toms, language, dress, diet, and diversions of the people of Great Britain, from the accession of Henry the Fourth to that of Edward the Sixth; an abstract of characteristics, and letters to distinguished persons from the time of Edward the Third to James the Second. We greatly enjoy these expositions of the quaint minds and usages of past genera tions, these Pompeii-like disinterments of forgotten things from the oblivious sleep of centuries. Nor has the second volume fewer claims upon our curiosity and commendation. The historical particulars of London in the reign of Henry the Second, and of the manners, fashions, and literature of the times of Charles and James, which Evelyn and Pepys have so largely unveiled to us, and with such endearing simplicity, form an interesting fund of amusement for those who may not have it in their power or inclination to wade through the prolix quartos from which they are extracted. One of the most interesting papers is an historical notice of Christian, the Mankesman, who figures so much in "Peveril of the Peak ;" and whose character is here disenchanted down from the height and breadth to which the northern enchanter has worked it up, to its authentic shape and stature. He appears to have been, after an imprisonment of seven or eight years, the victim of incorrigible obstinacy, according to one, of ruthless tyranny, according to another vocabulary; but resembling the character of the novel in nothing but unconquerable courage. The eloquent speech which he delivered at the place of execution, is given in this work, but it is too long to be extracted here; the boldness with which he met his death, however, recommend him to our admiration, and with this we must conclude our notice. Having finished his speech He fell upon his knees, and passed some time in prayer; then rising exceedingly cheerful, he addressed the soldiers appointed for his execution, saying, "Now for you, who are appointed by lot to be my executioners, I do freely forgive you." He requested them and all present to pray for him, adding, "There is but a thin veil betwixt me and death; once more I request your prayers, for now I take my last farewell. "Trouble The soldiers wished to bind him to the spot on which he stood. He said, not yourselves or me; for I that dare face death in whatever form he comes, will not start at your fire and bullets; nor can the power you have deprive me of my courage." At his desire a piece of white paper was given him, which with the utmost composure he pinned to his breast, to direct them where to aim; and after a short prayer addressed the soldiers thus,-" Hit this, and you do your own and my work." And presently after, stretching forth his arms, which was the signal he gave them, he was shot through the heart, and fell. SONNET TO WOE for the radiant shapes that come and pass A haunt for all sad fantasies! Alas! For the sweet glancings of those eyes which glass All blessed things with love? The village hind, W. THE CHILD OF IMPULSE. SYBILLA had the misfortune to be born a genius; or, more correctly speaking, she had the misfortune to know that every body thought her one. She had therefore indulged that waywardness of temper, and that eccentricity of habit, which silly people consider the necessary accompaniments, and, indeed, the sufficient proof of superior intellect, until waywardness and eccentricity became by adoption a part of her nature. It is thus that affectation becomes eventually its own punishment. Having lost her mother when only an infant, and her father before she had attained her tenth year, the superintendance of her education unfortunately devolved upon some very rich, very ignorant, and, consequently, very injudicious relatives. They thought (and there are many wiser persons who countenance the absurdity,) that men, women, and children of genius, are entitled to set at defiance all the established usages of society, and be a "law unto themselves;" that not only necessarily, but legitimately, they may be more idle and unreasonable than the whole world besides, a privilege of which, it must be owned, geniuses are not backward in availing themselves. 66 Sybilla's uncle and aunt, having no children of their own, were the more anxious that their niece (to use their own phrase) should become a shining character" and "cut a figure in the world." Sybilla, to do her justice, met their wishes more than halfway; but like many other women, who long for distinction, she took the worst method of acquiring the worst kind of distinction, and supposed that she was eminent when, in fact, she was only notorious. The spoiled child grew up into the impetuous girl, alternately the pet and plague of all around her-vain and arrogant as may be,but capable of being governed by strong sense and strong affection, qualities which were not united in any one connected with her. Of course she was not much troubled with unpalatable truths, for the servants and dependants of her uncle discovered, with the quick cunning of vulgar minds, that to fawn and flatter her were easier and surer methods of forwarding their interests. But Sybilla, with a strange, but not uncommon perversity, while she exacted homage from all around her, knew its worthlessness. When she walked through the village, and was met, at every turn, by the deep reverences of old and young, she knew that they were offered by some to the uncle's favourite; and by others, from a selfish regard for the niece's pocket money. She was not equally penetrating on another point, for she really believed that the plaudits which followed her recitations of her own poetry, at her uncle's dinner-parties, were tributes of respect to her talents, and not to his wines. Nor was she aware, that the very ladies, who most loudly whispered to her aunt their admiration of "such a prodigy," yet more loudly whispered elsewhere, that all "such prodigies were hateful." Poor Sybilla believed every thing she heard, and as she heard nothing but what was pleasant, she believed infinitely more than was true. MAGNET, VOL. IV. PART XXVII. 2 L Before reaching the age of sixteen, she had been sent to six different schools, every one of which professed to teach upon a new system. Vain were the respective attractions of "receiving a limited number of pupils" of "treating every young lady as one of the family"—of "salubrious situation," and "silver forks at dinner." Vain were the promises of "scrupulous attention to religious instruction," though backed by a "dress ball every half year." Sybilla remained at none of these "establishments for young ladies," longer than three months; and two of them she left under six weeks. She gave no other reason to her too fond relatives, than that she "could not make herself contented;" but her real and influencing causes of dislike to the six seminaries were, that at three, she was required to learn her lessons correctly; and at one, was not allowed to read novels; that at another she was expected to be correct in the first rules of arithmetic; and, at the last, was punished for writing an ode to the moon, by an open window one frosty night. Private masters were then engaged as a last resource; and Sybilla was to learn every thing at home. They came in troops at the command of that potent magician, MONEY, to impart all that human brains can give out, and all that human brains can take in; previously informed by her aunt, that their pupil elect was born a genius-cut out for a poetess, and the heir to her uncle's property; that they must make her clever at every thing,-never contradict her, and be very reasonable in their terms. To these contrary orders the various masters could only bow-take snuff-and hope the young lady would be reasonable also. For a month, and it did not seem to Sybilla as to Hamlet, a 66 little month,",”—she was pronounced at the end of the last week, by each of her dozen masters, the most promising pupil they "had ever the honour of attending." At the end of six weeks their reports were rather more dubiously worded: "the young lady was certainly a prodigy, only she would neither play, draw, sing, read, learn, nor remember any thing that required the slightest trouble." The seventh week matters assumed a darker aspect. The grammarian had attended, and been informed that "Miss Sybilla was riding by herself, no one knew where." The linguist had arrived, and "Miss Sybilla was unfortunately gone a fishing some miles off;" and the mathematician had been dismissed, with the intelligence that "Miss Sybilla was composing an epitaph on a favourite cat, and did not feel in sufficient spirits for Euclid." As may be expected, remonstrances, censures, promises, and even threats were tried; and, as may be expected, were tried in vain. At the end of two months, Sybilla announced in her most decided manner, that she would have no more masters, as she was determined to teach herself. After a little altercation she carried her point. Each master received his money and took his leave, internally declaring that he would rather encounter an idiot, than another young lady born a genius and cut out for a poetess. Sybilla's plan of private study was, of course, every thing but a plan, and any thing but study. She certainly read and wrote a great deal, and she assured every one, that she thought a great deal more, but that was as it might be. The last book regulated her movements, and those who knew what that was, could generally presage before hand, the nature of her next mental fever. If it were Dugald Stewart, the symptoms would have been logic and long walks ;-if Lord Byron, turbans and Turkey coffee ;-if Coleridge, moonlight and metaphysics. "Expect not perfection, but look for consistency," says the venerable author of Colebs; but then she never knew Sybilla, or she would as soon have looked for one as the other, for she was, indeed, A deceiver ever, One foot on land, and one on shore, no, not even to her friends, who, reckoning those who had been dispatched to the blue room, and those (never less in number than six,) who were the angels of the time being, were as numerous and shortlived as Blue Beard's wives. But glaring as were Sybilla's faults, she yet possessed qualities which, if they did not redeem, almost gilded them. The accurate observer would have discovered in the vain and wayward girl, capabilities which only wanted directing to proper objects. There was a wild energy about her temper, which accomplished every thing by sudden effort; and by a succession of sudden efforts, she accomplished much. She could, and she would, think for herself on all points; but she never thought to a conclusion on any one. Continually exciting expectations, and as continually disappointing them,-determined by accident, and governed by impulse, if her faults seldom provoked anger, her virtues as rarely obtained respect. She pursued nothing any longer than whilst it dazzled her imagination; and valued nothing after she found that it was attainable. She felt her superiority to those around her, and she despised them; but she felt her inferiority to those of whom she read, and she despised herself. A complete compound of contradictions, of strength of will and infirmity of purpose,-of talent and gross ignorance,-of satire and sensibility." Such was Sybilla at nineteen; an object of alternate envy, admiration, pity, and contempt. At length, all who knew her, tired of repeating "What will she do next?" rationally determined to be surprised at nothing that she might do. Two bets were made-one, that she would turn catholic; and the other, that she would drown herself. There is no saying what may eventually be the case; but on the occasion in point, the betters were disappointed, and perhaps it was better that they should be so. Sybilla fell in love; at least, her friends very wisely allowed her to think so, lest contradiction should change a laughable fiction into a sad reality. At Cheltenham she met with a little, smalleyed, sallow, woolly-haired German, who affirmed that he had served under Blucher, which, of course, was true, since his left hand was short of a little finger, and he wore immense mustachios. He also "claimed kindred" to some grand duke, whose territories were as large as the county of Rutland; and here again, of course, his claims must be allowed, since he had his Highness's likeness on his snuff-box, or at least the likeness of some one ugly enough to be his "Highness," and assured every one that they were real brilliants which surrounded it. But these were not half his attractions. He spoke English very indifferently; but there his very hesitation made him more interesting; and when he could not make himself understood, he had such a speaking smile! Then he showed autographs, and told anecdotes of Goethe and Schiller, and had French periodicals and pocket handkerchiefs; and, lastly, he drank coffee like a Turk, and waltzed like an angel. In two days Sybilla discovered that he was not intellectually ugly, and that she hated handsome men. In two more he prevailed on her to teach him English grammar, and compared her to Corinna and Madame de Staël; while Sybilla discovered him to be the most acute judge of character she ever beheld. The next day he sighed very deeply between breakfast and dinner, besides looking at her with tears in his eyes; and Sybilla began to wonder what ailed her. But the last morning of the week, she overheard him repeating (as she supposed) German poetry, when, in fact, he was swearing at his servant; and she wrote to inform each of her six friends for the time being, that she was in love. How all this would have ended may be easily guessed; but happily the wayward girl had one, though only one, judicious friend, who never lost sight of her in all her faults, follies, whims, and wanderings. This lady (of course, not included amongst the six,) had been her mother's friend, and in spite of every thing was still a tried and faithful friend to the daughter. With strong attachment she combined two powers, which are irresistible when managed by woman-reason and ridicule. When Sybilla was reasonable, she used the former; when ridiculous, she had recourse to the latter. In the present instance she had ample occasion for both. This friend, who continually contradicted, never flattered, and rarely praised her, was the only person who possessed the slightest influence over the ungovernable girl, whom she had followed to Cheltenham on the first intimation of her proceedings, and found discussing metaphysics with her intellectual German. There was a piercing penetration in her eyes when she entered the room, which convinced the German that his pretensions would be speedily unmasked, and his power annihilated. He therefore soon retired to smoke a cigar for the head-ache. The steady, calm determination of her manner, as soon convinced Sybilla that she was come with full power to take her home. Neither party was deceived. Vain were remonstrances, vain was passion,-vain was penitence for the past; and vainer still were promises for the future. Her friend, fully convinced that she had already made herself sufficiently notorious to prove that she was a genius, was inexorable; and with few but weighty words convinced her, that, if not with her own will, most certainly by the will of others, she would take her seat in the carriage next morning, and leave Cheltenham. Sybilla, too proud to offer ineffectual resistance, dried her tears, and determined to be a heroine with all convenient dispatch. She found, however, some means before their departure, to convey a short billet to her intellectual German, in which she assured him she "should die of grief," and concluded her epistle with five similes and three quotations. She was so happy as to receive in reply |