THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.
Reading edition
A MOTHER'S LOVE
Oh, beauteous were my baby's dark blue eyes, Evermore turning to his mother's face, So dove-like soft, yet bright as summer skies; And pure his cheek as roses, ere the trace Of earthly blight or stain their tints disgrace. O'er my loved child enraptured still I hung; No joy in life could those sweet hours replace, When by his cradle low I watched and sung— While still in memory's ear his father's promise rung. Long, long I wept with weak and piteous cry O'er my sweet infant, in its rosy bloom, As memory brought my hours of agony Again before my mind:—I mourned his doom; I mourned my own: the sunny little room In which, opress'd by sickness, now I lay, Weeping for sorrows past, and woes to come, Had been my own in childhood's early day. Oh! could those years indeed so soon have passed away! Past, as the waters of the running brook; Fled, as the summer winds that fan the flowers! All that remained, a word—a tone—a look, Impressed, by chance, in those bright joyous hours; Blossoms which, culled from youth's light fairy bowers, Still float with lingering scent, as loath to fade, In spite of sin's remorseless, 'whelming powers, Above the wreck which time and grief have made. Nursed with the dew of tears, though low in ruin laid.
The Sorrows of Rosalie.
FAGGING AT WINCHESTER SCHOOL.
The following outline of a recent quarrel at Winchester School serves to illustrate the System of Fagging as practised at one of our leading schools, among the "future clergy, lawyers, legislators, and peers of England." It is extracted from a pamphlet by Sir Alexander Malet, Bart.; and we hope this expose will lead to the extermination of the "custom:"—
The prefects, or eight senior boys of the school, are in the habit of fagging the juniors; and that they may have a greater command of their services during meal times, they appoint one of the junior boys with the title of course keeper, whose business it is to take care that whilst the prefects are at breakfast or supper, the juniors sit upon a certain cross bench at the top of the hall, that they may be forthcoming whenever a prefect requires any thing to be done. During that part of the short half-year in which there are no fires kept, a sufficient number of boys for this service was generally furnished from the fourth class, and it was considered that the junior part of the fifth class, which is next in the ascending scale, was exempt from so disagreeable a servitude. It appears, however, that within these few years, there has been a much greater press of boys to enter the school than formerly; the consequence has been, that they have come to it older and more advanced in their studies than formerly, and the upper departments of the school have received a greater accession of numbers in proportion than the lower classes. The fourth class, therefore, gradually furnishing a smaller number of fags, the prefects issued a mandate, that the junior part of the fifth class should share with the fourth in the duty of going on hall: this was for some time submitted to; but at length one of the boys of this class intentionally abstained from seating himself on the cross bench at supper-time, and being seen by the senior prefect, and desired by him to go on hall, refused to do so, and argued the point as a matter of right, alleging, as the ancient usage of the school, the exemption of the junior part of the fifth class from this duty till the commencement of fires; he referred to the course keeper as being the depositary of the rules, and expressed himself prepared to abide by his decision. The course keeper, who does not appear to have been very well versed in the usages of the school, decided that the boy ought to go on hall; and the prefect therefore resolved, not only to enforce this new rule, but to punish the contumely of this unlucky boy by giving him a public chastisement. To this, however, the junior did not feel inclined to submit, and a second prefect laid hold of him, that he might not evade the beating destined for him: a simultaneous movement then took place amongst the juniors, who pinioned the two prefects, released the boy who was being beaten, and gave them to understand that the intended chastisement should not be inflicted. The prefects instantly laid a complaint before the head master, who expelled the boy who had refused to go on hall, and five others, who had appeared most active in preventing the prefect from punishing him.
WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM.
As sweeps the bark before the breeze, While waters coldly close around, Till of her pathway through the seas The track no more is found; Thus passing down Oblivion's tide, The beauteous visions of the mind Fleet as that ocean pageant glide, And leave no trace behind. But the pure page may still impart Some dream of feeling, else untold,— The silent record of a heart, E'en when that heart is cold. Its lorn memorials here may bloom,— Perchance to gentle bosoms dear, Like flowers that linger o'er the tomb Bedewed with Beauty's tear. I ask not for the meed of fame. The wreath above my rest to twine,— Enough for me to leave my name Within this hallow'd shrine; To think that o'er these lines thine eye May wander in some future year, And Memory breathe a passing sigh For him who traced them here. Calm sleeps the sea when storms are o'er, With bosom silent and serene, And but the plank upon the shore Reveals that wrecks have been. So some frail leaf like this may be Left floating on Time's silent tide,— The sole remaining trace of me,— To tell I lived and died.
Malcolm's Scenes of War, &c.
THE SUICIDE LOVER.
A young man, of rich and respectable parents, was for a long time passionately in love with a young lady of the same town, whose birth and fortune were equal to his own; he had also the good fortune not to displease the young lady. Both families were anxious to bring the business to a conclusion; notwithstanding which the intended always found some specious pretext to put off the ceremony. The parents of the lady, after yielding for some time to the different excuses of their future son-in-law, as they could not find out the motive, began to be weary of being put off so often, and at last declared to him that a rival, who was his equal in every thing, had presented himself, and that if he did not soon make up his mind, they should be obliged to give up to the desire of his rival. The young man upon this information made up his mind; and, after the necessary arrangements, the day for the ceremony arrived. The bride, the two families and friends, were assembled, and waited only for the bridegroom in order to proceed to church, when a servant arrived with the sad intelligence that his master was taken suddenly ill, and in consequence requested that the celebration of the nuptials might once more be deferred for a few days. Two of his friends, who witnessed both the surprise and even the indignation which was marked on every countenance, left the party, and hastened to the gentleman's house, and pointed out in such strong colours the folly, as well as the bad consequences of his behaviour, that he sent them away, assuring them that he would dress himself and follow them immediately. But an hour having elapsed, and no bridegroom appearing, the two friends again set out to inquire into the cause of the delay, which seemed to them more than ever extraordinary. They had just arrived at the foot of his staircase, when they heard the report of a pistol. They hastened to ascend, and having forced open the door of the young man's apartment, they found him dead upon the floor, weltering in his blood. They were so shocked at the sight before them, that they could not return to announce the fatal news, but instantly dispatched a servant for that purpose. It is more easy to conceive than describe the consternation such a piece of intelligence was likely to throw every one into; but the situation of the bride was most to be pitied; she not only lost a lover just on the point of being her husband, but fancied that he had received some calumnious information which caused him to prefer death to the necessity of being united to her. It was some days before this mystery was cleared up, as it was not until the seals were broken, that they found the following written paper in his desk, dated eight days before the fatal catastrophe:—"I adore Mademoiselle de N——, and shall do so all my life. Her virtues surpassed if possible her charms; and I would sacrifice the last drop of my blood rather than cause her the least uneasiness. But the cruel and dangerous passion of jealousy possesses me to such a degree, that notwithstanding all her merits, the bare idea of a rival makes me wretched. Every effort on my part, joined to the voice of reason, has never been able to eradicate this dreadful poison from my heart, and which I fear is incurable. If I yield to my penchant for her, and become her husband, instead of being a tender lover, of which she is so worthy, I should be a tyrant, whose frenzy would render her more miserable than myself. They press me to bring our union to a conclusion, they threaten me also with a rival, who without doubt deserves her more than I. How can I, miserable wretch that I am, how can I ward off the blow which threatens me? I flatter myself, at least, to have succeeded in my endeavours to conceal the vice of a heart which, although entirely her own, can never exterminate the miserable passion which possesses it. The time approaches with rapid strides when I must make up my mind. Good Heaven direct me! shall I risk making her unhappy? Can I resolve to see her the wife of another? Never, no never! rather let me die a hundred deaths...."
This unfortunate youth had written no more, but it was sufficient to prove that he had sacrificed himself for the happiness of his mistress.
Album of Love.
THE CRUSADER'S SONG.
"Remember the Holy Sepulchre."
Forget the land which gave ye birth— Forget the womb that bore ye— Forget each much-loved spot of earth— Forget each dream of glory— Forget the friends that by your side Stood firm as rocks unbroken— Forget the late affianced bride, And every dear love token— Forget the hope that in each breast Glow'd like a smould'ring ember— But still the Holy Sepulchre, Remember! oh remember! Remember all the vows ye've sworn At holy Becket's altar— Remember all the ills ye've borne, And scorn'd to shrink or falter— Remember every laurel'd field, Which saw the Crescent waving— Remember when compell'd to yield, Uncounted numbers braving: Remember these, remember too The cause ye strive for, ever; The Cross! the Holy Sepulchre! Forget—forget them never! By Him who in that Sepulchre Was laid in Death's cold keeping— By Her who bore, who rear'd him. Her Who by that Cross sat weeping— By those, whose blood so oft has cried Revenge for souls unshriven!— By those, whose sacred precepts guide The path to yonder Heaven! From youth to age, from morn to eve From Spring-tide to December, The Holy Sepulchre of Christ Remember! oh remember!
Literary Remains of Henry Neele.
A SERENADE.
Wake, Lady, wake! the midnight Moon Sails through the cloudless skies of June; The Stars gaze sweetly on the stream, Which in the brightness of their beam, One sheet of glory lies; The glow-worm lends its little light, And all that's beautiful and bright Is shining in our world to-night, Save thy bright eyes, Wake, Lady! wake! the nightingale Tells to the Moon her love-lorn tale; Now doth the brook that's hush'd by day, As through the vale she winds her way, In murmurs sweet rejoice; The leaves, by the soft night-wind stirr'd, Are whispering many a gentle word, And all Earth's sweetest sounds are heard, Save thy sweet voice. Wake, Lady! wake! thy lover waits, Thy steed stands saddled at the gates; Here is a garment, rich and rare, To wrap thee from the cold night-air; Th' appointed hour is flown. Danger and doubt have vanish'd quite, Our way before lies clear and right, And all is ready for the flight, Save thou alone! Wake, Lady! wake! I have a wreath Thy broad fair brow should rise beneath; I have a ring that must not shine On any finger, Love! but thine— I've kept my plighted vow; Beneath thy casement here I stand, To lead thee by thine own white hand, Far from this dull and captive strand— But where art thou? Wake, Lady! wake! She wakes! she wakes! Through the green mead her course she takes; And now her lover's arms enfold A prize more precious far than gold, Blushing like morning's ray; Now mount thy palfrey, Maiden kind! Nor pause to cast one look behind, But swifter than the viewless wind, Away! away!
Ibid.