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diverting personage, Master Ben, our factotum, (groom, gardener, page, and jester,) to bring about the place. Pre-eminent over all other talking-birds, and unrivalled since the days of Vert-vert, was the magpie in question. He, for a wonder, was not of Ben's importing. Whence he came nobody knew, although the old molecatcher, who was also the parish sexton, and whom he followed for a whole hour in the twilight as he was setting his traps to catch an underground enemy that infested my pansy-beds, alternately shouting to him by his name of Peter Tomkins in one ear, and imitating the tolling of a bell in the other, insinuated to me, with a look of great horror, that the fewer questions were asked upon that subject the better; the creature was certainly no better than he should be. Nobody could tell for whom that bell would toll next. And off shuffled poor Peter, fancying himself a doomed man. For certain, Mag's first appearance had been somewhat in character with the good sexton's suspicions. He had hopped down the walk and stopped opposite the glass-door of our garden-room, where we were sitting with several friends, and one amongst them happened to inquire the hour. What 's o'clock?' reiterated Mag, in a soft, slow, distinct voice; Half-past four.' And upon consulting watches, and that very true time-teller, the sun, as he threw his beams upon the old dial, half-past four it was; and everybody stared at the bird as he stood upon one leg, with his head a little on one side, looking very knowing and exceedingly ragged and dirty, as your tame magpie is apt to do. Everybody stared at the bird, and laughed, and said that it was a strange coincidence, as everybody does say upon such occasions.

scarcely any sort of bird that comes within the groundsel in the world would never, I am very compass of moderate means which he has not sure, reconcile me to a cage, do not so heartily possessed at one period or another. Once sympathize in this taste of my dear father's as during the twenty years that we lived in a I do in most of his other pursuits-even I, large country-house, with its spacious lawn, albeit no bird-fancier, could not help being oc its extensive paddock, and noble piece of wa-casionally diverted by the saucy, chattering ter, he assembled a great quantity of domestic jays, starlings, and jackdaws, which it was game, if such a phrase be admissible; pretty the especial delight of that saucy, chattering, speckled partridges-too pretty to be eaten; pheasants of all varieties, from the splendid English bird to its eastern rivals, the golden and the silver; and a large assortment of water-fowl, from the queenly swan down to the trim little Dutch teal. King Charles himself never had a more extensive collection, or took greater delight in tending and cherishing his feathered subjects. But these half-civilized savages proved attractive to two orders of miscreants, poachers pursued them by day, and thieves by night; and, dead or alive, shot or stolen, the domesticated partridges and tame wild ducks gradually disappeared. To them succeeded all manner of curious poultry-peacocks, pied and white; together with that commoner but most gorgeous kind, who flaunts his starry train over the grass, and whose graceful vanity so becomes his stately beauty, adorned our farm-yard, accompanied by Muscovy ducks, Poland fowls, Friezland hares, crested bantams, and so forth. Then followed pigeons of all denominations—fantails, pouters, carriers, nuns, and dragons crowded our dovecote. But somehow or other our ill-luck continued. The poultry had a trick of dying, and the pigeons flew away; so that my father resolved to confine himself to the aviary, and took to breeding canaries, and had the honour of carrying away the prize for three birds of the three orthodox kinds, jonque, pied, and mealy, from nearly two hundred competitors. Long, too long would it be to tell of all the smaller songsters, the larks, linnets, thrushes, and blackbirds, the bullfinches, goldfinches, and all the finches of the grove, as well as of the owls, hawks, crows, and ravens, the birds of day and the birds of night, which have at different times occupied his attention. Suffice it to say, that in the month of August last Mag's further proceedings were in keeping our feathered family consisted of two nightin- with this oracular entrée. A saucy bird he gales, one of which had been in our possession was, and a mischievous; singing, whistling, for sixteen months, singing all day (for in a sneezing, coughing, blowing his nose, laughcage the nightingale only sings during day- ing, crying, knocking at doors, ringing of light) with matchless strength and power, bells, thieving, and hiding with singular dexfrom the first of October to the last of June; a terity. He caught up and repeated with repiping bullfinch, a linnet, two starlings, and markable facility all that was said, and really the magpie whose adventures and accomplish- seemed as if he understood its purport. For ments form the subject of this true history. instance, I one day said to him, Mag, if you Amongst our infinite variety of feathered bi- bite my finger, I will never give you any more peds, the class which in default of a better fruit or sugar.' And although I regularly did name I shall take leave to denominate talking-feed him every day with sugar and fruit, mine birds, had been upon the whole the most distinguished. Even I, who, partly on account of the tragical termination of many of our pets, partly because I so dearly love freedom and the greenwood, that all the hemp-seed and

were the only fingers in the house that remained unbitten. He certainly, too, could apply names to their right owners. One of his great delights was to summon all the servants about him; sometimes in his own soft, distinct tone; some

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times by imitating, with a wonderful clearness, my voice or his master's. Ben! John! Martha! Lucy! Marianne!' And when he had got them all around him, Go,' he would say, Go to -;' and when everybody was expecting something as naughty as Vert-vert would have said, after his voyage in the coche d'eau had contaminated his manners, he would suddenly break into a laugh, and finish his sentence with 'Go to Jerusalem! Go to Jerusalem!' He never failed to call over this beadroll of names at least once a day, and if the wrong person answered, Lucy for Marianne, or Martha for Lucy, he would stamp his little foot, and scold, and storm, and refuse to be pacified until the offender begged pardon and asked him to begin his catalogue again. Sometimes he added the dogs to the list, and the greyhounds-a simple, credulous, innocent race-readily answered to his call. Once, and but once, he took in Flush, a beautiful little brown cocking spaniel, a greater pet even than himself, and infinitely more sagacious. Flush!' said Mag, with an imitation of my voice that was even startling; and Flush, who was looking forward to our evening walk, threw down his bone and ran to answer the summons. Flush!' repeated Mag, in the same tone, with a nod and a laugh! In my life I never saw such a mixture of shame and anger as my beautiful pet's large bright eyes exhibited. Mag tried the trick again. But it failed. The perfect good faith of the gentle and faithful little creature, who, never deceiving, could not suspect deceit, had enabled the knavish bird to cheat him once; but the imposition once detected, became, so far as Flush was concerned, altogether powerless.

tire night, he had taken care to re-appear in
the morning at Ben's bedroom window with
his usual tap, tap, tap, against the glass, and
the grave business-like summons, Past six
o'clock, Ben! Time to get up!'-wherewith
he was wont, as regularly as the clock struck, f
to awaken that trusty domestic. Only the
Tuesday before, Mag had been absent for a
longer period than common; but, directed by
a singular noise of fierce and angry jabbering,
something like the scolding of women in a
passion, he had been discovered in a field at
the bottom of the garden, engaged in a furious
disputation with two wild birds of his own
species, earnestly defending a bare and dirty
bone, his own property doubtless, from the in-
cursions of these intruders. That Mag had
fought with other weapons than his tongue,
and been worsted-that he was very glad when
our approach frightened away his opponents-
was quite plain; but they being gone, he
gladly followed us home in the opposite direc-
tion, and had, up to this unfortunate Friday,
(for it was upon this day of ill-luck that we'
missed our poor bird,) conducted himself with
a degree of prudence and discretion that showed
him to have taken warning by his contest and
discomfiture. On that Friday, however, he
was missing from noon to night; the next
morning dawned-six o'clock struck-but no
magpie tapped at the window to call Ben; he
was neither in the house nor the garden, on
the trees or the chimneys. That the poor bird
was lost seemed indisputable; and so strong
was the general impression of his attachment
to us, and of his sagacity, that we were pretty |
generally convinced that he must have been
stolen. Who might be the thief was not so
easy to determine. Aberleigh is situated upon
a well-frequented road leading from one great
town to another, and our cottage stands in the
centre of the village street. Moreover, hold-
ing a sort of middle station between the gentry,
to whom we belong by birth, and habits, and
old associations, and the country people, al-
most our equals in fortune, who all resort to
my dear father for advice and assistance in
their little difficulties, there is scarcely a per-
son within ten miles who does not occasionally
pay a visit to our habitation. Then Ben's ac-
quaintance! gardeners, gamekeepers, cricket-
ers, grooms! Ben knows the whole county!
And although it would be rather too affronting
to suspect one's friends and acquaintances of
thievery, yet they amongst whom the magpie
was deservedly popular, had of course con-
tributed to diffuse his reputation.

Nevertheless, there was no resisting a certain degree of liking for the poor bird, whose stock of drollery-for every day he came out with something fresh-really seemed inexhaustible. He had a cage, to which, being generally fed there, he frequently retired of his own free-will. One day, however, he was missing; that tongue of his was a thing to be missed, just as the near neighbours of a mill or a church-steeple would soon feel the absence of the clapper and the chimes. He had left the premises more than once before, and had led Ben and John a dance amongst all the trees and cottages of Aberleigh-appearing and disappearing-now on the ground and now on the house-top, and playing at bo-peep among the roofs and chimneys in a manner more provoking than words can tell; so that Ben, after fairly lodging his new straw hat on the branches of a pear-tree from the topmost bough of which On that unlucky Friday, too, we had had Mag, swinging much at his ease, had thought even more visiters than common. Two or fit to hail him with his usual How d'ye do, three sets of people had come from London by Master Ben?' had fairly given up the chase in railway; five or six neighbouring families had despair. Once, twice, thrice, had Mag eloped; called; the coursing-season was coming on, but then the tricksy spirit had never failed to and two or three brace of greyhounds had been make itself audible; and even when, upon one brought by their respective owners to be comasion, he had absented himself for one en-pared with our dogs; a flower-show was ap

proaching, and half-a-dozen gardeners had been backward and forward amongst zinnias and dahlias; a cricket-match was pending, and the greater part of the two elevens had come to arrange the day and the hour; one constable had arrived for orders to send off an encampment of gipsies, who had established themselves in Woodcock-lane, and another had come for a warrant to take up a party of vagrants caught in the fact of poaching and suspected of sheep-stealing at Hinton-Down. Who was the thief was still a mystery! But when day after day had passed over, and no tidings arrived of our bird, that he was stolen became the firm conviction of our whole family. Sorry, however, as we were for the merrry, saucy little creature, whose spirit of enjoyment and activity of intellect seemed so disproportioned to his diminutive form and low rank in the scale of living beings, still the recollection began to wear away; and when, at the expiration of a week, we sallied forth to partake of a déjeûner in the beautiful grounds of Aberleigh Great House, our domestic calamity was, to say the truth, pretty nearly forgotten. Never was a more delightful little party than assembled by the side of the clear brimming Loddon on a glorious afternoon, near the end of August. The day was so sultry that the tables were laid under some magnificent elms upon the lawn, forming, with its adjuncts of picturesque architecture, of exquisite scenery, of lovely young women and thrice lovely children, a picture of gay and courtly elegance worthy of Watteau. The déjeûner, however, sumptuous and luxurious as it was, formed by no means the chief attraction of the day. Under the long, lofty terrace, crowned with old firs and lime trees, which forms the boundary of Aberleigh Park, the Loddon, spreading for nearly a mile into an almost lake-like expanse, rivals the Thames in consequence, whilst it far surpasses it in beauty; and then, narrowing as it is spanned by the low arches of the bridge, glides along amongst quiet water-meadows with a pastoral seclusion and tranquillity which would have enchanted Izaak Walton. A row up this bright river was the express intention of the party; and accordingly, the grand question of oars or sculls being decided, water bailed out, rowlocks and thowls examined, we set forth in three as pretty skiffs as may be seen between Battersea and Putney Bridge; ourselves as merry and happy a set of people as are often assembled in this work-a-day world.

Some were sailors-one especially, most worthy of that honoured name, which is the synonyme of all that is frank, and kind, and true-hearted in man; and one who, by some mistake in destiny, is not really a sailor, but who possesses all the attributes and almost the skill-some were sailors, some were soldiers, some gentlemen at large; but the charm of the party was felt to be the freight of one

of the boats, consisting of four lovely young women, singing like nightingales, and, as it seemed, from the same impulse of a full and joyous heart, who went backward and forward upon the water, spreading abroad melody, as the sun diffuses light, or the roses their perfume. That craft was naturally looked to as the one from which we should derive most pleasure, but we hardly, on embarking, anticipated the kind of amusement which it was destined to afford. It so happened, that one of their rowers was accidentally detained, and another compelled to take the management of the boat containing the children, so that our pretty songstresses fell to the charge of one solitary boatman, who, taking care that no real harm should befall them, seemed to find some diversion in plunging them and himself into small difficulties; and, the rudder being unshipped, they, so to say, staggered about upon the water as if the boat were tipsy; now running aground upon an island, now taking a snag, (to borrow a phrase current upon the Mississippi;) now caught (by veil and bonnet) in the bushes upon one bank, now entangled in the sedges upon the other, until the sirens of the Loddon, half-frightened and half-amused, mixed screams and squalls with the sweet strains of the Canadian boat-song, and shrieks of laughter with A boat, a boat unto the ferry.'

After shooting the bridge, matters grew worse. They had sailed from harbour so long before our boat, that we had hitherto, only looked and laughed at the strange tacks, voluntary and involuntary, which their skiff had taken. But now, gallantly manned and ably steered, we shot ahead of them, drowning Ŏ Pescator dell' onde' by such a torrent of river wit as shall not be exceeded from Gravesend to Kew. At last, when, amid laughing and singing, and quiet enjoyment, the mists were rising in the meadows, and the moon looking down into that bright mirror, the still smooth stream, we took our fair damsels in tow, and prepared to return homeward. Looking up as we were about to shoot the centre arch of the bridge, I saw a strange vagabondizing gipsy sort of light cart, that looked as if it had never paid any duty, passing above it; and while our mermaids were singing, with a delightful unity of their young voices,

"Oft in the stilly night,

Ere slumber's charm has 'bound me,' they would have added, but that charm was broken by a well-known voice from above, which pronounced with startling distinctness, Go, go, go to Jerusalem!' Was it my magpie, or was it his wraith? Of course, by night, a good mile from our landing-place, and then a mile back again to the bridge, all search or inquiry was hopeless. I told the story when I got home, and found the whole village divided in opinion. Some thought with

me that the gipsies had hold of him; some with my father that he had been stolen by the more regular thieves; some thought that it was a trick; some that it was a mistake; and some held with Peter Tompkins that the magpie was no magpie after all, but an incarnation of the Evil One in black and white plumage. Again was poor Mag forgotten, as, one bright September morning, we set forth towards Farnham, a pretty old-fashioned town, overlooked by the bishop's palace, with its stately trees and extensive park, and famous for its hopgardens, and for Mr. Garth's geraniums, where in one small greenhouse he rivals in splendour, although not in extent, Mr. Foster's exquisite collection, and equals him in hospitality and kindness. It is something remarkable, I think, something pleasant as well as remarkable, and peculiar to our age and country, that two English gentlemen should surpass, by the mere effect of taste and skill, the efforts of the working gardeners, whose livelihood depends upon their flowers, with the strong stimulus of the desire of gain on the one hand, and the enormous resources of wealth as lavished in the green-houses of our great noblemen on the other. To raise a magnificent geranium is to increase and multiply beauty, and to strengthen and diffuse the feeling of the beautiful in this work-a-day world. Art herself does little more. The road from Aberleigh to Farnham passes through very pretty and very interesting scenery. We leave Strathfieldsaye and Silchester, emblems of the present and the past, to the right; and Sir John Cope's magnificent

old mansion of Bramshill, and the parsonage at Heckfield, where Mrs. Trollope passed her early days, to the left. Then we pass through a succession of wild woodland country, to the little town of Odiham; plunging again into forest-like glades, until we cross a high, barren, heathy ridge called the Hog's Back, the view from the top of which forms a superb and extensive panorama. Descending this long, steep, and lofty hill, we find ourselves once more amidst cultivation; quaint old-fashioned villages, sunk deep in the valley, and patches of hop-gardens intersecting the fields. The hop-gatherers were busy in taking down and stripping the long poles, the English vintage; and the vines hung like garlands in rich wreaths of leaves and flowers intertwined one with another, and diffusing around the bitter racy aroma of the fragrant plant, dear to the lovers of mighty ale. A pretty scene it was and a stirring. We stopped the carriage at the gate, to view it more closely, and listen to the gay jests and merriment of the many groups collected on the ground. There is something contagious in real, hearty mirth, and Ben, our driver, without knowing why, joined in the laugh. Apparently his peculiar laughter was recognised; for in a moment we heard from the other side of the gate, Ben! how d'ye do, Ben? Glad to see you, Master Ben! Go to Jerusalem!' in Mag's most triumphant tones; and this time we did not hear, in vain. We recovered our bird; and here he is at this moment, happiest, sauciest and most sagacious of magpies.

END OF PROSE WORKS.

MISS MITFORD'S POETICAL WORKS.

FOSCARI, A TRAGEDY.

PREFACE.

THE subject of the following Play is taken from a domestic tragedy in the history of Venice, and was suggested to the Authoress by an interesting narrative of that event in Dr. Moore's Travels. It is scarcely, perhaps, necessary to say here in prose, what the Prologue repeats in verse, that her piece was not only completed, but actually presented to Covent Garden Theatre, before the publication of Lord Byron's well-known drama: a fact which happily exculpates her from any charge of a vain imitation of the great Poet, or of a still vainer rivalry.

PROLOGUE.

FOR riches famed of yore, and once as free

As her own element, the bounding sea,

Fair Venice now, fall'n from her "palmy state,"
Broods o'er her palace-city desolate;

Each mart deserted, each Palladian hall
Vacant and ruinous, proclaims her fall.
Yet still one triumph of her ancient fame
Gilds her decay, and lingers round her name;
'Tis that beneath the proud Venetian dome
The Tragic Muse hath fixed her favourite home;
'Tis that her very name makes young hearts glow
With deep remembrance of some glorious woe.
There Shylock whetted his relentless knife;
There poor Othello won his murdered wife;
There Pierre, stout traitor, the awed State defied;
There Jaffier loved, and Belvidera died.

And there the immortal Bard, who all too soon
Fell in the blaze of Fame's effulgent noon,
Lamented Byron! twice a tale hath told
Of princely anguish in the days of old:
How 'gainst the Senate Faliero fired

With vengeful hate by their stern doom expired;
And his severer fate, condemned to try

His guiltless son, the good Doge Foscari.
That tale of woe, but with an humbler flight
And weaker wing, our Authoress of to-night
Hath brought before ye. Deem not of it worse
That 't is a theme made sacred by his verse.
Ere his bold Tragedy burst into day,
Her trembling hand had closed this woman's play.

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