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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 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.

my

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,

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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.

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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!.

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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 yet perchance that lovely brow
Had still detain❜d my captive vow;
That clear blue eye's enchanting roll
Had still enthrall'd my yielding soul ;
But suddenly a vision bright

Came o'er me in a veil of light,

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 mé
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,

Dark-eyed Castilian! let me win
Forgiveness sweet for venial sin;

Let lonely sighs, and dreams of thee,
Be penance for my perjury.

P. C.

SOLITUDE IN A CROWD.

"This is to be alone; this, this is solitude."-BYRON.

READER! were you ever alone in a crowd? -If not, thank your stars, and bestow a grain of pity upon those who must return a different response to the question. A crowded solitude, if we may use such a strange expression, is, in sober sadness, as melancholy a sensation as human nature is capable of enduring.

A crowded solitude!-If you are young, thoughtless, and talkative, you will be astonished at the idea; and there will be nothing extraordinary in your surprise. The ancient poets,-poor ignorant souls!-have given us a very different description of being alone. They have defined various kinds of Solitude, suited to various descriptions of men; but all of them are alike founded on mistaken notions and groundless prejudice. Were we to follow their opinions, we should place the solitude of the lover in whispering groves, purling rills, and moonlight; that of the sage in a library, or an observatory; that of the poet in a dish of vegetables and a Sabine farm; and, à fortiori, that of the Etonian in an uncarpeted domicile, with a fractured window on the one side, and a smoking fire on the other. Is this solitude? Far from it! We must most strenuously contend that true solitude is to be found in a multitude.

We are aware that the Solitude we are now discussing is not that which is generally understood by the term. Many persons have probably never heard of any but a corporeal solitude; that which we are describing is mental. The one is to be found in Caves and Caucasus; the other in Theatres and Almack's. The former delights in moonshine, the latter in candelabras; the first sets a great value upon the silence and pure air of the country; the second gives the preference to the noise and squeeze of the fashionable world; and which of these is real solitude-the corporeal, which is removed from the sight and hearing of all objects? or the mental, which both hears and sees a variety of things, and is utterly unconscious that it does either?

We are distrustful of our powers of description, and will therefore endeavour to illustrate our meaning by examples. We are

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