On wild and terrible. The crowded state of the combatants-their irregular and impetuous mode of fighting, with the curses and yells, mingled with the clashing of swords, and the occasional report of fire-arms, created a scene of horror and confusion. It was sometime before the soldiers could form themselves into line; but when they did so, they commenced a regular fire, which proved awfully fatal to the smugglers. Several were killed, many were wounded, and those, who could, fled to the schooner, and were allowed to escape. the other side, two men were slain, and several wounded, but the gauger, who was a very devil in the mêlée, escaped unhurt. Not so, our unfortunate friend, Cynric. A musket ball passed through his arm, which, although it did not break the bone, caused him nearly to faint from pain and loss of blood. He was, of course, with many others, apprehended; and, before morning, he was safely lodged in the strongest dungeon of Caernarvon Castle, a part of which was at that time used as a county-jail. The intelligence of this adventure spread rapidly among the hills, and was conveyed-with all the mar vellous additions, which it had acquired on its journey -safely to the knowledge of Lucy Morgan. Poor Lucy heard the account with dismay; but not with astonishment. Sad forebodings had haunted her mind, since her last interview with Cynric: and now that her suspicions were confirmed, and the dreadful result revealed, although she bore the shock better than if it had been entirely unexpected; still her heart could not bear up entirely against the torrent of grief which now overwhelmed it." I do not-I cannot hate him," she said, as she rose weeping from old Lowry's arms. "He is Cynric-my own Cynric still; and all this crime has been brought upon him by others, and not by his own heart. I am pledged to love him; and love him I will, even to" she could not proceed, but shrinking shudderingly on Lowry's bed, she sought, in troubled slumber, a temporary alleviation of her sorrow. Time passed on, and the summer assizes drew near. Never before or since was the great town of Caernarvon so crowded with company on such an occasion; for Cynric's situation had excited the interest of all classes. At length, the important day arrived, which was to decide Cynric's fate in this world; and he stood at the bar in a situation, than which none can be more terrible. I have heard my aunt Martha say-for she, with many other ladies, was in court-that she had seldom looked upon a handsomer man than he was; although confinement, and the workings of his proud spirit, had somewhat dimmed the sparkling fire of his dark eye, and cast a shade of shame and melancholy over his fine and manly features. He stood erect and firm, and pronounced, when challenged, the words. "Not Guilty!" in a tone, which would have carried conviction to the hearts of all but a judge and jury. In less than three hours the trial was at an end; and the jury, without retiring, gave in their virdict"Guilty!" There were many tears shed in court that day. The foreman of the jury sobbed when he pronounced the fatal word; the judge was moved when he heard it; and, in his charge to the unfortunate prisoner, he wept, as my aunt said, like a tender maiden. Amongst them all the prisoner himself was unmoved-even the sentence itself, pronounced as it was, with the tremulous faultereing of strong agitation, caused no other emotion, than a slight compression of the lips, and a momentary flashing of that still sparkling eye. There was no blenching of the cheek-no hurried beating of the heart-although only one short week remained between Cynric and-the scaffold! All this time poor Lucy had been suffering severely from sickness. A violent fever, the result of all this misfortune, had kept her hovering between life and death; and she had just begun to leave the house when Cynric's trial toook place. Of its result she had no doubt: she had made up her mind to the worst; and all that she wanted was to see him once more before a violent and disgraceful death should destroy him. Her father had been with him very often; and if Cynric did entertain any hostile feeling towards his kinsman, it was now completely eradicated by that kinsman's unwearied kindness. Pryce Morgan did not attempt to dissuade his daughter from visiting her condemned lover; and he obtained permission from the magistrates to allow their interview to be private. Cynric was apprized of the day-and even of the hour; and he waited in fearful impatience for its arrival. Lucy came-but ah! how changed and wasted! Her features-" pale as monumental marble,"—and appearing almost deathly from the contrast of her deep mourning-were expressive of the most whithered sorrow. Her form, still, indeed, beautifully graceful, was but the shadow of its former self; and her blue eye, once the betokener of love and joy, was now dimmed and faded, and spoke only of hopes withered, and of happiness destroyed. We will not profane the sanctity of that meeting by intruding upon its privacy. Supported by her father, Lucy entered the cell, and supported by her father she quitted it: and many a weary day passed by before a smile was seen to play again upon her melancholy and care-betokening features. -- The day of execution was fast approaching, and Cynric seemed perfectly reconciled to his fate. "Hope," had long since-" withering, sighed Farewell!”and the Bangor Gazette was full of commiseration at the magnanimity and resignation of the prisoner. At an early hour on the morning of the fatal day, the gailor accompanied by the clergyman, who had been assiduous in his attendance on Cynric since his condemnation, repaired to his cell-but it was empty-Cynric had escaped! Never was criminal's salvation more rejoiced at than this, Even the jailor himself, although subjected to reprehension for his negligence, was not sorry; and the people who had come from the most distant parts of the adjacent country to witness, in those parts, the rare exhibition of hanging, departed to their homes, rejoicing at the cause of their disappointment. But how did he escape? This was now the material for gossip and wonderment. As far as conjecture went; it seemed that some of Cynric's late confederates had contributed very considerably to his liberation; for many people now remembered to have seen a strange vessel in the offing for two or three days previous to Cynric's disappearance. Now the cell which he occupied was in that past of the castle which abuts upon It had a window well barred, it is true, and at a fearful height above the water: but what were these, when opposed to the daring exploits of his late confederates? At all eveuts, he was gone-and gone the sea. nobody knew where. And poor Lucy, while she was grateful for his liberation from a disgraceful death, could not but hope that he might at some distant time return, and claim her as his dear betrothed wife. It was towards the close of the festival of All Saints' eve, not many years ago, that two horsemen found themselves on the summit of a rugged pass in Merionethshire, known by the name of the Pass of the Frozen Portal. They were on their way to Dolgelley, the rude capital of the wild country just mentioned. Military men they both appeared to be; and one, who rode somewhat in advance, though not sufficiently so to be beyond the sound of the other's voice, was evidently of a superior rank to his companion. In conversation neither of them seemed inelined to indulge; and so they rode on in silence, with the exception of an occasional question from the officer, who did not seem to be so well acquainted with the locale as his attendant, Traversing this rude and dessolate district, they gained at length its western termination, but not before they observed some dark and rugged clouds rising from the west, and spreading swiftly over the sky. Descending into the valley, the scenery became so beautiful, that, notwithstanding the indication of the coming tempest, they could not refrain from occasionally lingering to gaze upon some grand or lovely spot, as it burst on their sight. The descent from the pass I have mentioned into the vale of the Gwynion is very gradual and long after our travellers had left the barren rocks of the defile, they still continued to tra, verse very high ground. Few scenes, even in Wales, can compete with that which was now exposed to the view of the horsemen. Beneath them was spread a vale richly cultivated, and copiously embellished with wood, water, rich pastures, and smiling habitations. Its boundaries on each side with lofty hills, stretching from east to west, and terminating in another mountainous range, spreading out into apparent infinity. High above all, on the south, towered Cader Idris, the monarch mountain of Merionethshire, and second to none in Wales, the mighty and mist-clad Snowdon alone excepted; and now, reposing on the soft gloom of an autumnal evening, it appeared like some huge petrified monster congealed on the surface of a mountainous ocean. Far, far in the west gleamed the blue surface af the river Maw, or Mowddach; and in the very heart of the valley was the little town of Dolgelley, surrounded by a shadowy mantle of smoke, the abode, apparently, of tranquility, and happiness, and love. But the clouds were gathering faster and faster; and and as the wind began to moan amongst the trees, our travellers thought it best to urge on their horses, as they were not very desirous to be overtaken by a storm in a situation so bleak and distant. The rain had already begun to fall ere they reached a small alehouse, at the junction of two roads, known by the name of the Cross Foxes. The house was sufficiently mean and uninviting; but glad to escape the "pelting of the pitiless storm"-and in these upland districts storms are, indeed, "pitiless"-they readily alighted; and while the colonel stumbled into the house, his attendant took charge of his horse, and saw it, as well as his own, safely deposited in a shed, at one end of the building. The Colonel's appearance caused no trifling consternation to a group of merry rustics, who were "keeping" with great spirit the festival which they had met to celebrate. The sudden apparition of a stranger-probably an Englishman, and certainly one of a rank far superior to their own-" startled" them from their propriety;" and the loud laugh of jocund mirth, which the colonel heard as he pushed open the door, was changed into an indistinct and hushed muttering, in a language not more musical than that of the Cherokee Indians. "Do not let me disturb your mirth, my honest fellows," said the colonel, as he witnessed the confusion which his unexpected appearance created, "I come but to shelter myself from the shower that is falling." The company, among which were two or three rosy cheek lasses, stared still more, when one of the girls said, "Dym saesong sir." "Here, Evan," said the colonel to his servant, who had just then entered, " you can talk Welsh,-I will leave you to explain matters to these good people, and to quiet their fears of being devoured by an English stranger, Tell the landlord to give them as much ale as they can drink." Evan in a very short time was, with true soldier-like freedom, flirting furiously with the girls, and drinking the colonel's health with a hearty gusto with the men. The colonel had seated himself on the old highbacked settle by the fire, where, wrapped up in his cloak, he remained apparently inattentive to what was passing around him. He was roused, however, from his reverie, by the following conversation, every word of which he understood, although carried on in Welsh. As our readers, many of them at least, may not be so learned, we shall endeavour to translate it into English. "And so it was more than fifteen years ago, was it," said Evan, "since this affair happened? and what became of the young devil, Cynric Owen ?" "He went of to 'Merica after he broke prison, and no one ever heard of him after; and as for the gang, that was soon knocked up after this business." "Is the family still at Garthmeilan ?" "Miss Lucy is, but the old gentlemen is dead these four years and more. I was a shearing there this season; and though Miss Lucy is a nice good lady, I don't much like him as is to marry her.” "To do what?" exclaimed the colonel, starting from his seat; 66 to marry her." "Yes, indeed truth," answered the man in very intelligible English, but startled somewhat at the suddenness of the colonel's interruption, "Peoples was say so; and isn't he living close by, and has been this long time. But he must make haste, if he means to have her, for the doctor says she will never get well." "Is she ill then?" asked the colonel, in a voice so low and mournful as to make an impression even upon the rough hearts of his companions. "Iss indeed, and has been this long time," answered one of the girls; " and it's all about that false-hearted, wicked wretch, wild Cynric as they called him. I wish he may be hanged, that I do, the good-fornothing cruel fellow!” The colonel hid his face more completely in his cloak, and sinking down upon the settle, seemed "No English, sir"-the usual Welsh answer, at first to all English questions. greatly agitated by the intelligence which he had just heard. 66 Bring me some brandy!" he shouted to the landlord, after a pause," and be quick about it.” "The landlord brought a tumbler half full, and was going to fill it with water, when his guest snatched the glass from his hand, and drank up the raw spirit at one gulph. Starting up, he exclaimed, "Now, Evan, bring out the horses!" Evan looked imploringly at his master-for the rain was beating smartly against the casement. "It rains hard, your honour; and "Hold your tongue, sirrah! and do my bidding! Quick! Begone!" And Evan went,-for he well knew that it was useless to reason with his master: and, however deeply he regretted leaving such comfortable quarters, and such merry companions, there was no alternative and so the horses were quickly at the door. "You have had a good skinfull of all, Evan," said the colonel, as he mounted his horse," and our horses are not at all blown. Now, drive your spurs into Captain's sides, and follow me: we have some rough ground to go over, and a good hour's sharp riding-it will be hard work, I promise you." "Evan merely uttered his readiness to obey; and striking their spurs up to their rowels in the horses, away they rode through the rain, as though they were upon a matter of life and death. Evan could not conceive what whim his master had now got into his head. Fitful, and strange, and impetuous he well knew him to be: but he generally had some cause for his oddities: but here there was nonenone, that is, which he knew of. Sorely puzzled, therefore, was Evan to account for this sudden freak ; nor was his curiosity diminished, when, on arriving at Dolgelley, instead of tarrying for the night, as Evan fully expected, at the Golden Lion, he galloped across that quiet little town, and rode on towards the mountains which bound the country on the south-west. "The devil is in my master now, to a certainty," thought Evan, "to go along through the pelting rain at this rate! and the night coming on too! Well, with all his whimsies, he is a good kind master; and I'll follow him to the world's end-even such a night as this-if he likes." They rode on swiftly and in silence, till they came to an old mill by the brink of a brawling river, whose waters, flooded by the rain which had fallen, rushed in foam and fretfullness over its rocky and uneven bed. The colonel reined in his panting horse. will stop here, Even," he said, hurriedly, " till I send for you. Morgan Davies will give you a lodging." "Shan't I go with you, sir?" asked Evan. "You No-you shall see me again soon, or hear from me." And again did the colonel strike the spurs into his horse, till he swiftly sped up an acclivity in the road, and was out of sight in an instant. The colonel followed the sinuosity of the road till he reached a white gate, which glistened in the gloom. This he pushed open, and found himself in a narrow path, which was plentifully encumbered with stones and brambles, but which nevertheless led up the mountain-side towards a mansion of considerable magnitude. The colonel quickly reached the brow of the mountain, and the mansion lay before him, an indistinct and gloomy mass in the increasing darkness. No signs of festivity and joy were there. A faint and sickly light issued from three or four of the lower windows; but all was as still and as silent as the grave. "This looks not like a bridal," thought the colonel, as he breathed more freely, and wiped the perspiration from his brow. "This looks more like the house of mourning and desolation." He walked his horse into the court before the house; and his arrival was greeted by the loud barking of curs-appendages always to be found attached to Welsh mansions-great and small. A grey-headed servant came to the door with a lantern in his hand; and as the light fell upon the colonel's fine martial figure, he started with surprise at the sight of so important a visitor at that unusual hour. The colonel, as he alighted from the horse, inquired if Miss Morgan was at home? The old man stared in a strange manner at the question, and the colonel repeated it. "Is Miss Morgan-is Lucy within." "My poor mistress," replied the man falteringly, "has been dead these three days." "Dead!" echoed the colonel, as he staggered against the door. "Great God of Heaven! this is terrible!" Long did poor Cynric-for he it was-remain overwhelmed by the weight of this withering intelligence. Through all his toil and peril, in all the sickening vicissitudes of his absence, was he cheered and consoled, when he thought of Lucy's love and Lucy's fidelity. "In all his wandering her fond love And the shock which now fell upon him was almost too much for his bruised and broken spirit to bear. When, however, the violence of his grief had somewhat subsided, he disclosed himself to old Howel, who conducted him in silence to the apartment where Lucy's remains were lying. Here he left him; and Cynric was alone with the corpse. What a meeting was this! To part with those we have loved, and to kiss their cold and clammy lips is, at best, but a melancholy task; and what must poor Cynric's feelings have been under all his complication of misery and remorse! Serenely beautiful was Lucy even in death; the sorrows of her existence had not passed roughly over her-but, softly withering her joyousness, had at last conquered, and reduced her to the state to which we all must come. Cynric drew off the white sheet that was thrown over the coffin; and his tears fell fast, when he saw on her marble bosom the old gold coin which he had given her at the Betrothing. It was her wish, Howel afterwards told him, to have it buried with her; and the last words she uttered were breathed in prayer for him. "Ah! sir," said the old man," she deserved a better destiny: but God is good, and there is no striving against fate." Cynric echoed the sentiment, for he felt its truth, as exemplified in his own unhappy existence. Cynric remained till Lucy was buried; and then left Wales for ever. He added largely to the provision which Lucy had made for the servants, out of the wealth which he had acquired in India; and then repaired to some distant clime, to pass the remainder of his days a restless wanderer-" a sadder and a wiser man." He was never seen in Wales again; but the scene of his youthful follies-the old mansion, the woods, the river, and the "everlasting hills"-remain unchanged, echoing now to the loud and gleeful shouts of another generation, and presenting a tout ensemble of prospect, than which none can be more magnificent, more varied, or more surpassingly beautiful. [Extracted from Sharpe's Magazine, a periodical of considerable talent, published a few years back]. TWILIGHT. THE setting sun withdraws its yellow light, Thick, o'er the woodland stile, to muse and learn To pluck a woodbine from the shade withal, And take short snatches o'er the moistened scene; While deep and deeper shadows intervene, And leave fond Fancy moulding to her will The cots, and groves, and trees so dimly seen, TITUS DODDS. A FOGGY SKETCH. Clare. "IT was on the evening of a dull, damp, dreary, weary, melancholy, miserable day, towards the latter end of November, when Titus Dodds, Esq., of Cornhill, merchant, closed his counting-house door, and proceeded homeward to his residence, No. 42, Brooke Street, High Holborn, in quest of palatable nutriment. The prospect before him was any thing but alluring. The streets were greasy and slippery, the half-washed houses looked lonely and cheerless, while the Bank, the Mansion House, the Exchange, and other awkward and well-smoked edifices, as seen by the equivocal light of four o'clock, presented a peculiarly grim and repulsive appearance. The chilly, drizzly atmosphere penetrated to the very marrow of the shivering citizens as they crawled along to their respective domiciles. "Mr. Titus Dodds was a plain, honest, kind-hearted, sensible-enough sort of man. When a census of the population of the metropolis was taken, he counted one; but excepting on those occasions, never attempted to cut a figure in the world. If one asked his opinion respecting the domestic and foreign policy of the cabinet, he used to reply, that he was no politician; if another requested his views upon controversial points of religion, he would answer, that he was no theologian; and if any one desired to know his opinion concerning the probability of finding a passage round the North Pole, he would say, he thought it likely it might be discovered some time or other, adding, however, by way of qualification, that it was a great chance if it ever were. Holding these inoffensive tenets respecting law, divinity, polotics, and science, and professing a total ignorance of poetry and the fine arts, he managed to get through the world with considerable ease and comfort to himself, and little or no inconvenience to his neighbours. "Such was the appearance which Mr. Dodds presented to the superficial observer; and such indeed was his real character, as far as it went; but beneath all this placidity and quiescence lurked strong passionsardent desires-unconquerable longings. It seemed as if all the sharp points of his character had flown off and concentrated themselves under one particular head. The fact is, Mr Dodds liked his dinner. "He was none of your showy, superficial fellows, that dilate with counterfeit rapture upon the pleasures of the table merely to gain credit for superior discrimination and delicacy of palate; he was none of your gastronomic puppies, that prate everlastingly of the impropriety and horrid vulgarity of brown meats and white wines of the indelicacy of cheese, and the enormity of malted liquors.-No-he was a man who had a real, simple, and sincere love for the birds of the air, the beasts of the field and the forest, and the fish of the seas, rivers, lakes, and fresh-water streams; and one gifted at the same time by nature, with an eminently lively sense of the pleasing essences and grateful flavours which are capable of being extracted therefrom. "To a philantrophist-to a man with an enlarged love for the human species, a Howard or a Shelley, it would have been a pleasing sight to see Mr. Titus Dodds, after the honourable fatigues of the day, sit down to what he most worshipped-ducks stuffed with onions. "Titus Dodds (as has been previously mentioned), was a man of easy circumstances, yet he had not often ducks for dinner. If any are curious to know the reason, it will be a sufficient reply-at least to the matrimonial portion of the querists-to state that Mr. Dodds was a married man. Mrs. Dodds was by no means a contradictious or contumacious helpmate; but still she had a will of her own; and perfectly detested any thing low. Touching the onions, she was peculiarly pathetic in her remonstrances, inasmuch as they frequently brought tears to her eyes; but Titus was firm, and occasionally carried his point. He had succeeded in doing so on the day on which our story commences (and ends), and the last words that ran along the passage, as he closed the door after him in the morning, were precisely at five.' "But to return to Mr. Dodds, whom we left just entering Cheapside. Scarcely had he proceeded as far as Bow Church, when the dense fog, which had been brooding over the city for the last twelve hours, and resting itself on the tops of the more elevated buildings, came tumbling down all at once, bringing with it the whole of that day's smoke, which had been vainly endeavouring, since the first fire was lighted in the morning, to ascend to its usual station in the atmosphere. As soon as this immense funeral pall was spread over the city, things fell, as was naturally to be expected, into immediate and irremediable confusion. Pedestrian bore violently down upon pedestrian, and equestrian came in still more forcible contract with equestrian. Cart overturned cart-coach run against coach-shafts were broken-wheels were torn off-windows stove in; passengers shouted and screamed, and the language of the drivers, though copious and flowing, became characterized rather by energy than elegance. But a London fog cannot be described. To be appreciated it must be seen,' or rather felt. There is a kind of light, to be sure, but it only serves as a medium for a series of optical delusions; and for all useful purposes of vision, the deepest darkness that ever fell from the heavens is infinitely preferable. A man perceives a coach a dozen yards off, and a single stride brings him among the horses' feet-he sees a gas-light faintly glimmering (as he thinks) at a distance, but scarce has he advanced a step or two towards it, when he becomes convinced of its actual station by finding his head rattling against the post; and as for attempting, if you get once mystified, to distinguish one street from another, it is ridiculous to think of such a thing. "At the end of Cheapside there was a grand concussion of wheeled vehicles, and the danger of been jostled, overturned, and trodden under foot, confused, unsettled, and perturbed Mr. Dodds's local ideas considerably, so that, instead of holding his way along Newgate Street, in a westerly direction, he pointed his nose due north, (up Aldersgate-street) and followed it according to the best of his ability. « ‹ They will be overdone!' soliloquized Titus; and he groped vigorously forward, until, as the clock struck the appointed hour of five, he found himself at the Angel at Islington, just about as far from his domicile as when he left the counting-house. There are limits to the power of language, and therefore I shall leave Mr. Dodds's state of mind, on making this singular discovery to the imagination of the reader. But there was no time to be lost. He struck his rattan on the pavement, wiped the perspiration from his forehead, inquired out, as his nearest way, St. John's-street Road, and plunged at once into its mysterious recesses. "Twere painful and vain to tell of his dismal and dubious wanderings in those complex regions that lie between the afore said road and Gray's Inn; suffice it to say, that he at length succeeded in reaching the latter, and began once more to entertain hopes of seeing his home again. Seven minutes had now elapsed since the authoritative voice of St. Giles's had bawled out to the surrounding districts, six o'clock,' and Mrs. Dodds began to be seriously alarmed at the most unaccountable absence of Mr. Dodds, so much so, indeed, that faint visions of the unbecomingness of widow's caps kept involuntarily flitting across her imagination. Being a notable, prudent personage, she placed her smelling-bottle on the table, laid her white muslincambric handkerchief beside it, and arranged the easy arm-chair at a convenient distance so that she might not be found altogether unprepared, in case it was announced to her that she was a desolate woman. Just at this juncture, however, the street-door opened, and a heated, flurried, perspiring peice of animated nature, bearing a striking resemblance to Mr. Dodds, rushed in, and made the best of its way to the drawing-room, but nothing (at least to the purpose) met its eager glance. They can never have eaten them,' exclaimed Dodds, (for it was he)~' Oh no, no, no!-they could not, would not, durst not!'-and, without tarrying for the slow medium of servants, in order to effect a communication with Mrs. Dodds, away he sallied, in order to know the worst at once, in quest of his stray lamb-or, to speak with greater agricultural precision, his ewe, for she was long past the flowery days of lambhood. NO. XXXVII.-VOL. IV. The stars have melted in the morning air- Are touched with joy, and dance in sparkling throngs Ascending high The gorgeous steps of heaven, the dazzling Sun FIRE-SIDE TALK OF OLD POETRY. STRETCH out thy limbs, proud and gallant hound whom we have called STAG-FOOT, in honour of thy fleetness-stretch out thy limbs before the blaze on the old hearth-we meet again in the halls of our fathers. Aye, prick thy ears, and fling back thy head, and flash lightnings from thy gazelle-eyes at the sound of the revel. The song, and the shout, and the ringing echoes of clamorous voices spring into the air, and reach us even here in our ancient Wainscoat Parlour. It is the proper music of the heart-the Welcome-Home to Chrismas, in the thorny green prankt with berries. Now, for the life of us, could we try our skill at a race, from angle to angle, across the burnished oak floor, as we were wont to do many years ago, when our feet would slip from under us on the polished surface, we could not otherwise keep our footing than by grasping at the massive chairs, the least of which was taller than ourselves! And the oak floor is still bright and glassy, and childhood is still in our pulses, and here are one or two of the group that used to play at bo-peep under the venerable fringes of the huge sofa, threading stealthily the labyrinth of chairs and tables, or sinking down no'selessly, like melting vapour, into a dark corner, or darting, like rays of light, from behind the enormous window-curtain floating downward with the majesty of an evening cloud! For the rest of that merry group-they are scattered like the winds to remote places; and some live te consecrate this night with reverential memories; and others are gone from amongst us Draw round the fire, and let us extract honey from B |