-you will pardon me, Sir.-I return to the correspondence.""

It may be expected by some that we should, ourselves, give an opinion of the talents of Mr. Hazlitt, and of the tendency of his works. We trust, however, that our friends will be satisfied with the very abundant extracts that we have made. We will only assert that these volumes should be very generally read; and that their contents have no little pretensions to be looked upon as English classics. We trust that the Conservative will not shut his eyes to the beauties that they contain, because they may happen to familiarize him to such names as those of Leigh Hunt, and of other consistent liberal writers. They should not be read with the spirit of party overshadowing the mind. Even some of the hazardous speculations that they promulgate should be regarded by those opposed to all innovation, if not with respect, at least with tolerance. To the bigoted, most abstract truths are offensive; and yet it is certain, that the more nearly we approach to them in our morals, in our institutions, and in our conduct, the nearer we are to perfection.

This publication, we mention it merely par parenthése, is embellished by a beautiful engraving by Mar, after a drawing by Bewick,

which drawing having called forth from Sheridan Knowles the fol-
lowing energetic sonnet, with it we cannot do better than to con-
“ Thus Hazlitt looked! There's life in every line!

Soul-language-fire that colour could not give,
See ! on that brow how pale-robed thought divine,

In an embodied radiance seems to live!
Ah! in the gaze of that entranced eye,

Humid, yet burning, there beams passion's flame,

Lighting the cheek, and quivering through the frame ;
While round the lips, the odour of a sigh

Yet hovers fondly, and its shadow sits
Beneath the channel of the glowing thought

And fire-clothed eloquence, which comes in fits
Like Pythiac inspiration !- Bewick, taught

By thee, in vain doth slander's venom'd dart
Do its foul work 'gainst him. This head must own a heart."



Moi qui, même auprès des belles

Voudrais vivre en passager,
Que je porte envie aux ailes

De l'oiseau vif et léger,
Combien d'espace il visite,
A voltiger tout l'invite,
L'air est doux, le ciel est beau,

&c. &c. &c.


How great is my passion to rove,

Nay, even from fair one to fair;
And had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would I mount into air !
Sweet bird, how I envy thy flight,

So blue and so balmy's the sky,
That had I thy wings, with delight
How soon would I stretch them and fly.

Instructed in Philomel's song,

I'd hie me away to the plains,
Then mix with a pastoral throng,

And give them a nightingale's strains.

Then yonder lone hermit to cheer,

On charity's errand I'd go,
I love him, for he has a tear,

If sympathy bids it to flow.

Then some rural party I'd join,

And snugly ensconced in the shade,
Would give them a song to their wine,

Whilst they drink to some favorite maid.
Should I meet with some hero of Gaul,

Compelled as an exile to roam,
I've a song that can sweetly recall

The thoughts of his country and home.

And then through the air I would glide,

And perch on yon desolate towers,
My pinions of course I would hide,

For captives might envy my powers.
And then with the best of my strains

I would their dull moments beguile,
Till lost to their prison and chains,

They welcome their guest with a smile.

And then if perchance I should see

Some gothic, unpopular king, *
On the olive, Minerva's own tree,

I'd take up my station and sing.
The captive again I would seek,

Who sighs, but in vain, for release,
And then, with a branch in my beak,

Would bring him an emblem of peace.

The base and unworthy to shun,

Then eastwards I'd hurry my flight,
Nor stop, till I found where the sun

First opens the floodgates of light.
But vain are the wings of a dove,

Wherever I wander I see
The fowler is watchful, and Love
Still spreads his devices for me.


* Charles the Tenth is evidently alluded to here. During the reign of this monarch Beranger was both fined and imprisoned.

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IMMEDIATELY that I had lost sight of the enthusiast, James Gavel, I fancied that there came a lull, and that the tempest had visibly decreased. Even in my perilous, my almost desponding situation, I could not but give many regrets to the stern, high-souled, and selfimmolating seaman, and I inwardly prayed that the sacrifice might not have been in vain.

After the emotion naturally attendant upon this awful incident had somewhat subsided, I turned my thoughts to my present situation. The boat had shipped but little water, and rose buoyantly upon the high, long, and unbreaking swell. It was the long-boat-a large and stoutly-built craft, that had been used to ship the pipes of wine, and perfectly seaworthy; but, saving the thwarts, there was nothing whatever in her; neither sail, oar, rudder, or spar of any kind. Still, it was necessary to make our situation as endurable as possible. Jugurtha had set himself down in the stern-sheets, with his knees drawn up, and his hands resting upon them, with the lower part of his body immersed in water, apparently satisfied, certainly apathetic. In this situation he remained motionless for at least twenty minutes, and Bounder, the Newfoundland dog, had coiled himself up, with evidently something of a similar feeling, under the head sheets. I occupied this space of time alternately in prayer, and the most bitter anticipations.

But man's duties cease but with his life, and I knew that action was the best, and generally the victorious, antagonist to apprehension. By this time, it required no superstitious feeling to perceive that the storm was fast decreasing. The wind howled over the ocean in intermitting and fitful gusts, and in the hollows of the vast seas we were nearly becalmed. I roused myself and arose.

“ Jugurtha," said I to the negro, placing my hand kindly upon his shoulder, “ Jugurtha, do you hear me? My brave black brother, we must bestir ourselves, and bale the boat out.”

At the first few words he was heedless, but, when the two syllables, brother, met his ear, he started and trembled, and immediately one of the most intense and unsophisticated grins of pleasure divided the lower part of his countenance for a moment, showing two ranges of teeth of the whitest and the largest, and he then jumped upon his legs as if he had been electrified. Though I talked about baling the water out of the boat, I had no idea how it was to be effected. Either hat or cap we had none; and my ingenuity could furnish no better means than the toilsome and childish ones of using the hollows of our hands. Jugurtha knew better. He had his jacket off in an instant, and making a sort of bucket of the body of it, with my assist

Continued from page 223.

ance, we scooped out the water manfully. In less than half an hour we were tolerably dry.

Wet and weary as we were, fatigue made her usual and uncompromising demand upon nature for sleep. So Jugurtha and I lay down in the bottom of the boat fraternally, and, as the night was cool, Bounder came and thrust his shaggy and warmth-imparting hide between us, and thus we slept in an open boat, and in the open ocean, the retiring storm singing us its mournful lullaby.

Well do I remember it, that repose was a delicious one. For the first hours my senses were swaddled with a deep, dreamy, and vague consciousness of security, a feeling of having the arms of a tangible Providence round about me, and I nestled into my fancied happiness, as does the unweaned infant into the bosom of its mother. But toward morning the visions of my mind grew more distinct, and more joyous. I dreamt, ridiculously enough, that I was asleep in the best state bed of Mr. Falck, my old master, and that his five daughters were standing around me, with merry malice in their faces. Methought that I saw them distinctly, but I could not wake. They spread around this large bed, a most superb breakfast, nor was there wanting wines and fruits. I strove to arouse and scold them for this their graceless conduct in being thus in a bachelor's bed-room, and for bringing about me also so many appetising and tantalising viands. But my efforts were vain, I could neither move nor speak, though I heard and saw every thing minutely. And then methought that the plump, and pretty, and red-haired Miss Agatha, came close up to my bed side, and dabbling my blushing and burning cheeks with her very white fingers, said to me, mouthing her words like a nurse to its child, “ Pretty little babe, it can't wake up, can't it?--high nonny, ho nonny, and there's its breakfast, pretty dear it shall have some sugar if it will open its pretty eyes, bless it !" And, at every word, the sisters around were convulsed with laughter. A feeling of dissatisfaction-of the supernatural, now began to creep over my dream ;-how was it that I appeared to be as marble, motionless, powerless ?

“ See at it,” said my wicked tormentor, “how vexed it looks in its slumbers. Hush thee, my babe. Ardenty, pardenty, they sha'n't tease it-no, they sha'n't. Come, sisters dear, let us rock it, and sing to it.”

And then, methought, that each of the four sisters, laying hold of a bedpost, began, despite the level and firm floor, rocking me most energetically, and that the young and little Mira, with her oblique bright eyes glistening with mirth, stood, singing at the foot of the bed, as well as she could for laughing, “ There it goes up, up, up, and here it goes down, down, downy," &c.

I dreamt that this farce was kept up a considerable time, till at length Mira exclaimed, “ Oh! the dunder-headed sleeper, it will never wake-let us try this;" and she dashed full into my face a huge jug of cold water.

I awoke indeed. The salt spray was pouring down my face. My bed of state was changed into a crazy boat; the banquet around me was the famine-stricken waves; for the fresh and merry faces, there

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