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These were indeed the charmed words on which life had hung. The least indiscretion on his part, the least failing of his nerves, had ruined him. The accidental fainting of the young woman, and his ready wit in offering his aid, took from himself some part of the suspicion with which they looked on all--and aided by the strictness of his disguise, his stained face, and darkened hair, he walked unknown between the very men who had hunted for him far and wide.

The search was ended, and the officers, in evident chagrin and disappointment, descended to their boat, and as it pulled towards the shore, Young Watson's heart beat high—but it was with hope-not fear. Again he had escaped when almost in their arms !

Life was the one absorbing thought, in which all centered—that life lay now before him, freed from the hazard of pursuit, and as the boat grew less upon the sight, he thanked his God, and prayed in thankfulness !

The spreading sails again were loosened to the winds, and the glad vessel straining to be gone, broke like a live thing through the free and bounding waters! The busy shore was left behind, and with a glad and buoyant spirit, he saw the river passed, while the bold sea lay wide and wild before him. The vessel breasted the strong waves, and shaped its course, for his new home-America ! And thus Young Watson escaped.

Some months had passed after the adventure just detailed, when the officers, Lavender and Vickery, were told by Pendrell of Young Watson's actual presence on board the searched ship. They were at first incredulous, but upon the particulars of his disguise being described, they were wrathful to a degree, and always heard with much annoyance any allusion to his escape.

A few days had passed after Young Watson's removal, when Mr. Holl's house, in which he had remained so long concealed, was searched, and himself put under arrest, on the charge of his concealment. His papers were also seized, and in Cold Bath Fields, he remained a prisoner for more than six weeks. He was examined upon the charge of high treason, and the harbouring Young Watson, before Lord Sidmouth, at the Secretary of State's office, and underwent not only a most rigid questioning, but was reminded of the extreme danger of his position, as it was stated they had “proofs of Young Watson's concealment in his house." These were fresh trials for Mr. Holl and his family, who were left in great distress ard fear as to his safety. Meanwhile the fruitless search went on ! Young Watson's escape having no doubt reached the ears of government, Mr. Holl was liberated, after enduring much anxiety of mind and body.

Young Watson reached America in safety, and strange as it may appear, Mr. Holl never heard from him but once, and that “his best remembrance conveyed to him in some letter to a friend. He lived but a few years, and died in exile, and we believe in distress. His family—who ever testified the greatest gratitude for his preservation-remained some years in England, but the Doctor's patient industry in the carrying out his schemes for political freedom, and Parliamentary Reform, removed him in a great measure from the practice of his profession, in consequence of which he made but a scanty living. After some years of hardship and endurance, he left with his family for America, and no communication has ever been received to tell if they are dead or living.

The good genius that seemed to wait upon Young Watson's steps is evidenced by the number and singularity of his escapes. That he had great presence of mind, and strength of nerves, is instanced by the readiness with which he availed himself of the young woman's fainting on board the vessel, as a means to take suspicion off himself, and it is still more worthy of remark, that of the many persons in whose power his life was trusted, none betrayed him, although tempted by a heavy reward--a fortune to a poor man- 1-and nearly all were poor.

In the midst of poverty and distress, he found fast friends, who sheltered-aided --and finally assisted him in his escape. There is no fable mixed with this narrative.

It is homely truth, and a sense of duty, and a justice to the dead, has alone imposed the task.

The agitation of the times in which these occurrences took place has passed away. The ends for which so many toiled, in later days have been achieved ; and we are now reaping the full harvest of what was sowed by patient toil in struggle with misrule, which viewed with jealous eye encroachments on its policy and power. The times are gone when agitation for political reform was met with cord and scaffold. Quietly and steadily it has kept its march, and the still growing murmur of a people's discontent, has carried out its purpose and its will

. And we now look back, almost with distrust, to times so little passed, when treason could be gathered from a household gossip, and a man's hearth be no security from a minister's suspicion, or a spy's mistrust. And without wishing to uphold the rashness and intemperance which brought upon this young man, whose adventures have been detailed, so much sad consequence, we must still make some allowance for oppression then endured, and the necessities which in part led to the nine days' wonder of Young Watson, and the Riots of 1816."



The Brothers of La Trappe were allowed no intercourse with the world that lay beyond the walls of their Convent; they had hardly learned the demise of one king when they had lived several years under the rule of another. The death of their kindred was only announced by their religious Superior requesting the prayers of the congregation for the soul of a brother or sister who had passed away. The dead were not mentioned by name. The labour allotted to the Monks was peculiarly severe; they were hewers of wood and drawers of water. All loves beyond that of Heaven and God were banished their domicile; they were laid to die on a bed of dust and ashes. The scenery around was of the most dreary kind, consisting of dark woods and a stagnant lake.

Father! spread out mine ashy bed,

For dust with dust is blending fast,
Far o'er the Future light is shed-

Yet pause with me upon the past !
Tho' I have crucified desire,
And in the altar's holy fire,
Have made a holocaust of all
That does not lie beyond the pall ;
Tho'I have fasted, watched, and wept,
One altar human love hath kept-
One altar in the heart that gave
Itself to God and to the grave !
The love of woman-it hath fled

The aching fast and horse-hair vest--
Such light temptation was not spread

For this emaciate stricken breast-
The short-lived, feverish, fond untruth-

I learned its worth in stormy youth.
The pride of human pomp and power-
Say-lives it in this awful hour?
When false and failing, blank and drear,
The fairest dreams of earth appear,
And hope scarce triumphs over fear !

When dimly in the soul's dark skies
The heavenly moon of faith can rise-

Of my old self remains one thing,
To which long years no changes bring-
One love, I ne'er could bend nor break
With it-Oh God! my heart thou'lt take !
Father ! I had a brother born
With me, on one fair summer morn;
And the first face that met mine eye,
Beaming with innocence and love,
Was that twin-brother's—ever nigh ;
And, like the young of the wild dove,
We lay within one happy nest,
Were formed and fed in one dear breast.
Father ! that love it seemed to grow
E’en with our stature and our strength;
So streamlets gather as they flow,
And roll in mighty tide at length.
I seemed of him, and he of me,
Knit by some wond'rous sympathy ;
Yet we were different ; I was grave,
To sad foreboding e'er a slave.
On me the shadow of the tomb
Fell with a dull and sullen gloom ;
Life was a feverish troub'lous thing
Wild gleams of joy, then scourge and prayer,
To this sad birthright I was heir ;
God's judgments, in their deadliest guise,
Hung as a darkness o'er mine eyes ;
While my bright brother could but see
The mercies of the Deity-
As mother with a sickly child,
Averting lingering judgments due,
Carrying, like lambs, the blessed few,
Healing old griefs by mercies new
These were his visions. Faith like this
Promised in life a heavenly bliss,
And he was glad with hope and mirth,
Enjoying all things from his birth
Wisely and well—the gifts of Heaven,
As blessings, not temptations given.
Father! when settled on my soul
A sorrow hopeless-past controul,

On my horizon's gathering night
Our love yet shed one gleam of light;
But I would live and pray alone,

And yield an undivided heart
For the Eternal Spirit's throne,

A temple consecrate, apart, From whose pure courts all thought was driven, All hope, but that of Death and Heaven. And I came

re-I need not tell Thee of my penitence and pain ; Within the walls of this dim cell

I've wrestled with my heart in vain : His image haunts the fevered sleep

That fainting nature steals from prayer ;
When Angels with me vigil keep

The face of my twin-born they wear-
The only one that ne'er deceived,
That I, in darkest mood, believed.
His voice upon our anthem swells,
He sighs amid the parting knells;
My brother at my side hath stood,
Viewless, in this deep darksome wood,
Where the oak’s knotted trunk I hewed,

And granite blocks to atoms broke,
And strove, amid the solitude,

To tame my spirit to the yoke:
Then, from the long grass at my feet,
There rose a murmur low and sweet ;
Fancy in human utterance wove
The rustling of the wind-stirred grove;
The hollow

reeds, around the lake,
With mortal's anguish seemed to quake,
While on the silence thrilled his tone,
Plaintive as parting spirit's moan-
“ Brother! why leave me thus alone ?
All the temptations shunned by thee
Yet gather darkly over me.
Father ! I may not paint my dread,
When, at our vespers, thou hast said,

Pray, brethren, for the kindred dead !
Unto his rest hath passed away
A kinsman's spirit-let us pray!”
Oh! then, I thought of my twin-born,
Was it for him they bade me mourn ?-
And had he died, and I afar ?-
Parted his soul in grief and pain ?

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