ideal of heroes. He is no cobbler here, but a Byronian of the purest pattern.

"He stands before her now; and who is he
Into whose outspread arms confidingly
She flings her fairy self? Unlike the forms
That woo and win a woman's love-the storms
Of deep contending passions are not seen
Darkening the features where they once have been,
Nor the bright workings of a generous soul,
Of feelings half concealed, explain the whole.
But there is something words can not express
A gloomy, deep, and quiet fixedness;

A recklessness of all the blows of fate

A brow untouched by love, undimmed by hate-
As if, in all its stores of crime and care,

Earth held no suffering now for him to bear.

Yes;

all is passionless: the hollow cheek

Those pale thin lips shall never wreathe with smiles;
E'en now, 'mid joy, unmoved and sad they speak

In spite of all his Linda's winning wiles.

Yet can we read, what all the rest denies,
That he hath feelings of a mortal birth,

In the wild sorrow of those dark bright eyes,

Bent on that form - his one dear link to earth.

He loves, and he is loved! then what avail

The scornful words which seek to brand with shame ?"

He wanders over the world, as Mrs. Norton makes him say, in ceaseless grief; but as Mrs. Norton makes him do, a very Don Juan among the girls. He falls in love with one who was

"A light and lovely thing,

Fair as the opening flower of early spring.

The deep rose crimsoned in her laughing cheek,
And her eyes seemed without the tongue to speak;
Those dark-blue glorious orbs!-oh! summer skies
Were nothing to the heaven of her eyes.
And then she had a witching art

To wile all sadness from the heart;
Wild as the half-tamed gazelle,
She bounded over hill and dell,
Breaking on you when alone
With her sweet and silvery tone,
Dancing to her gentle lute
With her light and fairy foot;

Or to our lone meeting-place
Stealing slow with gentle pace,
To hide among the feathery fern;
And while waiting her return,

I wandered up and down for hours-
She started from amid the flowers,
Wild, and fresh, and bright as they,
To wing again her sportive way."

Edith dies of grief on finding that she has married the Wandering Jew-and he goes fighting in the cause of liberty-and on the field of battle meets a widow of the name of Xarifa, singing sadly over her slain husband:

"My early and my only love, why silent dost thou lie,

When heavy grief is in my heart, and tear-drops in mine eye;
I call thee, but thou answerest not, all lonely though I be:
Wilt thou not burst the bonds of sleep, and rise to comfort me?
Oh! wake thee-wake thee from thy rest upon the tented field:
This faithful breast shall be at once thy pillow and thy shield;
If thou hast doubted of its truth and constancg before,

Oh! wake thee now, and it will strive to love thee even more," &c. &c.

A short courtship suffices, of course, to win over a lady who sings so much of her only love, and her undying constancy. Mrs. Norton puts into more flowing verse the old song of

as follows:

"Would you court a fair widow of forty years," &c.

"And so it was-our tearful hearts did cling

And twine together even in sorrowing;

And we became as one-her orphan boy

Lisped the word 'Father,' as his dark eyes gazed,

With their expressive glance of timid joy,

Into my face, half pleased and half amazed.

And we did dwell together, calmly fond

With our own love, and not a wish beyond."

This lady dies of a broken heart, because her husband is in "ceaseless woe," leaving him, however, a son, who, in due time, gets married.

He sets out travelling again, and sees many scenes of life, some of which are beautifully depicted, and at last he comes to Ireland, where

"In the autumn time,

By the broad Shannon's banks of beauty roaming,"

he finds an Irish woman drowning her female infant to save it from dying, on which he rescues the child, and adopts it. The conse

quence may be guessed.

"That little outcast grew a fairy girl,

A beautiful, a most beloved one.

There was a charm in every separate curl

Whose rings of jet hung glistening in the sun,
Which warmed her marble brow. There was a graco
Peculiar to herself, e'en from the first:
Shadows and thoughtfulness you seemed to trace
Upon that brow, and then a sudden burst

Of sunniness and laughter sparkled out,

And spread their rays of joyfulness about," &c. &c.

This, it appears, happened in the first year of legal memory —

"When the sacred remnant of my wretched race

Gave England's Richard gifts to let them be
All unmolested in their misery."

As she grows up, he recommends her a husband:

A deep, low tremulous sound, which thrilled my frame.
A moment, that young form shrunk back abashed

At its own feelings; and all vainly dashed

The tear aside, which speedily returned

To quench the cheek where fleeting blushes burned.
A moment, while I sought her fears to stay,
The timid girl in silence shrank away —
A moment, from my grasp her hand withdrew
A moment, hid her features from my view-
Then rising, sank with tears upon my breast,
Her struggles and her love at once confessed."

They live together very happily; but it would seem as if the Irishwoman's fancy had infected him; for when he reflects that Miriam (an odd Irish name) must die a natural death, it grieves him so much that he murders her. He is tried-sentenced to be broken on the wheel-escapes by favor of a thunder-storm-is taken again-voted non compos, and clapped in a madhouse, where he is kept for a century.

"Days, months, and years, rolled on, and I had been

A prisoner a century; had seen

Change after change among my keepers; heard

The shrieks of new-made captives," &c.

How he escapes is not mentioned, and at the beginning of the book we find him in love with Linda. Her he carries off in the manner of young "Lochinvar, who came out of the west" from an expecting bridegroom. He gets her on board in Spain, we believe and

"Graceful as earth's most gentle daughters,

That good ship sails through the gleaming spray-
Like a beautiful dream on the darkened waters,
Till she anchors in Killala bay."

Isbal (the Wandering

After the anchorage sad things occur. Jew) runs down the vessel containing Linda's brother and betrothed—his own vessel catches fire-he rescues the lady with difficulty; but she dies immediately after,

"And the Undying One is left alone."

The verses, as the specimens we have quoted will show, are very graceful and pretty, and the poem is full of fine passages. We must not blame a lady, and so handsome a lady too, for making her Wandering Jew a lover. If he be exhibited in a higher flight of poetry, he must take another shape. How could an undying person continue to love a series of perishable beings with an affection that draws with it intense suffering for their removal? He must soon have become perfectly indifferent to the transitory creatures about him. The common picture which represents the Jew as being deeply religious, and abstracted from the ordinary cares and avocations of mankind, and moaning continually for the extended duration of his life, because of the continual temptations to sin, which abiding in the body necessarily exposes him to, is, after all, far more poetical, and capable of being decorated with the sterner graces of song, than the fine melodious rosebud sorrowings of Mrs. Norton.

The occasional verses at the end of the Undying One are in general charming. We can not say that we like Mrs. Norton's fun. Though she is of Irish breed, her song beginning" Wirasthru then my beautiful jewel," is not the potato.

Farewell, Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton! and we hope soon to see you again.