PENNY LONDON:— SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1840. Uoltci, ftterrg Songs for fttnrp foment!) No. VII. ( WKITTEN EXPHF. SSI V FOR '* THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, BY THOMAS PREST.) DREADFUL MURDER OF MRS. KEHOE, BY HER HUSBAND, AT LIVERPOOL POPULATION! OR, IT'S ALL OWING TO THE FAMILY OINTMENT. TAKING THE PLEDCE. Oh ! my prophetic soul— my unci « SAUCE ( SOURCE) OF THE NICER ( NIGCER.) LOAMS » r t1" To toll a man to take a sight, ( To prove it we are at no loss) Must be, my sable looking wight, ' Tis very clear, the Nigger's sa « ce ( Niger's Source !) Well may the man look black at you, Your tongue too forward is by far; Though in your speech not guarded, ' I'is very plain, a black guard are 1 Ofthe awful affair which lately occur'd Thro' Morisnn's pills, you all have heard, But now ITI relate a tale so sad. To prove that the Fatuity Ointment's as bad! lli tooral, & c. In a snug little cottage not far from town, Resided a tailor, one Mr. Jaincs Brown, Who'd a capital bus'ness, a smart litllo wife, But the want of a family caused them much strife. lli tooral, Sec. * Day after day he more sour became, For the want ofa heir to his money and name, But Nature, to banish his sorrow and care, Alas ! wouldn't suit him, it seems to a hiir ! Ri tonral, eve. • In the papers each day, when Ire cast his eye On the list of births, he breath'd ninny a sigh, " For servants of all sorts tin- re's berth::," said he, " But alas I there ivill ne'er be a birth for me I Ri tooral, At last as is sorrow each day becntne worse. He consulted his mother's old family nurse, " Hoity toily, don't grieve," said she in reply, " Why don't you the Family Ointment try ?" Ri tooral, & c Pleas'd at ( he thought, he lo Hollowny rode, And bought of his Ointment a regular load, And his spouse, nil its qualities to essay. Made use of the same without more deiay ! Ri tooral, Ac. Next week Mrs. Brown was loo bad to rise, And while at breakfast, just judge what must be his surprise, He heard a child cry, in came nurse, ' lis ( rue, And a wobble mouth'd baby exposed ( o his view ! Ri tooral, & c. Aghast! flabbergasted! he s( nred at the brat. Then cried—" mercy on us I good nurse who's is that ?" " Why, yours !" " Impossible !" cried Mr. B., " It's all thro' the Family Ointment," said she. Ri tooral, & c. Of his son nnd heir he scarce had heard, When brat two was announced, nnd then n ( bird ; Like a madman he sfnmp'd and ( ore his hair. When, to tell of a fourth, nurse did appear 1 Ri tooral, & c. But ( he best of ( he joke I must fell you now, Someone had annointed ( he poor old sow, And in less than an hour, lo play up Iheir rigs. She produced them a litter of twenty- one pjjr9 ! Ri tooral, & c. The cat who got licking the jar they say, Had kittens a dozen the very next day. And the terrier bitch, who her share had got, Of fine little puppies produced a whole lot! Ri tooral, & c. Children squalling! pigs grunting! cats mewing, oh, dear! Dogs burking, oh. jndgc of our hero's despair! And to add lo his woe his wife, Mrs, I}., Whenever confined bus ne'er less than three! Ri tooral, < Sc. My moral I quickly now will state, Whu( evcr your woe, never grumble al Fa( e, But if you'll of family boast, why, I Would have you ( he Family Ointment ( ry I Ri tooral, & c. If considered too long, the singer can omit the verses marked. ATTACHMENT.— A Scotch merchant, in the island of Jamaica, hud among his slaves one whom he very much disliked, and treated with great severity ; a mutual dislike soon grew 011 the part of Quashy, not only ( o his master, but to all Scotchmen. Sunday being his holiday, he bought at the w ater side some fry, ( a small fish like shrimps,) and called pas( his mas( er' 9 door, ' Fine Scotchmen, all alive ! Sco( chmen ! buy my Scotch- men ?' ' Scotchmen, massa,' ' Let me look. Why, you rascal, these are shrimps; how dare yon call them Scotchmen ?' ' Oh massa, looka here, dem stick to, gether like Scotchmen ; come one, come twenty, ever- time.' His master did not forget the first opportunity to scratch Quashy's back. After some time, the may ( er was laid on his death- bed. Touched vvilli remors- at the reflection of the severity he had treated this pose creature with, he sent for him to the bed- side. ' Weor Quashy, I am going to die.' * Oh, massa, no kickall, boo yet.' ' Yes, I must; I now feel I have been Ira harsh with you.' ' Oh, massa, you ling me like a doo vil!' ' To make you amends, l'il leave you your free- dom.' ' Bless your heart, mnssa.' ' Any thing else ce- y011 ask of me ?' ' Yes, massa, one little favour ; whan Quashy dead, let him bury close alongside of youes ' A flection ate crenture 1 but why so ?' ' Because whe.' the devil corncs, ho will be so busy about you he forger Quasby,' . again locked ; and alter taking a glass a- piece, Kain went on with his casting of his coin, Hilliker putting his foot on the axe and hammer. Just as Kain had run on of the coin into the mould, the door was suddenly burst open by Tompkins, King and Hostin, who found Kaiir with his iron spoon of melted metal in one hand, apd the mould, with a newly- cast half- dollar, in the other. He was instantly seized, and with his implements Conveyed to the upper police- office, and sent to prison. Measures were then taken to arrest Eli Kain, which were not long unsuccesfnl; for Ihe officers having ascertained that Kli had gone to Yonkers, where he also bad a workshop, Hilliker went thither after him, and lonnd him two and a half miles above Youkcrs, and brought him on Friday evening to the city, and he was also committed to prison. As the offence is one against the United States, the prisoners will be handed over to the U. S. Marshal,— Journal of Commerce. DEAN SWIFT— A lady invited Dean Swift lo dinner, and as she had heard he vvas not easily pleased, she had taken a month to provide for it; when the lime came, every delicacy which could be procured the lady had prepared even to profusion. The dean was scarce scaled before ( he lady began a ceremonious harangue ; in short, ( hat she vvas sincerely sorry that she had not a more tolerable dinner, since she was apprehensive there vvas not any thing fit for him to eat. " Devil lake you," says the denn, " why did you not provide a belter ? sure von had time enough ; but since you say it is so bad, I'll e'en go home and eat a herring." Ac- cordingly he departed, and left her justly confused at her folly, - ' - | he took Ihe law iuto his own hands, and gave her a thrashing. MAGISTRATE, addressing himself to the salesman, re- marked, that his wife told a very plain story, aud lie wished to hear what could be said in reply to it. HUSBAND.— I only wish as my story vvas as short; but the boot's 011 the other leg, yer wets- hip. MAGISTRATE —' The boot on the other leg! What do you mean ? Have you only one boot between you ? HUSBAND.— Yer worship s not awake to my meaning. MAGISTRATE.— 1 confess I'm not. HUSBAND.— I'll hexplain the sense of them ' ere words, yer wership. MAGISTRATE.— Well, do; but come quickly to the point. HUSBAND.— I'll come directly to the pint, yer wersbip. Tbe fact is, that instead of my beating my wife, she re- g'larly whops me awl no mistake. There she is ( point- ing towards her) let her deny it, if she can. The lady stood perfectly mute. MAGISTRATE.— That's commonly called wearing the breeches, 1 think, and not the boot. Hu> N* ND, scratching his head, and looking rather se- rious.— Zactly so; and now I'll tell ycr wership some of lit- r capers. Last Monday as ever vvos, we hail a slap up dinner of mutton chops; so I sits down with my lady, and l elps her to one of tbe largest and best looking chop- in the dish, and told her to make her lite happy. " 1 ain't ready for it yet," says she. " Why not.'" says 1. " Co- I've 110 happetlght, sats she. " How's that, my dear ?" says I agin, very lovingly. " Cos l should like to give you a punch or two on the bead first," says she. " What for ?" says I, in astonishment. " Only Just to give me a happetight for my dinner," says she, very coolly; aud with that she jumps up, and pilches right aud left into me; so I puts up my hand to defend iny mug from fuithci damatte, and that's what she calls salting her. MAGISTRATE.— Dot's she drink ? HUSBAND, looking knowingly at the magistrate.— Why she ain't wery much disinclined to a drop, yer wership. As the lady did not gainsay her husband's story, she was non- suited, and advised to amend her ways. COINERS ARRE8TED1 Tire policemen having recently obtained possesion of some counterfeit bail dollars, set themselves 10 work 10 discover tbe counterfeiters, and ascertained that for more than a year back ( bis sort of spurious coin had bf. cn put in circulation in various places in the upper section of the city, and, presenting ar ordinarily good appearance, and j ringing well, were seldom, If ever at the time suspcctcd by the receivers to be bad, as they were generally passed | off in public- houses or stores at night. It having been satisfactorily ascertained by officers Smith, Tompkins, King, and Hostin, of the upper police, and hy Hilliker, city marshal, that two brothers, Ebenezer and Kli Kain, of 68, H am mersley- street, were tbe makers, venders, and passers of this counterfeit coin, it was deemed important that Ihey should be arrested aud brought to justice. A friend of officer Hilliker introduced himself - to Ebenezer, and wished to purchase some coin for liitn- , self, and also expressed a wish to have a larger number for I a friend of his from the country, meaning Hillikcr.— Ebenezer would sell only four pieces to him on Sunday, 1 the 25th of August, for which he gave him a dollar, but promised to make any quaulity he wanted for him and his . friend to see the process of making the coiu, aud to pur- 1 chase a supply for the country. Accordingly, on Monday morning the friend of Hillikcr went to the house of Kbenrzer Kain, and finding him oil • the side walk, introduced officer Hilliker as his friend from [ the country, who wanted to purchase 50 or 100 of the spurious half dollars. Kain took them into a back room, carefully locking the door, and taking down a large iron spoorr and some German silver spoons, broke up the latter 1 and melted them ; and then taking out. a plaster of Paris 1 mould, cast the half dollars as fast as the metal could be 1 melted and moulded. While there, officer Hilliker ob- f served an axe and a large iron hammer lying on the earth, t with which Kain said lie intended to break the mould and • metal to pieces in ihe event of his being surprised. s Hillikvn, hiving previously advised officers Tompkins, 1 King and Hoatiir, of t^ c whole affair, and appointed them BOW- STREET. CUPBOARD LOVF..— Mr. George Pendcrgast, the princi pal ofa flue- fcoking establishment— or, in ordinary phrase, a master chimney- sweeper; appeared upon a peace war- ran*, issued at the instance of Mr. Christopher William- son a painter— not of picturis, but posts and penthouses. Mr. Christopher Williamson deposed, that 011 a certain day named, Mr. Pendergast came into his apartments while he and Mrs. Williamson were quietly taking their tea and crumpets, and without any notice whatever, knock- ed liinr off of his chair what lie was sitting on ; and upon his telling Mr. Pendergast he thought sncli conduct very ungrnteel, Mr. Pendergast told him to make himself easy, for he would " coine it again" as often as he thoneht pro- per ; from all which, he verily believed that Mr. Pender gast intended to do him some grievous bodily harm, and therefore, he prayed the interposition of the law. Mr. Pendergast, who stood before the bench all soot without, and all gin and jollity within, very readily ad- mitted the assault— adding, " 1 think, vour worship, it was lime ( o give him a bit of a floorer, when I found my own wife ill his cupboard!" His worship said, if it was the fact, it certainly had a rather awkward appearance; but Mr. Williamson assured him Mrs. Pendergast only ran into the cupboard to avoid her husband's violence—" And upon my honour, vour worship," said he, " there wasn't a morsel of Crim. Con., or anything of that ' ere sort, in the business at all." Mr. Pctidergast admitted that he was not much afraid of Mr. Williamson " in the Crim. Con. line;" and then went on to detail some other provocations he had received from him: particularly npon one occasion, when Mr. Williamson persuaded him to take a ride on the Thames with him, and because he refused to lend him 10f., chuck- ed bim overboard light into the liver ! Mr. Williamson denied this, and said Mr. Pendereast went overboard by accident, being rather tnp- heavy- ish. Mr hound, in his own recognizance of 201., lo keep the peace towards » U the Queen's subjects generally, and particularly so towards Mr. Christopher Williamson. MARLBOROUCH- STREET. KITTY KAVANAGH.— There was a'pretty, though homely Irish girl, named Kitty Kavanagh, brought before ( he ma- gistrate on a charge of having stolen a small piece of coarse calico from a Mrs. Dermody. Kitty Kavanagh is the daughter of a poHcrmnn ; and she and her father lodge in the same bouse as Mrs. Der- mody. The piece of calico formed " the canopy" of Mrs. Dermody's tester bed. One day lately, Mrs. Dcrmody m'ssed the canopy— it was taken away even whilst Mr. Dermody vvas in the bed ; and, in a day or two after, she found it 011 Kittv Kavanaeh, in the shape of an apron ; Mrs. Dermody displayed this atlron before his worship, and told him he could swear to the hemming ef it—" be- cause it was very confident to be seen by anv one." Mr. Dermody offered bis evidence ; anil being sworn, lie said, " Your wortchip. it's true, everv word of ir. | what Mrs. Dermody was after telling you, for myself was j fast asleep in the bed at the « nme rime." His worship now asked Kitty Kavaiianh what she had ! to say to it; and she replied, in the richest brogue that! ever rolled through the red lips nf an Irishwoman—" It's herself and her husband corned home bastetu - trunk, your honour, and her husband bate her, and kilt her, your honour; and your hononr sees Mrs. Dermody could not get to the bed by herself anv how, bekase of the liquor that night, your honour, and Mr. Derniody lay down in tiie bed by himself, your honnui's honour, and Mrs. Dcr- mody lay down in the court. M " But what lias this to do with the stolen linen ?" asked his worship; " what have you to say about the piece of linen ?" " Is it the bit 0' linen ymir honour's spoking about?" asked Kitty, with infinite naivete--" Ocli! I found that same at the stair- foot when all the bother was over !" His worship shook his bead, as mnrli as to say he fear- ed Kitty was adding falsehood to theft. Her father, the policeman, presented himself, and hav- ing expatiated upon the excellent enrnekter himself and bis daughter had hitherto borne in the world, he next at- tacked the reputation of the Dermodys, which he said, was all that was " bad and ba. itely" and then he called two witnesses, who would tell his honour " all the lights of it." His witnesses came forward ; they were Murphy Donle and Daniel Sullivan. But all that Mister Doole could prove, was the drunkenness of the Dermodys on ( lie day of ( he robbery ; and Mr. Sullivan had nothing ( o say to it at all, only ( hat Kittv Kavanagh was a nice young cratur, and her father was ju- t like her for all the world. This was of course nil nothing in Ihe face of the fact so distinctly sworn ( 0, and ( tie prisoner w- as committed for trial So the interesting Kitty Kavanagh vvas sent to eaol. and perhaps lost her character for ever, for a bit of old calico, not worth sixpence. MARYIEBOVE. FRENCH AND ENGLISH MIXTURE — Monsieur Adolphe Pierre He Flament, a French gentleman with one eye— " degraiiseur extraordinaire to the British public ;" was brought before the magistrate to shew cause why lie should not he committed to prison for neglecting to main- tain his wife in that style of elegance and comfort to which she was entitled, or rather— for neglecting her maintenance altogether. Tbe lady, Mrs. Flament, was a pretty, little, black- eyed, sprightly Englishwoman, who, " by some odd whim or other," as she said, fell in love with, and married Mr. Flament, about six years ago. But they never could agree very well; and after five vears of connubial misery, they determined to separate— Mr. Flament undertaking to al- low her a separate maintenance of ten shillings a week, with which she vvas very well content, as she bad " a good comfortable mother to fly to." Mr. Flament. how- ever, was not a man of his word, for, lliough he paid ten shillings a- week pretty regularly at the outset of their separation, he afterwards reduced it to seven, and lat- terly to three. This she humbly submitted to the ma- gistrate, was an income upon which 110 lady could exist, and, as Mr. Flament was the very best scourer at lhat. moment out of Paris, she did hope his worship would compel him to make her a more suitable allowance. Mr. Flament could speak no English, and so he was at- tended by a " professor of languages" in a military cloak ; and his professor took great pains to convince the magis- trate that Mr. Flament vvas a very poor man. and that Mrs. Flament was a very nauehty woman. " She has robbed ber husband three times." said the professor.— " him up in de prisnnne voncc, and made see, r, seven hundred grands faux pas '.— Monsieur Flament had better broke de best of his two leg, dan marry such hussey! hus- sev ! as madsme his vife!" Mrs. Flament was about to recriminate, hut the magis- trate prevented her, by observing that, whatever faults she might have, she was ihe defendant's wife; and by the laws of this country, he was bound to support her. The only question, therefore, was, what sum should be fixed upon ; and he thought seven shillings a week would be an equitable allowance. The professor said Mr. Flament would sooner quit the country than pay any such sum. " Will be ?" said the magistrate, " but. I will take care lie does not ; for. unless something Is agreed upon before he leaves tbi « office, 1 will commit him to prison ; and then we shall see how he will manage to leave the country." Tbe professor a « ked ten thousand pardons for offending his woiship : and begged to observe that uiadauie could Sad is the lot of those below, And gloomy thoughts ( heir brains will bother, If they loo intimately know That kind relation—- father's brother ! The whole year ronnd wilh him is Lent, And this we're certain you will own— On money making fully bent. At taking in lie stands a loan ( alone). earn seventeen shillings a- week for herself, by her own bauds. Madame replied, that it was hat- binding to which the professor alluded ; but she was sorry to say, she was not so far accomplished in it at present, as to be able to earn half that money. After some further conversation, it was agreed that six shillings a- week should he the stipulated allowance ; but then the parish must be indemnified. The professor said there was uot the least danger that Monsieur Flatnrut would run away— " Then why did you thi eaten that he would ?" asked the magistrate. " I did not mean, Sare, that he should leave the conntry — the England," replied Ihe professor, " only this ( own, Sare— Dial he should go out— into— the country, is all what 1 mean." The magistrate observed, that it was not the custom in this country to say one tiling and mean another— " Vera true— jour worship," replied the smiling pro- fessor, with a low bow—" but John Bull say many things he does not mean, for all that." His worship smiled also, aud did not take tbe trouble of refuting the slander; and the matter ended it! the pro- fessor and another friend of Mons. Flament becoming sureties to the parish on his behalf. UNION- HALL. A respectable- looking man, named William Taylor, a hay- salesman, living in the Borough, vvas charged with having assaulted bis wife, Amelia, a lady of Amazonian appearance, and a perfect Xnutlppe In the expression of t< cr countenance, vviihat. The complainant stated that she had been married about five years, and that her hus- band bad latterly behaved with much harshness towards her. A lew days previously they had a few words, when THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. 1 E' NWESTINE DE LACY 1 OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. « N ORIGINS! ROMANCE, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR " THE PEUNT SUNDAY TIMES," BY THE POPULAR AUTHOR OF ' ELA, THE OUTCAST," " ANGELINA,' " GALLANT TOM," " TALES AND LEGENDS O'F OTHER DAYS," & C. ' Sc.] ( Continued from our last.) the Across the barren wild, seldom trodden by the foot of man, « 9id Ranuiph de Lacy wend his dreary way; and still did the furious elements combat their utmost Wdth, making the gloom of the solemn hour yet more awful. But Ranalph heeded not the raging tempest, nor feared be the gloom around him ; he had a stout heart • and a trusty sword, which had never failed him yet, and he feared not mortal man, while his own conscience suffi- ciently armed him against the powers of darkness. Of Hal of the Glen, he had heard all Ihe wild and terrific stories that were so freely promulgated, but, although lie firmly believed that he was possessed of supernatural powers, hei dreaded not to meet him. As he proceeded, his mind pondered ot) the events of the day, and upon the addition to his family which Provi- dent* had been pleased to bestow, in the person of the in- fant Ernnestine, and when he reflected upon her beauty, her helpless state, aud how he should wish others to act if his own little Godfrey was placed in a similar situation, his heart yearned towards her, and he determined, let whatever might be the consequences, that nothing should induce him to abandon his tender charge. Still the lightning at intervals blazed across his path, and lit him ou his way, which he pursued with increased speed and unabated resolution. He had now crossed the wild, and entered upon the deeply entangled forest, whose almost impenetrable darkness was sufficient to strike horror to the stoutest heart, but it had no effect upon Ranulph, 110 more than to induce him to draw bis sword, for he knew that the place was infested with robbers, and he was therefore acting wisely to be upon his guard in case he should be suddenly attacked. In the midst of this forest was the glen, in which the mysterious Hal, it was said, had been known to take up his abode for centuries, and as he approached it, the storm raged with tenfold fury, and between the pauses of the thunder, strange noises seemed to vibrate on the air, and hollow voices to be whispering unintelligible sentences in his ear. But on did Ranulph proceed with the same intrepid courage as when he left his dwelling. Once only, he'called fervently upon the blessed Virgin to watch over and protect his beloved Edith and their child, and at the mention of the sacred name, loud groans of apparent agony rung through the wood, and all in a moment was still, not even the voice of the tempest could be heard. Ranulph looked around him, but be could see nothing but the tall outlines of the thickly- clustered trees, and he therefore proceeded on his way, which was a task of infinite difficulty, for the forest was almost impenetrable, and in many places he was compelled to cut away with his sword, the foliage which intercepted bis progress. At. length he reached the glen, from the entrance of which, a blue sicklv light appes; : 1, aud which as Ranulph approached, moved >( M- imu, ( lancing aud flickering iu his path like a Will V/ isp, while at the same mo- ment a number < voices seemed whispering ill bis ear, and uigitr • : . his way. Rami! : d the mysterious light, and soon found Mioselt, ,1,1st of the glen, through which indistinct •> j'fljlt> ws • ' i'. liy phantoms appeared to ttit, ami ! i « il bat i! ipped its wings close to his head, and the owl .- bed terrifically before him. Ranulph was surprised sion,—" proceed! lam prepared to encounter all terrors thy magic art can raise." " Enough;— behold then;" said Hal, and waving his wand, in an instant the cavern was involved in complete darkness,' and Ranulph could not distinguish a single ob- ject around him. A dead silence also prevailed, which was uninterrupted for several minutes. At length, how- ever, a rumbling noise seemed to proceed from beneath the spot on which lie stood, which sounded like distant thunder, and gradually a flickering light arose from the caldron, which increased, until the whole place was il- lumined by a deep red glare, and Ranulph beheld the wizard still standing in the same place as before, but the table on which was placed the mystic volume was before him, and oil the latter Iris eyes seemed to be fixed with the most intense earnestness. At Ihe back of the cavern also, Rannlph beheld an immense mirror, which was partially shadowed by a thin, vapoury mist. Hal of the Glen diil not change his attitude for several minutes, when suddenly he turned towards the caldron, and throwing himself into a variety of strange attitudes, lie uttered the following words, at intervals dropping something into the caldron :— " By the power to which ye bend, To me thy assistance lend ;--• By the charms which now Ijlirow In the caldron's burning glow ;— The black blood ofthe poisonous snake, The ring 1 from my finger take ;— By the powers which all must fear, Water, fire, earth, and air; By all the power which I boast, By all hell's infernal host ;— Whether, evil, wrong, or right, Quick reveal to mortal sight That which either soon or late, Is decreed to him by fate. Round the caldron now I go, And my mystic antics play ; 111 the mighty charm I throw, Powers of darkness then obey ! As the. wiz. ard uttered this incantation, he danced fran- tically around the1 caldron, continuing to throw some thing into the fire, and every time he did so, its blaze ascended to the roof; terrific Shrieks rent the air, and the voice of thunder pealed more loudly than ever. Completely paralized with astonishment, Ranulph stood transfixed to the spot, and watched anxiously all the awful proceedings. The wizard having ceased his wild antics, the cavern once more became completely dark, but it only lasted for a moment, when a bright cloud arose from the earth at the back of the cavern, and having gradually dis- persed, revealed to the eyes of Ranulph the clear surface ofthe mirror, before which stood Hal of the Glen, slowly waving his wand as he uttered :— The charm's complete, my mandate hear, Phantoms, at my call appear! Ranulph looked stedfastly towards the mirror, and was astonished to behold it reflect a complete representation of the interior of his own dwelling. His Edith was seated in the chimney- corner, and watching with looks of fond- ness and delight, the playful gambols of a lovely boy and girl, while a figure, the exact counterpart of himself, was leaning over the back of the tender mother's chair, and seemed to be wrapt in the same feelings of extacy as those Edith experienced. Ranulph was delighted with the pic- ture ; but soon it changed, and the apartment now looked wretched and miserable ; his wife and himself, together with the little Godfrey and Ernnestine, were seated upon the floor before a tireless hearth, the pictures of poverty and squalid misery. Despair was in their eyes, and hun- ger depictured in their hollow and ghasily cheeks. Ranulph turned from the contemplation of this awful scene, with a shudder of horror, and' when be , \ wwe fixvd his eyes upon the magic mirror, i£ was again changed. He now beheld a beautiful garden, in which seemed to blossom at! loveliest of'nature's flowers; a youth, who, by iii? likeness to himself, he knew to be his son, was l. :,' et'! ing at the feet of a beauteous damsel, in whose features he'could clearly trace a likeness of the infant Ernuestine; and who was smiling upon him with 11 the ardour of impassioned fondness, and receiving with •>;>- parent pleasure a ring, which the young man was placing' upon her finger, as a token of his love. But an instant, and this passed away, and Ranulph next beheld the ilark and gloomy walls of a dungeon, to which , he saw his json chained, and manacled band and foot, while above Site head glared, in characters of fire, the word " Murder jSbwly this vanished, and in its place revealed to the as- tonished gazer a baronial hall of justice. Godfrey ; u-. i. iHiis ' custody, apparently suffering all the agonies of horror and despair, and kneeling in supplication, he he- ld a figure resembling himself, bis wife, and Erlinestine ; but the stern judges averted their heads, and seemed deaf 50 the appeal Once more the wizard waved bis wand and day my rage surmounting my discretion, I knocked down a respectable stock- broker, when in an instan( I was seized by a couple of bis white footmen, hurried away before a justice, and packed off ( o gaol, where I had sufficient time 10 ponder on the haplessness of my lot, and the miserable condition of the world, that a while man could not even fain exercise, beat, kick, or knock down a negro,— made, as we all know, for the white's especial sport. One day, ruminating in my cell, a stone at my foot began to move, it waslifted up, and a creature, scarcely two spans high, stood before me. It was the strangest little monsier I One half of it, from head to foot, was that of a fair European ; the other moiety shewed the feature and complexion of the black. On ( he dark side were scars, hideous though healed ; on the white, the wounds yet ran with blood. " What are you i" said I—" and whence came you?" I am the image of til! past and the present," re- plied the imp. " Strange things have happened." " Ay. But a short time ago, and this black side was torn with suffering : it was one foul wound. Then my white side was bathed and anointed, and covered with silk, and studded with . gems: my hair was wreathed j with choicest flowers, meeting ( he thorn and nettle in my black wool. Perfumes were ever steamiug to my white nostril— while the fumes of stagnant blood choaked the black. My white palate was served with the rarest work of epicurean cunning; my black with offal re- jected by beasts. But a change is come ; now the white hand lends npon the dusky— and the fair eye watches whilst the dark one slumbers." " And can the world be duly governed by the blacks ?" The motley imp stretched forth his hand, and instantly two skulls rolled to my feet. 1 took thein up. " Which," said he, " of these two skulls possesses the greater state apartment for wisdom, true nobility, freedom, accomplishment? Examine them; look at these empty halls, and see if you call discover where { guilt and folly's train had most room to gambol and ; brood in ; which of these two, think you, was the abode of wealth— the casket of immortal wealth— the palace of angels? Which has shaken its lightness at frivolity, and which lias given the ponderous nod of high assent ? Nay, man, cannot you say ? There must be some pri- vate mark— some stamp— some scratch to judge by. No? You see noneP Well, then, I will tell you. These are the skulls of two men, born in a rude, un- civilized land : education never filled these empty cavaties with golden precepts: they passed from the breast to the tomb, creatures of nature. These skulls belonged to a negro and a while man— you see no differ- ence in their structure— which is the fitter to govern ?" and casting them from him, they again crumbled into dust. Starting on the sudden motion of my visitor, I awoke ; when, for the twentieth time, I heard the siave- dealer repeat— " There is a divine Providence in these matters— a will of heaven ; you understand me." TO CORRESPOND^:??, all. One of her drawing masters ventured to make known to her Royal Highness, that a lady, whom he knew, had expressed most ardent desire to possesssome- thing sketched by her hand. ' Indeed,' replied Her Royal Highness, with a smile, ' 1 wish it were in my power to gratify the wish of every one so easily ;' and dipping a pen in the standish, a, she spoke, she rapidly executed a free and graceful sketch of a horse's head, in that peculiar style called etching, and kindly presented it to Mr. Westall for bis friend. The lady was astonished at the beauty of the style and execution, but observed, that no one would believe that it was really the work of the Prin- cess Victoria, unless it were distinguished by the auto- graph of the illustrious artist. When this remark was repeated to the Princess Victoria, she good humouredly completed the happiness of the fortunate possessor ot this valued drawing, by adding her autograph. " Her majesty writes a very . fine hand, free, bold, and legible, yet the character is perfectly feminine. She is also an excellent arithmetician, and examines the most complex accounts with the ease of an experienced financier. " Soon after her accession to the throne, one of her ministers submitted to the youthful sovereign's atten- tion, papers containing statements of a variety of mat- ters connected wilh the financial department. Her Majesty took her pencil, and, and after rapidly sum- moning up the figures, whose lenghthened phalanxes might have appeared somewhat formidable to a more experienced calculator than a young lady scarcely nineteen, returned them wilh these words, uttered with her usual impressive dignity:—' My lord, these ac- counts are, as I expected to find them, correct.' " In her private expenditure, Her Majesty is both economical and generous. She has been more liberal in her gifts, and more munificent in her hospitality, than any of her immediate predecessors; yet the privy purse is unembai rased. We have afforded, in our previous detail, a solution for this apparent enigma :— Her Majesty is an excellent accountant. " The Queen's caution with regard to public business, is remarkable. In the first week of her reign, her premier gave a list of the papers which, he informed her, would be prepared for her signature on tile follow- ing morning. When the papers were submitted to Her Majesty, she compared them wilh the list she had seen on the previous evening, and, turning to Lord Mel- bourne, said :— "' My lord, your list specifies only sixteen papers, and here are eighteen ; this requires explanation.' " His lordship said in reply, ' that Her Majesty's signature was required for the two additional papers; a necessity for them having arisen since the list had been prepared.' " 1 Then,' said the Queen, ' I shall retain lliem for examination. I sign nothing without being fully aware of its purport.'" for which he was so universally admired ; and I was quite sure— iu fact, she never attempted to conceal— how much she esteemed and valued Irim as a friend : but I could not comprehend how her good sense, or her warm and gentle heart could resist liis love. William de C , at the period of my discovery of Rosa's real sentiments, by the disposal, or rather the " language of the flowers," was about to leave the land of his fathers— to leave the land that contained his all of life and hope— to tear himself froth his beloved Rosa.— This event had at first arisen out of Rosa's refusal— or evasion of his suit, and almost in despair; hut after cir- cumstances made it appear probable to him. that he could render himself more wonhyof her acceptance, aud af- forded him a fresh opportunity of laying another, and ail incontestible tribute on the altar of his love i but Rosa, ( poor Rosa,) bad neither encouraged norfurbatle her lover doing so. The morning of my abrupt entrance, just as she was concluding the arrangement . of the two little vases— the peculiar disposal of the flowers would have escaped my observation, probably, at any other time, or place, but the crimson blush— the trembling hand— the faulterine lip— the evident emotion, the moment my eyes were directed to them— and the subsequent sob, as she threw herself oh ' ply bosom, tore the veil from Rosa's feelings: and whell she bad explained to me one opposing obstacle, of which 1 was not before aware, that painfully stood in the way of their union, and was at present insutmountable, I saw aud felt how tenderly and wisely, in the zeal ( not the ac- cepted) sense of these Words, as well as fondly and de- votedly, she loved him I Suffice to add, Wm. de C — left England a few dayS after that, the fictitious, but the real " pilgrim of love :" but he has taken with him a staff that will enable liirn to surmount every difficulty and danger that may lay in his path of peril— namely, Rosa's full acknowledgment of a reciprocal regard, and the sacred, and unequivocal pro » mise of her hand : her heart was already his; and when he returns, it will be to claim the hand of bis affianced bride! Then, may the rose and the sweet William bloom together, without the bri& l's and th. oins, she bad so etll-> blematically, and so touchingly blended aiid hedged theui round wilh. ANNA, MINSTHEL OF THF. HEAIH, RANDOM THOUGHTS AND LIFE. " There is a language in flowers," says some one, INCIDENTS OF REAL and so say I. I was led to this ennrbj?: . v weeks since, i hlSf ^ saintance were going to a ban giv by accidentally dropB.. v; cfa on my friend Rosa, just as she sM j| e caI| ed upon lhem, and requested hadeprotne^ daily arrangements o ower* " about accom « anv them, insinuating- that he ha, but still his heart was a stranger to the slightest emotion I tben Hanulpli saw the representation of a wtyidv s"""> e of fear, and'he became only the more anxious to fathom - - ' -' the mysteries by which he was surrounded. ' At length the light which conducted him expanded, and shewed him that they had entered upon a cavern, which been- ie larger as they advanced into it, and disclosed a number of terrific objects to the gaze;— human skeletons, from , iose eyeless sockets flames of fire darted, stood wound, and adders, slimy toads, hissing serpents, and other noxious reptiles obstructed his path. But^ yet did the bold bovvyer courageously move forward, until a ter- rific peal of demoniac laughter, which seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth, aud to convulse it be- neath our adventurer's feet, caused him to stop. The next moment a blue cloud filled the cavern, which having gra- dually evaporated by the light that issued from a large circle of skulls, anil the glare from the red fire that burned in a caldron which stood in the centre,— Ranulph beheld seated on a mound of earth, just outside the circle, the mysterious being he had come to meet, Hal ofthe Glen1 The awful- looking being was seated before a rude table, apparently formed out of human boues, and pondering over a massive volume, in which were inscribed a num- ber of mystic characters. Before him stood a globe ; above his bead hung an aligator, and a skull aud cross bones ; while at his feet stood an immense black cat and a savage- looking dog, who growled fiercely as Ranulph entered the cavern. The wizard removed his piercing eyes from the mystic volume when Ranulph appeared, and having fixed them on rind Godfrey in the act of thrusting his ' word u-. OUgh the body of bis phantom TiVnesfi, While Ernestine, with Clasped hands, « ..->-' v, and sau, c( i to be quite paralyzed with horror. " Demon! fiend.! I'll gaze no more!" exclaimed Ratiulph, wound up to a pitch of frenzy, " it is- but an accursed scheme, a damned delusion, to tempt me to swerve from my duty ! Avaunt! I will no longer suffer myself to become the victim of thine infernal spells !" The words bad no sooner escaped bis lips, than the horri- ble noises were renewed ; ghastly phantoms danced around him, and grinned upon aud menaced him ; the magic mirror vanished ; total darkness ensued ; Ratiulph felt himself felled to the earth by a powerful blow, and became insensible. [ To be continued.) BLACK AND WHITE. (' DEDICATED TO THE WEST INDIAN INTEREST.) • 5." No. sir;— in truth you are wrong— fill again, sir, but, believe me, yon are very wrong I There is, you see, a divine Providence in these matters— a sort of— the bottle stands with you— will of heaven, you under- stand me !" This interpreter of the mysteries of divine Provi- dence, was the owner of several slave plantations in the island of Jamaica. He had not long returned from a sale at Garraway's, where he had purchased an estate him for a moment or' two, arose, took his wand in bis 1 adjoining his own West Indian possessions, with all the ' - ''— """ M stock, oxen, pigs, black inen, women, and children in- liaud, and stepped into the circle. No sooner had he done so, than Ratmlph felt the earth tremble beneath him, and " loud peals of thunder shook the vaulted roof. " Advance, Ranulph de Lacy," said the wizard, " and fear not!" " Fear !" repeated Ranulph scornfully, as he approached close io the magic circle, " what has he to fear, who sees no danger, and whose conscience is clear ? — Hal of th Glen, 1 come at thy bidding; what wouldst thou of me i" " Hast thou the courage to enter the ma„. riicle ?" demanded Hal. In a moment Ranulph stepped into th coring, and ad- vanced to within a few paces'of the wizard, whose eyes seemed to gleam flashes of fire upon him. No sooner had he done so, than loud, terrific, and indescribable noises vibra- ted in his ears, the earth yawned at his feet, from which arose a number of hideous forms, who danced fantastically around him. The wizard waved his wand, and in an in- stant they vanished. " Ranulph de Lacy," said the wizard, " beware ; attempt not to move from the spot whereon thou art now stand- ing until 1 command thee, or tremble for the conse- quences 1" " I Obey;" answered Ranulph, firmly, " now, myste- rious being, what wouldst thou with me, I repeat ?" " Ranulph, danger surrounds thee, woe and sorrow threaten thee, for the charge thou bast taken upon thee said Hal, in a solemn voice. " How ktiowest thou that?" " How know I, ha, ha, ha,— fool! what is there that 1 do not know?" returned the wizard, in a voice which made the spacious cavern re echo again. " Hark ye, aiid believe, for it is 1. Hal, the Wizard of the Glen, who tells thee; it is written in the book of destiny, that whoso taketh charge of the infant which thou bast, undertaken to protect, until its real parents are discovered, shall be pursued with misfortune, and endure sorrow, misery, and disgt ace'." " 1 care not, humanity prompts me to the deed, and come what may, I will not desert the little innocent 1 have promised to protect " Rash, fool! wouldst bring misery upon thy wife, thy faithful Edith ?— wouldst entail anguish and disgrace upon tliv son ?" Ratiuiph started. At the mention of those so dear to him, his heart for the first time faltered, and he hesitated what reply to make. The wizard seemed to read his thoughts, and his eyes glared with exultation, as he ex- claimed :— " Pause, Rauulph de Lacy, while I disclose to thee a few pages from the book of fate. Art thou prepared to behold them ?" v " Proceed," jsaid Ranulph, recovering his self- posses* cluded. I felt no disposition to continue the argument with the slave- dealer; and, as I was afterwards in- formed, I so far transgressed the rules of etiquette as ( o sink into a profound sleep,— to the loss, as it was significantly >..- d upon me, of a most profound and conclusive argt cut, drawn from the text of Holy Writ, conclusive uf the lawfulness, and even necessity of negro bondage. I thought I had outlived all my relatives and ac- quaintances- The very buildings, once familiar lo me, had vanished. A change seemed to have fallen on all things. The sober trading of the city had given place to a chattering flippancy ; the shops were gaudily paint- ed, and at every window was seen a parrot, a monkey, or a cockatoo. Every one who encountered me, sur- veyed me with an air of indifference or contempt; and this usage was the more irritating, as endured from negroes— vile black men. I scarcely met one of my own complexion who was not occupied in the most servile and degrading employment. I entered St. James's Park; the soldiers weie drawn out; the whole corps was black. If I except two or three whites who played the drum tambourine, and cymbals. " It is plain," thought I—" here has been some griev- ous revolution." All things conspired to assure me of ( his. The h? ads in hair- dressers' windows were dressed « la negre, and advertisements in the papers set forth some rare cosmetic, as " giving an incomparable jet lustre to the skin. Here jolted by a squab Hottentot personage, arm- in- arm, with a tall, sooty gentleman of the Fiintee, or Ashantee race; here promenaded half- a- dozen black young lady, wilh n white footman in the rear, and here a woolly- cheaded philanthropist threw a piece of coin to a milk- faced sweeper of the crossing. The court was, of course, " deeply, darkly, beautifully black;" and his majesty, if his laureate was to be be- lieved, was the blackest of the jetty. He had come from the Guinea coast, and was now in treaty with ihe Einperor of Morocco for his only daughter, to elevate her to the throne and sovereignty of England. He was a great king— that is, he was very black. 1 found that dreadful havoc had been made wilh our literature. Our amatory poetry in particular, had suf- fered,— its violet- coloured eyes, rosy cheeks, and coral lips, had been exchanged for more suitable similitudes. Shakspeave's Othello and Aaron were made white men. As it may well be supposed, I was quite bewildered. I could not endure the scorn of the multitude , and one We have, several excellent original, tales by us, but they are 1 a ien^ th iiiat we ce • insert them so early as ice should like. We wish our friends would confine them- selves within moderate limits, as we have many hundreds to oblige, and variety is our motto. We are sorry ihe errata occurred, which A. A. L. com- plains of, and will take cure that it does not happen again. " A DAY'S PLEASURE," will not suit our columns. " WINGIIAM" has taken a deal of trouble, and has done his task very effectively, but we are sorry to say his com- munications arrived too late. G. B.— Tliepopular Original Romances of" ANGELINA," " GALLANT TOM," and " ERNNESTINE DE LACY," are the sole copyright of the Proprietor of " THE PENNY SUNDU TII;••- " A note sent to the Editor, inclosing one a,' t' wwj privately to the Author of the above tales, will be ; - urded to ntm. ! 0. H.— ALTBIPC'S. - accepted. X. Z. has not .• - , promise. ; S, L. M.— No. III. of " THE DRAMATIC TALES," will appear shortly. " MOMUS," " APOLLO," and J. SMITH.— We have some idea of publishing the " MERRY SONGS FOR MERRY MOMENTS," in a collected form. " A NEWSVENDER" should address a letter lo the pub- lisher. We have nothing to do with it. We have ninny excellent communications on hand, which our friends may rest satisfied we willpay the earliest at- tention to, particularly MR. LAMHE, " ANNA, THE MINSTREL OF THE HEATH," X. Y. Z., and several others. We are extremely obliged to MR. GIBES, but shall not be able to give him an answer respecting the tale until our next. " GOADICIA" shall be inserted speedily. We are much obliged to MR. M'DOUALL. Accepted with thanks :— communications from C. W. WHITE, S. ROGERS, ( Portsea,) J. M. G-, ( Glasgow,) one of the answers by J. S. P., ( Dublin,) J. II. G., S. G., J. T r, A. Y., ( Edinbro',) H. FERGU- SON, and J. K., ( Newcastle.) We are sorry to be compelled to decline J. T. F., W. ANDERSON, W. R., J. JONES, and two of the answers by MR. TUNKS. The poems by C. JAMES C , are very common- place; the Charade shall appear. Rejected: " THE EMIGRANT," " A TEAR," and " To ISABELLA," " THE JEW AND THE PAPIST," is too old. All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to the Editor of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 30, Curtain- road, Shoreditch. THE PENNY PEOPLE'S AND POLICE GAZETTE. We know that anything relative to our most gracious Queen is at all times interesting to those whose hearts are the abode of loyalty, and love of female virtue, and therefore we are certain lhat we need not apologize by giving the following account of Her Majesty's accom- plishments, which we lake the liberty of extracting from a new work by Miss Strickland, entitled " Queen Victoria, from her birth to her bridal." " Her Majesty is, undoubtedly, one of the most accom- plished ladies in her dominions. She is mistress of all the modern languages, in which she expresses herself with equal grace and fluency. Her love of music de- veloped itself at a very early age ; she plays with great taste and expression on several instruments, and has in- herited her royal grandfather, George the Third's pre- dilection for the organ. She is said to evince a decided preference for Italian music, but she takes great delight in the compositions of Handel, Haydon, Beethoven, and Mozart. Her voice is a remarkably sweet mezzo soprano, and her singing is not onlyr scientifically good, but very pleasing. Her Majesty inherits her great mu- sical talents not only from Ihe royal family from whom her descent is paternally derived, but also from her il- lustrious mother, w ho is herself a composer, " The Queen's talents for drawing are so remarkable, that one of her master's, before her accession to the throne, when speaking ofhis royal pupil, of whose pro- gress he was justly proud, said, ' The Princess Vic- toria would have made the best female artist of the age if she had not been born to wear a crown.' " Her Royal Highness told this gentleman " that her pencil was a souiceof great delight to her; and that, when fatigued by severer studies, it was always a re- freshment to her mind to devote an hour to drawing, an employment in which she would willingly have spent more of her time than ally other.' " So affable was this amiable; Princess in her deport- ment to her instructors, thut she was beKved by them . vr pretty li < le sitting room. Her arran^ caients about mantle piece, flower stand, windows, & c., had been made with her usual good taste— but myiinmediale notice was attracted by two beautiful little crane- necked vases, that always stood on a table of admiration ! She was just finishing the flowers in them, and I, with the privilege of an intimate, ran up sans eeremonie into the room. I suddenly stopped short of my commenced salutation, as she was putting them out of her baud lo greet me. My eye, for an instant, rested on the revealed secret, dis- closed by the unconscious flowers she had disposed in those vases, and then oil Rosa's face ; ' twas a moment of deep embarrassment to poor Rosa : her eye sank leneath the glance of surprise, and conviction expressed in mine. She looked down, turned pale— then reddened to the very tips of her fingers— then, as if conscious she was betray- ing herself, by her evident agitation, endeavoured to smile in my fat — but the effort was unsuccessful: her eyes in- voluntarily . illed with tears, as her head rested dn my shouldi , t! the inartificial embrace of sisterly affection, of th.- ,.,- A vases alluded to, each contained arose, surrounded and supported by sweet Williams, inter- niinglf s> , backed with sweet briar! I well knew William de C was passionately, de- votedly attached to my gentle friend ; 1 also knew that were Rosaeveu willing, there existed some barrier to their union, that could not very easily be overcome ; but 1 like- wise knew, that though Rosa was fully sensible of his ex- alted character, and acknowledged his worth and merit, she even treated Ins love wilh that sort of cold philosophy, that used, at times, nearly drive him frantic. He loved, and love with him was not merely an appetite to be gratified : perchance, sated, it was a passion ofthe soul. According to his own assertions, he bad irresistibly loved and che- rished an ideal being in bis warm imagination, from ear- liest youth : that, strange as it may appear, this unseen, unknown being, was the one blight vision of his " day dreams,"— the ever present companion of his solitary wanderings and meditations— the idol, that engrossed all bis mental worship— the invisible tie plus ultra of bis heart's incessant pursuit; aud which felt a vacuum, no- thing could fill, or satisfy, but the discovery and identifi- cation of that being, so mysteriously, so fondly cherished there. It is needless to point out that Rosa was the identical being that realised the worshipped vision of his fond ima ginings. The one, destined to draw forth all those, hid- den, deeply- cherished, and passionate affections, that had lain mouldering in his bosom, concealed ( from his con- sciousness of singularity,) from every eye, and acquiring a tenfold intensity, from their peculiar exclusireness and concentration, and which was shrouded by an appearance ( or rather the reality,) of listless apathy and indifference to those agreeable fascinations, and captivating pleasures, by which a man of handsome exterior and gentlemanly manner and deportment is so often surrounded— even through the ordinary associations of life— without his own seeking. At the very first meeting of William de C with Rosa, and under circumstances that afforded no opportu- nity for individual feeling, or communication, it appears his soul ( to use his own impressive language,) felt the im- mediate influence of her presence, and recognised her as the one who had so long been the mistress of his heart's glowing affections; and the arbitress of his fate, who had unconsciously biassed all his past— drawn him to the pre- sent—( he had, indeed, by singular circumstances, been brought from a distance,) and oil whom hung all his fu- ture !! ! Time and subsequent events, have indeed proved her to be the earthly idol of bis unbounded love. All his ener- gies, powers, and faculties— and they are of no ordinary standard— are devoted, in their results, to Rosa. The most sacred places and moments, have been seizetl on to attest and pour out the pure, unchangeable, and abstracted slate of his heart's affections, ( more than heart— they are soul affections ; J even the dark and silent tomb hallowed to Rosa's feelings, as the receptacle, and resting place of one infinitely dear to her heart, nas witnessed the out- pouring of bis pare spirit. Never was one human crea- ture so irretrievably bound up with another ; his health— his mental faculties— bis very being, is by his fervent selt- devotedness, ( next to God,) dedicated, consecrated, ( in spite of all opposing obstacles,) to her. Yet, he is too noble, generous, and exalted, in senti- ment ; his mind too refined to throw the least chain over her inclinations. He existed on her friendship— lived on her very looks; hut would have scorned to accept her hand ( had there been no obstacle,) unless he could first become possessor of her heart— and that, teeming with the same exclusive affection as his own. Poor William ! I know not how mysensitive Rosa maintained the siegeso long against him— or, at least, appeared to do so. Few women look beyond the present moment, when they have to struggle with the combined force of their own inclina- tions, and the passionate pleadings of a devoted lover— unless, indeed, they happen to be cold calculating beings, whose wisdom " is the wisdom of the world," and whose profound calculations are limited to height, depth, length, and breadth, of pounds, pence, acres, and appurtenances, likely to accrue to theii own proper selves. Not such a one is Rosa— for she is of generous and disinterested dis- position: I bad, therefore, been at a loss to account for her seeming indifference to a passion, that few women could have withstood— and that ( to my knowledge,) many would have been proud to have received : particularly as the estimable qualities of his heart and head rendered him a general favourite wherever he went; and I well knew Rosa, above all others, could appreciate those excellencies TRICKS OF FOREIGN FORTUNE- HUNTERS. There are persons in Persia who are always ready to fit out good- looking young foreigners for a fortune- hunting ( our to England. They are, iii [ jrO pot till it . Id their looks, tournure, and assurance, furnished wltli money, titles, decorations, and introductions, even to good families. The thing is looked upon by the French themselves as so fair a pursuit, so complete a despoil- ing of tho enemy, that 110 French lady or gentleman will hesitate about soliciting letters from their English friends pour tin jeune seigneur about to visit Enghtrid, I have known such lelteis obtained through the mediuirt of milliners and chamberiiiaids. Having once got fool- ing in a good house, the gentleman makes the most of it, and asks for further introdHctioris, even to the best families, without Ihe least scruple. The ailvbnturbs of a Greek Count at Brighton are well known. He viail anxi, get into the house of a nobleman of some fashionable world, but kid *? een unable ne offeir. Hearing at last, that a family of en by ins loru- Ssted permission to accompany insinuating had an hivitatidif to the party ; but, being a stranger, wished to gd aidng with some one who could introduce him on his first ap- pearance at the mansion. The trick nearly succeeded, the noble hostess wasjust going to introduce Monsieur le Comte to a partner for the next quadrille, but not having heard his name very distinctly, applied for In- formation to the introducer, asking the " title of his foreign friend." This led to an explanation, which ended in the count being walked out of Ihe room, in- stead of being walked up ( o a partner. The " un- toward" event by no means cooled the Greek's cou- rage ; he stood the laughs and sneers of the place fat a week, at the end of which the adventure wus for- got en, and he very composedly resumed his former station in society. This gallant Moreat was not ulti- mately so fortunate, as from his modest assurance , might have been expected. He got two wives indeed, [ but they both proved ( o be without, fortune ; aud the! double arrangement having been discovered, he Was obliged to leave the country as poor as he entered it4 before he could secure a third. It is no unusual tiling for a married foreigner to take an additional wife la England, provided he can get a little money with her. The chances are, that a moderate sum keeps Ihe foreign lady quieteven ifshe hearsof Ihe affair. Ifslie is trouble- some, it is only going back to the continent willi the English money and without the English wife. I have my- self know n three cases of this kind ; and, strange to say, ihe heroes, as if intended to serve as samples of their respective nations, were all three from difl'erent coun- tries. The one was an Italian, the other a Frenchman, and the third a German. The Italian managed best ; he contrived to hush up the business, and to reconcile the parties. The Italian wife, who is by far the pret- tiest of the two, lives at the expense of the English one, and sometimes pays her a sentimental visit, and is very kind to the Anglo- Italian children. The German took advantage of his English lady's indignation on hearing of the previous marriage, and obtained, in some of the little principalities of Germany, a favourable divorce, which left him in possession of Ihe best part of Ihe En- glish fortune. The Frenchman mismanaged the affair, and was obliged to run for it; and I do not know how matters have been settled : families like to keep these things quiet, or we should hear of many more,— for they are now of almost daily occurrence. It is, indeed, generally asserted lhat Prince Puckler Muskau him- self only came to this country in order to marry a rich widow, now higher than a countess, but then only a dis- countess. That he had a wife living, seemed no great objection in his eyes; the ill- natured world abroad say that it was the only objection in the lady's eyes. HER ANSWER. " Madam, " Most worthy of estimation, After long consideration And serious meditation On ihe great reputation You have in this nation, 1 had a strong inclination To become your relation, And to give demonstration Of my approbation. I am now making preparation To remove my habitation To a more tonvenient situation, To pay adoration And more frequent visitation, For the sake of conversation, By w hich I may obtain commiseration If this kind of oblation Is but worth your observation, It will be an obligation, Beyond all moderation, To your's for ever withoul'dissimulation." To which the lady returned the following answer— " Sir, " I received your oration With much deliberation, And some consideration, Of the seeming infatuation, When you made such a declaration, And expressed your veneration, Oil so slender a foundation ; But after examination, And some little contemplation, Suppose it done for recreation, Or out of ostentation. To display your education By an enumeration— Or rather multiplication— Of words with the same termination, Though wilh great variation, And different signification ; — Which, without disputation, May deserve commendation, And, I think, imitation, And give gratification 1" THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. 1 ANGELINA I OR, THE MYSTERY OF ST. MARK'S ABBEY. AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE. BY THE AUTHOR OF " ELA, THE OUTCAST; OR, THE GIPSY GIRL OF ROSEMARY DELL," & C. Never did Angelina feel more confused and mortified than she did upon tbis occasion, but the more she tried to conceal the real state of her heart, the more did ber blushes t^ eveal it to the inquisitive Laura, who, in spite ' of. tire Amotion which her cousin betrayed, seemed lo tenjoy ( he discovery she had made vastly, and appeared determined to perse vet e in her raillery, until she hud made her confess the truth, with the most provoking obstinacy. " Wtell, Angelica," she exclaimed, " I must confess that 1 rtevir imagined you wete so sly; why, you are la p'eVfect- intriguer; carrying on a secret correspon- dence with a young man, and accepting miniatures from him, and goodness knows what; by- and- bye I should not at all be surprised if we hear of ail eloper went. Dear me! I really should delight to hear of such a circumstance, if it were only for the romantic character of the affair." " Laura," said our heroine, seriously, " this levity ! s ti- uely aod 1 am astonished that you will persist in it. Besides, such insinuations as you have just uttered, throw a doubt upon iny Want of prudence, which you must be confident is quite groundless. 1 will never act in any wiy which may not meet the approbation of ray friends or my own conscience 1" " Heiglio !" ejaculated Laura, " what serious mor- tals this love makes of us poor girls, at least of soihe of us; but for my part, I cannot see thai therte is anything at all serious in ( he mailer, and if I thought there was, I would forsWeat matrimony; and live in single bless- tedtaeBs all my days. Now, my dear coz, do not look So solemn, I pray ; I have no doubt that you thittk me a very wicked, provoking, little girl; but you mis- take me, 1 assure you. Iam not going to be jealous • of yWl, neither am I going to upbraid you for that Vvbich 1 am liable to be guilty of myself; for love, 1 take il, is a very natural tiling, and has been established ever since the world began; and it is one Which I hope Will be as long ascreation lasts, for what poor mortals should we be without it; but now, my dear girl, all that I wish you to do, is to confide in me, and you will find me, I will answer for it, a sincere friend, and a good adviser in spite of my many frivolities " Angelina turned away her head and sighed. " My deftr cousin," resumed Laura, " can you now look me seriously in the face, and deny that you love this Jiugh Clifford ?" Our heroine again sighed, but returned no answer; " Ah ! I see llow it is," ejaculated Laura, taking her cousin's hand, and looking tenderly in her face ; " I have guessed right, your heart acknowledges Hugh Clifford for its lord, and yet you would fain persuade yoarself to the contrary. Nay, it is useless to deny ii; toll Iter tell me the truth; and relate to me all the in- terviews you have had with him; all ( he sweet things he has uttered to you, and the affectionate responses . you have made ; let me know all " " Laura, dear Laura, for Heaven's sake,"— inter- rupted our heroine, " indeed you are wrong; never have we had any accret interviews with biinj never have 1 uttered a word that could give encouragement to bis views, or " " Oh, then you will acknowledge that he has con- fessed !" eagerly added Laura, smiling archly, " and yet your heait could be so obdurate as to resist liim 1— Bat 1 cannot believe it was so ; besides, is there not proof sufficient that you did not discourage his vows, or why accept of him ihe miniature which you now wear J" Angelina felt more confused lhan before ; she had no alternative but to lelate the whole truth, or Laura would still retain the wrong impression her mind had received, and she might then, very justly, not only ac- cuse her of imprudence, but hypocrisy ; she therefore requested her cousin's patient attention for a few mo- ments, and tbe. n, in as few words as possible, related the manner in which the miniature had fallen into her possession, and the circumstances that had prevented her having an opportunity of returning it. Laura lis- tened to her with much apparent interest, and whenshe had concluded, turned to her and said,— " But after all, Angelina, tell me, and that candidly ; does not yoi. r heart feel a different sensation to that it never did before, since you and Clifford liave met ?" " It would be ingratitude in me not to esteem the preserver of my life, Laura," answered our heroine. " 1 like not that cold word esteem, cousin," returned Laura, " and indeed your tone, your looks, your emo- tion convinces me that your heart dictates thewordlove in ils place ! Come, come, cousin, it is so, I see it is, - and there is an end of the matter." Angelina looked in her cousin's face, a tear trembled 111 her eye, she saw a sympathising one sparkling in that of the artless, but excellent- hearted girl, and throwing herself on ber neck, she gave free indulgence to her long confined feelings. Great was this relief to our heroine's bosom ; it was what she had long wanted, a sympathizing heart, in . which she could repose those thoughts, those wishes, which she had scarcely yet dared to acknowledge her- self, nnd she felt at that moment happier than she had been for many months. Laura, although a giddy, was « sensible gitl, and very fond of her cousin, and she, therefore, expressed tile warmest interest in her situa- tion, and offered her all the advice that her knowledge and mature deliberation on the circumstances, sug- gested. " Bui alas 1" observed Angelina, after they bad been conversing for some time, " what is the use of my en- couraging a passion, which can never be gratified ? It is only putting the canket worm of care and misery to . both our hearts." " Aud why so, my melancholy coz. ?" asked Laura, " what are the wonderful, the insurmountable obstacles which present themselves to your imagination ?" " Is be not a smuggler!" returned Angelina, " be- sides he is unknown to us, and he maintains a secrecy over bit real name, that " " Nonsense," interrupted Laura, " if he really loves you, he will soon remove Ihe latter difficulty, and sa- tisfy yourself and my father that his intentions are ho- nourable ; as for his being a smuggler, I confess I do not see anything very objectionable, for he only reta- liates upon the revenue which plunders us of millions. JIowevei, may he not abandon that course of life i" Angelina sighed and shook her head doubtfully. She then remembered the serious injunctions of Kate of ( he Ruins, nnd ( he positive manner in which she had de- clared that ten and Hugh must never love one another only as friends; and her heart once more became the tboila of melancholy and despair. Tired of talking, the fair cousins retired ( o bed, and in a few minutes sleep closed their eye- lids. CHAPTER XXIII. HUGH CLIFFORD'S recovery, notwithstanding the skill tif the medical man who attended him, was very sloiv ; a circumstance which caused Mr. Woodfield considerable uneasiness; for, during his illness, his suspicions as to the affection which Angelina had imbibed for him, were considerably strengthened, not only by the many, and earnest inquiries which she made concerning his health, but the pleasure she cvinced upon receiving a favour- able answer ; while, on the contrary. any change for the worse, was alw ays received by heir wilh ihe deepest me- lancholy, and expressions of fear. These circumstances left no doubt upon Mr. Wooilfield's mind, that his niece loved the smuggler captain, and if he was convinced of her affection, no less so was he of Hugh Clifford's ex- periencing a reciprocal attachment, for whenever the name of Angelina was mentioned, his eyes would brighten up, and he would evince other symptoms of violent emotion, which plainly skewed that she was the object on w hom his thoughts were continually fixed. Many hours of misery did this idea cattse Mr. Wood- field, and he was eXfremely glad when tiie doctor pro- nounced that Hugh was well enough to he removed, and Kate of the Ruins urged his quick departure to the abbey, for fear that some of his enemies might discover his picsent retreat, anil not only bring him into trouble, but place Mr, Woodfield and his family in rather an awkward position for having givetl shelter to him.— ' 1 he morning intended for the departure of Hugh Clif- ford, all Ihe family met at breakfast; It Was the first lime the former artd our heloine had seen each other since the Evening of the accident, and the pleasure they fell at meeting, and their sorrow at the thoughts of being so soon compelled to separate again, were too apparent to escape the observation of Mr. Woodfield. At parting, Hugh Clifford, after having in the most warm and enthusiastic manner expressed Ills thanks for the kindness he had received at the hands of Mr Wood- field and his family, hoped he might be peimitted to pay ihem au occasional visit when he was in the neigh- bourhood. Angelina's eyes sparkled when he made this request, and she watchcd eagerly the countenance of her uncle. He observed her; but although lie re- plied in a less cordial manner than was his custom, to Hugh Clifford, he felt bound, after what tha latter had done to serve him, not to refuse, and the smuggler captain quilted the cottage, accompanied by Kate, who had come there Satly in the morning for that purpose. Several days passed aWay, and Mr. Woodfield had in vain eudeaVoured to think of some plan to put an end to Ihe evil he apprehended. Angelina he had observed to be more than usually melancholy, and, of course, he was at no loss to imagine the cause. It was on Ihe fourth day after Hugh Clifford had quitted the cottage, that Mr. Woodfield had just re- lumed from his afternoon's walk, and was crossing the garden , when just as he had reached a smAll alcove, he heard the voices of two persons talking in tones which induced him to listen. At first he could not distinguish what was said, but at length the following words in a female voice, caught his ear :— " Alas ! why should I conceal it f Surely, there can- not be anything culpable in acknowledging those affec- tions that spring from virtue alone, and which the heart declares it would be hypocrisy to cleDy J" " Heavenly sounds 1 blest words I" replied the voice of a man in enraptured accents, " am I then so happj, or is it a delusion too sweet tb be trlie ? You Ittve m6 Ihen, dearest; best of girls, ardent as that affection which dwells within my heart for you ? Oh, let me seal the dear acknowledgment wilh a thousand kisses 1" The patience of Mr. Woodfield could endure no more ; he rushed round to the front of fhe alcove, and beheld Hugh Clifford wilh one knee bent to the earth, while he pressed the hand of ihe blushing, but willing Angelina, with the fondest transport to his lips. ( To he continued in our next.) ROSINA WILSONI A FACT, BY X. Y. t. " Life will not prove all sunshine, There will ccme dark hours for all." In the autumn of 18—, having occasion to visit the West of England on business, I stopped at the seaport J town of I) , for some length of time, and whilst there ! was a constant visitor at their unique and handsome iheatre, by which means I became acquainted with the subject ofthe following tale I— Having one evening, in company with a friend, as was my usual practice on leaving the theatre, entered ( he Shakspere Tavern adjoining it, for the purpose of taking some refreshment, enjoying a cigar, discussing the merits of ihe performers and pieces represented and chatting with the nymphs of the pave, who made it a place of resort, after leaving the theatre, I was particularly struck with lllj appearance of a female amongst them, who from her demeanour, appeared to be a novice to their ways. She was dressed in mourn- ing, and there was a wild but thoughtful stare on her handsome and noble countenance, which seemed to im- ply a disgust for her present way of living, and a recollection of happier and better days. Her agreeable manner of conversation, polite and affable replies to questions put to her by any one pre- sent, and a sort of involuntary shudder at tile levity manifested by the assembled company, convinced me that some disastrous event must have driven her to the unfortunate state in which I then beheld her. I there- fore felt a kind of curiosity to become acquainted with her story ; and having, with my friend, { invited her to another, and more retired part of the house ; after much persuasion I induced her to relate her tale of woe to me. " My name, sir," she said," is Rosina Wilson, I was the only child of a lieutenant in the army, w ho fell in Ihe service ofhis country, whilst I was yet scarce able to lisp his name,— and, having been in rather embarrassed circumstances for some time previous to his death, my widowed mother was left wilh only a small annuity - -.„ ly from government, but which, however, she managed with such economy as to be enabled to give me a liberal, if not a superior education. My childhood passed away almost without a care, living retiied in a small village in Ihe north of Devon ; our time glided on in a comparative slate of happiness,— our cottage was the abode of contentment and peace, and the troubles and anxieties of tbe world were known to U9 only by name ; we were Ireated with respect by the villagers, who felt almost a degree of pride if they could render any little service to us. Little did 1 think in those days of ease and comfort, when twining the sweet jessamine around our door, attending to the cultivation of our neat nnd pretty garden, or paying visits of consolation with my mother to our poor or sick neighbours, that 1 was destined to undergo the trials which has lately be- fallen me, or that I should ever be placed in the pitia- ble and disgraceful stale which I am in at present. " There is, sir, a sail pleasure in recalling to a per- son s memory the recollection of happier hours. It was the constant prayer of my mother that she might live long enough to see me comfortably settled, and in my eighteenth year it seemed likely her prayers would be answered, for I received an offer of marriage from a young gentleman, the son of an extensive landholder ill the neighbourhood. The rank he held in society was far superior to mine, but true love, which has such a mighty influence over the feelings, will bring every- thing ( o a level ; our affections were mutual, and my hitherto unblemished character, being of sufficient weight in the estimation of the parents of my betrothed, against the want of gold on my part, and his fortune being enough to have enabled us to live in a stale of af- fluence,— the preliminaries of marriage were soon ar- ranged, and the wedding- day was appointed. But alas ! death came to thwart our wishes, a contagious fevermade its appearance in our before healthy village, and had al- ready sent a great many to " that bourne from whence no traveller returns," when the epidemic within the short space of two days, seized upon my mother, my intended husband, and myself. I recovered to discover the loss of both mother and lover. Happy should I have been had the destroying nngel spread its wings upon me at the same time, but I was reserved for greater troubles, and ill a state of madness, I was placed under the pro- tection of my uncle, who resided about twenty miles from the scenes of my childhood's happy hours, and was the only remaining relative I had: a man of business, who possessed not one spark of the finer feelings of hu- man nature, and never felt a pang at the misfortunes of others; but whose whole thoughts were absorbad iu tbe means necessary to be used for the purpose of increasing his stock of worldly goods: a man who lived for himself alone. How different my situation now, to what it had for- merly been. I was looked upon and treated as an intru- der, and instead of the kindness I had been accustomed to receive from my earliest days, scorn and contempt was my only portion; Whilst under his roof, 1 received a second offer of marriage, ftom a man of Wealth, but his name had a stain of dishonour on it, and my first af- fections were loo deeply rooted in my breast for me ever to love another, m ire particularly a man of such a different character, and 1 inwardly vowed never to become his bride. " My uncle and his family, who cared not by what means they accomplished it, so long as they could get me off their hands, pressed his suit, and strongly per- suaded nie lo accept his dffer; I refused, and the con- sequence was an order to prepare to quit their house. In vain did I plead, and endeavour to turn his heart; in vain did 1 point out my forlorn condition, ;-. nd tile claims I had upon his generosity, and in vain did I beg for forgiveness, although guiltless of any crime. My prayers and tears availed nothing, he was inexor- able, ami before twenty- four hours had elapsed, I was in the streets) a houseless wanderer, nnd no friend in the world ( o look to for assistance. The money I had received from the produce of the sale of mother's little property, I had givetl at different times to my uncle, ( to render my expense to liini as light as possible,) with the exception of about forty shillings, which was in my pocket, and was all, beside a small box ofwearing apparel, that I possessed in the world. My feelings at ( hat time are more easily pictured to fhe imagination than described ; thS- recoUectiotis Of the past rushfed to my mind as a golden dream, my hopes of happiness were blasted, and the future seemed a blank. Of all the vices of human nature ( here is none so inexcusable as that of unkind treatment from one branch of a family towards another, when placed in adverse circum- stances; on all occasions it is odious, but in my case it Was unnatural. How will he address himself to the Supreme Being, and desire of him such mercy as he himself refused to grant J • In this state of suffering and mental distress, I came to a determination to bend my steps towards this town, ( in the vain ho pes of gaining employment either at my needle, or as servant in some respectable family,) where 1 a- lightcd from the van about eight weeks ago. Since which time w herever I thought it possible to earn a trifle, 1 have made application, but to no purpose ; to many persons have I offered my services, as a servant, for the bare remuneration of board and lodging. But 1 was a stranger, no person would eitiploy me, t had no recommendation— and my pitiful tale was considered by some as a mere fabrication, and laughed at by others. " The vile world has no ears when the wretched com- plain, If it listen af all, it will listen in vain." " At length, my money was expended; I Was threat- ened wilh expulsiotl from my lodgings, and I deter- mined bn pawning oiie of my ' gowns to meet the exi- gencies ofthe moment; Never shall I forget ihe sen- sations I felt when 1 found myself for the first time in the shop of a pawnbroker, or the feelings of shame and degradation which possessed me during the few moments I was there. The man gave me the sum re- quired, and I hurried from the shop like a lliief, with a scorching face, and feverish brain. I, however, raised enough by it to satisfy my landlord, and to pio- vide the necessaries of life for a week longer; but I, was driven to desperation, I cared not what became of tne! Poverty will often drive persons to tbe commis- sion of crimes, which in their days of prosperity they wolild shuddijr at s twice have I within the last fort- night made up my mind to commit suicide, but the good principles inculcated by my reVered mother checked me, and I threw aside ihe implements of death, to live a little longer iff this world of misery. I was com- pelled a few days since to pawn a second gown. Par( of ( he money 1 received on it I have now in my pos- session, and within tbe last thru,-? day?, lo the feelings of despair have succeeded that of revenge ; brought on principally by having a letter— which 1 had addressed to my uncle, attempting once more to touch his heart wilh pity — returned to me unopened. 1 felt myself an outcast upon society— there was one who ought to have relieved me, but he had discarded and scorned me; employment I could not get, and my feelings would not allow me to beg. I therefore resolved to give my- self up to prostitution, in the hopes of my being able to bring a disgrace upon my uncle's family. Many have been the conflicts in my bosom before I could make up my mind to put my intentions into execution; but I attended the theatre for that purpose this evening, and have succeeded so far as to become the companion of prostitutes. But alas ! sir, I am already disgusted— 1 am an involuntary victim, and have no alternative left but to remain in the vortex of dissipation into which I have plunged, Or starve; This, sir, is my sad story, and it is a pleasure for persons in affliction to de- tail their miseries, but you are the only person who has listened to, or felt any interest in, the recital of my woes." The poor heart- broken and cruelly- treated girl, on finishing her narrative, sunk insensible on her seat ; when, leaving her under the care of my friend, and the female attendants of the house, I proceeded to the room where I first met her, and found that the state- ment she gave of having only that evening become the companion of the females who had met there, was cor rect, and that they knew nothing about her. The girl with whom she had agreed to pass the night, remarked " that she was a poor down- hearted creature, and would never do for their way of life, for she hadn't spirit or pluck enough." Tlie^ e accounts corroborated the latter part of the poor unfortunate's story, and has- tening back lo her again, I found that she had partially recovered from the paroxysm of grief, into which the remembrance of happier days and fairer fortunes had thrown her. I felt my heart bleed at the unjust treat- ment she had received, and determined in my mind to use my utmost endeavours to benefit her, and therefore offered my services to rescue her from the ruinous and wretched mode of life and infamy she had chosen. She thanked me for my offer, in a manner which plainly ( old the feelings of gratitude she then experi- enced, and said she should be thankful for any situa- tion that vvould snatch her from the scenes of debauch- ery aud depravity which she would be obliged to wit- ness if she continued in tbe way of living she had en- tered on. Having, therefore, made arrangements with the landlord of the house we were then in to shelter her, nnd provide for her necessities until I should bo able to assiather in some other way ; I bid her adieu, promising to| see her on the following day, and proceeded to my lodgings. I arose early tbe next morning, and traced my steps towards the ( avern, where 1 found her at breakfast. I then unfolded my intentions to procure employment for her, and stated ( hat I thought another town ( after the unfortunnte manner in which sh< s had been compelled to act in this,) would be preferable, and as { should have occasion the next day to leave D for the delightful watering- place T , I would take her with me, feel- ing confident, that amongst my numerous acquaintances there, I should be able to procure her a situation ; she willingly acceded to my proposal, and having redeemed the garments she hail been obliged to pawn, we started the following morning for T . Shortly after my ar- rival, I was highly gratified to find that Mrs. Hartley, the kind- hearted landlady of the Commercial Inn, was in immediate want of a young female as barmaid, and I lost no time in explaining to her the condition of my unfortunate fellow- traveller; she was touched with pity at her sad tale, and instantly agreed to engage with her;— the necessary preliminaries were soon set- tled, and the same evening saw her safely installed in her new occupation. Never shall I forget her expres- sions of gratitude to me, or the pleasure, I may say, pride, I feel in thus being able to rescue her from ruin, and I was in hopes that the busy and varied scenes of her situation, and the kindness of Mrs. Hartley, would prevent her from reflecting much on ( he events of lier past life, but I was mistaken. » * >;• * Three years passed ere 1 again visited T , when, proceeding to my favourite haunt, the Commercial Inn, I found another person occupying the place of Mrs. Hartley as hostess: it was a face familiar to ine, and not unknown— it was Rosina Wilson. Her beauty, behaviour, accomplishments, and alfable temper, had completely won the heart of a nephew of Mrs. Hart- ley's, who paid his addresses to her. She for a long lime, declined his attentions for her mind was entirety engrossed by the memory of her former lover. He per- sisted in his suit, soliciting not her love but her friend- ship, and being assisted by bet knowledge of his worth, and the sense of her own destitute and forlorn condition, he succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the as- surance that her heart was another's, and Mrs, Hart- ley having realized a sufficiency to enable her to re- tire comfortably, had placed the young couple in the business that had been a source of wealth to her, and which she had conducted creditably for many years, with esteem from all who had the pleasure of her ac- quaintance. Rosina Wilson was now Mrs. Roberts, and the mo- ther of a handsome and lovely child, a daughter, of about twelve months old,, but still she was not hajpy. She had every thing ( but peace of mind) to make her so, but money, nor the adoration of a tender husband, could not erase from her memory the recollections of her youthful endearments. She pioclaimcd not her lamentations to the world, but. the canker- worm of grief preyed heavily on her heart, and the shock she had received from the loss of her two earliest and dear- est friends, with the unnatural conduct of her uncle, was sunk too deep in her bosom ever to be eradicated, and I could easily perceive that she \ yas sinking fast. " For blighted hearts no more shall bloom: Not thelr's spring's renovating breath ; Their only solace 19 the tomb— Their only hope repose in death;" There was a settled melancholy, and a death- like paleness on her lovely features, which plainly indicated approaching dissolution. When she spoke to me it was with calmness, except whenshe attempted to dwell upon past scenes, then her whole soul seemed changed, her voice would falter as she recalled a thousand instances, of her youthful happiness to her mind ! her beautiful eyes would fill with tears, and her memory seemed to revert with undiminished affection, to the object of her early love, who had been the first to win her affections, and was then mouldering in his grave. Her fondly attached husband did everything in bis power that money could purchase, or friends suggest, to avert the blow which was likely to deprive him of a beloved wife, and his child of a mother's care. * * * * Twelve months more elapsed: it was a beautiful morning in spring ; the sun shone forth in all her daz- zling splendour, and her golden beams Were brilliantly reflected in the clear waters of the bay, on the pic- turesque coast of which the delightful town of T stands, when I again found myself, after a long journey, before the Commercial Inn; but a sad change was there; death had Visited it since I last stood in the same place. Rosina was no more ; she had been an amiable wife, and had endeavoured to make a ha, py one, but she could not cure the devouring melancholy that had entered into her soul, or efface from her mind, the re* membfatlce of her early woes ; she had wasted away in a slow decline, and at length sunk into the grave the victim of a broken heart. " Rosina is no more— life's mystic thread Is spun— and with the undistinguish'd dead ... Her form is laid to rest." Her child is now grown a line girl, and promises, if possible, to become more beautiful than her ill- used mother, and her affable temper, similar in every respect to one, who was now a banqueting feast for worms, proves a kind of solace to her bereaved parent. I never pass through T , without visiting Rosina's grave to read the inscription on the small, but neat tablet erected over it by ber afflicted husband, and shed a tear on the resting place of a person who bad raised feuch an interest in my bosom. MURDER OF MADAME AUDRAN. There was a circumstance, ( said my friend, the com- missary, to me one day, as we were sitting together,) which made some sensation at Paris at the time it took place, not only from the means by which the discovery of the real offender was made. You know that long, narfow street which runs close by where the Bastile used to stand. I cannot tit present remember the name, but that is of little importance. It is now many years since, that the " rez de chaussee " of one of the houses in that street was inhabited by an elderly woman who had formerly been an attendant on an infirm gentleman for a long period, and at his death had been left ill comfortable circumstances. She was one of thase old women who were ever fearing the in- stability of the institutions of her country, aud could not be prevailed upon to put her money either in the funds or on mortgage, but kept dipping from time to time, as her necessities required, into her principal, which she always kept by her, quaintly remarking to those few of her friends who were in her secrets, that the sieur's chest, lock and key, were highly responsible bankers. The old lady, whose name ivas Audran, had been for some time seriously indisposed, and was attended by a highly- respectable surgeon, a Monsieur D'Arsac, and under his care was fast recovering, and wanted, as the surgeon said, only a few days' quiet to effect her per- fect restoration— poor woman ! she was soon quiet enough, but her quietude was that of eternity 1— for M. D'Arsac came to me olie morning, and with wild and horroi- stricken look, informed roe, that on going as usual to visit his patient, he had found her brutally murdered. I accompanied him to her rooms, and found, as he had stated, the poor old wotnah lying in her bed, with her throat cut, so as almost to sever the head from tbe body. The room had been rilled of every valuable article it contained, and the poor old ladv's favourite banker had stopped pajment. There was no appear ance of force on entering the house. It had been Madame Audran's habit during her illness to open her door by a pulley attached to feer bedside, which lifted a strong iron bar, and had any " attempt, been made to force it, the neighbourhood must have been alarmed, as it was well known that she kept no servant and was so excessively nervous on her banker's account, that she never opened the door unless she was convinced by the sound ofthe person's voice that they were friends whom she might safely admit. There could, therefore, be no doubt that it was done by some person on intimate terms with* their victim— but who ? was the question ; her acquaintances were few— very few— but they were all persons of irreproachable characters; and it would have been cruel in the highest degree to have attached the suspicion of the, crime to any of them, unless there were some strong grounds for so doing. All, therefore, that could be done on the occasion, was to draw up the " process" of the circumstance, attested by the surgeon and some of the neighbours— and it was left to time to point out some clue to the murderer. But, in the course of a few months, the citcumstance seemed almost forgotten, or, if remem- bered, it was merely aR a gossip's story, related because ( here bung some strange mystery, which all being un- able to solve, they might safely hazard a conjecture, and appear marvellous wise. " You are going, Commissary, to the wedding to- night— are you not ?" said Madame Parguel, the wine- merchant's wife, one day, when she came to me to make her pretty usual enquiry as to where her husband had slept out the night before, not giving implicit cre- dence to the little way out of town, my dear." " Moils. D'Arsac was kind enough to send me an invitation, and, as the day seems fine, I shall look in to see the festivities of the evening. He keeps his mar- riage at tbe " Jardin Beaulieu," I think— I must go, for I have not seen him since that affair of poor Madame Audran's." " Ah! poor Madame Audran 1" replied the wine- merchant's wife, with a loud sigh; " she was a good woman, and a most particular friend of mine. I lis to be there almost every day, and it makes me shuddci to think of it— it was a sad business 1" " Who is D'Arsac to be married toP" " Oh, to a beautiful creature— only eighteen! such a shape — so " distingue,"-— you remember Emile de Lucevalle; she and D'Arsac have loved each other from childhood; they will be a happy pair." " They aught to be. But I thought that match was broken off on account of D'Arsac noi being rich enough to settle an equal sum with that brought by Emile. Do you know, Madame, how that has been arranged ?" " An uncle of his died in the Province, and left him the money." " I never knew he had one." " Nor I, until the other day; I never heard liini mention a word about an uncle until it had been all settled about the marriage, and the money on each side paid into the trustees'hands. But I must wish you a good day, Mr. Commissary, and I am much obliged to you for the information. I am an unhappy woman to have such a husband as Parguet—' going out of town, indeed!— I'll out of town him wilh a vengeance,'" said Madame, and hastened out of the room to scold her husband— dress for tbe wedding— and afterwards appear wilh him so lovingly as to elicit the usual ex- clamation, " If we were as happy as Monsieur and Madame Parguet, we sh mid indeed be happy." The evening was beautiful, and the illuminations at the " Jardin Beaulieu" every body pronounced to be superior to any thing that had been lor a long time; so charming— so happy every body looks— how beau- tifully the bride is dressed— what a very pleasant even- ing we shall have ! were the expressions passing from one to another. The dancing was kept up without cessation; first quadrilles— then waltzing— every body, in fact, seemed determined to be pleased. " Oh, look," said some, " the bride is going to stand up to a quadrille ; how elegantly she dances !" " Happy man, D'Arsac!" sighed many an admiring swain, " Eh ! wily what is the matter?— the quadrille has stopped," " Madame Parguet has fainted. Lead her away from the danoers into the open part of the garden," cried some one. ' It is nothing," said Madame Parguet; " merely a slight spasm. I shall be much better if you will let ine walk a few minutes about the garden by myself Bui here is fhe Commissary- he does not dance, and will allow me to lean on his arm." So saying, she took my arm, and the rest, at her request, resumed their dancing. - , . " Oil! Mr. Commissary," said she, " 1 have liatt such a shock." " What occasioned it, Madame ?" said I. " Are you sure nobody can overhear usf" " They are all engaged dancing." " You know I danced next the bride." " Yes." " And I was admiring the beautiful dress she had on when my eyes fell upon a broach she wears upon her bosom, and 1 thought I should have fainted." " What! because you saw a brooch ?" " Yes," said she, drawing close to me, and whis- pering in my ear, " that brooch was Madame Au- dfan'sft" " Madame Audran's 1" " Hnsh— speak low 1" " How do you know it ? You may— you must be mistaken." " No, no, I have seen it a thousand times; besides/ it was so uncommon a pattern that 1 often asked her to sell it to me, but was always refused. She said she would part with it only at her death." " This is very strange— I hardly know whatto think! I do not wish " to hurt her feelings, but can you learn from her how she became possessed of it?" This Madame Parguet undertook to do under pre- tence of admiring, and saying she wished to know where she might obtain a similar one. In a few mi- nutes she returned, having gleaned from the gentle and ill- fated bride all that she knew concerning it; it had been given to her that morning by her sl « > D'Atsac, and fhe would ask him where he So it, know in the morning. • This information in some way confirmed the suspi- cions I had previously entertained, that none but D'Arsac could be the murderer ; but then bis character had been unblemished, and he stood high in every man's report. It was not a tiling to hesitate abouts the conviclion in my own mind was so strong, ( list I considered it my duty to arrest hiin without d'ilay. I accordingly procured some of my agents, who wert> ill the neighbourhood, and sent to him to say I wished a few moments' private conversation with him. As f. entered the room, I heard the soft sweet voice of hi wife, chiding him for leaving her, and exacting a promise be would not st » y long! poor girl, she little thought how long the separation would be— that his promise of a quick raturn would be the last words to fall upon her ear. As the door closed, I approached D'Arsac:, and said, " Sir, you are my prisoner !" Looking at me at the same time, as if to read in my face the answer to What he dared not ask, at last, with a gasp for breath, he faltered out, " For what ?" " You are accused of the murder of Madame Audran 1" His colour fled in an instant, and he seemed as if he was about to fall, but covering his face with his hands, he remained a few minutes in thought. His deep, hard breathing betokened a suppressed sigh— one that tried for utterance, but was forced back; presently he sobbed out, " Oh, my poor Emile! this will be tiis death of you!" and dashing his hand across his fore- head, and striving to recover the sudden shock he had sustained, said, " I am ready to follow you." At the door he paused a moment, saying, " Could nothing be said to Emile that t am ill.'— something to eonsole her for my absence— anything but the tr" ' though it must soon out. Oh, Heavens! but this i much," and he dashed into the coach at the doer, and was at once conveyed to prison. The Tribunals being always sitting at Pa; i- , fria' soon took place, aud many things ; :- uie out against him which he could not rebut; the sudden possession of a large sum of money, which he had accounted for by the death of an uncle, was proved to be false, as he never had one. Tile brooch, loo, which was proved to have belonged to Madame Audran, he could not say where obtained ; besides other minor circumstances, which left so little doubt in the minds of the majority of his jury, that he was found guiliy. Murder in all countries is punishment alike— by death— and such was his sentence. That he did not die by the hands ofthe executioner, was not the fault of ihe law. He had procured some strong poison, which he took ( he morning previous lo his intended death on a scaffold, and left in disgrace a world wherein by his talents, ho might have shone one of its brightest ornaments. A short time previous to his death, he confessed the crime, 4tnd how it had taken place. He had been for some long time striving lo amass a sufficient sum of money to meet the views of Emile's friends; he had got together more than half the requisite amount, when lie thought he might, by one coup, obtain the wh'qle^ in an evil hour he tried, for the first time in his life, the gaming- table, and found himself in a few minutes a beggar, and the hopes of possessing Emile farther than ever removed from him. Returning home, he had to pass by Madame Auclran's, and the force of habit led him to enquire after his patient's health. He sat down in her room, musing on the waywaidness of his fat:- for a few minutes, and on rising to go, perceived M idam Audran had fallen into a slumber; his eye, a- ' moment, fell upon her chest of valuables, and the , -- vil instigated him to that murder as the fulfilment of his hopes, which a few moments' consideration would have shewn the fallacy of. With all the pains which were taken, the truth - juid not be concealed from Emile ; it cast a fixed upon her mind that could not be removed— sh< • ened at the sight, and thought of all her forme'' pi. sures and pursuits, and lived in the world as one w'w bore no part in the events of life— a ranger to around. It was not of long duration, for a few .. > ri saw her a prey to those morbid feelings of the which nought on earth could allay. THE PENNY SUNDAY TlMs, AND § POLfCfi GA2EOT& fragments for tljc © urtoiw. CRITICISM.— When Churchill's Prophecy of Famine made iis appearance, which is, undoubtedly, his finest poem, the sale was rather dull. Meeting his publisher in the pit of one of the theatres, Churcliiil asked him if he heard how it sold ? Mr. K. informed him the sale was extensive since the reviewers d— ned il. " Aye," says the poet, " that is fulfilling the scripture, ' Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings 1 have ordained strength.' " EPITAPH ON" AN EMPTY BOTTLE. Heie lies the best friend of my heart, , The faithful dispeller of care ; Whose bounty has deadened ( lie smart, And blunted the shafts of despair. • How oft in the moment of grief, Thy spirits have rallied my own; Have afforded the balm of relief, And chased even poverty's frown. But, alas ! thy rich foundation is dry, _ _ Thy spirit is vanished iu air; Thou'rt consigned to the rack with a sigh, And thy mem'ry bedew'd with a tear. BIBO. IIovv TO JUDGE OF RELIGION.— A sailor being strongly solicited by a Catholic priest lo change his re- ligion, the honest tar boldly resisted. Tile holy father finding that lie could not prevail, altered his mode of attack, and offered liim money as a reward ofhis apos- tacy; the bribe rather staggered Jack's faith, and he desired to consider of it till next morning. In the interim he applied to a brother- tar for advice, which was given liiin in the following style of blunt honesty : " Don't listen to him, messmate, for if your religion was not better t'lmn his own, and all the money he will give you into the bargain, he'd be d—' d before he would ask you to change." LINES ENCLOSING A MINIATURE PORTRAIT OF THE WRITER. rP. TRARCHO TO THE MINSTREL. Remember me, thou dearest creature, That lives beneath the azure sky ; Gi nned oil iny heart thine every feature— Link'd to thy soul, my destiny. O. T. H KNOWLEDGE.— Bishop Hare complained lo Lord Carteret of the hard words that he bad given the bishops, in a speech in the House of Lords, and re. minded him that he might be one day minister himself, which was the case, and might want the bishops' votes Lord C., with a. sneer, replied, " If I want you, X know how to have you." THE LAST HAREBELL. Farewell 1 O, farewell 1 Thou last sweet harebell, Whose beauty enriches the heath : Thou look'st languid and pale, As thou beiul'st in the gale That comes sweeping witli pitiless breath. ' Tis a beautiful earth That gave thee thy birth, And nurtures thy delicate form ; But form— nor perfume Can save from the doom, • That all earth's productions deform. How like to thy state My own hapless fate 1 1 sink ' neat. li adversities blast; Less able to bear _ Its sharp nipping air. From the warm sunnydays that are past. ANNA, MINSTREL or THE HI- MM. A STING.— A lateplumian professor of astronomy was Once addressed in company as the plufnftian professor. This most probably nettled him. A gentleman sitting by, nrchly observed, " See ! Iioiv that little b stings the professor." SONNET FROM THE ITALIAN. There is no God, the fool in secret said- There is no God that rules on earth or sky : Tear 0ff the band that folds the wretch's head, 1 hat Gou . Vay burst upon bis faitldcss eye. Is there no God ?— tbe stars in myriads spread, It lie look up, the blasphemy deny, Whilst his own features ",,, the mirror read, Reflect the image < i{ divinity. U there no God ?~- the stream that silver Hows, * h': an- he ' oreathes, the ground he treads, the trees, lire llowe. Vs, ti| t. grass, t| le sal, ds, each wind that blows, All speak of God; throughout one voice agrees, Aiid eloquent his dread existence shows: Blind to thyself, ah 1 see him, fool, in these. SAVING ONE'S BACON.— A boy who had not returned after the holidays to " Winchester school, which the master charged him to do, returned at Inst loaded with a fine ham, as a bribe to ihe master, who took the ham, but flogged the lad, and told him that lie might give his compliments to his mother for the bam, Out assured him it should not save his bacon. VERSES ADDRESSED TO A LADY, ACCOMPANIED WITH SOME CHOW'S QUILLS. These little plumes employed with art, May dangerous weapons prove : Whether they point keen satires dart, Or wing the shafts of love. In pity, then, these themes abjure, For oh I from thy fair hand, What mind the former can endure, What heart the last withstand. JOHN TAYLOR.— This author had the merit of inter- tnipting the servile etiquette of kneeling to the king. 1, myself," says the water- poet, " gave a book lo King James once, ill the great chamber at Whitehall, as his majesty once came from the chapel. The Duke of Richmond said merrily to me, " Taylor, where did vou learn the manners to give the king a book and not kneel f " My lord," said I, " if it piease your grace, 1 do give now; but when I beg any thing then 1 will kneel." EPITAPH ON AN OLD MAID. Here lies the body of Martha Dias, Always noisy, and not very pious, Who lived to the age of threescore years and ten. And then gave to the w orms, what she refused to men. II. M. MAY. REPROOF.— Dr. Pcarce, the Dean of Ely, when lie • was master of the Temple, having to preach there one morning, preferred a walk in ilie gardens lo sitting in the church while the prayers were reading, and going to the gardener's lodge, demanded entrance. An old woman, who was keeping the house in the gardener's absence, told hiin the gates were always lucked in church time, and she could not let hiin in. " Woman, do you know who 1 am ?" said the doctor, bridling. " No," said she, with great indifference, " I don't know, and what's more, I don't care." " Woman," retorted the doctor, in a rage, " open the gates in- stantly— I am master of tlio Temple." " The more shame for yon," replied the inflexible portress—" the mure shame for you to be walking here, when you ought to be praying at church." EPITAPH. Here lies the bones of Richard Lambton, Whose death, alas 1 was strangely brought on ; Trying one day his corns to mow off, The ra/ or slipt, and cut his toe off: His toe, or rather what it grew to, An inflammation quickly flew to, Which took, alas', to mortifying, And was the cause of Richard's dying. The celebrated Duke of Buckingham is said to have written on the monument in chalk, the following lines :— The Lord knows why; Here stand I, But if I fall, Have at ye all. PREACHING.— The facetious Duke of W , in speech iu the IIouso of Lords, happened to introduce a scripture story ; a reverend bishop, who sat at hi elbow, pulled liiin by the sleeve, and said, " When wil ; your grace have done preaching ?" to which the duke replied, " When I am made a bishop, my lord 1" srtje ARTFUTTEA. •- Nothing extenuate, ing: Nor set down aught in malice." SIIAKSPERE. DRURY LANE.— A most fashionable audience has crowded this theatre during the last week, to witness The Concerts d' / liver, which may be said to be the most pleasing of this species of entertainment, and to be fairly established in the favour of all lovers of the chaims of music. COVENT GARDEN.— There has been very little change in the performances at this theatre since our last. The Spanish Curate, poweifully enst as it is, and cxcellontly acted, has become highly popular, and will, no doubt, continue in the favour of the public much longer than many of the recent revivals. Mr. Leman's comic sccne, called Tmo in the Morning, creates a quarter of an hour's laugh between the first and second piece, every evening. The Greek hoy's attraction is unabated. HAYMARKET.— The loss of Mrs. Filzvvilliam from this deservedly successful theatre, must be greatly felt, for a greater favourite with the audience never trod these boards, than this charming actress. There has been nothing brought forward since our last, to cull for any particular notice. ADKLVHI— Robespierre and The Flip- flap Footman, with Jack Sheppard, have tilled this favorite house to the ceiling every evening. A new drama, formed on the late remarkable trial of Madame Laffargc, in Paris, we see is also in preparation. The Wreck of Ihe Royal George is now all the rage, and in conjunction wilh the revived aversion of Jack Sheppanl, is taking the town by storm. The first- named drama is playing at Sadler's Wells, the Surry, City, and Pavilion, and promises to obtain as great a popularity as any piece that has been performed al the minor theatres fur many years past. ROYAL ALBERT SALOON.— The winter season has commenced with much spirit. There has been several additions to the previous talented company, and Mr. Brading seems resolved to be unremitting in his en- deavours to afford a cheap source of amusement to the public. Among the new engagements, is an exceed- ingly clever conjurer, who denominates himself The Great Wizard of the North, and whose performances are really very clever and extraordinary. ELODINE! OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. A TALE OF THE SWISS CANTONS. ( WRITTEN liXPRl'. SSLY FOR " TI1F. PENNY SUNDAY TIMES," BY J. LAIMBE.) ( Continued from our last, To impatient lovers titlie lingers although it outstrips the speed of light, and Henri wearily watched for the opening dawn. In due time came Aurora, blushing blandly on dainc Nature; the birds began their can 1 of welcome, the buz ot insects filled the air, tbe flowers opened their blossom and breathed forth their reviving aroma, all nature was the same as yesterday ; but, all 1 how changed vvas lie; a few brief hours, and altered are the prospects of man, yet from what different sources spring their sorrows. Henri's wealth was unimpaired, and that was his bane ; his desires were the rural cot and humble state of plebeian rusticity; however, he deter- mined to reinstate himself in Elodine's affections, and win some estimation in the opinions of her father. Pot this purpose lie hastened to their secluded retreat. It was yet early, and all appeared iii a state of reflose ; he wandered in the flower embroidered paths, he entered the favourite bower, the scene of their unhappy drama, — from this spot uSiobserved lie could perceive the cot- tage, and anxiously he watched for tbe opening casement; but time progressed and a death- like silence prevailed. Elodine might be unwell, lie thought, yet there would be some movement within— be bccame bolder with anxiety, and paced the garden in full sightof the house, yet no one appeared, and he became alarmed— desperation nerved ucl, tu , him, and lie approached the latticed window, around ii0n of my desires which hung in wild luxuriance the full blossomed honey- i villains, pitied suckle. Spreading the festoons he looked through the ,„ y liberation, casement and all was blank, ail empty space presented itself— he could endure no more, and he tapped, gently at tbe. gate— no one appeared, and he raised the latch— the door was fastwied— the worst fears rushed into his mind, aud daring all hazard he burst open the door. The room was indeed empty, He ascended the upper chambers, but the ecljo of his voice was the only sound in the desolate cottage. Oil, what a thrill of anguish shook his heart I be looked his last on ail lie loved, severed from his bosom was the being that linked liiin to the world— arid be, he alone, had done this, had riiade a second exile, had mailt desolation where there bad been peace, Ids brain became maddened, now did he ivish lie was the mendicant cross- ing her path, even did lie repent Polisln'ssword had failed, and self- destruction appeared the only antidote lor his despairing soul, insensibility prevented homicide, and the cottage of Elodine was now as it were the tomb of Henri, for lie alone was the inmate, stretched upon its hoards, cold, aud, to all appearance, lifeless. But it was not long before lie was removed, for the mountain ban- dits who infested that locality soon discovered the unpro- tected state of the cottage, and entered iu the hope of plunder; disappointed in that, they secured the young count, not doubting by the ilchhess of his apparel a good round sum In the way of ransom upon his restoration to liberty. Two years from this event brines us to the tour of Ro- manidi Rivoli, who was now in the vicinity of Berne, a most beautiful and picturesque canton, diversified with all'hose peculiarities ' attached to Swiss scenery, but for which IVivoli had no delights ; indeed lie fancied a smneJ ness throughout the cantons, of mountains and rallies, cataracts and lakes, sunshine and aVaianclies, barren peaks and fertile ilieadoWS, the extreme of wild, wonderful, and simple, iii truth, lie was ill at case, ami nature vainly put forth her wonders to the bcart- stiicken wanderer. Many a lesson bad he received on the effects of ill- governed passions, and oft did he fancy an indelible mark was im- printed on his brow like another Cain, as a chastisement for the crime of homicide his ungoverned pride had per- petrated. Having arrived at a small inlet where tarry the boat- men and guides for travellers over the lakes and moun- tains, Rivoli engaged a man to convey him he cared not whither. Having flung himself in a light skiff, the boat- man plied his oars, and ihey floated swiftly over the glassy waters. The beauties of the scenes would have excited the enthusiasm of the most stoical but these two, boatman and passenger \ Vcre sceptical indeed, each ob- served a solemn silence, and indeed the morose aspect of the oarsman was anything but inviting or companionable, very unlike the generality of that caste who are altogether civil and communicative. From depths Unfathomable the boat was now scratch- ing over sheets of broken slabs a few feet below tbe sur- face of the water which was clear as glass, and reflected the bright smooth stone so strong that it appeared almost within their reach. Water is very deceptive," said Rivoli, wishing to break the monotony of silence. " Very," answered the boatman. " Do you ever meet with accidents here ?" enquired Rivoli. !' No," responded the man. The boatman was now rowing down a narrow gully im- pelled by a strong current, the cliffs on either side from the depths ofthe lake rose upwards perpendicular many hundred feet, and then inclining inward they shut out the light of day, and the glooin was almost awful. Rivoli glanced at his morose companion and trembled for bis own safety, for heie might murder be committed with impu- nity ; the shining baubles on his person added to a full purse by no means quieted his alarms, aud be kept him- self prepared for tbe worst. Wishing to draw bis rude companion into converse, lie again essayed his vernacular organs, but the mail vvas obdurate and repulsive, mono- syllables weie all he could obtain, which aroused the dig- nity and pride of Rivoli, who exclaimed with somewhat of irritability:— " Man, why so doggedly and uncouth do you stunt yonr speech, is it a condescension to open the iron portals of your rock hewn visage?" " Santa Marie I" shouted tbe exasperated boatman, starting up and throwing his oar in a menacing attitude. " Santa Diabolos, if you will," retorted Rivoli, present ing a loaded pistol at bis opponent. " Catch uie without protection when I venture among savages." " Fire I" shouted the boatman, " thou art the first man I have met with who hast dated show death— fire, thou wilt commit no murder since I desire it. Nay, pause not, do not- parley— file and it is done. Speak, and I answer not,— Coward ! what seated again'.— Ha! ha! ha!" " Dost thou take me for ail assassin ?" said Rivoli, while the blood of conscience mantled in bis feature. " I take thee for a man," said the boatman, " nor more nor less— man, who would as soon take a life as a tour. Where is he that values existence in aught else but himself, and noteVen there if tlie world foil him. Could you llumbef the slain destroyed by mortal hands and en- gines, so might you count Heaven's luminaries, spray on the sea shore, the sandy atoms of the desert, anything, everything impossible. Life, it would seem, is given but to take, all is prey, universal prey.— Now would I take thy poor existence* did 1 desire, or thou mine if an ex- pression displeased thee. Some destroy for kingdoms— some for mere pastime." Rivoli ( eared greatly, he doubted not his companion was insane, and but for bis peaceable returh to his occu- pation, felt assured lie vvotild act up to the opinions he had so freely expatiated On. They Were now upon the open lake, and the freshness of the delightful scenery around removed a world of hea- viness from his heart; he began to breathe freely, and a blandness of disposition disposed him to reform the ab- ruptness and dangerous qualities of his companion. " Boatman, it appears to me thou bast only observed the darkest picture of life." 1 " Likely," said the man. Perhaps have seen milch trouble?" " That is nothing to thee." " It is. Wliat is life Without fellowship, Without fcel- Tlio boatman upraised his head, and again hastily re- sumed his occupation. " I have a heart for connnlsseration, and purse for be- nevolence." " I desire neither," said the man, evidently much moved. " However steeled the heart itiay be, there are times nature will burst iis bondage, even now there is a gleam of humanity ou tliei." Rivoli bad touched a fibre, and a revulsion of feelings rushed through his whole frame ; his eyes moistened, and asolitaiy tear stole down bis sun- burnt face. He dashed his hand over his features, exclaiming,— " Why, why recal the past to a maddened brain ?— Why renew pangs tithe would paitially ameliorate t' 1 Rivoli answered, " I would hot for Worlds wantonly afflict ,1 troubled mind, if penury be thy only ailment, 1 can aid thee. If thou art bereaved, I can'give thee friend- ship. The ways of Providence are intricate aud marvel- lous, I may be the humble instrument of a superior power to help thee." " Why do you thus take interest in a stranger, one so much thy inferior ?" " Thy language elevates thee above thy class, I see and hear that which familiarises equality.— Am I right ?" " I know hot what impulse ufges'me to Confide iu yott, it niay Be thou art the lirst wfio has iiitercsted hiifiself with ati acriilloniods btdr. g, whose severity of demealtottr was ever assumed in tbe presence of wealth and title, for then it was 1 felt my abasement. You shall hear my history, it will add to self- devoted penance, pride must be hunibled, since it has brought desolation. It may not he without its lesson, even to you, for from so great a height have I fallen." Rivoli shuddered,—" Yes," he inwardly ejaculated, " to me a lesson of pride even on the lakes of Switzer- land. Piide, it is imprinted on my features, it was the curse of angels, it is I he bane of man— it shed the first blood, When will it draw the last ? It is the destroyer of peace, the sowei- of discord, the ban of the hitmlui race. Honour, friendship, and love art fugitives, like the dofe of the ark wandering over the Waste of waters, without a home to dwell In." Rivoli thus musing, gave the bbatuian tihieto collect himself, Who briefly related the events which we have previously related, he being no other than the ill- fated Henri de Ville. Rivoli deeply commisserated Henri's unhappy condition, but vvas at a loss to divine the cause of resorting to so la- borious and menial an occupation. Henri comiuited,—'* My dear lord, you may conjecture my despair when deprived of my soul's idol, my life was loathsome, even the robbers failed to extort ransom. I defied them, and a bullet from them was the Consumma- Tlicy, even they, obdurate, hardened me, behaved kindly, aud set no price on my liberation. I rewarded the rogues— they for a mo- ment pleased me, that small gleam of human nature in their habitual ferbcily reconciled me to my fate. I scorned lo be less than they," and resolved to live and atone, aud being lost to myself and the world, I sought to hide from it. " Our holy church offered me consolation, and for a time it was my refuge ; eveu there I became restless, my prayers were but daily orizons for the welfare of my be- loved— my thoughts thus divided, I considered sanctity was blasphemed, and determined to abandon tbe sacred edifice, polluted by liiy impiety. I coti'd not pray or calm lily passions; loVe, earthly love', in One Wild delirium of torment, ruled sole monarch of my agonized heart, and I enjoined myself this penance, which I have, aye, and will rigorously adhere to, as a punishment for indulging pas- sions which only degrade and brutalize mankind.— Thus ends my story, muse on it, il is no idle warning Pride, sooner or later, must bring its votaries to sorrow. Wc approach the shore, my fellows here must not hear a sen- tence, or I am driven from my refuse ; my lord, 1 entreat, your sccrtxy, do not endeavour to take IIIC from my self- degradation," " Vour punishment is too se. Vel'fc, Henri, consider what you suffer in body and mind 1" " Suffer! may not Elodiee suffer > where is she? does she exist? Oh", turn not to thought distracted brain, oi madness will o'ertalie me. Farewell, my lord, think on my fate, and let it be the beacon to avoid that error so detrimental to our peace— farewell!" " Farewell, my noble, unhappy friend. Yet, ere Heave thee, he assured ot my esteem and sincerity j and, iu the event of any kind of iiilormation collected iii my wander- ings, affecting your happiness, you must allow me to be the bearer of such intelligence." " Allow you !— my kind friend, yon know little of my heart to use so cold a term ; but do not conjure up such phantasies, I dare not hope— must not encourage such a dear delusion." " Hope is the beacon of life— happiness may yet be yours ; it, will be joy to me— I have now an object in view, years may be spent in my wanderings, and the most se- cluded places shall be my principal resort, for doubtless Poliski anil his daughter will avoid all situations of pub licitv. I hope much. Again 1 ask you— quit this occu- pation." " No, my friend, in tills only do t find peace— these scenes of grandeur elevate my soul; these wild expanse of waters, the simplicity of my mates, and inoffensive em ployment, accoid with my feelings. I feel not penury, and I am enabled to effect much good by well- directed donations to the deserving fraternity of which I am a member; although they are ignorant of the donor. This much 1 should not have mentioned, hut as a friend and well- wisher to my comfort, I repeat it to convince yon my calling is not without its utility." " Well, may that comfort you award to others return wilb interest to vou. Once more, farewell; may we oil this lake meet agaih. If we do, be sure it shall be joy's harbinger, for until then, we meet no more." " Then, farewell for ever, for such hopes cannot be realized ; I have had my emissaries— wealth has been ex- pended,— years have passed aw* iy— I feel the grave hath covered them from this world. Farewell." Thus saying, Henri turned from the shore, and the winding stream soon bore him from the sight of the sor rowing Rivoli. Some weeks elapsed, and Rivoli visited all the novelties of the various, cantons, bearing in mind his friendly mis- sion, but not the slightest clue presented itself to his in- defatigable exertions. Having reached Zurich, he deter- mined to make that beautiful country his home f » r a few weeks; during the time he left no part of it unexplored, the most intricate and remote situations he visited— he partook of the herdsman's chalet on the mountain craigs, and the shepherd's fare in the ob » cure vales, but fruitless was the seaich, aud he again proceeded on bis tcur. Lu- cerne next bccame the object of his admiration. He be- lieved the Paradise of Holy Writ was here— man could desire no more, aud here he resolved to settle for the re- sidue of his days. He purchased a delightful villa, most picturesquely situated— provided" domestics, and secretly resolved to win young Henri from his almost savage life and make liim his companion in his solitary rambles ad joining his romantic residence. Rivoli soon became familiarized to his new abode and it environs, its hills aud vallies, mountains and lakes, and days were often passed in the recesses of the neigh- bouring mountains, among the simple goatherds, of whom Rivoli made the most rigid inquiries. In the deep ra- vines poor cotters were widely scattered, hut uoue escaped his close scrutiny ; the lonely monasteries on isolated heights wyre visited, and the poor brotherhood were amply remunerated for their civility and hospitality Habit soon hardened the frame of Rivoli, and he bccame, shortly, hardy as a mountaineer; he feared not the aralahche, the foaming cataracts, the lofty promontories, or the difficulties of the almost unmanageable creeks of the serpentine waters ; he was a complete oarsman, aud his delight appeared in surmounting obstacles ; situations hitherto unexplored, afforded him the most infinite satis- faction, aud often had he surprised some lonely craigs- inan, whose primitive simplicity and superstition awarded the credit of. supernatural agency in attaining his extraor- dinary position. Every adventure ttivoli tiiriicd to advantage,— towards the object of his mission every action was directed, but, as yet, without the slightest hope, and he fi ared the prognostics of Henri were too true ; but tlie desire of bis soul was hearer thali he anticipated, and a perilous ad- venture put biill in possession Of that clue his utmost en- deavours had before failed to effect. It was the evening of a sultry day, Ftivnll was plying his little skiff amid streams almost impassable, when turn- ing an abrupt angle of broken rocks, a fierce current whirled him along witli such velocity, that it required his utmost skill to keep his boat from sinking ; innumerable fragments of cliffs closing him on each side, so that the least deviation would dash his frail bark to atoms. It was evident he was in the current of some powerful ( all from the mountains, and his experience quieted all alarm, knowing as he proceeded the Impelling force would de- crease, and lie should sOoii liieiit a C'leaf expanse of wa ttrrs. His opinions Were soon realized, and the dark narrow chasm was now fat- behind him. Night was fast approaching, and he glanced around to discover some spot where he might remain till morning, but the shores were so wild and rugged, that it was an impossibility to laud, therefore, lie pulled farther up the lake in the hopes of improving his prospects. The moon was up, clear, cold, and bright, and the mountain peaks glistened in her brightness. Rivoli was charmed with the majestic scene, and scarcely thought of bis peculiar situation. While thus surveying tbe stupenduous landscape, his quick eye des- cried a building appearing among tbe enormous pinnacles of the forest mountains; he knew the distance was con- siderable, tor his practised eye could measure space with the greatest accuracy, and he exerted his utmost strength to reach the desired haven. His speed kept pace with his wishes, for the waters were smooth as a mirror, not a breeze breathed oti its shining surface, which received on its clear bosom the bright expansive beams of the irridiat- ing moon, CTo be Concluded in our next.) CHARADES. 1 1. 1 am a word of thirteen letters.— My 2, 9, 11, 4— invariably accompanies wet weather i my 13, 12,2, 8, 12, 4— is ihe name of a celebrated female writer; my 4, 12,8,11,12,4— is a very common expression in America; my 7, 4, 11, 8, 3, 2, II, 9, 13— is the name of a religious denomination ; my 8, 3, 2, 10, 8, 4— is known and admired in Scotland ; my 6, 3, 8,2,12, 4— is the governess of a penitentiary ; my 4, 12, 7, 13— is a part of speech ; my 3, 13, II, fi, 3, 10, 11, 3, 4— sig- nifies cheerfulness; my 12, 2, 9, 1, 11. 12, 4— is a speech ; my 10,7,1— is an expression of contempt or disbelief; my 6, 7, 6— is a command to keep silence; my 2, 9, 1, 11, 12. 4, 5- are well known in the army and navy; my 2,7, 13— is a healthful exercise ; my 4, 7, 10,5, and 2, 9, 11, 5, 11, 13, 5— form n dessert; my 9, 2, 10, 11, 5, I— is one who makes his living by the fine arts ; my 6,7,2,2,9, II, 4— is a disease to which cattle are subject; my 2,9, 13, 5, 12, 6— is the pries of liberty ; niy 8, 2, 7, 5, 5— is the name of an instru- ment which is frequently sold hy cutlers; my 6, 12, 9, 4— is to give vent lo grief; my 5, 9, 6, 6, 12, 4— is the name of a fish ; my 3, 2, 6, 5— is pari of myself; my 9, 3, 10— is said to be industrious; and my whole sig- nifies a change. Wr. A. ANSWER TO H. Y. B.' s CHARADE IN NO. 27. My first is a forest called a dear, My second is a gander. My third is dinner, fourlh is rain, My fifth the River Adua, Sly sixth is a fire- arm called a gun, My seventh is a nut, My eight is Etia, where Lava does run, My ninth it is a gnat. My eleventh is maidens sweetly singing, My tenth does not sting, And my whole it is UNDERSTANDING, So now shall I take wing. Maidstone. MAC MAHON. STRAY THOUGHTS,— NO. 2. IIY X. V. z. Marriage is a holy and honourable rite, and requires more consideration than is generally bestowed on it. IIow often do we meet with persons who are always in a stile of abject poverty, solely arising from their having entered the matrimonial state too soon, and be- fore the plans for tlieit future life were fully matured. If young persons were to pause and consider the ex- penses necessarily attendant on a wedded life previous to their entering on it, many unhappy marriages, and many bitter scenes of misery would be prevented. Early marriages are very rarely the effects of love, but more frequently arise from a mere infatuation; — the eye is captivated, the exterior pleases, a powerful passion overcomes the voice of reason, and a union takes place, which often causes in after life, years of mortification Rtid remorse, and in many instances, has led to the commission of crimes, that in all probability, would never have occurred, had a little thought and judgment been exercised previous to marriage. How frequently do we see cases, amongst mechanics in par- ticular, of a man at the age of twenty- one, having to support a wife, and perhaps two or three children, at a time when lie ought lo have it only in speculative, and w hen, instead of being able to lay by a portion of his income to meet the expenses that might occur from his being thrown out of employment, and in case of sick- ness, or to save money for the future, he is compelled to use all his earnings to support his family, and the moment his Work slackens, he is forced into a state of degradatiwn and poverty, and finds, when too late, that he Is not able to feed his children upon the lips and face of his wife, or clothe them with her embraces; t'le dumb complaints of his infants, and his inability to relieve their wants, renders his existence miserable, M. RIDDLES. I. My first doth throng fam'd Britain's coast, My next her subjects all can boast. My whole is one of my first you'll see, When you this riddle answer me. R. II. My first may be said of a person that's stout, My second when speaking of woman; And the two, when combined, a relation points out, Whose name is with children quite common. My third of a person that's thin may be said, If ( villi a stout one Ihey are compared. To be. my whole is a loss which many have had, And for which there are few that's prepared. AV. A- IKINSON. III. First find out a word that doth silence proclaim, And that backwards awd forwards is always the tame. The next you most find, but a feminine name, That backwards and forward's always the same. An act or a writing on parchment, whose name, Both backwards and forwards is always the same. A fruit that is rare, whose botanical name Read backwards and forwards, is always the same. A note iu music, which lune dolh proclaim, And backwards and forwards is always the same. Their initials collected, a title will name, That's justly the due of each married dame, Which backw arils and forwards is always the same. R. S. B. IV. Ye eagur readers of Ihe SUNDAY TIMES— Unravellers ol mysterious rhymes, Read on with scrutinizing eye, With force of thought this mystic knot untie. My first is full strong in each sense and the soul, My second's not uie— but ' tis you in Ihe whole ; My third's deep in ruin, my fourth's with the dead, My fifth and my sixth in a gaily dress'd head, My seventh does lead every lory in Britain, • . | 111 J TOILLLLLL • >- I and causes liun to repent ofa match, lliatliad he walled i My cig) lt|, ; 3 a part of , he chairthat you sit on, a few years longer, until lie was settled in Ihe worl « ) j i\| y ni„ » h's in the m he might have entered on with credit, and made him self happy. A man who marries young, can scarcely ever, ( even if the most rigid economy be used,) rise above what is mean and grovelling. Marriage is an important incident in life, and should never he entered 011 until you had a competency to meet comfortably Ihe costs that are likely to accrue from it. Hope is the sunshine of our youthful ( lays, and vanishes as we advancc through life ; it is like the blos- soms of spring, which become ripe fruit in summer, and leave us nothing in the winlci, but the bare re- membrance tint such things were. In our early years, all is bright and lovely, the lime glides swiftly on in ease and comfort;— hope keeps our bosom warm, and dreams of future happiness are before us ; as » e verge into manhood, our hopes become stronger and more matured, but when we pass the meridian of life, they gradually decrease, the cares and troubles of the world thickly beset us, our mind is in a continual slate of anxiety, the future seems a fearful chasm, and we look anxiously forward, birt with doubt, lo our latter end, as a time to relieve us from the hardships of our present existence. BUckfriar's Road, Oct. 8th, 1840. moon, my lentil in your dinner ; My ' levcntli's in sin, and composes a sinner. The half of my whole's good for man's fallen race, And my w hole, of itself, looks you full in the facc. BUCK, Glasgow. V. It is round and flat, it is old and new, And the miser its brightness loves to view, And strange it may seem, yet you need not doubt it, You always have it, thu' perhnps oft without it. ALEXANDER. SCRAPS AND SCRAPINGS) OR MEMS. OF A MANAGER. BY FANTOCENI. The veteran Tom Barnes, the pantnloon, once went on a country expedition. On his arrival at B , he found to his mortification that the theatre had just closed, and tile whole of ihe corps dramati^ ae had pro- ceeded to a town some twenty miles distant. Not nowing what to do, he thus writes home to a friend. We subjoin it verbatim :— '* I am new reduced to a single penny— a single shirt a single glass of table beer— a single sheet to my bed a single wig. Bui I have one consulation however, and that is— that I am a single man and that 1 have a single friend in you." In these days this is not a singular case. " Dearest Leonora, I now repair to the realms of Fairy Land, where murm'ring zephyrs waft my soul In bliss!" was the exclamation of the hero of a melo- drama, at the theatre.—" No you don't!" was the reply of a bailiff, who was anxiously awaiting to entrap him at ( he wings; " you goes along with me to White Cross Street." PAVINR ONE'S WAY TO FAME. " You'll never pave your way to fame," said a pro- vincial manager, addressing a hungry- looking indi- vidual, who was busily engaged cleaning spangles upon the top ofa drum. " You'll never star it on any of the London boards— never!" No, I think not," said the person addressed. " Not while I remain here upon these boards, fo clean span- gles, deliver bills, shift tints, make properties, copy out parts, solicit bespeaks, and ptay the walking gen- llemaH in farces, with occasional assistance in the or- chestra to play Ihe big drum, for eleven shillings per week. No livelihoods of that, sir." What!" thundered out the manager, making him- self look a size larger than lie vvas before. " Dare you complain ?— I'll tell you what, sir ; when I first entered ihe theatrical profession, I played the first robbers, fought double- handed combats, danced hornpipes be- tween the pieces, sang comic sorgs, helped to paint the scenery, looked after the super.' s, and officiated as check- taker in the gallery, for seven and sixpence per week, sir.— What do you think of that, eh ? Let ine have no more grumbling, or I shall most positively dis- charge you— do you hear, sir ?" So saying, he shuffled off the stage, leaving the poor half- starved actor to exclaim—" Oil! ye gods, must I endure all this ?" ( To be continued occasionally.) VOLTAIRE.— Voltaire said of a traveller, who made too long a stay with him at Ferney, " Don Quixote REBUS. Ye rebus- expounding bards, Find out, first, a game at cards ; And then a bird of piercing eye, That utters forth a dismal cry ; The next, a man of fume and note, Whose life is in Britain's annals wrote ; And then proceed without delay. To find me out, a well- known play. The initials found, and then combined, A pleasant flower they'll bring to mind. Transpose the same, and then you'll see , What causes pain to you or me. Blackfriar's Road. X. Y. Z. The following New and Highly Interesting Works are now Publishing, in Penny Weekly Numbers and Four- penny Parts, by E. LLOYD, 30, Curtain Road, Shore- ditch :— FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, THE MYSTERIOUS ORPHAN. With No. 1, is Pre- sented Three Superb Engravings. Part 4 is now ready. ANGELINA; OR, THE MYSTERY t-*- OF ST. MARK'S ABBEY. Au Original Romance. Illustrated with Splendid Engravings. Two of the most costly Engravings will be presented ( GRATIS) with the First Number. THHE HEBREW MAIDEN ; OR, THE - 1- LOST DIAMOND. An Historical Romance. Tbe Engravings of this Work are ofthe most costly description. With No. 1, will be presented Two Spirited Engravings.— Part 1 is now ready. THE OUTCAST ; OR, THE GIPSY GIRL OF ROSEMARY DELL. A Tale of the most thrilling Interest. In Penny Weekly Numbers and Fourpenny Monthly Parts. Steel and Wood Engravings. Also, the following Popular Almanacks, for the Year 1841, are now ready, ami may be had of all booksellers in Town and Country :— jyt00RE'S PROPHETIC ALMANAC, with several highly entertaining and amusing En- gravings, designed by a first- rate Artist. SAM SLICK'S ALMANAC, with a liuuionrous collection of the best executed Engravings. ELA) took inns for castles, but Mr. —- for inns. takes castles CHORT- HAND SO SIMPLIFIED, by being reduced to a few plaio Rules, that any Per- son inny thoroughly understand and write it in Six Days, by the sole aid of ' THE HAND- BOOK OF STENOGRAPHY,' by WILLIAM CARPENTER. With Six Engravings, and bound with gilt edges, price One Shilling. Sent post- free for Twopence. " Mr. Carpenter is celebrated as one of the very first short- hand writers and parliamentary reporters of the present day. Such a work as this, therefore, coming from such an authority, will be hailed with welcome by all who are desirous of acquiring in perfection that useful accomplishment."— Cleave's Gazette of Variety, London:— WILLIAM STRANGE, 21, Paternoster- row; MACHF. N & Co., Dublin; and sold by all Booksellers. London: Printed and Published by E. LLOYD, 30 Curtain Road, Shoreditch ,• and ol 44, Holywell Strut, Strand•