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The Penny Sunday Times and People's Police Gazette

04/10/1840

Printer / Publisher: E. Lloyd 
Volume Number:     Issue Number: 27
No Pages: 4
 
 
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The Penny Sunday Times and People's Police Gazette

Date of Article: 04/10/1840
Printer / Publisher: E. Lloyd 
Address: 30, Curtain Road, Shoreditch, and at 44, Holywell Street, Strand
Volume Number:     Issue Number: 27
No Pages: 4
Sourced from Dealer? No
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PENNY LONDON:— SUNDAY, OCTOBER 4, 1840. police come near home for three whole days thereafter. Some of her neighbours told her that he had been seen court- ing the complainant ( Miss Susannah) with cloves and brandy ; and she was so hasperated at hearing this, that she certainly did entice Miss Susannah to her house, and bansell her with the broomstick as she had described. In conclusion, she admitted that she was wrong in so doing, but her passion got the better of her judgment, and she hoped his worship would consider that as an excuse. It was very hard, she said, for a woman at her time of life to be neglected for such creatures. The uiaeistrate told her he thought she ought not to hato proceeded to such violent outrage upon the com- plainant, without better proof that she was the cause of her husband's faithlessness; but as jealousy was an ungovernable passion, and as she appeared to repent of her violence, he would order the warrant to be sus- pended for a day or two, ill the hope that she would in that time make her peace with the complainant, and save herself further trouble and expense. STAGE COACH ACCIDENT GUILDHALL. CHEAP DIVING.— A person of very respectable ex- terior was brought before the Lord Mayor, charged with assaulting the waiter, and destroying the property of an eating- house proprietor in the neighbourhood of King William- street Eating- houses, properly so called, are, as is well known to the initiated, vulgarly deno- minated " slap- bang shops ; and certainly the affair of the defendant, in the present case, was a genuine slap- bang adventure. The gentleman went into the house in question, and called for some roast beef, '* under- done, and not too fat." The waiter instantly brought him what they call a plate'' of roast beef— several good jolly slapping slices, swimming in twelve- water gravy, and duly dis played upon an ordinary sized dinner plate. " What the devil do you biihg me such an infernal quantity for ?'' asked the gentleman. " l) o you think I'in a coil porter or a ploughman f Take it away, you Vagabond I and bring me a more christian- like quantity — about half as much." " Master doesn't make half plates, sir," replied the waiter. " Then I shall have none I" rejoined the gentlemen, and resuming his gloves, hat, and stick, he was about to make his exit in a rage ; but ihe waiter, with plate of beef in hand, arid napkin under arm, placed himself at the head of the stairs, seeking to cut off his retreat with a " Please to pay me for the beef, sir ; it was cut by your orders, and you mustn't go till you have paid for it. It only comes to ninepence, sir, ibedgittubles and all." " Stand out Of my Way, you scoundrel I or I'll knock you down 1" Said the gentleman. " I shan't, sir; you only wants to bilk master, and bolt," replied the waiter. This was enough. In the next instant, a kick from the enraged gentleman sent the plate of beef spinning up to the ceiling; the waiter seized the gentleman by the collar, the gentleman grasped the waiter by the throat, and they struggled together for a moment, and then, down stairs they trundled together, slap bang on to a table just covered with smoking hot dishes of roast and boiled : the table was upset with the concussion, and in the next moment, the half- strangled combatants lay sprawling upon the door, in the midst of shoulders of mutton, pieces of beef, dabs of boiled cabbage, broken platters, capsized mustard- pots, and many other odd things too tedious to mention. The master- cook stood aghast at the horrible clatter occasioned by this comical catastrophe, and the ruin which accompanied it 1 but he was soon sufficiently re- covered from his astonishment to gather the gentleman up again ; and then, having had him well wiped down, he gave him in charge to a policeman. The police- man carried him before the magistrate, as a matter of course, and the master- cook now sought compensation in damages for the injury done to his plates, dishes, * nd victuals, and the waiter sought a reparation l'or the bodily injury he had sustained. The Lord Mayor directed the gentleman fo find bail to answer the complaint of the waiter at the Sessions; but be refused fo aake any order with respect to the damages upon '. be eatables; inasmuch as the waiter ap- peared to hi as deeply implicated in that part of the business as tlx? gentleman. APPARITION OF A CORPSE TO MRS. STEVENS, OF BOOTH- STREET, SPITALFIELDS. Many years ago, there lived in Spitalfields, one Mrs. Anne Stephens, a person at that time well known and respected for her great dealings with the mercers on Ludgate- hill. This person sitting one evening in her house alone, and musing upon business, happened by ac- cident to look behind her, when, to her great, surprise, she saw, as it were, a dead corpse, as she thought, laving extended upon the floor, just as a dead body should be, excepting that the foot of one leg was fixed on the ground, as it is in bed, when one lies with one knee up; she looked at it a while, and, by degrees, withdrew her eyes from so unpleasing an object. However, a strange kind of air of curiosity soon overcame her fears, and she ven- tured a second time to look that way, and saw it for a considerable time longer fixed as before, bat yet she durst not stir from her seat. She again turned from the horri- ble and melancholy spectacle, and resuming courage, after a little reflection, got up with a design to ascertain herself of the reality of the vision, by going nearer to it; but lo ! it was vanished ! This extraordinary sight proved a very good admoni- tion to her— for, taking it as a warning for her approach- ing dissolution, she, from that hour began to ( settle her worldly affairs, and had just time to see them in a regular posture, wlieu she was taken ill of a pleurisy which car- ried her off ill seven days. This relation is taken from the hand. writing of Mrs. Ramell, a most respectable weaver's wife at Haggerstoue, and sister- in- law to Mrs. Stephens, of Booth- street. EXTRAORDINARY DUEL. Five gentlemen, intimate friends, having dined at a tavern in Galway, unfortunately after dinner some words arose between Mr. R— y and Lieut. O— n, which noihing would appease but immediate figh'ing. Two gentlemen of the parly were appoiuted seconds, but not agreeing about the distance, Mr. 1- and Lielii. O— n should fight, quarrelled likewise. Mr. W— th, the remaining peaceable person, w* s referred to, to de- termine the distance, & c.; and he being rather in liquor, said that he knew no place so fit to settle the affair as the room they were in; and as they could not agree about the distance, advised each lo have a case of pistols, and to tie handkerchiefs round their eyes, so as to fire indiscriminately; he Mr. W— proposing to hold the candle for them. This proposal met with the approbation of all parties; viz G—, Lieut. O., Mr. K—, and Mr. Kelly; every thing being amicably adjusted, and the handkerchiefs tied round their eyes, they began to fire, the first volley killed Mr. W—, who held the candle, and Lieut. O— ; the report of the pistols brought up the waiters, who entered the door just as the remaining gentlemen fired, and were killed on the spot, though the balls previously took effect on < he breast and heart of Mr. R— and Mr. K. Mr. G— was « ije only one that escaped death, though wilh tha loss of l » ; s chin. The consternation the above melan- choly affair caused is not to be described, nor did it prevent anntiw melancholy affair that happened in consequence. Two gentlemen, u„ intimate friends as the above- mentioned, talking of he event, quarrelled because they differed in opinion aLollt the conduct of Mr. W— who held the candle. They r0uj"' immediately with swords, and both were run thri. Uj;(, :)„. heart. The in- quest sat, and brought in their diet manslaughter, every one being dead. The above affair happened on the j< ith 0f Septem- ber, 1783. As it is a complicated scene v. f business, shall add a list of the killed and wounded ; LIST. First volley s Mr. W—, who held the candle ---... Lieut. O— n ---------- Second volley : Mr. B— y, Mr. K— y Waiters - -- -- -- -- -- - Mr. G—, wounded - -- -- -- --- The " Highflyer" coach, we learn, on Thursday, the: 24th ultimo, when near Saint mediately. James Johnson, son of a builder of that name, at Saint Columb, was Coluinb ( Cornwall), met with an accident, which unfortunately has caused the deatl\ seated by the side of the coachman, but fortunately be escaped with only a few slight of two persons, and most seriouslv injured three of the other passengers. It appears bruises. Mrs. Cnthbert, aud a Mr. Williamson, who were seated inside the vehicle, that just as the vehicle, which wiis very heavily laden, had reached Muggeridge Hill, were thrown out with great violence, and the former suffered a compound fracture of the axle broke, by which the coach was dashed upon its side, crashing lhat part of it both legs, while the latter, independaut of a dislocated shoulder, has several severe to atoms. The coachman, Thomas Bates, a inan who had driven the same coach for contusions about the head, which render his recovery very ilAubtful. The guard, upwards of twenty years, and who was highly respected, was precipitated from hi Saiiiual Harding, has broken his left arm, and dislocated three of his ribs. Several box, and fell upon iiis head, causing concussion ou the brain, from which he died im- ' other persons who were iu the vehicle were - -: ry much bruised. A DFCR'A PLEASURE. BEST LONDON PORTER, CABRIOLET SOCIETY, ^ ^ lEEBEHHil SECOND DUEL. All have their fancies it is known, And ( here is no denying That our Dey's taste is quite refined, And very ( h) e( a) difying ? Doubtless the Nabob's wish it is, So proud being of his station, That he shall be the only head To be found in all the nation. To carry such a load os this, Deny it, pray, who can — That our porter, though not double stout, Is a ( k~) not- able man ? Lisht porter he I— oh, no such thing : Though at him we'd not sneer By the burthen that he bears, he's fond Of heavy, it is clear ! " Kim up, carnt yer .'— vy any vun'ou'd think as yer vos brought out for verk instead on a ' oliday I Veil, this here is vun o' tV perwersest hanimals vot never vos; he doesn't know vlien he's veil used, that's vot he don't I— only a small party o' ten, an'yet he von't go along I Blest if I von't put him on the silent sistim, an' see vot that'll infect, cos it's wery clear he's not fond o' s'ciety I wounded Return made by the Coroners Mr. G. since dead. SHF. ELAH MACARTHY.— Thi; was a proceeding wherein one Mrs. Sheelah Macarthy sought " p / election behinl the law agen the tbumpings of her own lawful husband," Mr. Patrick Macartby, of the parish of St. Giles, labourer. Patrick Macarfhy was a clean- made, curly- pated, good- tempered little fellow, in a new flannel jacket, and duck trousers. His wife, Sheelah, was about his own sise, no whit behind him in cleanliness, very pretty, and she had a voice— plaintive as the turtle dove's, " — An' plase your honour," said she, " this is Patrick Macarthy, the husband to myself, lhat was when he married me; and is— barring the bating he gave me yes- terday, just for nothing at all yoHr honour that I knows of— aunty that he listens to bad folks, the neighbours of us; and bad folks they are sure enough, your honour, for that same; and your honour'll be plased to made them hould their pace and not be after taking away the senses of my onn husband from me, to make him look upon me like a stranger, your honour— for what would I be then ?" Poor Sheelah would have gone on murmuring forth her little griefs in this manner by the hour together, if his worship would have listened to her. But the office was crowded with business, and he reminded her that the warrant she bad sued for, charged her husband with having beat her; and she must confine herself to making good that charge, if she wished to have him punished for so doing. " Your honour," said Sheelah, with a low curtsey, " it isn't myself that would hurt a hair of the head of him ; ounly that your honour would bear the rights of it, and tell Patrick he shouldn't be after bating me for the likes of them. And here is to the fore, your honour, for that same." The magistrate found that it would be in vain to think of hearing " the rights ofit" from Sheelah ; and therefore he asked Patrick what he bad to say to it. Now Patrick was a man of few words. He had listened calmly to all Sheelah had been saying, and it was not till the magistrate had twice put the question to liini, that he left off smoothing his dusty hat, and then, looking sted- fastly in his worship's face, he replied, " Oh! it's all about the threepence ha'penny, your honour. It was Saturday night when 1 gave her every farthing of the wages I earned that week— and so 1 does every Saturday night, come when it may, your honour— and when I axed her on Monday morning to give me threepence ha'penny, to get me a pint of beer and the little loaf, belcase I was going to a long job in the city, and didn't know what time I'd be back to my oun place, she wouldn't give it me any how, your honour; and sure 1 did give her a clout or two." " But you would not do so again, I am sure, Patrick," observed his worship. " You should remember that she is your wife, whom you have vowed to protect aud cherish; and besides you know it is disgraceful in anv man to strike a woman— especially in an Irishman. You must give me your solemn promise, Patrick, that you will not strike her again." " Sure I'd he a baste if I whopped her again, your honour," replied Patrick, " when I just thought of a shame to do without it.— It's ounly keeping the threepence ha'penny in my oun pocket, and I'll have no occasion to bate it out of her at all." The bystanders laughed at this shame of Patrick's, and even the magistrate smiled, as he good hnmouredly told Sheelah, that though he believed her to be an excellent wife, he thought she was a little too hard in refusing her husband such a trifle as threepence- halfpenny when he was going to work so far from home. Sheelah smiled also ; but there was a thoughtful sad- ness in her smile; ami, when the laughter had subsided, she told his worship, that it was not the " coppers," nor the bit of a " bating " Patrick had given her, that she cared about. He had barkened to bad tales about her, she said, and had sworn never to be good to her till she said " two words" to him. His worship asked her if her husband supposed she was untrue to him ? She replied that he did, aud implored the magistrate to let her swear to her fidelity ! His worship told her he was sure there was no need of any such ceremony—" Patiick," said he, " has too much good sense to listen to idle stories about you." Still, however, poor Sheelah would not be pacified ; and snatching the Gospels from the table, she pressed the sacred volume fervidly to her lips, aud then raising her eyes, she exclaimed " So help me God ! that, barring Pa- trick and myself. I don't know man from woman." All this while Patrick stood hanging down his head, and fumbling at the buckle of his hat in the simplest manner imaginable. " For shame, Patrick !" said the magistrate, as Sheelah made ail end of her oath—" For shame, Pa- trick I— How can you stand there and see the distress of such a wife, without coming forward and assuring her of your confidence ?— Give her your hand, man, and comfort her as she deserves." Patrick stretchcd forth his band— Sbeelah grasped it almost convulsively, and raising it to her lips, all chapped and sun- burnt as it was, she kissed it— they looked each other in the face for a moment— burst into tears, and hastily left the office arm- in- arm. MARLBOROUGH STREET. BEAUTY AND THE BROOMSTICK.— Mrs. Ellen Good- win was brought before the magistrate on a warrant, charging her wilh an assault on the person of Miss Susanuah Jenkins. Mrs. Ellen Goodwin was a ( all, thinmatron, somewhat declining into the vale of years ; but her countenance — especially the most prominent part of it, which was very prominent indeed— was still blooming with spiri- tuous comforts. Miss Susannah Jenkins was a very pretty mild- spoken young woman, with a countenance blooming with voulh. Miss Susannah deposed, that on a certain day named, she happened to be going along a certain street, and, as the weather was very hot, she happened to go into a certain public- house to take a glass of Barclay and Co.' s entire. She ( here happened to see a gentleman, who very politely asked her to take a glass of something short; telling her it would squench her thirst better than porter. She resisted his invitation for some time ; but at length she consented to take a drop of something short— a cool dodger of cloves and brandy; and having drank it, she thanked ( he gentleman for his politeness, and went on her way— pietty considerably refreshed. Next day, she happened to go into Ihe same public- house again— not with any expectation of meeting Ihe same gentleman again, but with the sole intention of taking a dodger of cloves and brandy on her own account — she having derived great comfort from the one she took on the preceding day. It so happened that the gentle- man was not there; at which she was very much pleased : for she could not " bear the higha.- ar of being beholding to one gentleman two days together." Whilst she was taking her cloves and brandy, thinking of no- thing at all but how very nice it was, who should come in but the defendant, Mrs. Goodwin, with an " I want to speak to you, young woman." Now she. Miss Su- sannah, thought this very comical, for the lady was a perfect stranger to her. However, she followed her, up one street and down another, till at last Mrs. Good- win opened the door of a house, and said, " pray walk in, mem ;" and jiu she did walk, wondering what all this could mean. Mrs. Goodwin, having closed the door, made her a low courtesy, and said, " Have the kindness to walk this way, Mem ;" and Miss Susannah followed her along the passage to an inner apartment, like a lamb to the slaughter- house, as she said , for they had no sooner entered the room, than Mrs. Goodwin seized a broomstick, and without uttering a single word began to belabour her over the back and shoulders with all her might I Miss Susannah shrieked, or squeeked, as she called it, for help ; but not a soul came to her as- sistance ; and she was obliged to defend herself as well as she could with her hands alone, till Mrs. Goodwin dropped her stick for lack of breath ; and then she, Miss Susannah, made her way out of the house, covered with bruises and wonder. This was the unprov oked assault complained of, and for this Miss Susannah Jenkins claimed redress at the h& nds of the magistrate. Mrs. Goodwin made a very voluble defence. She was cursed with a husband, she said, who— though she had brought him twelve children— was continually han- kering after other women. On Monday last he went I out, taking with him six goolden sovereigns, which she • had put by to pay her coal- inerchftnt, and he did not onowing remarKauie aim uuiiioi.- acuuuin u. mc mau- ler ir. which it is proposed to punish murderers ill Persia is given in a letter from M. Charles Texier, corrcspon- ling member of the Institute, written from Ispaham. He therein says, " The governor is withont mercy towards the Loutyes, a name given to a fanatical sect nf the lower orders, and whenever a murder is committed lie causes the assassins to be arrested, and keeps them in a dungeon till he has collected sufficient number of victims to make a striking example. You would not readily divine his project— with these men lie iutendsto build a tower! lie has already about a hundred pri- soners, and when he shall get together 200 or 300, lhe » Ihe groaning tower is to be commenced. A layer of stones is to be arranged alternately with a layer of livingmen I A tower of this description is to be seen at the gate of Shiraz. The one in question i « likely to be soon commenced, for we saw yesterday the camels arrive laden with the lime destined for its construction." A SINGULAR MODE OF SUICIDE.— A Mrs. Van Evera ( w ho was a widow) having for some time suffered from a decline of health, was about ( wo weeks sincc so terrified by a sudden clap of thunder that she afterwards refused to take any sustenance whatever. She fancied that the Lord had spoken to her and commanded her never to eat or drink more. And notwithstanding the importunities of her friends she refused to take any sustenance whatever except about a tea spoonful of water which it is uncertain whether she swallowed.— After lingering for fifteen days she died, a remarkable instance of religious fanaticism. i SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE S POLICE GAZETTE. dramatic ( Tail ® . Wo. IE. ( WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES,' BY THOMAS PREST.) THE BRIDE OF MESSINA! [ Founded on the new- Play of that title, by JAMF. S SHE- RIDAN KNOWLF. S, Esq., now performing with such dis- tinguished success at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden.] There was not a fairer maiden in Messina than the tevety Isoline, the only child of the Governor of that place, orotic whose miud was more in unison with her personal ( perfections. Gracefulness was. in every step, elegance in ( every word she uttered— purity, virtue, and gentleness in everything she said or did. At the period at which our ftory commences, Sicily had Hong groaned beneath the yoke of the French, who, in ob- taining possession of their wishes, had been guilty of the most brutal excesses, laying waste all before them ; com- • raitting all tbe horrors of sack and pillage ; and massa- tcreing the unfortunate Sicilians indiscriminately, men, - women, and children ; none escaped their sanguinary wrath, until they had fully accomplished their ambitious wishes, the annihilation of the liberty of the Sicilians, and the murder of their sovereign. Among the most staunch adherents of the ill- fated Si- cilian Prince, was the celebrated ahd heroic John di Procrda, who escaped the slaughtei of his countrymen, tout was proscribed, his property confiscated, and his noble castle burnt to the ground. But of him more anou. No person rendered themselves more conspicuous in the • slaughter of the Sicilians than did the father of- the beau- teous Isoline, for which he was made the Governor of Messina. From amongst the numerous persons who were slaughtered, one child was saved, a boy, who was brought up in the Governor's house, with the utmost care and at- tention, regarded in every respect as a son, and whose con- duct fully repaid his benefactor for the care which had been bestowed upon him. He was called Fernando, and a noble looking youth he was ; virtuous, generous, en- thusiastic, and courageous, but withal impetuous, and at times too ready to be led into error by the force of his young hot blood. It needed but a word— a single word in the shape of an insult— and forth came his sword Irom its sheath, and woe to those who had aroused him, for seldom did his arm fail him. For his skill in the use of the sword, and for all the accomplishments he pos- sessed, he was indebted to Angelo Martini, who had been 3> is tutor, and never did tutor bestow more care upon a pupil— never did pupil better profit by the instructions of iiis preceptor. Brought up from childhood in each other's society ;— - possessing alike the most brilliant intrinsic merits; assi- milated by words, by thoughts, by actions; it is no wonder that Fernando and Isoline should imbibe an affection for each other, which " Grew with their years, and strengthened with their growth." Yes, they loved each other with an affection pure as it was fervent; a love which lives in the soul, and which, no time, nor circumstance can ever alter. Nor did the lovely Isoline, when she found that she was not indifferent to him,— with a false coyuess, conceal her passion ; no, she acknowledged to him her real sentiments ; and gave him up her heart, rich in all its purity; warm in all the fervour of her soul's affections. Her father saw their love— he approved of it— he encouraged it— and when he found that it was mutual— it was sincere, he immediately gave his Consent to their union. And now that day so anxiously looked forward to by ttlte lovers had arrived, and many were the preparations that had been made to celebrate the ceremony with all • becoming festivity and magnificence. But now that the time had come when her heart's fondest wishes were about to be accomplished, she felt a melancholy foreboding of some approaching calamity, which she tried, but in vain to erase from her mind. Frightful dreams had haunted her pillow; she had seen her lover surrounded by danger; had in vain sought to rescue him; she had beheld the murderer's sword enter his breast and as it was with- drawn, reeking with his life's blood, trembling wilh hor- ror, she awoke. From this awful dream, in spite of her efforts to the contrary, she could not help foreboding sor- row to their union; but yet had the yawning abyss of mi- sery been at her feet, and she could have had the power of avoiding it, by retracting her vows to Fernando, she would sooner have taken the fatal plunge than she could have resigned him, to whom her soul was devoted with all tne strength ot woman's fondness. It waoii- i but afew hours to the time appointed for the ceremony to take place, and Fernando had but just quitted the presence of his intended father- in- law, when he was startled by a noise without the room where he was, aud immediately afterwards Guiscardo, the master of arms, with whom Fernando was on terms of intimacy, pale, trembling, and otherwise dreadfully agitated, rushed into his presence, and grasping him by the arm, exclaimed :— " Fly, fly, Fernando, murder stalks abroad, and he to whom you are so deeply indebted, needs your aid ; ano- ther moment even, and it may be too late; oh, fly, to save him I" " You are agitated," returned Fernando, " and al- though your words forebode evil, you lack the self- pos- session to explain the nature of it." " Nay, not an instant, I pray you," again gasped forth Guiscardo. " ' Psha! man," observed Fernando, rather vexed to be interrupted in so strange a manner, " are you crazed, that you thus act? Kuow you not it is my wedding day?" " I care not," answered the agitated Guiscardo, " were you at the altar, and the ceremony commen « fP> ' bat w sich I have to impart to you should force y° u tr° m i •••'• i your sword, and compel you to hasten to theaid of he ' bom you owe all that, whidi having not, you w Mild tn the most despicable of the ttumau race. Angelo Martini." " r <>< ' - " . , •' '' ' What of him?" , , 1 '! ee the name aro"' ses yftu somewhat from your •- watl'iv,' Fernando," obse- ved Guiscardo, " and so lor- •> tl< s'. ould. Even uow he is exposed to the ven- tre of. n enfuriated mob, who seek his life and —- itill d, you w » " te a multiplicity ol words, and arrive nation of the affair," said the impatient youth, i 4a nit'on," repeated the other, with a contemptu- ' ,'-,"• t; " the man who has a sincere esteem for him • s : een his friend, needs no other explanation than is in danger, to unsheath his weapon. Fernando, vou— this icy coldness— this marble apathy ?— lght it ue'er could be. Well, then," he added, sneer, as he drew a couple of chairs towards seated himself in one of them ; " be if so ; I r into a circumstantial account of the whole :! e perhaps Angelo Martiui is suffering that . which your interference might save him. 2d." conduct, muttered Fernando, y," once more cried Guiscardo, with breath- , ui alienee ; " 1 do entreat you to be seated, 1 cannot ed iiless you do. The Count Marotto— the ac- : d name chokes me— lie— pray be seated ; the Count iutto with villainous desire— dared to lift his thoughts eure and peerless daughter of Angelo Martini, or whose soul, whose thoughts, whose actions, you— < vou knew to be chastity itself.— He " " ihe wretch I" exclaimed Fernaudo, passionately, " could hedaie " " Pate ace," interrupted Guiscardo ;" taking advan- tage of her lather's temporary absence from his house, the miscreant pained admission, ai) d by force accomplished iiis diabolical purpose." " Do i hear the truth ?" " Patience," once more interrupted Guiscardo. " An- gclo returned at the very moment that the villain was stalking from the door,— suspicion immediately darted across his brain, and grappling with him, he demanded an explanation. The count was dumb- founded, and could not make auy reply; but exerting all his strength, he lure himself from Angelo's hold, and, craven- like, he fled.— Angelo rushed into his house, and there the first object which met his sight, was his daughter weltering in her blood. She lived but to tell her distracted father of her shame, and that iu the frenzy of despair, her own hand liad inflicted the ghastly wounds from which her life's blood was fast flowing 1" " Good God " " Hear me out," interrupted Guiscardo, " I have not told you all the dreadful story yet. Rendered desperate, mad, by the fate of his spotless daughter, Angelo rushed from the house, and went in pursuit of the violater, the murderer. He encountered him, and plunged his w. apou to his black and polluted heart; he repeated his bio a, until not the slightest portion ofthe miscreant's body could be seen for the ensanguine fluid which covered The retainers of the count, exasperated by the mur- of their master, darted out from the castle, and pur- ser; Angelo with savage yells, swearing to have retribu- te ' t. his life. Hark',— Even now the bloodhounds .. tries s. 1 ihe air, oh, fly, fly with me, Fernaudo, and save the deeply injured Angelo Martini from being hewn into pieces by his savage enemies." Loud cries from without were now heard, and imme- diately afterwards an officer hurried into the room, with the utmost consternation in his whole demeanour, and thus ejaculated:— " Oh, Senor, there is riot aud bloodshed in the streets — the soldiers ofthe Count Marotto, who has been mur- dered by Angelo Martini, have pursued him to his house, and he, with his own hand, has fired the place, and with the corpse of his ill- fated daughter clasped in his arms, and covered with blood from many a frightful wound which he has received, is leaning from the window, and shouting with the frantic wildness of a maniac. Send forth sufficient men to repel the violence of the enraged mob, or there is no knowing where it may terminate." " Hasten," Fernando observed to an officer who was in attendance, " and endeavour to quell the riot." " But you will also attend ?" said Guiscardo. " I cannot," was Fernando's reply, " even now the moment is just at baud when the ceremony of my bridal is to take place." " You will not;" replied Guiscardo, with contracted brows, and a look of bitter reproach; "' tis well, un- grateful youth 1 Leave your oldest friend— he who has been to you more than a father, to perish, rather than you will delay your nuptials for a short space I Mai k me, Fernando, we were once one— we are now divided— dis- jointed— never to be united again, and the next time we meet shall be fatal to one of us." With these words, darting upon Fernando a look of re- proach, Guiscardo followed Martel and the soldiers from the palace. But a short time elapsed, and Fernando bad but just been joined by the governor, and Isoline ( who was attired in her bridal robes, and looked like some celestial spirit instead of a being of terrestrial sphere), when they were one more surprised by hearing loud shouts outside, followed bv groans and yells, and immediately afterwards a man was led in, whose countenance was so disfigured by mortal wounds, that iu it could scarcely be traced any- thing human. " Angelo, my friend, my preceptor," cried Fernando, hastening towards the dying man, who had sunk to the earth;—" oh, wretch that I was, not to hasten to your aid, when my presence might have prevented this dread- ful calamity." " I— I— I am wounded mortally," with difficulty uttered Angelo, " I— I am dying, oh, my child, my poor daughter — why was you not there ?" he demanded in a hollow tone, for the first time recognizing the unhappy youth who stood over him ; " but— but I pardon you I" They were the last words he uttered, and with a groan, his soul took its flight to eternity. " Protection, my lord, protection," exclaimed Guis- cardo, who with those who had accompanied him lo the assistance of the ill- fated man, had entered the palace; " but for your interference, we shall all of us fall victims to the bloody wrath of the enfuriated persons who now await us outside the palace." " The count is slain'." said the governor, sternly, " and for that you have incurred the penalty of death. You are safe, but remain not in Messina, for then will I not be answerable for your lives." Guiscardo and the others retired, and the governor having given orders for ihe removal of the corpse, turned to Fernando and his daughter and said :— " Aud now my children, the auspicious moment has arrived which is to unite your fates; in youder oratory the holy man awaits to perform the solemn ceremony;— come then let us no longer delay." He joined the hands of Fernando and the blushing Iso- line as he spoke, and invoking a blessing upon their beads they moved on towards the oratory. Gaily the bridal procession moved from the palace, the bridesmaids strew- ing flowers in their path, and singing the nuptial song. They reached the terrace which overlooked the spacious gardens ofthe palace, and here they halted for a moment, when suddenly the tall figure of a monk stalked iu among them, and confronting the governor, exclaimed ill a com- manding! voice : — " Hold I the marriage rites must not proceed '." " This interruption," said the governor, eyeing tbe in- truder with astonishment, " what mean you, stranger? You are a holy man ?" " I am a man devoted to a holy cause," said the monk, with peculiar emphasis, " I repeat that the nuptials must not proceed." " And why not ?" demanded the governor. • " Because I forbid them, and for reasons which con- cern none so much as tbe youth himself," answered the Istranger. " His words fill me with stra'nge sensations," uttered Ferdinand to the trembling Isoline, who had clung to him with fear; " and there is a certain dignity in his man- ner which seems to command obedience." " Young man," said the monk, " you must follow me ; I have that to impart which you must hear, aud which not only concerns your mortal happiness, but your eternal salvation." " And what if he refuses?" cried tbe governor. " He must not I" replied the monk. " But if he should?' 1 " Why then would I invoke the cu" « » « f me Most High upon every one present," reWned the monk, raising Ins hands towards Hei>"; » as be spoke, as if IU the act of doing as he threatened. " oi>. no> no, no, for mercy s sake ! shrieked the ter- rified Isoline, rushing towards the mysterious stranger ; forbear good father; what would you with liini ?" " My purpose is an honest one, lady, but to liis ear alone must it be confided ; will von follow me ?" Fernando hesitated ; his amazement had completely overpowered him, and for some moments he was silent. " 1 know not what to say;" at length he observed, " his words fill me with a strange and unaccountable awe." " Will you obey me?" said the monk, ill a yet more peremptory tone than before; " I will but ask you three times more, and then you must take the consequences of your refusal." " Oh, do not refuse, dear Fernando," said Isoline, earnestly, " 1 feel assured that no harm will befal you." " If 1 accompany you, monk," said the youth, " are you ready to answer for my being allowed to return hither in safety after our conference is over ?" " I am," was the laconic reply. " Enough," ejaculated Fernando, " 1 will attend you." " Tis well," exclaimed the monk, as he pointed out the way, with an air of command ;—" follow me." Fernando embraced the lovely Isoline with unusual fervour, and pressing " a warm kiss upon her lips, hastened after his mysterious conductor, who led the way to the ocean's side, and where the lofty Etna was revealed clearly to the sight, illumined by the broad light of the moon, for it was now evening. " Your business, stranger," demanded Fernando, when he beheld the monk stop. " Know you that mountain ?" asked the latter iu mys- terious acceuts. " 1 do.", " The name of it ?" " It is Mount Etna," returned the youth. " And what country is Etna in ?" was the next inter- rogatory, " In Sicily." " In Sicily, true ; and stand we not now in Sicily?" " Truly so," answered Fernando. " And who is sovereign of Sicily i" " Charles of Anjou I" " Tis false !" exclaimed tbe monk, passionately ; " Charles of Anjou is not sovereign of Sicily; he forci- bly, amid the slaughter of thousands, subjugated it, and waded his way to its throne through an ocean of blood; therefore is Charles of Anjou usurper of Sicily I" " You speak boldly, father;" observed the astonished youth. " The man confident of having truth on his side," re- turned the monk, " is ever bold. But you say you are in Sicily, yet do I tell you that your heart is not so ; that you are a traitor to your country, and, that your heart is in France; its curse— its bitterest foe." " How I did you bring me here to insult me ?" exclaitnad Eernando, drawing bis sword," beware, monk, lest my • young blood tempt me to forget your holy office, and " " Your young blood," repeated Ihe supposed monk contemptuously, " let it have its full course and it will bring you to destruction. Behold, boy, 1 too weara sword, which erst has done good service, and will again ; so keep your passion cool, while I tell you that which you must near. As the stranger thus spoke, he threw aside his monkish garb, and there stood before hiin the nail and noble figure of a man about fifty years of age, richly attired in the Sicilian costume. ( To he concluded in our next-) TO CORRESPONDENTS. Our next numl/ er will contain Chapters 1 and 2, of an an entirely new Romance from the pen of the popular Author of " ELA, THE OUTCAST; OR, THE GIPSY GIRL OF ROSEMARY DELL,'' " ANGELINA ; OR, THE MYSTERY OF ST. MARK'S ABBEY," " GALLANT TOM," & C., & C. We feel very much obliged CHARLES IIEATHCOTE for his favour, which he will perceive we have made good use of, and tee shall be happy to hear from him as fre- quently as possible. We are completely overwhelmed with Charades and Rid- dles, and twenty or thirty answers to each ; we cannot, therefore, promise the insertion of any future ones that may be sent to us, until we have made use. of those ice have already on hand, and which it will take us two months to do, at least. X. Y. Z.— The insertion of " THE ADVENTURES OF A COAT," was delayed until ice received the conclusion, as if is impossible for us to judge of the merits of an, ar- ticle until we receive the whole of it. We thank our correspondent for his promises. To A. A. L., our iest thanks are due. We will dispose- of CHARLES JAMESKC ——' s pieces as early as possible, THE DEVIL'S MILL. A GERMAN TRADITION. In a district of the Hartz, belonging to tbe principality of Bemburg, there is a high hill called the Ramberg, about three hours distant from Ballenstedt. Its conical top is covered with granite blocks of an enormous size, piled up here and there in the most singular groups, and on every side, for a thousand paces downwards, the sur- face of the mountain appears sewn with stones of various shapes aud dimensions. These fragments formed pro- bably, at some remote period, a rocky needle terminating the summit of the Ramberg, which, by an earthquake or some other violent concussion, was overthrown, and shat- tered into a thousand fragments. The group of detached rocks is denominated the Devil's Mill, of which popular tradition gives the following explanation :— At the top of the Ramberg once stood a mill, it had ex- isted there frotn time immemorial, and had been suc- cessively inherited bv father aud son for several centuries. The mill had till then afforded a comfortable support to its proprietors, and had always been in the hands of sober and industrious people. But no sooner had the last miller entered on the inheritance of his forefathers, than he be- gan to find fault with every tiling about it, he complained especially of the little wind be had, and presently con- ceived the- design of erecting a new mill on the highest point of the Ramberg. But how to do this puzzled him. For how could he secure it against the violent storms in ACCEPTED, K. L. P., E. F. S., W. T., W. A., ( Liver- j such an exalted region ? Aud where was the builder to pool), C. DANIEL, Riddle by " FRIZ." Answers to Charades, forwarded by the following corres- pondents, reached us too late to be made any use of.— " FRIZ," W. S„ I. HBALY, J. K., H. A. C., and THOMAS L. We regret that we cannot answer the question of F. CAW* THORNE; the article in question was copied from an American periodical. We have received innumerable letters for the back num- bers of this work, but cannot comply with the requests of our correspondents, as they are all out of print. The Enigma sent by C. H. G. Z., is as old as Adam. " ELIZABETH," is declined. J. TREADAWAY, will not suit. W. T.— We have answered the question a dozen times. It is not known. " MAHROB."— They have been answered. " MY ANNIE " shall appear, if the author will alter the following lines : " How quick those happy hours have flown, Like fleefing moments by ; I marked them not, I ( bought alone Ofher I lov'd— my Annie." We will give prompt attention to MR. H. A. WOODSIDE, ( Glasgow), and G. HULME. We are much obliged to " BUG." pear in our next. MAC MAHON, ( Maidstone), is which must be evident to him. We are extremely sorry we cannot make use of the commu- nications of A. H. R., ( Newcastle- upon- Tyne), and W. J. HUDSON, ditto. MR. OUTON will perceive that we have attended to him immediately, and we hope that he will often correspond with us. Z, Z.—" THE HEBREW MAIDEN," if continued in weekly numbers at one penny each, and monthly parts at fourptneee. It may he had of all booksellers and vendors in town and country. G. P. ( Leeds), The numbers are out. of print. R. H. ( Newcastle- upon- Tyne). We mill make use of the Enigma, but the answers, although correct, are de- clined in consequence of their arriving too late. B.— Communications requiring an immediate answer should be forwarded early in the week, as, in conse- quence of the immense sale of this publication, it is obliged to go to the machine some days before the time of publication. *** All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to the Editor of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 30, Curtain Road, Slioreditch. Iiis favours shall ap- declined, for reasons PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. NEWSPAPERS AS THEY ONCE WERE. In England newspapers are said. to have originated in the policy of Lord Burleigh, who, when this country in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, was threatened with an iuva » ' 0h by Spain, availed himself of them tn inform the people of the designs of their enemy, and of tbe measures necessary to be adopted ill order to frustrate their designs. But it was during the wars between King Charles the First and his parliament, that tbe importance of these daily or weekly papers was first thoroughly understood. Then it was that tbe partisans of tbe monarch and their opponents looked to the papers to promote their designs by telling their story in their own way, and refuted what they treated as misrepresentations; and then began that competition amongst news writers which has since been carried to a most astonishing height. The sudden and extensive publicity given to whatever was printed in those papers, soon suggested to individuals who wished to make their wants or talents known to the public, or to offer their goods for sale, the expediency of getting their wishes fashioned into advertisements. The duties of an editor became very different from what they had previously been, and not less different from what they are now. In peaceable times tbe conductor of a news- paper at the close of the seveuteeuth century, bore no re- semblance to the military partisans of Oliver Cromwell's time, or to tbe literary chief of a modern establishment. The editor of a journal, who was also generally its printer and publisher, must have been more like a' broker or auctioneer ofthe present day, than any character now known in connection with the diurnal or weekly press. This assertion is made out by the production of a string of advertisements from a newspaper, published 1695. They prove that tbe editor who was also'generally its printer and publisher, was then a general voucher for the accuracy of his advertising customers. It begins thus : — " If any Hamburg Merchant who shall deserve j£' 200. with au apprentice wants one, I can help. " One lias a pert bov about eleven years old, can write, read, and be very well recommended ; she is willing he should serve some lady and gentleman. " I want a cook- maid for a merchant. " A fair house in the village of Hogsden, with fair gar- den, 1 have the disposal of. " I sell chocolate made of the best nuts without spice or perfume, from 4s. to 10s. per lb., and I kuow them to be a great helper of bad stomachs, and I'll insure for their goodness. " If any will sell a free estate within, thirty miles of London, to the value of £ 200., I can find a safe cus- tom et. " Mr. David Roso, clierurgeon and man- midwife, lives at the first brick house, on the right hand, in Gun- yard, Houndsditch, near Aldgate, London. I have known him these twenty years, and can answer for his respectability. " If any divine or their relics have complete sets of manuscript sermons upon the epistles and gospels, the church catechisms for festivals, 1 can help a customer. " If any want all kinds of necessaries for corpse or funerals, I can help to one who does assure ine he will use them kindly; and whoever can keep their corpses till they send to London, and have a ready made colliu he can furnish them. be found ? This dilemma, and Ihe conviction that his wish could never be obtained, put tbe miller in very bad humour. At night be would roll about impatient iu his bed ; when he • wrought any, he did so with disgust; and was weak enough besides not to perceive that he would certainly not lie more happy after the attainment of his wish than before. The horned Sootie- who, in these times, meddled much more with the trivial details of human life than he does now- a- days— no sooner smelled the thoughts of the miller, than he presented himself to him one night and made offer of his humble services. The proposal, to be sure, came quite apropos to the mil- ler, but tbe condition which the evil one proposed, did not please him at all. However glad he would have been to see the new mill raised, he could not think of making his soul the price of its execution, and therefore he demanded some days to reflect on the proposal. If the discontented miller had but little rest before, he had still less now. He cast his eyes round his present dwelling, examined it everywhere, and asked himself whether he ought not rather to content himself with it as it was. Already he was about to resolve on abiding by the lot which Providence had assigned him, when a dead calm of two days occurred, which rendered it impossible for the miller to grind a single grain of wheat. This cir- cumstance determined hiin to employ the devil iu building a new mill on the highest point of the Ramberg, even a" t the fearful stipulation prop< sed bv the infernal architect. The evil one returned at the appointed psirio I. The miller signed the compact with his blood, and received the assurance that he would still live thirty years; while Satan engaged to build him a complete and perfect mill on the spot pointed out in the course of the following night, and to accomplish the whole work before the first crow- ing of the cock. Scarcely had the shadows of night de- scended upon the earth, when the devil began his labour by piling rock upon rock, which his companions tossed over to him from the Blocksberg. And In, in a very brief space a magnificent mill stood completed upon the sum- mit of the Rani berg ! The devil then went to the miller, and desired him to step up and examine his work. Trem- bling and full of anxiety, the poor wretch obeyed. It was a dark summer's night, the wind howled through the tops of the tall oaks and pines; black rainy clouds cover- ed the sky; lightning ever and anoti shot athwart the gloomy masses'; doubly and trebly re- echoed, the thunder bellowed through the deep valiies; the earth trembled, and so did the heart of the Infatuated miller. Gladly would he now have returned, gladly contented himself with the despised inheritance of his father; but repent- ance came too late for this, aod one single solitary hope was all that yet remained to him, and that the chance of discovering, some defect in the building. But aghast stood the miller when lie beheld a faultless windmill, with its mighty vane turning slowly round be- fore him. Then the evil one grinned in mockery of the miller's distress, and tauntingly enquired whether he had any fault to find with his handiwork-, " None— none at all," stammered the wretched mau, about to accept the work as fulfilling the compact on one side, when suddenly he called out " Stop!" and pointed to a spot where a material stone was yet wanting in the structure. The cloven- foot stoutly denied the necessity for such a stone ; hut when the miller insisted on its being supplied, he at last agreed to do so. Already the devil was returning through the air with tbe stone, when lo 1 the cock crowed in the mill beneath. " Stop," cried the miller once more, " we. are quits I" and away he ran lo his old eS'yellir, 6. Furious at this nr. c:.- pccted event, the devil tore the vane- wheels and shell of his work to pieces, and scattered tbe huge fragments of atone about until they covered the whole Ramberg. A small part ot the foundation only was all that remained, aud to this day, remains an eternal monument of the unhallowed compact. But this was not the only revenge the devil took. For scarcely had the poor miller with a " lightened heart touched the threshold of his own dwelling, when the evil one hurled a rock down upon the frail but, which, in a single moment, destroy- ed it, with all its inmates. J. G. The abbess, however, called them back, assuring them, to allay their fears— that the objectionable silks had been covered up. They returned dutifully, but held their fin- gers before their eyes the whole time. The questions were submitted to the female conventicles, what was to be done in this ticklish business. The opinion of a large majority was decided, that though it would never do to make an enemy of the bishop, still nothing should tempt them to take hold of the Unmentionable monster. After a long discussion, the abbess conceived the idea of giving the job to a novice named Antonia, whose year of probation was not half out, consequently being less sacred than her sisters, might be, perhaps, induced to perform so worldly an office. Antonia was the daughter of a rich farmer, a tenant of the bishop's, who had sent her to the convent, because she was bent on marrying the sou of a poor neighbour. The young lady had not yet lost her love for the world, and sighed sortly to get back to it. When the abbess brought her down, and stated the work she was wanted to do, she conceived a faint hope that it might be of some advantage to her, so she unhesitatingly agreed to do it. The nuns laughed aud whispered lo each other, as Anto- itia, as coolly as possible, took the breeches under her arm, and retired to her cell. The repairs, which had produced such a commotion in the convent, were very slight, and might have been done in five minutes. But Antonia was thinking of other things than sewing. As soon as she had finished, she pulled out a concealed inkstand, and began to write a letter to her Frederick, the presence of the breeches acting like that of a familiar spirit, to keep away all intruders. Just as she was at the end of her epistle, the slow and heavy tread of the old abbess was heard along the corridor, coming nearer and nearer. If she should be discovered writing a love letter! Antolilu hardly knew in her confusion what to do with the billet- doux, so she hastily slipped it Into one of the pockets of the breeches, took them on her lap again, and began to sew zealously. The abbess asked as she came in, " Are ytllt ready child ?"—" Not quite yet, gracious lady,'' was the answen " How, you lazy one !" said the lady abbess aud clapped her huge spectacles on her nose to examine the work; " The torn place, is repaired, is not that all;"—" There — there are some buttons loose besides, madam." " We have no call to fasten them oil. Nothing is gained by ex- cessive zeal." So saying, she snatched the breeches away from the damsel's lap, and hid them under her cloak. An- tonia, anxious to recover her letter, insisted on carrying them to the abbess, and was so zealous in her politeness as almost to use force; but it was in vain, the abbess pre* vailed. CERTAIN CURE FOR DAMP WALLS,— If you would preserve your walls from damp, cover them with books of political econoniyi ELOQUENCE.-— The following is an extract from a speech delivered by a member of the Indiana legisla- ture, on a bill to encourage tile killing of wolves, which in sublimity lias seldom been surpassed.—" Mr. Speaker,— The wolf is the most ferocious animal that prowls in our western prairies or runs at large in the forests of Indiana, He creeps from his lurking place at the hour of midnight, when all nature is locked in the silent embraces of Morpheus, and ere the portals of the east are lubarred, or blight Phoebus rises in all his golden majesty, whole litters of pigs are destroyed." MRS. CHAPONE was asked how it was she always so early at chu'ch. " Because" said she, " it is part of my religion not lo disturb the religion of others." INTUITION.—" There are three things," said a wit, " which I have always loved, without ever understand- ing them,— Painting, Music, and Woman.'" THE BISHOP'S BREECHES. BY A. F. E. LANGBEIN. Bishop Boniface looked at the clock, jumped up hastily, and cried to his servant, " Here, Joseph, come and help me dress ! it is high time that I was dressed and off." Joseph hurried off to the wardrobe, and brought out the good bishop's pontificals, and articles of dress, among which was a pair of black silk breeches. We earnestly request our readers not to shake their heads at the name of this essential article of dress. They play au important part in this tale of ours, but with all proper delicacy. We will only remark, lhat it seems to us very suspicious, that the nameof this innocent piece of clothingis, uow- a- days, never mentioned in polite society : to the pure all things are pure. As the bishop was putting them on, be noticed that they were torn, or, mora properly, ripped quite open. " Give me another pair," said he, " aud take these to Agath, and leave word to have them mended very neatly." Agath now was the right reverend prelate's tailor. But Joseph had just come from the country, so that he did not know the respectable artist, and had never even heard his name. He knew, however, that not far from the bishop's palace was a convent, known by the name of the Sister- hood of St. Agatha. This, it occurred to him, must be the meaning of Agatha, and being a simple- minded soul, he easily made up his mind that the bishop must be in the habit of having all the needful repairs of his garments done by his spiritual daughters. So be wrapped the breeches up in a napkin, went to the cloister, and asked for the abbess. The venerable dame, as soon as she learned that one of the bishop's serving men was waiting with a message to her, supposed that some important communication was to be made respecting the affairs of the convent; so she hur- ried to tbe parlour, aud ordered the messenger to be senl for. He entered the room, made a clumsy bow and be- gan; " The Lord Bishop greets you well, and sends you here a patient, he wants you to cure :" so saying, he opened his bundle, laid the bteeches in the bauds of the abbess, which she had just raised to heaven in astonish- ment, and hurried off. In horror and disgust, she threw the pantaloons ( to use the genteelest word we can) on a chair, and said to herself, " What shameful, unheard- of audacity ! Our bishop must be mad, or else he must be like St. Augustine, who says, in chapter thirty- one of his Confessions, ' though drunkenness is far from me, xet has intoxication sometimes overtaken thy servant.' "' Then she be; an to reflect what was to be done in this critical emergency. In her first despair she was almost tempted to seize on the offending article with the tongs, and let it be consumed byfite; but she moderated her fury, and finally decided lo call a grand council of the virgin sister- hood. The great bell of the convent brought together all its in- mates. They formed a curious circle round the abbess, who had covered over the corpus delicti with a cloak. " Bishop Boniface, my dear sisters," so she began, " has offered us a gross insult in sending to us with a request to repair certain injuries it is alleged to have suffered, a piece of clothing, the very name of which, a modest nun will not allow to pass her lips, much less take the article itsell iu her baud." With these awful words, she removed the cloak that covered the monster, The nuns uttered a | shriek of horror and fled. Tbe next day happened to he the bishop's birth- day, on which he gave a grand entertainment, to which all thB prelates and nobles round about were invited. The cups went round fast and full, for his reverence loved to see! his guests merry, and enough they were, when our old .. cquaintance, Joseph, the shrewd servant, came in, bringing a neatflttle basket of flowers, which he said had been left with the porter, as a birth- day present, by some person or persons unknown. The bishop stniled as he looked at the delicate texture ofthe basket, and said, " 1 wish 1 was as sure of a car- dinal's hat, as f am that this is a convent present. Yon see, gentlemen. 1 am in the good graces of the vene- rable sisters. There is some pretty present below the flowers, I'll engage." He turned out the flowers and soon came to a solid body, pinned up in silver paper. He show- ed it round the table iu triumph, aud challenged hisguests lo guess its contents. Each one prophesied something prettier than his neigh-, hour, till the bishop opened the paper, and out came— his old breeches 1 The roars of laughter with which this prize was welcomed confused him so much, that he could not at first, find or seek an explanation. But a few ques- tions to Joseph made all clear, and a second chorus of laughter arose, in which the right reverend joined as heartily as any one. The bishop dressed himself early next day; meaning to go to the convent, and explain the unliicky mistake which his servant's stupidity had occasioned.— He determined to put on the eventful pair of breeches in question, by way of compliment to the ladies who bad repaired them. As be was putting his purse into one of his pockets, he felt a folded paper. O, the wicked sisters, thought he at first— they have been sending me a tailor's bill. When lie opened the letter, however, he read as follows:— ' " DEAR FRED.— Rejoice, rejoice! I have found out a way to do a service to a bishop, though iu a small way. What do you think ? I have turned tailoress to his holi- ness, and began my duties by mending a pair of black silk breeches yesterday.— See him if you can, and tell him how much he is indebted to me without knowing it. Tell him the only pay his tailoress will take, is her dis- charge from this Here the manuscript ended abruptly. Trie good bishop laughed once again at the menv boldness of bis tailor- ess, and resolved to pay her for her labour in the way she desired. After making his excuses to the abbess, he sent for Antonia, who confessed at once the author- ship of the letter, and moreover, the small occasion she felt for a monastic life. The bishop we have said, was a kind man, as well as a merry one ; he used his influence with Antonia's parents so successfully, that in a little time she had left the convent and, married Frederick ; and to this day, she maintains, that the best day's work she ever did in her life, was mending the Bishop's'Breeches ! THE FRATRICIDE. AN ITALIAN TALE. Mv brother's blood is on my guilty head, His death for vengeance cries aloud . These hands, once free from crime, his blood hath shed, And changed his wedding garment to a shroud, Rufus de Gonzalva was on his road to Manfredonia, on business of a very urgent nature. As he was pass- ing along the rugged and thicketted roads of Italy, he was rather alarmed at the sounds of horses feet, fliich he supposed were the signs of banditti. His conjec- tures were soon put at rest, by the appearance of an athletic ruffian, habitted in the garb of a brigand, who made his way through a bush on the road side. His name was Henri, surnamed the Bold, and was the cap- tain of a numerous band, whose daring deeds of mur- der and robbery, filled the surrounding country with terror and dismay. The robber levelled a pistol at Rufus, commanding him to stand and deliver what mo- ney or jewels he bad in his possession. This threat Rufus seemed not inclined to accede to, but he in- stantly drew his sword, and in a moment he was sur- rounded by the whole band, when a most deadly strug- gle took place, in the midst of which the foremost of them was stretched lifeless at his feet, by a blow from the butt end of one of the ruffian's own pistols. The loss of ( heir comrade so enraged ( he bandits, that they attacked Rufus with redoubled fury. " Yield, or you perish," shouted Henri, infuriated at the courage displayed by him in killing one of his bund, " another moment, and it is your last." " Stand back, villain, I will not die tamely," ex- claimed Rufus, discharging his pistol with deadly cer- tainty at the head of Henri. The shot bad the desired effect, it having hit his skull, and he fell to the ground weltering in his blood, where he soon expired in excruciating agony, uttering innu- merable oaths and imprecations on the head of Rufus. " The cavern— the secret pass— away,'' gasped out the dying man ; " let me not die unrevenged— take this dagger. Condebrac, and sheath it in Ulster's heart yot , vill find him in thesecret| pass— do not faulter. Oh! t I could live to hear the music of his dying groans. As for this stripling, leave him— leave " Here the miserable wretch paused— foraminute his frame seemed to be convulsed with terror— his eyes gazed fearfully at fhe dark countenances of his associates. But the film of death soon overspread them— one brief struggle, and his soul had fled. Instantly the robbers lefl the cave, without attempt- ing to detain Rufus, who stood with bis eyes riveited on the pallid countenance of Ihe corse, as if in regret for what he had done. But far different thoughts were agitating his breast; he traced in the features of the dead bandit, Ihe coun- tenance of his long lost brother Oswald. He parted the malted locks that obscured his brow, and a startling wildness filled his eyes, as he recognised a well known scar on his temple, his brother had from childhood. " Great God— I have killed my brother— thus, then will I expiate the crime." So saying, be drew a poi- niard from its sheath, and plunged it into his bosom. " Thus I add suicide to fratricide, and revenge my brother's blood." He fell down and almost instantly expired. L SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. ANGELINA I OR, TIIE MYSTERY OF ST. MARK'S ABBEY. AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE. BY THE AUTHOR OF ELA, THE OUTCAST ; OR, THE GIPSY OF ROSEMARY DELL, & C. ( Continued from our last.) CHAPTER XXII. Kate of the Ritins, led Mr. Woodfield to a comfort, able- looking apartment not far from the chamber in which she had left our heroine, and there placing a lamp upon the table, she was about to bid him good night, when just as she reached the door, a sudden thought seemed to strike her, and turning back, she Raid:— " Whatever noises you may hear in the night, which rimy sound strange to you, I must beg that you will take no notice of, as you may rest confident that no harm shaU come to either you or the beauteous maiden, who is under my protection for the night. There are many mysterious circumstances connected with this old abbey, which time may perhaps unravel, and which must work their own course. Be cautioned by what I Bay; and be silent about all that you may see or hear." Without giving Mr. Woodfield lime to make any re- ply to this speech, Kate of ( he Ruins waived her hand, and left the former to his conjectures. The more he reflected on the behaviour and words of of Kate, the more was he struck with the singularity of her character, and at a loss to fathom it: At first he had, notwithstanding his disbelief in the supernatural, heed hilf- teiapted to imagine that she had some know- ledge Of the black art, but that idea was now en- tirely altered, and lie was inclined to form a better ' Opinion of the motives of her conduct, which seemed kind and gentle, although she thought proper to involve them in such a garb of ambiguity. The frequent warn- ings she had given him as regarded the safety of Ange- Jilia ; the mysterious words she had uttered to him in the wood i the deep interest she seemed to take in her fate, and various other facts combined to astonish and be- wilder the mind of Mr. Woodfield, and the more he re- flected, the deeper did he become entangled and lost in the Ulafce of wonder, doubt and perplexity. What fcould make her take up to that singular life, and how Was it that she seemed to be so intimately acquainted Svith the affairs of other persons? Hugh Clifford, about ' Whom there was 6s much mystery as Kate seemed to be well acquainted with her, and yet he most studiously avoided talking about her; and notwithstanding that Mr. Wtfodfield had frequently thrown out hints upon ' the Subject, he had never been able to elicit anything fr6' m him which was iat all calculated to gratify his curiosity. Often as lie looked narrowly into her coun- tenance, he could not help thinking that there was some- thing in it which was remarkably familiar to him, and the tones of her voice struck him as being like those he had often heard before, under different circumstances, and in far happier scenes; but yet did he rack his Wain in vain to endeavour to recall to his memory the Original of the likeness he had some slight idea he had discovered. Tired of dwelling upon this subject, in which he only became involved in still deeper perplexity, his thoughts reverted to Hugh Clifford, who had excited in his mind the greatest interest and admiration, mingled with feel- Sngs'Of suspicion, regret, and uneasiness. His admira- tion and gratitude were excited by the many personal and intellectual qualifications which the smuggler pos- sessed ; his suspicion, from having noticed his conduct during the voyage; the observations he had frequently made before their arrival at the Grey Tomer; and hi behaviour to Angelina after her rescue ; from all of which circumstances he was led to believe that the beauty of our heroine had made a deep and lasting im pression upon his mind, which caused him considerable uneasiness, for though he placed the utmost confidence in the prudence of his niece, he knew how ready the heart is to imbibe an attachment for one possessed of the all- powerful recommendations of Hugh Clifford, what misery too uften accrues to those who love an object, they can never possess. He had watched An- gelina narrowly on the voyage back, and he could not help remarking the modest but admiring eyes with which she seemed to observe the handsome young smug- gler, and the evident delight with which she listened to him, while he so eloquently harangued upon every topic that was broached ; and he felt a sentiment of regret that fate had placed him under an obligation to one, from whom so much misery might spring. Had not Hugh Clifford have belonged to the lawless profession to which lie did, there were other circum- stances which would have presented an insurmountable harrier to any union between him and Angelina, which, for reasons, that will probably be known in the sequel, he kept confined to his own breast. Filled wilh these reflections, and amused at the novelty of his situation, Mr. Woodfield did not feel in- clined to retire to rest for some time after Kate had left him. The apartment he was in. seemed of a date coeval with the original structure, but it was in capital repair, and was furnished, if not with elegance, with the most sedulous attention to comfort, which was greatly added to by the cheerful blazing of a wood- fire, that cast a red glare upon the oaken wainscot, and as its lumens danced upon the carved figures with which it was covered, it gave them a variety of grotesque ap- pearances, that would not only amuse but suggest a variety of conceptions to the beholder. The apartment was in the south wing of the build- ing, and commanded a view over a wide extent of woodland scenery, which now, dimly lighted by the moon, had a particular solemn appearance, the trees looking, with their dark foliage waving in the breeze, like the gaunt phantoms of anolher world, or the giant nupporters of a vast quantity of funeral palls. While Mr. Woodficld still stood at the casement watching this scene, a piercing shriek, more terrific than he ever remembered to have heard before, ran through the place, and seemed sufficient to arouse the dead. His first impulse was to start to the door, think- ing it was Angelina, and that she needed his protection) but what was his astonishment to discover that it was quite fast, and evidently closed with a spring, which could only be opened on Ihe outside ? He next called aloud, but the echo of his own voice was the only answer he received. Next he kicked violently at the door, but all to no purpose, no person replied to him. Then he remembered the warning which Kate had given him, to take 110 notice of any noises that he might hear, and he paused and remained silent for a few moments. It was not long, however, before he was again startled, by hearing a shriek still louder than the preceding one, and which was immediately followed by deep groans as if from a number of persons in extreme agony. Scarcely had these subsided, when the plaintive tones of a guitar, touched with such sweetness, that it brought forth sounds " Which might create a soul under the ribs of death," sounded in his ears, and kept him in wonder, and inex- pressible delight. For full five minutes did this lovely melody continue,- and the instrument seemed to be played by no earthly hand, while Mr. Woodfield list- ened with the niostbrealhless attention, fearful of losing even the slightest note. Gradually it died away, and all was again silent as the grave. Lost in astonishment at what he had heard, and s arcely crediting his senses, Mr. Woodfield remained fir a few moments buried in fruitless conjecture. He was not a timid man, neither was he, as we have before observed, superstitious; but there was something so very out ofthe range of common occurrences, in what had lately taken place, that he scarcely knew what to think, nor to what to attribute them. Here were the wild reports he had so often heard about the Abbey Ruins, all but verified.— What construction, too, could he put upon the singular and superstitious conduct of K ite, in fastening him in ( he chamber ? At one time he was half inclined to suspect her of some treachery. was, Mr. Woodfield once more walked to the casement. The dark clouds that had before nearly concealed the moon's bright face, had now passed over, and objects without therefore, were rendered more visible. Mr. Woodfield continued to watch for several minutes, without, observing anything to particularly excite Jiis curiosity ; but presently he heard a sound as if some person was moaning under the window where he stood, and almost immediately afterwards, a spectral- looking figure in white flowing robes seemed to glide from some portion of the ruins, and as she darted into the darkness beneath, again the terrific skrieks rent the air, followed by groans, and loud laughter, which seemed to proceed from the bowels of the earth, and had a particularly solemn and appalling effect. Completely thunderstruck by what he had seen and heard, Mr. Woodfield stood for some time transfixed to the spot, and still continued to gaze > nto the dark vista of trees, where the form vanished, quite at a loss what to think or do. Then he left the casement, and listened at the room door, but not the slightest sounds met his ear, save the moaning of the wind, as it swept along the different avenues, and apertures in the abbey ruins. " Some awful mystery is in this, which it is out of my power to unravel or to guess at," he exclaimed, as lie walked towards the fire, which he stirred, and seated himself beside it; " alas! what dreadful crimes may not have been perpetrated within these ancient and moul- dering walls; how many poor wretches——" A hollow moan which appeared to issue from the wainscot immediately behind him, interrupted hirn. He started round hastily;— but no object met his view, and all was again quiet. " It was only the wind," he said, " these strange events have unnerved me." Feeling tired, hut not sleepy, he threw himself on the bed, without undressing himself; but not many minutes had he done so. When he was once more startled by a loud crash, which sonnded like tile falling of something ponderous, and appeared to be in an adjacent room. We will now return to Angelina. ( To he Continued.) THE BROKEN BOTTLE. A SCENE IN A STAGE COACH. BY A. A. L., AUTHOR OF " THE HAUNTED TOWER," & C. AC. { Written expressly for " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES.") The scene which I will endeavour to pouitray, took place in the stage in which I was travelling from D to Loudon. It was a highly- ludicrous one, and I fear one to which my pen will not do justice ; however, as I know my readers are a kind and sensible set, and do not exppct me to write with the ability of the author of Pickwick, or with the energy of a Smollett, I will at- tempt the delineation, and if I shall be able to tickle the pliant faculties of my readers, my aim will be at- tained. We started from the George Inn, at four o'clock in a beautiful August morning— the sun resplendent in his rising beauties, was tinging the various hillocks with his rosy beams ; and as he peered through the stage window, suffusing the cheek of my lady- Companion with a momentary bloom.— My travelling companions consisted of an elderly gentleman, a young gentleman, and a lady (?) whose phisogs and forms I will now de- scribe. For gallantry's sake, and as " ladies are always served first," I will begin with her. She was, or, at least, appeared to be, on the wrong side of forty, and was " fair and fat"— her nose was that of a pug- dog— and her eyes seemed as if they had been transited from a rat— her mouth, heavens! how shall a describe it, was the very prototype of the " Bull and Mouth, Piccadilly "— her neck was bullish— and her bust was like that of Achilles 1— the other parts of her body were of Daniel Lambert dimensions— and her voice was stentorian ; for when she spoke, it was like a thunder- clap, and even as she breathed it was like an old pig with the hooping cough ! Fancy then, reader, my situation, who was obliged to sit by the side of such a porpoise— squeezed up in a corner like a mummy, unable to move because of the mountain of flesh bv my side, and sweating like a poor devil in a hot bath 1 Nor was this all— for whether she was very fond of them, or whether she intended them as a pre- sent to those she was going to visit, her pockets were stuffed full of hard apples, which, as the coach jolted her to and fro, dug into my sides, with, as it were, a determination to excoriate every inch of the skin 1 I guess, reader, my situation was tarnation uncurvi- able! The old gentleman was a jolly farmer- looking per- sonage, with rubicon nose, rosy cheeks, an " open de- portment— He was stout, but not " fat," and of good stature; and being dressed in a blue coat, buckskin togs, and top boots, lie seemed to me the very beau ideal of a country squire. The younger gentleman was a thin, genteel young man, of about twenty- two. There was a melancholy sadness ou his noble forehead, which his sparkling eyes and smiling countenance told was not always the case. He was attired in deep mourning, and the sombre hue of his habiliments con- trasted strikingly with the light attire ofthe lady by my side, for 1 forgot to state that she was dressed wholly and solely in white—" bonnet was while, gown was white, and shawl was white." For the first three miles or so, little passed on either side, except a few remarks on the weather and sur- rounding country; but as we proceeded, we grew more chatty— that is, we gentlemen— for our lady was very taciturn, only answering when addressed with a mono- syllable " Yes," or " No." I was glad of it; for when she did speak, her voice shot through my head with stunning effect: and another thing, by her keep- ing inactive my sides escaped their punishment. But I was not doomed long to remain in such happiness; for the coach giving a sudden jolt, the lady flew off her seat, and fell flat upon her face upon the young gen- tleman on the other side, smothering him in her em- brace, and making me rub my side wilh the pain her apples gave me by running along it at such railroad speed 1 Laugh!— how could I do else?— I, and the elder gentleman, tried to pull her off the young gentleman, but whether the old man did it on purpose, or whether Ihe coach gave another jolt, down we fell upon the fat lady, who again went down with the force of a batter- ing ram upon the poor young gentlemen. However, we managed at last to get right; and then the huge mass, instead of apologising to the young man for her rudeness, began to execrate the " fool ofa coachman," as being the cause of her disaster. " Oh, dear! oh, dear! I'm sure he did it for the parpuse." screamed she, her face getting as red as a turkey- cock's with rage—" I know'd he did ! Honly see ! he's smashed hall my best pippins what I was a- going to present to my Lady G !" 1 congratulated myself when 6he said ail her apples were broken, as I knew they would not peg into my sides any more ; but alas! I found to my cost that it was only an exaggeration ; of course, I said nothing, but tried to console her after her mishap, and hoped she was not hurt. " Not hurt I— not hurt!" replied she, in a voice that made the glass rattle again; " the harm of that gentle- man has bruk my ribs, and tother one's fistes lias most busted me.— Oh, dear!— oh, deare me !" " We are very sorry, I assure you, madam," said the old gentleman, striving to conceal his laughter; to do which, ihe other stuffed his pocket- handkerchief into his mouth.—" I wish I had some brandy and — " " Brandy ; sir, brandy!" exclaimed she, firing up— " I ham a tee- to- tall- er, sir, and never touches such abominatial things— I abbors them.— No, sir, but hiff you had a bottle of ginger pop ! it would do me a deal of good liafter my most hawfullest dishaster." Now it happened that I had on a pair of unmention- ables, y'celpt " Battersea whites," and feeling some, thing very cold on my knee, 1 put my hand down, and felt it was wet. What passed through my mind at the instant, is nothing to the reader; but taking out my and trembled for the safety of his niece ; but the next handkerchief as a pretence, I put my hand to my nose moment he rejected such surmises as absurd, after Ihe i > nd smelt.— Oh, Heavens!— gin! Here's fnn enough proofs she had given of her friendship 10 Angelina, and i to the end of our journey, so here goes for a spree, the trouble she had tafrcii to rescue her from danger. j thought I; and'telling ray opposite neighbour of the Having taken another survey ofthe room in which lie covery, I set to work " I understood you to say you were a teetotalist, ma'am," said 1. " I suppose such a thing as spirits never enters your house, nor would you purchase any to carry to a friend ?" " No, sir,— it would be the most horrihielest thing in the world; Gin and spirit is the cause of beggary— it is the ruin of thousands— it is the filler of jails!" ( Here goes tor a lecture, thinks I.) " If so be a man takes a glass, he must go and have another pen'orthj and another, and another, and then— what then— why he goes to Limbo ! O ifire could but get people to jine us. how greatly would they be benefi. ted !'• " The Temperance Society has an able advocate in you, madam." " Oh, dear no, sir!" replied she, with an affected toss of the head. " But I understand," said the old gentleman, " that when out of the ' Hall' you take a drop on the sly." " No— not never sir," she rejoined ; " if we was caught with even a drop about us, ( which, thank God, I never have,) we should be sacrificed!" ( Like you have me, thought I.) " But what punishment Ought they to receive who do do so," queried the young gentleman. " If they was here I would tear their eyes out," she replied, thrusting forth her claws. Now's the time I thought, so I exclaimed— " My conscience, what a smell of Gin !" " Lord you dou't say so— do ye ?" exclaimed she, in confusion. " Lor p'rhaps"— and she put her hand towards her pocket, but my arm prevented her from putting it in. " Good heavens!" 1 now exclaimed, starting up, " why my trowsers are saturated with it 1'' " O Lord! my bottle!" she ejaculated, forgetting her teetotalism, And pulliug forth a broken bottle of ' blue ruin.'—" Oh ! that rascally Coachman 1 — what ham I to do now to keep myself warm, ndw poor Jacko's gone ?" " But, madam, a teetotalist — ?" " Tee- to- tall- ers be damned!" interrupted she, with a roar. The burst of laughter that followed reached the inn where we were to stop ; and the instant the coach- door was opened, my tormentress and the would- lie tee- totallist bolted. Nor have I ever seen her from that day to this ******* '' The devil!" exclaimed I, as the young gentleman ( who 1 accidentally met in the Strand), concluded, " you don't say so 1" " I do by G—" returned he, " the would- be tee- totallist is now the keeper of a gin- shop! and her sign shows she has not forgotten the " scene in a stage- coach," for it is as follows:— THE BROKEN BOTTLE, BY MRS. WOULDIFICOULD ! c THE CURATE'S JOURNAL. MONDAY.— Found myself sufficiently recovered to look into my affairs; and sat doWn to nlake out an ac- count of all the expenses of my late illness. Found out that I still owed twelve pounds, and spent two hours in a vain endeavour to devise some plan for paying that money. Obliged at last to desist, in consequence of a violent head- ache. Walked into the village to see old dame Trueman, who has been for some time, confined to her bed : but had the satisfaction to leave her in a better frame of mind. Mem.— To send her some broth and a few new laid eggs. MONDAY EVENING.— What a blessing is a good wife ! true indeed it is that her price is above rubies.— M y Emily has been looking into our rescources, but she is a better calculator than 1 am or rather she has more courage. She lias laid down a plan by which we may pay these twelve pounds within a- year. In order to enable us to do this, the dear self- denying creature gives up every little indulgence, even her tea TUESDAY MORNING,— saw my different creditors, and found theui very ready to give me time; returned in good spirits, anil mud* all excellent dinner upon sal- lad of my raising.— Went afterwards to work in my garden. TUESDAY NIGHT.— I havenlade a new acquaintance; and one that pleases me much. As I wasdigging io the garden, I saw a line looking youth, shabbily dressed, leaning against the gate with an air of fatigue : we en- tered into conversation, and I learned that he had walked all that day without rest or refreshment. I could not refrain from asking him in, and I told Emily in a whisper how the matter stood. In less than five minutes she got him a couple of eggs, and some bread and cheese : it was evident, from the manner in which the poor fellow partook of them, that he needed food. I find thathe is a strolling player, and on his way to join a neighbouring company t hut I suspect thathe has not a farthing in his pocket, and he has more than twenty miles, to walk. 1 have asked him to stop with us to night jjff. WEDNEIDAY MORNING.— My wife used the little that remained of her last pound of tea, to make the stranger a comfortable breakfast. Poor fellow, how grateful he appeared; I am grieved to the heart to let him go without a farthing in his pocket— interrupted by Emily : nothing escapes her I she saw what Was passing in my mind about Leeion. and knowing that I had not a shilling to assist him, she brought out a little hoard of Queen Anne shillings, and insisted on my tak- ing one to give him. Mem.— Never to repine at any thing that happens, so long as Providence spares me, this best of creatures. WEDNESDAY NIGHT.— Just as I had bid adieu to Leeson, 1 heard a piece of news which made me very uneasy : our rector is dead, and it is said that Dr. Pom- pous will most likely have the living. I resolved to set out immediately to try whether he would promise to continue me in the curacy, arid as Leesoti's road lay the same way, we travelled together. My attentive Emily made us take some hard eggs and bread and cheese in our pockets. She took leave of me with forced cheer- fulness, but tears were in her eyes. I was much pleased with Leeson ; he took a most affectionate and kind leave of my wife, begging of her to keep up her spirits for that he had a presentiment that I should return with good news. Several of my parishioners, who had heard what had happened, followed me through the village with wishes and prayers for nry success. We got on for some time briskly, but a terrible storm obliged us to take shelter in an alehouse for the night. My rattling companion began to spout Rover on our entrance, and nearly brought us into 11 scrape with the landlord, whom he called a Hampshire hog. I tried to scold him, and yet, wet as I was, I could not help laughing ; in fact, it was impossible to be angry with the lad, there is so much good nature mixed with his drollery. He says it will not be much out of his way to go with me to the house of Dr. Pompous, and protests he will not leave till lie knows the result of my application to him. Heaven grant it may be propitious, but my heart is unusually heavy ! THURSDAY MORNING.— Reached the house of Dr. Pompous at an early hour : was told he was not up ; asked what time I could see him ; the servants surveyed me in a very impertinent manner, and said it was very uncertain. I have since been three different times, and am at last informed that I cannot see him before evening. God grant me good news to take to my Emily ! Poor girl, she will be alarmed at my absence. THURSDAY NIGHT.— All is over! I have lost the curacy— my poor wife— but God's will be done ! Dr. Pompous received me very haughtily. I told him that I took the liberty of waiting upon him, presuming that he was to have the living of S He replied, that from the interest he had with the gentleman in whose gift it was, ha believed there was no doubt of his suc- cess. I then begged to know whether he would con- tinue me in the curacy: he paused, and asked what salary 1 had ; and when he heard that it was forty pounds he declared that it was exorbitant. I began, in a hum- ble manner to represent how impossible it was to live upon less, but he cut me short by declaring, that lux- ury was the vice of the age, and as he thought that men of our function were particularly called upon to give examples of temperance and moderation, he would take care to have a curate of simple and abstemious habits. I tried to get in a word in my own defence, but he would not hear me; he said he saw I would not suit him; and besides, he had a pefsort in his eye, and therefore he would not detain me.— Never before did I find it so difficult to practise that forbearance so strongly inculcated by my divine master; in spite of myself my heart rose at this unfeeling man, who talked of giving an example of temperance and moderation, while he received me in an elegant apartment, and with a luncheon before him, the price of which would have furnished a poor family wilh dinners for a week.— I am ashamed to think of the difficulty I had to banish Ihe unchristian feeling of resentment which his treatment raised.— I found my friend waiting for me at the door; he eagerly enquired what had passed. I am afraid that in the heat of passion I coloured Or. Pompous's beha- viour too highly, and I think that Leeson has imbibed a little of the illiberal dislike to the clergy in general which is now too prevalent; I succeeded, however, at last in convincing him that there are, thank Heaven ! but few Dr. Pompous's among our dignified clergy.— As it was two late for me to reach home that night, the good- natured lad insisted upon my going with him to an inn about a mile distant, where he said he knew the landlord; and he could answer for our getting a good supper and a hed. I was loth to lay him under an Ob- ligation, as I knew he had rto money, biit he would not be refused. We had an excellent supper and a bottle of wine. Leeson quieted my scruples by assuring me that the landlord was formerly under some obligations to his father. FRIDAY MORNING.— Took a kind leave of my young companion, and returned home with a heavy heart. Met Emily at some distance from my house : the poor girl was afraid, from my unexpected stay, that some- thing had happened to me, and she burst into tears when she saw me safe. How greatly have 1 underrated the fortitude of this excellent woman ! She has borne the dews like an he. roine ; her magnanimity makes me ashamed of having even for a moment given Way lo despair. SATURDAY MORNING— 1 havd performed the most painful duty I ever went through. 1 have seen iriy different creditors, to tell them my situation, and to offer to sell my few effects, and divide the money among them. Not one would hear of it j and farmer Fiail, though the debt is four pounds, money lent out of his pocket, insisted, in the most kind and hearty manner, 011 Emiiy and myself cdrditig lo his house till I could hear ofa curacy, or strike Out sdme othfet plan for our sub- sistence. Dr. Bolus told me not to trouble myself about what I owed him: it might remain till if wis quite convenient to me to settle it, and if I was at any reasonable distance, he would gladly attend Emily in her approaching confinement. The dear girl's heart overflowed like my own when 1 told her of the kindness of those good people,— I sat down after dinner to pre- pare my sermon for coimofrow, most probably the last that I shall preach here. I chose for my text the words, " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken avody, blessed bb tAenanie ofthe Lord."— The sermon occupied me till a late hour, but 1 found; as I proceeded, that my mind grew gradually more composed and strengthened. SUNDAY NIGHT.— What itn unexpected and blessed change has this day produced ! A stratfgdr of distin- guished appearance came to our church in an elegit equipage : I was too much occupied with ihe duties of the day to notice him particularly; but I had scarcely got home after service when I saw the carriage stop at my door, and Leeson, elegantly dressed, jumped out of it, and running in to my little parlour, and taking Emily's hand, told her he hoped he should receive as kind a welcome from the rector's lady, as from the cu- rate's wife. " Yes, my dear friend," Continued he turning to me as I stood lost in astonishment, " you are really rector of S , The living is in the gift of my father. I ran artay from college a few weeks ago in a wild frolic, and coming at last to the end of my money I resolved to return home, and throw liiyselt ort the indulgence of my father. I need not say how I was indebted to our hospitality in my way home, and I deter- mined when we partad to pay my debt of gratitude if I could. My kind fatlfer, who is just such another warm- hearted soul as yourself, was so glad to see me that he forgot to be angry. 1 told him all about you and my pretty hostess here, how you had lodged me, fed me, and so forth. In short, I told him yOu were a parson fit only for the days of those good Old fathers whom I have heard him talk of as the ornaments of the primitive church, and I asked him if it was right that such a man as you should be turned out by a rascally Dr. Pom- pous. " As ( o that," replied dad coolly, " I don't think, Ned, that your fru nd is fit for the curacy ' " Not fit!" cried I, taking fire—" No," says my father, " for he will half starve himself and his pretty wife, in order to feed every Idle stroller that comes in his way. I think therefore Ihe only way to keep a whole coat on his back, will be turd him out of the curacy and into the rectory, and, as luckily I have not given an answer lo Dr. Pompous, tae thing will be easily done.' And here it is," continued he exultingly, putting a letter from his father into my hand, and before I could open it lie darted away, and the carriage drove off in an instant. My poor Emily fell upon her knees in tears of joy and thankfulness, nor were my eyes dry as I raised them in gratitude to the Giver of all good! What a noble- hearted man is Mr. L I The letter contained a bank note for fifty pounds, offered in a manner that enhanced the value of Ihe gift. What a delicious evening have spent, and what pleasure it gives me to see all my parishioners rejoice at my good fortune! — F, mily and I have bothagreed, that if it pleases Heaven to spare us, they shall have cause for joy, for never shall the poor or distressed turn unrelieved from that happy home, which it has pleased Providence thus unexpectedly to bestow upon us. BRAVERY OF THE LATE KING.— The following charac teristic anecdote, which has never, we believe, appeared before in print, is related by an officer who served under our late monarch, when Duke of Clarence :—" In the early part of the year 1814, the regiment to which I had the honour to belong, formed part of the British force under the command of Sir J. Graham ( Lord Lvnedoch), in Flanders. In the course of duty for outlying pickets beforeAiitwerp. it occurred that I was the senior officer present when the Duke of Clarence entered the trenches. The enemy's shot and shell were coming among us too thick for most amateurs ; not so, however, for his royal highness. On approaching and saluting the prince, he smilingly observed, as a shot whistled over our heads, " You have rather smart work here, sir." At that mo- ment a shot from the enemy's guns carried away the main- sail, close to which we were standing. 1 exclaimed that the enemy had just opened more batteries, and that, his royal highness was expired to danger. " Every man liere is exposed to danger," was the memorable reply ofthe prince, " and it shall never be said that I deemed myself of more value than your brave comrades there. 1 only wish the enemy to leave the walls, that we might have an opportunity of sleeping in Antwerp." His royal highness remained a considerable time examining our works and fortifications, and left us with a flattering compliment upon our exertions. The twenty- four hours passed, but death prevented many a brave fellow from joining the regiment when relieved by the next picket. LORD NELSON.— It was iu the Painted Hall that the body of Lord Nelson, placed in a magnificent outer coffin, lay in state for three days, previously to removal to its final resting place in St. Paul's Cathedral. The Old Sailor, in his charming biography of the immortal hero, thus feel- ingly expresses himself:—" This was a most affecting scene, and, as several of the crew of the Victory were pre- sent, added a deeper interest to tbe spectacle. 1 well re- member it, and the expressions of sorrow from the many thousand spectators were truly heart- felt." He also says, " I much regret that the car" upon which the coffin was drawn, and which stood for many years in the Painted Hall, at Greenwich, has been broken up." It is really surprising that so interesting an object to the visitor should not have been permitted to remain so long as it would hang together.— A Summer's day at tireemoicti. COMPARISONS.— A Londoner is acutus, sharp or ' cute — a Yorkshireman ac. utior, sharper, or more sharp, ' cuter or more ' cute; but a Yankee is acutissimus, sharpest or more sharp, ' cutest or most ' cute, or tarnation cute. The taste of vinegar is acer, sour; that of verjuice acrior, mure sour; the visage of a tee- totaller, ccerri- mus, sourest or most sour. STales ana aeffentrs of © tfjer Saps. No. V. BY THOMAS PREST. ST. MARK'S EVE I OR, THE DEATH FETCHES. Those who have visited the northern part of England, must be aware of the many romantic superstitions, ( and even in the present enlightened age, by many persons be- lieved,) of St. Mark's Eve /— One in particular, is remark- able from its singular terrific character, and which evi- dently may trace its origin from the darkest days of bigo- try, ignorance, and priestcraft; it is, that any person waiting in the church- yard of St. Mark's Eve, will at mid- night behold the fetches of all those persons they are ac- quainted with, and who are doomed to die the following year, walk into the burying- ground. Upon this supersti- tion the following legend is founded: — In the reign of Henry II., the Earl Fitzoswolph, inha- bited a noble castle not far from the sea- side. He was a nobleman whose general qualities were good, but he pos- sessed a weak mind ; a small portion of rhetoric could persuade him to anything, and he could be led from a resolution the moment after he had formed it. He was a widower, and one only daughter was left to cheer his age, the beauteous Edith, the charms of whose face and person could only be equalled by the accomplishments of her mind. Nature's own simple artless child, she loved the world generally, but chief of all, her dear father and tiie youth- ful Egbert, the only son of a neighbouring gentleman of smalibut independent property. Egbert loved Edith with the greatest fervour, the earl approved of their attach- ment, and consented that they sholud be united as soon as Egbert came of age. it was a beautiful serene evening that Egbert and Edith left the castle to indulge in the loveliness of the surround- iug scenery. The majestic queen of Heaven was riding iu all her splendour, and her lucid beams tinged the vallies and summits of the rocks with a silvery hue. All around seemed bright and cheerful, so were the hearts of Egbert and Edith', for the coming morrow would complete the time specified by the earl for the consummation of their happiness. Egbert was then one- and- twenty, and on the light wings of love, determined to demand of the earl the fulfilment of his promise. Many were the ideal prospects of future felicity the foud and youthful pair pictured to themselves: how sweetly did they imagine their daj's would pass, Egbert would ever adore his dear Edith, and would live alone for her kind and handsome Egbert. Alas ! this sweet vision of bliss was faterl never to be realized ! The long looked- for morrow arrived ;— Egbert and Edith knelt at the feet of the earl, and asked the completion of their happiness! Alas! what were they fated to hear? Fitzoswolph not only refused his cousent to their nuptials, but commanded Edith to prepare herself to become the bride Of the Baron Montmorency in three days.— The un- happy lovers Were thunderstruck— they could scarcely be- lieve their senses j— when the truth appeared manifest, they threw themselves at file feet of the earl, and implored hini if lie valued their lives, to retract bis rash aud cruel decree; but he was inexorable, and bade them part for ever. They hung round each others Hecks, they were dis- tracted !— Edith wept, raved, and implored ! — Egbert begged and remonstrated ; but it was all iu vain, the earl tore the til asunder; Edith fled with a bursting heart to her chamber, and Egbert left the castle in a statu of mind bordering on insanity. We shall not attempt to describe our hero's feelings ort this occasiou ; for hours he raced like a madman, and at night he wandered forth into an adjoining forest, to breathe his sorrows in solitude. It was St. Mark's Eve, and after venting forth his melancholy iu loud exclama- tions for some time ill the forest, Egbert wandered almost unconscious that he existed at all, much more what he was doing, or whither he was goitig.~ ln this state of miud he emerged from the forest, and entered the path which led up to ihe old church- yard. Suddenly, casting his eyes up, he beheld where he was, and for the first time it occurred to his recollection that it was the eve of Saint Mark !— A sudden thought crossed his mind— he placed implict belief in this wild superstition, and now that he had strolled to - the very place where the spirits were said to be seeu, he determined to remain, and convince himself of the truth or fallacy of the tale. A melancholy foreboding,— a sort of instinctive ' mpulse urged him on, and he firmly entered the old church- yard, aud took his place behind one of ( he- tombs. It. was a beautiful night,— not a breaib distui the stillness of the air, ad was silent and solemn -•/. mouldering remains of mortality that reposed wit: i| ie old tombs that were scattered thick around. TIN ;,, 3nn beamed mildly upon the tall spires of the goth ,.. church, and the hour of midnight was fast approaching. Egbert awaited anxiously for its solemn chime, -. M: waited be long, ie tolled forth its dreary vibrations ou the air, and scarce had its last dull chime died away, whan the gate of the church- yard flew open— and our hero perceived the long white drapery of two female f ,:. cs approaching to- wards him with noiseless steps, aud motions solemn as the spirits of the dead !— They arrived at the place where he stood— Good Ht'aveti!— he brheld the exact forms and features of two sisters who resided near his mansion ; but their faces were ghastly pale, and their was a supernatural expression iu their eyes, which struck terror to the breast of our hero. For a moment they fixed their awful gaze upon the countenance of the trembling Egbert,— then passed silently 011, and vanished behind art ancient tomb in the church- yard. A third, a fourth figure followed in like awful array— the cold sweet stood upon the temples of our hero, and he was about to totter from the scfiie of horror, When his progress was arrested by the sudden . ap- pearance of two more figures coming towards him.— An instinctive feeling of horrible presentiment predominated the mind of the youth as the ghastly phantoms advanced. They arrived at Ihe spot— oilr hero fixed one look upon them, at the same moment their pale countenance met his. Merciful powers !— how he started— he beheld Ihe phantom of himself and Edith !— his brain whirled round ! — His limbs tottered— one cry of horror escaped his loaded breast, and he sank senseless on the dark earth ! * * * * * * The next evening Egbert and Edith agaiu met: alas! how changed to what they were!— A sad me- latieholy dwelt 011 the cheek of poor Edith, more alarming than the most vociferous exclamations of sorrow, and de- spair lent its frenzy to ihe once mildly beaming eye of the wretched Egbert. Silently they continued their walk by the sea- side, unheedful of the storm which threatened above. They had unconsciously wound their path up a steep, and almost inaccessible rock, till they had gained th^ summit. With a steady eye they gazed down upon the fathomless ocean which dashed against its base. A ghastly smile played for a moment in the eye of Egbert, aud he for the first time broke the awful silence. " Edith," said he, " I have been thinking;"— and he paused, evi- dently struggling with his feelings. " Edith," at last lie resumed, " in two days from this, you are doomed to be- come the bride of the Baron Montmorency ; he is proud, cruel, and commanding; oh, Edith, he will not be that kind and attentive being to you that your Egbert would have been :— but say," he continued in a tone of wildness she had never heard him assume before : " can you, Edith," and he grasped her hand vehemently; " can you— will you consent to this? Will you consent to become the bride of another, while your Egbert lingers in despair." " Alas ! dear Egbert, how can it be avoided ?" said the beauteous Edith, imprinting a fervent kiss upon the pale cheek of the youth she so fondly loved :—" I have Ihe means;" re- turned Egbert hastily, and he once more paused, striving to keep down his powerful emotions. " Edith," at. length he resumed : " we have lived for one another, our hap- piness has ulotie existed in the prospect of its future con- summation,— that prospect is blighted ; two days more, aud you will be torn from me for ever !— The day shall see me a breathless corpse!— Nay, start not,— I am resolved ! — 1 cannot enjoy life without thee,— say, canst thou live without Egbert?"—" Never [" ejaculated Edith with a look that at once convinced him of the truth of her assertion. " Then, since we catiuot live without each other, we will die together 1" exclaimed the unhappy youth, as he clasp- ed the serial form of Edith in his arms, aud plunged with her from the lofty rock into the roaring waves beneath !— Once only the white robes of Edith appeared on the sur- face of the water ; Egbert still held her in his arms ;— a moment afterwards, the faithful lovers sank to rise 110 more!— Their bodies were never found : the earl stung with re- morse, became an isolated being, alive only to the torments of his conscience ; while the distracted father of Egbert, overwhelmed at the untimely fate of his only child, soon ended his life and troubles in a silent tomb. i OXALIC ACID.— It may be important to mention, espe- cially in this suicide- loving age, that two ounces of mag- nesia, mixed with about a quart of water, on the same quantity of common whitening, thrown into the stomach by any means ( tlie stomach pump being the readiest and most preferable 011 such occasions), will effectually neu- tralise and render inert this most active poison, u ^ SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. ^ Fragments for tfje ffiurioue. RE- UNION IN HEAVEN.— How short is the earthly Mistory of a family! A few years, and those who are now embraced in a family circle will be scattered. The children, now the objects of tender solicitude, will have grown up and gone forth to their respective stations in the world. A few years more, and children and parents will have passed from this earthly stage. Their name will be no longer heard in their present • dwelling. Their domestic loves and anxieties, hap- piness and sorrows, will be a lost and forgotten history. Every heart in which it was written will be mouldering in the dust. And is this all ? Is this the whole satis- faction which is provided for some of the strongest feelings of our hearts? If it be, how shall we dare pour forth our affections on objects so fleeting ? How can such transitory beings, with whom our connection is so brief, engage all the love we are capable of feel- ing Why sho'dd not our feelings toward them be as feeble and unsatisfying as they ? But, blessed be God, this is not all. Of this he has given us perfect assur- ance in the Gospel of his Son. Though to the eye of unenlightened nature the ties of domestic love seem scattered into dust, the spiritual eye of faith perceives that they have been loosened on earth, only to be re- sumed, under far happier circumstances, in the regions of everlasting love and bliss. Though the history ofa family may seem to be forgotten when the last member of it is laid in the grave, the memory of it still lives in immortal souls, and when the circle is wholly dissolved on earth, it is again completed in heaven. SONG. BY JOHN OKION, Oh! England, how tenderly 1 love thy mossy shores, rhy broad and noble rivers all glittering with stores ; towere 6aWed , e; nl> lcB' % llruud yet crumbling The cottage of , t, e lowly, thy streams and sunny flowers! • ri?' res'. to my bosom thy sturdy oak shall be, The mon arc|, „ f ) he forCst and glory of the sea. stand for many ages and brave the mighty blast, nilc thousands like his leaflets are fleeting to the past— " But let the foeman threaten his loved, his native plain, Than like an ancient warrior he launches on the main ; Where death and carnage thicken the foremost battles he— The monarch of the forest and glory of the sea. And when the brave old vessel is ' ginning to decay, The hosts he led to battle iu peace have past away ' A blood- stained flag in tatters waves o'er the gloomy deck, And there he floats triumphant a proud unconquered wreck— Though shattered and decaying, yet thousands come to see The monarch of the forest and glory of the sea. CHARACTER OF CALLOT— When Nancy was taken from the Duke Lorraine by Cardinal Richelieu, he wished Jacques Callot, who was one of the duke's subjects, to make a set of prints descriptive of the - siege of that important place. The artist refused ; and • on the cardinal's insisting very peremptorily that he Should do it, he replied, " My lord, if yon continue to urge me, I will cut off the thumb of my right hand before your face ; for I will never consent to perpe- tuate the calamity and disgrace of my sovereign and protector." THE FAREWELL OF A SOLDIER BRIDE. BY HENRY O'BRIEN. O do not blame the tears that roll Unbidden down my cheek, Siut tliem, aloud my anxious soul, Her griefs, her lears may speak : The trumpets sounding on the hill, Thy mind w ilh dreams of glory fill— But I, a woman weak, Hear in their notes a sadder tale Of woe, and death, and fruitless wail. When first thy plighted faith was given, I thought not we should part; Nt « till that word my heart had riven, Kuew I how dear thou art. A soldier's bride thou bad'st me be,— And ' twas a joyous name to me, O, my ill- judging heart! The mournful truth too well I've tried, What ' tis to be a warrior's bride. Clapham, Sept. 9th, 1S40. « — i— Nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice." SHAKSPF. RE. GARDEN.— Mr. Sheridan Knowles's new EXTIIAORDINARY LEGACY.— Eudamidas, the Corin- thian, finding himself drawing near his end, and being in low circumstances, left his two friends, Charixenes and Aretheus, his executors. His will was as follows: —> 1 leave my mother to Aretheus, to be mantained by him in her c.' id age. I bequeath to Charixenes Ihe care of my daughter, desiring that he would dispose of her in marriage, and portion lier with as ample a fortune as his circumstances shall admit; and in case of tile death of either of these my friends, I substitute the survivor iu his place.' The legatees accept tile legacies with great satisfaction. It happened that Cliarixenes died a few days after his friend, the testator; the survivorship, tlierefoie, taking place in favour of Aretheus, he not only took upon himself the care of his friend's mother, but also made an equal distribution of his estate be- tween the daughter of Eudamidas and an only daughter of his own; solemnizing both their marriages on the same day, DRINKING SONG. ' BY G. E. GIBBS, KOXTON. Wine is the river of life, and the glass, Its embankment from which we embark, Show ' tis bliss to be wreck'd, and right merrily pass. To fathom thy rich ruby depths, and to mark Joys that centres alone in thy flood. Oh, where is the temperate fool that would shrink, To float in thy ambrosial stream ? OH, where is the ass that refuse could to drink. So creating life's happiest dream, By free quaffing of all that is good ? River of life, by thy aid our nose gains Those bright gems that adorn it; and merry The dullest of mortals when fullest his veins Are flowing with port or bright sherry— ' Tis ihe juice of the grape that I love. There is music most sweet in the clink of the glass, When filled ' tis with Jove's fav'rite liquor;— And the joy of all joy is to toast to some lass, As old care- worldly foeman fades quicker— ' Twould the heart of an Anchorite move. And if clouds must our joy o'ercast, let them flow From the bowl of some jolly old smoker; For a moment perhaps dark, but, dispelled they will show An arch image, the pride of the soaker. Drink, be jolly each heart and approve. How TO GET RID OF A NUISANCE.- A citizen of London having made his fortune, thought the best way to employ his money, was in building a row ofhouses in Whitechapel, to let out in tenements ; which, after he had built, he unadvisedly let oneof them to a copper- smith for a term of lease, when unluckily the drivingof the nails and the hammers became such a nuisance, that the other neighbouring tenants gave warning upon it to the landlord, who went immediately to Ihe coppersmith and offered him any terms to give up the lease, which he could not prevail upon him to do ; when he luckily happened to mention it before an officer of the guards, who said, if that lie would give liiin five guineas, and suffer him to be in the next house to him, that he would effectually force him out; which the other agreed to. Accordingly, he got two drummers, and ordered them to keep a continual drumming; which so alarmed and hindered the coppersmith, thai he could not work at his trade, as these people, when ihey work, must hear their own blows, or else they are liable lo strike the nail too much on the head, and when it is almost even wilh the surface for it to come looseagain : so this expedient not only served Ihe landlord, but also gave the officer the means of enlisting his men, as they could not work, and were idle. CO'VENT play, The Bride of Messina, is now fairly established in public favour, and has drawn crowded audiences. The character of Isoline, is one of the ttios't beautifully drawn characters of female devoiedwess wc have ever seen depictured, and is delightfully embodied by that excellent actress, Miss Ellen Tree. The scene in which Fernando announces to her Ms intention of leaving her, is one of the finest in the play. The interview between John di Procida { Mttdrs) and Fernando, ( Anderson) is too long, occupying the whole of the second ach Mr. Moore was very effective in some passages, but was usually too stormy, and copied too ihu'ch the peculi- arities and mannerisms of MaWeady. Mr. Anderson played with energy, fee'lifig, find judgment throughout. Guiscardo found aVi excellent representative in Mr. Cooper, hut he has little to do after the first act. Diddeardid what little there was to do in the Governor of Messina respectably. The subordinate parts were dome ample justice to by the different persons to whom they were entrusted. The Scenery is really beautiful, and the dresses and appointments all that could be wished. We shall Hot say anything about the plot of the play, as our readers will find a deeply interesting t& le founded upon it in the present number. HAYMARKET.— A new play, in five acts, called Master Vlarke, was produced on Saturday, September 26, but in consequence ol a press of matter, we Ihusi postpone our critique upon it till next week. Mr. Watlack still continues to attract in the characters of Harry Doiringfon, in The, Bond lo Ruin, Martin Hey- wood, in The Rent Day, Allesiindro Massaroni, in The Brigand, THE PRINCESS' THEATRE, OXFOKD STREET.— This elegant new theatre, which is erected on the siie of Ihe Queen's Bazaar, Oxford- street, is at last open to the public wilh the Promenade ConeeVis, under ihe direc- tion of Mr. Willy. The Orchestra comprises upwards of sixty eminent perfofirtets. It is the intention of the proprietors to devote the theatre entirely to Mtisic and Operas, and we anticipate f » V it considerable success. The Opera season will commence in January. THE STRANDV— Mi-, Hammond has appeared in several ofhis most favorite characters, and in conjunction with that excellent Irish comedian, Mr. T. Lee, has filled the theatre every evening. False and True, Othello according to Act of Parliament, and Hercules King of Clubs have been the pieces played. SADLER'S WELL'S.— Honner has completely surpassed himself in his production of an extraordinary new nau- tical drama, founded on that Well- remembered national calamity, and called The Wreck of the Royal George • or, The Fatal Land Breez".. It is froih the prolific and skilful pen of Mr. C. Z. Batnett, and fully equals any of that gentleman's most Successful efforts. The scenery, dresses, machinery, and effects are all of sur- passing excellence, and it was received with long and reiterated applause from'a numerous and respectable audience. We shall give a more minute critique upon the performers in a future number, but foi the present let it suffice that they all exerted themselves very me- ritoriously. We are very glad to see the spirited ex- ertions of ihe Lessee are crowned with success. CITY THEATRE.— Another h& w drama, called The Black Lugger; or. The Pirate ofSclo, has been brought out at this popular theatre, and with complete success. The Storm at Home is still played wilh increased suc- cess, and, no doubt, will long continue a great favorite, to which its merits fully entitle it. Th « new extrava- ganza burletta, called The Palace of Geneva • or. The Spirit ofthe Fault, nightly cxcites roars of laughter. PAVILION THEATRE.— The lessee, Mr. Dbrivil, now styles this the Eastern National Theatre-, and certainly, it has no small claim to thai title. It has been re- painted and decorated in the most elegant manner, and the extensive afciide is one of the most delightful placcs wc have seen for some tinfe— the walks having been covered with beautiful vignehes, painted by Mr. Wright. The entertainments are also ofa most attract- ive nature, consisting of a new drama, called iiarc'o Sciarra ; or, The Chief of the AhruS- d— hn interlude, en- titled The Doctor, The Parson, The Lawyer, and The Undertake!— and The Devil's Whisker; or, The Cavern of the Parricide's Gulf. SUftitteY.—" Comparisons are odious," and, there- fore, shall we not enter into a long and tedious detail of the relative merits of Mr. Kenney's new play of The Sicilian Vespers, and that by Mr. Sheridan Knowles, on the same subject; we need only say that Mr, Kenny has written a powerful and excellent play, and that he has been, according lo his account* very ill- used, which he has mildly, but properly, ' complained of. It has met with decided su'cceSs at the Surrey ; and Mr. DaVidge deserves infinite credit for the style in which he has produced il, and the handsome manner in which he so readily gave the author an opportunity of I submitting the fruits ofhis labours to the test of public opinion. ROYAL ALBERT SALOON. — The entertainments al this elegant establishment slill continues lo be of the same varied and attractive description. Independent of the concert, ihere is tiie performances of the saga- cious elephant— the Herculean Peats of Messrs. Maurice and Wkittoyh e— a laughable pantominc, by that capital clown, Mr. Paul Herring, Mr. Howard Lewis, Mr. Andrews, and his clever little wife— some excellent dancing by ihe three Miss Cushnies, Miss Nathan, Mr. Cleminents, & c.— The Koniophostic; or. Lime Light— and a superb display of fireworks. We had almost forgotten to mention the vaudevilles, which are got up in a manner lhat would do credit to one of " our most popular theatres. We saw fhe Mountain Devil; or, The Dumb Girl of Genoa, performed here the other even- ing ; the characters of which were all ably sustained, particularly Clrenzio Antonio, by Mr. Williams— Moco, by Mr. T. Jones— Strapado, by Mr. Taylor— and Julietta, the Dumb Girl, by Mrs. Andrews The Drunken Combat was well done by Messrs. Taylor and Andrews. We perceive that the benefit of Messrs. Starmer and Taylor is fixed for Thursday, October 8th, and we are certain the bill of fare they have published, independant of their own great claims upon the public, will ensure them a bumper. ROSABELLE. Rosabelle at an early age lost her father, who iiiet his death by the hands of pirates oft* the Southern coast of Africa, while trading wi'h the natives for gold dust; she was the only daughter of his marriage, and loved to an eiCess by his afliiable and accomplished wife, who became his widow before the twenty- third summer had smiled upon her. Often would Rosa's mother, while her lovely pledge was kneeling by her side at evening, ga£ e upon her, and Irace in the lineaments of het countenance, some feature resembling him who had met his death in a foreign shOre, without a friend to whom he could have appealed for succour and relief, in that hour when the spirit of ftan stands tiptoe on lime to depart for eternity. The full length portrait of her husband, would likewise awaken melancholy reflections in her mind, and hurry her back to scenes and association^, when he stood mo- tionless before her, guiled away the summer hour with the lay of an old romance, or with a recital of the merry gtoriohs scenes where England's banner had waved triumphant. Rosabelle- at the age of nineteen, was unacquainted with the dissipation and vice of the metropolis, and only made aware of ils existence through the medium of tra- ditionary stories told by the few villagers, who, had once injfheir lives gazed upon it magnificent palaces, and seen Ihe gorgeous equipage rattle along its gloomy and aristocratic districts. One morning as she wits taking hef Usual walk to the cottages of the neighbouring pdor, her Mother apprised her that she had received information from town that their presence was required Sn a Court of Equity, to establish her claim lo a 1' dhg- disputed property ; and Rosabelle', s mother forgetting awhile that the metropo- lis, like a spell operated with its allurements upon the uninitiated: thought it wits a most fitting opportunity to tiftke her daughter to town, and finish her education ; so making arrangements with her establishment in the village, they took their departure fl'om heir sweet pic- turesque abode, arid proceeded to that gulph of ruin- London. As may be expected, the simple Rosabel I e, " the pride of ihe village," was in extacies, when she beheld along Ihe road thai immediately communicated with the city, the magnificent wooded parks of the nobility, with the roebuck grazing in ils antique and quiet- looking walks; its silver sheets of water, with the stalely and gilded pleasure- boat; innumerable villas and gothic castles, with their embattled fronts, which hurried back her enthusiastic inind to Ihe dayj of chivali v ; when she could picture to helself, their tulrets g'ht' Hng in the sun, will! a thousand Shields,| tile nodding plume, Ihe white favour, the battle rtxo And the lance; Ttle gay SPANISH CEREMONY.— I called one morning on t high dignitary of the church, and ascending a magni- ficent staircase, passed through a long suite of rooms to the apartments in which ihe reverend ecclesiastic was seated. Having concluded my visit, I bowed and departed, but turned, according to the invariable cus- tom ofthe country, when I reached the door, and made another salutation. My host was slowly following me, and returned my inclination by one equally profound ; when 1 arrived at the door of the second apartment, he was standing on the threshold of the first, and the same ceremony again passed between us; when I had gained the third apartment, he was occupying the place I had just left on the second ; the same civilities were then renewed, and these polite reciprocations were continued till 1 had traversed the whole suite of apartments. Al the banisters I made a low bow, and, as I supposed, a final salutation; but no : when I had reached the first landing- place, was at Ihe top of the stairs ; when I stood on the second landing- place, he had descended lo the first; and upon each and all of these occasions, our heads wagged wilh increased humility. Our jour- ney lo the foot of the staiiswasat length completed. 1 had now to pass through a long hall, divided by columns, to the front door, at which my carriage was standing. Whenever I reached one of these pillars, I turned and found his Eminence waiting for the ex- pected bow, which he immediately returned, continually progressing, and managing his paces so as to go through his share of the ceremony on the precise spot which had witnessed my last inclination. As I approached the hall- door, our mutual salutations were no longer occasional, hut absolutely perpetual; and ever and anon they still continued, after 1 had entered my car- riage, as the bishop stood with uncovered head till it was driven away,— Lord Carnarvon. troops of horSfc and fbot, and iheir enlivening strains cotiimingled with the roll of the war- drum, all awoke in her mind new sensations and completely bewildered' her, and the pretty Rosa retired that evening to her chamber, dreaming of file sights which she had wilnessed in Ihe morning, and forgetting their was such a pleasant retreat in tile world as her native village. Rosabelle lodged with her mother at the hotel, the resort of fashion, and where a distant member of her family, who claimed relationship to an earl; had likewise taken up his abode for the season, ihe most dissipated arid abandoned character about town, one who had mortgaged his es'ates, and who was only kepi from the interior of a prison by a privilege which often drives its possessor to commit acts which wiihout, he lie might never practise. Hubert possessed, notwithstanding the way in which his life had been passed, a personal exterior of ihe most winning kind, he was, in fact,. 44 an amiable villain," his eyes were good, sparkling eyes, with delicately curved eyebrows, aiid Ills voifce possessed < 1 sweetness so musical; that it was more decoying, than the flatter- irig themes which he had gathered among bis profligate companions, and the combination of attractions oi' his flattery and well- shaped phrases, that were tripped out as it were from an . Eolian harp : never found one that he could not bring lo lhe » 4thambles as his. victim, He was above the conlmon stature, and a model for a Phydias or a Praxilelles; Hubert's dark and glossy hair hurig over llis veivet cloak, which he used to throw over his shoulders, with a grace and dignity that added materially to his natural attractions, white his musta- chios and clanking spuis gave liiin ft dicided military appearance. After breakfast, Rosa's mother departed in her car- riage to attend the trial, and herejshewas detained the greater^ part of the day to give her evidence, and af- ter a minute and laborious research into ihe merits of ihe case, the court made an order in her favour. With joy beaming in her eyes, she bade the coachman drive to her hotel, with all possible despatch; " Nd more," said she to tlersdlf, " shall my beautlflil Rosa pass her time in the country, secluded and unknown, except by a few rustics, and the miserable and pedantic parson ' too lean to be happy.' . The wealth which I have this day come into possession of, can buy her a coronet, introduce her to court, and die talisman of riches, and the beauty of her person shall be such a loadstone, that our table shall be courted by princes. That night as she was communicating the news to her too happy Rosa, who was marking the name of Hubert with her own hair, dri his cambric pocket handkerchief, she had occasion lo go into an old iumber room, wltfcre the portrait of her late husband had been carelessly placed. She turned pale as snow, and her blood chilled in her veins oil hearing a voice falter in slow and selemn cadence. '* Beware ! beware I alas, my poor Rosa 1" She knew the volte, it was him who had been the companion of her ertrly days; and had Wandered from the tomb to.. caution hter on tile conduit of her daugh- ter ; she fell senseless on the iloor, until Jtlosabelle wondering at her long absence went to see the cause of it, when she was horror- struck at beholding as she en- tered, her mother and father setting on an old sofa, dressed in the habiliments of the grave; with fear and trembling, but unperceived, Rosa listened to his warn- ings, wherein he pointed out td Her deluded mother the degrading misery and ruin, which she would plunge themselves into, if she did not instantly depart from the haunts of vice and profligacy. Rosabelle possessed a faith whereby she was able ta look upon her father's spirit with the calmness of a saint. She would have spoken to her father's ghost, but it departed, and her mother's candle which had been extinguished in the fall, lighted up as Rosabelle con- ducted her mother to her bed- chamber. Time passed on, und this admonitory visit from the " city of the dead was no more thought of. The lovely Rosabelle and her mother shone resplendentin the circle of gaiety. Rosabelle possessed many suitors but few lovers ; she was courted by the proud aristocrat, and the eldest sons of the nobility, but among all of them her romantic heart could not find one on whom to settle its affections; she could not bring herself to believe, that love, however much its possessor might declare its warmth towards her, could be found among those whose whole lime was spent at the gambling table, and who, whenever they made overtures lo her delicate self, con- sidered them as acts solely of condescension. As our reader has probably anticipated, none made any progress towards gaining tile possession ot her af- fections, but the dissolute and plotting Hubert. She carried on, unknown to her misguiding mother, an amour with Hubert, which she imagined, on his part, to be the counterpart of that love which she bore in heart towards him. It was a lovely evening in Autumn, when Hubert had invited the dazzling and beauteous Rosabelle to his father's caslle. It was the bridal eve of his patron and uncle the duke of . All the elit'e of the sur- Dancing commenced In the crimson Velvet state rootris; adortied with couches for those who bc- Came exhausted and fatigued from over exertion ; her e * e- clined the young and lovely, listening to the fulsome strains of adulation. Separated from the crowd, was seen the delicate Rdsribelle leaning Upon the arm of the handsome Hubert, the observed of all observers. " Gentle R6sa, you faint, let us wander into the park;" whispered the plotting Hubelt. " Oh, Hubert," replied Rosa, " I do not khotr why my heart should be saddened with grief, in the midst of snch companions, but there isa strange foreboding, 1 almost feel " Hubert admonished her for her weakness, and con- ducted her to a grotta, verging upon the lake. The harvest moon was shedding ils serenity uponi the face of nature, the stars twinkled in the unclouded sky, and peace and beauty lent their charms to the fulfilment of the picture. Rosa, from the fumes of the wine, and forgetting in whose company she confided herself, unconsciously fell asleep ; and there, like an unsuspecting angel, did she recline upon the neck of Hubert; little did she think that as she slept she was in the folds of the serpent. Hubert's eye glistened with a fiendish glare, as he gazed upon llis victim, but often did his soul revolt at the idea of blighting that fair summer flower, that had been driven from its own sweet and congenial cliine into the lap of winter. Hubert kissed liCr as she thus refclined, and as he was weighing in his own mind the consequence ofher ruin, he came to the unholy conclusion, and determined to make another victim, but ere those resolves had swept across his heated brain, the face of nature suddenly be- came darkened, for it was " now the hour of midnight, and a mist arose from off the lake, and slowly ap- proached to where he was sitting ; and unperceived, as he thought, was about to perpetrate Rosa's ruin, when an iron Hand fell lipon the artn of Hubert, and a voice that started all the birds from their abodes in ihe fofeSt, cried out, " Touch not the simple daughter of him be- neath whose power thou dost breathe." Hubert became convulsed, his eyes were wide open, and as Ihe ghost slowly vanished, he was by a myste- rious agency attracted towards it ; he continued fol- lowing the deliverer of Rosa, and as he was about to implore pardon of her father, he was precipitated into the lake. Rosabelle, little suspecting the untimely fate that she had escaped, on awaking, was terrified at the situation she appeared to be in, she instantly retraced her steps back to the castle, and endeavoured to find Hubert None knew where he was to be found! " The last time," exclaimed at! old debilitated dowager; " I saw him was in your company, poor fellotf 1 1 dare say he has lost his way serenading the grounds."— Rosa had long suspected whether his attachment was true towards her, or of that kind which had no occasion for a substi- tution of falsehoods to build itself upon. Two seasons spent in London, soon brought her mo- ther and herself to envy the quiet and peaceablc dis- tricts of the unostentatious, whose time was passed in doing good to suffering humanity, and calling one morn- ing all her tradesmen's bills in, she set oft'from London disgusted with its everlasting rounds of turmoil and disquietude. J; WADSAM ANSWER TO THE FIRST CHARADE BY D. W. P., IN NO. 25. In sunny climes where Po and Gangs flow, There the sander and the raisins grow; Also in Swansea flourish elder trees, Freshened by air from ihe surrounding seas. Darwin's Elba's a recitation sweet, Exciting sympathy every line we meet. A Teale is a fowl, sardine is a stone; Lizard an animal, and tedzel's grown. The patriot Tell, whose noble blind Shone forth in lustre the brightest ofhis kind ; His bosom burned, Switzerland to save, And pluck his country from a tyrannic grave. C. W. WHITE. ANSWER TO THE SECOND CHARADE IN NO. 25. " A steeple chase."— Come Ann, my dear, quickly put on your bonnet, And I will, to deck my own head, my dandy cap pat on it; It's now just nine, and, lackaday, the race does start at one. And faith we sha'n'tget there in time without wo " cut and run."— t Run— Billy— sen the the cow has got into the onion bed, And the potatoes she soon to the ground will quickly tread,— The soap bring here—- my lip is black— alas! so is my hbse. Is that paint or oil— eh, my love,— that on your satin shows ? The chaise has come, come take your seat, we have no lime to lose, How ihe sea water's taken out the color from your shoes 1— They've started !— Dash my wig they have !— Con- found that wall of stone,— Could it not, for politeness sake, have left my chaise alone 1 Who's won, sir— ell?- What is his name— canst tell us, Mr. Pople > " The horse's name's a rum'unj sir— it is CONSTANTI- NOPLE!'' A. A. L. RIDDLE. In winter I'm seen, in summer I'm ndf, Warm weather never fails to give me the rot; I make my appearance amongst ice and snowr, And with my root upwards I endeavour to grow. CHARLES JAMES C. REBUSES. 1. A measure if transpos'd aright, A carriage will appear in sight. Newcastle On Tyne. HESBV TSYNSON, JUN. II. Part of the wood that signifies lust, And the name of a justice, that's mould'ring in ( ti'fstj Both these being joined, make the name of a town That has a good market, tho' of no great renown. H. M. MAY, Kennington Cross. CHARADES. I. I am a sentence composed of seven words, of one syl- lable each; and containing altogether twenty letters.— My 4, 11,7, 15, 13, aud 6, 10,12, 7,9— are animals,- my 18, 9, 18, 2— is a celebrated character of by- gone days, and whoso name has been handed down to pos- terity; my 2, 1, 8, 5— 16,7,18,2( 1,4 — 13, 12,18,6, and 5, 15, 18— are plants; my 11, 18, 18, 13, 1, 19, 13. 4, 6, and 1, 6— generally found 16, 14, and 2, 7, 20, devoid of 4, 1,8; my 18. 6, 11— is a tree, and by pre- fixing the name of an article of general consumption to il, you Will find the name of a- tower ; my 6, 3, 20— 1, 6— is what no 2, IS, 8, can loo k 18, 5, whilst 1,5— 4, II, 1; S, 7. 4, brilliant 1,8— irt, 11, 7, middle of 5, II, 15- 9, 18, ll; my t, if, 12— is a part qf the II, 15, 18,9 ; my 5, II, 18, 2,7, 6— is a livCr where there is always plenty of 4, 11, 1, 13, 6, and 6, 15, 18,2, 7, 19 ; my 4, 14, 9, 8, 12, 4— is a town in one of our colonies, and also a man's name; and by prefixing a title, and adding my 6, 2, 1, 5, 11, to it, you will find the name of a celebrated character ; and again, by leaving out ihe last letter, transposing the others, and adding a part ofa pig to it, you will find the name of a place near London; my 11,18, 10, 6— are articles of dress; and the Whole of my letters, ( with Ihe exception of the six- teenth,) tl-, 1 [ imposed. will give the name of what is very useful and interesting, arid should be purchased by every person once a- week. X. Y. Z., Blackfriars Road. II. I am a word of thirteen letters. — My 10, 4, 8, 2— is a forest; iny 13, 8, 9, 10, 4— is a fowl; my 3, 11,2. 9. 4, 5— is what most people are glad of; my 5, 8, 11, 2 is very useful at times; my 8,3, I, 5— i « a river in Eng- land; my 13, 1,9— is an instrument of death; my 12, 1,7— is a fruit; my 8. 4, 7, 2,8— is a mountain in Europe ; Iriy 13, 9, 8, 7— is an insect; my 6, 7, II, 2, 13— causes pain ; my 6,( 1, 2; ( 3, 11, 9, 13— is what most people are fond of; and my Whole is what all people ought lo have. X. Y. B,, Burslem. III. I am a word of fourteen letters.— My 6, 13, 8, 14— Is disputeable; my 6.13. 3, 2, 8, 14— is a piece of afmOur; my 9, 2, 6, 12, 11— is lo circumscribe ; my 9, 8, Il— is a portion; my 14, 5, II— is a fruit; my 6, 13, 5, 9, Il— is what birds sometimes do ; iny 4, 12, 3, I, 5, 2, II— is space ; my 11, 8, 14, 12, 4— is elastic ; my 9, 8, II, 2, ( 3, 14— Is good for a sprain; my 6, 2, 9, 9— is an engine; my 9, 12, 14,11— is what surgeons often rise ; my 4, 13, 9, S, 5, 3— is to blush; my 6, 8 10, 14, II— is to ascend; my 3. 10, 2, 14— is destruc- tion : my 8, 6, 2, 11— is to neglect; my 6, 12, 9, 11,8, 14— is a poet; my 9, 2, 8, 14— is an animal; my 14, 8, II, 2, 13, 14— is a thought; my 11, 5, 13, 14— is a change ; my 8, 14, 2, 13, 14— is a vegetable ; my 3,10, 14— is a cadence ; my 3, 5, 6— is ruinous to many ; my 1, 10, 14— is a measure ; my 3, 12, 6— is a border ; 1, 8, 6, 6, 13, 14— is an open country : my 2, 8, 14— is a play ; my 9, 13, 8, 14— is a simple fellow ; my 9, 8, ' 13, 6, 8, 11, 2, 8, 14— is power of removal ; 9, 13, 3, 14— is forsaken; my 11, 2, 9, 9— is to cultivate; my 3, 8, 9, 9— is a register ; my 6, 2, 14, 11— is a plant; my 6, 8, 13, 14— is a planet; and my whole is w hat many politicians are in the habit of doing. W. J. HUDSON. IV. I am a word often letters.— My 8, 5,6— is a heathen god; my 4, 2, 1— is a celebrated mountain; my 1,8 8, 9, 10— is a fruit, as is my 8, 10, 5, 3; my 8, 7, 8 10— is the name of a celebrated poet, as is my 8, 4, 6, 2, 1, 3, who isa Greek poet; my 9, 7, 2, 4— is cele- brated by a great battle gained by my 6, 1, 8, 7, 9, 10, 7, 6 ; my 6, 4, 9, 10, and my 2, 7, 6— are rivers of great note; my 1,2, 2, 10, 3— is venomous; my 1,8, 10— is an animal ; my 8,5, 3, 2, 7, 6— is a remission ; my 8,1,3,2— is a spotted beast; my 8, 10, 2. is what my 8, 10, 2, 9, 5, 3, gets his living by ; my 3, 7, 7, 2— is a measure of my 9, 5, 6, 2 ; and my whole is a city of great renown. C. W. WHITE. FORMER QUEF. NS.— Both Queen Mary and her sister Elizabeth passed the earlier portion of their lives in singular vicissitudes of quiet unit agitation,— each un- weleomo to their father, — eich at times tranquily pursuing their studies, an! each persecuted for their vefy different opinions;— Mary by her Protestant bro- ther Edward, and Elizabeth by her Catholic sister Mary. At one time they were treated like great prin- cesses, at another as if they wcre aliens in blood, or had been impudently palmed upon it. Now they wcer brought before'councils, to answer for opinions that put their lives in jeopardy; now riding about with splendid retinues, and flattered by courtly expectants. How different from the retired and apparently beautiful manner in which the present Queen has been brought up, safe in her pleasant home in Kensington - gardens ; and wherever she moves about, moving in unostenta- tious comfort, aud linked with a loving mother. Oh 1 may, she never forgot that it was free and reforming opinions which brought her this good ; and that if Eli- zabeth had gone buck with her age instead of advanc- ing with it, and succumbed to the anti- popular part of the priest- hood and the aristocracy, she, the secure, and tranquil, and popular Victoria, might this moment have been dragged before councils as Elizabeth was, or been firced to struggle with insurrections and pub- lie hatred like Mary. * » » We have now ano- ther Queeu on the throne, whom we have hitherto known ill youlh, and youth only. We know her but publicly, however; we cannot be said to know anything of her real character; and probably it is known to very few, if completely even to those ; so truly feminine is the re- tirement in which she has been brought up.- If the re- port, however, of her mother's intellectual1 and moral qualities be well founded ( and the fact of that tranquil education says much for it in many respects), we may hope that England will experience the advantage, for the first time, of having a Queen brought up in a mo- ther's arms, and in a manner at once feminine and wise. We may, in lhat case, look to see womanhood on the throne in its best character, and, therefore, such as may give life and advancement to what is best and manliest in the hopes ef the world. The following PoruLAR WORKS arc Now Publishing by E. LLOYD, 30, Curtain Road, Shoreditch. NOW READY, AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE. In Weekly Numbers at Id. and Monthly Parts at 4d. ANGELINA; OR, THE MYSTERY OF SAINT MARK'S ABBEY I ILLUSTRATED WITH SU. PERB ENGRAVINGS. Two most Splendid Engravings will he presented ( Gratis) with the First Number. rounding country came flocking in crowds to its gay halls ; never was the hospitality and ihe luxuries and magnificence of an English noble more extravagantly displayed. Rosa's mother was too much engaged with the brilliancy of the jewels, the nodding ostrich plume, and the rich trappings of royalty to think for a moment about her daughter ; here then, when the inebriating contents of the wine- r. up was freely quaffed, and senti- ments delivered in honour of the nuptials, was the lovely Rosa left to the charge of the accomplished sedii'- er. Take the first letter of a place that's near The Mansion House My second is in fear: My third you'll find in what folks call the spleen, And in an early flower my fourlli is seen. Look for my fiflh in a fierce bird of prey, My sixth is found in opposite to- day ; The seventh is first ofa fine singing bird, My next you'll see by looking for my third. My nine's the last of a Jamaica spice, And last is in a root that's very nice. Join all the letters, and I will engage They'll show the greatest hero of the age. J D. W. P. NEW AND HIGHLY INTERESTING WORK. IN Weekly Numbers at ONE PENNY, and Monthly Parts at FOURPENCE, with splendid Engravings, FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, THE IHTSTERIOVS ORPHAN With No. 1, is presented, THREE SUPERB ENGRAVINGS, GRATIS!! Part 3 is now ready. LA, THE OUTCAST; OR, THE GIPSY GIRL OF ROSEMARY DELL. A Tale ofthe most thrilling Interest. In Penny Weekly Numbers and Fourpenny Monthly Parts. Steel and Wood Engravings. THE BEST WORK ON SHORT- HAND. NOW PUBLISHING, PHICE SIXPENCE, HORT- HAND MADE SHORTER; or, STENOGRAPHY SIMPLIFIED: being a Concise Introduction to a Complete Knowledgn ofthe Art. By J. CURTIS, Editor ofthe Newgate Calendar, and Twenty- four Yeais Reporter and Short- hand Writer at the Old Bailey and other Metropolitan Sessions. ( New Edition, with Additions and Corrections.") " This is a most useful book and costs only Sixpence ; Ihe title, too, is a happy one, and what is better an honest one, for the thing promised is realized."— THE TIMES. " We recommend Curtis's little book lo all students ill Short- hand, and to reporters generally, as a work well calculated to lighten their severe labours : there are many systems of Stenography, but we know of none equal to this.''— WEEKLY DISPATCH. London : — Cleave, Shoe- lane, Fleet- street t Purkess, Compton- street. Sold at 126, Strand ; 15, City- road ; and by all tho Agents for this Paper in Town and Country. London: Printed and Published by E. LLOYD, 30 Curtain Road, Shoreditch j and lit 44, Holywell Street, Strand. E1 S'
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