"Long, long enough with bitter pangs
"My faithful breast was torn;
"Long, long enough in sad despair
"I only lived to mourn;

"But now 'tis o'er,-again we meet,

“But not again to part!

"Come, then, descend, embark with me,
"And trust thy pilot's art.

"Ere star-light yields to morning dawn.
"A thousand leagues we'll sail :
"I care not how the current runs,
"Or which way blows the gale."

"What may this mean?" with faultering voice,

The trembling Arthur cried;

"But if Matilda calls, I come,

"Whatever may betide."

Then o'er the ship's tall side he sprung,

His promis'd bride to meet ;

She drew beneath her little boat

To stay his tottering feet.

"Now touch me not, but distant sit,
"And trim the boat with heed."

The youth obey'd, she turn'd the helm,
The vessel flew with speed.

"How pale and wan thy face, my love!
"How sunk and dead thine eyes!

"And, sure, some corpse's winding sheet
"Thy cloak and hood supplies!"

"My face may well be pale, my love!
"The night is dark and cold;
"And closer than a winding-sheet,
"What garment can enfold?”

No more could Arthur speak, for fear
And wonder froze his blood;
He wildly eyed Matilda now,
And now the darksome flood.

In aweful silence all the night
They bounded o'er the tide ;
The boat ran rippling thro' the brine
That foam'd on either side..

At lengh, the stars began to fade
Down in the eastern sky;

When dim the land appear'd in view,
With cliffs o'er-hung on high.

Strait for the shore the pilot-maid
Steer'd on her vent'rous bark,

Where rugged rocks with hideous yawn

Disclos'd a cavern dark.

They enter—Arthur shook with dread; "And whither now?" he cried;

"Peace, peace! our voyage is near it's end," Her echoing voice replied.

Within the bowels of the ground
They plunged in blackest night;
"Yet still Matilda's ghastly form
Was seen in blueish light.

The boat now touch'd the farther shore,
When strait uprose the maid:
"Now, follow, youth! my home is nigh,"
The shuddering youth obey'd,

A narrow, winding path they take,
Drops trickling over head;

He sees her light before him glide,
But cannot hear her tread.

At last, they come where mould'ring bones
Lie strew'd in heaps around;
And opening vaults on either hand
Gape in the hollow ground;

And coffins rang'd in sable rows
By glimmering light appear;
Matilda stopp'd, and wav'd her hand,
And said; "My home is here."

"If thou Matilda's house wilt share,
"Behold the narrow space.

"Then, welcome youth! now truly mine,

"And take a bride's embrace."

Young Arthur stretch'd his doubtful arms, To meet the clasping maid;

When lol instead of fleshly shape,
He grasp'd an empty shade.

The life-blood left his fluttering heart,
Cold dews his face bespread,
Convulsive struggles shook his frame,

And all the VISION fled.

ESSAY CXXV.

THE PRESENT STATE OF DOCTORIZING
IN LONDON.

"A VERY interesting book might be written upon the fortune of physicians," says S. Johnson; and never did this great moralist, or any other man light upon a more thorough truism. For to physicians, in a peculiar degree, the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but time and chance happeneth unto them all.

In almost every other branch of human pursuits, success depends, in some measure,

on the ability and knowledge of the person employed. In the army, and navy, excepting the instances of Royal offspring, for all the world knows, that the Royal Ambrosia is, of itself, fully sufficient to supply the want of understanding, of skill, of integrity, and of humanity, promotion is, in some degree, proportioned to the intrepidity and the professional knowledge of our soldiers and sailors; in trade wealth and respectability are the usual concomitants of industry, of civility, and, perhaps, of uprightness; in the Law fame, rank, honour, and riches wait, for the most part, upon the power of making an ostensible display of splendid talents, and I wish, that I could add, of independance and of honesy; even, in the Church, the mounting up of a priest is, sometimes, helped on by genius, by learning, and by piety; but the virtues of an angel, and the knowledge of a seraph cannot ensure the success of a physi cian. In this class of men, alike the learned and the ignorant, the wicked and the good are elevated into wealth and fame, or sunk into neglect and poverty.

To prove the truth of this assertion I shall