In addition to all the mortification of the flesh pointed out to us, we were given to understand that the twisted cords around the waist were frequently employed in self-inflicted scourgings at the altar, to which the superior exhorted the brethren as a penance for past, and humiliation for future, sins; a ceremony which, by all accounts, was in some instances unjustly taken out of the hands of the public executioner, while in others, perhaps, the cord might not at all have been misapplied if its adjustment to the neck, instead of the waist, had been anticipated by the same functionary.—­Metropolitan.

[1] See Mirror, vol. xvi p. 201.

* * * * *

COLONEL BRERETON.

Through the still midnight—­hark’—­that startling sound Tells of deed of blood! a soldier’s hand With aim too true himself hath reft of life! * * * Beneath that roof For many days none had heard sounds of gladness.  He was distressed—­each fond retainer then Softened his voice to whispers—­each pale face Did but reflect the sadness fixed in his:  Save where the two—­two fair and lovely ones, Too young for guilt or sorrow, or to know Such words as wordlings know them—­save where they, Pranking in childhood’s headlong gaiety, Sent the loud shout—­like laughter through the tomb—­ And mocked his anguish, with their joyousness.  Oh, that in sleep, some cry of joy or pain From forth those lips had bursten piercingly, When that sad Man his daring hand had lain, Maddened with hours of musing, on his death!  Then would great Nature, o’er the soldier’s heart Her power have all recovered; his seared soul With gushing tears enflooded, been restored; Mistaken Honour, false chivalric Pride, Flown with the Tempter;—­life have been preserved,—­ And unendangered an immortal soul.

Gentleman’s Magazine.

* * * * *

SELECT BIOGRAPHY.

THE LATE MR. MUNDEN.

(With Recollections.)

Great actors have two lives, or rather they have double deaths.  Their leave-taking of the public, their “retirement,” as biographers call it, is one death; since a playgoer then considers an actor dead “to all intents and purposes”—­a very non est.  Public regrets are showered about your great actor, and by some he is forgotten with the last trump of his praise.  He “retires:”  that is, he looks out for a cottage in the country, far removed from his former sphere of action, (as plain John Fawcett did the other day,) or he diverges to a snug box in the suburbs of London, still lingering about the great stage, as did honest Joseph Munden about seven years since.  People in the boxes or pit look out for his successor in the bills of the play—­then say “we ne’er shall look upon his like again,” (the greatest, though perhaps the most equivocal, tribute ever paid