With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me, and howl'd in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling waked, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell.
Such terrible impression made my dream.

Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clar. Oh, Brakenbury, I have done these things,
That now give evidence against my soul,-

For Edward's sake, and, see, how he requites me; –
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be avenged on iny misdeeds,

Yet execute thy wrath on me alone;

Oh, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children;
I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me;

My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

SHAKESPEARE.

SAM WELLER'S VALENTINE.

"I've done now," said Sam, with slight embarrassment;

"I've been a writin'."

"So I see,” replied Mr. Weller.

'ooman, I hope, Sammy.”

"Not to any young

"Why, it's no use a sayin' it ain't," replied Sam. "It's a walentine."

"A what?" exclaimed Mr. Weller, apparently horrorstricken by the word.

"A walentine,” replied Sam.

"Samivel, Samivel," said Mr. Weller, in reproachful accents, " I didn't think you'd ha' done it. Arter the warnin' you've had o' your father's wicious propensities; arter all I've said to you upon this here wery subject; arter actiwally seein' and bein' in the company o' your own mother

in law, vich I should ha' thought was a moral lesson as no man could ever ha' forgotten to his dyin' day! I didn't think you'd ha' done it, Sammy, I didn't think you'd ha’ done it." These reflections were too much for the good old man; he raised Sam's tumbler to his lips and drank off the

contents.

"Wot's the matter now?" said Sam.

"Nev'r mind, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller, "it'll be a wery agonizin' trial to me at my time o' life, but I'm pretty tough, that's vun consolation, as the wery old turkey remarked ven the farmer said he vos afeerd he should be ob liged to kill him for the London market."

66

'Wot'll be a trial?" inquired Sam.

"To see you married, Sammy; to see you a deluded wictim, and thinkin' in your innocence that it's all wery capital," replied Mr. Weller. "It's a dreadful trial to a

father's feelin's, that 'ere, Sammy.”

"Nonsense," said Sam; "I ain't agoin' to get married, don't you fret yourself about that. I know you're a judge o' these things. Order in your pipe, and I'll read you the letter, there!"

Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any cor. rections, and began with a very theatrical air:

666

Lovely-""

"Stop," said Mr. Weller, ringing the bell. "A double glass o' the inwariable, my dear."

"Very well, sir," replied the girl, who with great quickness appeared, vanished, returned, and disappeared.

66

They seem to know your ways here," observed Sam. "Yes," replied his father, "I've been here before, in my time. Go on, Sammy."

"Lovely creetur'," repeated Sam.

""Tain't in poetry, is it?" interposed the father.

"No, no," replied Sam.

"Wery glad to hear it," said Mr. Weller. "Poetry's unnaťʼral. No man ever talked in poetry 'cept a beadle on boxin' day, or Warren's blackin' or Rowland's oil, or some

o' them low fellows. Never you let yourself down to talk poetry, my boy. Begin again, Saminy."

Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity, and Sam once more commenced, and read as follows:

666

Lovely creetur' i feel myself a damned —””

"That ain't proper," said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe from his mouth.

6

"No: it ain't damned," observed Sam, holding the letter up to the light, "it's shamed,' there's a blot there; i feel myself ashamed.'"

66

Wery good," said Mr. Weller. "Go on."

"Feel myself ashamed, and completely cir-' I forget wot this 'ere word is," said Sam, scratching his head with the pen, in vain attempts to remember.

"Why don't you look at it, then?" inquired Mr. Weller. “So I am a lookin' at it,” replied Sam, "but there's another blot: here's a c, and a i, and a d.”

it."

"Circumwented, p'rhaps," suggested Mr. Weller.

66

'No, it ain't that," said Sam: "circumscribed,' that's

"That ain't as good a word as circumwented, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, gravely.

"Think not?" said Sam.

"Nothin' like it," replied his father.

"But don't you think it means more?” inquired Sam. "Vell, p'rhaps it's a more tenderer word,” said Mr. Weller, after a few moments' reflection. "Go on, Sammy.”

"Feel myself ashamed and completely circumscribed in a dressin' of you, for you are a nice gal and nothin' but it.'" "That's a wery pretty sentiment," said the elder Mr. Weller, removing his pipe to make way for the remark. "Yes, I think it's rayther good," observed Sam, highly flattered.

"Wot I like in that 'ere style of writin'," said the elder Mr. Weller, "is, that there ain't no callin' names in it, no Wenuses, nor nothin' o' that kind; wot's the good o' callin' a young 'ooman a Wenus or a angel, Sammy?"

"Ah! what indeed?" replied Sam.

"You might just as vell call her a griffin, or a unicorn, or a king's arms at once, which is wery vell known to be a col-lection o' fabulous animals," added Mr. Weller.

"Just as well," replied Sam.

"Drive on, Sammy," said Mr. Weller.

Sam complied with the request, and proceeded as follows; his father continuing to smoke with a mixed expression of wisdom and complacency, which was particularly edifying: "Afore i see you i thought all women was alike.'" "So they are," observed the elder Mr. Weller, parenthetically. "But now,' now i find what a reg'lar soft-headed, ink-red'lous turnip i must ha' been, for there ain't nobody like you, though i like you better than nothin' at all.' I thought it best to make that rayther strong," said Sam, looking up.

" continued Sam, 666

Mr. Weller nodded approvingly, and Sam resumed.

"So i take the privilidge of the day, Mary, my dear, as the gen❜lem'n in difficulties did, ven he valked out of a Sunday, to tell you that the first and only time i see you your likeness wos took on my hart in much quicker time and brighter colors than ever a likeness wos taken by the profeel macheen (wich p'rhaps you may have heerd on Mary my dear), altho' it does finish a portrait and put the frame and glass on complete with a hook at the end to hang it up by, and all in two minutes and a quarter.'

66

I am afeerd that werges on the poetical, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, dubiously.

"No it don't," replied Sam, reading on very quickly to avoid contesting the point.

666

Except of me Mary my dear as your walentine, and think over what I've said. My dear Mary I will now conclude.' That's all," said Sam.

66

That's rayther a sudden pull up, ain't it, Sammy?” inquired Mr. Weller.

66

Not a bit on it," said Sam: she'll vish there wos more, and that's the great art o' letter-writin'."

66 Well," said Mr. Weller, "there's somethin' in that; and I wish your mother-in-law 'ud only conduct her conwersation on the same gen-teel principle. Ain't you agoin' to sign it?"

"That's the difficulty," said Sam; “I don't know what to sign it."

"Sign it-Veller," said the oldest surviving proprietor of that name.

"Won't do," said Sam. "Never sign a walentine with your own name.”

66

Sign it Pickvick, then," said Mr. Weller; "it's a wery good name, and a easy one to spell."

"The wery thing," said Sam. werse: what do you think?"

"I could end with a

"I don't like it, Sam," rejoined Mr. Weller. "I never know'd a respectable coachman as wrote poetry, 'cept one as made an affectin' copy o' werses the night afore he wos hung for a highway robbery, and he wos only a Cambervell man, so even that's no rule."

But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea that had occurred to him, so he signed the letter

"Your love-sick

Pickwick."

CHARLES DICKENS.

THE BATTLE OF IVRY.

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre! Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vales, O pleasant land of France!

And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,

Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daugh

ters;