Part 3

The merchant bowed, and knocked at the door of a red brick house--door green--brass knocker. Captain Gregory Jones was a tall man; he wore a blue coat without skirts; he had high cheek bones, small eyes, and his whole appearance was eloquent of what is generally termed the bluff honesty of the seaman. Captain Gregory seemed somewhat disconcerted at seeing his friend--he begged for a little further time. The merchant looked grave--three years had already elapsed. The Captain demurred--the merchant pressed--the Captain blustered--and the merchant, growing angry, began to threaten. All of a sudden Captain Jones's manner changed--he seemed to recollect himself, begged pardon, said he could easily procure the money, desired the merchant to go back to his inn, and promised to call on him in the course of the day. Mynheer Meyer went home, and ordered an excellent dinner. Time passed--his friend came not. Meyer grew impatient. He had just put on his hat and was walking out, when the waiter threw open the door, and announced two gentlemen.

"Ah, dere comes de monish," thought Mynheer Meyer. The gentlemen approached--the taller one whipped out what seemed to Meyer a receipt. "Ah, ver well, I vill sign, ver well!"

"Signing, Sir, is useless; you will be kind enough to accompany us. This is a warrant for debt, Sir; my house is extremely comfortable--gentlemen of the first fashion go there--quite moderate, too, only a guinea a-day--find your own wine."

"I do--no--understand, Sare," said the merchant, smiling amiably, "I am ver vell off here--thank you--"

"Come, come," said the other gentleman, speaking for the first time, "no parlavoo Monsoo, you are our prisoner--this is a warrant for the sum of 10,000l. due to Captain Gregory Jones."

The merchant stared--the merchant frowned--but so it was. Captain Gregory Jones, who owed Mynheer Meyer 500l., had arrested Mynheer Meyer for 10,000l.; for, as every one knows, any man may arrest us who has conscience enough to swear that we owe him money. Where was Mynheer Meyer in a strange town to get bail? Mynheer Meyer went to prison.

"Dis be a strange vay of paying a man his monish!" said Mynheer Meyer.

In order to wile away time, our merchant, who was wonderfully social, scraped acquaintance with some of his fellow-prisoners. "Vat be you in prishon for?" said he to a stout respectable-looking man who seemed in a violent passion--"for vhat crime?"

"I, Sir, crime!" quoth the prisoner; "Sir, I was going to Liverpool to vote at the election, when a friend of the opposite candidate had me suddenly arrested for 2,000l. Before I get bail the election will be over!"

"Vat's that you tell me? arrest you to prevent your giving an honesht vote? is that justice?"

"Justice, no!" cried our friend, it's the Law of Arrest."

"And vat be you in prishon for?" said the merchant pityingly to a thin cadaverous-looking object, who ever and anon applied a handkerchief to eyes that were worn with weeping.

"An attorney offered a friend of mine to discount a bill, if he could obtain a few names to indorse it--_I_, Sir, indorsed it. The bill became due, the next day the attorney arrested all whose names were on the bill; there were eight of us, the law allows him to charge two guineas for each; there are sixteen guineas, Sir, for the lawyer--but I, Sir--alas my family will starve before _I_ shall be released. Sir, there are a set of men called discounting attorneys, who live upon the profits of entrapping and arresting us poor folk."

"Mine Gott! but is dat justice?"

"Alas! No, Sir, it is the law of arrest."

"But," said the merchant, turning round to a lawyer, whom the Devil had deserted, and who was now with the victims of his profession; "dey tell me, dat in Englant a man be called innoshent till he be proved guilty; but here am I, who, because von carrion of a shailor, who owesh me five hundred pounts, takes an oath that _I_ owe him ten thousand--here am I, on that schoundrel's single oath, clapped up in a prishon. Is this a man's being innoshent till he is proved guilty, Sare?"

"Sir," said the lawyer primly, "you are thinking of criminal cases; but if a man be unfortunate enough to get into debt, that is quite a different thing:--we are harder to poverty than we are to crime!"

"But, mine Gott! is that justice?"

"Justice! pooh! it's the law of arrest," said the lawyer, turning on his heel.

Our merchant was liberated; no one appeared to prove the debt. He flew to a magistrate; he told his case; he implored justice against Captain Jones.

"Captain Jones!" said the magistrate, taking snuff; "Captain Gregory Jones, you mean!"

"Ay, mine goot Sare--yesh!"

"He set sail for Calcutta yesterday. He commands the Royal Sally. He must evidently have sworn this debt against you for the purpose of getting rid of your claim, and silencing your mouth till you could catch him no longer. He's a clever fellow is Gregory Jones!"

"De teufel! but, Sure, ish dere no remedy for de poor merchant?"

"Remedy! oh, yes--indictment for perjury."

"But vat use is dat? You say he be gone--ten thousand miles off--to Calcutta!"

"That's certainly against your indictment!"

"And cannot I get my monish?"

"Not as I see."

"And _I_ have been arreshted instead of him!"

"You have."

"Sare, I have only von vord to say--_is_ dat justice?"

"That I can't say, Mynheer Meyer, but it is certainly the law of arrest," answered the magistrate; and he bowed the merchant out of the room.

_New Monthly Magazine_.

* * * * *

SONGS FOUND IN A GRECIAN URN.

THE FIRST-BORN.

Beautiful, O woman! the sun on flower and tree, And beautiful the balmy wind that dreameth on the sea; And softly soundeth in thine ear, the song of peasants reaping, The dove's low chant among the leaves, its twilight vigil keeping.

And beautiful the hushing of the linnet in her nest, With her young beneath her wings, and the sunset on her breast: While hid among the flowers, where the dreamy bee is flitting, Singing unto its own glad heart, the poet child is sitting.

It stirreth up the soul, upon the golden waves to see, The galley lifting up her crowned head triumphantly-- Io! Io! now she laugheth like a Queen of Araby, While Joy and Music strew with flowers the pathway of her Chariotry!

And beautiful unto thy soul, at summer time to wait, Till Moonlight with her sweet pale feet, comes dancing to thy gate; Thy violet-eyes upturn'd unto thy love with timid grace, He feels thine arm about his neck, thy kisses on his face.

Beautiful, O gentle girl, these pleasant thoughts to thee, These chosen sheaves, long harvested within thy memory! But when thy face grows dim, with weariness and care, Thy heart, forgetting all its songs, awaketh but to prayer!

Thou lookest for a gleeful face, thine opening eyes to greet, While coldness gathers on thy breast, the shadow round thy feet-- Beautiful, O woman, the green earth and the flowers may be, But sweeter in that hour the voice of thy First-born Child to thee!

* * * * *

THE ATHENIAN LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS.

The spirit of mine eyes is faint With gazing on thy light; I close my eyelids, but within, Sweet, thou art shining bright, Sitting amid the purple gloom, Like a flower-bird at night!

Thy beauty walketh by my side By the green wood, on the sea; I hear thee in the bird that sings Upon the orange-tree; Thy face upon the haunted streams Is looking up to me.

Gentle one, in grief I linger Beside the glimmering nest, Till evening sinketh in the flowers, Like a weary fawn to rest, Yea, my heart is sick with longing To dream upon thy breast!

From the dark of their golden lids Thy singing eyes look out, Like doves in the olives hearing The shepherd's jocund shout, As he wandereth with his pipe The sunny glen about.

I have opened mine eyes-- Thy beauty will not part, But thy feet are dancing round me, Lovely! that thou art-- The sweet breath of thine eyes doth fall, Like odour on my heart!

* * * * *

TO AN ARCADIAN CHILD SLEEPING.

Sleep on--sleep on--the silver flowers A pillow for thy head may be, While Evening with her band of hours Sits by thee silently.

From Morning in the vine-yards straying-- Sweet child, so fair and meek! She lieth down, and tired of playing, Darkens the bright grass with her cheek.

One arm upon her eyes she foldeth, O'er which her hair is softly fann'd, And still with fainting grasp she holdeth The lilies in her hand.

Oh--wake her not! the forest streams With balmy lips are breathing rest; Nor stir the garland of sweet dreams Which Sleep hath bound upon her breast.

_New Monthly Magazine_.

* * * * *

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF _NEW WORKS_.

* * * * *

ADVENTURES OF A YOUNGER SON.

These are three volumes of spirit-stirring scenes, understood to be written by Captain Trelawney, the friend of Lord Byron. They are said to embody many incidents of the early life of the writer, though portions are too strongly tinged with romance to belong to sober reality. The Younger Son is driven from his native hearth by a cruel father. His proud spirit revolts at such oppression. He sings with Byron

And now I'm in the world alone, Upon the wide wide sea; But why should I for others groan, When none will sigh for me.

His father intends him for the church, but instead of being sent to Oxford, he is taken to Portsmouth, and shipped on board a line of battle ship, the Superb, as passenger to join one of Nelson's squadron; but through delay he falls in with the Nelson fleet of Trafalgar, two days after the deathless victory. He returns to England, and is sent to Dr. Burney's navigation school. He next sails for the East Indies, and at Bombay he falls in with an adventurous stranger, whom he is minute in describing, "to account in part for the extraordinary influence he gained, on so short an acquaintance," over his mind and imagination. He became his model. The height of his ambition was to imitate him, even in his defects. Thenceforth his life of adventure begins. In its progress, he describes many beautiful scenes in the East with touching enthusiasm, and some of his pictures of luxuriant nature are admirably painted.

We pass over these to the heroine, at Port St. Louis:

_An Arabian Beauty_.

"Zela had the blood of a fearless race. She had been bred and schooled amidst peril always at hand. Not having learnt to affect what she did not feel, she crossed ravines, wound along precipices, and waded through streams and rivers, not only without impeding us by enacting a pantomimic representation of fears, tears, entreaties, prayers, screaming, and fainting, but she was such a simpleton as not even to notice them, unless, in the usual sweet, low tone of her voice, to remark that they were delightful places to sit in, during the sultry part of the day; or she would stop her pony over a precipice to gather some curious flowers, drooping from a natural arch; or to pluck the pendant and waving boughs of the most graceful of Indian tress, the imperial mimosa, sensitive and sacred as love, shrinking from the touch of the profane.

"'Put this,' she said, holding out a branch, 'in your turban; for I am sure in some of these hollow caves and dreary chasms the ogres live; they feed their young with human blood, and they love to give them the young and beautiful. Put it in your turban, brother,--since you say I must not call you master;--and never frown,--I do not like to see it, for then you are not so handsome,--I mean, good, as when you smile. Do not laugh, but take it. It will preserve you from every spell and magic. Nothing bad dares come near it.'

"While crossing a sandy level, suddenly she started, as her eye caught some object. Without stopping her horse, which was ambling along, she sprang off, and ran up a sand hill, like a white doe. Never having witnessed any thing like this before, I was so astonished that she was returning, ere I could overtake her to ask if an ogre had lured her with his evil eye. 'O, no,' she cried,--'look here! You like flowers, but did you ever see any so lovely as this?--Smell it,--'tis so sweet, that the rose, if growing near it, loses its beauty and fragrance, from envy of its rival.'

"Certainly I thought she was bewitched. It was a glaring, large, red bough, full of blowzy blossoms, and yellow berries, with a musky, foeted odour. 'Why,' I exclaimed, 'you have as much reason to be jealous of old Kamalia, your nurse, as the rose to be jealous of such a scraggy bramble as this! Faugh! the smell makes me sick.'

"I suppose I was instigated to make this rude speech by her fondling and kissing it. Her dark eyes expanded; and she seemed, for an instant, to view me with astonishment, then with sorrow; as they closed, I perceived that their brightness was gone, and the long, jetty fringe, which arched upwards as it pressed her cheek, was covered with little pearly dew-drops. The branch fell from her hand under my feet, her sprightly form drooped, and the tones of her voice reminded me of the time when she hung over her dying parent, as she said,--'pardon me, stranger! I had forgotten you are not of my father's land. This tree covered my father's tent, sheltered us from the sun, and kept away the flies, when we slept in the day. Our virgins wreathe it in their hair, and, if they die, it is strewed over their graves. So, I can't help loving it better than any thing. But, since you say it makes you sick, I won't love it, or gather it any more.' Then her words became almost inarticulate from sobbing, as she added,--'Why should I wear it now? I belong to a stranger!. My father is gone!'

"I need scarcely say that I not only returned the flowers, and pleaded my ignorance, but I went up to the hill, and pulled up the tree by the roots. 'Sweet sister,' said I, 'I was only angry with it because you abused the favoured tree of our country, the rose. But now, as the sun shines on it, and I see it nearer,'--looking at her,--'I do think the rose may envy it, as the loveliest of my country women might envy you. I'll plant it in our garden.'

"'O, how good you are!' she exclaimed; 'and I'll plant a rose-tree near it, and they shall mingle their sweets; for our love and care of them will make them live together without envy. Every thing should love each other. I love every tree, and fruit, and flower.'

"Still I observed, as her thin robes were disarranged, that her little downy bosom fluttered like an imprisoned bird panting for liberty; and, to turn her thoughts from what had pained her, I said,--'Do not fear, dear Zela. That is the last stream we have to cross; and then we shall ride over that beautiful plain.'

"'O, stranger!' she replied, 'Zela never feared any thing, but her father, when angry; and then, those who feared not to gaze on the lightning, when all the world appeared to be on fire, feared to look in his face. Then his voice was louder than the thunder, and his lance deadlier than the thunderbolt. Last evening, when you talked to that tall man, who is so gentle, you looked like my father; and I thought you were going to kill him, and I wanted to tell you not; for I have read his eyes, and he loves you much. It is very bad to be angry with those that love us.'

"'Oh, you mean Aston! No, dear, I was not angry with him. I love him too. We were talking of the horrid cruelties practised on the poor slaves here; and I was angry at that.'

"'I wish I knew your language! How I should have loved to hear you! And then I should have slept; but being ignorant of that, I did nothing but weep, because I thought I saw you angry with one that loves you.'"

* * * * *

"It was only in Zela's absence that I could dwell on her portraiture. She had just turned her fourteenth year; and though certainly not considered, even in the east, as matured, yet, forced like a flower, fanned by the sultry west wind, into early developement, her form, like its petals bursting through the bud, gave promise of the rarest beauty and sweetness. Nurtured in the shade, her hue was pale, but contrasted with the date-coloured women about her, the soft and transparent clearness of her complexion was striking; and it was heightened by clouds of the darkest hair. She looked like a solitary star unveiled in the night, The breadth and depth of her clear and smooth forehead were partly hidden by the even silky line from which the hair arose, fell over in rich profusion, and added to its brightness; as did the glossy, well-defined eye-brow, boldly crossing the forehead, slightly waved at the outer extremities, but not arched. Her eyes were full, even for an orientalist, but neither sparkling nor prominent, soft as the thrush's. It was only when moved by joy, surprise, or sorrow, that the star-like iris dilated and glistened, and then its effect was most eloquent and magical. The distinct ebon-lashes which curtained them were singularly long and beautiful; and when she slept they pressed against her pale cheeks, and were arched upwards.

"That portion of the eye, generally of a pearly whiteness, in hers was tinted with a light shade of blue, like the bloom on a purple grape, or the sky seen through the morning mist. Her mouth was harmony and love; her face was small and oval, with a wavy outline of ineffable grace descending to her smooth and unruffled neck, thence swelling at her bosom, which was high, and just developing into form. Her limbs were long, full, and rounded, her motion was quick, but not springy, light as a zephyr. As she then stood canopied beneath the dense shade of that sacred Hindoo tree, with its drooping foliage hanging in clusters round her, in every clasped and sensitive leaf of which a fairy is said to dwell, I fancied she was their queen, and must have dropped from one of the leaves, to gambol and wanton among the flowers below. Running to her, I caught her in my arms, and said, 'I watched your fall, and have you now, dear sprite, and will keep you here!'--pressing her to my bosom.

"'Oh, put me down! You hurt me,--I have not fallen,--oh, let me go!'

"'Will you promise then not to take flight to your leafy dwelling, in that your fairy kingdom-tree?'

"'What do you mean? Oh, let me go,--you'll crush me!'

"I gently placed her on the ground, and told her my fears. The instant I unclutched her, she ran to her old attendant, scared like a young leveret; and this was my first embrace of my Arab maid.

"That it may not be considered I exaggerate, when speaking of the Arabs in India generally, I must refer the reader to what a recent, learned, and unprejudiced traveller says of them: 'The Arabs are numerous in India; their comparative fairness, their fine, bony, and muscular figures, their noble countenances, and picturesque dress, intelligent, bold, and active,' &c.

"Zela's father was all this, and her mother a celebrated beauty brought from the Georgian Caucasus, and twice made captive by the chance of war. After giving birth to Zela, she looked, and saw her own image in her child, blessed it, and yielded up her mortality. Is it to be marvelled at, that the offspring of such parents was as I have described, or rather what I have attempted to describe? For I am little skilled in words, or words are insufficient to represent what the eye sees, and the heart feels."

We must return to these very attractive volumes.

* * * * *

THE GATHERER.

* * * * *

_A Mistake_.--In consequence of some transposition by which an announcement of the decease of a country clergyman had got inserted amongst the announcements of the marriages in a country paper a few days since, the announcement read thus: "Married the Rev. ----, curate of ----, to the great regret of all his parishioners, by whom he was universally beloved. The poor will long have cause to lament the unhappy event."

_New Bankrupt Court_.--One of the inferior judges, whose salaries are, by the Act, to be paid out of the fees, seeing that the whole amount was absorbed by the chief, observed to an associate on the bench, "Upon my word, R----, I begin to think that our appointment is all a matter of moonshine." "I hope it may be so," replied R----, "for then we shall soon see the first quarter."

The same humorous judge had listened to a very long argument on a particular case in which the counsel rested much upon a certain act of parliament. His opponent replied, "You need not rely on _that_ act, for its teeth have been drawn by so many decisions against it, that it is worth nothing." Still the counsel argued on, and insisted on its authority; after listening to which for a good hour, his lordship drily remarked, "I do believe all the teeth of this act have been drawn, for there is nothing left but the jaw."--_Literary Gazette_.

_Criticism_.--A print of a wounded leopard is described by a contemporary as "a powerful exhibition of animal agony." Did our critic ever hear of vegetable agony?

_Humbug_.--A correspondent of the _Times_ says "Every body is not acquainted with the etymology of the word Humbug. It is a corruption of Hamburgh, and originated in the following manner: During a period when war prevailed on the Continent, so many false reports and lying bulletins were fabricated at Hamburgh, that, at length, when any one would signify his disbelief of a statement, he would say, 'You had that from Hamburgh;' and thus, 'That is Hamburgh,' or 'Humbug,' became a common expression of incredulity."

_A Clincher_.--An American paper says, this is the method of catching tigers in India:--"A man carries a board, on which a human figure is painted; as soon as he arrives at the den, he knocks behind the board with a hammer; the noise rouses the tiger, when he flies in a direct line at the board, and grasps it, and the man behind clinches his claws in the wood, and so secures him."

_Franking Letters_.--The Princess Augusta asked Lord Walsingham for a frank; he wrote one for her in such detestable characters that, at the end of a week, after having wandered half over England, it was opened, and returned to her as illegible. The Princess complained to Lord Walsingham, and he then wrote the frank for her so _legibly_, that at the end of a couple of days, it was returned to her, marked "FORGERY."--_The Town_.

_Epigram from Scarron_.

A Confessor was caugh t'other day rather jolly, Who observed, "When a man has committed a folly, If he has any sense left, hastens straightway to me, When, confessing his guilt, I can soon set him free; But how hard is my fate! for when wrong I have done, Absolution's denied me by every one; In which case, that I may from conscience escape, Take refuge from thought in the juice of the grape."

M.T.

_Signs_.--To trace the origin of signs would be an amusing relaxation for the Society of Antiquaries. Who could have imagined that "bag o' nails," was a corruption of the Bacchanals, which it evidently is from the rude epigraph still subjoined to the fractured classicism of the title? In the same manner the more modern "Goat and compasses" may be identified with the text of "God encompasseth us," which was a favourite motto amongst the ale-house Puritans.--_Blackwood's Magazine_.

_Half-honesty_.--A few nights since a friend gave a hackney-coachman two sovereigns instead of two shillings for his fare; when the coachman turned sharply and said, "Sir, you have given me a sovereign," keeping back the other; for which supposed honesty he was rewarded.

C.D.