had silenced in his bosom, now whispered pleadings in his ear; his own child, too, was wasting away, her fine spirits appeared deserting her for ever, and it was probable that if he remained inexorable, death might tear from him the power of a

retraction.

Such were his reflections, before an interview with old Tresham destroyed all latent hesitation, by endowing the youthful artist with an unobjectionable settlement, and making him sole heir to the vast property of his uncle.

On a soft, still, summer evening, when the bees were humming drowsily in the little garden, and the walnut-tree flung the shade of its foliage around, Tresham woke from what appeared, to him, a confused and painful dream, followed by a deepan almost deathly sleep: a cool delicate hand was pressed upon his throbbing, but no longer fevered temples, and a balmy breath played upon his pallid cheek: he looked up-an eye-a sweet, a melancholy, an earnest eye, was gazing into his, and an angelic form stood by his bed-side.

An apostrophe of irrepressible emotion burst from his lips, and in the instant, the mistress of the house, his uncle, and Fitzroy, hurried to his couch. Eleanor-his own-his idolized Eleanor, privileged by her father, had been his nurse, in concert with Mrs. Norton, and he woke to a sense of happiness almost too acute for his shattered nerves. Cautiously, the extent of his expectations was revealed to him; and many and kind were the injunctions laid upon him by all, but most tenderly of all by Eleanor, to restrain the out-pourings of his joy and acknowledgment.

With the removal of his sorrow, strength and animation began to return; youth and a good constitution did much for him, and in the space of three weeks, he was so far restored as to be able to ride out, and, occasionally, to walk in the warmer parts of the day. Another month found him completely recovered; and, in little more than the revolution of a-year, the no-longer professional artist became the happy husband of Eleanor Fitzroy.

C

Ir may not be uninteresting to our readers, to know, that the excellent Mr. Langton, who became the second husband of Mary, Countess of Rothes, was not only the friend of our English great master of ethics, Dr. Johnson, but was also so highly esteemed by the amiable Scottish moralist, Dr. Beattie, that he used to speak of him as "the most perfect man, in conduct and disposition, he had ever known." Mr. Langton, as well as Johnson and Beattie, was of sound religious principles: a foundation for character, it is melancholy to remember did not come very generally into the moral education of men, in that merely philosophic generation of the learn

Vide portrait and memoir of the Right Honourable Lady Elizabeth Jane Leslie-now Wathen, LA BELLE ASSEMBLEE, vol. xiii., page 209.

ed. Mr. Langton left sons and daughters, by his Countess-wife; a lady whose least nobleness was that of her title; all their children were worthy of such parents.Some are dead; but those who survive still uphold in due honour the respected names of their inheritance. One of the daughters, who was eminently lovely, and, along with other charming attractions, possessed an exquisite taste in music, used to close her morning and evening devotions with a hymn. A rapid consumption bore her to the grave in the bloom of her days; and a friend of the family has told us, that she expired singing the beautiful anthem, "I know that my Redeemer liveth!" with a sweetness and power she had never excelled in the brightest period of her life. It is delightful to see talent so consecrated.

IN presenting the readers of LA BELLE ASSEMBLEE with a second View of St. James's Cemetery, Liverpool, we avail ourselves of the opportunity to correct an error of designation into which, in our description of the former plate-indicat- || ing the site of Mr. Huskisson's grave, &c.*—we were inadvertently led. There are two cemeteries at Liverpool: one, at the east end of the town, termed St. James's Cemetery; the other, at the north-east, near Everton, called the Necropolis, or, more commonly, Low Hill Cemetery. The latter was formed in the year 1825; but, as it was soon found inadequate to the desired purposes, a second -St. James's-was projected.

The foundation stone of St. James's Cemetery, which is situated at the top of Duke Street, on the site of a delf, or stone quarry, was laid on the 28th of August, 1827; and, in 1829, the ground was opened. In extent, it comprises about nine acres; or from 44,000 to 45,000 square yards; its width being about ninety yards, and its greatest length 500. It is surrounded by a stone wall, with an iron railing; having four entrances, by gates, the principal of which leads through an elegant archway to the lower part of the grounds. The sides, on the north, west, and south, are formed by sloping banks,

• Vide LA BELLE ASSEMBLEE, vol. xiii., page 274.

LIVERPOOL.

thickly planted with shrubs; the eastern side 1,100 feet in length, and 52 in height is nearly perpendicular, faced with masonry, and appropriated for vaults, as shewn in our former view. The more level portions of the ground are laid out in a picturesque style, somewhat resembling that of Pére la Chaise, at Paris.

The annexed view of this Cemetery is taken from the Chapel, or Oratory, a chaste and beautiful structure, in the Grecian style, from a design by John Foster, Esq. This building occupies a commanding situation near the face of the perpendicular rock, at the top of Duke Street. The clergyman's house, a handsome stone edifice, stands near the chapel; and the porter's lodge is situated on the high land at the south end of the Cemetery.

From the chapel are seen two inclined roads, extending north and south; and, through the point of intersection, a horizontal road, running from wall to wall. These roads, protected by a course of masonry two feet six inches in height, are sufficiently wide to admit a carriage. The catacombs, or vaults, one hundred and five in number, are formed in the sides of these horizontal and inclined roads; and they are entered by doorways four feet six inches wide, and seven feet high, and finished at the sides and round the arches with rustic masonry.

Out on the withering thought that dooms such lustre to the grave!

I say 'tis false, for unto me Heaven all thy beauty gave;

Away! away! I give to Death, to despot Death the lie,

For God himself in love has said, "the virtuous never die !"

MORNING, NOON, EVENING, AND
NIGHT.

THE morning star-the morning star-when the sunbeams brightly rise,

And gladden with their beams of light the distant eastern skies;

Aurora hails their rising up above the distant hills,

The earth re-echoes with the songs of a thousand gushing rills.

The night-stars droop their purple wings before the dawning ray,

The flowers ope their rainbow leaves to

welcome back the day;

And every bird and mountain-bee, from woodland, cell, or bower,

Come forth with joyous song and shout to

hail the morning hour.

And hushed are every harp and song, in castle, hall, and bower,

Bird, breeze, and bee, are gone to rest, at the evening's dewy hour.

The holy night-the holy night-when every voice is still,

And the silver moon is rising o'er the dreamy Latmian hill;

When the shrined stars are watching out, in beauty from the sky, And gazing down on every flower, and every sleeping eye;

When the earth and sea are slumbering too, and nought breaks on the hush, Save the lone sound of a forest's stream, or a wandering torrent's gush,

It is an hour of loveliness, of beauty, and delight

It is an hour when eternity is watching o'er the night.

F. S. MULLER.