That I might know their owners had no thought
Beyond that gentle lady's happiness.

My Dream was darken'd. In that ancient House There was a death-like silence-one alone

Of all those young and lovely forms remained,
And she was traversing the silent hall,

With wild and hurried footsteps. Very pale
She look'd, and in her tremulous voice was sorrow
Mingled with dread—and yet she shed no tears.
There seem'd a settled spirit at her heart,
Triumphant o'er calamity,-a firm

And holy strength; yet ever and anon
Her lips, comprest convulsively, betray'd
The struggle of her soul with agony.
Methought one told me that o'er that old house
Disease had spread his pinions, and that she,
That gentle mother, and her youngest child,
Were fading in Death's shadowy arms.
That maid, the ruling image of my Dream,
Tended their feverish beds, and sleeplessly
Was comforting the agonies of each.

Alone

Oh! 'twas most piteous to see that pale form
Gliding from room to room; and when with faint
And tremulous accent either sufferer asked
How fared the other, writhing painful smiles,
And striving with deceitful hope to win
Each soul from half their suffering. And then
Methought the tramp of horses, and the whirl
Of chariot wheels kept sounding in my ear;
And, one by one, familiar forms past by me,
In sad succession, to that house of woe.
They were my friends in childhood, and I sighed
To see how thus with pallid looks they came
To weep upon that Lady's sepulchre.

My Dream passed darkly on. Methought I stood With her, the ruling image of the Vision,

Beneath the waning twilight

Again my Dream grew dark. We stood by night,

(I and that maiden) near the old abode,

But a new woe was on us.

Doubt, and fear,

And thoughts of death, and undefined forebodings,
Rung heavy on our hearts. Then on a sudden
She had departed, and her wild farewell

Was ringing like a death-knell in my ear,

Which my heart's echoed back.-I felt, that hour, for ever. My brain reel'd

As she were gone

Giddily, and dim shadows of dark thought

Throng'd through its bursting cells tumultuously.
I looked up to the Heavens-their face was dark
With gathering tempest, and the silent moon,
In pale and melancholy loveliness,

Peep'd dimly through the clouds, whose shadowy forms
The winds, in rapid and tumultuous flight,
Hurl'd o'er Night's blue and starry firmament.

My Dream was brighten'd. Sounds of love and joy, And hymeneal songs, and rustic mirth,

Mix'd with the music of the village bells,
Broke gaily on my ear. From that old house
There pass'd a merry wedding-rout. The bride
Was that young maiden whom I late beheld
Pining in hopeless sickness. Holy love,
And chaste connubial raptures fill'd her eyes,
Smiling through silent tears. And then I saw
That maid, the ruling image of my Dream,

Had past from all the faces which I lov'd,

And the calm pulses of maturity

Throughout my being throbb'd. I stood begirt
By beaming faces of time-honour'd friends,
Whose children play'd around us,-happy creatures,
With cheeks and eyes of brightness, some in youth's
More ripen'd bloom, maidens with downcast looks,
And boys of gallant bearing. Peace and joy
Dwelt with us; the bright soul of other days
Stole, like an exquisite dream, into our hearts,
And childhood's scenes lay round us. And, methought,
There lean'd a radiant form upon my bosom,
Dearer than all, from whose mild eyes I drank
Intoxicating bliss; all pleasant thoughts
Rose up within me, and each giddy sense
Reel'd in its own deep raptures; but, at last,
E'en with the beating of my heart, I woke.

MAD-QUITE MAD!

"Great wits are sure to madness near allied."-DRYDEN.

It has frequently been observed that Genius and Madness are nearly allied; that very great talents are seldom found unaccompanied by a touch of insanity, and that there are few bedlamites who will not, upon a close examination, display symptoms of a powerful, though ruined, intellect. According to this hypothesis, the flowers of Parnassus must be blended with the drugs of Anticyra; and the man who feels himself to be in possession of very brilliant wits may conclude that he is within an ace of running out of them. Whether this be true or false, we are not at present disposed to contradict the assertion. What we wish to notice is, the pains which many young men take to qualify themselves for Bedlam, by hiding a good, sober, gentlemanlike understanding

beneath an assumption of thoughtlessness and whim. It is the received opinion among many that a man's talents and abilities are to be rated by the quantity of nonsense he utters per diem, and the number of follies he runs into per annum. Against this idea we must enter our protest; if we concede that every real genius is more or less a madman, we must not be supposed to allow that every sham madman is more or less a genius.

99 66

In the days of our ancestors, the hot-blooded youth who threw away his fortune at twenty-one, his character at twenty-two, and his life at twenty-three, was termed " a good fellow," " an honest fellow," nobody's enemy but his own.' In our time the name is altered; and the fashionable who squanders his father's estate, or murders his best friend,-who breaks his wife's heart at the gaming-table, and his own neck at a steeple-chase, escapes the sentence which Morality would pass upon him by the plea of lunacy. "He was a rascal," says Common Sense. "True," says

the World," but he was mad, you know, quite mad.”

We were lately in company with a knot of young men who were discussing the character and fortunes of one of their own body, who was, it seems, distinguished for his proficiency in the Art of Madness. "Harry," said a young sprig of nobility, "have you heard that Charles is in the King's Bench?" " I heard it this morning," drawled the Exquisite, "how distressing! I have not been so hurt since poor Angelica (his bay mare) broke down. Poor Charles has been too flighty." "His wings will be clipped for the future!" observed young Caustic." He has been very imprudent," said young Candour.

I inquired of whom they were speaking. "Don't you know Charles Gally?" said the Exquisite, endeavouring to turn in his collar; "Not know Charles Gally?" he repeated, with an expression of pity. "He is the best fellow breathing; only lives to laugh and make others laugh; drinks his two bottles with any man, and rides the finest mare I ever saw-next to my Angelica. Not know Charles Gally? why everybody knows him! he is so amusing!-ha! ha! and tells such admirable stories! ha ha! often have they kept me awake (a yawn) when nothing else could." "Poor fellow!" said his Lordship, " I understand he's done for ten thousand!" "I never believe more than half what the world says," observed Candour. "He that has not a farthing," said Caustic, 66 cares little whether he owes ten thousand or five." "Thank Heaven!" said Candour, "that will never be the case with Charles: he has a fine estate in Leicestershire." "Mortgaged for half its value," said his Lordship. "A large personal property!" "All gone in annuity bills," said the Exquisite." A rich uncle upwards of fourscore!" "He'll cut him off with a shilling," said Caustic.

"Let us hope he may reform," sighed the Hypocrite; " and sell the pack," added the Nobleman; "and marry," continued the Dandy. "Pshaw! cried the Satirist," he will never get rid of his habits, his hounds, or his horns." "But he has an excellent heart," said Candour. Excellent," repeated his Lordship, unthinkingly. "Excellent," lisped the Fop, effeminately." Excellent," exclaimed the Wit, ironically. We took this opportunity to ask by what means so excellent a heart and so bright a genius had contrived to plunge him into these disasters. "He was my friend," replied his Lordship, "and a man of large property; but he was mad-quite mad. I remember his leaping a lame pony over a stone wall, simply because Sir Marmaduke bet him a dozen that he broke his neck in the attempt; and sending a bullet through a poor pedlar's pack because Bob Darrell said the piece would'nt carry so far." Upon another occasion," began the Exquisite in his turn, “he jumped into a horse-pond after dinner in order to prove it was not six feet deep; and overturned a bottle of Eau de Cologne in Lady Emilia's face to convince me that she was not painted. Poor fellow! the first experiment cost him a dress, and the second an heiress." "I have heard," resumed the Nobleman, "that he lost his election for by lampooning the Mayor; and was dismissed from his place in the Treasury for challenging Lord C.” "The last accounts I heard of him," said Caustic, "told me, that Lady Tarrell had forbid him her house. for driving a sucking-pig into her drawing-room; and that young Hawthorn had run him through for boasting of favours from his sister!" "These gentlemen are really too severe," remarked young Candour to us: "Not a jot;" we said to ourselves.

"This will be a terrible blow for his sister," said a young man who had been listening in silence. "A fine Girl;-a very fine Girl," said the Exquisite: "and a fine fortune," said the Nobleman. "The mines of Peru are nothing to her;" "Nothing at all," observed the sneerer; “she has no property there. But I would not have you caught, Harry; her income was good, but is dipped, horribly dipped. Guineas melt very fast when the cards are put by them." "I was not aware Maria was a gambler," said the young man, much alarmed; "Her brother is, Sir," replied his informant. The querist looked sorry, but yet relieved. We could see that he was not quite disinterested in his inquiries. "However," resumed the young Cynic, "his profusion has at least obtained him many noble and wealthy friends." He glanced at his hearers, and went on, 66 no one that knew him will hear of his distresses without being forward to relieve them. He will find interest for his money in the hearts of his friends." Nobility took snuff; Foppery played with his watch-chain; Hypocrisy looked grave. There was a long silence. We ventured to regret