person in the village, at least one blest || depend on my own discretion. Good boy! with the most flattering prospects of being || dear boy! sobbed the two parents in a so hereafter. The next year, as usual, old breath, as each caught a hand and tenderly Cumberland was expected, but no old Cum- drew him towards the sofa: Charles raised berland came. Mr. Bellengen repeated his his eyes, filled with tears, to heaven. Giver letters of anxious invitation, till at length of light! said he, solemnly, so thou desert they were returned to him unopened. Then, us not, we are content to bear thy chasindeed, the whole force of his own impro- tisement; confiding in thy bounty, we can priety occurred, aceusingly, to poor Mr. never lack sufficient; with these words Bellengen's mind, and he condemned him- he sunk alternately on the neck of his self as the perverter of a felicitous destiny, father and the bosom of his mother; and almost as the annihilator of his son's future the Bellengens felt, that the evening on happiness in the midst of this distress ar- which they lost all hopes of old Cumberrived a scrawl from old Cumberland, ac- land's legacy, was not the most unhappy knowledging the receipt of his usual invitaone they had endured. tion to Bellengen Lodge, which he begged to decline, as the air on his last visit had nearly proved too keen for him; and he was now residing with some relations of his late wife, to whom he was become already much attached, as they were worthy people, and very sparing. Shortly after this event, Mr. Bellengen sold off his estate, and having discharged his debts, found but a bare sufficiency remaining for the support of himself and wife, and that little a continued state of ill health prevented him from increasing by any bodily exertion; Charles, however, was too proud as well as too wise to remain long inactive, and consequently accepted a situation in a mercantile office of respectability in town, from which he derived such an emolument as enabled him to add ma terially to the comforts of his declining pa Cold drops of perspiration chased each other down Mr. Bellengen's brow, as he trembling perused this epistle. With a degree of vehement despair portrayed on the quivering paleness of his lip, and the flashing phrensy of his eye, he dashed the paper to the earth, and sunk almost imme-rents. Two years passed away in this mandiately upon the sofa. My God! exclaimed Charles, as Mrs. Bellengen with a scream of terror, rushed towards her husband, what is the meaning of all this? what is there in that paper so terrible, to change you my father from life to seeming death? and hastily obeying the silent injunction of his parent, he cooly read the letter, aloud, from beginning to end. Mrs. Bellengen burst into tears and wrung her hands, while her husband, in a state of torpor, gazed vacantly upon her. For my part, said Charles, after a moment's hesitation, I see nothing here that might not have been expected, from a man of Mr. Cumberland's eccentricity; we now know the worst: every thing now depends upon ourselves, and the misfortune is, that conviction comes so late; but yet not too late, added he, cheerfully raising his voice, and from this moment, shall I feel myself of ten times more importance, since my future means are so likely to ner, when an advantageous match for his son was proposed to Mr. Bellengen. The happy father, exhilarated by the prospect, flew eagerly to Charles, and at once communicated the discovery which a friend had made; but what was his chagrin when the youth declared, that if ever he married, it should be to no other than Emily Singleton, the curate's daughter of Arrandale; for, said he, I am sworn by the most ardent affection, never to become the husband of any woman but herself, and while she is content to remain single for my sake, till more prosperous times shall make us hapI cannot, will not, desert her. ру, But my son, this match-O sir, name it not; I feel there is but one being on earth with whom I would unite myself,-one only whom I could virtuously, truly love, and your son will not become the villain to impose on another for the sake of a little gain, a form without a heart, a hand not mine to barter. A few years of persevering Mr. Bellengen, though disappointed, had no reproach to offer, no remonstrance to make: he admired his son for his virtue, and only regretted that old Cumberland's money was not in better hands. industry will realize for me that degree of || suffered himself to murmur a complaint. independence at which I aim, and till that and she looked upon it as the dreadful period arrive, I will not become the hus- forerunner of the wreck of all her earthly band even of Emily Singleton. My first happiness. At length his weakness inthought has been for my parents, it is so creased so rapidly, that the physician still: I shall establish by economy your deemed nothing would stay its progress income in its present state, and then you but change of air, and reluctantly yielding must not refuse to let me seek happiness in to Emily's intreaties, he set off for Arranmy own way. dale Parsonage, almost blighted in hope and heart. Native air served, in a great measure, to re-establish Bellengen's health, and again the glow of youth presented itself upon his features, and they were about to return to the metropolis, when Emily, Just as Charles had actually, by indefa- who had proved an indefatigable nurse, was tigable zeal, attained the little purpose at herself suddenly seized with the same mawhich he had been aiming, and purchased || lady, which threatened to terminate in the an annuity for the joint lives of his father most appalling manner. and mother, and had written a letter full of A summons from his employer had aljoy to the parsonage, Mr. Bellengen's in- ready reached Bellengen, but how could disposition began to assume a more serious he return without Emily? how leave her aspect; and, perhaps, the victim of disap- || under such circumstances? Her unceasing pointment, he died suddenly. His last attention to himself had been evidently the words related to old Cumberland's money; cause of her own indisposition, and in the and his last prayer was, that the old man recovery of his wife he now centered all might repent of his unnatural conduct to- hope. Day and night he watched by her wards poor Charles. couch; with his own hand administered restoratives to her parching lips; with his own hand smoothed the pillow on which she reclined, and fondly imagined that no one could perform these offices of attention so effectually as himself: Emily thought so too, for what is sweeter than the watchfulness of affection? and as Bellengen supported her languid head on his shoulder, she felt, that if not restored by his anxious assiduity, his tenderness soothed and assuaged her sufferings. At the termination of another year, Emily Singleton, content to share humble life with the man who adored her, consented to become the wife of Charles, and old Mrs. Bellengen, whose infirmities now came fast upon her, was to pass the remainder of her life with the young couple: she did so, for it was short; and she had the happiness to leave behind her, to the enjoyment of each other, two of the most affec- || tionate hearts that ever heaven united. Old Cumberland had reached the age of ninety-three, when his marriage to a widow lady, whose estate lay contiguous to his own, was announced in the papers. Charles read the account unmoved, secretly applauding himself for the resolution he had long since taken. But, alas! fate had not done with Charles, for he was doomed to taste the bitterness of its bitterest dregs. Indisposition, arising from too intense an application to his profession, soon began to show itself in the hectic flush of his cheek. Emily perceived the fatal symptom long before her husband One afternoon, while the old curate was reading a chapter from the Bible, to which Emily, as she lay on the sofa, hearkened with profound attention, and Bellengen silently gazing upon her altered looks, in the bitterness of love ardently pressed her shrunk hand in his, the window being thrown open in order to admit the refreshing breeze, which found its way through evertwining branches of white jessamine, a country fellow stood abruptly before them and presented two letters addressed to Charles: the direction of one of them was in the hand-writing of his London em ployer; he hastily opened it, and the that Emily's voice called upon him from words "it was impossible for us to wait the grave. Suddenly he arose from his longer; necessity compelled us to accept seat in order to pursue the ideal object of another in your stead," infused a sickness his distempered intellect, when finding into his heart, which, in spite of his forti- || himself overpowered by a variety of contude, overpowered him, and he sunk pale tending emotions, he leaned against the and agitated on his chair, while the cause mantle-piece for support; a bunch of wiof his distress fell from his hand at Emily's thered roses, which Emily's hand had feet. A loud shriek escaped the lips of the placed there in their beauty, fell as he unfortunate wife as she witnessed the emo- | touched them, to the ground, and the letter tion of her husband: the full force of their which came with the unfortunate one from misfortunes rushed instantly into her mind; London, but had been entirely forgotten, it was too much for her weak state, and suddenly presented itself, having been completely overpowered it. The sight of placed behind the flowers by the servant, Emily apparently in the agonies of death, who found it on the carpet the morning suddenly aroused Bellengen from his tor- after Emily's decease. por: he flew to the couch on which she lay extended, and calling franticly on her name, besought her in the tenderest accents to speak to him, as the venerable old curate, his eyes filling themselves with tears, sunk upon his knees and piteously invoked the God of Mercies to spare his children. Alas! the parental appeal was too late, for the spirit of Emily had winged itself to eternity ere it could ascend the footstool of Omnipotence. The scene that followed beggars all description, imagination only can portray it; every feeling of the heart, every throb which can convulse the breast was excited by woe and subdued by deso- || lation: the smiling cherub of joy which had never courted the presence of Charles Bellengen, seemed now for ever to have relinquished him to despair. For a moment Charles looked at the direction, which he could distinctly perceive by the moonlight: his truant thoughts returned: and you, said he, perhaps, were intended to awake new sorrows and to inflict new sufferings, for what but calamity could ever extend itself to me? but your influence has lost its point: the miserable Charles Bellengen is beyond the reach of future misery. With these words he mechanically opened the paper to which they were addressed, and an hysteric laugh passed across his features as he glanced over the contents of the epistle. "Dear sir,-By thedeath of C. Cumberland, Esq. I am authorised to inform you that you are entitled to all his estates; and further to £70,000 funded property; you will therefore please دو his brow: his knees smote each other: he perceived that he was dying, and exclaimed, O Emily, how happy would this have made us, which it was the mistake of my parents to anticipate, and which, like a sword of punishment, comes even at last, to pierce the heart of their sole existing offspring. Charles could read no further: he felt About a fortnight after the funeral of deeply that it was never too late to endure Emily, poor Charles was sitting in brood-keener misery: a cold dew trickled from ing melancholy on the same sofa, in the same room in which she had expired: he was alone; the branches of a cypress tree near the window, received the silvery radiance of the full moon, which imparted to them the most fantastic forms; the breeze too as it played among them, seemed like the moaning of some departed spirit, that calls reproachfully on its former love. The nervous debility under which Charles laboured, aided not a little to affect his distempered fancy, and he almost imagined The curate, who had been absent only a quarter of an hour, on his return found Charles with the letter still in his hand, sitting on Emily's chair, senseless-colddead. JEU D'ESPRIT, ON THE IMPORTANCE AND MANAGEMENT OF AN EPIC POEM. IT has hitherto been customary for all periodical writers to take some opportunity, in the course of their labours, to display their critical abilities, either by making observations on some popular author and work of known character, or by bringing forth the performances of hidden merit, and throwing light on genius in obscurity. To the critiques of Addison in the Spectator, Shakspeare, and more particularly Milton, are indebted for no inconsiderable share of the reputation | which they now so universally enjoy; and by his means were the ruder graces, and more simple beauties of the ballad of Chevy Chace held up to public view, and recommended to general admiration. I should probably be accused of swerving from the imitation of so great an example, were not I to take occasion to shew that I too am not entirely destitute of abilities of this kind; but that, by possessing a decent share of critical discernment, and critical jargon, I am capable of becoming a very tolerable commentator. For the truth of which, I shall rather prefer calling the attention of my readers to an object as yet untreated of by any of my immediate predecessors, than venture to make my observations on any work which has passed the ordeal of frequent examination. And this I shall do for two reasons; partly, because where I do choose a field, how fertile soever, of which many others had before me been reaping the fruits, mine would be at best but the gleanings of criticism; and, partly, from a more interested view, from a selfish desire of accumulated praise; since, by making a work as yet almost wholly unknown, the subject of my consideration, I shall acquire the reputation of taste, as well as judgment,-of judiciousness in selection, as well as justness in observation; -of propriety in choosing the object, as well as skill in using the language of commentary. The epic poem on which I shall ground my present critique, has for its chief characteristic, brevity and simplicity. The author,-whose name I lament that I am, in some degree, prevented from consecrating to immortal fame, by not knowing what it is, the author has not branched his poem into excrescences of episode, or prolixities of digression; it is neither variegated with diversity of unmeaning similitudes, nor glaring with the varnish of unnatural metaphor. The whole is plain and uniform; so unadorned, indeed, that I should hardly be surprised if some morose readers were to conjecture, that the poet had been thus simple rather from necessity than choice; that he had been restrained, not so much by chastity of judgment, as sterility of imagination. Nay, some there may be, perhaps, who will dispute his claim to the title of an Epic Poet; and will endeavour to degrade him to the rank of a ballad-monger. But I, as his commentator, will contend for the dignity of my author; and will plainly demonstrate his poem to be an epic poem, agreeable to the examples of all poets, and the general consent of all critics. First, it is universally agreed that an epic poem should have three component parts; a beginning, a middle, and an end; secondly, it is allowed, that it should have one grand action, or main design, to the forwarding of which, all the parts of it should directly or indirectly tend; and that this design should be in some measure consonant with, and conducive to, the purpose of morality; and thirdly, it is indisputably settled, that it should have a hero. I trust that in none of these points the poem before us will be found deficient. There are other inferior properties, which I shall consider in due order. Not to keep my readers longer in suspense, the subject of this poem is "The Reformation of the Knave of Hearts." It is not improbable, that some may object to "knave" is an unworthy hero, the former would certainly have equalled, me that a I shall now proceed to the more immediate examination of the poem in its different parts. The beginning, say the critics, ought to be plain and simple; neither embellished with the flowers of poetry, nor turgid with pomposity of diction. In this how exactly does our author conform to the established opinion! he begins thus:— The Queen of Hearts She made some tarts Can any thing be more clear! more natural! more agreeable to the true spirit of simplicity! here are no tropes-no figurative expressions,—not even so much as an invocation to the muse. He does not detain his readers by any needless circumlocution; by unnecessarily informing them what he is going to sing; or still more unnecessarily enumerating what he is not going to sing but he at once introduces us, and sets us on the most easy and familiar footing imaginable, with her majesty of Hearts, and interests us deeply in her domestic concerns. As thus: The Queen of Hearts Here, indeed, the prospect brightens, and we are led to expect some liveliness of imagery, some warmth of poetical colouring; but here is no such thing. There is no task more difficult to a poet, than that of rejection. Ovid among the ancients, and Dryden among the moderns, were, perhaps, the most remarkable for the want of it. Ovid had more genius, but less judgment than Virgil; Dryden more imagination, but less correctness than Pope: had they not been deficient in these points, No. 154.-Vol. XXIV. All on a summer's day. And thus closes the first part or beginning, which is simple and unembellished; opens the subject in a natural and easy manner; excites, but does not too far gratify our curiosity for a reader of accurate observation may easily discover, that the hero of the poem has not, as yet, made his appearance. Having thus gone through the first part, or beginning of the poem, we may naturally enough, proceed to the consideration of the second. The second part, or middle, is the proper place for bustle and business, for incident and adventure: Y |