thrown into insignificance the demagogues who have started up and deluded the people, and of having sacrificed their own feelings from the conviction that it is their duty to rally round the throne, to defend our altars, and uphold the constitution. As we shall now dismiss politics for a season, we must take leave of our readers, by particularly calling their attention to the present state of parties, and as that state operates upon the empire at large, our call can neither be looked upon as irrelevant or importunate. By a singular anomaly in politics, the weakest faction engrosses all the offices of government, controls the monarchy, beards the aristocracy, and, let the radicals think as they may, tramples upon the democracy. They are a milieu, but any thing but just. Now this is a condition of things that ought no longer to exist; for it is extremely hurtful to our domestic interests, and very perilous to our foreign relations. Of course, such a party as the Whigs now are could only keep their places by subserviency to one of the two extremes, and unfortunately for the country, they have kou-toud to the most debasing. The sessions have closed, and they have actually done nothing; for their famous Corporation Bill, which the Lords were kind enough to amend for them into a reasonable shape, and which now is a good bill, they boldly tell the country in the last day of parliament, though it is a municipal corporation bill, is not to be the bill after all. In a word, if they are to remain in office, it is all to do over again. This is sufficient to prove their futility. Their meanness is most manifest by their tenacious clinging to place against the dictum of large majorities, and sneaking for protection, like frighted chickens, under the wing of Sir Robert Peel. They have confessed that they must have gone out had not the Lords compromised some of the amendments which they made. Sir Robert Peel took pity upon them, and brought about the consummation, by them so ardently wished for→ the prospect of a few months' more tenure of the profitable keeping of the nation's loaves and fishes. They may yet be disappointed. They have not the spirit to commence a war if the nation be insulted or aggrieved, or the talent to carry one on if it be commenced by any of our neighbours. The political world has the elements of foreign strife actively at work within its bosom, and no one can say how soon the ebullition may take place. The moment it does, farewell to the Whigs. Au reste-this has been a session of no measured length; and yet it has proved to be a nearly measureless session. O'Connell himself is in a false position, and there is no security in his support. He cannot take, nor indeed can the ministry give, the reward to which he thinks his services entitle him. He can take nothing but his rent; and certainly there is no situation under government which would indemnify him for its loss. He has returned to his estate in Ireland, we presume to agitate, for without agitation there would be no rent. We recollect an eastern tale, in which the the dervishes whirled round, and upon sundry blows applied, turned into aspers. O'Connell must have borrowed the idea; but there was a sequel to the tale which we recommend him to read. THE MANUSCRIPT VOLUME. BY MRS. ABDYA YOUNG poet, to thy task repair, Thy songs upon these pages fair What wonders in thy volume lie, What breathing thoughts, what feelings high, A treasure of enchanted lore, That book appears to me, And thou, the owner of the store, It is not meant for common eyes, Thy flowers of genius meekly rest Let not their tender bloom be nipt Yet hold-while thus I idly write, Should lays like thine avoid the light, Young poet, talents rare and great Are to thy keeping given, Those talents thou should'st consecrate And well thy lines that cause proclaim, That simple, yet most honoured name, Then to the world thy gifted lays He who corrects a nation's ways "Tis true that thou must learn to brook Cold censure of thy lays, The envious taunt-the harsh rebuke, Yet thou shalt view this scene of strife Feeling that thou the bread of life Hast on its waters cast; And multitudes thou canst not see, Shall bless thy name, and learn from thee JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.1 BY THE AUTHOR OF "PETER SIMPLE," &c. I was not yet weaned from the world, but I was fast advancing to that state, when a very smart young Quaker came on a visit to Reading. He was introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Cophagus, and was soon, as might be expected, an admirer of Susannah, but he received no encouragement. He was an idle person, and passed much of his time sitting in my shop, and talking with me, and being much less reserved and unguarded than the generality of the young men of the sect, I gradually became intimate with him. One day when my assistant was out he said to me, "Friend Gnou-land, tell me candidly, hast thou ever seen my face before?" "Not that I can recollect, friend Talbot." "Then my recollection is better than yours, and now having obtained thy friendship as one of the society, I will remind thee of our former acquaintance. When thou wert Mr. N-e-w-land, walking about town with Major Carbonnell, I was Lieutenant Talbot, of the Dragoon Guards." I was dumb with astonishment, and I stared him in the face. "Yes," continued he, bursting into laughter, "such is the fact. You have thought, perhaps, that you were the only man of fashion who had ever been transformed into a Quaker; now you behold another, so no longer imagine yourself the Phoenix of your tribe." "I do certainly recollect that name," replied I; "but although, as you must be acquainted with my history, it is very easy to conceive why I may have joined the society, yet, upon what grounds you can have so done, is to me inexplicable.' "Newland, it certainly does require explanation; it has been, I assert, my misfortune, and not my fault. Not that I am not happy. On the contrary, I feel that I am now in my proper situation. I ought to have been born of Quaker parents-at all events, I was born a Quaker in disposition; but I will come to-morrow early, and then, if you will give your man something to do out of the way, I will tell you my history. I know that you will keep my secret." The next morning he came, and as soon as we were alone he imparted to me what follows. "I recollect well, Newland, when you were one of the leaders of fashion, I was then in the Dragoon Guards, and although not very intimate with you, had the honour of a recognition when we met at parties. I cannot help laughing, upon my soul, when I look at us both now; but never mind. I was of course a great deal with my regiment, and at the club. My father, as you may not perhaps be aware, was highly connected, and all the family have been brought up to the army; the question of profession has never been mooted by 1 Continued from p. 27. us, and every Talbot has turned a soldier as naturally as a young duck takes to the water. Well, I entered the army, admired my uniform, and was admired by the young ladies. Before I received my lieutenant's commission, my father, the old gentleman, died, and left me a younger brother's fortune of four hundred per annum; but, as my uncle said, 'It was quite enough for a Talbot, who would push himself forward in his profession, as the Talbots had ever done before him.' I soon found out that my income was not sufficient to enable me to continue in the Guards, and my uncle was very anxious that I should exchange into a regiment on service. I therefore, by purchase, obtained a company in the 23rd, ordered out to reduce the French colonies in the West Indies, and I sailed with all the expectation of covering myself with as much glory as the Talbots had done from time immemorial. We landed, and in a short time the bullets and grape were flying in all directions, and then I discovered, what I declare never for a moment came into my head before, to wit-that I had mistaken my profession." "How do you mean, Talbot?" "Mean! why, that I was deficient in a certain qualification, which never was before denied to a Talbot-courage." "And you never knew that before?" "Never, upon my honour; my mind was always full of courage. In my mind's eye I built castles of feats of bravery, which should eclipse all the Talbots, from him who burnt Joan of Arc, down to the present day. I assure you, that surprised as other people were, no one was more surprised than myself. Our regiment was ordered to advance, and I led on my company, but the bullets flew like hail. I tried to go on, but I could not; at last, notwithstanding all my endeavours to the contrary, I fairly took to my heels. I was met by the commanding officer-in fact, I ran right against him. He ordered me back, and I returned to my regiment, not feeling at all afraid. Again I was in the fire, again I resisted the impulse, but it was of no use, and at last, just before the assault took place, I ran away as if the devil was after me. Wasn't it odd ?" "Very odd, indeed," replied I, laughing. "Yes, but you do not exactly understand why it was odd. You know what philosophers tell you about volition; and that the body is governed by the mind, consequently obeys it; now, you see, in my case, it was exactly reversed. I tell you, that it is a fact, that in mind I am as brave as any man in existence; but I had a cowardly carcass, and what is still worse, it proved the master of my mind, and ran away with it. I had no mind to run away; on the contrary, I wished to have been of the forlorn hope, and had volunteered, but was refused. Surely, if I had not courage I should have avoided such a post of danger. Is it not so?" "It certainly appears strange that you should volunteer for the forlorn hope, and then run away." "That's just what I say. I have the soul of the Talbots, but a body which don't belong to the family, and too powerful for the soul." "So it appears. Well, go on." |
