DEFENCE OF MATRIMONY;

OR,

HOW TO MARRY HAPPILY.

MR. EDITOR,

CLERICUS deserves the grateful thanks of the moral part of the community, for his sensible letter in defence of Marriage. It is a lamentable fact, of which he appears fully aware, that many young persons in the present age, seem entirely to disregard matrimony. Heathens and savages have not less respect for the holy institution, than many of our modern Christians: our present race of young men-aye, and women too, are foolishly impatient of` reasonable controul, and madly rush into the vortex of unlawful pleasures they risk all that is dear to reputation, and seek no enjoyment beyond momentary gratification-hence the vir tuous are hourly annoyed by the disgusting ribaldry of impertinent debauchees, and the feelings of the benevolent are perpetually harrowed up with pictures of distress amongst wretched, seduced, and abandoned females. The state of society, in conse quence of the laxity of morals, is lamentable, and the vigorous exertions of the truly good were never more imperatively called for; the remedy is in their hands.-Let every virtuous person endeavour to recover one from the strayed flock-let every clergyman émulate the excellent example of Clericus, and by recommending marriage, discountenance immorality.

The pleasures of a married life are indescribable-they are pleasures which none but the married feel. I am a competent evidence in the affair-I married young, and with the purest and best of motives. I was desirous of making a fellow creature happy, and looked around ine for the most wretched amongst females, that I might rescue her from extreme misery, and have the satisfaction of beholding perpetually the good effects of my zealous endea yours. I married-not one of those, whose irreproachable character is a sure passport in the family of any to whom by marriage she might be allied; but one apparently forsaken-one neglected by the unforgiving-an outcast from modest female society-one who was dejected, broken-hearted, and penitent; and have, for the last fifty years of my life, (excuse the garrulity

of an old man) had the enviable joy of beholding a perennial stream of gratitude and love, for having conferred a benefit on an unfortunate fellow creature. My children have the best of mothers-and, Heaven be praised! I have the best of wives.

Let the young men who prefer lawless liberty to domestic happiness, follow my example; then the number of the wretched will be diminished, and what Clericus, and every religious character wishes to see, will take place-Marriage and happiness will be synonymous terms, Highbury Place.

NESTOR.

THE WIFE.

THE storm still raged, and Ellen's heart still beat with terror. In the pauses of the thundering elements, the raven's shrieks alone were heard, and to her startled ear they sounded like the shrieks of death. She prest her burning forehead, and leaving the tremendous forest, rushed wildly over a drawbridge, swift as her feet would bear her. The place she entered was an ancient desolated hall, where many a tattered trophy hung around, which flapped with solemn murmuring to and fro, as the winds whistled through the broken casements. She stopped for breath, and, trembling, turned her eyes to see if still the assassin followed-but all was dark. Scarce knowing how to act, she leaned against a mutilated pillar, and clung, like the ivy's tendrils, round it for support. Awhile the thunder ceased, but still the rain poured down in torrents-sinking on her knees, her lips breathed holy wishes, and she addressed herself to Heaven; but soon again the thunders rolled, and as the lightnings darted round, once more she saw the ruffian whom she dreaded :—uttering a convulsive cry, which fortunately was buried in the raging of the tempest, she clung still nearer to the pillar, and scarcely dared to breath-her eyes were fixed upon him; at intervals the flashes made him visible- he advanced-again-still nearer-she now heard his footsteps-he was within a stride of where she lay-in suspensive agony she watched-he was opposite her, muttering some words of dark intent-another flash,

more vivid than the rest, glanced o'er a dagger which he held; it met her eye, and she sank insensible on the pavement,

When Ellen awoke to feeling, the storm fiend howled no more, the thunder's bursts were hushed, and the feeble moon appeared attempting to break through the heavy clouds that still encom passed and almost concealed her. The hapless lady looked around, but no forbidding object met her sight. She pressed her beating heart, and tried to recollect herself, but her thoughts were all confused." Oh! what a night have I encountered," she exclaimed. A groan was heard in answer, and she started up-it seemed, though distant, to come from an unfortunate another followed, and then some words, which she could not perfectly distinguish, though their import was of murder-She heaved a shuddering sigh, and the warm blood icicled in her veins. And now at the extremity of the hall, there beamed a glimmering light-she looked-a man, whose eyes scowled cruelty and malice from beneath his bushy eye-brows, bore it, and in the other hand he grasped a poniard. Again she looked and beheld, oh heaven! the wretch who had traced her through the forest, and caused her terrors-he spoke, she eagerly listened, and faintly caught these words" The storm is over, and dost thou still tremble, Maurice? Art thou still afraid, dastard?""But to stab him!" muttered the other,and Ellen's brain throbbed. "And why not? he sleeps." They paused, and gazed upon each other; the one who bore the lamp seemed to shudder, for it trembled in his hand. Sleeps?" murmured he. "6 Aye, soundly too."-" And in such a night as this, Irwan. Oh God! oh God! when shall I sleep?"-" Thou fool!"--Ellen heard no more; for they had crossed the hall, and unbarring a ponderous door, they slowly ascended some steps which, appa rently, led to the upper apartments, and disappeared. Again her thoughts were chaos.-" Stab him while he sleeps!" she cried, "Oh God!" A sudden thought gleamed upon her brain, and quick as her trembling legs would carry her, she followed the murderers' track. Passing the heavy portal, she listened, but heard them not-wildly she rushed on; the winding steps flew beneath her; she ascended an immense height, in pitchy dark ness, fearful every moment, in her haste, of dashing down some broken chasm. At length a light glimmered on the rugged

stones, of which the tower (for such appeared what she was now encompassed by) was formed, and presently she beheld those whom she pursued. Slackening her pace, she breathed awhile though still keeping them in view. Seeming to have gained the height, they forced open an iron door, and entered. Regardless of her danger, (for the events of the night had followed in such quick succession, that they had nearly unthroned her reason) she still continued on, nor stopped till she had also reached the entrance. Beyond appeared a dismal prison, and in a niche, some one stretched on straw, in slumber-no doubt the murderers' victim. Not daring to advance further, she saw but imperfectly, though understanding that their intention was to murder while he slept, she was surprized to hear Maurice, as his companion named him, awake the stranger. "Are ye then come?" in feeble accents he exclaimed. She thought she knew the sounds, but remembrance told her not whose they were. "And has the curst, the cruel Baron, then determined? what has his malice at length invented? Am I to be hurled from the casement of this tower, to dash from rock to rock, until I reach my grave-the waves that wash its base? or has he still more lingering torments for me?"-"The Baron is merciful, you may still live," cried Ellen's persecutor, but on this condition-consent to let the Baron possess your wife, the beauteous" and Ellen started, for herself was named.— Heavens! was it possible? could it be her idolized Edmund they were going to murder? Where was she? Who was the Baron? And how came her husband there? All passed over her thoughts, and she vainly tried to recollect. "Never," cried Edmund, " never will I consent-sooner would I cherish the envenomed adder in my bosom, than see her rest on his !-sooner would I suck the poison with my lips, than see him steal a honied kiss from hers! Consent !—No, no, ere my tongue utters such a word, may lightnings blister it !"-" You have pronounced your doom,” exclaimed the savage." Yet," said Edmund, "spare, oh! spare my boy, my son, my Henry?"-Ellen stopt no longer-Henry! that name was madness! Her son there too! She ran, and found herself in her startled husband's arms, who pressed her fondly to him, while the big tears trickled from his eyes upon her bosom. *Tear them asunder,” cried Maurice. "No, never," shrieked

Ellen. "Here, here in my Edmund's heart have I lived, here will I grow, and when you pierce his breast, mine too shall bleed." "Irwan, what must be done?" asked Maurice. "There is no time to consider," replied Irwan, our deeds must be instantaneous-this, this," continued he, "shall effect it."-Ellen gazed, and saw her child in the fell monster's gripe-her head whirled round, and madness raged within. The casement was thrown open, and the waves, swelled by the late storm, were heard, in hollow, chilling sounds, to dash against the tower. Already had Irwan raised the boy, who, crying, stretched his little arms for safety to his mother.-Already he appeared to cast him from him, when, regardless of every other tie, she darted from her husband's side, and snatched her Henry from his threatened death, and, sinking with him to the ground, was raising her eyes towards her God, when they encountered Maurice, who at that moment plunged his dagger in her husband's heart! Uttering a dreadful piercing shriek, she-awoke-finding herself encircled in her beloved Edmund's arms, while her sweet boy lay calmly slumbering by her. Her joy was unutterable-imprinting a kiss upon his rosy cheek, and enfolding her husband still closer to her heart, she breathed a silent, grateful prayer to Heaven, that 'twas but a- -Dream.

P. G.

NOTES ON ATHENÆUS.

BY GRÆCULUS.

No. XV.

PURSUING my course through the thirteenth Book, I find at p. 558, some very severe, but, it must be confessed, just and salutary remarks, by Anaxilas, on Prostitutes, and the miserable degradation of those, who are so cursed as to be in love with them. A good picture of woman in general, follows in the same page, and in the next we have some very epigrammatic sallies. I'll try one in verse.

G G-VOL. IV.*