Edward Overton departed, and in the course of the day published at a large party, with his usual folly and carelessness, the tidings which he had so dishonourably gained possession of in the morning. Several persons, on hearing the name of Fitzgerald, and the danger of his firm, immediately took the alarm, and spread the news on all sides. The consequences, as might be expected, were dreadful. The unhappy merchants, unable to release themselves from their embarrassments, or to answer the demands of their creditors, were immediately pronounced bankrupts and a House, which had long surpassed all others in wealth, in reputation, and the number and respectability of its directors, was reduced to disgrace-to a mere nothing, by the babblings of one pernicious and heedless man.

It were enough to think of this with the most heartfelt sorrow. But as yet, the reader is uninformed of the whole effects of Edward's indiscretion. What shall we say, what must be our feelings, on discovering that the father of Emma Williams, although the circumstance was unknown to Edward Overton, was deeply concerned in the affairs of that ruined firm, which once bore Fitzgerald's name? He, consequently, was also plunged in the general misery and calamity. On hearing, therefore, the fatal discovery of that secret, which but one day before had been entrusted to him with such circumspection; on perceiving the adversity and wretchedness to which he and his daughter must necessarily be reduced; and, above all, on discovering that he was betrayed by Edward Overton,-the friend of his bosom,-the affianced husband of his child,-a shock was inflicted, which nearly proved fatal. But for Emma's sake he struggled against this painful trial; and through the aid of a mind whose natural strength was increased by true Christian fortitude, and the consolations of religion, gradually overcame the pressure of his woes.

Having collected the wrecks of a once splendid fortune, he retired from a world of tumults and vicissitudes, to the tranquillity of a country life. Happiness at length began again to smile upon him and the innocent Emma, who was united to a lover far more worthy of her affections than the imprudent Edward. The father and his children lived beneath the same roof, and enjoyed in their retirement the sweets of Affection and Peace, undisturbed by the misrepresentations of falsehood-untainted by the breath of Calumny.

But the days of Edward's happiness were at an end. Neglected by his friends, deserted by his acquaintances, and detested even by those to whom he had given his despicable and officious information, he also buried himself in seclusion. Alas! how different was his from that delightful retirement, which those whom he had cruelly injured now enjoyed! His was an attempt

to fly from the scoffs of the world, and the odium which he had incurred as a talebearer. He could not, however, avert the pangs of conscience, or dispel the gloom of melancholy, which hung over him from day to day. So truly miserable was his life,with such horror and shame did he look back upon the past, that death itself would have been a relief. But the Divine retribution had ordained it otherwise, condemning him to expiate his sins, and to feel the miseries which he had inflicted upon others, by a tedious life of anguish and remorse. No years diminished the care which preyed upon his heart; and this dreadful punishment of calumny was extended to his latest hour!

Further comment upon this tale is unnecessary. May those under whose observation it chances to fall, should they at any time perceive the impulse of slander rising in their breasts, for once recall to memory the sad example of Edward Overton; and be warned by it from those pursuits which allure us into the tracts of unhappiness, and betray us to the shackles of perpetual M. STERLING.

woe.

HORE PALUDANE;

OR, DROPS OF DERWENTWATER.

No. II.

TO THE LADY CAROLINE MOWBRAY.

LADY! no marvel that the kinsman young
Of the grand master of the mystery
Of metaphysics, fell in love with thee;
Nor yet that, while the stage, jumbling along,
Sooth'd him to slumber with its one dull
song,

As toward the land of lakes and poesy,
The wayward youth rode nightly journeying, he
O'er thy imagined form in visions hung.
For thou hast charms to warm a colder breast

Than that of youthful poet: locks of light;

Cheeks of rich bloom, where love hath built his nest;
Looks like young Juno's; eyes from whose full glance
The gazer shrinks abash'd, as in the flight

The polish'd shield returns the warrior's lance.

Highgate, Jan. 15, 1821.

The Hon. G. Montgomery.

W.

Stanzas,

(WRITTEN IN MISS HARRISON'S ALBUM,)

Showing why Miss Fanny Harrison's Face is so little altered from what it was a long time ago.

ONE day, as perch'd by Fanny's chair,

I listen'd to her chat so blithe,

I turn'd my head, and who was there
But gruff old Time, with glass and scythe!

He, when he saw me, nodded low

His single lock ;-full well knows he

That poets are his lords below,

And therefore pays them courtesy.

"And prithee," said I with a frown,
"Old Haymaker, what dost thou here?
Art come to furrow o'er a brow

Thou hast not touch'd for many a year?

Beware! if to my cousin's eyes

Or cheeks thou dar'st do aught of

I'll disappoint thee of thy prize,

wrong,

And shrine them in immortal song."

The graybeard answer'd,-" "Tis, indeed,
A task I've oft in vain essay'd;
For they, who are my friends at need,
In this distress refuse their aid.

Sickness, who wins me many breasts,
Assails this active nymph in vain ;

And Care, my pioneer, protests

He can't find entrance to her brain.

And yet I've often ventur❜d near,

Attempting, in my stealthy way,
With my slow-working razor here,

To pilfer charm by charm away.

But when I view the simple grace

That crowns the dear provoking charmer,
Her cheerful smiles, and merry face,

I can't find in my heart to harm her!"

F. GOLIGHTLY.

PEREGRINE'S SCRAP-BOOK.

NO. V.

April 7.-The Club met for the last time previous to the Vacation. I was assailed by sundry entreaties, admonitions, and commands, to bring No. VII. out to its day. I leave my friends with great hopes upon this point, but certainly I am glad I have not promised.

Mr. Oakley talks of Editing, immediately after the Vacation, a Weekly Newspaper, to be called "Contradiction, or the Negative Intelligencer." It is to be conducted upon a plan totally different from any at present in use; and I trust it will meet with all the encouragement it deserves. Instead of giving the News of what has been done in the world, it will give the news of what has not. Mr. Oakley will have great pleasure in saying 66 No" to all false and scandalous reports; and in refuting all rumours of generous actions, which are not founded on fact. I need not dilate upon the benefits likely to result from such a scheme; and I will therefore conclude my observations by selecting, from the mass of materials which Mr. O. has already compiled, a few short specimens :—

"We have authority to state that Mr. Blew has not left his debts unpaid.

"We are happy to learn that the domestic peace of Sir John and Lady Gander has not been interrupted by the arts of a certain Colonel; —that a separation has not taken place; that the gentlemen of the long robe are not employed in the business; and that Sir John has not been shot through the thorax, as was at one time reported.

"Miss Blossom is not thirty years of age, as is scandalously reported by the Parish Register. A Correspondent informs us that she is not about to be married.

"Sir Toby Ginger does not intend to part with bis stud. He has not given £100 to the building of the new church.

"There is reason to suspect, that Napoleon Bonaparte has not promised to write for The Etonian.""

Mr. Bellamy gave me, upon taking his leave for the present, the following stanzas:

I.

Away, away with every thought

That leads my heart to joy again;
Too well, too well this mind's been taught
To feel, nor shrink from bitterest pain.
Away, away with song of mirth,

That tells me of a former day;

When oh! 'twere bliss to live on Earth,
And listen to my loved one's lay.

II.

The dream is o'er that fancy drew,
And life has lost its charms for me;
For ev'ry joy my bosom knew

Was drawn, lost lovely one, from thee.
And say, shall yonder beaming Sun,
That oft thy sleepless woe has seen;
Ne'er finished till his course were run,
F'er see me as I erst have been.

III.

A ray of hope may gild the cloud

That hovers o'er affliction's shed;
The heart that sickened o'er the shroud
May cease to think upon the dead.
And many a breast may cease to feel

Where Time and Hope their aid combine;

But oh! that pang can never heal

That broods o'er such a wreck as thine.

IV.

Say, shall my breast with mirth beat high,
When thine, alas! is sorrowing near?
Say, shall the laugh play o'er mine eye,
When thine is trembling with a tear
Has pleasure any charm for me,

If thou its sweets canst never taste;
If life must still appear to thee

A dark and desolated waste?

V.

With thee the hours flew swift away,
When Fortune on our gambols smil'd;
With thee I pass'd my boyhood's May,
A heedless, happy, sportive child.
Such was I once and life then bore
Something so dear to my young heart;
That still it pains my bosom sore

To think such joys and I must part.