Forbid the outward sacrifice.
My spirit breathes its inmost breath,
In this my first—my last confession:—
The passion will survive till death,
But never more can know expression.
W.
CHILDE'S TOMB.
(For the Mirror.)
From "time out of mind" a tradition has existed in Dartmoor, Devon, and is noticed by several writers, that one John Childe, of Plymstock, a gentleman of large possessions, and a noted hunter, whilst enjoying that sport during a very inclement season, was benighted, lost his way, and perished through cold and fear, in the south quarter of the forest, near Fox-tor, after taking the precaution to kill his horse, (which he much valued), as a last resource, and for the sake of warmth and prolonging life, to creep into its bowels, leaving a paper, denoting, that whoever should find and bury his body, should have his lands at Plymstock.