when ho gets a crotchet into his head-he runs wild-there is no stopping him. He said it was a d-d piece of affectation-that you purposely abstained from so doing in order to render yourself conspicuous-singular; that, except yourself, there was not a man, woman, or child past the age of twenty but had published his, her, or its Memoirs.' Life and Times,' Reminiscences,' or Personal Narrative,' at the very least; that it was the fashion, the mania, the frenzy of the times; that nothing but your immeasurable vanity prevented your doing as others did, and that when this means of exciting notice was exhausted, you would be seen walking about the streets, dressed in a pink silk coat, red-heeled shoes, and a feather-rimmed hat.”

So, now the murder was out-the grievance I have complained of was explained. "And Willoughby did really make such a charge against me?" said I.

66

Why now, my dear fellow-you don't know it from me-I have told you nothing what have I said?-you mustn't say I told you this. Besides, he is your friend; he meant it for the best, and you ought to follow his advice."

66

But, even were I so inclined, I have scarcely any thing to relate worth listening to."

Pooh, pooh! you have, I know you have, and you know it too. You have lived a good deal in the world; have seen and known many remarkable people; and have in your possession many curious letters. I know you have haven't you? Yes, yes, you must-Eh?"

"Psha! I despise the pettifogging process of nightly recording the conversations of the day; of noting down the careless joke, or the halfserious half-jesting opinion heedlessly thrown off at the convivial board; of accumulating letters intended only for the friendly eye; and all this for the purpose (a purpose of doubtful propriety, at the best,) of filling a quarto to be published at the first convenient opportunity."

"I didn't say a quarto."

66

I won't quarrel with you about the size: make it an octavo-a duodecimo, if you will, my objection is the same; nor would it be lessened by thrusting portraits and autographs into the book."

"Your portrait! my dear fellow, I said nothing about your portrait. But will you think of the matter?"

Perceiving that my sincere and excellent friend had the subject deeply at heart, and, at the same time, to put an end to the conversation, I told him I would consider of it. "But for Willoughby," added I, "who has exhibited this, my foible, in the worst possible point of view, I have done with him."

"There

you are wrong," said Ferret ; " he meant no harm; and when you meet, you must shake hands with him as usual. He is your friend -I know he is; but he has a dangerous tongue, and I told him so. I can't bear to see old friends disunited; and after a few months or so, when the affair has blown over, he'll be sorry for what he said and I shouldn't wonder to see you as good friends again as ever."

"Well, that is as it may be. But one word at parting, Ferret. I have promised you that I will consider of this subject, but don't mention to any one that you have even hinted the matter to me."

"Not a soul. You know me ;-hear, see, and say nothing, is the rule of my life. I never ask questions, I never repeat what I hear. And you, my dear fellow-I have told you nothing about our friend Wil loughby-you know nothing from me. Don't mention my name in the

business promise me."

66

"I promise. Good morning, Dick."

The instant I was left to myself, I wrote a formal note to my friend Willoughby, declining the pleasure of meeting him on the following day. (By the by, we have met since, and I understand he is utterly at a loss to account for my evident coldness towards him; but being under a promise of secrecy to our friend Ferret, I am not at liberty to enlighten him as to the cause.)

Scarcely had I sealed my note when in came A

Well," said he, " when do you expect to get it out?" "Out! What?"

Oh, I just now met our friend Ferret, who told me in confidence. But I agree with him: Memoirs and correspondence, in three volumes, quarto, will lead the public to expect too much."

Before I had time to reply, Mr. B—

entered the room.

"I have just parted with our friend Ferret. I like your title: 'Mems. on Men, and Thoughts on things; but I am quite of his opinion-stuffing it all into one volume small octavo, will be looked upon as a sorry piece of mock-modesty."

Next came C

"Better late than never," said Mr. C; "I commend you for the intention, although you are somewhat late in the field. You must not be angry with our good friend Ferret for trusting me with the secretI hold it confidentially, and it shall go no farther. But I can't help agreeing with him-not as to publishing in eight volumes octavo, because if you can fill them pleasantly there will be no harm done-but the portrait (and he mentioned this with unfeigned concern, for he is a warm friend of your's,)-placing, as a frontispiece, a portrait of yourself in a red velvet cap, with the fore-finger of your left-hand pressing your temples, a pen as big as an ostrich feather in your right-hand, and your right foot resting on a pea green satin cushion, is-I agree with him an instance of vanity-excuse my frankness-to be equalled only by the absurdity-pardon the word-of announcing your Voyages, Travels, Life, and Adventures,' as intended for the use of schools!"

I had no time for explanation or reply, for I was visited in rapid succession by D———, E- —, F——————, G— and the rest of the alphabet, each with a different version of a story which was not absolutely untrue, inasmuch as it had the very slightest possible foundation in truth.

"This is unendurable," exclaimed I; " you all know our friend Ferret; he is incapable of uttering a falsehood, but his imagination is peculiarly constructed. He is what I would call a beau-idealist; he sees and hears things as they are; he describes and relates them as they ought to be. You show him an acorn, he thinks of an oak, he describes a forest. 'Tis thus he has led you into error upon the present occasion. He suggested to me the necessity of my following the fashion of Life-andTimes-writing; I gave no positive promise that I would. But admitting

that I did, I admit no more than that the stuff, the ground-work, is my own; for the exquisite and elaborate embroidery-the three quartos, the eight octavos, the velvet cap, and pea-green satin cushion, I am indebted to his-beau idealism. I never even thought of aspiring to the dignity of a volume. The most I ever contemplated was to furnish from time to time, to the lighter pages of the New Monthly, a few Sketches' (of character) and Recollections' of persons and events. At all events, I now find myself bound to the undertaking, and when, in some shape or other, I shall have contributed my quota to this most craving appetite of the time-when I shall have published my Memoirs and Reminiscences-I trust I shall receive the usual reward of such a labour-that of being allowed to sink into quiet obscurity." P*.

THE RAPE OF PROSERPINE.

From the Italian of Cassiani.

[FROM BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE, NO. CLIX.]

The virgin of Sicilia shriek'd with fright,
The flowers she scatter'd as she turn'd away
From the rapacious hand that stopp'd her flight,
And shrunk into herself in fell dismay.

With Stygian soot begrimed, the god of night
Impress'd a burning kiss while thus she lay,
Staining with grisly beard the ivory light
Of her fair bosom in its disarray.

Now that the ravisher had clasp'd her round,

With her right hand his horrid chin she push'd;
And with the other veil'd her trembling eyes:

Now the dark car receives them-while the skies
The hollow thunder of the wheels resound,
'Mid female shrieks, as onward down they rush'd.

THE MARVELLOUS HISTORY OF MYNHEER VON

WODENBLOCK.

BY HENRY G. BELL.

[FROM THE EDINBURGH LITERARY JOURNAL, NO. 47.]

He who has been at Rotterdam, will remember a house of two stories which stands in the suburbs just adjoining the basin of the canal that runs between that city and the Hague, Leyden, and other places. I say he will remember it, for it must have been pointed out to him as having been once inhabited by the most ingenious artist that Holland ever produced, to say nothing of his daughter, the prettiest maiden ever born within hearing of the croaking of a frog. It is not with the fair Blanche, unfortunately, that we have at present any thing to do; it is with the old gentleman her father. His profession was that of a surgical-instrument maker, but his fame principally rested on the admirable skill with which he constructed wooden and cork legs. So great was his reputation in this department of human science, that they whom nature or accident had curtailed, caricatured, and disappointed in so very necessary an appendage to the body, came limping to him in crowds, and, however desperate their case might be, were very soon (as the saying is) set upon their legs again. Many a cripple, who had looked upon his deformity as incurable, and whose only consolation consisted in an occasional sly hit at Providence for having intrusted his making to a journey-man, found himself so admirably fitted,—so elegantly propped up by Mynheer Turningvort, that he almost began to doubt whether a timber or cork supporter was not, on the whole, superior to a more common place and troublesome one of flesh and blood. And, in good truth if you had seen how very handsome and delicate were the understandings fashioned by the skilful artificer, you would have been puzzled to settle the question yourself, the more especially if in your real toes, you were ever tormented with gout or corns.

One morning, just as Master Turningvort was giving its final smoothness and polish to a calf and ankle, a messenger entered his studio, to speak classically, and requested that he would immediately accompany him to the mansion of Mynheer Von Wodenblock. It was the mansion of the richest merchant in Rotterdam, so the artist put on his best wig, and set forth with his three-cornered hat in one hand, and his silver-headed stick in the other. It so happened that Mynheer Von Wodenblock had been very laudably employed, a few days before, in turning a poor relation out of doors, but in endeavouring to hasten the odious wretch's progress down stairs by a slight impulse a posteriore, (for Mynheer seldom stood upon ceremony with poor relations,) he had unfortunately lost his balance, and tumbling headlong from the top to the bottom, he

found, on recovering his senses, that he had broken his right leg, and that he had lost three teeth. He had at first some thoughts of having his poor relation tried for murder; but being naturally of a merciful disposition, he only sent him to jail on account of some unpaid debt,_ leaving him there to enjoy the comfortable reflection, that his wife and children were starving at home. A dentist soon supplied the invalid with three teeth, which he had pulled out of an indigent poet's head at the rate of ten stivers a-piece, but for which he prudently charged the rich merchant one hundred dollars. The doctor, upon examining his leg, and recollecting that he was at that moment rather in want of a subject, cut it carefully off, and took it away with him in his carriage to lecture upon it to his pupils. So Mynheer Wodenblock, considering that he had been hitherto accustomed to walk and not to hop, and being, perhaps, somewhat prejudiced in favour of the former mode of locomotion, sent for our friend at the canal basin, in order that he might give direc tions about the representative, with which he wished to be supplied for his lost member.

The artificer entered the wealthy burgher's apartment. He was reclining on a couch, with his left leg looking as respectable as ever, but with his unhappy right stump wrapped up in bandages, as if conscious and ashamed of its own littleness. "Turningvort, you have heard of my misfortune; it has thrown me into a fever, and all Rotterdam into confusion; but let that pass. You must make me a leg,; and it must be the best leg, sir, you ever made in your life." Turningvort bowed. "I do not care what it costs;" Turning vort bowed yet lower; "provided it out-does every thing you have yet made of a similar sort. 1 am for none of your wooden spindleshanks. Make it of cork; let it be light and elastic; and cram it as full of springs as a watch. I know nothing of the business, and cannot be more specific in my directions; but this I am determined upon, that I shall have a leg as good as the one I have lost. I know such a thing is to be had, and if I get it from you, your reward is a thousand guineas. The Dutch Prometheus declared, that to please Mynheer Von Wodenblock, he would do more than human ingenuity had ever done before, and undertook to bring him, within six days, a leg which would laugh to scorn the mere common legs possessed by common men.

This assurance was not meant as an idle boast. Turningvort was a man of speculative as well as practical science and there was a favourite discovery which he had long been endeavouring to make, and in accomplishing which, he imagined he had at last succeeded that very morning. Like all other manufacturers of terrestrial legs, he had ever found the chief difficulty in his progress towards perfection, to consist in its being apparently impossible to introduce into them any thing in the shape of joints, capable of being regulated by the will, and of performing those important functions achieved under the present system. by means of the admirable mechanism of the knee and ankle. Our philosopher had spent years in endeavouring to obviate this grand inconvenience, and though he had undoubtedly made greater progress than any body else, it was not