of his knowing simper; but, telling him that he should return in a short time, stalked from the hotel as if the majesty of England were centred in his person.

On returning to the Heath, he found, as he had expected, the fair Priscilla awaiting his advent by the horse-pond. She received him with a blush, to which he replied by a squeeze; and then, emboldened by the wine he had drunk, went on in a strain of high-flown panegyric which rapidly thawed the heart of the too susceptible Miss Spriggins. Dick was not the lad to do things by halves. Neck or nothing was his motto; and accordingly, before he had been ten minutes in company with his fair one, he had succeeded in drawing from her a confession that she preferred him to all the suitors she had ever had. This point gained, our hero adroitly changed the conversation; talked of his prospects when his father's estates in the North should come into his possession; of his friend Lord Theodore Thickskull, to whom he should be so proud to introduce his Priscilla; and of his intention to sell out of the army the instant she consented to be his.

Thus chatting, Dick-accidentally to all appearance-drew his companion on towards Highgate, when, suddenly putting on a look of extreme wonder, he exclaimed, "Who'd have thought it! We are close by the Tunnel. Ah! dearest Priscilla, you see how time flies when we are with those we love! And, now that you are here, my angel, you cannot surely refuse to honour my hotel with your presence. Nay, not a word; it is hard by, and I am sure you must be fatigued after your walk."

The lady protested that she could not think of entering an hotel with a single man. She did, however; and was so favourably impressed with the respect shown to Dick by the waiter, who with his finger beside his nose implied that all was ready, that had she ever harboured distrust, this circumstance alone would have effectually banished it from her mind.

No sooner had the parties entered Dick's private apartment, than, strange to tell, they beheld a bottle of port wine standing on the table. And, lo! there also were two glasses! Of course our hero could not but present one to Priscilla, who received it, nothing loth, though affecting extreme coyness. Its effects were soon visible. Her bleak blue nose assumed a faint mulberry tinge, her eyes sparkled, and she simpered, languished, and ogled Dick, sighing the while, with a sort of dieaway insensibility, intended to show the extreme tenderness of her nature. These blandishments, which our hero returned with compound interest, were, however, soon put an end to, by the lady's suddenly rising, and requesting him to chaperon her home, as it was getting late, and her brother would be uneasy at her absence. Dick complied, though with apparent reluctance, and, as he passed through the hall with Priscilla hanging on his arm, he could see the landlady peeping at him through the yellow gauze blinds of the tap-room window.

It was now confirmed twilight; the dicky-birds were asleep in their nests; the Highgate toll-bar looked vague and spectral in the gloom; and nought disturbed the solemn silence of the hour, save the pot-boys calling" Beer!" at the cottages by the road-side. As Dick rambled on, under the pretence of leading Miss Spriggins by a short cut home, his thoughts took the hue of the season, and he became pensive and abstracted. He looked at Priscilla, and sighed; while she reciprocated the respiration, heaving up from the depths of her cesophagus a sigh that might have upset a schooner. And thus the enamoured pair pursued their walk, Dick every now and then squeezing his com panion's hand with the gentle compression of a blacksmith's vice. 'Twas a spectacle gratifying to a benevolent heart, the sight of those devoted lovers, so wrapt up in each other as to be regardless of the extraordinary beauties of the picturesque scen about them. The dog-rose bloomed in the hedge, but they inhaled not its fragrance.

The ducks quacked in the verdant ditch beside their path, but they heeded not their euphonious ejaculations. Their own sweet thoughts were enough for them. Surrounding nature was as nought-they seemed alone in creation-the sole denizens of Middlesex !

His gun I know to be short from the mark which the muzzle made by rubbing the bark of the tree against which it leaned; that his dog is small I know by his track; and that he has a bob-tail I discovered by the mark it made in the dust where he was sitting, while his master was busied about my meat.

By this time the moon had climbed the azure vault of heaven; the last Omnibus had set down the last man; when lo! before he was aware of Although the lower orders of the Irish are famous his contiguity, Dick found himself close to the for a species of ready wit, mingling volatility turnpike. 'Twas a critical moment; but the and a rich vein of humour, they are no less marked young man was desperate, and desperation knows by a quaintness of expression and mental reservano impossibilities. Changing the sentimental tone tion, calenlated to gain time, evade inquiry, or he had hitherto adopted, he burst into the most having that brought home to them which they wish frenzied exclamations of grief; stated the necesto avoid of this last complexion is Shelah's sity he was under of immediately joining his regi- answer to a country Magistrate-"What's gone ment at Carlisle, which he should have done long of your husband, Shelah ?" "What's gone of him, before had not his love for Priscilla kept him your Honour's Worship; faith, and he's gone lingering in the vicinity of Hampstead; that he had dead." "Aye, pray what did he die of?" "Die not the heart to state this before; but, now that of, your Honour, he died of a Tuesday." "I don't he had explained his situation, he felt that he mean the day, but the complaint?" "Oh! comshould not survive the shock of a separation. plaint, your Honour, faith, its himself did not "There," said he, pointing to the carriage, which get time to complain." "Oh! aye, he died sudwas but a few yards off, "there is the detested denly?" "Rather that way, your Worship." vehicle destined to bear me far away from thee! "Did he fall down in a fit?" (No answer from Why had I not the candour to explain my position Shelah.) "He fell down in a fit perhaps? "A till this moment? Alas! who, situated as I am, fit your Honour's Worship; why no, not exactly could have acted otherwise? Lady, I love-adore-that-he-he fell out of a window, or a door, I doat-on you to distraction! Let us fly, then, and don't know what they call it" "Aye, aye, and he link our fates together. You speak not, alas !" broke his neck ?" "No; not quite that, your "Good Heavens!" replied the bewildered Miss Worship." "What then;""There was a bit Spriggins, "impossible! What would the world of a string, or cord, or that like, and-it throttled say? Oh fie, Captain Felix !-to think that I poor Mick." "And pray for what did he suffer?" should have been exposed to—" "Suffer, your Worship, (weeping), faith, only for "Come, Priscilla,-my Priscilla,-and let us embellishing (embezzling) a trife that he taught hasten to be happy. The respected clergyman at was his own; but his master said it was not, and Gretna--" so they swore away his precious life, and that's all; for Mick's as innocent as the babe unborn."

"An elopement !-Monstrous!-Oh! that I should have lived to hear such a proposition!"

Need the sequel be insisted on? Dick wept, prayed, capered, tore his hair, and acted a thousand shrewd extravagances; swore he would hang himself to the toll-bar, or cut his throat with an oyster-knife, if his own dear Priscilla did not consent to unite her destiny with his; and, in fact so worked upon the damsel's sensibilities, that she had no help for it but to gasp forth a reluctant consent. An instant, and all was ready for departure. Crack went the whip, round went the wheels, and away went the fond couple to Gretnagreen, rattling along the high north road at the rate of fourteen miles an hour!

Thus he who at nine o'clock in the morning was an adventurer without a sixpence in his pocket, by the same hour in the evening was a gentleman in possession of a woman worth eight hundred pounds per annum !—Gentle reader, truth is strange stranger than fiction.-Bentley's Miscellany.

SAGACITY OF A SAVAGE.

The sagacity of savages often transcends all that the boasted learning of schools and colleges can show. A North American Indian, upon returning home to his cabin, discovered that his venison, which had been hung up to dry was stolen. After taking his observations on the spot he set off in pursuit of the thief, whom he tracked through the woods. Meeting some persons on his route he inquired if they had seen a little old white man, with a short gun, and accompanied by a small dog with a bob tail? They answered in the affirmative; and, upon the Indian assuring them that the man thus described had stolen his venison, they desired to be informed how he was able to give so minute a description of a person whom, to them it appeared he had never seen? The Indian replied, "The thief, I know is a little man, by his having made a pile of stones to stand upon, in order to reach the venison from the height at which I hung it while standing on the ground; that he is an old man I know by his short steps, which I have traced over the dead leaves in the woods; and that he is a white man I know by his turning out his toes when he walks, which an Indian never does.

Shoe-black Bonham, it is well known, plays an "Does he mark the excellent game at whist. cards ever?" inquirea Peel of Ross. "Every time they pass through his hands," rejoined the toady. "In what way?" asked Sir Robert. "In the way that men usually mark cards who sit down to play with unclean hands." The eulogist of Burdett smiled.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The following are accepted-The Warrior's Bride, I Think of Thee, and Affection. We can only say at present respecting the communications of MR. CROW, R. R. R. and V. P. that they have been received.

The following are declined and lie at our publisher's addressed to their respective authors, Little Tom, Love & Affection, Moonlight, & Windsor Castle. Correspondents are requested to send their communications not later than Wednesday previous to publication, addressed to the l'ictoria Literary Club, at their office, 12, Wellington St. Strand.

THE STAR.

No. III. will be published on Saturday, September 2, with which will be presented a most exquisite Lithograph "The Maid."

No. IV. will contain a companion to the above "The Widow." This beautiful pair of drawings have been obtained, by permission, from the portfolio of GNIB BOJ, and executed on stone by the celebrated EDWARDS. These admirable pictures have been acknowledged by those who have seen them to be the most delicate and beautiful prints, ever presented to the Public.

Printed for the Proprietor, by A. REDFORD, 96, London Road, Southwark, and Published by JAMES BOLLAERT, 12, Wellington Street, Strand; and Sold by BERGER, Holywell Street; CLEAVE, Shoe Lane; W. STRANGE, 21, and E. GRATTON, 51, Paternoster Row; G. MANN, 39, Cornhill; CLARKE, Warwick Lane; PATTIE, 4, Brydges Strand; Street, Convent Garden; HETHERINGTON, PURKESS, Compton St.; WATSON, City Rd.; CLEMENCE, City Road; RICHARDS, London Road; and to be had of all Booksellers and Newsmen in Town and Country

No. 3-VOL. I.]

THE MAID.

(Written expressly for the Star.)

What magic in the name! associated, as it is, with all that is lovely, beautiful and innocent. A virgin, such as our fascinating Queen, having attained that year, when charms are in full bloom, and Cupid ambushes in beauty's dimples-a virgin such as Victoria, blending all the elegancies of mind with personal grace, "beaming in all the brightness both of reason and romance," at once commanding the heart and captivating the judgment with high endowment, generous purpose and ripening hope, is earth's choicest ornament, the loveliest type of the angelic race.

We shall not restrict ourselves to that class of beauties represented in our engraving. We shall not attempt to assign the palm to the dark or blue eyed maid, because both are alike captivating. Let us imagine a beauty, or, rather, recal to our recollection some fine original which we have

seen.

Lætitia was a paragon of perfection as regarded endowments of person and mind. She had a sylph-like form. Her countenance was remarkable for that nicety of proportions, those exquisitely-chiseled features, which forbade the statuary's imitation. Her fine forehead was surmounted by a profusion of raven ringlets, which threw out in strong contrast the snowy fairness of her neck. An aquiline nose, ruby lips, on which a smile constantly played, disclosing beautiful rows of pearls, and eyes,

whose jetty fringe

Kiss'd her soft cheeks' blooming tinge;" lighted up with sentiment, gave a character of resistless attraction to her divine countenance. Such was Lætitia. What an exquisite beauty!

But Lætitia has her rivals. There is the beauteous Mary, who seems made for love. Auburn locks waving in luxuriant ringlets, and soft, blue, passion-glancing eyes are the very chosen artillery of Cupid.

We might proceed mid rich varieties, and know not where to rest the eye. How man, in all his perfection, sinks into insignificance, physical and moral, when contrasted with woman, rich in

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beauty and full of tenderness!
exquisite compliment of Nature's bard-
"Auld nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes O,
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses O!"

And, ah! how base the wretch that would com

mit havoc on such a treasure, and, with ruthless hand, mow down the fairest blossoms of animated

nature!

How cruel the seducer, whose victim is unsuspecting innocence itself! And, how base and heartless the world which frowns on, and shuts the door of repentance against the hapless victim of seduction! How heart-touching, how thrilling the words of the good Goldsmith, whose language is the eloquence of feeling in all its purity

"When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,

And wring his bosom-is to die!"

But virgins have other enemies. How often do avaricious parents rob the daughter's young heart of budding joy!-offer her a sacrifice in all the spring of beauty to the rugged winter of old age, with nothing but gold, the dross of this nether world, to commend him to notice? How cruel to hope that young blood in the heyday bloom of life would sympathize with the frozen current of wintry age! Alas! avarice robs the heart of humanity. It is well said by a writer of surpassing delicacy of sentiment-" Avarice in Europe, jealousy in Persia, ceremony in China, poverty among the Turks, and lust in Circassia, oppose Cupid." How unhappily verified in our day are such sacrifices of lovely woman!

May we have a reform under the auspices of our young Queen-may she, elevated on the highest pinnacle, shed on all below her the benignant influence of example, and give to virtue the sanction of ascendant royalty! May we not only have revived an Elizabethan æra in literature, but a new era of morals, the dethronement of avarice, and the expulsion from our isle of that cold for

"Domestic happiness, that only bliss
Of Paradise that has surviv'd the fall!"

May virtue soon reassert the supremacy of her golden age! F.

ON EXPRESSION.

What is expression? or what is any thing without expression? A body without a soul-a sound without a meaning. What is the most beautiful face, even in a picture, without expression of A dull uninteresting mass. What is some sort? the most exquisite combination of musical notes without expression? Nothing it produces no effect, tonches no heart, moves no passion.

Expression I take to be a sort of younger sister to Energy, and nearly related to Fancy. What is a poem without energy? A mere vapid sing-song collection of words, fit only to lull a child to repose. No, no! every poem, and not only every poem, but every stanza, should possess both fancy and energy. According to Warton, in his most exquisite ode to the former, of which the underwritten lines are the most beautiful, as being the most energetic :

"Oh, warm enthusiastic maid,
Without thy powerful vital aid,
That breathes an energy divine,
And gives a soul to every line.
Well may I strive with lips profane,
To utter an unhallow'd strain;
Nor dare to touch the sacred string,

Save when with smiles thou bidst me sing." Expression and energy are not only requisite for beauty, and for touching the heart and feelings in music, poetry and painting; they are necessary to make persons agreeable in the daily occurrences of life. What is reading aloud without expression? or what is conversation, even in a common know that the most trite everyday subjects may be morning visit, without expression? And we all rendered pleasing when animated by cheerful or peculiar expression.

Expression is also necessary in handwriting. Here, I think I hear some monotonous sort of a mini sort of a hand, exclaim, What nonsense! lady, who writes a small monotonous miminipiWhat a far-fetched idea! who ever heard of any thing so absurd? Yes, my dear Miminipimini, there is expression in handwriting; and to show you that there is, you need only make the followpiece of poetry, in your own Lilliputian, unmeaning experiment:-Copy any essay, ode or other