decent apartments near the Archiepiscopal Palace, at Lambeth; and thither I accompanied her to listen to her eventful tale. The room she occupied looked out upon the Thames-every part of it was particularly clean, and not without an air of comfort-in fact, it strongly resembled in its furniture and general appearance the cabin of a ship; and numerous articles in miniature, connected with nautical matters, were conspicuous-there was a vessel partly rigged-a ship's buoy slung (rather a complicated piece of work)-a thum mat made of worsteds, with the union Jack in the middle, and another with the American flag. A few prints of naval battles, roughly framed, hung upon the walls; and one was the sinking of the Vengeur on the first of June from the tremendous fire of the Brunswick; there was also an etching of the monument erected in Westminster Abbey to the memory of Captains Harvey and Hutt who fell in the glorious victory; the floor was as white as the quarter deck of a man-of-war; a deal table, equally clean, occupied the centre; and round the walls were five or six chairs without backs; sea shells were ranged upon the mantel-piece; and before the grate was a beautiful root of coral. Here then I seated myself; and after some preliminary conversation, she began her story-of which I took notes, and made memorandums as she proceeded. We once more parted. I saw her several times afterwards, and questioned her upon various points, as I fully intended-I was fond of scribbling even then-to publish the whole, but somehow or other various impediments came in my way-my notes and memorandums got lost or mislaid, and my memory was not strong enough to bear the whole burthen. A few weeks since, when at a relation's in London, I was introduced to an old acquaintance in the shape of a sea chest that had been standing at least five and twenty years without ever having been opened. I enjoyed a grand overhaul, and in the half of a cut down fisherman's boot, I had been accustomed to wear when washing decks, I discovered, all mouldy and the writing scarcely legible, the documents that I had so long missed. The perusal brought the whole affair fresh to my memory-I passed half a night in looking them over—I walked over to Lambeth to refresh my vision-there stood, or rather tottered, the very building in which I had heard the tale which I shall now endeavour to lay before my readers under the title of JACK TAYLOR. WHO is there that ever visited London and is yet unacquainted with Lincoln's Inn Fields-where there are no fields at all; but houses, and chambers, and myriads of lawyers? There is however a garden in the centre, where the stunted trees are nearly smoke-dried, and the flowers come forth like patients from a hospital-sickly and weak. And yet it is pleasant to feast the eyes on green leaves, though they may be scarcely within hail of each other; and it is gratifying to see the children playing on the grass, or enjoying themselves on the walks. It was in one of the large houses in Lincoln's Inn Fields, that a • woman, of lady-like and fascinating manners, resided; she was the mother of sixteen children, all illegitimate, and the paternity of her offspring was attributed to a nobleman-high at court, and a Colonel of Militia. In February, 1778, the subject of this memoir (Mary Anne) was born, and put to nurse in a village near Shrewsbury, where she continued for five years; but when only two years old her mother died in child-birth of twins. The next nine years were passed at boarding school, under the protection of an elder and only surviving sister, who, however, died when Mary Anne was little more than fourteen, and a person of Newport, named Grainger, assumed the authority of guardian, and removed her from the school. With him she remained only a short time, when a lieutenant of an infantry regiment, named Taylor, was introduced at the house. He was a man of handsome exterior, and possessed a smooth tongue, and as Mary Anne was then young and pretty, she attracted his attention, and the poor girl felt pleased by the preference which he manifested for her. But the whole was conducted with the strictest decorum. Taylor never uttered a word that could offend delicacy-his manner were constantly kind, and his language instructive. Mary Anne had been well educated, and religious and moral principles were strongly inculcated on her mind. She would have shrunk with horror from any thing of an immoral tendency, and her heart was pure and innocent. "Well, Grainger, what do you say to my proposal," inquired Taylor of the soi-disant, as they sat together over a bottle of wine, "are you ready to close with my offers ?" "They are tempting, certainly," returned the other, "but they will not answer my necessities-in short, Mr. Taylor, I must have more or none. "You are very unconscionable," said Taylor coolly, for he had a point to gain. "Here are your notes-debts of honour due to me for £340— You cannot pay me one sixpence, and if I expose the fact you will be excluded from the firm-and must become a bankrupt. I will not only cancel your obligations, but also present you with another hundred pounds, provided you will make all snug, and consign the girl to me.— Rest assured I shall take care of her--" 'Yes, as the wolf would take care of the lamb," returned Grainger sneeringly, "but that is none of my business-come, come Taylor, say two hundred, and the thing shall be done in the most handsome and honourable way." "I might retort upon you now-with your handsome and honourable," said Taylor, "but that it would be puerile. I cannot and will not give more than I have named--£450 for a girl-the sum is enormous. Besides, if I should press for payment of debt your circumstances would become known, others would come heavily upon you, and you would be ruined-the girl would then, in all probability, fall to me--" Not if I know anything of her disposition," responded Grainger in the tone and manner of a man who fancies he possesses an advantage. "Mary Anne is not the girl to shrink from a protector because he may be in difficulty." "But I can expose this affair, and then let her judge of what sort of a protector she has," answered Taylor, " an exposure might-" "Blast all your designs at least," interrupted Grainger hastily. "The mind of that girl would revolt from such intentions, and she would be for ever lost to you. As it is I am ready to give very plausible excuses to Mrs. Grainger for resigning her into your hands to take her to London. -When you are there, you can do as you please, and depend upon it you will find her a pleasant companion in a campaign. Once mastered, she will adhere to you for ever." "Suppose Mrs. Grainger was to know of this-don't you think she would apprise Mary Anne of the circumstance and send her away ?" observed Taylor, endeavouring to gain a point. "She might, where you could never find her," answered the other. "My determination is fixed-Pshaw, how many men have risked life itself for a female they were attached to or desired—and here you begrudge a couple of hundred pounds" "I beg your pardon, there are your notes for £350,” urged Taylor with eagerness. "Which at present are not worth one farthing," resumed Grainger. "This haggling and peddling is worse than useless-you are flush in cash and want the girl. I care nothing for the girl-though she is really a good girl; but I covet the money. There may be others more generous than you, and perhaps who will befriend her better." "Taunts like those are not to be borne, Sir," uttered Taylor, angrily, “and I insist upon your not repeating them." "Keep cool, keep cool, most valiant soldier," said Grainger, laughing. "Tut man we know each other, and the whole may be arranged amicably if you are so minded; but as I see you are growing warm, which will only tend to embarrass us still more, we had better separate till you have deliberated:" he then rose up (it was at Taylor's quarters) and quitted the room, nor did the lieutenant offer to prevent him, as he felt his hasty temper was but ill calculated to deal with a man who had perfect selfcommand. Another conference was held,-Taylor's licentious desires got the better of his parsimony,-the two hundred pounds were paid, and Grainger, pretending to receive letters from the metropolis requiring Mary Anne's presence there to obtain a legacy left by her noble father, as well as to visit a relative of his lordship's, the poor unsuspecting girl (in fact not a soul entertained suspicion, for Taylor's conduct openly was of an exemplary nature) took her departure from Newport with the lieutenant, who was conveniently going to London at the time, aud was entrusted with the care of her. Joyous was her spirit, and delighted was her heart, as on a lovely day in spring they travelled over the country, looking beautiful in its green freshness. It was the beginning of May, and the foliage was spreading itself abroad to clothe the trees-the grass was brightly verdant as its young shoots rose above the earth-all nature seemed to be rejoicing that the victory had been won over winter-Taylor, though a libertine in principle, was a well informed man, and he made the way more pleasant by his cheerful conversation, occasionally weaving in with the utmost art and yet with great caution, a mixture of sophisms which were calculated to undermine the bulwarks of virtue. Still he was extremely guarded in his conduct, and behaved most respectfully on all occasions. They reached London. (To be continued.) AWAY WITH THEE, OLD YEAR! THE pleasant, pleasant springtime, I look upon thy features, The furrowed and the sere, I would thy days were o'er, And a shadow on the future Is cast from thee, old year! Too radiant was thy coming,- The beautiful, the dear? Like violets of the springtime, The prompt to disappear. The dust of death has fallen Dec. 25, 1838. RICHARD HOWITT. REVIEW OF BOOKS. Rural Sketches. By Thomas Miller, author of "A Day in the Woods," "Beauties of the Country," "Royston Gower," &c. London, Van Voorst. Small 8vo. pp. 358. THIS work forms a fit companion for William Howitt's Boy's Country Book, reviewed in our last number. The subjects are almost the same, only that we have not in the Rural Sketches the same thread of narrative which runs through Howitt's book, but they are more disjointed. Both authors are equally enthusiastic in praise of the woods and fields; yet their minds widely differ, and the points of difference between them are not less pleasing to us than the points of agreement. Howitt is more the observer and painter of nature as she is: Miller views hills and valleys and streams through a gorgeous mist of poetical and chivalrous associations. Howitt's tales are less stirring; their incidents are quieter, and flow on more peacefully: Miller, often exaggerating character and multiplying striking points to a fault, goes deeper into the poetry of life, and is the greater master of human passion. There is in all his writings a large portion of the wild and romantic, properly so called. His diction is exuberantly poetical, and even its arrangement rhythmical. Our readers will hardly credit us when we assure them that the following passage stands as prose in "A Day in the Woods," (pp. 17, 18:) Nations and kings, and priests and emperors, And all that were young, and fair, and beautiful, In pillared domes, high-arched, and chaunted loud * Is the bright moon thy bride, that thou dost chase And are the stars her spies, who fly at thy approach? Looking from thy high watch-tower on the world. It will easily be seen that such a style needed much pruning and altering before it could be accounted good English prose. We are happy to see that this work is in progress. His "Rural Sketches" contain many passages of chaste and genuine beauty, both of matter and diction. We will justify our assertion by some few extracts. The following is from the chapter entitled "The Old Woodman:" |