THE FATAL MARKSMAN. THE FATAL MARKSMAN. (Continued from page 196.) Ar length he stood upon the cross way. At length the magic circle was drawn; the skulls were fixed, and the bones were laid round about. The moon buried itself deeper and deeper in the clouds; and no light was shed upon the midnight deed, except from the red Jurid gleam of the fire, that waxed and waned by fits, under the gusty squalls of the wind. A remote church-clock proclaimed that it was now within a quarter of eleven. William put the ladle upon the fire, and threw in the lead, together with three bullets which had already hit the mark once: a practice, amongst those who cast the "fatal bullets," which he remembered to have heard mentioned in his apprenticeship. In the forest was now heard a pattering of rain. At intervals came flitting motions of owls, bats, and other light-shunning creatures, scared by the sudden gleams of the fire: some, dropping from the surrounding boughs, placed themselves on the magic circle, where, by their low dull croaking, they seemed holding dialogues, in some unknown tongue, with the dead men's skulls. Their numbers increased; and, amongst them were indistinct outlines of misty forms, that went and came, some with brutal, some with human faces. Their vapoury lineaments fluctuated and obeyed the motions of the wind: one only stood unchanged, and like a shadow near to the circle; and settled the sad light of his eyes stedfastly upon William. Sometimes it would raise its pale bands, and seem to sigh: and when it raised its hands, the fire would burn more sullenly; but a grey owl would then fan with his wings and rekindle the decaying embers. William averted his eyes: for the countenance of his buried mother seemed to look out from the cloudy figure, with piteous expressions of unutterable anguish. Suddenly it struck eleven; and then the shadow vanished, with the action of one who prays and breathes up sighs to heaven. The owls and the night-ravens flitted croaking about; and the skulls and bones rattled beneath their wings. William kneeled down on his coaly hearth; and with the last stroke of eleven, out fell the first bullet. The owls, and the bones, were now silent. But along the road came an old crooked beldame pell-mell against the magic circle. She was hung round with wooden spoons, ladles, and other kitchen utensils; and made a hideous rattling as she moved. The owls saluted her 211 with hooting, and stroked her with their wings. At the circle, she bowed to the bones and skulls; but the coals shot forth lambent tongues of flame against her, and she drew back her withered hands. Then she paced round the circle, and with a grin presented her wares to William. "Give me the bones," said she, in a harsh guttural tone, “and I'll give thee some spoons. Give the skulls to me, love what's the trumpery to thee, love?" and then she chaunted, with a scornful air, There's nothing can help: 'tis an hour too late; Nothing can step betwixt thee and thy fate. Shoot in the light, or shoot in the dark, Thy bullets, be sure, shall go true to the mark. "Shoot the dove," says the word of command; And the forester bold, with "the skilful hand," Levels and fires: oh! marksman good! The dove lies bathed in its innocent blood! Here's to the man that shoots the dove! Come for the prize to me, my love! William was aghast with horror: but he remained quiet within the circle, and The old woman pursued his labours. was one whom he well knew. A crazy old female beggar had formerly roamed about the neighbourhood in this attire; till at last she was lodged in a mad-house. He was at a loss to discover, whether the object now before him were the reality or an illusion. After some little pause, the old crone scattered her lumber to the right and left with an angry air, and then tottered slowly away into the gloomy depths of the forest, singing these words: "This to the left, and that to the right: This and that for the bridal night. Marksman fine, be sure and steady, The bride she is dressed-the priest he is ready. To-morrow, to-morrow, when day-light departs, And twilight is spread over broken hearts, When the fight is fought, when the race is run, When the strife and the anguish are over and done; When the bride-bed is decked with a winding-sheet, And the innocent dove has died at thy feet; Then comes a bridegroom for me, I That shall live with me in my house of woe. Now came all at once a rattling as of wheels, and the cracking of postillions' whips. A carriage and six drove up with outriders. "What the devil's this that stops the way?" cried the man who rode the leaders. "Make way there, I say, clear the road." William looked up, and saw sparks of fire darting from the horses' hoofs, and a circle of flame about the carriage-wheels. By this he knew it to be a work of the fiend, and never stirred. "Push on, my lads, drive over him, helter-skelter," cried the same postillion, looking back to the others; and in a moment the whole equipage moved rapidly upon the circle. William cowered down to the ground, beneath the dash of the leader's fore legs; but the airy train, and the carriage, soared into the air with a whistling sound, round and round the circle, and vanished in a hurricane, which moved not a leaf of the trees. Some time elapsed before William recovered from his consternation. However, he compelled his trembling hands to keep firm, and cast a few bullets. At that moment, a well-known church-clock at a distance, began to strike. At first the sound was a sound of comfort, connecting, as with the tones of some friendly voice, the human world with the dismal circle in which he stood, that else seemed cut off from it as by an impassable gulph: but the clock struck twice, thrice,-here he shuddered at the rapid fight of time, for his work was not a third part advanced, then it struck a fourth time. He was appalled; every limb seemed palsied; and the mould slipped out of his nerveless hand. With the calmness of despair, he listened to the clock, until it completed the full hour of twelve; the knell then vibrated on the air, lingered, and died away. To sport with the solemn hour of midnight, appeared too bold au undertaking, even for the powers of darkness. However, he drew out his watch, looked, and behold! it was no more than half past eleven. Recovering his courage, and now fully steeled against all fresh illusions, he resumed his labours with energy. Profound quiet was all around him,-disturbed only at intervals by the owls that made a low muttering, and now and then rattled the skulls and bones together. All at once a crashing was heard in the bushes. The sound was familiar to the experienced hunter's ears; he look round; and as he expected, a wild boar sprang out and rushed up to the circle. "This,' thought William, "is no deception;" and he leaped up, seized his gun, and snapped it hastily at the wild beast; but Do spark issued from the flint: he drew his hanger; but the bristly monster, like the carriage and horses, soared far above him into the air and vanished. William, thus repeatedly baffled, now hastened to bring up the lost time. Sixty bullets were already cast: he looked up; and suddenly the clouds opened. and the moon again threw a brilliant light over the whole country. Just then a voice was heard from the depths of the forest, crying out, in great agitation,— "William! William!" It was the voice of Kate. William saw her issue from the bushes, and fearfully look round her. Behind her panted the old woman, stretching her withered spidery arms after the flying girl, and endeavouring to catch hold of her floating garments. Katharine now collected the last remains of her exhausted strength for flight: at that moment, the old wooden-leg stepped across her path; for an instant it checked her speed, and then the old hag caught her with her bony hands. William could contain himself no longer he threw the mould with the last bullet out of his hands, and would have leaped out of the circle: but just then the clock struck twelve; the fiendish vision had vanished; the owls threw the skulls and bones confusedly together, and flew away; the fire went out; and William sank exhausted to the ground. Now came up slowly a horseman upon a black horse. He stopped at the effaced outline of the magic circle, and spoke thus: "Thou hast stood thy trial well; what would'st thou have of me?" "Nothing of thee, nothing at all," said William, "what I want-I have prepared for myself." Aye; but with my help: therefore part belongs to me." "By no means, by no means: I bargained for no help; I summoned thee not." The horseman laughed scornfully ; "Thou art bolder, said he, "than such as thou are wont to be. Take the balls which thou hast cast; sixty for thee, three for me: the sixty go true, the three go askew all will be plain, when we meet again." : William averted his face : "I will never meet thee again," said he,-" leave me." "Why turnest thou away?" said the stranger, with a dreadful laugh: dost know me ?" "No, no" said William, shuddering: I know thee not! I wish not to know thee. Be thou who thou mayest, leave me!" (To be concluded in our next,) CELTIC CLUB, &c. VERSES WRITTEN FOR A CELTIC CLUB. Driginal. THE sunny south may boast of bowers, What nation now that owns a name, Of farther, and of fairer fame, 213 sage was not delivered in due form to the president; and their sovereign lord, jealous of his dignity, hinted, "that the communication ought to have come direct from our president to him;" but considering that it was by an ambassadress that the invitation was sent, it was carried nem. con. that diguity should give way to gallantry, and six heroes volunteered to exhibit their prowess. ↑ Preliminaries thus happily adjusted, the ground chosen, bats and balls pro Beneath the north's cold canopy? cured, and the ladies invited to attend, On eastern earth, o'er western wave, A bide in love and liberty. Or by the hand of husbandry! And crested cap of chivalry. At chieftain's call, there every one And never shall the shade of shame, Pass to our proud posterity! SKETCHES AT A WATERING No. III. CRICKET. we all waited in anxious expectation that the next day would prove fine. And fine indeed it was; no envious clouds threatened rain, the sun was not too hot, the wind not too high, and the ground was gay with equipages: the ladies all looked pleased, even those who did not understand the game; now, I do, at least sufficiently to interest me greatly: I know when a ball is well stoppedwhen a player ought to have been caught out,-enjoy every good hit, and had rather see a good cricket match, than the best horse race I was ever present at. Mem. I never saw the Doncaster St. Leger. As this was not an opposition match, but only a trial of skill, we could rejoice in the display of it, let it be from whom it might, but yet we could not help having our favourites. There was H. Loved land of our nativity always active, always merry, seemed more in his element on the cricket ground than bis any where else: compact figure seemed just suited to the exercise, always in motion-now springing on one side to catch a ball, now bending to watch the wicket; for this was the vocation in which he particularly excelled: woe betide the unfortunate batter if he went an inch beyond his allowed dominions: down went his stumps in an instant. Once indeed his over-anxiety led him into a sad scrape: our champion, in slow bowling, had aimed a capital stroke, the ball was advancing quickly upon the wicket, another instant and he would have been bowled out, when some fatality possessed H-, he stumped the wicket and the batter escaped. I THINK the "pressure of idleness" is greater upon the gentlemen loungers at a Watering-place, than on the female part of the community: we have generally an excuse for sauntering to some shop or other, and if that fails, have an excellent antidote to ennui, in our needles. Now, when the accustomed rides are over, the poor gentlemen have no alternative, but the backgammon board, or Then Capt. E, he was rightly termed the billiard-table. The billiard-table," the indefatigable," in whatever office indeed, was a most excellent lounge, but he was seen; as master of the ceremonies of this I suppose they would have been in a ball-room, at whist, at cricket, still tired at last, had not some happy genius he was indefatigable; an excellent invented cricket. The proposal was batter, a very good bowler, and more eagerly adopted, and as we had not a active in fielding, than many of his sufficient number of knights of the bat younger competitors. But it was in in our Hotel, an embassy was sent to one fielding, that our party failed a little : of the rival houses, requesting them to there was not a sufficient number to fill unite. all points, so some of the strong balls went over the road amongst the specta But now difficulties arose: the mes tors; then how the notches increased! F. was one of our best batters, a goodhumoured creature, handsome and yet not conceited; no wonder he was a favourite. There is Mac; his tall light figure tells well in fielding, he clears the ground with a few steps: and L-, I must acknowledge his merits, though he is from the rival house. But see there is one going in, in whose success I feel great pride, and successful he generally is in all games of skill. See his fellow batters are dropping off, one by one, yet he remains in, and has gained more off his own bat than any one, F-, E-, H- not excepted. Ah, he is caught out at last! But I can almost forgive the general clap, that saluted that fortunate catch, as it proclaimed their consciousness of his superiority. Well, I think this cricket is a great entertainment to all, spectators as well as exhibitors, and I hope they will play again. But there is the first dinner-bell, and as cricket, important as it is, must give way to dinner, we will proclaim a truce till to-morrow. META. LORD BYRON'S OPINION OF THIS sentimental savage, whom it is a mode to quote (amongst the novelists) to shew their sympathy for innocent sports and old songs, teaches us how to sew up frogs, and break their legs by way of experiment, in addition to the art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest, and the stupidest of pretended sports. They may talk about the beauties of nature, but the angler merely thinks of his dish of fish; he has no leisure to take his eyes from off the streams, and a single bite is worth to him more than all the scenery around. Besides, some fish bite best on a rainy day. The whale, the shark, and the tunny fishery, have somewhat of noble and perilous in them; even net fishing, trawling, &c. are more humane and use ful but angling! No angler can be a good man. "One of the best men I ever knew; as humane, delicate minded, generous, and excellent a creature as any in the world, was an angler: true, he angled with painted flies, and wonld have been incapable of the extravagances of I. Walton." The above addition was made by a friend in reading over the MS.“Audi alteram partem”—I leave it to counterbalance my own observation. DON JUAN, C. XIII. JULIA: A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. (Concluded from page 204.) THE sequel of these acts of depravity and guilt was no less fatal to the beautiful but frail Mrs. ——, who being, in consequence of her husband's elopement, inclined to follow or share his fate in a deprived of pecuniary resources, and not foreign country, accepted an offer, that with a man of fashion. Supported by his was shortly after made her, of living liberality, her extravagance now became unbounded; but her reign of pleasure was short. Tired of her charms, he quitted his mistress in a few weeks, and -their blossoms blasted in the bud! Upon this maiden flower, just expanding into bloom, fell the rude storm of adversity, And like the tyrannous breathing of the north, Julia! it was mine to see thee but once! yet pity still cherishes tender recollection of that interview. Thy modest grief! the dignified serenity that sat on thy brow on this trying occasion! could I witness these, and not participate in thy sorrows?-Sincerely did I share them; and so lasting is the impression of injured excellence, that revolving years have not been able to efface thy image from my mind. This artless, exemplary girl, had been placed in a seminary, far from her mother's contaminating sight here she dwelt in peace, improving daily in every virtue and accomplishment that could adorn her sex. The mother, meantime, distressed in her circumstances, in proportion to the decay of those charms which now failed to procure her admirers, resolved for a pecuniary conside THE CAMACH, ration, to sacrifice her too lovely daughter at the same shrine of prostitution to which she had herself been led a willing .victim. The thought was no sooner entertained than executed. She quitted the habitation of misery and contempt, and, like an infernal demon, entered the abode of innocence and peace. Julia was claimed, and carried, unresisting and unknown, to her mother's dwelling; who having, through the means of a common pander of vice, obtained the promise of a large sum from an abandoned reprobate, to whom her daughter was to be sacrificed, disclosed the plan, cloaked under the false garb and specious mask of pleasure, to her own offspring. From so infamous a proposal, even thus coloured and disguised, the virtuous, innocent Julia shrank, as at the sight of a basilisk. From arguments and entreaties her mother proceeded to threats, in case a compliance should not be given within the period of a few days. Neither the prayers nor tears of her virtuous daughter, in the mean time, made the smallest impression on the obdurate heart and debased mind of the vicious parent. A sense of filial duty prevented the suffering Julia from disclosing the horrid scheme in agitation. The debauched dotard, who, by dint of bribery, was to triumph over such virtue, saw her in this trying situation, and was just meditating to seize upon his prey, when, with fearful steps, she flew for relief to a former friend of her father's. She mentioned not her situation such as it was— he dreadful alternative that awaited her -the brink of ruin on which she stoodbut only solicited to be reinstated in her former residence, where she might once more find happiness in retirement. This was readily promised, but, alas! too late to prevent the catastrophe that ensued. Julia returned home,-but to what a home! a fiend awaited her arrival! she had to encounter immediate infamy, dishonour, and ruin!!-Here let me draw a veil over the melancholy history; suffice it to add, that Julia, in the hour of de. spair, friendless, unprotected, and left to her distracted thoughts, sought refuge in another and a better world. Hers had not been a life of pleasure, but it had been a life of peace and innocence; could then her unsullied mind bear up against the stigma of vice, the scorn of the severely virtuous, of such whose hearts had never possessed half her innate modesty and worth, yet to whose slights and contumely she must have been hourly exposed? Her soul shrunk from the prospect: urged by despair, h hurried from her mother's blasting 215 sight, and, bereft of reason, rushed unbidden into the presence of her Maker! Poor Julia !—and shall a deed committed in the hour when reason was overpowered by the phrenzy of despair, cancel the purity of thy life, unmarked almost by error? Ah, no! the many acts of virtue thou hast done shall plead for thee at the throne of mercy, and there mayst thou still look down and witness the tear of sympathy I shed on thy sorrows and untimely fate. Peace to thy manes!sweet Julia. |