He spent many happy years in this manner, and the last time we saw him he confessed that all his bachelor and curiosity collecting days seemed to have been spent in vain, and that now only did he truly enjoy life.

BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY.
(From PERCY'S reliques of old English Poetry.)

In Scarlet town where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwelling,
Made every youth cry, well-away!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swelling,
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man unto her then,

To the town, where she was dwelling;
You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.

For death is printed on his face,
And o'er his heart is stealing:
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovely Barbara Allen.

Though death be printed on his face,
And o'er his heart is stealing,

Yet little better shall he be,

For bonny Barbara Allen.

So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nigh him;
And all she said, when there she came,
Young man, I think you're dying.

He turn'd his face unto her strait,
With deadly sorrow sighing;
O lovely maid, come pity me,
I'm on my death - bed lying.

If on your death-bed you do lie,
What needs the tale you're telling:
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell, said Barbara Allen.

He turned his face unto the wall,
As deadly pangs he fell in:
Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all;
Adieu to Barbary Allen.

As she was walking o'er the fields,
She heard the bell a knelling;
And every stroke did seem to say,
Unworthy Barbara Allen.

She turned her body round about,
And spied the corpse a coming:
Lay down, lay down the corpse, she said,
That I may look upon him.

With scornful eye she looked down,
Her cheek with laughter swelling;
That all her friends cried out amain,
Unworthy Barbara Allen.

grave,

Her heart was struck with sorrow,

When he was dead, and laid in

O mother, mother, make my bed,

For I shall die to-morrow.

Hard hearted creature him to slight,
Who loved me so dearly:

O that I had been more kind to him,
When he was 'live and near me!

She, on her death-bed as she lay,
Begg'd to be buried by him:

And sore repented of the day;

That she did e'er deny him.

Farewell, she said, ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.

MARTHA, THE GYPSY.

BY THEODORE HOOK.

These midnight hags

By force of potent spells, of bloody characters
And conjurations horrible to hear,

Call fiends and spectres from the yawning deep,
And set the ministers of hell at work.

London may appear an unbefitting scene for a story so romantic as that which I have here set down: but, strange and wild as is the tale I have to tell, it is true; and, therefore, the scene of action shall not be changed; nor will I alter nor vary from the truth, save that the names of the personages in my domestic drama shall be fictitious.

To say that I am superstitious would be, in the minds of many wise personages, to write myself down

an ass; but to say that I do not believe that which follows, as I am sure it was believed by him wlro related it to me, would be to discredit the testimony of a friend, as honorable and brave as ever trod the earth. He has been snatched from the world, of which he was a bright ornament, and has left more than his sweet suffering widow and his orphan children affectionately to deplore his loss.

It is, I find, right and judicious most carefully and publicly, to disavow a belief in supernatural visitings: but it will be long before I become so wise or so bold as to make any such unqualified declaration. I am not weak enough to imagine myself surrounded by spirits and phantoms, or jostling through a crowd of spectres, as I walk the streets; neither do I give credence to all the idle tales of ancient dames, or frightened children, touching such matters: but when I breathe the air, and see the grass grow under my feet, I cannot but feel that He who gives me ability to inhale the one, and stand erect upon the other, has also the power to use for special purposes such means and agency, as in his wisdom he may see fit; and which, in point of fact, are not more incomprehensible to us than the very simplest effects which we every day witness, arising from unknown causes.

Philosophers may pore, and in the might of their littleness, and the erudition of their ignorance, develope and disclose, argue and discuss; but when the sage, who sneers at the possibility of ghosts, will explain to me the doctrine of attraction and gravitation, or tell me why the wind blows, why the tides ebb and flow, or why the light shines effects perceptible by all men then will I admit the justice of his incredu

lity then will I join the ranks of the incredulous. However, a truce with my views and reflections: proceed we to the narrative.

In the vicinity of Bedford-square lived a respectable and honest man, whose name the reader will be pleased to consider Harding. He had married early, his wife was an exemplary woman, and his son and daughter were grown into that companionable age, at which children repay, with their society and accomplishments, the tender cares which parents bestow upon their offspring in their early infancy.

Mr. Harding held a responsible and respectable situation under the government, in Somerset house. His income was adequate to his wants and wishes; his family a family of love: and, perhaps, taking into consideration the limited desires of what may be fairly called middling life, no man was ever more contented, or better satisfied with his lot than he.

Maria Harding, his daughter, was a modest, unassuming, and interesting girl, full of feeling and gentleness. She was timid and retiring; but the modesty which cast down her fine black eyes could not veil the intellect which beamed in them. Her health was by no means strong; and the paleness of her cheek too frequently, alas! lighted up by the hectic flush of our indigenous complaint. gave a deep interest to her countenance. She was watched and reared by her tender mother, with all the care and attention which a being so delicate and so ill-suited to the perils and troubles of this world demanded.

George, her brother, was a bold and intelligent lad, full of rude health and fearless independence. His character was frequently the subject of his father's con