But my dear father only. Come away,
And tell thy wish to him.

ANTILOCHUS.

I have, my love.

GANASSA.

You have? What said he, dear Antilochus ?
Ah! you but jest ;-I see it by your smile.

ANTILOCHUS.

Now, by the soft eye of the queen of smiles!
That smile speaks falsely if it saith I jest.

GANASSA.

What said he then?

ANTILOCHUS.

That-on to-morrow night

For certain weighty reasons, to be told

When time shall serve,-that, on to-morrow night

If so Ganassa please

GANASSA.

Antilochus !

ANTILOCHUS.

Yes, love,-Antilochus-should call her

GANASSA.

Hush!

I will not hear you, though it be but jest.

ANTILOCHUS.

Should call her-(Embraces her.)-Oh, Ganassa!-call

thee his !

GANASSA.

To-morrow night?--It is impossible!

Why, in six days this earth, and the deep sea,
And all that lives, and the star-lighted heavens,
Were planned and formed; and the enormous sun,
Even at a thought, amid the dark, void sky
Stood blazing :-surely four and twenty hours
May serve to tie a wedding-knot, sweet girl!—
But, look! your father comes-if still you doubt
He will resolve you. Shall we meet him, love?

GANASSA.

Oh! no-no-no!-not now:-
:-I'm very

faint:

My heart is sick: I cannot see him now.
Bear with me for a moment: it will pass ;-
And then-but no-I cannot see him yet.
In truth I'm very faint.

ANTILOCHUS.

Come, lean on me ;

And rest you in the jasmine-bower awhile :-
And we will listen to the nightingale,

Who there all night in perfume sits, and sings

Sweet music to his love. I understand

The language of that bird; and will interpret
What 'tis he sings to the soft nestler there.

Hark! he begins-"To-morrow night, sweet love!"

GANASSA.

Nay-nay;-come, let us walk. How rich this breeze!

[Exeunt.

THE SEA CAVE.

BY THOMAS DOUBLEDAY, ESQ.

HARDLY we breathe, although the air be free.
How massively doth awful Nature pile
The living rock, like some cathedral aisle,
Sacred to silence and the solemn sea.
How that clear pool lies sleeping tranquilly,
And under its glassed surface seems to smile,
With many hues, a mimic grove the while,
Of foliage submarine-shrub, flower, and tree.
Beautiful scene! and fitted to allure

The printless footsteps of some sea-born maid;
Who here, with her green tresses disarrayed,
'Mid the clear bath, unfearing and secure,
May sport, at noontide, in the caverned shade,
Cold as the shadow, as the waters pure.

H H

A SCOTTISH TRADITION.

A Leaf from a Winter's Journal in London.

THE first time I saw Sir Walter Scott was by chance. I happened to call in at one of the club-houses so fashionable in the metropolis, and to several of which my passion for studying the human character had stimulated me to gain an entrée. This was one of rather general resort, not being confined, like many others, to the members of any particular profession or pursuit. On entering a little comfortable room, usually frequented by those who preferred a few hours social chat, in a quiet corner, to passing the whole of a wet morning in the larger and more crowded apartments, over billiards or the newspapers, I found about half a dozen persons, all known to me excepting two gentlemen, neither of whom I had seen before. One of my old acquaintance nodded to me as I approached, pointing, with a significant silence and gesture, to a vacant chair. While I obeyed his finger, and took the seat, he turned with a bowing attentiveness to one of the strangers, whose discourse had evidently been