stream and dexterously steering her in a moment wee come to the other side as swiftly passing as an arrow shott out of the Bow by a strong arm. I staid on ye shore till Hee returned to fetch our horses, which he caused to swim over himself bringing the furniture in the Can

noo.

But it is past my skill to express the Exceeding fright all their transactions formed in me. Wee were now in the colony of the Massachusetts and taking Lodgings at the first Inn we come too had a pretty difficult passage the next day which was the second of March by reason of the sloughy ways then thawed by the Sunn. Here I mett Capt. John Richards of Boston who was going home, So being very glad of his Company we Rode something harder than hitherto, and missing my way in going up a very steep Hill, my horse dropt down under me as Dead; this new surprize no little hurt me meeting it Just at the Entrance into Dedham from whence we intended to reach home that night. But was now obliged to gett another Hors there and leave my own, resolving for Boston that night if possible. But in going over the Causeway at Ded

ham the Bridge being overflowed by the high waters comming down I very narrowly escaped falling over into the river Hors and all wch twas almost a miracle I did not-now it grew late in the afternoon and the people having very much discouraged us about the sloughy way wch they said wee should find very difficult and hazardous it so wrought on mee being tired and dispirited and disapointed of my desires of going home that I agreed to Lodg there that night wch wee did at the house of one Draper, and the next day being March 3d wee got safe home to Boston, where I found my aged and tender mother and my Dear and only Child in good health with open arms redy to receive me, and my Kind relations and friends flocking in to welcome mee and hear the story of my transactions and travails I having this day bin five months from home and now I cannot fully express my Joy and Satisfaction. But desire sincearly to adore my Great Benefactor for thus graciously carying forth and returning in safety his unworthy handmaid."

The Diary of the Rev. Mr Buckingham, in the same volume, is much less interesting, and written with far less ability. The author was a Presbyterian minister of Hartford in Connecticut, and accompanied the Connecticut troops as chaplain in the expeditions against Canada, undertaken by the Colonies in 1710 and 1711. To the expedition which sailed from Nantasket in 1710, it appeared that Massachusets furnished fourteen transports, Connecticut five, New Hampshire two, and Rhode Island three, but the number of the troops on board is not stated. It is probable, however, they were not fewer than three thousand, as in the expedition planned in 1709 against Montreal and Quebec, the Colonies had supplied in quotas about that number of soldiers. Altogether, these two little relics are curious, and the American publisher deserves the thanks of the statistical inquirer for having preserved them from oblivion— not that the works are in themselves of any great intrinsic value, but like the rude knotches which the first surveyors who penetrate the forests mark on the trees, they serve as guides to determine the extent and progress of location and improvement.

The Ghost of the Oratory.

SCENE I.

MASTER ROBERT BUCKDALE. SIR REGINALD BUCKDALE DE REINE.

Rob. Brother, I wish thee joy.
Reg.

And, pray, of what, fair brother?

Rob.

With such a face?

I cannot rein the workings of my face

I cannot rein them, Reginald de Reine.

Reginald,

Reg. That's right now, Robert ;-pun upon it, man ;-
Punning-though ill-for many an inward pang
Is a sure cure. Some pain 'twill cost to work
Thy merry vein, my brother,-while thy heart
Throbs upon thorns: yet in the end thou'lt find
The trouble will be paid by quieted griefs

And new-sprung pleasures. Punning-punning, Robert,
Is your main salve for the heartach. But, to speak
In earnest, hast thou griefs? and may not, brother,
A brother share them?

One grief, a heavy one: my brother may not
Or share or hear it.-Else I were not dumb,
As well I know Reginald were not deaf.

Reg. I'll not cross-question thee; but whensoever
Thy voice shall say, "be open'd"-here's an ear
Open'd shall be, Rob,-for that voice to thrill to
A heart as true as thine. Can I say more?
Rob. Thou canʼst not.
Wishes thee joy again.

Reg.

And that aching heart as truly

And I again

Would know of what, fair brother?

Reg.

Nay, nay-I care not

Well then, Rob, what is it?

Rob. Why, that our father wills thee, will ye or nill,
To wed a girl whom well I know thou wilt-

As who would not?

Reg. Psha! I know whom you mean,—
This daughter of the Duke of Aumarye.
I hate her.

Rob.

Reg.

Hate her, sir!

Well, well-not hate her.
George! brother, how ye blush! yes, yes, young Robert,
Talk as thou wilt, thou art but young: that blush
Is a fair scrivener, and writes boy too plainly
On that clear brow for even a fool like me
To boggle at the spelling. Brother-ah! brother,-
Young budding wood-roses are colour'd deeply-
They lose their blush by then their leaves unfold.
Yon brilliant girl I hate not, save because
They'd make me marry her. For otherwise
Highly I do esteem, much must admire her,
And love her-would, far as I can love woman.
VOL. XVIII.

3 K

Rob. Brother, thou hast my secret-and my grief.This Giuliana I do love.

Reg.

Secret-yes;

Why grief, though? What! is't grief to love a woman?
And thou yet lovest this grief: If there be love,
That's not grief-love for Giuliana it should be;
For she is gentle-blooded, woman-hearted,
Man-spirited, witty, fair, frank, gay, and young.
If, thinking as thou dost love can be pleasure,
Not grief, thou thinkest her love grief, not pleasure,
Thou art unconscionable.

Rob.

My grief is

Not that I love, but that I cannot woo,
And cannot win, not wooing.

Nor can wed,

Reg.
Not winning. Prettily argued!-Brother Buckdale,
Ye might have trusted Reginald. Take-take her,-
Take Giuliana, and God bless you both.

Give me my loose-sheath'd sword, my well-fill'd beaker,
Free hearts around, and a free heart within,
And this free hand to fell my foe, and lift

A wassail wine-cup to my lips; and I
Will leave the lifting thither a fair hand,
And the enringing with eternal shackles
One's right-hand fingers,-to whoever likes,-
Thee, an ye list, fratello mio.

Rob.
Ah! fair brother,
Granted 'twere done-where were our father's lands,
He dead?-Who now is boy, mine elder brother?
Reg. I know my father's temper, and well see
His heart is set upon this cursed bridal.
But-boy or no boy-here say I to thee,
Brother, be thou the heir, I give thee lands,
I give thee lordships, coronets, and balls,
And all such trumpery, so that thou wilt take
This beauty and her hopes all off my hands.

Rob. Certes, small price for such a sacrifice.
Reg. Sacrifice of my lands, or of thy freedom?
Small lordship or small favour, meanest thou?
No matter which, so 'twere a bargain, Rob;
Let-let me be unfather'd-so unfetter'd,
And so I be a bachelor-base-born.
But wed I will not whom I do not love;
And as for loving, where is she I love
So well as marrying comes to?

Reginald,

Rob.
I love a wine-cup, too, as well thou knowest;
I love a soldier's sword, as thou hast seen;
Freedom I love, as many a man hath found;
But Giuliana is more worth to me

Than darling liberty, or famous war,
Or rosy, racy wine, with cluster'd diamonds,
Crowning the full gold bowl of swelling friendship.
For her I'd be an anchorite, and drink water;
For her I'd shepherd turn, and forswear steel;
For her become a slave, and bow before
A slight feign'd frown in prostrate idolizing,
And watch the outbreaking of a natural smile
From two red lips, as Persians watch clear day,
Outbudding from the uncurling leaves of cloud,
That shroud up the so roselike east.-What, what
Would I not give for her? Oh, I could be....

Reg. Up to the neck in love-I doubt thee not,

I'll win thy lady,—if I can, that is,—

Well, and then

Yet let thee keep thy lands-for that I can.

Reg. Tush! thou'rt not half a lover, to bring in
An if. "Faint heart," 'tis said, ye know, " ne'er won"-
And certes, 'tis a maxim full as good,

"Brave heart can never miss a bonne et belle."
Rob. Ah, Reginald-she may thee love, Reginald,
Although thou be indifferent to her.

Reg. Love me!-why, truly ay-and so she may,
Nor no wrong to her taste. But when was ever
Lover in this dull world so chicken-hearted,

As think-much more talk-all that may be?—I—
Did I love 'twere like lightning, fearlessly:
Dart would I into my object's deepest heart
Ere she could query if we loved.

Rob.

But ladies

Would scarcely like such lightning speed, and some
Might think ye came to ruin, like the lightning.
A most unlucky illustration, brother.

Reg. Well, well! good bye! I render up all title
In this fair lady. And, brother, be she thine:
I have, I guess, not garrison'd her heart,-
Void may'st thou find it!—or, if not, thou knowest
Of storm and blockade somewhat. Go thy way-
That is, into her presence. I'll go mine-
Through the wide world-though pennyless, yet free.
Rob. Dear Reginald! I could almost worship thee,
Were I not worshipping the dear gift thou givest.
Good bye, whate'er befal! Thou ne'ertheless
The elder and the heir shalt be-who will,
Gainsay it! Thou hast shown me all the world
All my world-and, this dear world if I win,
I shall not weep like Philip's son for more.
I have a heart for Giuliana's heart,

I have a hand for Giuliana's hand,

I have an arm for Giuliana's head,

To raise it, pillow it, avenge it, shield it

'Gainst harm, for wrong, 'mid restlessness, from woeWhat want I more?

Reg.

Methinks I could not love

Woman so well,-but that I would-to pour

Over thy cheek such wine-red glee as this,

And shoot such gay stars from thine eyes, and such
A dance strike up to these young fingers' pulses

Of thine-most gladly give her.

Rob.

Noble fellow !

When next my hand, throbbing in thine, thou feelest

When next my girdling arms,--thou❜lt clasp a blest

Brother and favour'd lover, as I hope.

Good bye!

Reg.

Good bye! I trust so: I am sure of it.

God speed thee, brother, well!-Stay, Robert, stay;

What think ye?

Rob.

Think! why, that thou'rt keeping me

Here, when I should be elsewhere. Pray, dispatch!

Reg. Nay, patience, patience, Rob.

Giuliana at this time of day, ye know.
Rob. Well, well! I'll stop,

Thou canst not see

Rob.

Thou know'st that haunted castle

On the borders of the chase?

Where they refused us lodging,-when, last week,
Our horses jaded, and ourselves benighted,
Hungry, hot, lost, and wearied with our hunting,
The moon-besilver'd casements guided us
Thither from that high holt, whereon our fire
Was lighted for the night?-Well I remember it,
By the bad board and bed the courtlage gave,
To which they did direct us.

Reg.
Well, therein,
And in the haunted chamber, I sleep to-night.
Rob. I thought the duke denied thee leave.
Reg.

The churl, he did so. But I've so arranged,
By bribes and promises, with the old factotum,
Who rules the roast among his grace's ghosts,
To scale a window after vesper-tide;

And all the needful keys I have, and full
Instructions for the finding of the room.

He did so,

Rob. And all for what? since thou must be aware

Thy wager with yon merry foreigner,

The black-hair'd duke of Parma, will be quash'd,
Now Aumarye refuses his permission
For thee to try the adventure.

Reg.

Bah! it is not

The crowns I care for. But I so had set
My mind on this same mystery, which to tempt
Parma defied me; that I may not, cannot,

And will not, draw a foot back, while my neck
Is yet unwrung, and while my throat's unslash'd.
Ye need not preach. I'm fix'd.

'Tis an odd thing

How long has he been here at court?

Rob.

So it is.

Three weeks.

Three weeks! and I

The feast of the most blessed Trinity
Was over when he came.

Reg.

All but betroth'd in three weeks! by my faith,
Our father and this duke have not been slow:
Yet somewhat slow it seems, for full three weeks
Never to hint he such a castle had

So near us as this, brother.

Rob.

Whimsical,

Certes, it is; to be so close in this,

And he and his fair daughter just from Venice-
Venice the open-hearted and the gay :-

The serving-men, too, changed,-not one retain'd,
They say, that there he boarded. Know ye, brother,
How long it is since our England saw the duke?

Reg. Years-years. He was at Venice, when his wife,

A daughter of the country, and a bride,

Scarce of twelvemonths, died, leaving him her image
In his sad heart, and in his arms another-

A miniature-Giuliana, not till then

Born to a father's tearful kisses. Men,
At the last Carnival, when I was there,

And much with him and her, did prate how he,
Before that long-mourn'd day of mingling woe