PENNY LONDON:— SUNDAY, JANUARY 10, 1841 llOlitt, AWFUL INUNDATION AT BELLEGAEJJE the ronf. immediately nbuve her- bead, and, by'efforts wbieb nothing but desperation c\ ^ Id. have made her use, six;, while in imminent danger of falling into the abyss below, rafted bet- self on to the toof, leaving her ba'ies in the room. The bed she had made fur them consisted only of a sheet, laid on a heap of potatoes and other things, collected for the purpose. In this state, without food, and almost without raiment, and drenched hy a continual rain, she remained thirty- three hours. Life was fast ebbing away, when - he descried a boat in the distance, with three men, coming to her assistance. When she was safely lodged in the boat, the men sought for the children in the upper room, expecting to lind only their lifeless bodies. To their utter astonishment, however, they were both still living, their bed having floated on the surface of the water, and their warmth kept uphy the body of the housedog, which had laid itself beside them, and was licking them when discovered. The poor mother and her infants were taken to Bellegarde, and were there received with all the care their condition required." A SAD PLICHT, TKT; POOR HOTJSE The course of true love ne'er ran smooth," So says the poet, and ' tis true ; lint, fond affections ardent flame, Will every ctffli culty subdue. Nor Poverty's all withering blight, Can quench Love's tire, when once it glows, True, it may be a sail plight, Poor, rich, old, young, the feeling knows. — MMBI IIIMHIH sider. A son steals a sheep that his own famishing- a^ ther, and his own famishing son may have food. His aged parent is compelled to give evidence against him here for the act. The old man virtuously tells the truth, and the whole truth, before you, and me. He sacrifices his natural feelings— and we have seen that they are lively— to his honesty, and to his religious sense of the sacred obligations of an oath. Gentlemen, I will pause to observe, that the old man's conduct is strikingly ex- emplary, and even noble. It teaches all of us a lesson. Gentlemen, it is not within the province of a judge to censure the rigour of the proceedings which have sent him before us. But I venture to anticipate your plea- sore that, notwithstanding all the evidence given, you will be enabled to acquit that old man's son, the pri- soner at the bar. I have said there cannot be the shade of a moral doubt that he has stolen the sheep, and I re- peat the words. But, gentlemen, there is a legal doubt, to the full benefit of which he is entitled. The sheep has not been identified. The herdsman could not venture to identify it, ( and it would have been strange if he could,) from tbe dismembered limbs found in the barn. To his mark on its skin, indeed, he might have posi- tively spoken ; but no skin has been discovered. There- fore, according to the evidence, and you have sworn to decide by that alone, the prisoner is entitled to your ac- quittal. Possibly, now that the prosecutor sees the cac • n its full bearing, lie may be pleased with the re- sult." \ v bile the jury, in evident satisfaction, prepared to return their verdict, Michaul's landlord, who had but a moment before returned home, entered the court, and becoming aware ol the concluding words of the judge, expressed bis sorrow aloud, that tbe prosecution bad ever been undertaken ; that circumstances bad kept him uninformed of it, though it had gone on in his name ; and he begged leave to assure his lordship that it would be his future effort to keep Michael Carroll in his former path of honesty, by finding him honest and ample employment, aud, as far as in him lay, to re- ward tbe virtue of tbe old father. While Peery Carroll was laughing and crying in one breath, in the arms of his delivered son, a subscription, commenced by the bar, was mounting into a consider- able sum for his advantage. LECEND OF THE THREE SAINTS. In the year 1341, an inundatidn, of many days' conti nuance, had raised the water three cubits higher than it had ever before been seen in Venice; and during astormy night, while the flood appeared to be still increasing, a poor old fisherman sought what refuge he could find, hy mooring his crazy bark close to the Riva San tla Marco. The storm was yet raging, when a person approached, and offered him a good fare if he would ferry him over to San Giorgio Maggiore. ' Who,' said the fisherman, ' can reach San Giorgio 011 such a night as this ? Heaven for- bid that I should try 1* But as the stranger earnestly per- sisted in his request, and promised to guard him from harm, he at last consented. The passenger landed ; and having desired the boatman to wait a little, returned with a companion, and ordered him to row to San Nicoli di Lodi. The astonished fisherman again refused, till he was prevailed upon by a further confidant assurance ot safety, and excellent pay. At San Nieoli. they picked up a third person, and then instructed a boatman to proceed to the Two Castles at Lido. Though the waves ran fear- fully high, the old man, by this time, had become accus- tomed to them; and moreover, there wa9 something about his mysterious crew, which either silenced his fears, or diverted them from the tempest, to his companions.— Scarcely had they gained the strait, when they saw a gal- ley, rather flying" than sailing along the Adriatic, maoned ( if we may say so,) with Devils, who seemed hurrying with fierce and threatening gestures, to sink Venice in the deep. The sea, which had hitherto been furiously agi- tated, in a moment became unruffled ; aud the strangers, crossing themselves, conjured the Fiends to depart. At the word, the demoniacal galley vanished, and the three passengers were quietly landed at the spots at which each respectively had been taken up. The boatman, it seems, was not quite easy about his fare; and, before parting, he implied pretty clearly that the sight of this miracle, after all, would be but bad pay. ' Vou are right, my friend," said the first passenger, ' go to tbe Doge and the Pro- curator!, and assure them that, but for 11s three, Venice would have been drowned. I am St. Mark ; my two com- panions are St. George and St. Nicolas. Desire Ihe ma- gistrates to pay you; and add, that all tills trouble has arisen from a schoolmaster at San Felice, who first bar- gained with the Devil tor his soul, and then hanged him- self in despair.' The fisherman, who seems to have had all his wits about him, answered, that he might tell that story, but he much doubted whether he should be believed ; upon which St. Mark pulled from his finger a gold ring, worth about five ducais, saying, ' Shew them this ring, and bid them look for it in my treasury, whence it will oe found missing.' The ring was discovered to be absent from its usual custody, and the fortunate boatman not only received his fare, but an annual pension to boot. More- over, a solemn precession and thanksgiving were ap pointed, in gratitude to the three holy corpses, which bad rescued from such calamity the land affording them burial. GENUINE ELO8UENCE.— I. eitch, io his ' Travels in lre- aud,' says:— In my morning rambles, a man sitting on ; hc ground, leaning his back against the wall, attracted ny attention by a look of squalor iu his appearance, , vhich I rarely before observed, even iu Ireland. His • lollies were ragged to indecency— a very common circum- itance, however, with tbe males— and his face was pale itid sickly. He did not address me, and 1 passed by; but laving gone a few paces, my heart smote me, and 1 turned jack. " If you are in want," said I, with some degree of leevisbuess, " why do you not beg?"—" Sure its begging am," was tbe reply. " Vou did not utter i word."— No ! its joking you are with me, sir ? Look there," loldiug up the tattered remnant of what had once been a : oat; " do you see how the skin is speaking through my -. rowsers, and the bones crying out through my skin ?— Look at my sunken cheeks, and the famine that's staring n my eyes! Man alive! isn't it begging I am with a lundred tongues ?" OLD MAIDS.— I love an old maid— I do not speak of in individual but of the species— I use the singular lumber, as speaking ofa singularity in humanity. An old maid is not merely au antiquarian, she is an anti- quity ; not merely a record of the past, but the very past itself, she has escaped a great change, and sym- pathizes not in the oidinary mutations of mortality She inhabits a little eternity of her own. She is Miss from the beginning of the chapter to the end. I do not like to hear her called Mistress, as is sometimes the practice, for that looks and sounds like the resignation af despair, a voluntary extinction of hope. 1 do not know whether marriages are made in heaven, some people say that they are, but I ain almost sure that old maids are. There is something about them which is not of the earth earthly. They are Spectators of the world, not Adventurers nor Ramblers; perhaps Guardians;— we say nolhing of Tatlers. They are evidently pre- destinated to be what they are. They owe not the sin- gularity of their condition to any lack of beauty, wis- dom, wit, or good temper: there is ho accounting for it but 011. the principle of fatality. I have known many old maids, and of them all, not one that has not possessed as many good andamiable qualities as ninety and nine out of a hundred of my married acquaintance. Why then are they single ? It is theirfatei start;" and he accordingly did kneel, and after bowing bis head, and forming the sign of the cross 011 his fore- bead, he looked up aud said—" My Judge in heaven above, ' tis you I pray to keep me iu my duty, afore my earthly judge, this day;— ameu :"— and then repeating the sign ofthe cross, he seated himself. The examination of the witness commenced, and hu- manely proceeded as follows:—( the council for the pro- secution taking no notice of the superfluity of Peery's answers.) " Do you know Michaul, or Michael Carroll, the pri- soner at the bar ?" " Afore that night, sir, I believe I knew him well; every thought of his mind, every bit of the heart of his body ; afore that night, 110 living cratur could throw a word at Michaul Carroll, or say he ever forgot his fa- ther's renown, or his love of his good God ;— an'sure the people are after telling you hy this time how it come about that night — an' you, my lord,— an' ye, gentlemen — an' all good Christians that hear me;— here I am to help to hang him— my own boy, and my only one — but, for all that, gentlemen, ye ought to think of it: ' twas for the weenock and the old father that he done it; in- deed, an' deed we hadn't a pyratee in the place; au' the sickness was amongst us, a start afore; it took the wife from him, and another babby; an' id had himself down a week or so before- hand ; an' all that day he was look- ing for work but couldn't get d hand's turn to do ; an' that's the way it was ; not a mouthful for me an' little Peery ; an', more betoken, he grew sorry for id, in the mornin', an' promised me not to touch a scrap of what was in the barn— ay, long afore the steward an' the Peelers came on us— but was willin'to go among the neighbours an' beg our breakfast, along vvid myself, sooner than toudi it." " It is my painful duty," resumed the barrister, when Peery would at length cease—" to ask you for further information. You saw Michael Carroll in the barn, that, night?—" " Mushct— The Lord pity him and me— I did, sir." " Doing what ?" " The sheep between his hands," answered Peery, dropping his head, and speaking inaudibly. " 1 must still give you pain, 1 fear; stand up; take the crier's rod, and if you see Michael Carroll iu court, lay it 011 his head." " Oe) i, musha, musha, sir, don't ax me to do that!" pleaded Peery, rising, wringing his hands, and, for the first time, weeping—" och, don't, my lord, don't, and may your own judgment be favourable the last day." " I am sorry to command you to do it, witness, but you must take the rod," answered the judge, bending liis head close to his notes, to hide his own tears; and, at the same time, many a veteran barrister rested his forehead on the table. In the body of the court were heard sohs. " Michael, avick, Michael a corra- ma- chree !" ex- claimed Peery, when at length he took the rod, aud faced round to his son—" is id your father they make to do it, ma- bouehal." " My father does what is right," answered Michael, in Irish. " The judge immediately asked to have his words translated ; and when he learned their import regarded the prisoner with satisfaction. " We rest here, my lords," said the counsel, with the air of a man free from a painful task. The judge instantly turned to tbe jury- box. " Gentlemen of the jury. That ttie prisoner at the bar stole the sheep iu question, there can be no shade of moral doubt. But you have a very peculiar case to con- I L- UWU, Tiie next instant, old Peery was seen ascending tbe ilile, assisted by the gaoler, and by many other commis- aratiug hands," near him. F. very glance was lixed on is face. The barristers looked wistfully up from their pats round the table; the judge put a glass to his eye, nd seemed to study his features attentively. Among ae audience, there ran a low but expressive murmur f pity and interest. Though much emaciated by confinement, anguish, nd suspense, Peery's cheeks had a flush, and his weak due eyes glittered." The half- gaping expression of his arched and haggard lips was miserable to see. And et, he did not tremble much, nor appear so confounded s upon the day of his visit to the magistrate. The moment lie stood upright 011 the table, he turned limself fully to the judge, without a glance towards the lock, " Sit down, sit down, poor man," said the judge. " Thanks to you, my lord, 1 will," answered Peery, ^ oiily, first, I'd ax . you to let me kneel for a little catastrophe, by which it appears that many hundreds of lives have been lost, whole vil lages ovei whelmed, and an incalculable loss of property sustained. The following af feeling episode will furnish an idea of the awful event :— " The wife of one of the watchmeu ou a canal, near Bellegarde, left by her husbatii at an isolated station- house called the Grand Cortege, in the night of the 2nd ult., w 1 sleeping with her two children, one of them at tbe breast, when she was awoke by th rushing of the Rhone, which had marie a chasm injls banks. The water reached tli ground- floor of her humble dwelling, and rose to the height qf nearly two feet befor she could make her escape with her infants to the room above. Here she made a hasl bed for them, but scarcely were they laid upon it before the irresistible element mado il appearance, and forced her to place herself on the window- sill. Finding that she wa about to be driven from this precarious position, she tore her petticoat into strips, anc hastily twisting them into a rope, she made it fast to an iron hook which came froi AN ATTACK OF THE BLUES.— Several persons with I bandaged heads, black eyes, and other evidences of m: il- treatment, were brought before the magistrate by a whole company of the blue devil corps, and charged with having created a distui bailee and grossly insulting them as they came off duly at twelve o'clock Hie previous night; and Daniel Doblrtis was further charged by along, Jaek- o'- Lantern- lookiug stab of an Irish Peeler, with having caused the said riot, by grossly insulting him. MAGISTRATE.— Well, policeman, state iu what manner the prisoner insulted you. POLICEMAN.— Fait, your worship, and ii's himself dal squinted at me, which was a great insult, seeing as how I've got a little bit of a cast in my eye myself. The blue devil squinted most awfully. MAGISTRATE.— And did yoo not remonstrate with him ? POLICEMAN.— Sure and I did, your worship, iu a manner as every civil officer ought to do; for I laid hold of his collar and showed him my truncheon. But the varmint was deaf to all kind of rriisou, for he called me a half- cooked spalpeen, and swore he would knock me into smithereens. So widout stopping tn wait forilat same compliment, I gave him a whack on theside of the napper, and iaid him as flat as tenpenny. Bad luck to me, there wa; such a bulahaloo, iu a moment the whole of the divils rushed upon us like mad, aud we were forced to staud on own offence, and a rcg'lar battle there was to be Donnybrook Fair was nothing to it. Clash went ] . truncheons, and down went the enemy, jist like so ny skittles ; they fought like one o'clock, but they were u wound up, and were forced to strike, because they lid not strike any more, and so we came off victorious. The whole ofthe other members of the gallant corps of the unboiled corroborated this statement, and the de- fendants being asked what they had to say, denied the statement in toto, and protested that the Peeler wilh the contrary oculars was the first aggressoi, and that his companions had treated them in the most brutal manner, they being entirely without the means of defence. The appearance of the poor devils certainly gave an appear ance of truth to their assertions, for they were terribly knocked about, all their eyes being placed in deep mourn- ing, and broken heads and noses being plentiful among them. The worthy magistrate, therefore, took the most mer - ciful view of the question, fined them each a shilling, and ordered them to be discharged. - U^ JS MARY- LE- BONE. BEF. R— NOT BODIES.— A POOR hunch- back'd little printer, whose dreary destinies have driven hiin to seek an asylum In Mary- le- bone workhouse, was brought before ihe magistrate, charged on suspicion of being a re- surrection man. His accusers, a couple of large- sized policemen,, told the following story ; ifr rather, a story to the billowing effect:— In the dead of Ihe night, " when churchyards yawn, and graves give up their dead," a man came to these policemen and ( old them, he verily believed there were three resurrection men at work among the graves in the burial- ground, Paddingtoti- street. The policemen having received this intelligence, and trimmed their lanterns, went straightway to the burial- ground, and clambering over the iron railing, ( hey searched the whole place, grave by grave, until at last they found— not three stout resur- rection men, with pick- axes and spades ; but one solitary being— the poor hunchbacked, unfortunate little pauper above- mentioned. He was sitting, all alone, on the top- mast round of a ladder; which ladder was reared against the window of a house, bordering on the burial- ground ; and in that window there was a dim glimmering light ; and, therefore, the policemen took the moping little man into custody, and had him away to the station house.— For they had heard ( hat bodies had ofteu been conveyed away from the burial- ground through the windows of that house, and so out at the front- door, and away at once to the dissecting- rooms. Bodies, now- a days, as they said, fetched a big price, and who so likely to be tempted by a big price as a poor pennyless pauper; ergo, the little hunchback printer, being a poor pennyless pauper, and being at such a time of night in such a place, with a lad- der reared against such a house, offering every facility tor such a purpose, must, 110 doubt, be concerned iu some HUCII deadly doings. And, as a further proof, if any were wanting, one of the policemen concluded his evidence in these remarkable words :— " Your worships, I have no doubt in the world, that at " some future time," bodies " have been taken" through that very house !" Whereupon, the magistrate observed, that the opinion would have had more weight, if the temes had been less confused. It afterwards appeared, however, that future and former were synonymous terms iu tjlis policeman's vocabulary, and so his opinion became intel- ligible. The magistrate now asked the pauper printer what he wan doing in the burial- ground at that lime of night;— adding, " I am afraid, my friend, you were there with the intention of stealing dead bodies," " Not a bit of ' em, your worship— not a bit of ' em," replied the printer—" Lord bless you, sir!— It was beer, and not bodies, that I was looking for !" He then told his story; from which it appeared that Ihe master of the workhouse had treated him and the other paupers with a modicum of beer on the preceding evening, in honour of the season, for it was Christmas- eve ; and this small taste stimulating their stomachs for more, little hunchback un- dertook to forage for some, after the master should lis gone tn bed. Accordingly, when the master was fast asleep, little hunchback crept down stairs with a subscription ol tenpeucein one hand, and " the workhouse can" in the other; and with ihe assistance of the lamplighter's lad- der he got into the burial- ground. f) e then pulled tbe adder after bin), and reared it against a bouse in which he saw a light; and, tapping gently at the window, it was opened by a gent, in a white night- cap, to whom little hunchback said, " Beg pardon, sir! but would you be kind euough to get us half- a- gallon of mild beer, in this ' ere can ?" " The gentleman said he would and wel- come," continued he ; " and God knows, 1 was sitting011 the top of the ladder, wailing for it, and thinking of no- thing in the world but the beer, when the policemen came and took me." The magistrate sent for the master of the workhouse, and the several persons implicated, and they confirming the poor printer's story, he w?. s discharged ; hut the ma- gistrate admonished the master not to let the lamplighter's ladder be used in the same way again, even though he should be obliged lo carry it. Into his own bed- chamber. THE STOLEN SHEEP. Our readers are all familiar with Sir Walter Scott's " Heartof Mid Lothian," and will recollect the truly touching scene where Jeanie Deans cannot and will not utter what she knows to be false, to save the life of a sister whom she loves as her own soul. It is one of the most masterly of tbe descriptions of the great " magi- cian of the north ;" anil if a single individual can read it without having every sympathy of his heart aroused, he must be dull if not dead to the finer sensibilities of the soul. But. at the same lime, we think the " Stolen Sheep," which appeared in the annual for last year, called " Friendship's Offering," not unworthy of being placed side by side with the scene in ihe " Heart of Mid Lothian." There is not au Irishman, at least., who will not feel a strong desire to give tbe preference to this story, ot which we here present an abstract. Michaul Carroll was a poor and honest, peasant, whose family were visited with famine and typhus fever, at a time when ihe wide- spread misery of the country rendered assistance from the neighbours nearly hope- less. His wife and a young child died— he himself was attacked by the disease, and 011 recovering, his weak state and sallow look totally prevented even the possibi- lity of him getting employment. His old father and in- fant son are starving at home, in their wretched cabin— Michaul, desperate, and broken down, steals a sheep, which lie kills, and conceals in an out- house. It was discovered— Michaul was arrested— and his poor old father was taken as a witness against his son I The assizes soon came on. Michaul was arraigned ; am}, during his plea of " not guilty," bis father ap- peared, unseen by bill!, in the gaoler's custody, at tbe back of the dock, or rathef in an inner dock. The trial excited a keen and painful interest in the court, the bpv, the jury- bo*, and the crowd of spectators. It was uni- versally known that a son had stolen a sheep, partly to feed a starving father ; and that out of the mouth of that father it was now sought to condemn him. " What will the old man do ?" was the general question which ran through the assembly : andwhile few of the lower or- ders could contemplate the possibility of his swearing to tbe truth, many of their jietters sfcarce hesitated tp make for him a case of actiia) necessity to swear falsely. The trial begat). The first witness, the herdsman, proved the loss of the sheep, and the finding the dis- membered carcass in the old barn. The policemen and the steward followed to the same effect, and the latter addetl the allusions which he had heard the father make to tne son, upoty fl) e morning of the arrest ofthe latter. There wis a pause, and complete silence, which the at- torpey for the prosecution broke by saying toihe crier, deliberately, " Call Peery Carroll." THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. 1 JSHS5S3SE3SS8 ERNNESTINE DE LACY I OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING' AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES," BY THE POPULAR AUTHOR OF " ELA, THE OUTCAST," " ANGELINA," " GALLANT TOM," " TALES AND LEGENDS OF OTHER ' DAYS, & C. & C. ( Continued from our last.) Hating mossed the moat, the drawbridge was almost - aiKifdlately raised, and Osmond put his horn to his mouth and blew a loud blast three times, upon which the door was opened by a ferocious- looking man, and the rob- bers and Godfrey passed into the hall of the castle. Godfrey had hitherto had little time lo reflect upon the course he had adopted, but now suddenly came upon his mind the construction it was most likely that would be put upon his escape from prison ; it would, he thought, appear to the generality of people like a confirmation of his £ ullt, because had he been really innocent, ( at least, so ft would appear to mere superficial observers,) he would not have feared the evidence which might be ad- duced against him on his trial, and would have risked anything sooner fhan have fled, and thus lay him- self under the stigma of cowardice, if not of the actual guilt of the dreadful crime with which he stood charged. Besides, what a sacrifice of life— ol the lifes of innocent persons, and who were only doing their duty— had it caused, and what would be the opinion of the public upon the subject ? They would suppose him to be the actual perpetrator of the several murders, and eternal obloquy and detestation would rest upon his name, and innocent as he was of the assassination of the unfortunate men, was he not the indirect cause of their fate— for had he not 5n a momeut of weakness accepted of the services of the bandit chief, the lives of the ill- fated beings would have been saved, and he would, in the consciousness of his own innocence, have passed triumphantly through the painful ordeal, to which it was his ill- starred fortune to be subjected. Again, if ultimately it was proved that he was not guilty of the murder of Reginald, would not a sus- picion of his integrity attach itself to him, since he had connected himself with the robbers— the terror of the country— to effect his release from incarceration ?— Alas I it would, and he feared his reputation was ruined for- ever!— And what would be the agony— the distraction of his family— of Ernuestine, when the news of his flight, and the horrible circumstances that had attended it, reached their ears ?— What dreadfuldoubts, surmises, and apprehensions, would torment their minds?— What ac- cursed infatuation— what strange weakness could ever have induced him to yield to the insidious persuasions of Osmond, and what could ever have induced the latter to run the risk of rescuing him from confinement, if he had not some sinister design in view?— He knew him not, no more than from what report had spread of his desperate deeds, and why should he, therefore, take any interest in his fate?— True, he bad told him, that bis father had once rendered him a service, hut, he had only his bare assertion to satisfy him of that being a fact, and his father had never mentioned such a circumstance to him, nor had he ever alluded to it, in even in the most re- mote manner. Osmond had promised to make his inno- cence manifest, and to bring the real assassins to light; but if he even did so, what could ever remove from him the stigma of having accepted of the services of a robber, » H outlaw, to effect that object, and would he not ever af- terwards be looked upon as a friend and associate of the lawless chief?— Alas! he had acted very imprudently- very rashly; and he feared that the result would prove an everlasting source of uuhappiness and disgrace to him and iiis family, aud destroy the good, the irreproachable name he had hitherto borne in the world. These were the thoughts that rushed rapidly on the brain of Godfrey de Lacy, the moment he had entered the robber's retreat, and most poignant was tbe anguish they occasioned him. He paused, and struck his forehead in the bitterness of his agony, and Osmond observing his emotion, turned suddenly from his companions, and look- ing stedfastly at the former, said— " What now ?— Why dost thou hesitate ?— Has childish fear suddenly taken possession of thy faculties? Dost thou repent thee of availing thyself of the liberty which I hare taken so much trouble to obtain thee?" " Would to Heaven," answered the young man,— " would to Heaven that I had never seen thee ; what an effusion of blood would it have saved, and have prevented tire foul calumny and opprobrium that will attach them- selves to my once unsullied name ! Let me return to my dungeon, and meet, as a man, conscious of his innocence, ought to do, the dreadful charge which is brought against me!" " Pslia!" exclaimed Osmond, " what childish weak- ness has now taken possession of thy faculties ? Return, and thy fate is sealed ; remain here, under my protection, ahd, as 1 have before assured thee, thine entire innocence shall be made manifest to tbe world, and moreover thou shalt be entirely exculpated from any share iu the blood- shed which subsequently occurred. The fools were ob- stinate, or their lives would have been spared ; Osmoud likes not the unnecessary effusion of blood. Come, come — this way ; this way. Scarcely knowing what he did, Godfrey suffered himself to be conducted by the robbers along the hall, which had jost none of its feudal grandeur, and presented the same magnificent coup d'eil, as il had done during the period of the ancient possessors of the castle. They passed into a place which had formerly been the chapel of the gotbic pile, and Ulric proceeding to the altar, stamped several times upon a marble slab immediately before it, aud at length a secret door flew open in the front of the iiltar, and exhibited a flight of stone steps. These heim- mediately began to descend, and was followed by the roll- ers, Osmond keeping close by the side of Godfrey, and nig great pains to point out to him the way. At the bottom of these steps, they found themselves in a long- arched passage, to the extremity of which they proceeded — and opening a door, they entered immediately upon the . i. aious underground apartments, or rather caverns— for they resembled them more than anything else— which were occupied by the robbers. The novelty of the scene which burst upon his view, engaged the attention of Godfrey, and for u few moments estranged his thoughts from tbe painful subjects that had before occupied them. The first apartment they entered was a very spacious place, and was liUDg round, on all aides, with arms of every description. From the roof, which was vaulted, depended several lamps, that served to make it sufficiently light, and cast a glaring reflection upon the swo. ds, and coats of mail, which hung around, and gave it the appearance of a baronial hall. In the centre was an immense table, at which the robbers always assembled to take their meals, and indulge in their rude revelry. At the head of the board was a chair raised con- siderably higher than auy of the rest, and having a canopy over it. This was appropriated to the use of the captain. On the right of this was another chair, rather lower, in which Ulric, the lieutenant of the daring gaug, always took his seat. When they entered, there were about forty dark, pow- erful, and determined- looking men, seated at tbe table, who immediately arose, and shouted in tones of welcome, * All hail to our noble captain, Osmond the Avenger!" f And to the man whom I have taken under my protec- tion, Godfrey de Lacy'." exclaimed Osmond, taking the hand of the former, and leading him towards the table, " Welcome to Godfrey de Lacy 1" shouted the robbers, simultaneously, and the captain and Ulric immediately took their seats, Osmond placing Godfrey iu a seat on his left baud, after which tire robbers resumed theirs, and si- lence prevailed. Godfrey could not help feeling a degree of interest at the novelty of the scene to which be was thus introduced, which he had never experienced before ; but, yet, amidst It ail, his thoughts still dwelt upon the danger of his si- tuation, and the misery his friends would be enduring, when the news of his flight, became known, and he re- proached himself for the temporary weakness which had tempted him to yield to the persuasions of the robber chief. Osmond Immediately noticed the depression of spirits under which he laboured, sad, he as quickly read his thoughts, but did not for awhile offer to interrupt him suffering him to give free indulgence to all which was passing within his mind. A plenteous repast was soon placed upon the table, of which Godfrey was invited to partake; but his thoughts were too busily occupied to suffer him to assent. The wine cup was circulated freely, and the robbers soon became excessively merry, making " the welkin ring again" with their rude and boisterous revelry. At length, Osmond, having by a motion of his hand commanded silence, gave the shoulder of Godfrey ahearty smack, and in a tone of assumed gaiety, observed— " Come, come, Godfrey, arouse thyself, and let not needless apprehensions tormeut thy bosom ; beshrew me, but thou art as dull as one who has inhabited the solemn ' walls of a cloister all his days; Here thoti art as safe as if thou weit at the other end of the globe. This is our ter- ritory, aud no one yet has beeu found fool- hardy cuougb to dispute our right of possession. Here, in our strong fastnesses, we may he truly said to be impregnable. We bid defiance to any force, and there is not a man amongst lis, who would not die sooner than yield." Godfrey shook his head and sighed ;— " 1 fear me," said he, " that thine is a life of care— of ssrrow— and of crime." " It is a life of freedom," exclaimed Osmond. " We are not the lowly serfs of lordly tyrants, nor own we the power of monarchy. We hold the maxim good, that the good things of this life were; seut fortheenjoymentof us all, and when we see others monopolizing more than is their share, we think we have an undoubted right to take it from them and appropriate it to our own uses. Why should others' coffers contain abundance of the bright yel- low gold, and ours gojempty ?— The poor are our friends, for we relieve their wants. Bloodshed is our abhorrence, and sincerely do we regret when necessity compels uil to it. We have laws of our own, which maintain proper order and subordination, and we do not fail to punish those who break them. Upon the world we look with contempt— for we are all men who have been so buffeted about by misfortune, as to become disgusted with it and the hollow minds of its votaries. This impregnable castle is our palace— this bonny green- wood our kingdom. Whatsayest thou?— Thinkest thou the robber's life is altogether to be laughed to scorn?" Godfrey returned no immediate answer. " Surely it must have been some great misfortune, in- deed," said he, " which could have induced thee to take to this lawless course of life ; for, ( 1 pray thee pardon me for my ( boldness,) an 1 am uot much mistaken, thou art not of lowly origin, and wert born to higher and happier expectations." " Thon coniecturest right," replied Osmond, with a sigh, " I have known what it is to mingle with the richest and the noble— to receive tbe smile of adulation— and command subservience. 1 have lorded it in iny pros- perity with the most powerful, and basked in the courteous smiles of my sovereign's favour. But treachery, oppression, and hypocrisy hurled me from my proud estate, and now you see me as I am!— Oh, woman, woman, thou wert born to deceive; to link man in thy golden feltcrs ; to sport with his feelings, and break the heart thou hast enfettered !" Osmond paused, and seemed to be so violently agitated as to be unable to give utterance to bis feelings. The dark and hardy- looking men appeared to pay his feelings the utmost respect, and to sympathise with the sorrow that oppressed his mind, and which was known only to Ulric, the lieutenant. Osmond arose from his seat, folded his arms, and traversed the cavern with hasty and agitated steps. At length, he returned to his seat, and looking move composed, said to Godfrey, who had watched his conduct with much interest— " Pardon me, Godfrey; it is a weakness which time nor circumstances can ever conquer. Oh, Marian !— too beautiful, yet too false!— What anguish hast tliau cost me ! What panits— what torments hast thou inflicted in this bosom ! What thinkest thou of this, Godfrey?" As the robber- chief thus spoke, he took from his bosom a miniature, in a gold frame, set round with pearls, and presented it to Godfrey, who gazed with astonishment and delight upon one of the most beauteous countenances he had ever contemplated. It was that of a female, appa- rently about the age of Ernnestiiie, and tbe remarkable likeness to whom vvas the most surprising. As lie looked intently upon it, his sorrows came fresh upon him, and when he recollected the agony which Ernuestine and his parents were liiost likely at that time suffering, he could scarcely support himself. Osmond had been scrutinizing the expression of God- frey's countenance narrowly, and seemed to penetrate his thoughts. " What thinkest thou of it, young man ?" said he. " Is it not surpassingly lovely ?— Tbinkest thou, her who looks so beautiful— so innocent— could harbour deceit?" " Deceit; never !" exclaimed Godfrey. " By Heaven, it is a gross libel upon one of the most beauteous of Nature's works '.— But the likeness !— I could almost ima- gine she was before me !" " Of whom dost thou speak ?" demanded Osmond, eagerly. " Of her to whom are devoted my heart's warmest affec- tions," replied Godfrey, hastily. " Of Ernnestiue!" added the robber. " The same," observed Godfrey, " by the saints I never beheld so great a likeness!— Tell me, who is the original of this?" V For the present I must not tell thee," answered Os- mond, " although 1 marvel not at thy question-. But enkmgb of this, we will to the business which more imme- diately interests us at the present moment." " Alas!" ejaculated Godfrey, as the full horror of his situation came fresh upon his memory, " would that I had never yielded to thy persuasions, Osmond, what tor- turing pangs would it have saved those dear to me, and myself." " Psha !" uttered Osmond, impatiently, " this weak- ness surprises me, Godfrey de Lacy; thou tiie son of Ranulph, the stalwart bowyer, wllhse deeds with the stout yew bow are so well known ; and thou thyself an esquire, and hitherto celebrated for thy prowess. Arouse thee, 1 say; I promise thee, and Osmond was never known to break bis word, that thou shall come off un- scathed and free. Even now I go to put my plans into execution, and in the meantime rest assured that I am thy friend, and that thou needest not fear the result of this painful event. ( To be continued.) words and manners, to suppose that you ( considered me to be a liar ; liut, liythebye, I saw you hurrying out of church last Sabbath at the beginning of the sermon. Was there anything wrong?" " Was there onything wrang, are ye speiring, ouy- tliing wrang, aye, there was that muckle wrang, that it ' ill be a while e'er I'll darken the kirk door as lang as ye're minister o't." Bless me, Janet, what's wrong? Pray explain yourself." " Explain mvsel'. Did ye no say last Sunday ' and there came also Nicol Davison,' who at——" " Stop, stop, my good woman, you have took my words wrong. 1 said,' And there came also Nicodemus, not Nicol Davison, by no means." " Bow- wow," quoth Janet, jumping up, and thrust- ing her nose into the minister's face, " bow- wow, that's a' very guid; but vvi a' ken that you learned folks can turn ye'r tin' ony way ye like just tae answer ye'r ain en's." Glasgow, 12tli December, 1840. TO CORRESPONDENTS. In consequence ofa severe domestic calamity, in the family of the. author. No. 10, of " MERRY SONGS FOR MERRY MOMENTS," is unavoidably postponed until our next number. A 7..— The Original Legendary Romance of " OLD SAINT PAULS," is written expressly for " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES," and will be continued every week until completed. This journal undoubtedly contains more than twice the quantity of Original matter than any other cheap publieation of the day, and we are re- solved to spare neither pains nor expense, to render it deserving of a continuance of its present proud pre- eminence. INQUIRER.— They are. imagin'iry characters. " THE WOUNDED HEART,'' I? accepted ; the others will not exactly suit our columns. Our thanks are due to J. H. R. The Enigmas forwarded by J. LUCKIE, are too old. R. T. GRANNEL shall be attended to next week. Accepted with thanks : G. D., E., J. GRANT, ( Wel- lington, Salop,) " LINES by W. P.," ( Doncaster,) " To MARIE," by H. C. FREEMAN, Song, by J. ORTON, A. A. I,., and G. G. M., ( Newcastle.) K. L. M., ( Woolwich,) is declined. The lines by R. P., are inadmissible. The two Riddles by J. TURNER, are accepted, but " THE OLD VAGRANT," will not suit. " THE NEW MEDICINE," by R. A., ( Salford,) is very well written, but as we have already had a song in upon the same subject, we respectfully decline it. W~ e should be glad to hear from the author again. We are obliged to R. M., ( Newcastle- upon- Tyne.) We should advise our correspondents to preserve duplicate copies of their effusions, as me always destroy rejected communications. MR. G. HIJLME, ( Manchester,) and several other corres- pondents, must not think that we have forgotten them : their productions shall appear as early as possible. *** All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to the Editor of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 30, Curtain- road, Shoreditch. REVIEW. TUB TOWER OF LONDON. A Historical Romance.— By W. H. Ainsworth.— London i Richard Bent ley.— Tne completion J of this tale presents us with a most splendid volume, to which the illustrations of George Cruikshank give a national interest. The tale is one of Mr. Ainsworth's best. We extract the concluding chapter. THE EXECUTION OF LADY J'ANE GREY. Monday, the 12th of February, 1554, the fatal day destined to terminate Jane's eai thly Sufferings, at length arrived. Excepting a couple of hours which she al- lowed to rest, at the urgent entreaty of her companion, she had passed the whole of the night in prayer. Angela kept watch over the lovely sleeper, and the effect pro- duced by the contemplation of her features during this her last slumber, was never afterwards effaced. The repose of an infant could uot be more calm and holy.— A celestial smile irradiated her countenance; her lips moved as if in prayer ; and if good angels are ever per- mitted to visit the dreams of those they love on earth, they hovered that night over the couch of Jane. Think- ing it cruelty to disturb her from such a blissful state, Angela let an hour pass beyond the appointed time. But observing a change come over her countenance, seeing her bosom heave, and tears gather beneath her eye- lashes, she touched her, aud Jane instantly arose. ' Is it fouro'clock ?' she inquired. ' It has just struck five madam,' replied Angela. 11 have disobeyed you for the first and last time. But you seemed so happy, that I could not find in my heart to waken you.' ' I was happy,' replied Jane, ' for I dreamed that all was over — without pain to me— aud that my soul vvas borne to regions of celestial bliss by a troop of angels who had hovered above the scaffold.' ' It will be so, madam,' replied Angela, fervently. ' You will quit this earth im- mediately for heaven, where yon will rejoin your bus band in everlasting happiness.' ' I trust so,' replied Jane, in an altered tone, ' but in that blessed place I searched in vain for him. Angela, you let me sleep too long, or not long enough.' ' Your pardon, dearest madam,' cried the other, fearfully. ' Nay, you have given me no offence,' returned Jane, kindly. ' What I meant was, that 1 had not time to find my husband.'— ' Ob, you will find liini, dearest madam,' returned An- gela, ' doubt it not.' ' I trust so,' replied Jane; and I will now pray for him, and do you too.' Jane then re- tired to tbe recess, and in the gloom, for it was yet dark, continued her devotions till the clock struck seven. She then arose, and, assisted by Angela, attired herself with great care. ' 1 pay more attention to the decoration of my body now I am about to part with it,' she observed, ' than 1 would do if it was to serve me longer. So joy- ful is the occasion to me, that were I to consult my own feelings, I would put on my richest apparel to indicate my contentment of heart. 1 will not, however, so brave my fate, but array myself in these weeds ;' and she put on a gown of black velvet, without ornament of any kind ; tying round her slender throat ( so soon, alas 1 to be severed,) a simple white falling collar. Her hair was left purposely unbraided, and was confined by a caul of black velvet. As Angela performed these sad services, she sobbed audibly. ' Nay, cheer thee, child,' observed Jane. " When I was clothed in the robes of royalty, and had the crown placed upon my head— nay, when arrayed on my wedding day— I felt not so joyful ladam !' exolainie ' THE PENNY PEOPLE'S AND POLICE GAZETTE. JANET AND THE MINISTER. BY " ROB." In the parish of Audrossan, iu Ayrshire, lived an old woman, named Janet Anderson. She was what the world generally terms " an unco guid body," for she vvas a constant attendant at church. There, as regular as the Sabbath itself, was Janet to be found, seated op- posite the worthy minister, her large family bible laid carefully on her knee, ready to be put into use as soon as the service of the day commenced. One Sabbath, Janet, as usual, was at her accustomed post at church. The minister had just entered, and was about to give out the psalm, when, to the grief and astonishment of our worthy friend, she discovered she had lost her spectacles. Never before at church had she been placed in such an uncomfortable predicament; for, without them, she was unable to read a single word. However, to make the best of a bad job, and, in fact, having no other choice, she resolved just to do without them, never thinking that the want of them was to cause her to commit the following very ludicrous mis- take. For a time, all went on well enough; the text vvas given out, which the reverend pastor proceeded to read in a loud and audible voice, as follows " And there came also Nicorlemus, which, at the first, came to Jesus by night." Janet stopped to hear no more; but, starting to her feet, at the same time exclaiming, loud enough to be heard by those around her, " Guid be aboot us a', did levin' flesh e'er hear the like o' that!" Hurrying out of the cjiureh, it was plain she was la- bouring under some strange delusion,— in truth, Janet had completely misunderstood the minister's words. What she had understood him to say was, " And there came also Nicol Davison," & c. Now, the reader must understand that this Nicol Davison was a " guid for naething ne'er do weel' neighbour of Janet's, and she, honest woman, ( to use her own words,) considered it to be " a lee that the deil bimsel' whu'd be asham'd o' for ane, wha profes'd to be the s'eivant o' God, to stan' up in a pu'pit and openly declare that sich a doonricht scoun'ral as he cam' unto oof Lord and Saviour by nicht. I wonder the earth did nae open and swallow him up while giving utterance to sic blasphemy!" The following week, the minister happened to be visiting his parishioners; of course, Janet was called on. When he entered, she was working at her spinning- wheel. On seeing who vvas the visitor, she stopped for a moment, looked sharply up at him, again commenced at her wheel, making it fly with double rapidity. The minister, on entering, saluted the old woman thus:— " Well, Janet, my good woman, I hope you're well." " I'm brawly," was Janet's answer. After a few more kind inquiries, to which Janet, to his no small surprise, scarcely returned an answer, he said, clapping the head ofa little grandson, who stood beside her, " You're a nice little boy, and, I hope, do not tell any lies, for- you know all liars go to the bad place." " D' the iiv; i.,'' saith Janet, " d' the man. Heeh then, it wud !•-.. belter for some that carries baith a higher an' an aul'er- heed than he dis that he tell't as few." " Why, Janet, o.- ie would almost be led, from your Having entered upon a new year, it behoves us to greet our friends and subscribers with cheerful hearts, and to make a few observations upon the pasl, and what we intend to do in future. On the 5th of April, 1840, we made our salaam to the public, hoisted our standard, and took our station in the field of lileratijtej *. ndaiinted by the mighty I phalanx of established journals, which presented itself to our observation. We started with the best motives, wilh a determination to merit support, and having marked out a course of our own, entirely distinct from any olher publication of the day, we did hope to come in for our share of public patronage. The result has proved that we were not too sanguine; that hope has been fully realised. The public received us most cor- dially ;— genius Jimmediately hastened to our aid, ori- ginal productions of authors of talent filled our columns, and in an unprecedented short space of lime, we had taken the lead of every other cheap publication of the day, and obtained a circulation more extensive than had ever before been known lo have been ac- quired by any other publication. Very remiss in gra- titude should we be, therefore, did we not greet our friends at a season like this, and make them all the ac- knowledgment in our power, namely, " fair words and goodly promises," for the future. It is to the public, and more especially to our clever correspondents, that we are indebted for the proud position we now hold in the literary world, and lo them, one and all, our thanks are most heartily rendered. A happy new year to them all; may every prosperity attend, them, may for- tune shower her golden gifts upon them, and Provi- dence bless them with health to en joy it. May no pain- ful reminiscences cause them to look back upon the year tliatis past with any but the most pleasurable feel- ings. We hope to have to hail the same kind friends many years to come, and lhat by our merits we may be worthy of being welcomed as the Good Old Times. The year that is past was productive of many re- markable and important events, the first of which was the marriage of our beloved Queen, an event which seems destined to be a source of the greatest felicity to the illustrious couple, and of happiness to the British nation. On the 21st of November, the Princess Royal was born, the first of, we hope, a long line of princes and princesses, who may possess Jhe virtues of their royal parents, and thu^ secure to themselves the people's love. The year 1840 will ever form a brilliant page in the history of our country, for the glorious achievements of British arms; and the names of Slopford and Napier, and all the gallant hearts that shared with them in their victories, be admired and revered. " In one month," to use the words of the brave Napier himself, " six thousand Turks and a handful of Marines took Saida and Beyrout, defeated the Egyptian army in three dif- ferent actions, took ten thousand prisoners and de- serters; caused all the sea- ports to be evacuated, all the passes of the Taurus, and the mountains of Le- banon, and this against an army of thirty thousand men. Three weeks afterwards Acre fell into the hands of the allied fleet, after a three hours bombardment." Scarcely less great have been the triumphs of British arms in China and India, and it is our sincere wish, and should be lhat of every lover of his country, that the same success may crown the year Eighteen Hundred and Forty- one. Of what it is our intention to do for the future, it will be only necessary to stale that we will contiuue to exert ourselves to the utmost, sparing neither pains nor expense, for the amusement of our numerous readers, and when we assure them, that if not superior, every future number of this work, shall, at any rate, be equal to those that have already appeared, we are certain the public will feel satisfied, and will continue to encourage us. as now.- ' Ah, madam 1' exclaimed Angela, in a pa- roxysm of grief, ' my condition is more pitiable than yours. You go to certain happiness, but 1 lose you.'— ' Only for a while, dear Angela,' returned Jane. ' Com- fort yourself with that thought. Let my fate be a warn- ing to you. Be not dazzled by ambition. Had I not once yielded, I had never thus perished. Discharge your duty strictly to your eternal and your temporal rulers— and rest assured we will meet again— never to part..' ' Your counsel shall be graven on my heart, madam,' returned Angela. ' And oh, may my end be as yours!' ' Heaven grant it!' ejaculated Jane, fer- vently. ' And now,' she added, as her toilette vvas ended, ' 1 am ready to die.' ' Will you not take some refreshment, madam?' asked Angela. ' No,' replied Jane. ' I have done with the body 1' The morning was damp and dark. A thaiv came on a little before day break, and a drizzling shower of rain fell. This vvas succeeded by a thick mist, and the whole ofthe fortress was for a while enveloped in vapour. It brought to Jane's mind the day on which she was taken to trial.— But a moral gloom likewise overspread the fortress. Every one within it, save her few enemies, ( and they were few indeed,) lamented Jane's approaching fate.— Her youth, her innocence, ber piety, touched the sternest breast, and moved the pity even of her persecutors. All felt that morning as if some dire calamity was at, hand, and instead of looking forward to the execution as an exciting spectacle, ( for so such revolting exhibitions were then considered,) they wished it over. Many a prayer was breathed for the speedy release of the suf- ferer— manv a sigh heaved— many a groan uttered -. and if ever soul'was wafted to heaven by the fervent wishes of those on earth, Jane's was so. It vvas late before there were any signs of stir and hustle within the for- tress. Even the soldiers gathered together reluctantly — and those who spoke, conversed in whispers. Dud- ley, who it has been stated was imprisoned in the Beau- cliamp tower, had passed the greater part of the night in devotion. But towards morning he became restless and uneasy, and, unable to compose himself, resorted to the customary employment of captives in such cases, and, with a nail which he had found, carved his wife's name in two places oil the walls of his prison. These inscriptions still remain. At nine o'clock, the bell of the chapel began to toll, and an escort of halberdiers and arquebussiers drew up before the Beauchamp tower, while Sir Thomas Bridges and Feckenham en- tered tbe chamber of the prisoner, who received them with an unmoved countenance. ' Before you set out upon a journey from which you will never return, my lord,' said Feckenham, ' I would ask you, for the last time, if any change has taken place in your religious sentiments, and whether you are yet alive to the wel- fare of your soul ?' ' Why not promise me pardon if I will recant on the scaffold, and silence me, as you si- lenced the duke, my father, by the axe !' replied Dudley, sternly. ' No, sir, I will have naught to do with your false and idolatrous creed. I shall die a firm believer in the gospel, and trust to be saved by it.' ' Then, perish, body aud soul,' replied Feckenham, harshly.- Sir Thomas liridges, 1 commit him to your hands. ' Am I to be allowed no parting with my wife?' de nianded Dudley, anxiously. ' You have parted wilh her for ever, heretic and unbeliever !' rejoined Fecken- ham. ' That speech will haunt your death- bed s r,' re', torted Dudley, sternly ; and he turned to the lieutenant* and signified that he was ready. The first object that met Dudley's gaze, as he issued from his prison, was the scaffold on the green. He looked at it for a moment wistfully. ' It is for Lady Jane,' observed the lieutenant. ' I know it,' replied Dudley, in a voice of intense emo- tion. ' I thank y ou for letting me die first.' ' You must thank the queen, my lord,' returned Brydges. ' It was her order.' ' Shall you see my wife, sir?' demanded Dudley, anxiously. The lieutenant answered in the affirmative. ' Tell her 1 will be with her on the scaffold,' said Dudley. As he was about to set forward, a young man pushed through the lines of halberdiers, and threw himself at his feet. It was Cholmondeley. Dudley in- stantly raised and embraced him. ' At least I see one whom 1 love,' j he cried. ' My lord, this interruption must not be,' observed the lieutenant. ' If you do not ' cried the weeping slight remembrance of her. " I have nothing to give you but this book of prayers, sir,' she answered-' but you shall have that when I have done with it, and may it profit you.' ' You will receive it only to cast it into the flames, my son,' remarked Feckenham. ' On the contrary, I shall treasure it like a priceless gem,* re- plied Brydges. ' You will find a prayer written in it in my own hand,' said Jane, ' and, again I say, may it profit you.' Brydges then passed through the door, and Jane followed him. A band of halberdiers were with- out, At sight of her a deep and general sympathy was manifested ; not an eye was dry jftears trickled down cheeks unaccustomed to such moisture. The melan- choly train proceeded^ at a slow pace. Jane fixed her eyes upon the prayer- book, which she read aloud to drown the importunities of the confessor, who walked on her right, while Angela kept near her on the other side. And so they reached the green. By this time the fog had cleared off, and the rain had ceased ; but the atmosphere was humid, and the day lowering and gloomy. Very few spectators were assembled, for it re- quired firm nerves to witness such a tragedy. A flock of carrion- crows and ravens, attracted by their fearful instinct, wheeled around overhead, or settled on the branches of the bare and leafless trees, and by their croaking added to the dismal character of the scene.— The bell continued tolling all the time. The sole per- son upon the scaffold was Wolfytt. He was occupied in scattering straw near the block. Among the bystanders was Sorrocold, leaning on his staff; and, as Jane for a moment raised her eyes as she passed along, she per ceived Roger Ascham. Her old preceptor had obeyed her, and she repaid hiin with a look of gratitude. By the lieutenant's directions, she was conducted, for a short time, into the Beauchamp tower, and here Feck- enham continued his persecutions, until a deep groan arose among those without, and an officer abruptly en- tered the room. ' Madam,' said Sir Thomas Brydges, after the new comer had delivered his message, ' we must set forth.' Jane made a motion of assent, and the party issued from the Beauchamp tower, in front, of Which a band of halberdiers were drawn up. A wide, open space was kept clear around the scaffold. Jane seemed unconscious of all that was passing. Preceded By the lieutenant, who took his way towards the north of the scaffold, and attended on either side by Fecken- ham and Angela as before, she kept her eyes steadily fixed on her prayer- book. Arrived within a short dis:- tance of the fatal spot, she was startled by a scream from Angela, and, looking up, beheld lour soldiers, car- rying a litter, covered with cloth, and advancing towards her. She knew it vvas the body of her husband, and, unprepared for so terrible an encounter, uttered a cry of horror. Tiie bearers of the litter passed on, and en' tered the porch of the chapel. While this took place, Mauger, who had limped back- as fast as he could after his bloody work on Tower- hill— only tarrying a moment to exchange his axe— ascended the steps of the scaffold, and ordered Wolfytt to get down. Sir Thomas B. ydges, who vvas greatly shocked at what had just occurred, and wotdd have prevented it if it had been possible, returned to Jane, and offered her his assistance. But she did not require it. The force of the shock had passed away, and she firmly mounted the scaffold. When she wab seen there, a groan of compassion arose from the spec- tators, and prayers were audibly uttered. She theu advanced to the rail, and, in a clear, distinct voice, spoke as follows :—" I pray you all to bear me witness that I die a true Christian woman, and that I look to be saved by no other means except the mercy of God, and the merits of the blood of his only son Jesus Christ. I con- fess when I knew the word of God I neglected it, and therefore this punishment is a just return for my sins. But I thank God of his goodness that he has given rae a time and respite to repent. And now good people, while 1 am alive, I pray you assist me with your prayers." Many fervent responses'follovved, and several of the by- standers imitated Jane's example, as, on the conclusion of her speech, she fell on her knees and recited the " Miserere." At its close Peckenham said in aloud voice, ' I ask you, madam, for the last time, will you repent ?' ' I pray you, sir, to desist,' replied Jane.' ' I am now at peace w ith all the world, and would die So.' She then arose, and, giving the prayer- book to Angela, said. ' When all is over, deliver this to the lieutenant. said, These,' she added, taking off her gloves and collar, ' I give to you.' ' And to me,' cried Manger, advan'- i""- and prostrating herself before her according to enst • you give grace.' ' And also my head,' replied ' 1 forgive thee heartily, fellow. Thou friend.' ! What ails you, inadam ?' rems - eii tin tenant, observing Jane suddenly start ai. < : . ' Not much,' she replied, ' But 1 thought 1 saw IT. , band pale and bleeding.' ' Where?' demands', lieutenant, recalling Dudley's speeeh. ' There, the block,' replied Jane. ' I see the figure still, i ; must be mere fantasy.' Whatever his thought- we; made no reply; and Jane turned to AageTa, who began, with trembling hands, to remove bei'artire was trying to take off her velvet robe, when M an fered to assist ber, but was repulsed. Hi drew, and, stationing himself by the block, assn his hideous black mask, and shouldered his axe. tially disrobed, Jane bowed her head, while Angela her kerchief over her eyes, and turned her loot tr- over her head to be out of the way. Unable, to con . himself, he then turned aside, and wept aloud, t moved forward in search of the block, but, fearful of making a false step, felt for it with her hands, and cried —' What shall I do ?— Where is it?— Where is it ?' Thomas Brydges took her hand, and guided her to it. At this awful moment, there was a slight movement in the crowd, some of whom pressed nearer the scaffold, and amongst others Sorrocold and Wolfytt. The latter caught hold of the boards to obtain a belter view. An- gela placed her hands before her eyes, aud would have suspended ber being if she could ; and even Feckenbani veiled his countenance with his robe. Sir Thomas Brydges gazed firmly on. By this time, Jane had placed her head on the block, and her last words were, ' Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit 1' The axe then fell, and orx » ofthe fairest and vvisest heads that ever sat on human shoulders fell likewise. roul MELANCHOLY. retire,' he added, to Cholmondeley, ' I shall place you in arrest.' ' Farewell, my dear lord,' cried the weeping esquire—' farewell!' ' Farewell, for ever!'— returned Dudley, as Cholmondeley was forced back by theguard. The escort then moved forward, and the lieutenant ac- companied the prisoner to the gateway of the Middle tower, where he. delivered him to the sheriffs and their officers, who were waiting there for him, with a Fran- ciscan friar, and then returned to fulfil his more painful duty- A vast crowd was collected on Tower- hill, and the strongest commiseration was exprsssed for Dudley, as he was led to the scaffold, on which Mauger had al- ready taken his station. On quitting the Beauchamp tower, Feckenham proceeded to Jane's prison. He found her on ber knees, but she. immediately arose.— ' Is it time?' she asked. ' It is, madam— to repent.' replied Feckenham, sternly. ' A few minutes are all that now remain to you of life- nay, at this moment, perhaps, your husband is called before his Eternal Judge. There is yet time. Do not perish, like him, in your sins.' ' Heaven have mercy on him!' cridd Jane, falling on her knees. And notwithstanding the impor- tunities of her confessor, she continued in fervent prayer till the appearance of Sir Thomas Brydges. She in- stantly understood why he came, and rising, prepared for departure. Almost blinded with tears, Angela ren- dered her the last services she required. This done, the lieutenant, who was likewise affected, begged some " Ob, Melancholy ! Whoever yet could sound thy bottom ? Find The ouze, to show what coast thy sluggish carcase Might earliest harbour iu." SHAKSPF. ARE. THERE is nothing so inexpressibly affecting to the heart of man, as melancholy in excess; it is a spirit, which, if we indnlge, will imperceptibly steal upon us, like eating time, and weaken the active and rational springs of life. How weak and imprudent it is for man- kind to indulge in silent and pensive grief, since il is far more prejudicial to the constitution than the most turbulent passions, and so dangerous, that, when once it becomes habitual, it is often attended with fatal coo- sequences. Were we to exercise our reason, as is in- cumbent upon us, we shonld never suffer sable and sullen melancholy lo enter int » our moral tabernacles, but resist and oppose it with a becoming fortitude and christian- like courage. While man is under this despicable and unhappy condition, the fugitive hours will drag heavily upon him, nor will he have an adequate and perfect idea of the Almighty, the universe, and himself; and instead of having a just idea of things, everything on this, and on the other side of the grave, will bear t © him a tremend- ous and dismal aspect, till slow and lingering grief departs from him. Beneficent Providence never ordained man to pass thiough ( his transitory valley of life, in a state of that unremitting perplexing solicitude that is consequent to despair, or her dejected sister, melnneboly; nor lo tread in the paths which lead to irrecoverable perdition ; but that we might live in full enjoyment of lhat peaee and tranquility that virtue ever meets with, and wilh Ihe full possession of Ihe balmy hopes that ever enliven her here, of enjoying hereafter uninterupted felicity in Ihe mansions of her merciful God. FBAT OF SOME SPIDERS.— Roland Lyman, of this cily, jeweller, recently left a gold ring, with a piece of paper, for a label, lying within it, upou his watch- bench. The next morning he found that a large- black spider, from the ceiling overhead, had attached his web to the paper, and raised that and the ring one inch. In the courseof a wei k he raised it eight inches. He was then driven aw / hy a small brown spider. Another black one afterwards : ir tached bis web to it, and in three days raised it to t; ie height of fourteen inches from the table, wher. e .- ,- nie means the web was broken. The weight, of the : • >.- - c.- lid ring was 12 graius.— Galignani's Messenger. THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. 1 ANGELINA 1 OR, THE MYSTERY OF ST. MARK'S ABBEY AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE. BV THE AUTHOR OP ELA, TH* OUTCAST ; OB, THE GIP8V GIRL OF ROSEMARY DELL, & C. ( Continued from our last.) Angelina bad never been, even for Ihe shortest time, away from home, and the idea of a separation at pre- sent, although she knew enough of the amiable charac- ter of Mrs. Montmorency, from what she remembered herself and what had been told her by Mr. Woodfield,) filled her bosom wilh ihe utmost melancholy. She could not abo help thinking that there was something cruel in the determination Mr. Woodtield had come to, and notwithstanding he assured her that he did it all for her good, and that they would meet again in a very short time, she could not persuade herself but that some heavy calamity was in store for her, which would ren- der lhat circumstance abortive. Laura was almost as m « ch affected as our heroine, for she was most ardently attached to her; she entreated her father to suffer her to accompany her cousin, but this he objected to alleg- ing as a reason that he could not dispense wilh her do- mestic services, against which argument Laura, of course, could not urge the least objection. But ihere were more reasons than one why the latter was anxious to accompany Angelina on her visit to Scarborough, she deeply sympathized with her in her affection for Hugh Clifford, and she was anxious to be with her, and to '< ier all the consolation in her power. We will pass over the morning of separation, ( which was, indeed, to Angelina and her friends, a most me- lancholy one,) and place ihe former in ihe vehicle which was la bear her to the residence of Mrs. Mont- morency. Nothing particular occurred to her on the journey, and we will Iherefore pass hastily over it, and bring her al once to the place of her destination. Mrs. Montmorency received her visitor with the ut- most cordiality, and Charlotte, her daughter, who was a warm- hearted girl, evinced by her manners, how highly delighted she was at having such a companion. 3f anything could have alleviated the grief of Ange- lina, it must have been the enthusiastic manner in which she was received by Mrs. Montmorency and her daugh- ter, and ihe did indeed feel a transitory relief from « he heavy sorrow lhat oppressed her. Mrs. Montmorency was still a very good- looking WO m. and had evidently, in her youthful days, been ' exceedingly handsome; her manners shewed that she possessed a highly- accomplished mind, and lo which was united every good quality that can render woman charming. Of Angelina, she seemed lo possess a most affectionate opinion, and entering with sympathy into her sorrows, she endeavoured, by every means in her power, to divert her thoughts from the subject which occupied her heart, and did all that she possibly could to render her comfortable. Charlotte Montmorency was a pretty, intelligent, and vivacious girl; and Angelina felt a deep and sin- cere friendship for her the moment she beheld her.— Her manners were candid and fervent; and brought up under the care of her mother, it may be expected lhat she bad imbibed all her virtues and intrinsic perfections. If Cliarlotle possessed one weakness, il was in being a little loo vain of her personal charms, but that was a fault of which tier mother had not the slightest doubt, she could divest her in time, by advice ; or, which she felt confident, her own natural good sense, ( when her mind had become more staid and matured,) would destroy. Cliarlolte was just seventeen, and lier numerous graces, add her personal beauties had already gained her many admirers, who, in the warmth of thei;; anxiety to gain favour in her eyes, had flattered her profU6e| y . therefore, in one so young, and of so y0| atj| e a temper, it is not at all surprising that lie-, vanity, ( a weakness inheient in all the human ra(£, to a grcater or smaller degree,) should be excit'id. fjut she had never en- couraged any of their addresses, and, iu fact, she had not seen one whom sbe couliUmore than regard as a friend. In this lo> ely girl, AngelWrfoimd an excellent com- panior ^ an( j her separation fiom her friends was soon fr.' it by her with only half the severity ; while her me- lancholy was greatly alleviated by the uninterrupled gaiety of Charlotte, and her irresistible sweetnessof dis- position. To say that she had forgotten Clifford, would not only be false, but preposterous; no, he was too pow- erfully imprinted on her heart, for her ever to do that; but then her anguish was softened, and she was enabled to submit with calmness to her fate, and to patently humble to Ihe wi. l of Heaven. Charlotte was a most accomplished Vnuslcian, and our heroine had always possessed an exiraoidinaty ta- lent that way, which Mr Woodfie,'.,!, when he had been in more prosperous circum8t.„ nces? had taken great pains to cultivate; the folder was a| s0 very ciever in drawing, and in lhat b^ au, ifui att> t00( Angelina had shewn considerable taste, so that in practising toge- ther, they noton', y fouj„ i an excellent source of amuse- • raent, but iin (, rovement to each other. When tired of these ainn; a<, men|( 1 Angelina and Charlotte would wan- <' el. a1iong the beautiful marine scenery of the place, arJj io the contemplation of the charms of nature, they fnniiil Ihe most unbounded means of gratification and Snstruclion. Rambling on the cliffs, they would watch the proud vessels as they skimmed majestically the deep blue waves, and gaze upon the beauties of the setting sun, as he sunk from his daily course in tile western horizon. At such times, Angelina would picture to her mind's eye Hugh Clifford, aud form various conjectures of where he was, and if ha ever thought ofher, and as her heart felt confident that the ardour of his love was equal to her own, and that neither time, distance, or circumstances could change it, she thought more of the nnhappiness he was enduring than that shp was suffering herself. Many times did fancy picture to her his gal- lant vessel, and often did she, in imagination, view it gaily Dying over the ambient tide ; bul from such illu- sions Bhe was always awaketied. to disappointment, and more poignant sorrow than she had previously expe- rienced. The mystery attendant upon her, also frequently oc- • r ; nd harrassed her mind, and the more she re- pon it, the more ( lid she become involved in doubt and perplexity. The opposition which her uncle » nd K ale of the Ruins had shewn to the love ot her and Hugh Clifford, was perfectly inexplicable to her, and why they should so carefully conceal their motives for She same from her, was also equally mysterious. Then the awful circumstance which had occurred to her iu the vault, was continually recurring to her memory, and the words of the supposed spectre she had seen, still ruDg in her ears, and excited in her bosom sentiments of awe, terror, and uncertainty. That she had not been deceived by her own disordered imagination, she fell confident; and the recollection of the event never failed to make her bosom the abode of the inosi profound sor- row and anguish. Thus passed away a month, and in that time Ange- lina had received two or thiee letters from her uncle and Laura, which she read with delight, couched, as Ihey were in language of affection and consolation. Boih Mi. Wondfield and his daughter, however, most care- fully avoided mentioning Ihe name of Hugh Clifford, neither did they make any allusion to him. Of course, Angelina saw at once their reasons for doing so, and could not help applauding that which shewed lhat they wished to avoid a subject which they knew would only cause her pain. Charlotte and our heroine had now become as much attached lo each other, as if they had been constant companions from childhood, and Ihe dis- position of the former was so much like that of Laura, that it in some measure made up for the deprivation of her society. Mrs. Montmorency saw but little company, and what she did, was of the most select description, and such as was calculated to improve the mind of her daughter, and we need not, therefore, say that Angelina was de- lighted wilh them, and that the little parties lhat were frequently formed at the house of Mrs. Montmorency, were genuine parties of pleasure, and had the most beneficial effects upon her spirits and disposition, t, One evening, Angelina and Charlotte were seated at the drawing- room window, which commanded a view over the sea, and were watching, wilh sentiments of unbounded admiiation and delight, the setting of the golden orb of day, when the former suddenly beheld ihe figure of a man emerge from behind one of the rocks, and walk on at a quick pace, towards the house. There was something in the appearance of the man, which struck Angelina immediately aB being familiar to her, and her heart beat violently against her side. As he approached nearer, she was the more certain that 8he had seen him before, but when he raised llis head, and she recognised Hugh Clifford; the reader will be able to judge her excessive astonish- ment and agitation. She could not repress an excla- mation of surprise, and turned very pale, which Char- lotte observing, eagerly inquired what was ihe matter. Our heroine, fearful of betraying the truth, replied with as little confusion as possible, that she felt sud denly indisposed, and retired from the window ; but her emotion was so powerful that Charlotte was not satisfied with the answer she had given her, and again urged her to inform her what had happened to occa- sion her such evident alarm, but Angelina evaded her questions, and still pleaded indisposition as the cause. The nature of our heroine's thoughts upon this occa- sion. may be imagined without much difficulty. Had Clifford become acquainted with the place in which she was located, and come there purposely to obtain an interview wilh her ! or had he come there by acci- dent, and knew not that she was in the neighbourhood She was more inclined lo ihink the former, and her heart trembled wilh fear as she thought so, lest he should come to the house, and demand an interview wilh her. Still, however, upon more mature reflec- tion she could not believe that he would act so impru- dently, and she became more easy upon that point. But oh, how her heart pahted fot an interview with the dear object of her heart's warmest affections ; how she longed to tell him the place he still held, and always must hold, in her love ; and thai, although cruel Fale had apparently ordained that they should never come together, yet, while she had life, to him alone, her heart would be devoted. Fearful of exciting the suspicions of Charlotte, she did not venture to look from the window again, so that she might ascertain whether Hugh Clifford was still there, and the state of anxiety and doubt she was plunged into, was almost insupportable. A quarter of an hour elapsed, and as Angelina did not hear any knock at the door, or receive any summons from Mrs. Montmorency, she concluded that Clifford knew not of her being there, and that he had only come by mere chance, and would leave the place wiihout know- ing she was there, on whom his affections were irre- vocably fixed. Conscious as she waB lhat obedience to the wishes of her uncle rendered it imperative on her to shun a meeting with Hugh, she could not indulge these thoughts wiihout considerable pain, and tho ardour of her passion had a powerful struggle with her sense of duty and propriety. Unable to restrain the power of her agitation and Apprehensive that Charlotte would suspect what' was the cause of it, she, at length, made an excuse, and re- tired to her chamber, where she could, unobserved, give free indulgence to the tumult of thoughts which crowded on her brain. " Alas 1" she soliloquised, " my fate is a most tor- menting one. Why was be again brought before my sight, but 10 remind me of the hopelessness of my love, and the crusl destiny which tells us we must never hope to VJB united } Little does he imagine, 1 dare say> ( hat her who feels that she still loves him with all '. ue fervour which it is possible for the human heart to entertain, is so near Mm ; for if he did, well am I con- vinced that no impediments would prevent liiin from rushing into my presence. Oh ! Clifford, absence from you I feel has only increased the passion you have cre- ated in my bosom." Angelina not being in proper spirits to endure the society ofher friends, did not leave her chamber again that evening, and she went to bed at an early hou and leng before Charlotte ( who slept in the sanr apartment with her) joined her. But sleep was _ stranger to her eyelids : her mind was too busy to admit of that respite from care, and even afler Charlotte had been in bed for some time, and had sunk into a deep slumber, Angelina continued to toss restlessly on the pillow, and ihe unexpected appear- ance of Hugh Clifford harrassed and bewildered her mind. I'- was about eleven o'clock when Angelina was suddenly aroused from this slate of rumination, by hearing the tones of a guitar, played by a masterly hand, and which seemed to proceed from immediately underneath her chamber window. She listened with breathless attention. The air was a very plaintive one, and she was almost certain thai she had heard it before; and, afler awhile, a voice, whose tones could never be erased from her recollection, sang the fol- lowing words, every syllable of which was listened lo by her with the most enthusiastic delight and admira- lion:— " The heart which throbs wilh passion true, Though Fate may inteipose ; Nor time, nor distance can subdue, Each day more fierce it glows!— Oh, who can stop ils secret moves, Or ils fond links dissever ? The heart that truly, fondly loves, Must faithful beat for ever! - v Forever! Till its pulsation cease in death, That heart must love for ever 1" Dramatic © alee.— No. 517. THE 1ADT OF LYONS; OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. FOUNDED ON THE POPULAR DRAMA OF THAT NIME. It was the voice of Clifford, and Ihe reader may easily judge with what emotion she listened to the words of the song, to every one of which her heart so faithfully responded; but, at the same time, her agi- tation was still greater when she found lhat Charlotte was awake, and was apparently listening wilh much surprise and pleasure to the nocturnal serenader. " Well, I declare," she exclaimed, when Hugh Clifford had ceased, " this is an event worthy of a romance— a serenade at midnight; dear me ! I wonder who ihe poor love- sick swain is ?— No doubt, however, it is one of my numerous admirers. Poor fellow ! what a pity it is lhat he should break his rest, and ex- ert his lungs in such a hopeless case " Angelina felt a gieat relief when she heard Charlotte express this conjecture, and she made some slight reply to her observations, which affected to coincide wilh her opinion, and then relapsed once more into silence, listening anxiously to hear whether Clifford would again Bing. ( To he continued.) THE CRANK.— Messier Currado, of Naples, had a servant named Chinchillo, who, one night, to treat his mistress, cut off the leg of a crane that was roasting for his master's supper, who thereupon asked him what was become of the crane's olher leg. Chinchilto im- mediately swore that cranes had but one leg. The next morning, as he was riding behind his mauler, he made him, in order to convince him that he was right, ob- serve several cranes at roost upon one leg; but his master shouting, they put down their other leg ; whereupon Chinchillo, perceiving that he was angry,- cried out, " How lucky it was lhat you did not shout last night! for your crane would have put down the other leg, and have flown away as these did, and your supper woidd have gone loo." GAME.— The lale Lee Lewis, shooting on a field, the proprietor attacked him violently; " I allow no per- son," said he, " to kill game on my manor but myself, and I'll shoot you if you come here again." " What," said the other, " I suppose you mean to make game of me." HAPPY ' JEMPFR.— Dr. Hough, Bishop of Wor- cester, had a weather- glass which cost thirty guineas; his servant was ordered to bring it into die room to show it lo some company, who, in handing it to his lordship, let it fall, and broke it in pieces. The good old man desiied they would not be uneasy at the acci- dent. " I think," said he, " it is a lucky omen;— we have had a long dry season, now I hope we shall have rain, for I do not remember ta save seen the glass so low before." About the period of the memorable revolution in France, there lived in the City of Lyons, a young lady named Pauline Deschappelles, celebrated for her beauty and accomplishments. As may be supposed, a female of whom report spoke so rapturously was not without a host of admirers among the men, but as it unfortu- nately happened that Paulina Was tainted with the pride of Juno, while she possessed all Ihe lovely charms of Venus, her followers were one and all dismissed for the same reason,— viz.— that they had not rank and title to offer as well as wealth. Her father, it is true, was but a merchant, but having amassed immense pro- perty, his lady had imbibed high notions which she had carefully implanted in the heart of her daughter. Among the lovers of Pauline, were Glavis. an empty fop, and one Monsieur Beauseant, a rich gentleman of Lyons. The foriner was dismissed with very little show of courtesy, and the latter, after he had urged his suit for some time, was also told lhat his proposals could not be listened to because he had no ti tie to break his claim. Beauseant was mortified at this result, because he WHS one of tbe most weallhy gentlemen in the neigh- bourhood, and had only lately lost his rank as a Mar- quis, when Ihe revolution had swept away the ancient nobility of France. He, however, in spite of her op- position to his wishes, resolved to make one more effort lo obtain the prize he had sough' after; again he visited her, and again his suit was rejected even more peremptorily than before. But there was one unknown lover from whom Pau- line was in the daily habit of receiving a present of a bouquet, composed of ihe choicest flowers of the season Who this admirer could be, she was not able lo guess, but lhat he belonged to an exalted station, she felt as- sured, and a feeling of tenderness was hourly gaining ground in favour of her anonymous lover. The bou- quet was always placed in her bosom as a gift, which she highly esleemed, and frequently did she sigh in secret for the moment that was to reveal Ihe name of him that she believed was destined to be her future husband. Yet love ever takes a wayward Courses and so it proved In the present instance. ProUd as Pauline Deschappelles was, it will scarcely be credited, that the person for whom she had conceived ihis attachment was no other than ;•• one l. e, the son of a gar- dener, residing in It-., vicinity ofthe city. This young man had, even as a boy, seen and loved the beauty of Lyons, and the feeling seemed to have created a new soul in him. Upon his father's death,— which hap- pened about three years previously to the commence- ment of our story,— Claude used the little property which had been left to him in having his mind culti- vated. At length he became accomplished in various languages, devoted his attention to painting, and was acknowledged to be one of the hest swordsmen in France. The only features, however, that this pencil could trace on the canvass, were those of her who was ever present to his mind. As we have seen, too, he daily sent bouquets to her, and as he knew she wore them, he began to think lhat his passion might some day be rewarded in a manner he most ardently desired. Al last, emboldened by hope, he ventured lo address to her some verses in praise ofher charms, and descrip- tion ofhis passion, to which effusion lie put his ttame, and then despatched it to the fair object of his ungo- verned passion. But the result of his temerity in the present instance, we shall presently disclose. It has been before observed, that on his last visit to the haughty Pauline, Monsieur Beauseant was dis- missed in a manner lhat toft him no hope whatever of possessing the fair prize he had so urgently sought for. Enraged at this dismissal, he vowed to be revenged, and departing wilh his friend Glavis, he determined to return to his own house in the neighbourhood of Lyons, and ihere to concert means for lowering the pride of his unrelenling fair one. Beauseant and his friend, however, had not travelled far before they stopped al a tavern by the road- Bide, kept by a talkative old man, who soon began to speak about Claude Melnotte, and his passion for the Lady of Lyons. At the mention of these names, our travellers be- came more interested ; and, in answer to their enquiries, they soon learnt Ihe devoted, though hopeless love wilh which Pauline had inspired the heart of her humble ad- mirer. A new idea now struck Monsieur Beauseant, by which to humiliate the lady who had so scornfully rejected him. He took his friend Glavis aside, and in a few words explained his design, which was to pre- vail on Claude Melnotle to pass himself off to her as an Italian prince,— for which purpose they were jointly to supply liim with a sufficient sum of money, and thus to win the lady whoso mortification on discover- ing the imposition, was to form the vengeance they both BO eagerly desired. Th$ proposition having been agieed to, a letter was written to Claude explanatory of Iheir views, and desiring him to meet them at the inn without loss of time. In the meantime Claude Melnotte had returned home after having carried ' away the prize that had been of- fered lo the best marksman at rifle- shooting. He was overjoyed at the honour he had thus gained aming his neighbours and associates, but in reply to Ihe congra- tulations of bis aged mother, his thoughts again re- verted to Pauline, and he bi terly regretted the adverse circumstance which forbade tbe hope lhat his suit could ever come to a successive is'iie. To be sure, ihe mes- senger, who had conveyed to her his copy of verses had not yet returned, and his heart beat quickly, as he anticipated the same favouiable notice of his humble efforts to please. While, however, he was engaged in this cheeiing reflection, Caspar,— the friend he had en- trusted with this important mission,— returned ; but his looks boded no good results ftom his errand. A dark frown was upon his brOw, and in answer to his repeated questions of Claude, he informed him that his copy of verses had been returned wilh scorn, and that he, himself, had been beaten for his temerity, in bear- ing so audacious a message. Claude Melnotte wns in despair;— he walked franti- cally up and down the room, uttering reproaches against the fair one, who had thus ordered his trusty messenger to be insulted wiili blows. 411 chance, too, of obtain- ing the object of his desires, was now completely at an end, and he abandoned himself to the cruel destiny thai seemed to be his. In the midst of his melancholy, however, a person arrived, bearing with him a letter which he delivered into the hands of the disconsolate lover. Claude lore it hastily open, and, to hissurprise, found it came from Mon- sieur Beauseant, offering him the certain possession of her, lhat he had fcated was lost to him for ever, on condition of his following the plan which had been laid down for lhat purpose. The plot Was, that Claude Melnotte was lo pass himself off to her as Ihe Prince of Cosmo: to obtain her hand in marriage, and imme- diately afterwards convey her to his own humble cot- tage, where he was to reveal to her the deceit by which he had gained his point. Claude r- ad ihe letter over and over again, to convince himself he was not dream- ing, and, 100 happy at the idea of his obtaining the fulfilment of his litapea on any terms, he at once deter- mined to embrace the offer which had been so unex- pectedly made. Bidding a hasty adieu, therefore, to his mother, he instantly took his departure, and in a short time found himself in the presence of Monsieur Beauseant, and his friend Glavis. The plot was now more fully unfolded to him, and as he was still will- ing to comply oilli Iheir wishes, they at once returned to Lyons, where Claude was supplied with a magnifi- cem dress, and ihe other necessary appendages for a man of exulted rank. This done, Claude was next Introduced at the house of Pauline's father as the Prince of Como. Madame Deschappelles was enraptured at the idea of having so distinguished a son- in- law, and lie was received wilh all Ihe honours due lo his supposed wealth, liar hus- band— good, easy man as he was, did not venture to put in even a single word upon the subject, for he knew his lady's foibles, and humoured her in them for the sake of peace and quietness Pauline, too, was quite delighted wilh her new lover; she received his addresses, and accepted him at once as hei future hus- band. Dreams of grandeur floated before her bewil- dered fancy ; she already imagined herself a princW » and pictured to herself tbe gorgeous palaces and splen- did state that would soon be hers. On the other hind, Claude Melnotte well supported Ihe dignity he had assumed for the occasion. He be- stowed gifts upon " every one of the family,— preseniing to Madame Deschappelles the costly snuff- b x lhat had been lent to him by Monsieur Beauseant, and placing upon the finger of Pauline the valuable dia- nlohd ring that Glavis had entrusted him with. These attentions were sufficient to complete the conquest, and the Prince ofConio was regarded with a degree of ad- miration, commensurate wilh his supposed wealth. There was one, however, in Ihe family who enter- tained very strong suspicions that the new lover rf Pauline was an impostor. This was Colonel Damas, a cousin of Madame Deschappelles, who having seen something of the world, was not to be so easily de- ceived by appearances. His doubts were excited bj several circumstances, and the more closely he ob- served the conduct of the stranger, the more convinced was he that all was not so right as it should be. To prove this, he addressed Claude in the Italian lan- guage, bill though the latter knew nothing at all about it, he contrived to baffle his tormentor, and eventually to turn Ihe laugh against him. But Colonel Damas was still certain lhat his own opinion was well founded, and taking Ihe earliest opportunity of seeking Claude Melnotle alone, he accused him of being a cheat, and challenged him to single combat. The young man ac- ceded at once to the proposition; their weapons were drawn, and afler a pass or two, Colonel Damas stood unaimed, and at the mercy of his victorious adversary. Claude had thus an opportunity of exhibiting bis mag- nanimity ; he relumed Ihe sword In his opponent, and thus won the esteem of the man, who, a few minutes be- fore, had rancourously sought his life. From that mo- ment, ihey became sworn friends. According to a preconcerted design. Monsieur Beau- seant shortly afterwards hastened to the chateau, with news that the Directory had been informed that the Prince of Como was at Lyons, and that instant mea- sures were ordered to be adopted for arresting and throwing him into prison. Immediate flight was there- fore proposed, and as Madame Deschappelles was fear- ful of losing so distinguished a son- in- law, preparations were ordered to be ma le wiihout delay for the solemni- zation of the nuptial rites lhat were to unite them for ever. In fact, so expeditiously were these com- mands carried into effect, thai, within one hour afterwards Pauline had given her hand to Ihe supposed Prince. This effected, the bride and bridegroom set out in a carriage which had been provided by Beau- seant for the • occasion, and which, it was contrived should break down before they bad travelled any great distance from Lyons. This accident occurred near the Golden Lion, which the reader will remember was in the immediate vicinity of Claude Melnotte's cottage. Thus circumstanced, they were compelled to seek refuge at the inn until the damage could be repaired, but as it was found that this would take a longer time than wasexpected, it was proposed by Claude that they should leave tile noise and turmoil of the tavern to seek shelter at some more quiet place. Pauline, whose fears had been greatly excited, readily yielded to thisj and they set forward on foot in quest of some place where they might escape the din and confusion that reigned at the Golden Lion. A sh art time served to bring them to Ihe place of Iheir destination. It was a small and humble collage, the door of which was opened by an aged woman, who no sooner beheld Claude, than rushing into his arms, she welcomed him home again as her son! Pauline could not believe the evidence of her own senses;— she stared wildly around her, and il was some time before she gave utterance to the fears that were already awakened in her heart. At last, however, subduing the feelings that had overpowered her, she mustered sufficient resolution for the effort, and addressing herself to Claude, demanded an expla- nation of Ihe mvstery. Bul Claude Melnotte was now too much the prey of his own hitler feelings to answer her upon the instant. He stood leaning for support on the back of Ihe chair, and it was not till Pauline had again and again put the same question, that he at length found resolution enough to answer her. ( To be concluded in our next.) THE BLOOD- RED KNIGHT. Ancient history intornisus, that towards the latter end of the twelfth, or beginning of ihe thirteenth centnrv, • lie ruins of an oltl ca « ile existed on the binders'ofa small river, situa'ed in France, and known by the name of " Eau de Hani" or " The Red River," from its having been the scene of a sanguinarv murder. The circum'fancesot this bloody deed, are thus tradi tionally related :— In the c- istie spoken of above, there resided a nobleman of exceedingly exemplary and pious habits, whose sole companion was an only daughter, on whom he doated. The name of the owner of this loncv f ntation, w 8 Gundredi de Rosalvo, and that of his daughter, Ceris$ a> whose hand was sought in marriage by many of the neigh" bouring nobles; but only one had the preference in the heart ofthe fair maiden, and he was the only sou of the Baron de Mortimer, who anxiously looked to an ap- proaching union of ihe two families. Gundredi, it was reported, being by far the richer man of the two, there- fore, it was good policv on the part ot Mortimer, to try to effect an union between them. Young Mortimer had a rival for the hand of his beloved, ill the person of a powerful, but handsome knight, ( com- monly known by the name ofthe Blood- red Knight, from his dress being principally composed of cloth of that colour,) who was formerlv looked upon by Cerissa with a favourable eye. But whether her affection for him ceased from his lack of money, or that his rival appeared more interesting ill her sight, we know not; certain it was, that Mortimer had so far established himself in the good graces of Cerissa, that a day was fixed upon for their nuptials, which the knight perceived with the deepest re- morse. One night, as Mortimer was passing through a thick wood, his mind dwelling ou the happiness he should de- rive from the company of his bride, his progress was sud- denly arrested bv a powerful man, enveloped in a cloak. To he thus stopped, in such a place, and at such an hour, made the cavalier somewhat quake with fear. However, he drew his sword lor self- protection, when the stranger, exclaimed :— " Put up thy sword, young man ; I would not take cowardly advantage of thee on this spot, but remember, we meet again." So saying, the figure vanished from his sieht; the words of the man were spoken in a voire he well knew it was the Blood- red Knight. What could he ihe meaning of bis untimely visit he was at a loss to conjecture. How- ever, he proceeded home, resolving to dismiss the subject from bis thoughts. When he arrived at his father's castle, the first thing he saw was a letter from the knight, challenging him to open fight, on the banks of the adja- cent river. This rather alarmed Mortimer, as he had often heard of the exploits of Iris rival in the field, and he was, moreover, reckoned one tbe best shots and most ex- pert swordsmen for manv miles around. I he letter set fyrth, in angry terms, the injury he had inflicted on him, bv lobbing him of the affections ofthe beautiful Cerissa, and unless he consented to . meet him at the appointed place, be would effect his destruction in a way he little thought of. He was almost frantic with vexation, when he found the knight so resolu'e in his intentions; he, therefore, hastened to his bride, and informed her of the circumstances : who, as soon as she heard the news, nearly fainted away. His father urged him to the fulfil- ment ot the appointment, for the sake of the honour of the family. The object of the meeting was, that whoever con- quered, should be declared the affianced bridegroom to Cerissa. This being fully understood by the combatants, they met at the appointed place at tbe dead of night, when everybody had leiired to rest. When thev first en- countered, the struggle seemed in favour of Mortimer, hut it soon proved otherwise; for, as he was getting up from a tall he had sustained by a blow from bis anta- gonist, the knight stabbed him through the heart wi h Ills sabre, and the murdered lover rolled into the stream, aud coloured It with his blood.- Hence it's name. The next morning, the knight hastened to claim Ins bride, which was vety reluctantly acceded to By her father; but recollecting the agreement, he consented, and they were married ; but Cerissa soon withered away into an untimely giave, through ihe brutal treatment other husband— THE BLOOD BED KNIG. HT. A. W. THE SHIP ON FIRE. The great eye of day was wide open, and a joyfui light filled air, heaven, and ocean. The marbled clouds lay motionless far and wide over fhe deep- blue sky. and all memory of storm and hurricane had vanished from the magnificence of that immense calm. There was but a gentle fluctuation on the bosom of the: deep, and the sea- birds floated steadily there, or dipped Iheir wings for a moment in the wreathed foam, and again wheeled sportively away into the sunshine. One ship— only one single ship— was within the en- circling horizon, and she had lain ihere as if at anchir since the morning ligh't; for, although all her sails were set, scarcely a wandering breeze touched her canvass, and her flags hung dead on staff and at peak, or lifted themselves uncertainly up at intervals, and then sunk again into motionless repose. The crew paced not her deck, for they knew that no breeze would come until after meridian,— and it was the Sab- bath day. . A small congregation were singing praises to God in that chapel, which rested almost as quietly on the sea as ihe house of worship in which they had been used to pray then rested far off, on a foundation of rock, in a green valley of their forsaken Scotland. They were emigrants— nor hoped ever again to see ihe mists of their native mountains. But as they heard the voice of their psalm, each singer half forgot lhat it blended with the sound of the sea, and almost believed himself sitting in the kirk of his own beloved parish. But hundreds of billowy leagues intervened between them and the little tinkling bell that was now tolling their happier friends to the quiet house of God. And now an old gray- headed man rose to pray, and held up llis withered hands in fervent supplication for all around, whom, in good truth, he called Ilia children — for three generations were wilh the patriarch in that tabernacle. There, in one group, were husbands and wives standing together, in awe of Him who held the deep in the hollow of his hand,— there, youths and maidens, linked together by the feeling of the same destiny, some of them perhaps hoping, when they reached the shore, to lay their heads on one pillow,— ihere, children hand in hand, happy in the wonders of the ocean,— and there, mere infants smiling on the sunny deck, and unconscious of the meaning of hymn or prayer. A low, confined, growling noise was heard struggling beneath the deck, and a sailor called with a loud voice, ' Fire, fire, the ship's on fire!' Holy words died on the prayer's tongue— the congregation fell asunder— and pale faces, wild eyes, groans, shrieks, and out- cries, rent the silence of the lonesome sea. No one for a while knew the olher, as all were hurried as in a whirlwind up and down the ship. A dismal heat, s'l unlike the warmth » f that beautiful sun, came stiflingly on every breath. Mothers, who in their first terror had shuddered but for themselves, now clasped their infants to their breasts, and lifted up their eyes to heaven. Bold, brave men grew white as ashes, and hands, strengthen- d by toil and storm, trembled like the aspen- leaf. ' Gone— gone— we are all gone!' was now the cry ; yet no one knew whence that cry came ; and men glared reproachfully on each other's counte- nances, and strove to keep down the audible beating of their own hearts. The desperate love of life drove them instinctively to their stations, and the water was poured, as by the strength of giants, down among the smouldering flames. But the devouring element roared up inlo Ihe air: and deck, mast9, saiia, and shrouds, were on « crackling and hissing sheet of fire. • Let down the boat!' was now the yell of hoarse voices; and in an instant she was filled wilh life. Then there was frantic leaping into the sea ; and all who were fast drowning, moved convulsively towards that little ark. Some sank down at once into oblivion — some grasped at nothing with their disappearing hands— some seized in vain unquenched pieces of the fiery wreck— some would fain have saved a friend almost in the last agonies; and some, strong in a savage despair, tore from them the clenched fingers that would have dragged them down, and forgot in fear both love and pity. Enveloped in flames and smoke, yet insensible as a corpse to the burning, a frantic mother flung down her baby among the crew ; and as it fell among the upward oars unharmed, she shrieked out a prayer of thanks- giving. ' Go, husband, go, for I am content to die! Oil, live, live, my husband, for our darling Willy's sake !' But. in the prime of life, and wilh his manly boson full of health and hope, the husband looked but for a moment lilt he saw his child was safe ; and then, taking his young wife in his arms, sat down bene ith Ihe burning fragments of ihe sail wilh the rest lb were resigned, never more to rise up till the last trumpet, when the faithful a< ' ^ - ' i; be raised to breathe for ere: rm^?; • i.. THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. jFragtnentfii for tfjc © urtous. INSTANCE OF FOLLY.— A person, who was certainly no adept in affairs connected with" The Sea, The Sea, the open Sea," went for the first time to trust himself to the besom of the fickle element. He, however, would have very soon found himself at the bottom, had it not been for the timely interposition of a friend. When rescued from tbe watery grave, he swore that he would never again go into the water before he had learned to swim. Of all the foolish acts of " Cockney Sportsmen," perhaps the following was the most absurd.— Perciv- ing a number of sparrows on a tree, he slily crept under, and stretching out his lap, shook the tree. What was his surprise to see the birds all fly off, instead of dropping, as he intended, into his lap. A person, the other day, wished to cross a certain river. He went into the vessel on horseback, and on being asked the reason, replied, " That he was in very great haste, and wished to get to the other side as speedily as possible. NTNE TAILORS MAKE A MAN.— This sentence, which had its origin in the grateful mind of one who had re- ceived his start from the craft, has now, from an igno- rance of the circumstance, entirely lost its meaning. The term had its origin in the following manner :— In 1742, an orphan beggar- boy applied for alms at a fa- shionable tailoi's shop in London, in which nine journey- men were employed. His interesting appearance opened the hearts of the benevolent tailors, who immediately contributed nine shillings for the relief of the little stranger. With this capital our little hero purchased fruit, which he retailed at a profit. From this beginning he rose to great wealth and distinction, and when he set up his carriage, he had painted on the panel, " Nine tailors make a man.'' THE HEART THAT IS TRUE. I love the rich glance of beauty's bright eye— The smooth rosy cheek where glad dimples lie— The sweet smiling lip of deep coral hue, But dearer than all the heart that is true. The heart that is true— oh 1 treasure most dear! Thou charm to the mind in sorrow most drear; The diamond resplendent how often we view, But, seldom indeed the heart that is true. Enclosed in bright zones of rich yellow gold, The deep- coloured rubies fresh glories unfold; And flowers look sweetest when laden with dew, But nought can enrich the heart that is true. ' Mong splendour and beauty entranced we may roam, yet miss the calm sunshine which hallows our home; From the blaze of a feast and a mad joyous crew, Oh 1 turn to thy home, and the heart that is true 1 The palace may lift its proud head to the sky- Within it the treasures of ages may lie; But it cannot disclose to the broad dome of blue, A gem half so bright as the heart that is true. The green shady cot is richer by far, If blest with the light of this heaven's own star ; For monarch's triumphant, may nations subdue, Yet sigh when alone for the heart that is true. JOHN ORTON. BIRDS' NESTS.— A pair of robins built their nest in the year, 1834, on a flower- pot standing on tbe outside of my parlour window, ar. il although tbe female was much looked at, and parsons were continually passing, she sat upon her eggs in the most fearless manner. In the Magazine of Natural History, it is stated; that a pair of robins, for two years together, affixed their nest to the bible as it lay on the reading- desk, in the parish church of Hampton, in Arden, Warwickshire. 1' he worthy vicar would on no account suffer the birds to be disturbed, and accordingly introduced another bible into the church, from which he read the lessons.— Jesse's Gleanings. Ss. AFFECTION OF A SQUIRREL.— In cutting down some trees on the estate lately purchased by tbe Crown at Petersham, for the purpose of being annexed to Rich- mond Park, the axe was applied to the root of a tall, drawn- up tree, on tbe top of which was a squirrel's nest. A rope was fastened to the tree for the purpose of pul- ling it down more expeditiously; the workmen cut at the roots, the rope was pulled, the tree swayed back- wards and forwards, and at last fell. During all these operations, a female squirrel never attempted to de- sert her new- born young, but remained with them in the nest. When the tree fell down, she was thrown out of the nest, and secured unhurt, and was put into a ca°- e with her young ones. She suckled them for a short time, but refused to eat. Her maternal affection, how- ever, remained to the last moment of her life, and she died in the act of affording all the nourishment in ner power to her offspring. FOUR THINGS TO BE GUARDEO AGAINST.— A gen- tleman in France complained to Senteuil that he bad been cheated by a monk. " What," said the poet, " a man of your age not to knew the monks; dost thou not know there are four things you should ever guard against: the face of a woman, the hind parts of a mule, tbe side of a cart, and a monk on all sides." OH ! HOW SWEET WAS THE LAY! A BALLAD— BY ANDREW JAMES M'DOUALL. Oh! liow sweet was the lay Anna breathed on her way As she strayed o'er yon desolate heath, When she murmur'd farewell To the summer's last bell, Where it trembled the rude blast beneath. Stricken down to the earth, All its beauty and worth She review'd as she knelt o'er its bier; ( For it told of the state Of her own hapless fate,) So she hallow'd its leaves with a tear. Cljeattm " Nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice." SHAKSPERE. Thus she wept o'er the past, While she shrank from tbe blast, Till her spirit from earth long'd to wing; For her heart yearn'd lorrest Where it throb'd in her breast, As she inourn'd o'er the pride of the spring. , Still ' twas folly to weep O'er a floweret asleep, That shall wake and redeck nature's wreath; There's a spring, too, on high, When she yields her last sigh, For the minstrel who dwells on the heath. Nov. 2nd, 1840. ANECDOTE OF LORD CRAVEN.— Lord Craven lived in London when the last plague raged. His house was in that part of the town since called Craven- buildings. To avoid tbe threatened danger, his lordship resolved to retire to his seat in the country. His coach and six was accordingly at the door, the luggage put up, and all thingB ready for the journey. As he was walking through the ball, with his hat on, and putting on his gloves, in order to step into the carriage, he overheard bis negro, who served him as his postillion, saying to another servant, " I suppose by my lord's quitting London to avoid the plague, that his God lives in the country and not in town." The poor negro said this in the simplicity of his heart, as really believing in a plu- rality of Gods. The speech, however, forcibly struck Lord Craven, and made him pause. " My God, ( thought he) lives every where, and can preserve me in town as well as in the country. I'll even stay where I am. The ignorance of that poor fellow has taught me an useful lesson. Lord, pardon that unbelief, and that distrust of thy providence, which made me think of running away from thy hand." Immediately he ordered the horses to be taken off Iris coach, and the luggage to be brought in. He continued in London, was remark- ably useful among his sick neighbours, and never caught the infection. POLITENES.-.— Louis XIV. was told that Lord Stair was tbe best bred man in Europe. " I shall soon put that to the test," said the king, and asking Lord Stair to take an airing with him ; as soon as the door of the coach was opened lie bade him pass and go in,— the other bowed and obeyed. The king said, " The world was right in the character it gave of Lord Stair— any other person would have troubled me with a ceremony." A gentleman calling on a fi iend, found two physicians with him: he wrote the following lines on the back of his card;— " By one physician might your work be done, But two are like a double- barrelled gun ; From one discharge sometimes a bird has flown, A second barrel always brings it down." COVENT GARDEN.— The revivals at this theatre are brought forward so excellently, and so admirably cast, that they invariably meet with success. The Spanish Curate was the first of those this season, which was followed by Sheridan's farce of The Critic, but the most successful of all has been the last, which is Shakspere's delightful comedy of The Midsummer Night's Dream. Some few seasons siace this comedy was revived, and Barnett was engaged to compose some new music to it, but he had such a short time to perform his task in, that it was a decided failure. Madam has, however, been more fortunate, and certainly well does she merit the success which has crowned her exertions The piece was produced in a most magnificent manner ; scenery, dresses— all were unexceptionable, and the casfe was the most powerful we have for some time witnessed in any theatre, embracing the whole strength of tbe com- pany. It was greeted throughout with the most en- thusiastic cheers, and will, no doubt, long continue to be played. Mark Leman's clever petite comedy of Fashionable Arrivals, increases nightly in popularity. IIAYMARKET.— Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer's new comedy, called Money, was eminently successful, and is, undoubtedly, one of the finest productions that has emanated from the pen of this clever author; we must, however, postpone our critique upon it till the next number, when we will give the plot, & c., and do ample justice to the merits ofthe author, and the excellencies of the different performers, who exerted themselves with such great success. ADF. LPHI.— Mr. Stirling's clever burletta, adapted from Boz's tale of Master Humphrey's Clock, has been an immense favorite, and may be classed among many of the most interesting and effective pieces that have been played at this well- conducted theatre. Mr. Yates' personation of the disgusting dwarf, Quilp, is beyond all praise, and completely electrifies the audience; and Nell, performed by Mrs. Keeley, is one ofthe most pathetic and deeply- interesting characters we have seen since she played Poor Sinike in Nicholas Nickelby. The Beggar's Opera Burlesqued, excites shouts of laugh- ter. Paul Bedford's Polly must be witnessed to be imagined; and Mrs. Keeley, as Captain Macheath, was all that could be wished. QUEEN'S.— A new drama, entitled Jack, the Painter; or, The Destination of the Dockyard, has made " a de- cided hit" at this theatre. It is a very effective piece, and the characters are well sastained by Messrs. J. Parry, Mandera, H. Reeves, Bowes, Deeritig, Renaud ; Mesdames J. Parry, Curling, Penson, and Rogers. A new farce, called Master Welter's Watch, was also sue cessful. OLYMPIC.— Mr. Butler's performance of The Stranger is too well known to need any further eulogium; it is sufficient to state that it is as excellent as ever. Paul, the Brazier; or, the Reign of Terror, is the name of a new drama, which has met with the approbation of the audience at this theatre, and, we must add, deservedly so. The Widows Bewitched, and English Etiquette, continue to excite the applause of the frequenters of this theatre, which we are glad to perceive is well at- tended every evening. SADLER'S WELLS.— Another new drama, called The Pilot's Son, has been produced at this Iheatre. 11 is got up with all the taste and spirit for which Mr. Honner is celebrated, but the drama possesses not the slightest literary merit. CITY.— The favorite domestic drama of The Wreck ofthe Heart, has been revived with all its original suc- cess. A new and complete version of Nicholas Nickleby has also been brought forward, and takes the taste of the audience exactly. The drama is very cleverly adapted. Numerous novelties are announced to be in preparation, among others Master Humphrey's Clock ; or, Nell and her Grandfather. PAVILION.— We paid a visit to this theatre, ( which is now managed in the most splendid manner by Mr. Denvil,) and witnessed the production of a new nau- tical drama from the prolific pen of Mr. Thompson Townsend, called A British Seaman's Glory; or, the Sailor's Sheet Anchor. . Mr. Townshend has gained con- siderable celebrity at the East end of the town in this species of writing ; and his last effort is one of his most successful. There is a stirring interest in the plot, and the manner in which it is managed, which fixes the at- tention of the audience from the beginning to the end. Messrs. J. Bennett and Tyrell were very effective in the parts allotted to them, and Rogers was very amus- ing in the comic part. It was produced with ihe ut- most care, as regarded scenery, machinery, dresses, & c., and was decidedly successful. SURREY The Wreck of the Royal George increases nightly in popularity, and the other entertainments are very attractive, if we except the vulgar and sickening buffoonery of " Yankee Smith," as he is called in the bills, in a farrago of disgusting trash, called Jim Along Josey. Tbe public have had enough of this extrava- gant and unmeaning trash. VICTORIA.— The Ran- Dan Club, is an amusing affair enough, written by Mr. Worrell, but there is certainly nothing at all original in the plot, although the lan- guage is rather smart. It is successful, a circumstance that may be attributed in no small degree to the excel- lence of Ihe ballet which is introduced in it. The Wizard of the Wave stili continues his successful career. ROYAL ALBERT SALOON.— Notwithstanding the effi- cient company which was before engaged at this most popular place of resort, the proprietor ( Mr. Brading), seeming determined to procure all the talent to be ob- tained, has made several excellent additions, the prin- cipal of which is, the engagement of that clever comic vocalist, Mr. H. Howell and his wife, who now appear every evening. It is almost needless to speak of | the talents of this gentleman, which are too well known and appreciated by the public, and we must say that he has lost none of that spirit, and exquisite humour we have so frequently had occasion to admire. His performance of Jem Baggs in the favourite vaudeville of The Wandering Minstrel, elicited immense applause. In tbe comic scene of Wanted a Governess, he was ini- mitable, and also in the duet of The Wandering Tribe, with his wife. It would be invidious were we not to stale also that the other members of the establishment exerted themselves admirably. We have not the least doubt that Mr. Brading will be amply rewarded for his spirit and liberality. OCCASIONAL THOUGHTS. BY. C. W. WHITE. However lowly may be the virtuous flowers in the path of knowledge, we ought not to allow our minds to be too proud or idle to stoop and gather them. The world is but a garden, and man is tbe chief flower that flourishes upon it; to- day, he may bloom forth in all his beauty; to- morrow, he may be withered in the blast of death. Pity, ignorance and censure folly; he who is wise, ought not to be too proud of his own wisdom ; but ever be endeavouring to increase the talents which God hath blessed him with, for no pursuit is more honourable than knowledge, and no pleasure more lasting than that arising from a cultivated imagination. On earth, of happiness we only dream, in heaven alone it really exists. Fear is the parent of cowardice, humility, and super- stition. Slander is the offspring of envy, hatred, and malice : those who use it as a weapon, are cowardly, deceitful, and treacherous. Those who cannot shed the tear of sympathy for others, are generally selfish, unhappy, and morose. Curiosity is the meanest vice a man can be guilty of; it overcomes every feeling and sense of honour in bis breast, and subjects him to contempt and ridicule. We generally find that person who is most anxious in gaining a secret, the most unable to keep one. Peace of mind is the offspring ofa clear conscience, and tbe hope of everlasting life. He who shelters in his bosom the demon of suspicion, can never know happiness till he rids himself of his tenants THE FLIGHT The City of St. Ubes is pleasantly situated on a hill, in the province of Estramadura; it isa well- built and beau- tifully clean city, surrounded by luxuriant hills and forests of tall trees. The " Don Pedro" hostelrie was kept by the good and worthy host Banco, whose round and plump face bore many a smile, which, and bis remarkably good temper, secured him the custom of the surrounding dis- trict. He was a man of about six feet standing, dark com- plexion, and brilliant flowing hair, which hung in curls on his broad shoulders. He usually wore a short dagger, in a beltaround his waist, with ivory- mounted handle. In one of the rooms of the above hostelrie, sat three men, of soldier- like appearance, wearing at their sides a short dirk; feather- mounted caps, and silk doublets, orna- mented with silver lace, and turned down leathern hose. " Sparna," said the elder, a man of about fifty, with light brown hair, cut short to the scalp, " we must see about setting out, my boy, ' tis growing late." " As you choose to order, sire," replied Sparna, the youngest of the group, with a bow. " What say you, Mantz," addressing the second, " 1 am thinking we had better off?" " I agree," answered Mantz; " had we not better call Banco to the reckoning ?" " Yes," replied Cozanto, " let him be called." Sparna obeyed, and in a few minutes the host entered the room, with a low bow. " Here," said Cozanto, taking out of his purse two silver cruzadas, " will this pay thee for the entertainment we have received ?" " Fully," replied Banco, " and thanks to your honours, and will ye have your horses got ready ?" " Directly," said Cozanto. The host departed, and wijli a sdiakeof thehand, wished them all a pleasant ride, wa'few moments the door opened, and a servant entered to announce that the horses were waiting. It was a dark night when our three companions left the hostelrie to pursue their journey; the rain was falling heavily, and the vivid flashes of lishtniug darted across the eyes of the spirited horses ; the peals of thunder now rolling with tremendous claps along the heavens. " " lis an uncomfortable night for ye, masters," said Banco, as his guests were about to depart. " If your honours please, 1 can provide you with beds till the morn- ing dawns." " No, thanks to you, Rauco, but we must go, be tbe weather what it may," said Cozanto, putting a small sil- ver coin ill the waiting- man's hand ; " no, we must de part." " Well, as you please, your honour," said Banco. Out- companions now turned their horses' heads, set off at a brisk trot, and in a few miuutes were out of sight, The rain continued to falliu torrents, and the bright light- ning to illuminate the sky by its sudden and quick succeed ing flashes: they had now made about two miles from St. Ubes, when a horseman, fully equipped, rude up to them. " How far may it be, sirs, to St.. Ubes— I mean to the Dou Pedro hostelrie, kept by one Bango, or Banco," said tbe horsemau. " About two miles, as near as 1 can guess. What do yon say, Mantz?" said Cozanto. " Mantz '." ejaculated the stranger, with surprise; " the very person I was seeking for, who I was told, with two others, were staying at the Don Pedro." " Pray, sir, who may you be, and what is your business with us ?" said Cozanto, sharply. " My name, sir," replied the stranger, " is Orou." " Ah !" said Cozanto, with surprise. " And I am come," continued tbe stranger, " from my Lord of Leir, to help you in tbe business he sent you after." " By St. Agatha !" exclaimed Mantz, " you are so dis- guised, that I did not know you; give me your hand, Oron, from this we are companions." " Had we better not proceed," said Oron, " with all speed, then, to the Castle of the Square Turret?" " Undoubtedly," said Cozanto, " as fast as our horses will carry us." The stranger turned round, and set off at full speed " with his companions, the way he had himself just come over. The rain and wind had now somewhat abated, tbe lightning ceased, and tbe dark clouds blown over: still oiir travellers kept up the speed of their almost tired horses. They now stopped at a small inn ou the road- side, where they got fresh horsey and rested their own tired limbs from the fititrieof hars-. iridiug. Having refreshed themselves, aiey here " learnt that Count Larro's chateau was about three leagues further.— It was just before they left, that a waitiug- in in entered the room and delivered a letter to Cozauto. He read thus: —" When you reach tbe garden gate of Count Larro's mansion, at twelve, knock three times, and Amelia Larro will allow you to take her away ; she will be dressed as a page, and will open the gate to you ; in the mean time order another saddle- horse at the inn. " LF. IRD." " Mantz, Oron, and Sparna," said Cozatito, " here is a letter from my lord,— read, and mind you attend to the in- structions given. Sparna, order our horses at eleven, and an additional one." " Very good," said Sparna, and he called the waiting- ing- man and communicated the order Cozanto had given him. They now set forth from the inn with au additional horse ; it was a moonlight night, and nothing was to be heard except the rustling of the leaves among the trees, and the nightingale pouring forth her melodious song.— After an hour's riding, they at length came within sight of the Castle of the Square Turret; Cozanto told the re- maining three to remain in the neighbouring wood, while he went to fetch his charge. He walked slowly on till he reached the appointed garden gate— all was still; he tapped three times, aud in a few minutes, Amelia Larro, dressed as a page, stood beside him; she then locked the door with a key, which she took from her side, and which she had always had in ber possession. " What means of conveyance have you procured for me?" said the timid page. " I have purchased a saddle- horse for your ladyship, which is as quiet as any lady's nag about this country." " What time do you suppose," continued the beautiful Amelia, her black and curled tresses hanging gracefully on her fair neck, and her lustrous eyes sparkling like dia monds in the sun, " we shall reach the mansion of Lord Leir?— soon, 1 trust, for my flight may soon be discovered." " In about three hours, madam ; I have with me three trusty servants of Lord Leir, in yonder forest." They had by this time reached the forest. After help- iug the fair Amelia to mount, they set out, having one man to ride before her, Cozanto and Oron ou each side, and Mantz ill the rear. On they rode, at the rate of about five miles au hour— Amelia not being used lo horseman- ship; they proceeded some distance without speaking a word. At length, Cozauto broke silence, by saying to Amelia,— " You are now under safe guardianship, madam; we will defend you to the last." A cry of " yes" was uttered by all the attendants. " You need fear no barm front any of us, your lady- ship," said Oron. Amelia expressed herself pleased with the conduct of the men, and said she would see they were properly re- warded when she reached tbe chateau de Leir. Again, silence prevailed, until they reached the chateau de Leir, when one of the attendants pulled the huge bell, when Lord Leir, and several attendants, appeared at the gate.— Lord Alro caught the lovely Amelia in his arms as he helped her to dismount; he pressed her to his bosom— a sileut tear fell on her cheek— she fainted in his arms. She was carried into the house, and, by the use of cordials, soon restored to her senses. Lord Alro thought it better not to intrude on her with his presence any more that evening, and retired to his own private chamber. In the meantime, ihe men were served witb- a_ good substantial supper, and at length retired to rest. But it was not so with Lord Alro; all his thoughts were of the beautiful and lovely Amelia, She must love me !— or she would not have ridden to me through all the dangers of darkness.— She does love me '— she must! Brave, noble girl! how cau I reward thee ? With such feelings on his mind as these, however, be soon composed himselt to sleep. What was the consternation and surprise the inhabit- ants of the Castle of the Square Turret evinced, when they discovered the absence of Amelia from tbe room in the turret ? What grief was shewn by the old Count at the absence of his only and beloved daughter ? Servants were sent to search the grounds and ornamental waters of the castle; several were also sent to the relations of the old Count, but they were equally surprised and grieved. Where could she be?- Had she eloped?— she could not have left her father in his old age. But no, Amelia was to be found : there was no lively daughter to cheer his dreary hours. Weeks passed, but still nothing was to be heard of his child : he grew more peevisli every day, but often said, " if she would return to him, he would fully forgive hsr all h ® r pant misconduct." ' , Lord Alro and Amelia had that morning set off for Venice, in the carriage, attended by two servants; and in case suspicion should fall on him, he left directions at home to say he bad the morning before set out for Rome, by himself and footman, and was not expected to return for some months. They arrived at Venice about mid- dav, and took apart- ments in the principal part ot the city"; but Amelia now began to think of her aged father : he could never forgive her if she were to return— lie would never, perhaps, see her more— time flew by, and nothing but her aged father and deserted home, came to ber mind. The old Count passed many months in grief and soli- tude, without even extending his ramble beyond his own grounds ; after some time, lie resolved to leave the ca » tle, and live as a private gentleman. After all preparations were made for the departure, he determined to go to the continent, and make St. Ube's one of his sleeping places on his journey. With three servants, he set out at noon, and arrived at St. Ube's about six hours afterwards. The Count then sent two of his servants to the Don Pedro, and went himself with the other to a much superior hotel, named The Donna Maria. The old Count had a private apartment; but Carro, the attendant, generally sat in the lower rooms among the pea- santry. In the evening when Carro went to help the Count to undress, the old Count said, " Well, Carro, what news ?" " Why, my lord, something which deeply concerns you came to my knowledge this evening. As I sat below, 1 heard one person say to another, who sat near him,— ' Have you heard, my friend, that Count Larro's daughter has eloped with the base Lord Alro Leir?'" " ' No,' replied the other, " ' not till this moment.' " ' " Fis true, I assure you,' rejoined the former. " Ah! it is but too true," thought Count Larro; " I wish it were otherwise. Carro, go ' and tell tbe host we must leave iu the morning soon after sunrise." " Yes, your lordship," said Carro, and departed. The next morning tliev set out for Venice, with the two setvants, from the Don Pedro hotel. They arrived there in the evening. Every means was tried to find his lost daughter, but she was not to be found. It happened one afternoon as they were strolling about the streets, they heard loud cries of " There goes the traitor," and imme- diately afterwards a shower of stones. The oid Count resolved to go to ihe hotel Lord Leir had just entered, and see if he could not reclaim his daughter. They were, after some parley, admitted, and shown into their apartment. The old Count entered, and said-. " Lord Leir, 1 come to demaud my daughter from your vile usage." " False liar," exclaimed Alro, " what is she to do with thee? Retreat, I command you." " Not till 1 have my child in my possession, traitor and villain," replied Count Larro, with rage, stamping oil the floor." " Then die, and you deserve, false wretch," said Alro. raising a dagger in the air. " O ! save my father!" said the unhappy Amelia, and threw herself on his bosom. But it was too late,— ihe uplifted dagger fell, and pierced the fair bosom of the beautiful Amelia. " O, wretch that I am !" exclaimed Lord Leir; " I have murdered the greatest treasure I had on earth. O, heavens! what iimst I do?" " Confess and be hung," cried half a dozen voices; and Count Larro's servants entered the room. Lord Alro attempted to stab himself, but was prevented by the servants, who had now secured him. He was taken off to prison, aud tried, and soon afterwards exe cuted. After tbe Count had buried his daughter, he departed for tbe continent, aud the shadow of Amelia is often said to be seen rambling about the delapidated ruins of the Castle of the Square Turret. my 7, S, 9. 6, 5, 3, 6— names a reptile; my 3,4,7, 6, 3, 2— a foreign flour; my 3, 6, 7, 5, 2, 1— is a bird ; my 1,2, 3, 6, 10, 11— names an English market town ; my 2, 6,12, 11,3, 6,4,6— is a fish ; my 2, 6, 5, 4, 6, 7— is a soldier's defence ; my 5, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 12— is what we should be to each other; and my 3, 6, 9, 11, 12, 7, 6— is what we are ; my 2, 1,7. 6, 5, 4, 6— is a word expressed by many who don't know its meaning, and yet my 2, 7, 11, 10,9,6, explains it; my 2, 3, 6, 7, 9, 10, 8, 6, 8— is not to be seen every day ; my 3, 4, 6, 7, 10, 1, 3— is very common to some people, yet not so to others; my 3, 9,5, 4,6,3— is what some call 1,3, 6,5, 9, 2, 3,6, yet not so in my opinion ; and my whole names a country often spoken of in scriptural history. Glasgow. M. H. A. WOOOSIDE. V. I am a word of ten letters.— My 9, 3, 5, 6, and my 6, 10, 3, 9— are delicious fruits; my 2, 8, 9, 6— is a musical instrument; my 5, 1, 7. 3, 9, 10, 9— is a scot- ticism for my 9,7, 3, 6, 10, 9, who is a patron of the harvest; my 6, 3, 9, 4— is a public promenade; my 5, 7, 9, 3, 6, 2— is an exalted member of the angelic host; my 5, 2, 8, 9, 4— is a monster of the sea ; my 10, 3,9— is made to 2, 7,8, 9; my 6, 7, 8, 4— is a moun- tain's summit; my 5, 6, 10, 3, 9— is an instrument of war ; my 9, 8, 6, 6, 7, 10— is the powder of a well- known odoriferous herb; my 8, 5, 2— is the name of a very common tree ; my 9, 8, 4, 7— is a libertine; my 3,1, 6— is a venomous reptile; my 6, 10, 7, 6— is a cursory and cunning look ; my 7, 9, 3— is a date of time; and my whole is the surname of an author of great and deserved celebrity. H. B. K. VI. Without my first, how good soe'er yon be, The apostle says there is no heaven for thee ; My second do not, even in jest or fun, By branded cowards let the deed be done. My first and second will my tout declare, To be an epithet that suits the fair. L. B. VII. My first is sure man's highest boast, The greatest treasure he can gain. It oft is made his favourite toast, Where festive pleasures reigns; My second when it disappears, Oh! how can I impart. By turns, what doubts, what hopes, what fears, Assail the fair one's heart. My tout is a name by many used, experienced but by a few, A word full many a time abused, but not, I trust by you. L. B. REBUS. A word that joins relations lake, and then Reverse the letters duly with your pen ; Your answer then will be what I've composed, This rebus will, if rightly it's transposed. L. B. The following New and Highly Interesting Works are now Publishing, in Penny Weekly Numbers and Four- penny Parts, by E. LLOYD, 30, Curtain Road, Shore- ditch :— FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, THE MYSTERIOUS ORPHAN. With No 1, is Pre- sented Three Superb Engravings. Part 4 is now ready. A NGELINA ; OR, XL OF ST. MARK'S ABBI THE WATER- DRINKER. A bonnet- laird in the vicinity of Glasgow, who was given to indule too freely in ardent spirits, came at last to tbe resoulution of eschewing the evil, by becoming a member of tbe Temperance Society. With this purpose he went to Glasgow, and inquired of a friend where he should enrol his name. " I'm just resolved," he said, to drap the whiskey a'tliegither, and tak' to naething stronger than water." The friend, who was a wag, in- formed him that there were several Temperance Socie- ties in town, but the chief one, and the one which he would advise him to enter, was " The ( llasgow Writer Company." Being directed to the office of that Com- pany, the following dialogue took place :— " I wish, gentlemen, to become a member of your Society." " You wish to take a share in our Company ?" " Deed do I, sirs ; for I think there's naething like water after o'." " To be sure, it is essential to life. The gentleman who disposes of shares will be here presently if you cau wait." " Oh, I can wait brawly. And is there mony now in Glasgow frieudly to your Society ?" " Why, we have to fight against a good deal of oppo- sition, as you may have heard." " That's a pity. It wad save inony a sair head and sair heart if the* folk o' the town were a' o' your mind." ' Yes, but that is scarcely to be looked for." ' Na, ua— sae laug as puir human nature is what it is. But tell me, gentlemen, in real earnest, does none o' ye ever taste whiskey ?" " Why, there's no denying we take a glass like our neighbours at times." " Ay, 1 jaloused as much from your looks. And were ye just desperately gi'en to the dram before you cam' here ?" " What do you mean, you old quiz?— There comes the gentleman with whom you have to deal." " Weel, sir, I was wanting to enrol myself ill your Company." " You wish a share, sir ? The price per share is £ 85 at present." " Eighty- five pounds for entering a water society! D'ye tak' me for au idiot ?" " It is not a farthing lower, and has not been this twelvemonth." " Gae wa'— gae wa', sir'. Eighty- five pounds for drinking water ! If that's the case, I'll stick by the speerit trade yet."— Museum of Mirth. THE MYSTERY ABBEY. Au Original Romance. Illustrated with Splendid Engravings. Two of the most costly Engravings will be presented ( GRATIS) with the First Number. A PPROACH OF CHRISTMAS. 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My 9,7, 10, 3, 9, 5, 6, 1— is a very fine 13, 2, 10, 3, 6, 1 ; my 12,7, 10,3,9, 5, 1, 11,9, 12— is a female 9, 2, 10, 3, 11, I; my 12, 7, 10, 3— 13, 4,11— gives with 9,7,10,7, 1,7,8, 12— 7, 1— 13,7, 10,7,1,7,8, 12, 10, 11, 13, 9 ; my 3, 8, 11,9, 5— isa 3,8,10,10, 6, l, from Woolwich ; my 10, 6, 9. 12— is a river in Great Bri tain ; my 4, 6, I, 1, 2, 10, 3, 9— are fresh; my 4,11, 1, 7, 10— is a bird ; my 10, 6, 2, 5, 4, 11, 1— is not one 5, 4, 2, 10, 3— 10, 7, 1— 7, 5, 4, 11, 1; my 1, 2, 10,12, 6, - is very useful; my 1, 7, 9, 2, 10— comes from abroad; my 12, 5, 7,1, 6, 4. 7, 8,13, 11— is my own ; my 1, 6, 11, 10, 5, 4, 1, 7, 10, 6— is a very difficult thing; my 10, 7, 1,5,4, 6, 1, 10, friends are not in South- Wales; my 10,7,5,4, 1, 10, 3— will puzzle my reader to find; my 10, 2. 10, 6, 5,11,6, 10, 5,4— is a number; my 1, 8, 10,10, 6, 1— is fast; my 1, 8, 12, 9, 11,5, 2, 10,3— are nice; my 12,4, 8, 5, 5, 6, 1— is very useful; my 9, 5, 11, 6,1— relates to cattle; my 12,5,2, 10, 3— is a painful thing; my 1,2,7,5,7,8, 13, 10, 11,9, 13— is a very bad tiling; and my whole is a word of thirteen letters, and I hope my reader will find it out. I. S. II. I am a word of twelve letters.— My 3, 8, 9, 10, 2, 3— is my boast; but to 6, 5, 3, 9, 10, 11, 3, any of my 3, 2, 9, 10; 2, 3' s— would be 1, 11, 6, 6, 5, 3, 9; but 18, 6, very fond of 1, 11, 6, 6, 11, 3, sense, and a 6, 8, 3, that is 10, 3, want of that, is 10, 12, wantof 2, 7, 5, great thing 1, 2, 6,6, 11, 9, 10, 2, 7, I do 12, 2, 9, like as 10,9, frequently brings any 6, 8, 3, that has any thing to 4, 2, with 10, 9, to my whole length. I. S. III. I am a word of nine letters— My 1, 6, 8, 9— is a college ; my 6, 2, 9— is a number ; my 9, 3, 7, 4, 3— is a relation ; my 6, 8, 9— is a great weight; my 8, 2— is an animal; my 7, 9,9, 8, 4, 3, 9,4, 3— is pure ; my 4,8,3— is part of the feet; my 4, 8, 5, 9, 6— is a foreign title s my 9, 8, 2— is a Heathen goddess ; my 1, 9, 9, 5, 7— is weariness ; my 1, 9, 6, 7, 4, 1 — is to allure; my 6, 5, 9— is a great many gallons ; and my whole is part of a sheriff's duty. A LOOKER ON. IV. I am a woid of 3,6, 7,9, 5, 4, letters— My 3, 6, 7, %, 1— is ail ammai 5 my 1 » 7, U— is as attitude t ILLUSTRATED spTANDARD WORKS. WEEKLY, AND MONTHLY SIX Y PARTS. F NAPOLEON; FROM THK FRENCH OK M. LAURENT DE L'ARDECHE. WITH FIVE HUNDRED ENGRAVINGS. FROM DESIGNS BY THAT EMINENT ARTIST, HORACE VERNET. The work will also be Embellished with TWENTY ORIGINAL PORTRAITS by M. JACQUE, of eminent General - J-. 1— —.... J ..- U . T.,. atesmen, and others coane<' ted with thii PUBLISHING IN PENNY THE eventful History. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ROBINSON CRUSOE ; FOUR HUNDRED ENGRAVINGS. AFTER DESIGNS BT J. J. GBANDVIUK. " Oh the delight with which we first devoured the pages of Crusoe ! and, oh how that delight would have been enhanced had we at that day oossessed the illustrated book before us 1 The Plates'are from Engravings 011 Wood, and ar « extremely well executed."— BRITANNIA. " The paper and type are of the firsf quality, and the numerous woodcuts ad mirable."— ERA. 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