end, and hemmed in the crowd. Above three thousand persons perished in the flames, or were drowned by overloading the vessels which were hardy enough to attempt their relief." Gentleman's Magazine. The Novelist. No. LV. THE WHITE ROSES. As soon as our regiment-thus wrote Captain R to his mother had entered the grand-duchy of Posen, I hastened, according to your desire, to Kalisch, in quest of your unfortunate friend: but all my inquiries after the widow of the Prussian Captain, Tannenberg, and her daughter, proved in vain. Though I knew that this officer had fallen at Auerstädt; that he had left his wife, a native of Silesia, but who had no longer any opulent relations there, together with a grown-up daughter of extraordinary beauty, totally unprovided for; that both of them, zealous professors of the Catholic religion, and acquainted with the Polish language, had resolved to remain in Poland, and to remove from the little town where the captain's squadron had formerly been quartered, to Kalisch; though, I say, was acquainted with all these circumstances, they did not furnish me with the least clue. Partly, however, from a wish to survey the environs of Kalisch, which are not wholly destitute of interest in a military point of view, and partly because it had been suggested to me, that your friend might possibly be living in some Polish family of distinction as companion or governess, I determined to stay here a few days, and to endeavour to make some acquaintance in the neighbourhood. In a ride which I took with this design, I met with a man on horse-back, who seemed to have the same object with myself. He was a Prussian, who, at the time this country belonged to the Prussian monarchy, had settled here with his father. He told me that his name was Müller; and that he had business with Salinski, the chamberlain, whose elegant mansion he pointed out to me in the dis tance, which would not detain him above half an hour. As I was pleased with the young man, and he seemed to be not displeased with me, it was soon agreed that I should accompany him, and wait for him at the inn, and that we should return together. On our way thither he was as talkative and cheerful, as on our return he was The pensive and reserved. I would not be During this explanation, we approached the city. Müller invited me to call at his father's the following day. A considerable part of the afternoon was yet left, and I resolved to employ it in examining the churches of the city. I found little to admire in them. So much the more was I struck by the appearance of a young lady, who was engaged in tying up to sticks some white rose-trees that were planted on a grave. She had a sweetly interesting countenance, and her fine eyes exhibited traces of recent tears. My sympathy was deeply excited. Unfortunate girl, thought I, how many of thy fair hopes, perhaps, slumber in this grave! The sexton, to whom I had given a small gratuity, and who accompanied me out of civility, remarked my attention. "This lady," said he, "is the daughter of a German merchant; her name is Müller." The name penetrated to my heart. Perhaps, thought I, the sister of my new acquaintance; and on mentioning to the sexton the direction 1 had received, I found that I was right in my conjecture. "And it is her lover, I suppose, whơ is interred here ?" "O, no! a poor young lady, pious and virtuous as a saint. Miss Müller planted the roses on this grave, and tend them with particular care.” I waited with the more impatience for the arrival of the hour of my intended visit to this family. I was received with great cordiality. As soon as decorum permitted, I turned to the daughter. "I had yesterday," said I, "the good fortune to meet accidentally with your brother, and soon afterwards I enjoyed the pleasure of making your acquaintance also."" Mine ?" asked Maria, with some surprise; on which I related that I had seen her in the church-yard, and in what manner I had learned her name. "Oh !" said her father, "that grave is a favourite spot with my daughter; and much as I wish that she would not continue to seek fresh food there for her sorrow, so little can I find fault with her for the affection which she cherishes for her excellent and unfortunate deceased friend." "I have already heard much in praise of the lady, but am not acquainted with the circumstances which rendered her so unfortunate." "If," said Maria, in a solemn and pathetic tone," the disappointment of the fairest hopes on earth of those to which our whole soul cleaves-renders a person unhappy, then she was so in a supreme degree: but if a conviction that one is the victim of duty, affords high consolation-if a manifest token of the favour of heaven alleviates the hour of death" She seemed to recollect herself, and paused. My curiosity was too strongly excited, and I begged her to proceed, and to commur.icate to me the history of her friend. Her brother seconded my entreaties, and she thus began : "In those turbulent times, when, on the arrival of the French army, the insurrection commenced in South Prussia, Madame Berg removed hither with her daughter Hannah, and took a small house near the church-yard. Both soon became known for the excellent quality of their works, by the sale of which they lived. I was desirous of learning some of these kinds of work, and hence originated my acquaintance with these worthy people, whose manners and whole demeanour convinced every one at first sight that they were destined for a higher lot. They seemed to be fond of solitude, never went abroad but to church, and kept no company but when, as I had occasion to go often to them for the sake of instruction in the works to which I have alluded, my love for both increased daily, and the strongest friendship soon united me to Hannah; still it was not without the greatest difficulty, and after repeated solicitations from my father, that they were prevailed upon to come to see us. Every little present, however, by which I sought to render their situation more comfortable, they declined in such a manner, that, though deeply mortified at the frustration of my good intentions, still I could not put an unfavourable construction on their noble pride. When, indeed, the mother fell sick, and was afflicted with the most violent pains, Hannah, merely with a view to cheer her suffering parent with music and singing, accepted the piano-forte, which she had before constantly refused, upon pretext that business would not permit her to devote even a few moments to amusement. She also allowed me, to my great joy, to bring the patient occasionally a bottle of Hungarian wine, or something else of that kind. She had discontinued her visits to our house previously to the illness of her mother, because she had once or twice accidentally met here the son of Mr. Salinski, a juvenile friend of my brother's, and remarked the extraordinary attention which he paid to her. "The mother grew worse from day to day. Hannah sat up all night by her bed, and nevertheless redoubled her industry, that nothing might be wanting to the comfort of her beloved parent. With her molesty and unaffected humility this might have passed undiscovered, had it. not been observed by the physician and the confessor. The commendations of both rendered her the object of general conversation, and mothers held her up as an example to their daughters. "Salinski now acknowledged to my brother what an impression Hannah had made on his heart: since he had met her. in our house, he had seen her only at church, where fervent devotion while praying for her mother had heightened her charms. My brother communicated the matter to my father, and both used all possible arguments to shake poor William's resolution. They talked of his father's wealth. I need it not,' replied he; I have a sufficient fortune of my own to keep a wife, if not in profusion, at least above want.'-They hinted at the character of his father. Oh!' said he, I am no longer a child: I have never been guilty of any indiscretion, and there fore hope my father will not stand in the way of my happiness, as Hannah is my equal in rank. I was particularly appre hensive of an objection on this score; but as nothing can well remain concealed from love, I have already discovered that Hannah's mother, merely on account of her poverty, concealed her rank, and is the widow of the Prussian Captain, von Tannenberg.' "Gracious Heavens !" criea I," my cousin Tannenberg !"-As soor: as my agitation would permit me, I in 222 formed them that I had come to Kalisch for no other purpose than to make inquiry concerning Madame von Tannenberg and her daughter; adding, that in consequence of her change of name, all my efforts would most probably have proved fruit less. After this explanation, Maria proceeded with her narrative. “William found no opportunity to obtain access to the house of the patient, but Hannah frequently saw him at church; she remarked that his eyes were fixed upon her, and expressed to me displeasure and surprise, that the person whom my brother had described to her as his friend, and as one of the most excellent of men, should have so little delicacy as thus to disturb her devotions. In answer to my remark, that she did not look well, she had already confessed to me, that her strength was exhausted by constant attendance, night and day, on her mother, and that she trembled at the idea lest she should be overcome by the fatigue, and perhaps herself confined to a sick-bed. I felt the less scruple to acquaint her with William's declaration to my father and brother, and entreated her not to reject the hand of the young man, which might serve to cheer the last days of her mother, and to brighten her own future prospects. A blush overspread her face; she heaved a gentle sigh, and said, 'I have taken no step in this matter; I have given no occasion to it: God direct every thing according to his holy will!' "In order to avoid him, she had for some time gone only to matins; and on account of the increased illness of her mother, had during the last days not quitted the house at all. As the latter seemed the next night to be somewhat better, and continued in the morning to enjoy a sound slumber, Hannah hastened, when the bell rung to matins, to return thanks to heaven for the mitigation of her mother's pain. As she left the church, William approached her; he implored ner pardon for addressing her there, as he nad no other opportunity of speaking to ner; offered her his heart and his hand; and entreated her to conduct him to her mother, for whom, as a dutiful son, he was determined to provide. His solicitations were so urgent that Hannah was moved: she declared that she would leave every thing to her mother's decision; and he obtained permission to call upon her at noon, to learn what that decision might be. She was just breaking the matter to her mother when I entered. How great was my joy when I heard that the matter had proceeded thus far! I launched out in praise of the numberless good qualities which I knew my brother's friend to pos sess, and repeated what he had said to my father and brother concerning his intentions. A tear of joy trembled in the eye of the mother; she grasped her I should feel sudaughter's hand. premely happy,' said she, to see thee provided for: but sacrifice not thyself to filial duty; let thy heart alone decide Hannah, deeply affected, kissed the han of her mother. At this moment William entered the room. His respectful behaviour to the patient, and his modest, yet earnest, application for Hannah's hand, the possession of which he declared to be his highest felicity, prepossessed both mother and daughter in his favour. All objections respecting his father were silenced by the assurance, that he would not oppose the happiness of his only son; and the promise that, as his father would be in town in three days, he would take that opportunity of obtaining his consent. On this condition he received the blessing of the mother, who seemed to forget all her sufferings; and from his every expression, Hannah was convinced that she was about to become the wife of one of the most excellent and amiable of men. She had never yet loved, and this passion now opened her heart to the most delightful and the most joyous emotions. "Thus passed three days, the happiest of Hannah's life. On the fourth, a magnificient equipage suddenly stopped be fore the humble habitation. Under the idea that the father's visit was the clearest proof of his consent, the patient raised her feeble hands in gratitude to Heaven, and Hannah hastened to meet the man whom she hoped to salute with the name of father: but she trembled in every limb, and could scarcely support herself, when the fury expressed in old Salinski's face announced but too plainly the dreadful tidings. In a paroxysm of rage, he de clared that he would seek the protection of the laws against the seducer of his son, that if this were not sufficient, he would prevent by his curse his union with a beggar; and that nothing should make him swerve from this resolution. Hannah had by this time collected herself. With all that lofty dignity which innocence and virtue confer, she stepped up to the boisterous old man, and solemnly assured him, that she never would give her hand to one who had not his father's blessing; adding, that she was convinced she had not deserved insult, but respect. "The mother all at once uttered a loud shriek. The fright had snapped the frail thread of life. Hannah's whole attention was now directed to her expiring mother. William, unacquainted with his father's intention to marry him to the daughter of one of his wealthy friends, had not expected this opposition. He hurried after him; he saw his father's threat to put an end to this connection accomplished; he observed the carriage stop before Hannah's door, and hastening forward, in hopes of appeasing his indignation, he entered the room at the moment his father was quitting it. Hannah was kneeling beside the bed of her dying parent; she heard him come in, and gave him a look of ineffable anguish. "We must part for ever!' were the only words that, with tremulous voice and throbbing heart, she had power to utter. She drew from her finger the ring with which he had presented her, and handed it to him with averted face. His father caught him by the arm, and dragged away his son, who was scarcely sensible, along with him. "In vain did William try all possible means to obtain the consent of his father. Now that he was acquainted with the full value of the excellent girl, he lived solely for her but Hannah declined his visits, and when he ventured to write to her, she returned his letter unopened, with these lines: If you love me, William, avoid me, and set me an example of fortitude and resolution to crush a passion, which, as our consciences cannot now approve it, would only lead to misery. Then, in a better world we may yet be happy together. To this declaration she stedfastly adhered. In vain did my father and I entreat her to remove to our house, where she should be regarded as my sister. 'William,' said she, when I closely pressed her on the subject,' is your brother's friend; but I wish while I live to be reminded of nothing but the grave. In this humble dwelling I spent the three happiest days of my life, and there' pointing to the church-yard' I see the spot where the bones of my dear mother repose.' 6 "Grief soon undermined her constitution, ard in a few weeks the bloom of health and youth was fled. My dear Hannah,' said I, one day when I called to see her, and my eye dwelt with sorrow on her pallid countenance, how quickly have the roses faded from these lovely cheeks!" She heaved a sigh and smiled. Next morning I found her in a high fever; the physician declared her state to be dangerous. She drew me gently to her bed. 'Last night,' said she, in a faint voice, an angel appeared to me in a dream: The roses of thy cheeks,' said he, are faded, because thou hast striven on earth to perform thy duty : receive in their stead the flowers of Paradise, which never fade.' He presented to me three white roses, and the moment I touched 6 6 them the angel vanished.'-She now thought of nothing but death, for which she sought earnestly to prepare herself, and on the third day she was no more. "A grave was dug for her beside her mother, on the spot where I have planted the white rose-trees in memory of my beloved friend. Early in the morning, my brother and I followed her without noise to the grave. Just at the moment when I had caused the coffin to be opened for the last time, William, who had known nothing of her illness, and had hoped to see her again at matins, came unexpectedly to us from the church. With fixed eye and looks of unutterable horror, he threw himself on his knees beside the corpse: not a tear dropped from his eye, not a word from his lips; he only kissed her clasped hands, and we had some difficulty to remove him. Every morning at sunrise he continued to visit the grave, and there he tarried till the moment when the sexton was about to lock the gate of the church-yard. He never spoke to any one, but would look wildly up to Heaven, and then fix his eyes for hours together immoveably on the grave. His father imagined that a change of scene might mitigate his sorrow, and had him conveyed, but not without the most obstinate resistance, to an eminent physician at Warsaw. The resources of art, however, failed; the increasing derangement of his mind proved incurable. His father's remorse now comes too late-poor William! he is confined in a mad-house!" Miscellanies. NEWSTEAD ABBEY, THE SEAT OF LORD BYRON. AFTER quoting an account of Walpole's visit to Newstead Abbey, the Edinburgh Review of 1818, No. 91, remarks, "This is a careless but happy description of one of the noblest mansions in England, and it will now be read with a far deeper interest than it was written. Walpole saw the seat of the Byrons, old, majestic, and venerable-but he saw nothing of that majestic beauty which fame sheds over the habitations of genius, and which now mantles every turret of Newstead Abbey. He saw it when decay was doing its work on the cloister, the rectory, and the chapel, and all its honours seemed mouldering into oblivion. He could not know that a voice was soon to go forth from those antique cloisters, that should be heard through all future ages, and cry, Sleep no more to all the house."" Whatever may be its future fate, New stead Abbey must henceforth be a memorable abode. Time may shed its wild flowers upon the walls, and let the fox in upon the court-yard and the chambers. It may even pass into the hands of unlettered pride or plebeian opulence-but it has been the mansion of a mighty poet. His name is associated to glories that cannot perish, and will go down to posterity in one of the proudest pages of our annals. LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. AT the English Opera House, last summer, a gentleman fell suddenly in love with a young lady, who sat with her mother and sister a few seats from himtearing a blank leaf out of his pocketbook, he wrote with a pencil, " may I inquire if your affections are engaged?" and handed it to her, which she shewed to her mother. Shortly afterwards she wrote underneath his question, "I believe I may venture to say they are not, but why do you ask?" and returned him the paper. The gentleman then wrote on another leaf "I love you dearly, I am single I have a 1000l. a year, I am not in debt, I have a good house, and I only want a good wife to make me completely happy Will you be mine? if you will, I promise (and with every intention of keeping my word) to be an affectionate, indulgent, and faithful husband to you, and what more can I say?" The young lady was so much pleased with the declaration that they immediately became acquainted, and in the course of four months afterwards he led her, with the consent of her parents, to the hymeneal altar. POPPING THE QUESTION. A SMART, dapper little fellow whose name was Parr, was very much in love with a young lady of the name of Anne Marr; but as impudence nor even the "modest assurance 99 were exactly his forte, he was exceedingly puzzled how to pop the question, and the poor fellow put it off from day to day, being only able to look unutterable at the dear object of his affections. At last, however, chance or fortune (which you will) befriended him, for dining one day in company with "her his soul held most dear," he happened to have a Parmesan cheese before him, and the lady a plate of Marmalade. Nunc aut nunquam, now or never, says Parr to himself, and “ screw ing up his courage to the sticking place," and making all proper use of his eyes as auxiliaries in this momentous affair, he ventured to say to her, "Pray will you have a little Parr Miss Anne ?" to which the lady (her eyes instantly sparkling with delight) replied 66 yes, if you are for Marr my Lad." The awful business of "popping the question" being thus happily got over, the delighted couple shortly afterwards entered into the silken bonds of matrimony, and on the anniversary of their wedding-day, never fail to have Parmesan cheese and Marmalade on the table, when the happy husband tells his friends the story of his " popping the question." THE WEEPING WIDOW. LADY BEL, who, in public bewails her dead spouse, While in private her thoughts on another are turning, Reminds us of lighting a fire with green boughs, Which weep at one end while the other is burning. TO READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. ON Saturday next, we shall commence publishing an Elegantly-Engraved Portrait (on steel) of Lord Byron. This print, which is a beautiful and highly-finished likeness, wi'l be given with the Mirror without any additional charge. On the same day we shall publish the first Number of a new volume of the Mirror, containing several articles of peculiar interest; and we modestly, but confidently, calculate on a large accession of subscribers. 143, Strand, (near Somerset House,) and sold Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, by all Newsmen and Booksellers. |
