PENNY LONDON:— SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1840. JAMES LITTLETON IN THE ACT OF MURDERING MARY NICHOLLS, THE UNFORTUNATE WOMAN WITH WHOM HE COHABITED, IN HAMPSHIRE- HOG- YARD, ST. GILES'S. police, T H E L I V E L Y S M A C K — L O O K O U T F O R SQUALLS. " Ah I your worship, it's fine talking ! I have long discontinued keeping anylhing drinkable in the house, except water and milk, and what is Ihe consequence ?— Why, that my head is continually covered with bumps, and bruises; and my chairs, tables, linen, and lookingglasses, are daily converted into gin!" " My good friend," said his worship, somewhat impatient of Ihe subject—" mv good friend, I really cannot do anything for you. You married her ' for better or for worse, to have and to hold until death shall you part,' and yon must bear your misfortune as well as yon can. I repeat, I can— do— nothing for you." " Then 1 am a very miserable man !" ejaculated the poor fellow, and turning from the table he heaved another sigh, so piteous and profound, that the discharge did seem to stretch his ' care- Ktulfed breast almost to bursting. B R E A K I N G C O V E R, My cockney blade, though polished you May tliink yourself, ' tis plain, Have broke the glaze, and that no doubt Will give you cause for pain. Most learned pedagogue, who rules The heads amongst the smalls, Like many a hapless fisher's smack You may look out for squalls. " Speak out, sir ! " said the magistrate," I am ready to hear you." " Your worship, I ain a married manbegan Ihe applicant— compressing his lips to keep down a rebellious sigh, which thereupon forced its way through his nostrils— rushing- ly indignant at his attempt to confine i t — " I am a married man, your worship 1" " Well, sir, and what of that ?" said his worship— " So much the better for you, if you have a good wife." " Ah, sir 1" ejaculated the poor man, " I have been married eighteen years— and eighteen years of unmixed misery they have been to me I I thought to have lived in ParRilise, as it were; but I could not have been more miserable if I had lived in— the other place I" He paused— sighed again— and then, taking out a ragged pocket handkerchief, he stood silently wiping his forehead until the magistrate roused him from his reverie by saying, " My good friend, I am very sorry for yofl, but what would you have me do I" " I don't know, sir," he replied, despondingly," but I was told I could get some relief by applying here." " If you wish to get divorced, I cannot do that for you," rejoined his worship:—" we should have little lime for any thing else, 1 fear, if we could divorce all the unhappy couples who apply to us !" " I have no doubt'of i t , " said the man—" no doubt in the world of i t ! BHt, your worship, 1 don't wish to put my wife away so as to disgrace her. I would allow her a comfortable maintenance, if she would only leave me in peace." " That yon must agree upon between yourselves," observed Ihe magistrate—" I cannot assist you in the negociation, nor can I interfere at all between you, unless she has committed some breach of the peace— Has she struck you ? or are you afraid she should attempt to take away your life ?" " I don't know whether she means to take away my life, or not," replied h e , " but she is eternally beating me whenever she in tipsy ; and that is almost every day I" " T h e n why do you let her drink ?" * S I N G U L A R S U I C I D E . — A g e n t l e m a n i n e a s y c i r c u m - stances, yet apparently uneasy in his mind, made a practical illustration of the following novel mode of felo- de- se:— He piled one of the little cannons which are sold for children on a heap of stones, and firing it with German tinder, lodged the contents of this destructive implement of war in his head. This is a matter of fact. B O W - S T R E E T . One of the churchwardens of St. Anne's, Soho, appeared in custody before the magistrate, to answer the complaint of James Green. James Green— or, more courteously speaking, Mr. James Green— 1 « landlord of a respectable inn in Fssex, and a j o l l y landlord he is— plump, unctuous, and rosy; and being at that time blessed wi lh a fine pair of bloodshot eyes, his countenance looked as glowingly rubicund as a full- blown Patagonian peony. James Green, it appeared, had a correspondent in London, named C , who some time before accepted a bul ID his favour, and within a few days. James Green had received a letter from a Mr. E.," informing him that his friend Mr. C. would not be able to honour his acceptance, because Mrs. C. had eloped! This was sad news for James Green. He felt for his friend who had lost his w i f e ; he felt more f o r himself, who was likely to lose his money; and, what with Ihe wife and the money, and the money and the wife, he was pursled exceedingly. Bat he was not the man to sit idly twirling his thumbs and bothering his brains, when there was a chance of mending the matter by using his l e g s ; and so, having set his affairs at home in order, he came bang up at once to London, determined ( like King Lear,) to do something— though what he knew not. Tfi the first place, he called upon Mr. F,.. for Mr. was from home— roving round the country in search of his faithless spouse, p0 0 r m a n ! James Green and Mr. E. laid their heads t o f f e t h e r ; and, indeed, James Green could not have c ome more opportunely, for Mr. E. had just got intelligence that the runagate Mrs. C., and her paramour, Lieutenant G., were concealed at No. 29, Carlisle. street, Soho. " Ho ! ho ! " thought James Green to himself, < « now I'll do the business genteelly— I'll get poor C. his wife again— I'll basle the blackguard that took her away, and I'll get my bill honoured, all quite regular." Full of this hope and expectation, he instantly sallied forth on his way to No. 29, Carlisle- street, S0ho ; but, unfortunately, James Green's memory " lacked retention"— the number of the house imperceptiblv evaporated as he went along— by the time he reached Carlisle- street, ten of the twentynine had completely vanished from his recollection, and Bo he boldly knocked at the door of No. 19. Now No. 19 Was the Residence 0 f a most respectable maiden lady, the daughter of a late magistrate, and of very retired habits. But what was all that to James Green ? he lmd 4 « little doubt of his having mistaken the house as he had o f h i s own existence. The door was opened by one of the maid- servants, and James Green, with his fine flaming physiognomy, strode manfully into the hall. The girl, with the open door still in her hand, stared after him with surprise.— " Shut the door, young woman!" said the peremptory Ja] nes Green, " shut the door, young woman, and show mu up to the missis.*' " My mistress, sir ! " said the astonished girl ; — " it's impossible— she is not up." ' " Aye, that won't do for me," replied James Green, " I must, and I will see her directly— so show me up glairs!" The girl became alaimcd, nod called her fellow- servant ; whilst James Green continued marching about the hall, wiping the dewy moisture from his blushing brows, and vociferating aloud, " You baggages! you know all about i t ! But I won't be gammoned !— you know the missis is in bed with Lieutenant G.! But I'll have liini out in spite of you '." At length the two girls together prevailed upon him to moderate his choler a little, and write a note to their mistress. They furnished him with pen, ink, and paper, and he set about it lustily ; but he wrote and wrote, and could write nothing to his mind. He threw his coat off, and tried again; but still it would not do. Then he recollected that he had been bled the day before, and that the bandage might possibly impede the flow o f h i s thoughts as well as the motion ofhis pen. Up goes his shirt sleeve in on instant; and stretching out his brawny arm, lie ordered the girls to unloose the bandage ; but by this time they had no doubt that honest James Green was neither more nor less than a madman, and one of them slipped out of doors and requested Mr. O., the churchwarden, who resided immediately opposite, to come to him. The churchwarden came, j u s t as James Green had managed to unroll the bandage from his arm himself, and was taking pen in hand to have another try at writing. He demanded James Green's business there, and James Green fold him all about it without bating an inch. When he had done, the churchwarden told him he was either mad, or was labouring under some gross mistake. James Green was doubly fired al this— his countenance, from a glowing red, became of a mahogany tint, and he manifested symptoms of kicking up a low. But the churchwarden was not to be frightened by 41 the blustering of a turkey cockj" and so, quietly grasping James Green by the arm, he " walked him out of the house i " and walked him along the street, till he had walked him into the oflice of the lady's solicitor, in order that he might be dealt with according to law for his strange intrusion into her house. But the solicitor happened to be from home, and James Green was suffered to go at large ; whereupon he repaired to the nearest tavern, took a bumper of brandy and water to reconglomerat6 his facullies, and then applied at this office for a warrant against the churchwai den,— who, as he said, had dared to walk him out of one house into another. The magistrate having heard the business from beginning to end, with great patience, dismissed the warrant, and told James Green he might thiok himself well off that it was no worse. This is the end of Jaines Green's adventures, as far as we are acquainted with them. M A R L B O R O U G H - S T R E E T . Of all the miseries, or vices, which are daily brought to this oflice for relief or correction, there are none that- give llie magistrates more trouble than the miseries of matrimony— and the trouble is the more painful, inasmuch as, in nine cases out of ten, it never leads to any satisfactory result. Scarcely a day passes without some connubial devilry, or other, being submitted to their judgment either by man or woman— members of ( he married public of this metropolis; and in almost every case their prayer is, total separation— a comfort which a magistrate has it not in his power to beslow. It is only jour wealthy couples who can shake oil'their fetters— the needy ones must wear them for life A reary Be nedict of this latter class— a large, middle- aged man, of lachrymose phisiognomy, respectful demeanout, and decent attire, presented himself before the magis'rate, one gloomy December morning, to request some relief from his wedded woes. He had waited more than two hours among the crowd at fhe lower etvd of the oflice, whilst the ordinary business was goin g on, without manifesting the slightest impatience ; andrwhen the hurry and bustle was over, he sedately app onched the table, and told tbe magistrate, in a confidential under- tone, that he wished to consult him on a subject of the utmost importance— C O U R T O F R E Q U E S T S K I N G S C A T E - S T R E E T. THP. TAILOR, THE MILLINER, ANB THF. HORSE- HAIR CALVES.— BROWN V. SURRKL.— The plaintiff in this case was a tailor, aud a few months since the defendant called upon him and said he wanted a pair of the very best superfine black kerseymere dress- trousers, and inquired Ihp price of them. Plaintiff told defendant they would be £ 2 2s., bul eventually agreed to take £ 1 18s. As tbe de fendant was so fretfully anxious to obtain a good fit, plaintiff cut them ont and had them hasted on his legs. After the manifold alterations had been suggested by the said defendant, and assented to by tbe plaintiff, thetronsers were completed and sent home. In a few hours, however, they were sent back with a message that they were too loose in the seat. ( Considerable laughter, during which the defendant looked as crave as imposture itself.) Plaintiff made the required alterations, but still to no purpose ; and at length, getting tired, he sent in his bill and receipt, which defendant thought proper to keep, without disbursing the amount, and sent back the trousers. COMMISSIONER — Now, Mr. Turrell, what have yon , to say to this ? Which is Mr. Tort ell ? , Here a very delicatelv- made. and rather wopfol- visaged | individual, about five feet two inches in height, stepped , forward, and with as ranch dignity as there in him lay, said,— I, sir, am Mr. Tnrrell." , COMMISSIONER.— And what are you, Mr. Turrell, eh ? DEFENDANT.— Me. sir, I am ft- JEJtesmen, sar. COMMISSIONER.— Phoo, phoo; what trade are yon ? D E F E N D A N T . — W h y , sar— aw— I'm a millmaur. ( Shouts of laughter.) COMMISSIONER.— Well, sir, what do you say to the plaintiff's statement ? DEFENDANT.— It's all very true, sar, as he says ; but, . sir, I'm determined to have mv clothes to fit. After I 1 had the seat taken in— aw— I found thev were too long ; and aw— when aw— he altered them again— aw— they poi sitively were too short, and aw— when I wanted thetn— ; aw— made longer— aw— the tailor said he should charge s — aw— the alteration, and— aw— so yon see he has dragged . me here. ( Lauehter.) PLAINTIFF.— Why, gentlemen, when he first came to t me, he wanted the trousers made with padded horse- hair calves ; ( Immense laughter) hut 1 told him I did not deal in horse- hair. As to the present pair of trousers, 1 am [ confident they fit. ( Laughter.) j COMMISSIONER.— I'm afraid, Mr. Turrell, we must get you to do as we usually order in such cases; try them on, and the jury will decide whether they fit or not. t DEFENDANT.—' Pon my horour, sir, I cannot. ( Laugh- 1 ter.) v COMMISSIONER.— Why, you can go lip stairs, unless, ine deed, the horse hair calves are ill requisition ; we cannot accommodate you with those. " DEFENDANT, i n d i g n a n t l y . — P e r h a p s , s a r , y o u do not „ know what a pair of dress- trousers are. ( Laughter.) They should be tight, sir, and aw — 2 COMMISSIONER.— Silence, sir, good man- milliner ; you shall have these trousers made so tight, that it. shall ruzzle you to get out of them. Are you { to plaintiff) wilfng to make any other attempt at fitting this gentleman's extras' ordinary'pair of legs i S PLAINTIFF.—( eyeing the defendant with ineffable cony tempt.)— You may say that, sir, ' tis a hopeless task ; but I'll try. COMMISSIONER.— On that condition, then, tbe case shall be remanded until the trousers are finished, and then, if the gentleman still objects, he must tit them on here in court, when the jury will decide upon " both capital calves," and the trousers into the bargain. The parties then left the court, one of the jurymen observing that the milliner deserved tbe same treatment lhat the. trousers had undergone, i. e., a good basting. A N A R R O W E S C A P E F R O M T H E G U I L L O T I N E. Tha keeper of the Gallery of Pictures at Rouen, is a thin spare man, of advanced age. trembling in every joint. On a traveller recently inqniringif his trembling proceeded from cold, or from a paralytic affection, a smile for a moment lighted np his venerable features, and he replied, in a mild subdued tone : — ' Non, Monsieur ; I caught this disorder under the axe of the guillotine ; and, as I perceive your curiosity is excited, if you will do me the honour to take a chair, pendant que je vous conte I'affaire, I shall be most happy to gralify it.' Handing chairs to myself and friends, and taking a seat respectfully in front of us, he related the following extraordinary story : — ' I was a garde de corp in the service of that excellent Sovereign and martyr Louis X V I . ; and I had the honour of being constantly near bis person, until the fatal 10th of August, when, by almost a miracle, I escaped the massacre of his faithful adherents at the Tuilleries, and lived concealed with a friend at Paris till I heard of the determination of the Convention to bring my revered master to trial. Determined to risk my own life in an attempt to save his, I disguised myself one evening and joined a party of Royaiists who had formed a plan to carry off the King from the Temple, and I was appointed by them to convey to him a large sum of money to bribe his keepers to favour bis escape. Our attempt would, probably, have been attended with success, had not the imprudence of some over zealous friends defeated it. Suffice it to say, that the commissaire, whom he thought we had succeeded in corrupting, betrayed us ; on the very day the guard of the prisoner was confided lo him ; and the tocsin announced throughout Paris that Louis was about to escape. The police were on the a'ert to rrrost the conspirators, and I , with difficulty, made my escape to a country- house about twentyleagues from the capital, where I remained in constant terror of apprehension, till the death of my Sovereign and his Queen had placed the factions which governed France at variance with each other, and furnished daily victims to the now permanent guillotine. Tired of ray uneasy position in the country, I determined on returning at all risks to Paris ; and, disguised as a porter, I lived there undiscovered till a few days previous to the overthrow of Robespierre. 1 was then arrested, and conveyed to the Luxembourg, tried, and condemned to suffer in the morning of the very day on which Tallier succeeded in overthrowing the usurper; but this circumstance would not have saved my life, had not one of these mercies of the Almighty which I have often experienced protected my existence. Already had ten or twelve of the unhappy victims, who were led out with me, passed under the fatal axes, and I put to their place, with the blood of the sufferers streaming on the scaffold before my eyes, when as 1 lay expecting every instant the fatal blow, I heard the executioners exclaim, with terrible oaths, that tbe instrument of death was arrested in its descent by some derangement of the slides. They were busily employed in setting it to rights when the shouts of the populace announced from the gardens of fhe Tuilleries the change of affairs which had been for some time expected. The commandant of the military force attending the execution immediately suspended the work of death, and 1 was raised np, with the board still strapped to my body. A few minutes explained the cause of my deliverance. The power of Robespierre was no more. He perished shortly after by the axe which had so providentially spared me and the rest of its intended victims under the horrible reign of the blood- thirsty monster. T H E S I C I L I A N D I V E R. r i l n flic lime of Frederick, King of Sicily, ( say* Kircher,) there lived a celebrated diver whose name was Nicholas, and who, from bis amazing skill in swimming, and his perseverance under water, was surnamed The Fish. This man, from his infancy, had been used to the sea, and earned his scanty subsistence by diving for corals and oysters, which he sold to villagers oil shore. His long acquaintance with the sea at last brought it to be almost his natural element.^ He wa ® frequently known to spend five days in the midst of the waves, without any other provisions than the fish which! he caught there and eat raw. He often swam over from Sicily to Calabra, a tempestuous and dangerous passage, carrying letters from the king, and lie was frequently known to swim among the Gulfs ef Lipari Islands, no way apprehensive of danger. Some mariners out at sea one day observed something at a distance from them, which they regarded as a sea- monster; but upon its approach, it was known to be Nicholas, whom ihey took into the ship. When they asked him whithef lie was going in so stormy and rough a sea, and at such a distance from land, he shewed them a packet of lelleis which he was carrying to one of the town* of Italy, exactly done up in a leather bag in such a manner as they could not be wet by the sea. He kept flient company for some lime on their voyage, conversing and asking questions, and after eating a hearty meal with them, he took his leave, and jumping into the sea, pursued his voyage alone. In order to aid those powers of enduring in the deep, nature seemed to have assisted him in a very extraordinary manner; for the spaces between his fingers and loes were webbed as a goose, and his Chest became so very capacious that he conld take in at one respiration as much breath as would serve him for a whole day. The account of so extraordinary a person did not fail fo reach the king himself, who commanded Nicholas to be brought before him. It was no easy matte*- to find him, as he generallv spent his lime in the solitude of tbe deep; but at last, after much searching, he was found, and brought before his majesty. The curiosity of that monarch had long been excited by, the accoHnts he had heard of the bottom of the Gulf of Charybdis. He now conceived that it would be a proper opportunity to have more certain information ; be, therefore, commanded our poor diver to examine the bottom of this dreadful whirlpool, and as an excitement to his obedience, he ordered a golden cup tn be flung into it. Nicholas was not insensible to the dangers to which he was exposed— dangers known only to himself — and, therefore, he presumed to remonstrate ; but the hopes of Ihe reward— the desire of pleasing the king, and the pleasure of shewing his skill, at last prevailed. He instantly jumped into the gulf, and was as instantly swallowed up in its bosom. He continued for three quarlers of an hour below, during which time the king and bis attendants remained very anxious for his fate ; bul he al last appeared, holding the cup in one band, and making his way through the waves with the olher. It may be supposed he was received with applause when he came on shore. The cup was made the reward j of his adventure. The king ordered him to be taken proper care of, and as be was somewhat debiliated by ^ his labour, after a hearty mral he was put to bed, and permitted to refresh himself by sleeping. When his spirits were thus restored, he was brought to satisfy the ( king's curiosity with a narrative of the wonders he had l t seen, and his account was to the following e f f e c t :— He would never, ( lie said,) have obeyed the king's commands had he been apprised of half the dangers that were before him. There were four things, ( he said,) which rendered the gulf dreadful, not only to men, but a to fishes themselves. First— The force of tbe water y bursting up from the bottom, which required great » strength to resist. Second— The abruptness of the a rocks that on every side threatened destruction. Third— s> The force of tbe whirlpool dashing against those rocks. Fourth— The number and magnitude of polypus fish, IP some of which appeared as large as a man, and which were sticking against the rocks, projecting their fibreus ^ t arms to entangle him. Being asked how he was able ln so readily to find the cup that had been thrown in, he id replied that it happened to be flung by the waves into , e a cavity of a rock against which he himself was urged • p in his descent. This account, however, did not satisfy ( T the king's curiosity. Being requested lo venture once | y more into the gulf for further discoveries, he at first n> refused, but the king, desirous of obtaining the most iis exact information possible of all things to be found in ; d t' l e g " ' f t repeated his solicitations, and to give them still greater weight, produced a larger cup than the j], former, and added also a purse of gold. Upon these v e considerations tbe unfortunate diver once more plunged ty into the whirlpool, and was never heard of more, he T. BROWN. / THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. E R N N E S T I N E DE L A C Y 1 OR, THE R O B B E R ' ^ jFOUNDLTNG. { A N ORIGINAL ROMANCE, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR THE PENNY SR/ NDAY TLMESI'' BY THE POPULAR AUTHOR OF « ELA, THE OUTQAST," " A N G E L I N A ," " G A L L A N T TOM," " IFAEES AND LEGENDS OF OTHER D A Y S , " & C .] (. Continued from our last.) L iimiiimimtmm" It was a melancholy day to Godfrey and Ernnestine, when they were compelled to separate, for the former was growing apace, and his parents eoulil not think of his re maining always in a state Of inactivity at home, neither did the youth's bold and enterprising spirit wish i t : jet at the thoughts of parting from his beloved Emnestiite, even for the most brief space of time, he revolted. Hold, • heroic, and aspiring, Godfrey longed to distinguish himself in the battle- field, and the crusade offered him every opportunity of gratifying his inclination, but the idea of being separated at such a distance from her who was the empress of his heart, and the uncertainty that they might ever meet again, made him abandon this idea, in spite of the solicitations of his father, to the contrary; and instead, he accepted of a situation in the family of Sir Egbert de Courcy, who had taken a great fancy to him, and was anxious to retain him as the companion of his son, with whom Godfrey was also a great favourite. TVio noctla nf L'^ L^.., „., I. .. f„... the Utter had, in spite of her prayers, her tears, and entreaties, with very little hesitation, git en bis consent to Reginald's paying his addresses to her, aud had, ( with a sternnfes ' and inflexibility which she could uot have tofagified he was capable of entertaining), commanded her to look upon him as her future husband. Godfrey was thunderstruck ;— he could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses;— could Keginald, whom he had ever thought generous, noble, and in fact, beyond all i eproach. could he have been guilty of su< h base duplicity, such a cruel breach of friend- hip? It did not seem possible !— Aiid'then the conduct of Hubert;— that was even more strange and inexplicable than al!' That heshould so ieadily coijrsejat to saciifice the happiness of Ernnestine ' to a mall . whom she coiljd not love, when he had so peremptorily refused to sanction the affection of himself and her, and had tuined a deaf ear to alt that they could urge, seemed so ciuel and unjust, that Godfrey was a long time before he could bring his Blind to believe it. Hut. lie. was soon convinced; Hubert and his parents made him acquainted with the determination of ihe former, aud tu his surprise, his father expiessrd his approbation* of the same, and commanded him, on pain of his displeasure, to I IKWUVSHW - to forget Jirii. ni; stine, aud to i} ypi3 Ijer presence as much as possible. In vain; b r y j Godfrey and Einiiestire threw thorn selves on tl tir knees before them, and implortA tlirin to relent. ' I hey were inexorable,- and neither tears or supplications couli' prevail with them. We will not attempt to describe the agony of the lovers, but at length the grief of Godfrey subsided into rage against Reginald, whom be determined to seek out and wreak his vengeance upon his head. Hut Reginald avoided him, and thev never met. Soon after this lie accompanied Lord Raymond to the Holy Land, and Ernnestine was infottned by Hubert, that 011 his return, it was his intention that they should be united, and bade her forget the unfortunate passion she had imbibed tor Godfrey, and to receive Reginald with that affection which was due to him who was to be her husband. The reason of Hubert's mysterious conduct, in thus taking upon himself the disposal of Kruncstine's hand, and why his choice should he so obstinately fixed 011 Reginald, will be explained at a luture period. CHAPTER III. " Now murder, with his blood- stained hands, Stalks forth at midnight dreary hour, And pounces on tbe unconscious tray'ller." Two ve& rs passed away— two years of bitter anguish to the lovers— when their friends prevented them from meet- The castle of Sir Egbert, was situated only a few miles'! Jftg each other as much as possible. But in spite of all --'•*" " from the resid ence of Rantifph de Lacy, so lhat - E rnnes - their endeavours, they could not extinguish the flame in tine and Godfrey had frequent opportunities of seeing each other, and absence only strengthened their affection, which they never failed to express to oue another, notwithstanding their friends weie averse to i t ; but true love cannot be restrained, even by the furce of duty. Not far from De Courcy Castle, stood the ancient castle of St. Aswolph, the residence of the lady of that name, whose urbanity and philanthropy, were greatly experienced by the poor on her wide domains, and for many miles around. She had been for many years a widow, and brought up her children ( an only son and daughter,) in tbe same paths of virtue and benevolence as herself; and well did they profit by the excellent precepts she had instilled into iheir minds- Lord Raymond St, Aswolph, the son of the estimable ladv before named, was nearly forty years of age, but was still unmarried. He was a fine, handsome man, and pos sessed pf all those accomplishments that constitute the gentleman, In manners, he was courteous, affable, and inteljigetit; treating the meanest of his dependants with respect, aud never assuming that haughty and tyrannical demeanour, wlii, ch was too common among the nobility ofthosedays. In the battle- field, none had moie uohly distinguished themselves than he had done ; by which lie had gained the favour of his soveieign, Richard Cceur de Lion, and the admiration of his chivalrous colleagues in arms. Lord Raymond, from a youth, had been a considerable time abroad, and his mother aud affectionate sister, the beauteous Marguerite, noticed with much surprise and concern, on his last return to England, that he was op. pressed with a deep melancholy, which they in vain endeavoured to learn the c a i i e of. Upon being questioned by bis mother upon the snbject, he earnestly desired her not to urge her questions, as the secret cause ofhis sor-' row must ever remain an inviolable secret locked within his own breast. Greatly afflicted was the venerable lady at this circumstance, but finding it was useless to question her son further, she dropped the snbject, and endeavoured by every means in her power, to alleviate tbe melancholy under which he suffered. Brought up in the family of this lady, was a lad called Reginald, whom Lord Raymond had promoted to the dig nityofhis Esquire, a station to Which the natural good qualities and personal courage of the youth fully entitled him. He had been left an orphan in childhood, and hiparents having been both in the service of the late Li rd St. Aswolph, their child was brought up with the utmost care and attention, by the benevolent persons into whose hands he had so fortunately fallen. Reginald was a remarkably fine youth, with a countenance expressive of everv good and generous trait. To an uncommon volatile disposition, he added a noble heart, and a courage which in early days, augured a distinguished future. Hubert having formerly rendered some service to the father of Lord Raymond, whenever the latter came to England, he never failed to stop at " T h e Flagon" on the way, and Lady Celestine, his mother, also was frequently, for a short time, the worthy inkeeper's guest The beauty, the innocence, and intelligence of Ernnestine, greatly attracted the attention of Lady Celestine, and created her warmest admiration. She would, indeed, have taken her under her patronage, but Hubert and her oilier friends refused to part with tier; and Ernnestine herself, much as she esteemed the lady aud her amiable daughter, could not bear the thoughts of leaving those by whom she had been so kindly brought up. Erniiestiiie was now almost constantly at the ion, and was commonly called " The Fair Maid of the Flagon," and many were the persons who were attracted thither by her beauty and tbe sweetness of her disposition. But there was one who viewed her with more admira t'lon than all the rest; who was more gay ami jocund in her presence, and whose eje « spaikled with an expression of delight whenever they met, which calh d the blushes in her cheeks, and made her feel a sensation of confusion which she was at a loss to understand. The person we allude to was Reginald, who had been acquainted with tl em from childhood, and was frequently the companion of her ana Godfrey. Between Reginald and Godfrey, being alike in disposition and principles, an ardent friendship soon sprang up and they were as often together as circumstances would permit. They endeavoured to outvie each other in the athletic sports that were common in those days, and by that means acquired that skill and superiority which obtained them such admiration afterwards. Godfrey, however, had often noticed the marked attention which Reginald paid to Ernni- stine, and sometimes a feeling ot jealousy would spring op in his breast, which speedily vanish ed before the livelv sallies of the former, whose continual good temper and flow of spirits, rendered it impossible for any person to be out of humour with him long. As years passed away, however, the attention of Reginald increased, and Godfrey could ho longer hesitate to conclude he loved her. But Erimestine encouraged not his passion ; and indeed, now that she was conscious of his real sentiments, avoided him as much as possible, and when in his presence, was more distant than she had been in the habit of behaving towards him. The indignation of Godfrey, at what he considered the treachery of Reginald, was unbounded; his mind was inflamed, and to such a state did his resentment carry him, that had it not been for the earnest persuasions of his lover, he would have accused Reginald of the fact, and demanded satisfaction. However, with great difficulty, he stifled his feelings, and although thev did not meet so often as they had done, Godfrey's behaviour towaids him was verv little changed. Many a restless night— many a pang, did these thoughts occasion Godfrey ; but yet why should, he fear?— It was reproaching Ernneutine with inconstancy and deceit, if he suspected that she would encourage the passion of Reginald, and that she did not, and never would do so, he was convinced by the many affectionate assurances she made liitn. Hut alas 1— even allowing them to be faithful to each other, of what would it avail them ? They had been told that they must not love; that they could never be united, and ilmt harsh decree ( for such they could not help thinking it,) filled their minds with despair. How shall we describe the rage, the astonishment of Godfrey, when Ernnestine, with looks of distraction, informed him that Reginald, in the presence of Hubert, had acknowledged the Stive he , entertaiued for her, and that their bosoms; on the contrary, opposition only made it grow the fiercer, and they were certain that nothing hut death could erase their sentiments. There were indeed intervals when hope entered their bosoms, but they were lew and transient. Sometimes they thought on the probability of Reginald falling in the field of hanle ; or that long absence from the object of his affection, might change his sentiments; or that being brought to reflect upon the cruelty of endeavouring to thwart tlie wishes of those wlio- e hearts were devoted to each other, and to whom he had ever pretended such ardent friendship, he would, with the generosity and nobility they bad ever given him credit for, resign his claim to the hand of Ernnestine, and urge their suit with their friends. In spiteof the circumstances that had taken place, they could not help en couraginir, in piefeieiue to any of the others, the latter idea, and Godfrey was pleased that he had not seen Reginald before he had quifted England, which might have led to the most fatal consequences— as it was his determination on his return to appeal to him. " Yes, Godfrey," exclaimed Ernnestine, " thou shalt appeal to Reginald, and my heart . ells me it will not bein vain ; Reginald is too good," too kind, to persist in pressing his suit, when he knows that my heart is another's. As a brother I can sincerely esteem him, and 1 know his noble nature will lead him to compassionate us ; you shall describe to him the strength of our love ; assure him of my warmest friendship, and implore him to forbear to solicit a hand, when the heart can sooner break than accompany t. 1 am certain he will uot turn a deaf ear to ns, ar. d we hall vet be happy." Godfrey pressed his lips to the lovely maiden's cheek, and smiled consent to her desires, and confidence in her surmises, am they parted happier Jlian. they had been for some time. # *. * * * It was on a bitter cold night, in the month of December, when the snow was fast descending, and the wind howled without, making a cheerful fireside doubly welcome, tltfit an unusual bustle was observed in " T he Flagon,"' and Peter, mine host's serving man, and the other domestics of the establishment, seemed up to tlieir eyes in business, malting grand preparations as if ill expectation of the arrival of some important guest. Pe'er, who was a simple lad, had given full liberty to his garrulous tongue, while at work in the parlour, and d soon furnished every guest present with th?* par'iculars of what was about to take place. So you expect Lord St. Aswolph to return this evening, and to call at your inn, 011 the way to his castle, do you ? " demanded a strange, dark, fierce- looking man, eneloped iu a huge mantle, who, with two others, equally unprepossessing in appeaiauce, had been there for several hours, and had been drinking very freely. ( To be continued.) moment the cabin door was unfortunately opened, and the soap- suds on his muzzle became in one instant as hard as marble. Razorface tried to thaw the lather with a red- hot poker ; but this being objected to by Bob, on account of its making the water boil, which had been laid with the soap in ilie indenture of his chin, Razorface at last took a chisel and hammer lo the other part of his face, and succeeded in getting off the lather and beard, and with it part of the upper lip. It was admitted by Breeze, that I10 objected to the use of the poker, rind the magistrate thereupon, dismissed tile chnrge, considering the application of the chisej lo be an net of his own; and moreover, being of opinion that the chisel in question was not a sharp instrument within the meaning of the act. THE DRAMA— A new pantomime was last night brought out at the Arctic Theatre, entitled " The North West Passage; or. Harlequin Esquimaux.'', Our limits will not admit of our entering into tbe plot of tliiS piece at present. Of cqnrse there is a lack of scenery and machinery ,• but in- some instances the local situation of this theatre gives it an advantage ovfer ttvery other, Where? but in the Arctic Theatre, . could a palace be supported by'real icicles, forty feet higi,. blight a's clirystal, and thicker than the pillars of Covent Garden portico ? Many of the tricks are very ingenious, and at the same time quit** original. VVe particularly admired that touch of the magic wand, which converted the Papliian Queen into a lump of " tunsunned snow." THE FINE ARTS.— James Capstern has just completed a chalk representation of an Esquimaux engaged in taming a whale. The manner in which the savage uses the harpoon, ns a driller of marines would use his crane, is very, natural, and the whole picture may be considered as a'masterpiece. The chalk exhibition will remain opeji to- day and to inorrow, when it must positively close, as the deck must be washed on the following morning, O R I G I N A L P O E T R Y . — M r . H E A D I T O R , I h o p e a s h ow yowl assert the following :— TOM TACKLE. Yhat though the v ind blows in my face, Vhile here that ve is stopping, I gaily splices th" main brace, And sighs for Poll of Voppiog. Avay with care.— Vy ' tis a sin Our peepers to keep mopping, Because ve here so long has bin, Away from Poll of Vopping. For soon ye shall get home again, And all tlieir mouths be stopping, Villi fine hale, or vitli rum aud gin, As 1 vill Poll of Vopping. I M P R O M P T U . " I don't l i k e , " cries Pe'er, " a bear- skin to wear, ' Tis so awkward it makes people laugh." " That is true," replies Tom ; " but the skin of a bear Than a bare skin is better by half." ADVERTISEMENT.— To be sold, some excellent nosegloves, lined with woollen, and made lo tie behind'.' Apply to Bobstay. Superior nostrils, made of quills and reeds, to be worn with Bobstay's noses, is now on sale. Ax for Sam Shroud's. WANTED.— A child's Caul. Two slices of brandy for a right arnest one. Bring it to Jerry Jib. whole of this universe works to give or preserve life, he seems to exist only in the propagation of death. In a state of matrimony, the tender offices of a wife, the filial love of children, continually calls forth our dearest affections. By that practice of mutual kind ness and gratitude, our heart naturally and gradually rises to an universal benevolence—- it vibrates to the furthest part of the social horizon, whereas in the state of celibacy, forsaken and forgot, our soul naturally contracts and harrows, sensibility lays dormant for want of proper objects to awaken its power. Wilhin the gloom that surrounds a single ohject, we become indifferent to every thing but to ourselves; every avenue leading to our feelings is stopped; we are a link put oil' from the chain ol the living, aod, like a tree ijvhose died roots can receive no nutriment from ti e surrounding ground, we lie a useless burthen 011 the earth that bears us. The death of the bachelor is in every way suitable to his wretched life. O11 that barren ground which never was cheered by a ray of bliss, the bachelor suffers, anil no heart re- echoes Ms groans. He calls, and no voice answers WsoOlhfc ihe tortures of his misery. Death strikes, and the hand of affection neither softens nor repels the blow. He is thrown info the grave, and the earth that covers his unpilied remains is neither ennobled by a monument of conj ugal love, nor sanctified by the tears of filial piety 1— The bachelor dies, and, worse than the dull weed that vegetales and perishes on our shores, sinks into the tomb, without leaving upon earth even a grain of his dust. T H E W O R T H P O L E G A Z E T T E. • When Captain Parry's company were wintering in the arctic regions, one of Ihe means of amusement fallen upon for the purpose of cheering, not the long nights,— but the long nights— for theirs was some six months long— was the publication of a jocular newspaper, under the title of the North Pole Gazette. One of the sheets contained the following whimsical paragraphs :— VYe cannot congratulate our readers on any material change in our prospects since our last. The dark clouds which then hung over us undispersed, the most profound gloom prevails. It is, however, consoling to know, that as yet " no pitying rays" burst 011 us, that patience and fortitude have carried triumphantly through similar difficulties, and a night of dreary anxiety has been succeeded by a day of cloudless splendour. That the times are hard, cannot be denied, since wilh all the exertions we can use, it is no easy task to keep the wolf from ihe door. Under such circumstances, it cannot excite surprise that the stocks ( on board) should be depressed, and we will not disguise the fact lhat they have been for some time going down. Happily, however, we have still some rum spirits among us, lhat disdain to recognise care; and though at present they can furnish but cold comfort, yet cold comfort is better than none at all. ACCIDENTS AND O F F E N C E S . — Y e s t e r d a y T o m T a r - wig, takii. g an airing with Jack Junk, happened by chance to thrust his nose within two inches of his comrade's link. Junk perceived lhat it was pale, and immedialely called out, " Splice me, mate 1 but your bowsprit's going." Tarwig immediately raised his hand to his face, but searched it in vain for his nose. Snow was promptly applied to the part'affected ; the danger was soon at an end, and Tom could f- el his uose again. But for the w ell- timed efforts of Jiluk, it is more than probable that Tarwig would have returned wilh his nose in his pocket, wbich might have proved a serious inconvenience to that accomplished snuff- taker. Sam Topsail was brought yesterday morning before Lieutenant Larkish, charged with having purloined some brandy, the property of Dick Drylips, under Ihe following circumstances*.— It appears, that tile brandy being frozen as hard as glass, a diamond was used by the proper officer to cut out the tegular allowances of the crew. Dick Dry lips, at the dance on Wednesday evening, being about to perform a minuet with a bear, thought it prudent lo put two slices of his brandy out of his j a c k e t pocket, from an apprehension that they might be broken by his movements, in which case the smaller pai t i d e s would have been in danger of being tba. ved by the warm hug uf his pai tner. He accoidingly laid them 011 the head of a cask on w hich Sam Topsail was seated. The prisoner at first denied having seen the brandy; but being confronted with Bill Bull's- eye, who saw him drilling holes in one of the cakes, wilh a view of inserting therein the prongs of a fork, for the purpose of toasting it. he was convicted of the fraud, and sentenced to pay the accuser two slices of his next allowance of brandy. Roger Razorface was accused of cutting and maiming. The facts were these : — B o b Breeze going down to be shaved, was lathered in the usual way. At that T O C O R R E S P O N D E N T S. At the solicitation of many correspondents, we will work off the answers to the Charades 8fc., we have at present on hand, when we must claim their indulgence for a week or two. " L I N U S TO A LADY," will not exactly suit our columns. '' T o ROSE A L F O P . D , " shall appear. A. H. R., " T O M A S O ; " and it. I'F. TERS, arriued loo late. . - S. P. shall at alt ha. • <>"• :";' iiy attended to. G. H U L M E , ( Sajford.) in j-' i early number. \ " T H E B R I D A . . \ 1ORN,"'' ••>•; erucllg to our tarte. The Charade shoUtppi. nr an;, K, " T H E G A L L A N T SMUGGLER,'' is under consideration. W I L L I A M B —( Birmingham,) is respectfully declined. We shall be glad to hear frequently from IS. B n. F. T . , ( Halifax,) too late. J . M. G-, is accepted. W . H . , ( A l d e l y , ) M R . T . P R E S T. " F U T U R I T Y " "• VIDF, M O R T E M , " and " T o THE F A I T H F U L - H E A R T E D , " are accepted. We will insert the Charade by J . W., and shall be happy to receive the Irish tales. Received with thanks:-—" OLD Q U I Z , " A. B . , S. R O B I N S , and THOMAS GROSS. Really tee cannot discover a line of poetry in the " L I N ES TO A MOTHER." M. WILLIAMS. ( Gloucester.) Unfortunately ytur communications arrived too late, but we shall be happy to hear from him again. All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to t h e E d i t o r o f T H E PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 30, C u r t a i n - road, Shoreditch. THE P E N NY PEOPLE'S AND POLICE GAZETTE. A fair correspondent having sent us some lines 011 the miseries of a bachelor's life, we have been induced to publish a few remarks upon the subject, which, in the absence of any thing more important, we trust our numerous readers will excuse us for making it the subj e c t of our leader. We are confident that we shall gain ihe good opinion of our female readers by tbe brief essay, and that will more than sufficiently repay us for any trouble we may have had. Among the numerous shapes of wretchedness and misery under which human nature presents herself to our minds, we find i t em n*. i> re wretched and miserable than the condition of a bachelor.— That name, like a tomb, is always surrounded with gloom; the very sound of it, like ihe cries of a solitary owl, wounds our hearts, and fills our mind with ominous ideas. Oh I ho, v wretched must lie be, who, rather than live and flourish in the bowrers of connubial groves, wanders and pines beneath the cypres— like shade of single l i f e ! Wretched he, who toils along this road of woe, without the consoling help of a partner, to soften, to share the weight of his misery ! " But happy they, the happiest of their kind, Whom gentle stars unite, and ill one fate Tlieir hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend." Man had already been placed in the terrestrial paradise, where he reigned absolute sovereign over an unbounded empire of pleasure and delight, yet, it was not good for him to be alone: even there, something was wanted to his felicity ; and it was but when the woman was created and given to him, that he was, even in the eyes of his own maker, deemed completely happy. If woman was the last, she was the best of all heaven's gifts. By her are endeared to us the blessings of existence, and the beauties of nature. Ever- flowing source of a delight ever new, of a pleasure ever sweet, woman was kindly left to fallen man as a compensation for the numerous evils attached to bis mortal destiny. The power of reproducing ourselves is a noble prerogative. By it we survive the dust ofthe grave— by it we almost become immortal upon earth. Oh I sweet and consoling hope, eternal infamy light upon the wretch who would continue in a life of celibacy} The reproduction of beings is a necessary nod primary law— all nature implicitly obeys it— the bachelor alone resists it. He defeats the very purpose of his creation— he shuns that w hich all nature seeks, and whilst the SCHOOLDAY REMINISCENCES. In a former article we told a few of the tricks and frolics ( some mischevious— some harmless) of our boyhood. We will continue the subject— it proving so pleasing to ourself.; and would first remark, that each year of our life brings wilh it a different train of ideas. For years after the boy has been freed from the tyranny ( as he thinks it) of " t h e domineering pedant, than whom no mortal so magnificent," he looks back wilh a kind of horror to what he suffered when in pursuit of " that, to know, which else heshould noi know ; " and, with shame to the wild pranks and childish follietjihen committed, pronouncingthese as the most miserabS- dajs in his life. Years pass over his head, and the tinyjboy becomes the full- grown man : then he begins to regard lhat time and these adventures in a very difE- rent ligliS— to vieS^ hem with very different eyes— and declares ( his to be the sunniest, the brightest, the happiest period of his existence; and laughs and chuckles with delight at the remembrance of his youthful schemes, stratagems, and punishments. When we sat down to pen our former paper, we scarcely knew what ive had to write about. " Recollections of B o y l i o ' d " flashed like lightning across our soul, and story after story, incident after incident, came crowding back both " fast and furious," as if recalled from some deep cavern where they had long been buried and lain forgotten, by the talismanic wand of some kind fairy— and memory was, as if by some newfound magic spell, at once refreshed. Our's are taleof truth, not fiction— our's are sceoes of reality, not fancy : old, long- Iled days again re'iirn— by- gone occurrences are again recalled; we make a gigantic retrograde stride, and are once more the merry, laughing, frolicson. e schoolboy. We cannot think these recollections will ever again depart from our mind— we are sure they will now be so deeply engraved on the tablet of our memory lhat time can never again efface them; " and why then," ( some reader may here exclaim) " why then register tlieni on these pages ?" We do so for many reasons : while, as regards ourself, when age lias crept in and wrinkled our face — when our eyes grow dim, and memory fails ( for what we least expect often takes place)— the relation of these stories here preserved may help to raise the gaysome laugh in our old frame; ns regards others— thewna^ be the means of drawing forth tbe cheerfifl snail?, and of reviving in them the scenes which took place in their youth, wheu their hearts were light pnd unacquainted with care. But to proceed with our rec o l l e c t i o n s - There lived in our native town, a man of the name of Chicory, who kept a shop for the sale of grocery goods on a small scale— we may say he was " a dealer in sun dries," for he retailed herrings, tea, salt, tobacco, & c., & c. He was a pel son of very short stature and of very irritable temper, and had made himself the enemy of five or six of the boys of our schorl, who were, consequently, always planning revenge and contriving schemes to annoy him. We were never courageous enough to attack him openly and ill daylight— darkness covered the earth ( as poets express it) before we ventured to put our plans into execution. Often in the school playground five or six of the youths would be seen collected in a corner, engaged in deep conversation, meditating on some new design— and now and then a shout of mirth from the gronp would tell mischief was brewing, and shewed how confident the little generals were of success. The plolters would disperse— join in the games and gambols of their unsuspecting companions; but not a word, not a whisper revealed their plans. School closed— we departed home ; a sly glance thrown by thejuvenile " Guy F a w k e s , " asthey passed, signifying none would fail or would forget the hour and place agreed on. The stories I now relate happened in the dead of winter. Now, in our town, it was the custom of a number of us lads tn go out for an hour or so to enjoy ourselves, roving and running through the streets after tea, or about seven o'clock in the evening. When any great scheme was on hand, how we did long for the hour of meeting ! We thought this evening it was surely much longer daylight than usual, and lhat the house clock was certainly much too slow. Darkness was punctual— the clock did ils duty ! scarce a star twinkled— no moon was visible to betray us— we were in raptures! We would sally out before file time, wishing we had wings to fly wilh to the spot appointed— so anxious were we to be " up and doing." Punctual as tbe clock, we were all collected as the hour tolled from the high steeple of the old church, whose gates we passed with dread and fear— the effects of our nursery education, when we were told that ghosts walked at night, and the churchyard was haunted by the spirits of Ihose who were there buried. The scene of mischief was reached; and our first proceeding was to know the situation and position of the enemy. He generally sat at a small writing desk at the side of the ' counter' nexl ( he window. One of the boldest would then put his head within the door and bawl " Chicory, who was it that fell all their long kugth going to the market?" " Chicory, I want a pound of blackguard snuff!" or some other question equally insulting and mortifying. We were never so polite however as to wait for an answer, for we immediately took to our heels and lied from the scene, wheie, from occular demonstration, we were aware a large oaken cane flourished, meant by him as a terror to us evil doers. Complaints were lodged against us with the schoolmaster ; but it was of little use, for he could seldom find out the real offenders. Sometimes he would thrash one 011 chance, but we cared little for that— a flogging was nothing uncommon At another time we would drop a piece of glass at Chicory's shop window, and he, supposing some wicked urchin had thrown a stone and broken one of tbe panes, would ( though liitle, lie was very clever) jump over the counter and whisk out of the ( ioor as fast as possible ; but no boy, no urchin, no creature was to be seen— all was quiet and silent, and no pane was damaged though glass was fouod below the window. Chicory was not quite a fool, and soon came to tl e conclusion that he was " sold ; " so he could only mutter something, doubtless not very complimentary to Ins tormentor, and walk back to the seat which he had left so very hurriedly, and, alasl uselessly. This trick we repealed several times, until Chicory got quite used to i t ; and we were now thinking we would, be under the necessity of really smashing one of his window papes for variety, when a new project was fortunately started to supersede this. A cabbage stalk was hollowed out and filled wilh ' tow ;' to this we set fire, and then proceeded to he shop window. One end of it was then inserted in the whole through which the iron pin, which fastened the shutter, passed, and one of the conspirators put his mouth to the other end and blew very hard for a minute or two- The § hop was filled with smoke— Chipory started to his feet, shufffd about Itlm— his face grew pale— and exclaiming Bless nie, the place is on fire 1" lie bolted out of the shop door, and with all his might bawled out " Fire 1" The neighbours collected— pails and pitchers were handed out from every door— some rushed to ( he wells for water, and others hastened to bring the fire ine— some again entered the shop and tried to discover where the fire was raging— ihey stared and coughed, and snuffed and sneezed. They saw nothing ot the red flames they expected j they were astonished — they h'oked atone another, rather puzzled and un-* certain what to say. The smoke rushed out o f t h e door, and in a few minutes the shop was " a l l right!" The folks outside were unable to contain their merriment at the people inside, who did not appear to be altogether sure how to act. Loud laughter was soon heard on all sides. Those within immediately evacuated the shop, and all were quickly convinced it was a " hoax." The " Fire King," Chicory, was abujed on all hands for giving such a flight and so much Iroublp ;— but, poor man, he was moie an ohject " f pity jhan anv thing else I As may be imagined, we were much delighted with the success of our stratagem— it afforded much amusement; and even now, the writer can scarcely proceed with his story for laughter, at the recollection of this occurrence and the woe- begone face of tbe little creature, when he rushed" out of his shop with the fearful cry o f " fire!'' Ooe oilier story, and I finish. The night was tinusually dark: and the rain having fallen very heavily during the day, and the streets of our country town not being ihe best paved possible, the water stood in several parts in large pools. Rather a " plumper" was near Chicory's shop ; so we went to it when the appointed hour was come. A cord was stretched acioss the street running by the side of the pool, and one of the contrivers was stationed at each end of it. The others then proceeded to the shop door and cried out " Chicory, give us a pennywotth of popper." He was after Us in a minute; we ran— he followed ; we leapt the cord— he approached i t ; the other two were alive, and'raised it— caught him by the feet, and down he went souse amongst the w ater. We left him there, and had not the politeness to raise a fallen enemy. , These are but a very few of the pranks we could tell of— they are sufficient to shew bow memory delights fo fall bark and dw ell on the incidents of our youth. We leave the subject with great regret, and on a futurie occasion may agaiu resume ihe " Recollections of our Boyhood." S, P. C O G A N D I W A C O C — A F R A G M E N T* Pensively and profoundly was I meditating, seated one evening upon a stone bench in Guildhall, when, as ( he gathering gloom invested the solemn faces of Gog and Magog, rendering them mysteriously dim and indistinct, methonght I saw them slow ly shut their eyes, mid their heads, fall asleep, and actually begin to snore. Never did I hear any thing more sonorously grand and awful lhan lliat portentous inbreathing of Gog and Magog, resounding through the Gothic vnstness of Guildhall; but, behold! now omnipotent is the dreamiu; imagination! I myself had been dozing; the sound of my own nose, transferred by a melonvtnv of the fancy to Ihe nostrils of those w ooden idols, had become, as it were, the, living apotheosis of a snore, which had subdued me by its sublimity. Most fordinale was jt t'' at I awoke; for, on attentively inspecting the faces of ihe figure*, I saw them working and writhing with all the contortions of the Pythoness, or the Sibyl, labouring in the very throes of inspi ation, struggling with the advent of the prophetical afflatus. At length their lips pailed; when, in a low, solemn voice, that thrilled through tin- dark, desertfd and silent hall, they poured forth alternately the following vaticinal strain, each starting and tremiiling as he concluded :— " From Bank, ' Change. Mansion- house, Guildhall, Throgmorton and Threadneedle; From London- stone and London- wall, When City housewife's wheedle, o Brunswick, Russeil, Bedford- squares, And Portland- plnce, their spouces— Anxious to give themselves great airs Of fashion in great houses I — Then Gog'shall start, and Magog shall Tremble upon his pedestal!" " When merchant, banker, broker, shake In Crockfoid's Club their elbow, And for Saint James's clock forsake The chiming of thy bell, Bow ; When liaison's, Garraway's, and John's, At night shew empty boxes, While Cits are playing dice with dons, Or ogling Opera doxies ;— Then Gog shall start, and Magog shall Tremble upon hi? pedastal !" " When City dames give routs and reels, And ape high- titled prancers, W| ien City Mi'ses dance quadrilles, Or waltz with whiskered Lancers ; When City gold is quickly spent In trinkets, feasts, and raiment, And none suspend their merr ment Until they all slop payment 1— Then Gog shall start, and Magog glial! Tremble upon his pedestal !" I was reflecting what dire calamities would fall upon the doomed Citv, since the era of luxury, corruption, and desertion, thus denounced, had now'manifestly arrived, and Gog and Magog were actually starting and trembling upon their pedestals, when the ball- keeper, shaking me by the shoulder, exclaimed—" Come, sir, you mustn't be sleeping here all night? Bundle out, if you please, for I am just going to shut the great gates!" SYNON YMOUS TF. RMS — A p h y s i c i a n h a v i n g b e e n o ut a shooting one whole morning without killing anv thing, his servant begged leave to go over into the next field, for he was sure there were some birds ( here : ' And,' adds the man, ' i f there are, I ' l l doctor them ' ' Doctor tliem,' snys the master: ' what do you mean by that?' ' Why. kill ( hem, sir.' THE TWO MISERS— Two reighbourin » gentlemen of equal fortune, and remarkable for their a v a r i c e , were distinguished in their parish bv Ihe names of Crib and Starve- Gut. Mr. Crib often visited his neighbour, and was as often visited by him, but as they had both the same end ill view, they never asked each other to eat or drink; and they went in together very amicably, till Crib one day was present at his friend's, when a man came to pay the interest of a thousand pounds, which raised Crib's envy so much, that he left the room and went home; but returned in the evening to Mr, 1 Siarve- Gut, in order to learn some of his saving maxims. When Crib came in. he found him writing a letter by a farthing- candle ; he had no sooner sat down, but Mr. Starve- Gtit put it out. ' How now,' says Crib, ' what's that for ?' To which Starve. Gut replied, ' Cannot we two talk as wejl in the dark?' ' Faith, neighbour,' says Crib. ' you are an excellent econmist; I wish you would teach me some of your rules. ' Why, friend,' says Starve- Gut, ' one of my chief maxiins is, never to spend more than is necessary, witness the candle !' ' Right,' quoth Crib. ' 1 remember,' says Slarve- Giit, the saying of an old philosopher, which ought to be wrote in letters of gold, namely, that whatever is unnecessary is loo dear at a farthing, 7 Right,' quoth Crib; ' thank you, neighbour, egad I'll set this down.' ' Now we are talking of saving.' says Starve- Gut, ' l e t me ask you one question! for you must know there is a great difference between being covetous and bt- in^ saving, for my part there isnolhing I hate more than a stingy man ; but to mv question. Pray, friend Crib, do you shave yourself?' Quoth Crib, ' W h a t ! do you take me for a fool?' ' W e l l , ' says Starve- Gut. ' do not be in a passion, I did but ask. But what do you do with the lather?' ' W h y fling it away,' says Crib, ' what do von think ?' ' Why, there it is now,' says Starve- Got, ' that is enough to ruin any man; why, I always wash half- a- dozen handkerchiefs and a night- cap in mine, and then save it to wash my stockings. THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE.' A N G E L I N A I OR, THE M Y S T E R Y OF ST. MARK'S A B B EY AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE. B Y THE AUTHOR OF ELA, TUB OUTCAST ; OR, G I P S Y G I R L OF ROSEMARY DELL, & C. ( Continued from our. last.) WHEN Mr. Woodficld had left the cottage, i.; e grief occasioned by his words, in spite of all her efforts to restrain it, found vent in a copious flood of tears. Mrs. Woodfield expressed by her looks and her manner ihe deep sympathy she felt for her, and Laura, whose hilarity was seldom interrupted, now evinced a seriousness of demeanour which was in her very remarkable. The efforts of her and her mother were combined in an attempt to soothe her, " N a y , my poor child," said her kind- hearted aunt, " d o not give Way to this violent grief; your uncle may relent; he surely will, for well do you know the affection he bears you, and I am certain he cannot long see you unhappy." " Oh, no, I ' m surehe cannot," observed L a u r a , " my father possesses t" 0 affectionate a heart to remain long inflexible. So come, my dear cousin, dry your tears, and live in hopes." O ur heroine shook her head and sighed. 1 A l a s ! " she replied, " what hope is there for me ? - Has not my uncle commanded me to forget him ?— H » ? c I not promised that I will endeavour to obey - Sim, and has he not told me that any dereliction on my part will only be productive of misery to us all P— No, nti, there is nothing but despair for me !" Neither Mrs. Woodfield or her daughter made any reply to these observations, and after a pause, Angelina continued,— " Would to heaven we had never met; what hours of anguish it would have saved us both; yes, both I say, for I am certain— my heart tells me— that Clifford' s semiments are as ardent and sincere as my own. Oh, he is too noble, too generous, to deceive me, antl why should I be ashamed to acknowledge a viituous passion ? Fora long time did I seek to deny my affection— even to myselt— but I can no longer do so; Hugh Cliffovd. though Fate may divide os, my heart must ever be united to yours, while it shall throb with the pulsation of life I" This was the first time that Angelina had ever so openly divulged tbe sen iments that filled her bosom, and ' die felt relief from it. " From my very soul, dearest child," said her aunt, "£ iv? m my very soul do I pity you, and would that the ipower rested with me to make you happy, how readily — how joyfully would 1 do i t ; for there is something in the countenance and behaviour of Hugh Clifford, which convinces me that he is worthy of you, in spile of his ( situation, ^ nd the mystery which hangs over hiin. • Nevertheless, rtiere is no knowing what time may effect, s « *( jn her wh endeavour to compose your feelings, and rest assured j - j( ar thai " I.' ..-- J " Oh, no, no," interrupted Angelica, " T must not hope, for to do so would be to disobey my uncle, and to break the promise I have made to him. 1 will seek to think upon him only as a dear friend, and though my heart should break in the painful struggle with my feelings, I will not do anything contrary to the wishes of my benefactor.'' " Y o u are a good g i r l , " said the dame, " and deserve a better fale , but I cannot help thinking that your uncle is too mysterious, and loo cruel " " Yon wrong him dear aunt— indeed you do," fervently ejaculated Angel na ; " my uncle has certainly some powerful motives for his conduct, and acts not by his tiwn will or inclination. He has ever been kind, indulgent— all that a father could be towards his child. But now I think of it, there certainly is a mystery in his conduct and his words that surprises me, and which X am at a loss to unravel. From what he said lo you, and which I overheard, there appears to be some secret attached to my birth, which he must not for the present divulge! What, in the name of Heaven, can it be, and for what am I reserved? The woman of the ruins, too, has repeatedly told me that I am not what I seem to be, and has taken an interest in me, which adds to the mystery by which I am surrounded." Mrs. Woodfield seemed greatly surprised and agitated, but she made no immediate reply. " It is indeed strange and unaccountable,'' at length she said, " but believe me I know no more about it than yourself. My husband and his brother had not been friends for many years, and I never saw either, him or his wife. They lived at some distance from us. At length, however, your uncle received a letter informing him that his brother was at the point of deaih, and begging lhat he would hasten to him, so that he might receive his forgiveness before he died. Of course my husband did not refuse, and was absent several days, when he returned in a slate of great anguish, and informed me lhat two days after the demise of his brother, his sister, having caught the fever of him, expired also. He brought you willi him— being then a child about two years old— who, he gave me to understand, was the only child of his unfortunate brolher and sister, who bring quite unprovided for, it was his intention to protect and bring up. This is all that 1 have ever been able to elicit concerning you, and your uncle lias al ways most sedulously avoided speaking to me upon the subject, and shewed much emotion whenever my curiosity prompted me lo refer to i t ." Our heroine remained wrapt in thought for a few momenta after her aunt had given the above account, and appeared to be suffering ihe most acute inentil agony; but, at last, turning towards Mrs. Woodfield, in « melancholy ton*, she remarked,— " It is indeed strange— very strange; but the Almighty in His own infinite w isdom, wiil some time or the other unravel the mystery ; into His hands I resign my faie, and am prepared to abide by His w i l l ." Having given utterance to these pious ejaculations, she felt more tranquillized, and afler conversing with her a'unt and Laura for a few minifies longer on different subjects, she arose and left Ihe room, with an intention of paying a visit to old Dame Gertrude, merely to pass the time away, and hoping, in conversation with her, to divert her thoughts to some less painful subject. The morning was extremely fine, and Ihe sun shone with uncommon brilliancy upon the delightful scenery, by which that romantic: spot was surrounded ; but it failed to produce any effect on our heroine's mind, and in spite of all her endeavours, she found it utterly impossible for her to banish from her hosona Ihe gloomy thoughts which the recent events bad excited. It seemed as though a blight had fallen upon her heart, and scattered before its influence, all the joys, the hopes, and the wishes that had before occupied it. She was awakened to a full certainty of her ardent passion, bnl to be overwhelmed by all the oppressive weight tif dark despair. Alas! what is more torturing to the hitman mind, than Ihe imbibing of a hopeless love? It is tho cankerworm ' hat too often preys upon the vilals of youth; destroys all ils buoyant hopes— lays waste its jocund pleasure-- - renders life a hell— and ultimately bris:? s it-> victim to an untimely grave. And Angelina was doomed to feel all the misery in the fullest extent; and now that the tongue of her uncle bad forbidden her to love, she felt the full certainty of the fate which awaited her, and not only her, but him to whom her whole soul was devoted. She walked slowly on, almost unconscious whither she wandered ; the bright rays of the sun spread a broad, an interminable expanse of gold before her ;— Ihe fields, ihe meadows, the hills, the valleys, were clothed in their richest verdure ; but she noticed them not. The birds sang sweetly upon every spray, but her ear was deaf to their mellifluous notes; her thoughts were entirely absorbed in that one all- engrossing subj e c t , in which her very existence seemed rivetted and bound up, and how much lurllier she miaht have wandered, in this state of unconsciousness, is quite uncertain, had she not suddenly been aroused by ihe barking of a dog, antl looking up, what was her astonishment to behold herself standing near Ihe rock, which was surmounted by the in iss- covered ruins of Saint Mark's Abbey. It was the first time she had been near the venerable pile, since Ihe adventure which her and her uncle had met with after their return from the oltl Grey Tower. She viewed the ruins now wilh a double interest, for it was near them she had first beheld Hugh Clifford; and from also knowing how closely he was connected wilh them, and their mysterious occupant. Acting upon the impulse of the moment, she ascended the rock, and looked down npon the broad expanse of water, which was glittering ill the golden beamsof the morning's sun. Here and there a fisherman's boat glided over its surface, and the song of the contented fisheitnan, and the whistle of Ihe hardy- looking fisher- boy, vibrated on her ears. Angelina sighed when she brought to her recollection the night when she bad first seen Hugh Clifford wilh the smugglers, and when her heart might be said lo have received its earliest impression. Then came upon ber memory, in the most vivid colours, his noble conduct in rescuing her from Ihe power of the Baron de Morion, when he had first threatened her l i f e ; and the danger and hazards he had run to release her from her imprisonment in the old Grey Tower. Her bosom swelled with anguish, as she thus reflected, and knew tlmt the object who, by such d- eds, and the accomplishments of his mind, had kindled her heart's affection, could never be her's. " A n d must we never meet again?" she sighed— " must 1 no more listen lo the honied accents that fell from his lips? Alas! no; it is forbidden, unless we can meet only as friends ;— friends— how cold the word, how inadequate to express the intensity of a passion, which, in spite of all my endeavours, I feel must continue to hold possession of my heart, until death shall release me from my misery." " Angelina," at that moment exclaimed a wellknown voice, immediately behind her. and looking round, lo her confusion, she beheld standing at her elbow, and with her eyes fixed seriously upon her, Kate of Ihe Ruins. Angelina," repeated Kate, in a yet more solemn tone, and pointing significantly towards the old abbey porch, " follow me 1" Angelina trembled, and shrunk beneath the sternness of her glance. " W h a t would you do with me, K a t e ? " she demanded, in a faint voice; " accident, and not design, brought me hither, and " " Follow me, girl, I say," interrupted Kate, in still more peremptory tones, as she advanced towards the abbey, to which she pointed the wand that she always carried wilh her. Our heroine obeyed, and her mysterious conductor having entered the ruins, proceeded until she came to the old aisle, and passed on lo the altar at the extremity. Here " he paused, and appeared lo be fueling for something al Ihe side. Presently, to Ihe infinite astonishment of Angelina, a secret door flew open, antl discovered a flight of steps beneath the altar, which i'KSile instantly began to descend, having taken a lamp h liSd bfhin Stahding digged pn lhe « • " This way,-^ Bgsliav1 * naid, b « ck « M « g impatiently to our heroine ; " come— quick, quick," Why is ail this mystery, and for what purpose do I will not take it unless you explain to me who you are, and by what authority you seek to extort it from me P" By the aulhority, girl, of those who gave thee being, and whose spirits are now watching over us;'' answered Kate, in deep, solemn accents, at the same time fixing her expressive eyes yet more stedfastly upon Ihe countenance of our heroine,—" oh, pause before you refuse to do my bidding ; remain obstinate, and disgrace, sorrow, and every care will be yours, and that uf those under whose protection you ard ; my curse, and the curse of the dead will also fall upon your head, and all the hoi rot s •" Oil, forbear! forbear!" cried the distracted girl, shuddering ai the thoughtsof what Kate was describing, and her limbs trembled convulsively. "• Take the oath !" exclaimed at that instant a hollow, sepulchoral voice, which seemed to proceed from the interior of one of the coffins. Cold drops ot perspiration stood upon our heroine's temples, and gasping for breath, she clurig to the ann of Kate for support, while her looks were expressive of the most indescribable horror. Hark! the voice of the dead commands ihee to obey," said Kates solemnly,- " ihe spirit of her who bore tliee, speaks to thee, wilt tliou scorn its sacred warning ?" Angelina tried to speak, but her tongue refused its oflice. But an instant, and a peal of heavenly music teemed to float around Ihe place, a loud crash smote her ears, a thin form in robes of the purest white, arose from behind one of the piles of c > ftins, and, standing before the maiden's horrorstruck gaze, was ihe ghastly phantom she had on a former occasion, pursued through the vaults of Ihe Abbey, ( To be continued ? n e « i » next.) L I T T L E D O M I N I C K. Little Dominick was born at Fort- Reilly, in Ireland, and bred no w here till his lenlh year ; when he was sent to Wales, to learn manners and grammar, at the school of Mr. Owen ap Davis ap Jenkins ap Jones. This gentleman had reason lo ihink himself the greatest of men ; tor he had, over his chimney- piece, a well- smoked genealogy, duly attended, tracing his ancestry in a direct line up to Noah; and, moreover, he was nearly related to ( he learned etymologist, who, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, wrote a folio volume, to prove thai the language of Adam and Eve, in Paradise, was pure Welsh. With such causes to be proud, Mr. Owen ap Davis ap Jenkins ap Jones was excusable, for sometimes seeming to forget that a schoolmaster is but a man. He, however, sometimes entirely forgot, that a boy is a boy ; and this happened most frequently with respect to Little Dominick. The unlucky wight was flogged every morning, by his master ; not for vices, but for his vicious constructions. and laughed at bv hiscompanions every evening for his idiomatic absurdities. They would probably have been inclined to sympathise in bis misfortunes, bul that he was I lie only I r i h boy at school ; and as he was at a distance from all his relations, and without a friend to take his part, he was a just object of obloquy aud derision Every sentence lie spoke was a b u l l ; every two words he put together proved a false concord, and every sound he articulated betrayed the brogue ; but as he possessed some of the characteristic boldness of those lhat have been dipped in ihe Shannon, though he was only Litile Dominick, he s' ewed himself able and willing to fight his own battles wilh the host of foes by whom lie was encompased. Some of these, It was said, were nearly twice his stature. This may be exaggerated ; but it is certain, that our hero sometimes ventured, with sly Irish humour, to revenge himself on his more powerful tyrant, by mimicking Ihe Welsh accent, in which Mr. Owen ap Jones said to h i m — C o t bless me, you plockit, and shall- 1 ever learn you Enclish crammer f It was whispered in Ihe ear of our Dionysius, lhat our her* waj a mimic; aaA^ sj^ wss now treatad with increased severfiy. The MMaamraer- Mii?-> v « . r. pr » a* hed 1 butiio feared lhat they would shine no holidays for him. He had written to his mother, lo tell her that the school- would you want me ?" once more asked Angelina, wilh con- j break upon the 21st, and to beg an answer, without fail, siderable doubt and alarm depicted in her countenance. Kate frowned. " No matter, g i r l , " she replied, " 110 harm is intended Ihee ; do as I command thee.'' Angelina always felt that unaccountable awe in the presence of Kate, that she feared lo disobey her, and mentally praying for the protection of Heaven, she followed as ibe latter desired. Kate continued lo descend, followed by our heroine, for some time, and at length alighted in a square stone chamber, upon wtiicli opened different ranges of vaults, and cemeteries, in which were deposited the remains of the monks, who many ages before had inhabited the abbey. A sickly vapour encircled the lamp which Kate carried, on their entrance, and almost extinguished the light ; the walls were streaming wilh water, and as Angelina cast her eyes forward, she beheld the different piles of stone coffins in which were deposited the ashes of the dead. She shuddered wilh a feeling of irresistible horror, and turned to Kate for an explanation. The lalter, however, received her inquiring glances with a look of total indifference, and without saying a word, advanced towards a low archway, and beckoned Angelina to follow. " What strange and awful place have you led me to," said Angelina, shrinking back. " and what is your purpose wilh me? I will not follow you farther without you explain yourself to me." Beware, maiden - beware, I say," ejaculated Kate in solemn accents, " you little deem the danger you run by disobedience; your own life, and the lives of those who are dear to you, depend upon your dtiing as 1 desire. Attend me without any further hesitation." Again fearful of refusing to do as Kate bade her, Angelina followed her beneath the low archway, trembling with apprehension as to what would be the result of this singular adventure. To her horror she now found herself in the interior of a cemetry, and on either side were piled coffins, while on the damp stone pavement, were fo be seen several ghastly relics oT the dead, such as human hones, skulls, & c. The rays that issued from the lamp which Kate carried, only rendered these awful objects partially visable ;— but Angelina saw sufficient to make her terrors increase, especially when Kate grasping rather forcibly hold of her arm, pulled her towards one of the piles of coffins, and after looking at her with a piercing glance, for a short interval, exclaimed : — " So, girl, after the caution you received from me, after the solemn assurance I gave you that your love was forbidden by the laws of nature, and your declaralion lo me that you looked upon Hugh Clifford with no other sentiment than friendship, you have rashly encouraged a passion, which lias gained such strength in your bosom, that nothing will be able to eradicate i f ? ' ' Angelina, unable to return any answer, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed wilh emotion. " It is useless for you to attempt to deny i t , " continued Kate, " your looks, your words sufficiently prove it. Oh, maiden, you cannot have any conception of the misery ihis unfortunate passion, if encouraged, will entail upon you and yours. Be- warned in time, and here, in this awful place, the abode of the dead, register an oath lhat you will never encourage the vows of Hugh Clifford, and that you will endeavour by every means in your power, lo erase him from your memory!— Do not hesitate;— here, over ihe ashes ol those whose souls are now in heaven, swear the oath 1 wilt administer to you ! The agitation of our heroine at the earnestness and energy of the woman's manner, and the dismal place to which she had conducted her, was almost more than she could support; but as Kale pointed to the coffin upon the lid of which a ghastly skull and cross- bones were placed, and repeated her demand, fresh resolution seemed to take posses- ion of her soul, and in a firmer tone than she had hitherlo spoken, she ejaculated : " My heart revolts at the idea of an oath adminis tered under such awful, such unnatural circumstances by return of post: but no answer came It was now nearly two months sinr. e he had heard from his dear mother, or any of his friends ill Ireland. His spirits began to sink ufider the pressure of these acumulated misfortunes: he slept Utile, eat less, and played none at all. Indeed, nobody wo/ lld play with him on equal terms, because he was nobody's equal* his school- fellows continued lo consider him as a being below, if not of a different cast from themselves. Mr. Owen ap Jones's triumph over the little Irish plockit was nearly complete; for the boy's heart was almost broken, when there came to the school a new cholar— 0, how unlike the others! — His name was Edwards : lie was the son of a neighbouring Welsh gentleman; and he had himself the spirit of a gentleman. Whenhe saw poor Dominick was persecuted. he took him under his protection ; fought his battles wilh the Welsh boys; and, instead of laughing at him for speaking Irish, he endeavoured to teach him to speak English. ~ n his answer to the first questions Edwards ever asked hiin, Little Dominick made two blunders, which set all his oilier companions in a roar ; yet Edwards would not allow them to be genuine bulls. In answer to the question—" Who is your father?" Dominick said, with a deep sigh—" I have no father— I am an orphan— I have only a mother." " Have you any brothers and sisters ? " N o ! 1 wish I had; for, perhaps, they would love me, and not laugh at me," said Dominick, wilh tears in Ilis eyes ; " bul I have no broihers but myself, i" One tlay, Mr. Owen ap Jones came into the schoolroom with an open letter ill his hand, saying—" Here you litile Irish plockit ; here's a letter from your mother." The little Irish blockhead started from his form; and throwing his gram nar on the floor, leaped up higher than lie or any boy in the school had ever been seen to leap before : then clapping his hands, he exl a i m e d — " A letter from my mother! And will I hear the letter?— And ipill 1 see her once more?—• And will I go home these - holidays?— O, then I will be too happy !" " There's no tanger of that," said Mr. Owen ap Jones, " for your mother,- Jikc a wise woman, writes me here, that, py llieatvice of your cardain, to hom she is coing to be married, she will not pring you home to Ireland, till I send her word that you are perfect in your Encllsh crammar at least." I have my lesson perfect, sir," said Dominick, taking his grammar up from the 11' o r ; " w i l l I say it now ?" ' No. you blot- kit, you will not ; and I will write your mother word, you h ive proke Priscian's head foil times this day, since the letter came." Little Dominick, for the first time, was seen to burst into t e a r s — " W i l l I hear the letter?— Will I see my mother ?— Will I go home ?" " You Irish plockit, will yon never learn the difference between shall and wilt?" The Welsh boys till grinned, except Edwards, who hummed loud enough to be heard. " And will I see him once again! " And will I hear him speak." Many of the boys were, unfortunately, too ignorant to feel ihe force of the quotation; but Mr. Owen an Jones understood it, turned on his heel, and walked off. Soon afterwards, ho summoned little Dominick lo his awful desk; and., po nting with his ruler to the following page in Harris's Hermes, bade him read i t , and understand it, if he could. Liit e Dom riick read, but could not understand. Then read it aloud, yuu plockit." Dominick read aloud— " T h e r e is nothing appears so clearly an object of Ihe mind, or intellect, only as the future does; since we can find no place for its existence anywhere else; not but the same, if we consider, is equally true of the past—" " Well, co on— What stops Ihe plockit ?— Can't you read Enclish now ?" , « ' Y e s , s i r ; but I was trying to understand i t — I was considering, that this is like what they would call an Irish bull, if 1 had said it." Little Dominick could not explain what he meant in English, but Mr. Owen ap Jones would understand; and to punish him for his impertinent observation, the boy was doomed to learn all that Harris and Lowth have wiitten to explain the nature of shall and wilt.— The reader, if lie be desirous of knowing the full extent of the penance enjoined, may consult Lowth's Grammar, p. ed. 1799 ; and Harris's Hermes, p. 10, 11, and 12, fourth edition. Undismayed by the length of his task, Little Dominick only said—" I hope, if I say it all, without miss ing a word, you will not give my mother a bad account of me and my grammar studies, sir.'' " Say il all al first, without missing a word, and then I shall see what I shall say !" replied Mr. Owen ap Jones. Kven the encouragement of this oracular answer excited the boy's fond hopes so keenly, that he lent his little soul to the task : learned it perfectly; said it at night, without missing one word, to his friend Edwards; and said it, the next morning, without missing one word, to his master. " And now, Sir," said the boy, looking up, " will you write my mother ?— And shall I see her ? And shall I go home ?" " Tell me, first, whether you understand all this that you have learnt so cliply ?" said Mr. Owen ap Jones. That was more than Ills bond. Our hero's countenance fell ; and he acknowledged, that he did not understand it perfectly. " Then I cannot write a coot account of yoit and your crammar studies to your mother; my conscience roes against i t ! ' said the conscientious Mr. Owen ap Tones. No intreaties could move him. Dominick never saw the letter that was written lo his mother ; but he fell Ihe consequence. She wrote word, this time, punctually by return of the post, that she was sorry she could not send for hiin home these holidays, ps she had heard so bad an account from Mr. Oiven ap Jones, and she thought it her duty not to interrupt the course of his education, especially his grammar studies. Little Dominick heaved many a sigh, when he saw the packings up of all Ilis school- fellows ; and dropped a few tears, as lie looked out of Ihe window, and saw them, one after another, g" t on iheir Welsh Ponies, and gallop off towards their homes. v " I have no home to go to !" " Y e s , you have," cried Edwards; " and our horses are at the door, to carry us there." " To Ireland ? Me I the horses ! " said the poor boy, quite bewildered. " No, the horses cannot carry you to Ireland,'' said Edwards, laughing good- naturedly ; " but you have a home now ill England. I asked my father to let me bring you home with me; and he said—' Yes,' like a dear, good father, and has sent the horses— Come, let's away." " But will Mr. Owen ap Jones let me go ?" " Yes, he dare not refuse ; for my father has a living in his gift, that ' Owen ap Jones wants, and which he will not have if he do not change his tone to you." Little Dominick could not speak one word, his heart wa s so full. No boy could be happier than he was, during these holidays: " t h e genial current of his soul," which had been frozen by unkindness, flowed with all its natural freedom and force. Whatever his reasons might be, Mr. Owen np Jones, from this time forward, was observed to change his manners towards bis Irish pupil. He never more complained unjustly, o f h i s preaking Priscian's head, seldom called him Irish plockit, and once, would have flogged a Welsh boy for taking up this cast expression of the master's, but that the Irish blockhead begged the culprit off. Little Dominick jgbt forward rapidly in his studies : he soon surpassed every boy in the school, his friend i d wards only tjatceatedj In pracess of time his . guar, dian removed him to a higher s& nimtry of " education? Edwards had a t.' star! a j borne. Thqgfrlcnds separated,' Afterwards, they followed different tirofessior. s, in distant parts of the world, and they neither saw, rior heard any more of each other, for many years. Dominick, now no longer Little Dominick, went over to India, as private secretary to one of our commanders in chief. How he got into this situation, or by what gradations he rose in the world, we are not exactly informed ; w e know, only, that he was the reputed author of a much admired pamphlet on India affairs; that the dispatches of the general, to whom he was secretary, were remarkably well written; and that Dominick O ' R e i l l y , Esq, returned to England, after several years absence, not miraculously rich, but with a fortune equal to his wishes. His wishes were not extravagant; his utmost ambition was, to return to his native country, with a fortune that should enable him to live independently of all the world ; especially, of some of his relations, who had not used him well His mother was no more! On his arrival in London, one of the first things he did, was to read the Irish newspapers. TohisUnexpressible j o y , he saw the estate of Fort- Reilly advertised for sale— the very estate which belonged to his own family. Away he posted directly to an attorney's in Cecil- Street, who was empowered to dispose of the land. When the attorney had produced a map of the wellknown demesne and an elevation of the house in which lie had spent the happiest hours of his infancy, his heart was so touched, lhat he was on the point of paying down more for an old ruin than a good new house would have cost. Toe attorney acted honestly bo his client, and seized this moment to exhibit a plan of the slatiling and offices : which, as sometimes is the case in Ireland, were in a style far superior to the dwellinghouse. Our hero surveyed these with transport. He rapidly planned various improvements in imagination, and planted certain favoutile spots in ihe demesne I During this time, the attorney was giving directions to a cleik about some other business, when the name of Owen ap Jones struck his ear— He started. " Let him wait in the front parlour; his money is not forthcoming," said the attorney ; " antl, if lie keep Edwards in gaol till he rots " " E d w a r d s ! Good heavens!— in gaol!— What, Edwards;'' exclaimed our hero. , it was his friend Edwards! The attorney told him, that Mr. Edwards had been involved in great distress, by taking on himself his which he gathered from the ground ; then, fumbling over the leaves, he at length unfolded the precious deposit, O'Reilly saw the bond, seized it, louked at the sum, paid into it the attorney's hands, toie the seal from the bond; then, without looking at old Owen ap Jones, whom he dared not trust himself to speak to, he clapped his hat on his head, and rushed out of the room. He was, however, obliged to come back again, to ask where Edwards was to be found. " In the King's Bench prison, s i r , " said the attorney. " But I am to understand," cried he, holding up tha map of Ihe O'Reilly estate, " a m I to understand that you have no farther wish for this bargain ?" " Y e s — N o — I mean, you are to understand that I am off," replied our hero, without looking b a c k — " I'm off — That's plain English." Arriving at the King's Bench prison, he hurried to the apartment where Edwards was confined— The bolts flew back ; for even the turnkeys seemed to catch our hero's enthusiasm. " Edwards, my dear boy I how do you do ?— Here's a bond debt, justly due to you for my education—- O, never mind asking unnecessary questions, only just make haste out of this undeserved abode — Our old rascal is paid off— Owen ap Jones, you know— Well, how the man stares:— Why, now, will you have the assurance to pretend lo forget who I am?— and must I spake," continued he, assuming Ihe tone of his childhood — " and must I spnketo you, again in my oltl Irish brogue, before you w ill recollict your own Little Dominick?'' When his friend Edwards was out of prison, and our hero had leisure to look into the business, he returned to the attorney, to see that Mr. Owen ap Jones had been satisfied. ' Sir," said the attorney, " I have paid the plaintiff in this suit, and he is satisfied ; but, I must say," added he, wilh a contemptuous smile. " lhat you Irish gentle* men are rather in too great a hurry in doing business: business, Sir, is a thing that must be done slowly, to be well done." " I am ready, now, to do business as slowly as you please; but when my friend was in prison, I thought ihe quicker I did his business the better. Now, tell me what mistake I have made, and I will rectify it instantly." " Instantly !—' Tis well, sir, with your promptitude lhat you have to deal with, what prejudice thinks so very uncommon— an honest attorney— Here are soma bank- notes of your's, amounting to a good round sum! . — Y o u have made a little blunder in this business; you left me the penalty instead of Ihe principal of the bond — twice as much as you should have done," i " J u s t twice as much as was in the bond ; but not twice as much as I should have done, nor half as much as I should have done I " saidO'Reilly ; " b u t , whatever I did, it was with my eyes open. I was persuaded yon were an honest man; in which you see, I was not mistaken : and as a man of business, I knew that you would pay Mr. Owen ap Jones only his due. The remainder of the money I meant, and now mean, should lie in your hands for my friend Edwards's use. I feared lie would not have taken it from my hands, I therefore left it in your's. To have taken my friend out of prison, merely to lei him go back again to- day, for want of money to keep himself clear with the world, would have been a blunder indeed! but not an Irish blunder ; our Irish blunders are never blunders of the heart." A L O N S O ' S D E C R E E ; O R , H A M E T ' S D O O M. ( W R I T T E N E X P R E S S L V FOR T H E P E N N Y S U N D VY T I M E S . ) B r G E O R G E C~ father's debls, which had been incurred in exploring a mine in Wales; that, of all the creditors, none had efused to compound, except a Welsh parson, who had been presented to his living by old Edwards ; and that this Mr. Owen ap Jones had thrown young Mr. Edwards into goal for his debt. " What is the rascal's demand ? He shall be paid ofl this instant," cried Dominick, throwing down the plan of Fort- Reiljy : " send for him up, and let me pay him oil'on the spot." x " Had not we best finish our business first, about Ihe O'Reilly estate, sir ?" said the atlorney. " N o , Sir; d— n Ihe O'Reilly estate!" cried he, huddling the - maps together on the desk; and, taking up the bank- notes which he had begun to reckon for Ihe purchase- money—" I lieg your pardon, sir— If you knew the facts, you would excuse me— Why does not the rascal come up to be paid ?" The attorney, thunderstruck by his Hibernian impetuosity, bad not yet found time to take his pen out of his mouth. As he sat transfixed in his arm chair O'Reilly ran to the head of the stairs, and called out, in a Stentorian voice—" Here, yen Mr. Owen ap Junes, come up, and be paid oil' this instant, or you shall never be paid at all. 1' Up stairs hobbled the old school- master, as fast as the gout antl Welsh ale would let hitn—" Cot pless me, that voice 1" he began— " Where's your bond, sir P" said the attorney. " Safe here. Cot be praised I" said the terrified Owen ap Jones: pulling out of his bosom, first a blue pockethandkerchief, and then a tattered Welsh grammar, which O'Reilly kicked to the farther end of the room. " Here is my pond," said he, " in the crainmar, All was in readiness— Alonso cast a look on Hamet, in which there was something less severe than his usual expression. " Art thou prepared ?" said the king, " Ay, for life or death," replied Hamet. " Then God be thy j u d g e , " said Alonso, as he raked his arm to give the signal. The trumpet gave, one clear, and hollow blast. It curdled the blood, for it sounded like the knell of death to all h^ ii; the obdurate; ere the echoes of the surrounding mountains had finished repeating the a'wful cI, u- , the barriers were thrown open, and with one hound the bull burst out. He was black in colour, and therefore had been named Nero, Hamet was ready 10 ' receive him— his fine person drawn to its utmost height, every muscle in his slender limbs seemed to swell and show its power, as he stood " l i k e a greyhound on the slip," eager for the hardy encounter. The bull, having been made furious by thirst and hunger, with an aspect full of savage fury, he lashed Ilis sides wilh his broad tail,— bellowed, tore up ihe ground with hoof and horns, and darted forward towards Hamet. The youth, by leaping with an agility alone equal to the nimble- footed chamois, as it springs from rock to rock, endeavouring, but in vain, to avoid the continued pursuit of the b u l l ,— his eye ever watchful for the moment of attack. No such moment occurred, and it seemed evident that his life vvoald terminate from ihe violent exertions he made to preserve it. Hassan saw this— he clasped his hands together in agony. He looked up to heaven— he uttered fearful cries, lhat mingled even with his prayers. " H e will die! he will die!" exclai ned Hassan. " Oh ! for an angel's wing to waft him hence in safety. Mortal aid, is there none to save him ? But see, prophet ot Mecca, what a daring net,— he has seized the terrible animal by Ihe horns: he suffers himself lo be dragged round the arena ! Now he hangs by one hand — he slabs him in the throat; the blood spouts like a fount of waters— but Ihe brute still lives. Look! Hamet falls from his hold !— he is up again— he is on his feet! Oh, Allah, how I thank ihee. He flies! he liies! but look, the brute is mad with fury, gored with wounds. See how lie tears up the sand. He follows— he follows! How will Hamet escape ? he has d.' iven the youth close to the barrier. There is na escape, no hope, he must perish !" " H e falls not— he falls not!" exclaimed Hubert, " oh, noble Hamet !'' At Ihis instant, a loud, continued, and deafening shout of applause shook the arena; for Hamet, bold, active, quick of eye, and vigorous of limb, with one bound.— the very moment Ihe bull was about to toss him on his horns— sprung on the animal's back, and leapt over hiin. He ran forward— the bull turned again to the pursuit, and lhat with so much fierceness, ihe last effort of his rage, that the sight of it impressed horror. His blood streamed from his flanks, he bounded, rather th in ran forward wilh dreadful bellowings. He shook his neck and sides— tossed the sand ill his career— while volumes of smoke arose from his mouth and nostrils. Hamet, as a final efforf, determined to spring upon him, and for that pit. pose, when within a few yards of the bull, turned lo confront him . his foot slipped— he ( ell— and the knife dropped from liis hand ; nil hope fled, for at ihis moment he stood close ' o the barrier which cut off his retreat, and he wild bull was coming towards Ilim wilh head bent to gore him to death with his horns. A cry of horror arose from the arena. Hamet sprung up— there was no escape. Paalina set immediately above the very spot where her lover was in so much longer. Quick in feeling, and in thought, she tore from her shoulders the scarlet mantle in which she was wrapt, and threw it into the arena wilh so true a haud, that Hamet caught it— cast it over the bull's head as he was preparing lo gore him, and ere he could disentangle himself from the blind thus thrown over him, Hamet recovered his knife that lay close to his feet, and struck it to his heart,— his mighty enemy fell a convulsed corpse before his view. Hamet, overcome by the tumult of his feelings, dropped on his knees, clasped his hands together, looked up to heavon, but could not speak,— tears burst from his eyes, and, in some measure, relieved his overburdened spirit, whilea thousand and a thousand shouts rent the air with j o y and gladness, and thanksgiving for his deliverance! In a storm at sea, the chaplain asked one of the crew if he thought there was any danger. " O y e s , " replied the sailor, " if il blows as liaril as it does now, we shall all be in heaven before twelve o'clock to night." The chaplain, terrified at the expression, cried out, " Shal we ? The Lord forbid I" THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE.' .^ Fragments for tfje fiJurioue. CURIOUS ADVERTISEMENT. A gentleman who lately lust his horse, published the following notice:— " Runil away or stolen, ov was strayed, mir. e large plack horse, about fourteen or fifteen hands six inches high. He has got four ptack legs, two pehin'd, two pefore ; he is plack all over his pody, but he has got some vite spots on his back, where de skill is rubbed off, but I greased em, and de vite spots is all plack again. He trots and kanters, and sometimes valks, and ven he valks, all his legs and feet goes on une after another. He has two hears, both alike, but one is speacker than the other. He has two eyes, von is put out, and when you go toder side, he vant see you. Ven he eats a good deal, lie has a pig nelly; lie has a long tail dat hangs pehind, but I cut it short toder day, and now it is not so long vat it vas. He is slioed all round, hut is pehilid shoes cmid off, and now he has got nn shoes pefore. He holds up his ead, and looks gaily, and veu lie has been frightened, he prances about like anyting in the world. He will ride without a saddle, a chaise or » kart. and he will go by his self without nobody pat a poy on his pack, an a pag on it. He is not very old, and veu he valks or runs, his ead goes first, and his tail stays behind, only ven he gets mad and turns round, and den sometimes his tail come first. Whosomdever vill print; him pack, de tief dat stole him, he shall pay twenty dollars reward, and axe no questions." V A L U A B L E A C Q U I S I T I O N . — A g e n t l e m a n h a v i n g a pad that started nnd broke his wife's neck, a neighbouring squire told hiin lie wished to purchase it for his wife to ride npon. ' No,' says the other, I will not sell the little fellow, because 1 intend to marry agnin.' THE SAILOR BOY'S HOME. The peasant in his lonely cot— The peer beneath his gilded dome— Can share life's joys with those they love, And find a sweet aud peaceful home. But mine is on Ihe bounding wave, On ocean's blue, its vast expanse, Where surging billows fiercely roll, Or gentler wavelets idly dance. No watchful eye to guard my couch. No teuder mother listening near ; The sea- mew's screech the only sound That breaks upon tny wakeful ear. The loud winds roar, my lullaby, My vesper hymn, the tempest's blast, I'm rocked upon the shivering shroud, And cradled ou the bending mast. When grief my youthful bnsom rends, No soothing words of joy 1 hear ; No voice my throbbing breast to quell, Nor wipe away the burning tear 1 When pains do rack my aching head, There is no hand my brow to lave ; No limpid stream my thirst to quench— No cordial but the briny wave I And yet I love my watery home, Since all I loveti on land arc gone : And those who loved me— all aie laid Beneath tbe monumental stone ! And well I love my gallant barque, Her captain and her dauntless crew; And hope that o'er her long shall float, The ensign of unchanging blue. May man and master gain that coast Where tides shall ebb and flow no more— Where not a wave its foam can dash On Canaan's bright and happy shore ! H. B. K. C T f j c a t m . " ' Nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice." SHAKSPERE. COYF. NT G A R D E N . — A n e w f a r c e , f r o m t h e p r o l i f ic pen of Mark Leman, culled Fashionable Arrivals, has met with the most decided success, and promises for some time lo continue a favorite. The plot is very simple, but cleverly managed, and the language being very smart, keeps the audience in good humour to the last; Farren has a capital part, which we need not say he makes the most o f ; and indeed the whole of the performers do infinite justice to the characters allotted to them. The scenery is beautiful, particularly the conservatory. HAYMARKET.— Lord Byron's tragedy of Werner has been revived at this theatre, and has drawn crowded houses on every evening of its performance. Macreaiiy's personation of the hero is too well known to call for any further comment. Sheridan Knowles' beautiful play of The Love Chase, lias also been played with ull the spirit with which it was first produced, Mrs. Sterling playing the part which was formerly allotted to Mrs. Nisbett, and is doing ample justice to it. The theatre continues to be well attended. ADFLPHI.— The new drama of Laffarne continues to be played, but in spite of all the 44 gag " which has appeared in the papers, we are confident tliat it will soon be consigned 14 to the tomb of all the capnlets." tt is a wretched affair, and the sen imental twaddle which the author has put into the mouths of the performers, is truly sickening. The scenery, & c. is excellent. OLYMPIC.— Mr. Butler has found it advisable toreopen a gallery, and we think very properly too. Such aristocratic, notions are invariably unsuccessful. Deprive the poorer classes of their entre, and any theafre. isivhat is technically, but appropriately termed damned. Madam Vestris and other managers have tried the scheme, bat it signally failed. Wc should have been extremely sorry to have seen Mr. Butler lose that good fortune which his good management h? is brought Mm. S A D L F R ' S W E L L S . — The Fair Maid of Tottenham Court, and The Wreck ofthe Royal George, continue to be immense favorites at this theatre, notwithstanding which, we perceive that there arc other novelties underlined in the bill. R< a l l y , Mr. Honner is a most industrious caterer for the amusement of the public. The house is crowded every evening. CITY.— The last pioduction, founded on Mr. Ainsworth's tale pf Guy Faickes, promises to remain long in the favour of the public. The attraction of Mary White is still undiminished. PAVILION.— A new drama, written by Mrs. Denvil, called The Falalist, has met wilh considerable success. It is founded on Bulwer's novel of Godolphin, and the adapter has executed her task very cleverly. 1' ht Wreck ofthe Royal George is s'ill a favorite. A petite domestic diama, called The Mother and Child, w ritten by ivlr. Lovedav, has also met with much applause, and the performance of little Miss Loveday, has delighted thj audience. She is a very clever child. Mr. J. Bennett is a valuable acquisition to the company. The Surrey, Victoria, and Queen's, have produced nothing new since our last. A CAUTION.— When Baron Nienman was once p l a j - ing at cards in a large company, he was guilty of an odd t r i c k ; on which the comparty, in the warmth of Iheir resentment, threw him out of the window of a one pair of stairs room, where they had been playing. The baron, meeting Foote some time after, was'loudly complaining of this usage, and asked what he should do ? 4 Do I' says the w it, ' why never play so high again.' REPLY.— A humourous fellow beino; subpoenaed as a that sect whom wivoess on a tri^ l for an assault, one of the ewnsei, w to t E f f i t f i j. had been notorious for broiv- beating witnesses, asketf religious abhorrencC, all— frvrni the king upon th him what distance he w as from the parties when the * throne, to the p « Hy Baron of i^ ew score acres, united in assault happened: he answered, 4 Just four feet five trampling upon a people from whom they could obtain inches and a half.' 4 How come you to be so very exac| by force, ( never by fraud) that main cbject of most fellow ?' said tlie counsel. 4 Because 1 expected soirii ^ inen's pursuits— tlio riches of the world— hut to our fool or other would ask me,' said he, 4 and so I mea- tale. T H E U N F O R T U N A T E J E W. 44 Was ever Christian land so rich in Jews P Those parted with their teeth to good King John." B Y R O N ' S A G E OF B R O N Z E. Wc know that many readers, ( ourselves among the number,) are often inclined to skip the preface, therefore we shall confine the few observations of that nature necessary to be made to a very short compass; suffice it to say, the scene in which onr characters played their different parts of tyranny and suffering, was the great metropolis of England, at the time when King John held the reins of sovereignty. The principal personage in this our short tale of human woe, was one of gentle knock at the door— she heard hi3 foot fall on the stairs— and in another minute he stood before her. When the old Jew entered his apartment, he cast his eyes aiound with a glance that Indicated the natural suspicion of his nature— it was keen and searching, ycl hasty; it appeared as If even ih the security of his home he anticipated some lurking foe : bis countenance was strongly characteristic of his race, and his dress was mean, there was naught about the man to denote him the possessor of the immense wealth he was known to have. He was haggard, as If worn down with perpetual care, antl the restless, wavering glances of his eyes, seemed always in search of sortie danger to evade, or some plunder to obtain, for these two motives were the objects of his life, if we omit the love he cherished for his only child, whose mother had been early forn from him by the ruthless hand of death. From that hour, every energy of his mind had been concentrated in the ohe object of artiassing Wealth, and he had succeeded even beyond his own most sanguine anticipations— how fruitlessly let the course of the narrative show. Joined with the other characteristics of his countenance, was an expression about the compressed lips, which showed that persecution" had not softened his spirit, and to a keen observer of human nature, would clearly have indicated that he would s oner part with his exis'ence, than any portion of his ill- gotten wealth. Al'lfif casting his eyes around the apartment, as if in search of some drended object, they rested upon the expressive features of his daughter, and the gloom which appeared an habitual possessor of his countenance vanished, giving place to an expres. sion which plainly bespoke that, notwithstanding the avarice of mind, love for Sis daughter was the preponderating influence of his nature, however eclipsed by his e very advanced to meet her, and exclaimed, 41 Rachel, my child, thou hast, doubtless wondered at my long absence, but I have been engaged child, engaged in striving to scrape together » few shillings for ( tier, w hen time shall have gathered me to my father's, that tlion mayest not be left at the mercy of the Nazarcnc, which is such as wolves show to sheep." " S a y naught of it, my dear father, hut give me thy damp garments," exclaimed Rachel ; — " I could he Well content to trust to the charity even of our persecutors, if my heart could he assured thy life would not be aimed al, for thou knowest to possess wealth, is to inherit a premature death." 44 Wealth 1 say no more about it, child; I charge thee, I am the poorest of my tribe, but I cannot ! leave thee desolate. 1 must strive— yes— yes, I must i strive." " Father," leturned Rachel, affectionately hut firmly; 4 1 1 know we have more than enough to secure us a happy independence in some more favoured land than this, where the rules are not so bent on hunting down the badge of our religion, where money may buy immunity— thou hast enough, and to spare, then why not do as I have so often wished,, and leave this dangerous place before worse comes of it ?" 44 Worse ? what can be worse than poverty ?" muttered the J ew to himself in an tinder tone, but then, as if conscious that the observation had been overheard by his daughter, and lhat she was more fully aware of his real situation than he would wish to have acknowledged even to himself, he instantly added :— 1 4 1 tell tliee, child, my affairs are so extensive— no, not extensive, they are so involved— that is all my money is out to interest, and were I to leave now, 1 should be ruined— yes, Rachel, we should be beggars— think of that, child— think of that, and say no more about i t ." A space of some minutes succeeded,' during which both sat silent ; the father brooding on his affairs, and the daughter, out of deference to her parent, although utterly unconvinced by his statement, a foiboding hung upon her mind, for which she could not herself account, and the silence was fir » t broken by her father. < cm- id.- red meritorious in thosr 44 t'ecb^ l," b; • ' s^- have n « t * et cfintyiKm? Wider ifce cloak or j why I walso late to- ni< f! 5V -" one of the rich ones who borrow money of our ptTKale- was in difficulties, antl he sent to me for relief—. ie sent for me to meet him at one of their dens of iniquity. I went child, I I thought, perchance, ance as he was known to be most intimate with. We need not follow her through the mdny scenes of disappointment which she experienced, suffice It to say, she could gain no later information of him than she herself kitew; for days she followed this unsuccessful pursuit, only to add disappointment to disappointment, and gall to the bitternefS of heart, and in this unhappy state we must leave her to follow the movements of her still more unhappy father. When the Jew left his house on fhe morning already described, it was with an heart elate at the prospect of adding considerably to his already almost countless wealth, notwithstanding the secret misgivings of his mind. He accordingly proceeded to the appointed place of rendezvous, where, early as the hour was, the unknown messenger was in waiting for him. As soon as the Jew approached, without waiting for any salutation, his conductor placed his finger npon his lip in token of silence, and proceeded at a swift pace to lead the way through many narrow and dirty streets, appearing to avoid the more open thoroughfares intuitively, till the noble Thames spread its glittering sheet of water before them, each tiny wave dancing in the early light of the rising sun, as if enjoying the freedom of emancipation from the darkness of night to the j o y - ous blooin of day. Here his guide stopped, and beckoning to a boatman who appeared to be in attendance, he silently motioned the Jew to step into the boat which now appioached tbe shore. The air of preconcertion which attended the whole affair, that a boatman should be abroad at that early hour waiting for a fare, and altogether an indefinite misgiving ofthe result ofthe adventure, for he knew not where he was going, conspired to excite to a stronger degree, the ever- alive suspicion of his nature, and he was on the point of refusing the seat pointed out to him, when his conductor whispered warningly in his ear;— 4 4 Remember! thy reward awaits thee"— it was enough— avarice the passion of his nature, overcame his prudential resolves, and he immediately occupied his seat, his guide stepped after him, and the man turning the head of his boat at a silent gesture of the stranger, for no words appeared necessary between thein, proceeded on his voyage. For some time the silence was unbroken, each apparently fully occupied with their own thoughts, at length the Jew ventured to enquire where they were going. " You will soon learn," was the forbidding answer returned by the guide, in a tone that put a stop to all conversation , the Jew felt it was too late to retreat, and comforted himself with the fallacious hope that all would be well ; the hours swiftly fled by them as they glided onward with the running tide, until the fearful outline of the tower became visible; again were the suspicions of the Jew aroused to the fullest extent, but it was not till they shot towards its wharf, that the full reality of his dreadful situation burst upon his agonized senses, then indeed he saw lhat he was undone, that all hope was passed, and in the par, xysm of his frenzy, he raised a yell so piercingly shrill and wild, that it would have struck terror to the hearts of any but those accustomed to witness human nature in its most trying hour. However, upon the face of his gttidtf it had no other efl'ect than to call up a smile of scorn and derision, and laying a powerful hand upon the unfortunate J e w , he prevented hisn from leaping into the tide, which he would have done in the first burst of his rage and grief, had he not been prevented. The rower, whose nerves appeared to be Jess indurated than those of the stranger, answered the unearthly yell by increased efforts, as if wishing to be rid of his portion of the business, and in a few minutes the boat reached the wharf, and the unfortunate Jew was dragged, more dead than alive from it, and hurried onward by his attendants. After traversing the necessary space, they entered the tower, and proceeded through numerous passages, known hot to those who had the care of them; his guides, which were now augmented to four, stopped at a door studded with nails, the very dumb expresiion of it bore legibly on its surface— cease to hope, and one of them having produced a key, the Jew was thrust into the narrow cell, to which^ t i t e c , - iiose. lr the" g r a t i n g ^ , , j he harsh soun ' sused it.' REPROOF.— Mr. Wesley, travelling in a stage coach with a young officer, who swore and d d himself at every word, asked him if . he had read the Common Prayer Bonk; fot if he had he might remember the Collect, 4 O God, who art ever more ready than we. to pray, and are. wont to give more than either we desire or deserve.' Tho young man had sense enough to make the application, and was decent the rest of the journey, " Y E S , YES, I LOVE THEE." BALLAD.— BY ANDREW JAMES M'DOUALL. 1 dearly love to meet thee thus, When none are near to gaze on us, And then compare thy beaming eye, With yonder pure antl hallow'd sky, While ' mong thy silken locks 1 twine My finger thus, and call thee m i n e - Then swear by thy sweet self a vow, Which sacred truth 1 tell thee now— - Yes, yes, 1 love tl « ec 1 Then gently thus to press thee so, And breathe my hopes in murmur's low ; ' Mid rival doubts of love and fear, Still clasp thee to my soul more near— Await thy smile, anil in my bliss, Pilfer thee of many a kiss, From cheek to mouth, from lip to brow, And whisper that 1 tell thee now— Yes, yes, I love thee ! J" Oh, then, what joy, what ecstacy ! To gaze into thy love- lit eye ; While passion's raptures wildly sweet, With all love's blissful feelings meet: In thee and me— oh '. joy supreme 1 Too fleetly gone, too like a dream !— But, come again, I'll kiss thy brow, And bless thee, while I murmur now— Yes, yes, I love thee ! Oct. 17th, 1840.' » The* vessel ' Betsy," was shipwrecked on a voyage to the West Indies. A passenger who had never before experienced such a dreadful calamity, seeing every one around him cling to anything they could catch hold of to save themselves, seized hold of one of the anchors. I S A A C F A C - T O T U M , — B a r b e r , p e r i w i g - m a k e r , surgon, parish- clerk, schoolmaster, blacksmith, and manmidwif. Shaves for a penne; cuts hare for too pense, and oyld and powdird into the bargin.* Yuug ladys genteley edicated; and lamps liled by the hear or quartir. Yung gentilmen also taut their grey mar langwage in the neetest mannir, and grete ctar ( akin of their morels and spelin. Also salme singin and horce shewin by the real maker. Likewise makes and mends all sorts of b u tes and shoes; teches the hoi boy and Jews- harp; cuts corns, bledes and blisters, on the lowes terms. Glistirs and pingis at a peny a- peace. Cowtilions and othir dancis taut at lioam and abrode. Also deles holesale and relate.— Perfumiry in all its branchis. Sels all sorts of stationary wair, together with blackin, balls, red- herrins, ginger- brid and coles; scrubbin brtishis, trejcle, moiice- raps, and olher swetemetcs. Likcwice Godfery's Cordiel gin, red rules, pottatos, sassagis and othir gaidin stuff. N. B.— I leches joggrafy and them outlandish kind of things. A bawl on Wensdays and Fry days, all pirformid ( God willin) by Me, I S A A C F A C - T O T U M. * * * Likewice also bewary of countii fits, for sueh is nbrode. I is the only originel inwenlnr of that fiimnusist licker so muce in woge, called 44 Cuckold's Gumflrt, or arts hease 1 If you wont blieve, ; u the lanlord, and lie will give you a gl- iss to ta t, but you must give him the mony for it fir . t tho'. It was on a stormy night, when the winds whistled and raged over the ancient City of London, as if they strove by their fury to vie with the busy scene of human passions and contentions, which spread its sickening scene beneath them, sending to the hearts of those who weie not amongst the most depraved, a feeling conviction that the power who could rule ihe war of the elements above them, was at the same moment looking upon their proceedings with an eye that registered every action; feelings of superstitious awe were aroused in the initids of many, and perhaps, there were but few who were Insensible to ( he awful grandeur and sublimity of the seeoe ; if there were any, it must have been those, who, from some powerful conn, teracting impulse within, were thereby rendered regardless of all external objects— the miser counting his ^ hoards, might, from his misplaced j o y have been insensible— the gambler, seated at the lable with harrowed soul, knowing that the operation of what is called chance against him, might reduce a confiding and innocent wife and children to the depth of misery and hopeless poverty; shuddering at the suggestions of the enemy of mankind tempting him to commit suicide, to escape their reproachful looks— he might be insensible to i t ; and again— but why pursue the thread of human depravity any further— there were those who were insensible to the elemental strife from far different motives, to such a one we must now refer :— In an elegantly furnished apartment, situated in certainly not one of the most fashionable thoroughfares of London, sat a female, apparently about the age of nineteen or twenty ; from the certain peculiarity which marks the Hebrew race, it was plainly to be seen she was one of that persecuted people, although no observer could have gazed upon her face without being struck with its beauty, il was joined with an expression of passive melancholy, which showed that feelings not genitil fo her age, held possession of heart — it showed that she knew what suffering was, and yet, glancing at the decorations ot the room, we might involuntarily exclaim :— how car. a being so fair— surrowmleiHMth every comfort, whose very countenance, that great index tb ihe mind, bespeaks the possession of a virtuous heart— unsullied— pure as in helpless infancy— how can she be happy?— true, she was virtuous, her heart knew not contamination ; she was pure— pure as our nature can admit or— and yet the cankerworm of care was w inding its riiinous way deeper daily into her young heart. Such as we have described her, she sat at the window, on the evening in question, and £ azed upon the storm without ; to watch the expression of her eyes, one liugtit huvu supposed as she gazed earnestly down the street, which was nearly deserted, she was endeavouring to trace the tierce demon of the storin in his flight through the desolate thoroughfare, causing tbe stray passenger to wrap himself closer in his cloak, or, if circumstances forbade his havin useful an article, to button himself yet higher— to draw his hat c'oser over his brows, and with increased speed, hurry on to the humble eljslttm of his own home ; but no, she saw naught— she beard naught— her gaze was but of vacuity. Oil the slter of her heart, in silent devotion, she was offering the pure incense of filial affection for the safety of a father who had ever been to her indulgent, although harsh too, and hated of others. 44 Where can he b e ? " she involuntarily exclaimed; ' 4 lie stays not usually so late from his home— the God of Abraham forbid aught has happened to. hiin, or that he has unwillingly given otl'ence, and thereby fallen into the power of those who seek our downfall, and take every mean-' to persecute the remnant of our people." Occupied with these thoughts, she continued lo sit until ihe solitude of advancing midnight, coupled w ilh her father's unwonted absence, caused her to ft- el that further suspense was insupportable, and taking one of the stiver lamps, she was about proceeding to order some of Ihe domestics to go in search of her only parent, when, to her inexpressible j o v , she heard his A N S W E R S T O C H A R A D E S. ANSWER TO W . A. ' s CHARADE IH NO. 31 Rain not on Norton evil things, for she No notion has of aught but purity. I am no Unitarian, sir.— What next ? I love theparfrm dress without pretext; Not on a matron, but on a blooming lass, Who's often toasted with a bumping'glass. Re- nown- ed in hist'ry for its animation, Is many an ancient orator's oration. " Tut man, the wisest tongues sometimes are mum, ^ At least, so says, sir, many an author.— Come, Unless we run our rations will be eat, And nuts and raisins we shall only get." 41 A murrain 3 i'. e the dust," an artist cries, I f by mischance it on his picture flies, 41 D the king's ransom, ' tis a curse to me— I truss- 1 the paint was d r y — O dear!" moans be. Y o u spell right oddly the word Salmon, Summon, Perchance you did it for 44 a bit of gammon." fire- arms ( a n t please the pigs) do often bring The pheasant down when on its airy wing. And having now finisb'd my lucubration, I find your whole is the word TRANSMUTATION. A . A . Z. ANS. WER TO T H E T H I R D CHARADE IN NO. 3 0. The theme, dear sir, of your cbarade, Means not a transien t lire that's made ; T i s not a spark that oft returns, And flashes bright, but never burns. ' T i s what pervades each lover's breast, And sweetly lulls their minds to rest; ' Tis that fl me, no pow'r can sever— I N E X T I N G U I S H A B L E ever! M A H R O B , S E N . ^ ANSWER TO T H E FIFTH CHARADE IN NO. 3 0. Rome and Arabia's figures Mix, And shew the word on which you fix. M A H R O B , S E N. ANSWF. RS T O RIDDLES. ANSWER TO T H E FIRST R I D D L E IN NO. 2 9 . Eight thousand, eight hundred, and eighty- eight, When halved by a line you will soe That nothing remains, and it is above Seven thousand, nine hundred, and three. R. M. J ANSWER TO THE SECOND R I D D L B IN NO. 2 9 . The KEEL is common on the Tyne, With me von will agree, From which the first, if cut away, " N, An eel we then will see; Then this reverse, Leo next appears, By sailors understood ; Reverse my whole, we find the leek, Which in our soup is good. J. K. ANSWER TO T H E T H I R D R I D D L E IN NO. 2 9 . Master Friz, i t surely is The letter A you mean ; For in the air, And in Ihe fair It's plainly to be seen. J. H. G. ANSWER TO X. Y. Z . ' s REBUS IN NO. 3 1 . Roulet's the game I think you mean, An owl by day is seldom seen ; Sir Walter Scott's a well- known name, Evadne is often played at Drury Lane. The initials of the whole combined, A rose is present to my mind ; And then when I transpose the four, I find what causes pain— A HONE. the reverberating to forbid the h- Rfc4" of his ever emergin from the living tomb in win Eh he was enclosed. Dethought of ihee, and went. thereby I might add to my little stock; he kept me waiting for hours, Rachel, and when he did come, and we had settled our business— our little business— it was but a trifle child, he thought himself secure, and when bonds had passed, he joined with Ihe others— he joined with those who had jeered and reviled me ever since iny entrance into the accursed place— he laughed at Ihe man who had just lent hiin money, would that I had known it— but I have bis bond— let liim beware— 1 could gnash him with my teeih," exclaimed the old man, rising, anrt walking hurriedly about the room at the remembrance of his supposed wrongs. 41 Father, forbear," said Rachel, rising, and advancing to ihe old man's side ; 44 we should give good tor e v i l ." 44 I cannot,'* retorted the old Jew, nor would I if I could, let them who tread U.) K> B US, beware I f onrretaliation— kiss me, my child, and retire to seek thy rest, I must abroad early into the city, 1 have business, which I hope will be profitable; a messenger who has been to me, tells me one of much nobleness wants my money — I know not who he i » — 1 would all were well— but yet— yet I must go — 1 shall be home to dine— good night my child, my image of my blighted Rachel— good night at once." 44 Good night, my dear, dear father, and may tbe Holy One protect thee," returned Rachel, in a melancholy voice. 44 A m e n ! " responded the old man, and they separated. When the young Jewess retired, her mind was agitated by a thousand fears, for which she could give no reason, even to the council of her own thoughts, and when she sunk into slumber, the distress of her mind caused her sleep t o be anything but refreshing. She arose in the morning pale and languid, and found that her father had left home early— ihe day passed iserably— an unaccountable fear held possession of her in'iid, and long before the hour appointed for his return, she was seated at th.? same window we beheld her before, gazing wilh languid eye upon the now busy scene before her - s h e marked it not. All her faculties were engrossed by the consideration of the dangers hich awaited her race generally, and from her own prophelic feelings, those j f ' i i jh she feared hung over her father's house in parilEalar. Absorbed in these melancholy reflections, she heeded not the passage of time, nor w as she recalled to recollection till the clock struck the hour appointed by her father for his return; the sound aroused her, and eagerly rising, she rang the bell lo know if he had arrived. The domestic who appeared at the summons, slated that he had not, and again she was abandoned to the melancholy society of her own thoughts— each o. inirte seemed to her an interminable space of time, and when its unceasing tongue had told another hour towaid our final destination, her suspense became intolerable. She arose, and paced the a partnient— again and again she fancied she heard his well- known footstep, or recognized his voice amidst the clamour of the domestics, and each time she was subjected to the sickening sensation of hope delayed ; at last, when four hours had passed beyond the time he appointed to be at home, her feelings vere wrought to that dreadful pitch of agony, lhat she felt the knowledge of the very worst which her soul dreaded, would be preferable to the torturing feelings of anxiety. Domestics were despatched in search, and again hours passed without any tidings of the absent one. The servants who had been on the fruitless search dropped in one by one, and reported that naught could be learned of his whereabout at the places he was known to frequent; and once more Rachel was left to silent and miserable contemplation; she remained eagerly regarding each sound till the dawn of day began to throw a sickly hue of light over the neighbouring houses, and then with a mind and body worn out with excessive fatigue, she retired to seek that repose in sleep which she feared had for ever forsaken her waking dreams. Torn, however, with conflicting emotions, she sought it in vain, and rising early, she determined to go in person to such of her father's acquaintprived by the intensity of his feelings for a time, not only of the powe. f. oLjHterance, but of thought, he sunk insensible onu"% i ejro< Iterance i^ Jffoor ; an hour elapsed before he recovered suflicifnlli- vio be at all aware of the situation in which he was placed, but when returning consciousness did appear, he aroused only to a sense of misery, compared to which the grand antidote of huniau misery death would have been a blessing. For a time he sat with clasped hands upon the wretched pallet prepared for his reception, almost lendered insensible by the stunning events which had befallen him, but as his mind gained power to look at the dark piciure which presented itself to his imagination, he shuddeied at the prospect— he knew the cruelty practised toward his sect, to extract their hidden treasures from them, and alihough his soul sickened at the contemplation of the ordeal he truly presaged he was to pass through, he arrived at Ihe determination that h'- would not part with his wealth. ( To be concluded in our next.) AN A C R O S T I C , ' B E I N G AN ANSWER TO BUCK'S R I D D L E IN NO. 3 1. ye no ® that S is found in some or soul*' is found in you, and is U in the whole , N ow deep in ruin an N's found I ween, D ive ' mongst the dead and D is surely seen; A nd in a head that's dress'd gaily an A will appear, Y ea! and the end of Sunday, too, a Y is seen there, T hatT is in the word lory, you plainly can see, I n the chair lhat yon sit on an I there must be ; M ' s found in the moon like the man with his sticks, E gad in your dinner nn E stands like bricks. S o as S found in sun is the end of my rhymes, T h e w h o l e o f y o u r r i d d l e , s i r , i s S U N D A Y T I M E S. A. A . L. A N I C H T A D V E N T U R E. 1! Y A L E X A N D E R, I Imri been visiting an old friend who resided a few miles from tile 41 Great Metropolis," and having stepped longer than I intended lo have done, the coaches had all gone, so I was obliged to walk, with my usual companion— a huge stick. The night was very dark— not a star was to be seen, and not a sound was to be heard, save the whistling of ( he wind through ihe trees that stood near the roadside. I had not proceeded above half- a- mile when I distinctly saw, a short distance before, me, a light, carried by a man who had a large coat or cloak thrown carelessly over his head. 1 also discoveied that he had a few yards of rope in his hand, and was creeping along by the side of the hedge as if he wished not to be seen by man or beast. I was rather puzzled, I must confess, not knowing whether it would be best to return to my friend, or to follow this mysterious- looking being ; but, after a moment's consideration, I decided on the latter, thinking 1 might prevent some foul deed which I supposed he " was about to commit. I now ( rod very softly, so lhat He 6hould not bear the sound of my footsteps ; and after walking a few minutes, he stopped at a gate tthi « l> bu opened. 44 He shall not Escape from me," t heai d him say, as he pat the lantern and the rope on the ground, and laying particular emphasis on the latter word. All was no* silent, and having looked around, he took up the roge and commenced to make a slip- knot; so thinking 1 shoitld not have a better opportunity of seizing him than at the present time, I instantly caught hold of the collar of his coat, which made him fall to the earth, appearing quite surprised at being in the hands of a stranger. '' V i l l a i n ! " I ejclaimed, as I brandished my huge stick over his head, 44 villain ! what are your intentions ?'' 44 W— h— y, s— i— r, I be only going to try and catch master's new pony, that ran away from all on us to- day." I was astonished ; but seeing he was quite correct, I put a silver coin in his hand, thinking that it would please him as much as he had been frightened ; and having left him, I hastened towards my dwelling in London, laughing at the mistake I had so recently made. INSTANCE OF FOLLY.— In the little village of Marton, there lived two brothers, who were twins, death aimed his unerring dart at one, and took him from this world. A son of Momus meeting the survivor, inquired 44 Was i t you or your brother lhat died ?" In sleep we pass many of the happiest hours of onr lives. What a picture of loveliness, innocence, and happiness is that of a sleeping child ! A person, ( who, I should imagine, was rather bewildered in his sensos,,) once asked for a looking- glass in order to see how he looked, while yielding to tie drowsy impulse of Somnus ! . 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