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The Penny Sunday Times and People's Police Gazette

21/03/1841

Printer / Publisher: E. Lloyd 
Volume Number:     Issue Number: 51
No Pages: 4
 
 
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The Penny Sunday Times and People's Police Gazette

Date of Article: 21/03/1841
Printer / Publisher: E. Lloyd 
Address: 231, High street, Shoreditch, and at 44, Holywell Street, Strand
Volume Number:     Issue Number: 51
No Pages: 4
Sourced from Dealer? No
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LONDON:— SUNDAY, MARCH 21, 1841. FATAL ACCIDENT TO HENRY THOMPSON, LATE GRAVE- DIGGER AT ST, BRIDE'S, FLEET STREET, WHO WAS BURIED ALIVE ON THE 4th MARCH YY/ JHI DROPPING AN ACQUAINTANCE.— UPON MY HONOURI! Complainant,— Ho! you will, will JOB? Artet thai, 1. won't ax you nuffin no fudder. the Magistrate thought it was impossible for the de- fendant to hate beefi in St. Martin's Lane at the time stated by the complainant, if the tvitfie'sses had spoken troth. Complainant— Yer vership, a hoss as is fresh rill go a long vay in a werry short time. Magistrate — 1 cannot rely very strongly on that sug- gestion. Unless the witnesses have forsworn them- selves, which I should be sorry to think, you are certainly mistaken as to the identity of the defendant, and there- fore, the case must be dismissed. " Veil," said the complainant, grumbling, as he left the court, " there's a great adwantage in bein' able to svear through a nlue- iticu board '' verv heart wtdtn me ne s orotic an ^ lamachree, Jim, it's little ye know ov the wrdy s grief „ an' then, ay own lonely condishin comes across me, that I don't well know what I'd be at." Jim, during Honour /— all stuff!— who knows the word ? Honour! psha ! there's no such thing;— 111 the name of honour !— some may murder, While the poor devil he must swing! ' Tis honourable I to purloin knockers, To send your fellow man to pot; Likewise to drop an acquaintance, if you the same do in a shot ! THE SEA BIRD IN A STORM. What I what 1 Is yon ipeek In the distant gloom, Yon mote In the driving scud; Now It hovers wild In the ^ rowHng sky. Now dips in the botlng flood; ' Tit a bird of the sea, it's home Is the wave, It's playmate the billows wild; It lives midst the spray of the ocean storm, Nature doats on It's wave. beaten child. When the thunder rolls, and the lightnings gleam, And tinge the white foumy wave. Then It loves to wheel roun l the chaos wild, And fierce with the billows rave: When the struggling barque, with it's burden bold, SLI- ks deep iu the dark abyss, And no pitying tearful eye looks on. To give one Parting kiss. When the seamen's trembling, breathless prayer Is heard nsidst tbe dashing spray j It's mingling yell drowns the gurgling shriek In the wild, elemental tray. When the ocean tired wit' the mad strife rtats, Where, where is my gallant bird, then > It lurks on the shore for the rising gale, Then to start Irom It's h-, teful den. Soar on, soar on, thou ocean bird ; Hover, wild o'er the struggling mast j Farewell, rove, rove on thy stormy course. Hide wild on tbe driving blast; How lovest to hear the wild billows dash, And thy gallant pennons to lave; The lark loves the clear, blue morning sky. Thy horns Is the stormy wave. Edinburgh. MOIIMJN. TIIF. CUNNING PRIEST. — A Norman priest, whose parishioners bad many of them not made the most honourable exit out of this bad world, insisted, when he was baptizing- one of their children, to be paid the nup- tial and burial fees, as well as those of baptism ; and when the parents asked tbe reason of this extraor- niary demand, he replied, " because 1 know, as soou s he is grown up, be will cheat me of my dues, bj doing to Paris to be hanged." ' Tis pleasant in some lonely place, Alter carousing with some crony; To meet a desp'rate ruffian artu'tl, True, he the man is for your money ! If you're insolvent, he's your friend, His vices 1 would not enlarge ' c': n ; Whate'er your debts, ' tis all ttie same, He with a pistol Will discharge ' etn ! tJOllCf, ' MANSION HOUSE. SUM IT UP AS YOU PLEASE.— Halph Riftkel- by, a Vough, bnt good- natured looking fel'oW, a Somersetshire flrover, was brought op by a police- constable, charged with being found drunk in Bread- street, Chenpside, nnd incapable of taking c « re of himself. The constable staled, that on Wednesday morning, at an early bonr, he found the prisoner lylnt; in tho road quite drunk, and unable to speak, with his dog by his side, when be took them to the * tation- house. The Lord Mavnr asked Ihe prisoner what he had to say ?— Prisoner, ( drily, and scratching his head): Whoy I zze thot heez tould haJl the trooth about it. I vvur droonk—( a laugh). The Lord Mayor inquired where be trot drunk ? — fri aoner ( with a grin) : Whoy, bein' cowld weather, I took zommet to wnrm myzen w'i zum frenids, and dozn't naw boo it was, but it coom'd over I like, and* I laid my/. en doon and fal azleep loike. ( A laugh.) Lord Manor: What countryman are yon ?— Prisoner: I berz fraZtimmeizotzhire. What are you?— Whoy, I drives; I'se a drover—( a laugh.) Can you pay five shillings Prisoner, < twirling his hat before him): Nau, nov five penze. ( Laughter ) Lord Mayor: Then you will be locked up — Prisoner: Weel, zam it up jest as you plaze. 1 wur droonk, and thot's the short and loong o' the mottcr. ( Laughter.) Lord Mayor, ( smiling): Well, get away.— Prisoner turned round, and was about to leave the court, when he snddcnly made a side Zumraeizetshire boo" to 1 is wor- ship, and said, " Thonk thee, your hooner," and left the place, delighted at his escape from tbe " lock- up." BOW STREET. A GENIUS FOR THE BAR, TWEAKING THROUGH A NINE INCH BOAUD.— It was on a foggv night, that two cabmen came in contact in St. Martin's Lane. The one who onnceived himself blameless, summoned the other foi the amoont of the damage done lo his springs. Samuel Hudson, the complainant, with a face as resplendent as a warming pan, and winged in something like a Cliancery- scratoh, confronted Jncob Snoozem, the defendant, who presented lhat sort of Mosaic profile, which led a spectator to infer it would be a difficult, affair to get. the belter of him in any matter where hard swearing wus a conside- ration. " Your name," said the Magistrate, addressing the com- plainant, " is Samuel Hudson, cab- driver." " And pro- prietor, added the complainant^ with emphasis. Magistrate.— Now state what, you complain of.— Defend- ant : it vos about len minutes afore, or ten minutes arter eight, I can't be partikler to a handful of minutes, I vos a driving a fire very gentle along St. Martin's Lane, ven this here man, who vos a minding his pipe and not his; hose, run into contract with me, and hextricated my wheel in hisn. \ fore I rould ^ et out of the lock, my back spring vent in two, vich cost me fourteen and fipp'- nce to get mended. The defence war a poser for ihe complain- ant. It was neither more nor less than that he had got the wrong sow by tbe ear. The defendant declared at tbe time of the alleged accident, that lie vvas eatit- g his sur,. per in Bagnigge Wells, aud, in order to esiablish a c'. ear alibi, lie bad three witnesses to prodoce. The first, wit- ness was ihe defendant's brother, who swore he Vfas - with the defendant from eight "' clock, unti) half past, at which time they went home to supper. The defendant, who had somehow obtained, a sort of in- sight into the mysteries of an Old Bailey system of ex- amination, planted himself upon the bench, and said, Yer vership, I vish to ax this here vitness a few crest kvovtions."— Magistrate: You may examine him on anv part of hi* evidence. Complainant: Young man, look afore yer, and mind you've jest svorn lo take a booth. Now, vorn't you villi ' lie cab in St, Martin's Lane, about eiaht o'clonk or j,„ if six months. Complainant.: Hoh ! rot vos you a doing ven your bro- ther's near vheel ootched my off vlieel?— Witness: Our cab vorn't near yourti. Complainant.— A int you werry fond of smoking?— Wit- ness ; I ndc a pipe now and theu. Complainant.— Jest so. Now do you smoke shorts or haldermans ?— I have smoked a short pipe. Defendant.— Hah ! now, wasn'i it a short pipe as I seed you a smoking ven the vheels locked?— Witness; Tell yer agin, ve Vasu'i Within miles of your cab The complainant looked mysteriously at the bench, unaltered something about " too vide avake,' and made Way for the next witness.-""- The wife of the last witness presented herself. She had prepared supper at eight o'eloQk, and at half- past eight, her husband Mid brother- in- law brought the cab to the door. Complainant.— Now, young vomati, vot you've sworn is as true as vot t'other swore, ain't it ?— Witness: It's all true. Complainant.— Ho! ' spose so. How did you know it vos half arter e ght ven they came home?— Witness; The beer- boy was calling the beer as usual. Complainant.—. H. o! . the beer- boy hollered beer np the street, that's all you Ro bv, is it? Now, on your solid honth, w- arn't, u Kjippday?— Witness : Yes. Complainant:—' A nd don't you knliw, young voman, as the boy always bri ngs the beer unregular on that ere day ?— Wii. ness; He brought it at the usual lime, that I'll swear. There is a stilly hour when the spirit embodying the human frame, wings its flight upwards to the regions of bliss, or sinks deeply in the gulph of eternal damnation ! — and while the surrounding troup anxiously watching the last easp of expirine nature— everv feature ponrtray- ingthc mind's anguish- the King of terrois smiles ex- ultingly, and, at flic same moment, slightly touches one of the survivors with his unerring dart, causing a tre- mour to thrill through the veins— wasting the life's blood !—' till the Once robust form hecometh attenuated — the enercies of the mind begin to flag— and, alter a few months, death claims his victim !— Or, per- adveu- tnre, at the festive hoard, when the frail mortal, sur- rounded by every luxury tbe world can produce, fancies himself secure, ( at least, for seme years to come,) — boasts of his riches and power— in the m'dst of hilarity and joy— tbe grlllt lfloHster stalk- in unseen, and by a bolder stroke, summonses the proud and haughty being to appear before the great Judge of the Universe, to an- swer at the bar of the grand tribunal for all the deeds done in the flesh ! Mark 1 the further progress of lhat destroying demon, who guided the hand of the first- born Cain IO - lay his biother. So the pour erring mor- tal, af'er wasting his substance in riot and debauchery, or being hut led lrom the pinnacle of wea'th by a single cast of the die, to the lowest depths of misery and despair; driven to a stale of madness, procures soniede stmctive weapon. Death guides his hand ! and he rushes unprepared into the presence of his Creator! — Again, with gigantic stride, the destroying Angel sallies forth, andenters the sacred edifice ! Behold! the bride and bridegroom kneeling at the altar, blooming in health and beauty !— their faces bedecked wi- h smiles !— anti- cipating many years of felici'ous enjoyment!— ere the minister of grace - hath clo- edthe divine bi ok, Death ar- rests them at the church porch, repding in twain that bond which made them one flesh ! Nor doth the arch fiend stop here, but still goeth on with the work of de strnction. Even the innocent babe, smiling in the mother's face as it teceiveth ber fond caresses, escapeth not. In a few fleeting hours, the destroying Angel sets his mark lyion it '.— and the lovely features, whose cherub smile was the delight of all beholders, become distorted with convulsive agitation until pul- ati- on stops! — the heart ceases to vibrate !— and the little emblem of i purity, whose lips knew n-> guile, falls another victim to I the fell- tyrant Death ! Not satisfied with the havoc made thiougli tbe regular course of nature, by the t " various ills tint human flesh is heir to," in a spirit of , fury, brea'hes forth a p- stiferous vapour, impregnating ihe atmosphere, thereby causing a fearful epidemic to - rage, violently spreading desolation on all around I— at- 1 tacking, indisci iminately, yung and old, i ich and poor; paying no respect to i ersons ! - entering the palaces of 5 kings as readily as the peasant's cot!— carrying off at ; one fell swoop ! parents, children, and friends!— and thi t short space of a week !— a day!— nav, even a single hour, fousigns thousands " to that bourn from whence no traveller returns !'"— Or, hovering o'er the tieia oi slaughter, guidiug the weapons of destruction— super- intending that powerful agent, the roaring artillery! by whose thunder, heroes, the pride and boast of nations, are swept from the earth in countless numbers '.— And so will the dread monarch continue his career, ' till vege- tation ceases, and, all things becoming inanimate, Time shall be no more ! Earl- street, March 2nd, 1841. J. TJJNKS. WIDOW DOHERTY'S COURTSHIP AND MARRIACE. { Written expressly for " The Penny Sunday Times.") " An' it's miself that cud never think ov puttin' ano- ther in his place," sighed the gentle widow Doherty to Jim O'Brady, as he sat whiling away the dreary hours of a long winter night at her cabin fireside. " It's not a year till Hallow- day," she continued, " since I saw the mools put over his coffin, an' for you to spake ov the likes to me; oh ! oh! I wunder at ye man, Jim."— Here a shower of tears, and a loud fillaloo, in the true Irish style, came to her relief, during the performance of which, Jim had settled himself up in a corner. The widow, wringing her hands, began to look about to see where Jim had gone. " What matters ye man, that ye should hide ye that way 3— Is that all ihe cumfurt ye can give to the poor unfortunate widy? Many's the time my poor Micky tould me ye were a kind- hearted soul, an'one daywud make a good husband to some one.— Nabocklish— it's little 1 thought then ye wud ever spake ov the likes to me : an' what a talk wud be over the counthry, too. Aye, an' throtb, when I look on that THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE S POLICE GAZETTE.^ ERNNESTINE DE LACY I OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. AW ORIGINAL ROMANCE, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES," BY THE POPULAR AUTHOR OP " ELA, THE OUTCAST," " ANGELINA," " GALLANT TOM," " TALES AND LEGENDS OF OTHER DAYS," & C. & C. ( Continued from our last.) CHAPTER XI. " Look at me, mark well my countenance, Note well eacli sentence that I utter ; Aunalyze my every action, and thou'lt own If I am guilty of this foul crime, Then is the child just born a murderer!" Lord Raymond St. Aswolpb, had waited in the most painful suspense the arrival of the day of trial, and he trembled for the result, for 011 it, lie was confident, de- pended not only the life of the accused, but also of Ern- nestine. It would be superfluous ttfsay that she had been attended upon, as also had Edith, with the utmost solici- tude by Lady Celestineand her daughter; and, contrary to all expectations, when the morning arrived, Ernnestiue evinced more fortitude aud resignation then she had ever done before, and talked with perfect calmness on the pro- bable issue of the agonizing event. But even at that time he passed a few of the most delightful moments he had ever experienced ju the society of the beauteous damsel, when she thanked him in her usual sweet and fascinating style, for his kindness to her and her dear friends, and more especially for the interest he had taken in the fate of the unfortunate Godfrey, and the exertions he Had made in his behalf. For ages could he have dwelt upon every word that fell from her lips; every sentence she uttered was transport to his ravished senses. He earnestly, however, implored both her and Edith not to persist in • tha design they had formed to be present at the trial; but all tbe arguments that hinuelf aud his mother could make use of, were uuavaling; they were determined, and Lord Raymond, mentally uttering a prayer 10 heaven to sustain them throughout so painful an event, quitted the castle and bent his way towards the Hall of Justice. On his way thither, lie could not help noticing several very strange and suspicious- looking men lurking about, some in groups, and who seemed to be strongly armed ; but imagining that they were only going upon the same errand as many more, namely, to witness the proceedings, he did not suffer the circumstance to occupy his mind many minutes, but went on his way. As we have before stated, the Hall was densely crowded ; for in those days of barbarism, the trial of a plebeian was rather an unusual occurrence ; it was enough for them to lie accused of crime, aud their execution immediately fol- lowed. The despotic noble had a license, in a manner of speak- ing, to do wilh his vassals what he thought proper, aud upon the slightest offence or caprice murdered them with impunity. In this instance, however, tbe interest ex- cited was so great, both Ihe murdet ed man and tbe accused being so well known, and Lord Raymond had so exerted himself with 0. firm brlief that he should be able to remove all shadow of imputation even, from Godfrey, that there were 110 means, had there even have been any desire, to have prevented the trial from taking place ; and, indeed, it had oeen the universal theme of conversation ever since • the murder of the ill- fated Reginald had been discovered And now the awful moment approached,— Lord Ray- mond looked around the Hall, but he did not perceive either Ernnestine or Edith, and he began to hope that they had abandoned their former resolution, and would not attend. There was a pause, aud all was silent as death in the Hall, when the Justicary ordered Godfrey de Lacy to be brought forward. No sooner had he given the order, than a piercing shriek rang through the Hall, and Ernnes- tine and Edith, with pale cheeks and wild demeanour, rushed from that part of the Hall where they had till this moment been concealed, and threw themselves at the feet of the Justicary, and the other officers of the law, who surrounded them. Their appearance caused a great sen- sation 111 tbe Hall, and Lord Raymond descended from his seat, and instantly went, to their assistance; but they heeded him not, and seemed to be uncouscious of every- thing but the awful errand upon which they had come. " Oh, my lord," ejaculated Ernnestine, with clasped hands, and her eyes fixed with the most vehement ex- pression of supplication upon the countenauce of the Justicary, " let mercy predominate in thy breast towards an innocent and injured youth. He is guiltless!—' By Heaven ! he is guiltless !— Oh, thou kuowest not the noble soul of Godlrey de Lacy, or thau wouldst be well convinced that his heart would reeoil from the hare idea of the horrible crime of which he Is accused !— Oh, spare him ! I beseech thee !" " By all thy hopes of mercy do not bereave a mother of her only son, upon so foul, and so dreadful a charge as that which is brought against him;" cried Edith, " If thou dost, his blood will assuredly be upou thine head, and the curse of Heaveu will pursue thee." " Woman," said the Justicary, sternly, " thou talkest wildly; but I can pardon thee for the bolduess of thy speech. I am here to administer Justice, and by the guidance of the Judge of Judges, I will do so." " Becalm,— be calm, 1 beseech ye both," said Hubert Clensltain, who was in the Hall, aud had placed himself by their side, as soon as they made this appeal to the Jus- ticai- y, " and place a firm reliance upon the goodness and clemency of the Almighty, before whom we must all one guilty of the dreadful crimes with which I have been charg- ed ; and gazing multitudes may behold my death with exultation, and ring their curses in. my ears; but there is one truth,— one consolation will uphold me through every horror,— it is, that Jam innocent!" The manner in which Godfrey spoke seemed to make a great impression upon the judges and eveiy person in the Hall; but still there were so many condeuinatary circum- stances hi the evidence which had been brought against him, they eaw 110 reason why mercy should bo shewn him. He had firmly! disavowed having acted of his own free will in his escape from the prison, and of beiug the 111111- most indigence in which I had arrived, proprietor of an estate, that yielded me a yearly income of from four to five thousand pounds. 1 was now riglier than I had ever expected to be, yet I was far from being happy:— recollections of happier days were ever iu my mind— my thoughts wandered to the land of my birth, aud Anna— my first and only love— was ever before we. I felt that without her the world and its riches had no happiness for me. My health, which had been gene- rally good, I now felt was on the decline, more, I be- lieve, from despondency than anything else I and my * ' a change of climate, fl, surgeon having recommended for the first time, thought of visiting HH^ H ' should I lim derer of the gaolers, yet had he as firmly refused to reveal solving iu my own mind the names of the person or persons who had assisted him, , nt 1 <">><' » and perpetrated the ciimes, solemnly, however, declaring that his father ( who it was intended to put upon bis trial afterwards), was entirely innocent of any participation in that deed; and that circumstance weighed more than all against him; the Justicary therefore pronounced him ' guiliy,' and was proceeding 10 pass upon him the sentence of death, when suddenly a loud voice from a distant part of the Hall was heard to exclaim :— " Godfrey de Lacy is innocent of the crimes alleged against'liim, and those who condemn him, will be guilty ot his murder!" Lord Raymond started at the well- remembered tones of the voice, and directing his naze to that part of the Hall from whence they issued, his astonishment may be well imagined when he beheld standing confronting thejudges, the tall figure of the mysterious grey friar, whom he had twice encountered under such singular circumstances. ( To le continued•) Scotland, re- 1 Anna married ( of which I had scarcely a doubt,) to make my stay as short as possible. Having learned that a vessel, named Tbe Gertreede of Greenock, was about to sail for the Clyde, I Went and secured a passage; and- having left my estate in the charge of a trustworthy individual, left Demerara for the Clyde, iu the end of February, 18 • ~ ' •'• ' ' " every face and action, shows infant nature in her gayest form ; the only care is, to forget on one side of the walls, what was taught on the other. One- would think if coming out gives so much satisfaction, there must be • something vefy'detestable within. If the master thinks he lias performed his task when he has taught the boy a few words, he as much mistakes his duty, as he does tbe road to learning. This is only the first sfage of the journey; he has the man to form with ten thousand sentiments. It is curious to enter one of these prisons of science, aud observe the children not under the kast government: the master Without autho- rity, the children without order; the master scolding, the children riotous. We never harden the wax lo receive the impression. They act in a natural sphere; but he, in opposition, lie seems the only person in the school who merits correction; he, unfit to teach, is making them un- fit to be taught. A man does not consider whether his talents are adapted for teaching, so much as whether he can profit by teaching. Thus, when a man hath taught for twenty years, he may be only fit to go to school. To that vast group of instructors, therefore, whether in I was the only passenger ; but the captain and mate being very agreeable and intelligent men, the time, considering- the length of the voyage, did not hang so heavy oil my hands as might have been ex- pected. One tine morning, iu the middle of April, about six weeks after our departure from Demerara, we arrived at the Broomielaw, Glasgow. That same day 1 posted offforthe village adjoining Mr. Hamilton's estate; and having arrived,' took up my resideriee for a „._., night at the head inn, where, from inquiries that 1 lor out of petticoats, who teach without having been made, I received the unexpected information that Mr. tssgtit; who mistake the tail for the seat of learning, in- time appear. Me will not fail to protect the iunocent, and bring the guilty to punishment." " The busluess ot the court must not be delayed," said the Justicary, in reply to some few words that had been addressed to hhn by Lord Raymond, imploring him to bear wit'll the unfortunate women ;—" bring hither the accused, I say V" Lord Raymond drew his breath short, and was in scarcely a state of less igitation than Eriinestine and Edith. With looks of the most intense anxiety and agony, lie watched the countenance of Eriinestine, as she fixed her eyes upon the door through which the prisoner must pass, and ere a moment had elapsed tbe clanking of heavy fetters was heard, and Godfrey was led in by the officers. His step was firm, and although his cheeks were pale, yet did his eyes beam with an expression of conscious inno- cence.-— A frantic scream from Ernnestine and Edith drew his attention towards them, and the next instant they spring towards him, and threw themselves upon his neck. " Mother '.— Erimestiue? sweet innocent, to meet thee thus!" cried Godfrey, with a burst of agony;—" Oh ! God! surely Thy decrees are too severe !— my heart will Imrst— I— 1— but, Ho; let me be firm ;— it is only the guilty that should tremble or give way to weakness;— dear Hubert, take them from me, lest my brain should be bewildered I" Poor old Hubert Clenshain, who evinced the most re- markable self- oossession and fortitude on that awful oc- casion, did as Godfrey desired; and directly afterwards they fainted, and were borne out of the Hall into an ad- joining apartment. I11 the meantime the trial commenced, and proceeded ; and before it had concluded, Ernnestine was sufficiently recovered to give her evidence, which she did in so clear, so explicit, aud so earnest a manner, that it made a great iinoree- iou upon the judges; and, stern and ' callous almost to feeling as they were, they could not help being touched by the beauty and anguish of the hapless damsel. Who could doubt lor a momi- ntuhat aught but truth could tall from lips like Iier's ?— But, vet all that could be adduced in confirmation of the innocence of Godfrey, failed to con- vince his stern and inflexible judges ; and after all tbe witnesses had been examined, the Justicary arose, and addressing himself to the unfortunate youth, said,— " Prisoner; tliou hast heard the evidence adduced against thee; if thou hast anything to s; iy to avert thy fate, speak it; and Heaveu aid thee as thou mayest de- serve !" Godfrey turned his gaze for an instant upon Eninestine and his mother, who seemed petrified to tiie spot with horror, and then ill a firm and manly tone, he thus spoke:— . . " Mv lord, thou callest 011 me in vain, if what has al- ready been advanced in proof of my innocence has failed to convince thee. That I am not gnilty, I solemnly again, ill the race of Heaven, repeat; hut, if tliou art resolved that I shall fall a victim to this dreadful cli tree, I must e'en submit with ihe consolation of an unsullied conscience, and a firm reliance 011 that mercy from a supreme Judge, which man denies ine here. I would, if it would avail me implore thy tnetcy for the sake of my poor mother. 1 would ask of thee my lite, that the lives of my unhappy parents might be prolonged. I would ask thy mercy for the sake of ,) OH trqinbluig innocent, whose heart will be broken for ever, should I die a deaih of shame.— t would u- i: ill ' i,. spate in ' ife for iliese -.— tor my innocence, 1 hw'mitlin . 1 -. iilher 10 urge !— 1 may appear guilty ;— 1 ma* be thought a moiis' - r. which I should be were 1 THE PEASANT'S SON. BY THE AUTHOR OF " OLD GROCERY'S ACCOUNT OF HOW HE WAS OUTWITTED BY SANDIE M'PIlEltSON," & C. & C. { Written for " The Penny Sunday Times.") PART FIRST. My father, John Alston, rented a small farm ou the estate of Alexander Hamilton, a wealthy landed pro- prietor, iu the North of Scotland. A few days after my birth, my mother died, leaving me to the charge of a too- fond and indulgent father. Notwithstanding a family prejudice lo the name of William, 1 was so called after my grandfather. Many of my friends pro- phesying I wo « ld never come to any good, as none who had belonged to the family, bearing the ill- fated name, had been known to succeed 111 their worldly affairs. Tbe sequel of this tale will tend to show how far such prejudices should be attended to.— When about eight years of age, I was sent to school, where I first became acquainted with Anna Hamilton, my father's landlord's only child, a girl about my own age, whose uncommon sweetness of temper gained her the esteem of ber little sclioolinat8s, and we afl felt a secret pleasure in being able to assist her in the smallest matter. Owing to the village where the school was kept, being about a mile from Mr. Hamilton's house, at its dismissal, a servant was always in attendance, to take Anna home. One day the servant had neglected to come, and Anna having expressed her unwillingness to go alone, a number of her school- mates, amongst whom I was one, instantly offered to see her home. She choose me, as I had the most of the road to go. At any rate— proud thus to be preferred by her, before many who considered themselves to be my betters— I cast a look of triumph at my chop- fallen playmates, and taking Anna by the hand, set off with her for her father's house. When about half way, we were suddenly alarmed by seeing a dog that had every appearance of being mad, running straight before us; here my presence of mind— of which I was blessed with a considerable share— came to our rescue, and, in all probability saved us both from an awful death.— In the twinkling of an eye, 1 threw off my jacket— rapt it tightly round my right arm, and throwing myself before the affrighted Anna, wilh it kept the dog at bay, till some persons who were in pursuit of it, came up and dispatched it. The kiutra side wrung with praise at the heroic deed 1 had performed-— even Anna's father, whose whole heart and soul was centred in his gold, when he heard how his daughter, whom he tenderly loved, had been rescued from certain death, his gratitude to me knew 110 bounds. At his own expense he gave me an edu- cation, far superior to that generally received by peasant's son. And after it was fiuished, procured me a situation in a lawyer's office, promising to support me as long as I continued to walk in the paths of rectitude. The most of my spare time being spent in visiting my kind patron, 1 had frequent opportunities of meet ing and conversing with Miss Hamilton. Indeed, the intimacy of our childish days had always been kept up with considerable warmth, and before w « were well aware an attachment of the tenderest nature had sprung up between us. Auua, at the present stage of my tale, had just at- tained her eighteenth year. She was what is termed beautiful, which, coupled with a generous disposition and pleasing manners, caused her to be loved and re- spected by all who had the pleasure of her acquaint- ance. Ot course, she had many admirers, of the male sex— many who willingly would have placed their lives and fortunes, yea, their eternal happiness, at the feet ofthe fair Anna— but none, save myself, held a place in the bosom of her affections. Consequently, to her father's no small surprise, the many wealthy and re spectable offers of marriage that she had, were all firmly, though iespectfully declined. At length, her father became aware of tbe true cause of her many re- fusals, having ascertained in what quarter her love lay. And 110 sooner was he aware of the fact, than to me his former generosity was turned to tbe most un- bounded hatred. He wrote me an angry letter, break- ing up all former connections— charging me with hav- ing betrayed his friendship, and ordering me never to enter his house. I was thunderstruck when 1 had read it.— I knew not what to make of this sudden change in his behaviour, and notwithstanding his threat—" never to enter his house," 1 started for it tins next day, re- solved to hear the truth from his own lips ; but judge of my fuither astonishment, when the servant who an swered the door informed me that Mr. Hamilton and his daughter bad started for London the day before. With a faltering voice I asked if there was any word left for ine. No, there was none— uoue. Quite stupid, I turned from the door, and slowly retraced my former steps ; all, in a sudden, the truth flashed 011 my mind : " he had left Scotland with his daughter, in the vain hope that time, and a change of scene, would effec- tually break up the attachment we had formed for each other. I returned to my master, but I plainly saw from his altered manner, " that he was well aware of what had taken place; and expecting my dismissal Hamilton had died about four years Since, and had left ' his daughter sole heiress—- She Unas yet unmarried, and, according to mine host's opinion, " intended living a life of single blessedness." I thought different, and that night, before giving myself in charge of the drowsy god, I had come to the resolution of visiting Miss Hamilton the following day. Next day, I, accordingly, set out on my intended visit, aiitl the reader may more easily imaging than I can describe, what were my feelings when I stood at the front door of her house— I felt myself unmanned, but collecting my remaining resolution, 1 pulled the bell, aud the door being opened, enquired for Miss Hamilton. The servant conducted me to the parlour. When I entered, Anna was seated 011 a sopha, reading; she rose, laid down the book, and seemed not to know me for an instant. 1 stood speech- less ; at length, with a voice scarcely audible, 1 slowly uttered " Anna." She recognised ftie. " William!— my own William !" she eagerly exclaimed, and, giving a low, short cry of joy, fainted 111 my arms. * * ******* » * * We were married. Shortly after I sold iny estate in Deinerara, and have now settled down in iny native iliire, despite of my unlucky name, enjoying all the comforts that can reasonably be expected to fall to the share of a happy husband, a happy father, and a good old English gentleman. Glasgow, Feb. 22, 1841. stead of the head; wjid can neither direct the passions of others, nor tiieir own— it may lie sid, " Quit the tri\ de, if bread can be procured out of it." It is useless to pur- sue a work of error; the ingenious architect mast take up your rotten foundation, before be can lav one that is solid. But lo the discerning few,, who can penetrate the secret'windings of tile heart, who know that nature may be directed, but can never be inverted ; that instruction should ever coincide with tbe temper of the instructed, or we sail against the wind; that it is necessary that the pupil should relish both the teacher and the lesson, wliich, if accepted, like a hitter draught, may easily be sweetened to Ins taste— to these valuable few, ( rasembling the prudent florist possessed of a choice root, wliich he cultivates with care, adding improvement t » every gene- ration)— it must be superftuotis tb say, '• tianisll tyranny oat of the little dominions over which voil ate absolute sovereign; introduce in ils stead, two ofthe highest orna- ments of humanity, love and reason."' Through the medium of tbe first, the master and the lesson may be viewed without horror: When the teacher and the learner are upon friendly terms, the scholar will rathef invite than repel the assistance of the master. By the second, reason, the teacher will support his own authority. At every period of life, in which a man is capable of attend- ing to instruction, he is capable of attending to reason, This will answer everjr etld of punishment, and something Irksome task will bo tufued FO CORRESPONDENTS. moris. l'blis, ati friendly intercourse. intb HOW TO TELL A STORY. Impressed with a due sense of the extraordinary success which has attended this Journal, and the gratitude due to his innumerable Patrons in consequence, the Proprietor begs leave to announce that it is his intention to present them with A MOST MAGNIFICENT GIFT, IN COMMEMORATION OP THE ANNIVERSARY OF " TTFE PENNV SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE'S GA- ZETTE," of which due notice will be given. lie also takes the liberty » f recommending all those persons who may feel inclined t » become Subscribers to this popular periodi- cal, to commence with No. 53, being the first of a New Volume. The following will is promptly attended to : J. GOSLIN, ( Dublin,) J. LANE, ( Rathgar,) " CONSTANCE," C. W. DUCKETT, B. B E., W. S., and 3. 3. S. W. S. ( New Brentford.) Undoubtedly. '* MY SISTEH FAN,'' will not exactly suit. We think the first part of the suggestions of " A CON- STANT READER," ( Leeds,) very absurd, and none but fanatics would think of such a thing; as regards his other hints, we feel crbligtd, and he will find that with the commencement '' JJthc Second Tolume many improve- ments will be made* Under consideration ; J. W., ( Glasgow.) MR. J. U IUA is requested to receive our best thanks for his kindness. We sfall feel obliged to him if he will 1 [ send us the remainder as soon as convenient, and we promise to commence its insertion in No. 58, the first number of our Second Volume. In answer to numerous correspondentt, we beg leave to state that MR. PREST'S favourite and highly successful romance of " ANGELINA I OR, THE MYSTERY OF ST. MARK'S ABBEY," will be completed in No. 54 of " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES," in which will be commenced another new Tale,/ rom thepen ofthe same popular author, of a most extraordinary and powerful description, the title of which will be duly announced. The romance of ELA, THE OUTCAST ;" written by the author of " ANGELINA," " GALLANT TOM," " ERNNESTINE DE LACY," & c., will ic. completed in 104 numbers. This tale has been acknowledged by the public press to be one of the most admirable works of fiction of modern days. It is published at the Office of " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES," and may be had of all booksellers and neicsvenders in to an and country. Ileing stereotyped, all the back numbers and monthly parts may be obtained. Received and Accepted.- " PARTING," " THE FOR- SAKEN," " CHARADE," by C. W. WHITE, H. HAL- LOWAY, R. M., ( Newcastle- on- Tyne,) J. S. D. R., " STANZAS " TO J. LIICKIE, H. J. CROUCH, ( Deptford,) R. P. JONES, " GEORGE," A. J. P., and T. SLATER. We are glad to hear again from HENRT MACLAURIN, and will give immediate insertion to the Tale, when he favours us with the conclusion. EDWARD REECE. ( Liverpool- road.) They are out of ' print. E. MOKRH, ( Bolton- le- Moors,) arrived too late. 3. CULLUM is mistaken ; he will find that they have been answered. We think the complaint of K. J. F-, very silly. " DE VILLIF. IIS," W. E. P., Stanzas, by WILLIAM KELLY, ( Newcastle,) J. HOBGINS, ( Dublin,) and D. W. P., shall appear as early as possible. APPOINTED AGENT.- E. PARKER, bookseller, ( Brecon, South Wales.) *** All comiuiinicati » » « to bo addressed ( pest paid) to the Editor of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 231, High- skreet, Shoreditch. B_ t go „ , cordiugly, packed up my clothes, and left my former master's for my father's, without one tear of regret, the more so,. as business which 1 had never liked, hav- ing since the departure of Anna beeoRie a perfect pest. A complete change now came over me— a settled me- lancholy sat 011 my once- cheerful countenance, and as the days flew past, my mclaucholy increased— for day after day I anxiously looked for a letter from her I loved, but each day, in its turn, 1 was. doomed to be disappointed. Six weeks had now elapsed since her de- parture— but still no vyord— what was I to think ? At length, the demon jealousy took possession of my soul — 1 believed— yes— believed that Anna, who had often told me she never could love 110 other but myself, bad become untrue to ine, and that her father's expecta- tions had been too fully realized by the dazzling Scenes of a London life, having caused her to forget her hum- ble Scottish lover, the companion of her youth. Siek at heart, I had often thought of for ever leaving Scot- land, and the sudden death of my father, who was killed by a fall from bis horse, fixed my intentions. A few days after his burial, 1 sold off all that belonged to 1dm, and after paying all debts, found myself left with about eighty pounds. With this I started for Greenock, resolved to take out a passage in the first ship that sailed lor a foreign port. On my arrival at Greenock Quay, I found one 011 the point of sailing. 1 paid the piss age- money, and before I had time lor reflection, was ou uiy way to Demerara. PART SECOND. From my first setting foot 011 a foreign shore, 1 carefully avoided the many excesses so foolishly plunged into by the most of European settlers, who, by the life that they live, for ever blasts their worldly prospects, by being hurried to an e& rly grave. I soon felt tbe bene ticial effects of the steady life 1 led; for since my arrival, six years had scarcely been numbered with the past, before 1 found myself, in place of the a.; THE PENNY PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. EDUCATION. The direction of youth seems one of the greatest con- cerns in mora] life, and one that is the least understood: to form the generation locome, is of the last importance. If an ingenious master hath flogged the A, B, c inio an innocent child, he thinks himself worthy of praise.' A lad is too much terrified to march that path which is marked out by the rod. If the way to learning abounds with punishment, he will quickly detest it: if we make his daty a task, we lay a stumbling- block before him that he can- not surmount. We rarely know a lotor succeed in train- ing up youth who is a friend to harsh treatment- Whence it is that we seldom find affection subsist between master and scholar. From the moment they united to the end of their lives, disgust, like a cloud, rises in the mind, which reason herself can never dispel. The boy may pass the precincts of childhood, a- d tread the stage of life upon an equality with every man in it, except his old school- master: the dread of him seldom wears off. The name of Busby sounded with horror for half a century after he had laid down the rod. We have often been delighted when we have seen a | ichool of boys briak up; the joy that diffuses itself over Of all the story- tellers, commend me an Irish- man I There is a roundness and a fulness in his brogue — a twinkling hnmour in his eye— a richness and a racines. s in every word he utters, wliich fendefs him Ihe glory of a social circle, the very heartstrings and life- blood of merriment! We presume all our read- ers have seen the caricature of the Scotchman, the Englishman, and the Irishman, admiring the pretty girl in the mercer's 6hop, and all anxious to have chat with her. They must also hjive read the humor- ous anecdote of the experiment bding tried which of the representatives of the three nations would give the best answer to the proposition to stand all night naked, during a storm, on the top of a steeple. John's ideas of the thing centred in his belly— give him bread cheese, and ale, and a certain sum, and he would " try the job." Saudy, with his usual caution, looked over his shoulder, and instead of saying what he would take, inquired, " What will ye gie us I" But Paddy ready- witted Paddy, replies, " Take ! take! what would 1 take, is it? Arrab, I'd take a very great Oowld." , Sitting one night, lately, in company with Scotch- men, Englishmen, ami Iiislin. cn, a dispute arose whe- ther Irish brogue or Scotch patois was best adapted for telling a story. This, of course, led to a very ani- mated introductory discussion, in which it was admitted itaat tbe Doric dialect of the Scotch had been rendered classical by tlie great writers who have introduced it into ( heir works, or made ii the vehicle of conveying their ideas ; and of course, Burns, Gait, the Ettrick Shepherd, and among others, the mighty " magician of the North," he, alas! whose death will long be mourned by all lovers of genius— SIR WALTER SCOTT — were duly honoured. But the pride of an English- man was aroused; he volunteered to tell a story of his own as humorous as any Irishman or a Scotchman could tell; and he thus began !— " Why," says he, " one dark and stormy night I found myself in the town of Paisley, the region of shawls and pullicates, and other woven commodities. The house of ' entertainment for man and beast,' inlo which I had the honour of being received, was graced by the presence of a little red- haired fellow, who from being weaver had turned waiter, and certainly there was more of the loom than of the bar about him. ' Hallo, waiter,' says I,' what have you got in this here house }' ' What's your wull, sir ?' ' Wool, wool, zounds, sirrah, do jou take me for a wool- seller, a sheep, or a negro?' ' I was just sphering, sir, what your wull was,' replied little carroty, wilh all due humility. ' What's my wilt I Why" what's that to you— do you want a legacy ? Come, get supper, sirrah,' says I; and seeing as how he was an ignorant Scotch lump of a fellar, and didn't know nothing, I determined to have a little sport wilh him. S » when he came in again, says I, ' Pray, my little fellow, what's o'clock?' ' It will be half ten, sir,' he raplied. ' Half ten, sirrah; it is but five !' ' No, sir, it's half an hour from ten.' ' And what is half an hour from ten? Is it half an hour after nine, or half an hour past ten?' only meant lo say it will be half an hour after nine.' " " Asy, my darling," said an Irishman in company, " maybe your tliravels have been printed afore; or you've helped yourself to a leaf from Captain Grose." "' Pon my honour, this here adventure did happen to me ; and if it didn't may I never stir no mere from this here spot." " Never mind it, my dear; but take an Irishman's advice. When you tell a story, invint, but never borrow; when you write, let your pen be a diamond, and use the sun for an ink- bottle; och, my jewel, invintion is the tiling ! I'll tell you a story that will just give you 11 bit of an idea of what I mean. " Once upon a time," said Paddy, and his face was lightened with a smile, " onco upon a time, my darlings, and it's not vnry long ago, an Irishman, and a friend of my own, took it into his head lliat he would leave his master dear, and try a better country. I do not mean to say that a belter country there is under the whole face of heaven; but limes are bad, and many a dacent man thinks lie might get a better bit and sup by emigration, than he can get in his own dear country. His master sent for him, and he says, mighty sharp, ' Well, Thady, what's this I hear about you ?' " ' Ocli, my jewel, you can hear nothing about me, but myself, and I'm not speaking.' " ' But you are going away, Thady, you are going away, they say.' " ' You may say that, sir, for I'm two stone lighter than when I came to you.' " ' Bui what's taking you away, Tliady ?' " ' Just my own feet and legs, dear.' " 1 You are very short with me this morning, Thady.? " ' Why, then, I think I'm as long as I was yester- day. But, master dear, l'tn going to Amerikay, to get a bit o' land for myself and Judy, and where we'll can get praties for the childer just for the digging, and have a sweet little cabin of our own, far in the woods, and the never a morsel o' rint to pay !' " ' But, Thady, are you not afraid of the blackamoor wild Indians that live in the woods ? They will coine down some dark night and tomahawk you !' "' Afraid! is it an Irishman afraid ? They tummy hawk m « ! There's not a man among them all co'dd play long bullets with my brother Phelemy, and show me one o' them could touch me at the first fifteen ! But sure, master dear, I would not know one o' them from Adam when I seen them.' " ' Oh, Thady, they are wild- looking black rascals, aud you had belter stay at home than venture among ihem.' " ' Stay at home, is it ? Arrah, my dear, poor Thady has no home to go to, for tbe landlord put poor Judy out for three and sixpence, and now I'll stay no longer here. Och! sweet Mulligan, sweet Mulligan, and the days o' my youth, when 1 was fed like a fight- ing- cock, and Judy was my darling, and tbe world wns light and easy ou us! It was then that we had the great big noggins o' broih for dinner, instead 0' the crabbed, pock- marked praties that the pigs in Mill- t ingar wouldn't eat, and butter- milk as thin and sour as Crame 0' thartar ! Farewell, master dear, and may God Almighty be wid yees all 1' " So over the salt seas poor Thady went, and Judy, that never had been on die rowling ocean before, now saw nothing at all at all for weeks, but the green sea and blue sky. Och, but Its itlyself could discourse about ihe sea and the sky ! how the whales, and- the dolphins, and the sharks rowle in ( he water, and the pretty stars, and ( he moon, and the sun look down upon the coral beds at ( he bottom 0' the sea, and when the wind begins to blow like mad, and the waves jjo up, and then go down, and the sails are torn into shreds wilh a noise like thunder, and the masts go by th ® board, and there's ten feet water in the hold, and the ship is sucked down into the bubbling sea, and just before it goes down, men, women, and children send up one dreadful scream that rises above the. blast, and pierces the very gate of heaven ! There's description for you! " But Thady arrived safe in Quebec, with Judy and the children, and then off ihey trudged into the woods, to try and get a bit of land to settle on. Some Irish neighbours helped him to get up a cabin to shelter the family, and he Bays to one of thcin, ' Where do thim blackamoor negur Indians live, that 1 heerd about in our own country ?' " ' Och, beyant there in ihe woods.' " ' Aud Corny, tell ine, have you ever seen any o' them ?' " ' Seen them ! To be sure I have— there's scores 0' them in the woods— black, ugty devils they are!' "' And what makes ( hem black, Corny? Sure, couldn't ihe dirly creatures keep themselves Christian white ?' ' It's the climate they say, but what the climate is myself doesn't know. Something Ihey rub on them When they are young.' ' The dirty Heathen brutes! But sure they must liaVc tbe Stuff plenty among them— I wish we had soliie Bf il, and I would rub little Barney wilh il, for an experimentJ l'" iom that day forward, Thady was very eager to see a blackamoor Indian. One day roaming the woods wilh Ms hatchet in his hand, he saw a quare. looking trout reclining at his ease on the green sod. Tliady was sure he had now clapped his ey « s on one of them, and coming up, ' Musha,' says he, ' bud I never seen one o' your sort afore— why, man, you'll get your death 0' towld lying there !' " The wild mall of die woods looked up. ' Queen o' glory what a nose ! They may talk o' LoUghey Fudag- - lien's nose, but by the powers, your ndse beats the noses of all ihe Fudagheiis put together ! Get up, like, a good fellow; I've an odd tester left, and If there Was a sheebeen near, I'd give you a snifterer.' " The qnare chap did get up, but, my jewel, he ap- peared disposed lo try a fall With Thady. ' And is it for wrestling you are ? Cushendall for Ihat— but stop, agrah, you grip too tight— take your fist out o' my shoulder, or I'll have 1111 UlifHir hoiAt o' you! Oil I bad lutk to you, and the taylor that made your clothes — lie has left no waistband on your breeches— oil, murder, murder, you're the jewel of a squeezer!' But Thady contrived lo get his tobacco- knife out, and gave him a prod in the right place, and down he fell, to rise 00 more. ' Oil, murder, murdet, I've kilt one o' them bmckamoor blackguards ! I'll be hanged— as I'm a living man, I'll be hanged— och, why did I leave ould Ireland I Poor Judy and the eliilder will se « me die an unnathra! dealh for this blackamoor thief! Och hone, och hode, what will I do, what will I do 1' A neighbour in the woods came up. ' And what ails you, Thady, you roar like a bull in a bog ?' ' Och, och, but I am a sorrowful ftian this blessed day! I just gave one o' them thieves a prod, and there he is.' ' Mercy on us, Thady, that's a bear that ten men couldn't kill r ' Musha, is that a bear? By the powers, I'll drop them to you for a tester the dozen !' " TO THE EDITOR OF THE " PENNY SUNDAY TIMES." The following beautiful piece was put Into my hands by a young Scottish friend— himself an occasional vliltor at ihe bowers of Par- nassus. It was c imposed by 0 fheplient boy, while tending his flocks 011 the bleak hills of Scotland. As a poetical piece, it is veiy Imperfect; but the wildnass of the strain, and the dark HHR: cialions the pernial of tt awakens, give it a charm, th. it goes to the heart of eveiy one who reads it. The subject relates to that sanguinary Lime, uhen modern Rfax- imins, and modern Galeriuael, dy- ril ihelr steel with tha blood of the Innocent and faithful martyrs. Aud for « hat ?— Do nol ihe fe.- lings cfthe heart revolt, and the understanding staggar at the anaiver? W. MAIIARO. A DREAM. la a dream of the ntght, 1 was wafted away, To the moorlands of miat where ihe brave martyrs lay; Where Cameron's claymore and hia liibla w* re seen, 1 Engrav'd on a atone where the heather grows green. ' Tivas a dream of those agas of darkness and blood, When ihe Minister's house was the mountain or wood j — When In Wetlwood'a dark valley h* standard of Zlon, AU bloody and torn ' mong ihe heather was lying. ' Twaa morning, and summers Mill seen from the Eaat, Shed his beauticnl beams on Ihe green mountain's breast; On Wardlaw and CarnUble clear bloba of dew, Heipangl-. il the healhbell anil mouiltaln-. floweri blue. White far up In heaven, In a white shining cloud, The song of the lark wis melodioui and loud ; Anvl In Welhvood's wild solitudes, longthen'd and deep, Were the whistling of flowers, and bleating cf sheep. And Wellwood's sweet valley breath'd music and gladneis ; The fresh opan'J blooms hung In b- auly and redness: The songsters were happy to hall ihe returning, And drink the deilghts of July's sweet morning. But, ah ! there were hearts cherlsh'd for other feelings, Illu'u'd by the light of prophellc revealing*, And drank from the scenery around them, but sorrow; For they knew ihat their blood would bedew it to- morrow. These were the few Ihat with Cam- ri ns were iytng, Conceai'd by the mist, where the he ' lh- f « wia ivera crying j Far the horseman pf Erbhall around them were hovering, And ihelr bridle- reins rung through their thin mlmy covering. Their faces grew pale, aud their swords were unstleath'd. But the vengeance that darken'ii their brows was unbrealll'd With pyes rais'd to lisaven in calm resignation, ' i hey sung their last song to the God of salvation. The hills wilh the sweet mournful music were ringing, The curlew and plover in concert were singing •, But the melody died ' midst derision and laughter, A* the hosls of tl*' nngodiy pres&' d on to the slaughter. Though in mist, and in darkneng, and fire they were shrouded, Yet the souls of the rii; tUeous were calm and unclouded ; Their dark eyes fl ish'd lightning, as firm, and unbending, Tluy stood like the rocks, which the thunder was rending. The muskets were flashing, the blue swordg were gleaming; Th- helmetH were cleft, and the red blood was streaming j The heavens grew black, and the thunder was rolling, A a in Wei! wood's dark valley the faithful were falling. When the righteous had fallen, and the combat was ended, Bright chariots of fire from a dark cloud descended j Their drivers were angels, on horses of whiteness, And their burning wheels turnM upon axles of brightness. A seraph unfolded their doors, bright and shining, Refulgent as gold, of ihe sevt^ tlrrefining :— " The souls that came forth out of great tribulation," Have entered ths chariots wilh loud declamation. Through the arch of the rah- bow they swiftly are gliding, On the pa'h of the thui der the horsem- n are riding:—' Glide on, happy spirits! the prize is before ye, A crown never falling, a kingdom of glory ! MORE INSTANCTS OF FOLLY.— A person in Lisbon wrote to his correspondent in London, to rtquest him to buy somebooks, on his account, and forvvatd them to Lisbon. The correspondent, by some means, forgot to do so after the receipt of the letter. When he met his Lisbon friend, however, he recollected his neglected commission, but thought proper to make an apology, which he did thus " The letter which you wrote to me concerning the books I never received." V " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. ANGELINA I . OR, THE MYSTERY OF ST. MARK'S ABBEY. AN ORIGINAL ROMANCF, RY IRE IUTHOTT OF ELA, TBI OUTCAST J OR, THE OIPSY GIRL OF ROSEMARY DELL, & C. ( Continued from our last.) ~ " Nay," exclaimed Mr Wootlfield, " we must nol part thus , ere .1 leave you, I must know to whom 1 nm indebted for these acts of kindness, and how you have become acquainted with my name, and all the Circumstances connected with me;— my heart yearns strongly towards you, .• Hid yet,— ah 1 you weep, — tell me. what means this !" " Tt was hut a momentary weakness, Sir Eustace," said Kate, dashing away the tears that had gathered involuntarily in her eyes, and recovering her compo- sure in a Few seconds ; " hut it is over now. Oli, Eustace, I cannot marvel that you should feel-'— hut, no, no, not now ; but the time is not far distant when all will be unravelled. For the present, leave me ; 1 am in no mood to talk now. I will, rest assured, lose no time in making every inquiry, and seeing after the restoration of that poor girl, wha is as dear to me as she can possibly be to you. Farewell for Ihe pre- sent, Sir Eustace Arlingham, for, by that name X shall In future call you, although no other person shall ever know it from me, until you shall deem it meet ;— it is a name that inspires my soul with rapture, and recalls to my memory scenes, many of which are those of hap- piness, and others, such as 1 cannot reflect upon with- out the most poignant anguish. You know where your treasure is deposited, and can use it as you think pro- per, net a coin of it ' has been touched by me, since it was brought hither. Farewell, Eustace, 1 go to ' " Stay, mysterious woman 1 who hath exci'ed such an extraordinary interest in my bosom;" exclaimed Mr. Woodfield, or rather Sir Eustace Arlingham, whose feelings were wound up to a pitch of insupport- able anxiety and wonder, at the same time he seized lier arm, with great vehemence of manner, and forcibly detained her ; " by Heaven 1 1 will not suffer you to leave me, until you have satisfied me upon the points on which yon have aroused my curiosity to such an intolerable degree. An instinctive feeling tells me thai it is not to any stranger I am indebted for—— Ah 1 what is this P" Kate' of the Ruins, during the time he was speaking, evinced the most powerful emotion, and with convul- sive sobs, she struggled haid to release herself from his hold; in doing so, a beautiful diamond bracelet, which encircled her wrist, and which she always con- trived to conceal under the folds of her white mantle, when she was ill his company, became disengaged, and fell to the ground. Sir Euslace picked it hastily up, and, as his eyes became fixed upon it, his chest heaved, hia countenance became deadly pale, his lips quivered, and in breathless haste lie articulated :— " Powers of mercy 1 what do I behold f This brace- let 1— sacred relic of one so dear to me, yet so unfor- tunate!— Woman, for pity's sai<" tell me, how came this into your possession P" " Leave go thine hold, Eustace, and do not torture me !" cried Kate, endeavouring still more violently to release herself from his grasp, and evincing redoubled agony. " 1 will be satisfied, ere you stir from this spot!" cried Sir Eus'ace, frantically; " this bracelet; tell me whence you obtained it ?" " It is inine, what would you more ?" demanded Kate, her voice almost choked with agony. " " lis false 1" returned Eustace, hastily, y0u would dec eive me !" " It was your sister's!" said Kate, " It was!— it was!— my poor, but guilty Emme- line;" returned Eustace, with a hurst of agony. " Oh, Eustace, you wrong her, by Heaven yon do," sobbed forth Kale, " the foul breath of calumny blasted her character, but yet was her soul as spotless as wlpju she first drew the breath of life." " Ah! how know you that?— And who are you, who seemeth so welt acquainted with me and my family ?— Unfortunate Emmeline ;— but you are no more, and oh, may the remembrance of your errors sleep with you." " Sir Eustace Arlingham," observed Kate, in a voice of deep emotion, and struggling hard to subdue her feelings; " your wronged and calumniated sister still lives;— Emineline is ncH dead !" " Not dead! — my sister still living!" cried Sir Eustace, evincing the greatest possible anguish, anxiety, and suspense ; " oh, repeat those blessed words again! — But you cannot be speaking tile truth; — you are. only tantalizing my feelings, and sporting with a heart already so deeply lacerated;— how should you know i And yet, your looks,— your tears',— what feeling is this wliiph comes over me ?— A mist seems to fall from before mine eyes. — My sister living!— Oil, if you do Indeed speak the truth, tell me, where, where shall I find her ?" " And would you receive her wilh affection ?—- • Would you listen patiently to her melancholy recital, which would show you nt once how grossly you have been deceived, how much Emmeline has been wronged, and by that man whom jou thought your friend ?" " Good God ! surely I am labouring under some mysterious delusion ;— I cannot hear aright;" ejacu- lated Sir Fustace ; " would I receive my poor limme- linc with the affection of a brother!— Oh, Heaven! thou knowest that I would, and with what transport;— even though tjrie he guilty of the vices with which her character has been stigmatized!— What a precious boon would she be to my declining years, and but you rack me, woman;— say, where is she?— Where shall I find my sister?" " Eustace ! dear, dear Eustace," cried Kate with a, passionate flood of tears, putting hack her white hood, and kneeling at the feet of the astonished man; " and has, then, time, care, and the disguise I have as- sumed, so altered me, that you do not know me?— But— hut look stedfaslly into these features, or if you fail to recognise the likeness of one who was once dear to you, consult the emotions of your own heart, and behold your sister, your long lost sister Emmcline, kneeling at your feet!" " Emineline!" cried Sir Eustace, with distended eyes, and his limbs agitated with convulsive emotions, as he fixed his gaze upon the weeping woman kneeling at his feet, " great Heaven! is it possible !— And have we, than, so often met, and ye'l^ I not to reinemjf ber you ? — But it must be; yes, yes, my heart w( W? ll not thus instinctively throb for any one but my. sister ! She is tesfoied to me !— Eustace is not left alone in the world, Emmeline, clear, dear Emmeline, sinter, and mother of No, I dare not utter that name; it is coupled with disgrace and shame, and at once dashes away the honied cup 1 had just raised to my lips, and replaces it with one of poison. No— no,— Emmeline, 1 pardon you, but I dare not, will not recognize you as the mother of my Angelina." " And if you did, you would be wrong," said lim- meline, ^ foi such, our readers will perceive that Kate of the Huius, as we have hitherto called her, was,) " Angelina is not my daughter 1" " Not yotir daughter!" gasped forth Sir Eustace, with incieased astonishment; " what strange mystery is this ?— l) o not seek to deceive me, Emmeline, or you will drive me mad ; if she is not your child, who, then, are her parents ?" " Her father has lonly been no more," replied Emme- line, solemnly, " he fell by the blade of an assassin Ilcr mother has also for many years been considered dead, but she lives." " Keep me not in this torturing state of suspense," Baid Sir Eustace, unable scarcely to contain himself, " of whom do you speak ? For the love of Heaven, tell me " " Of Matilda, Baroness de Morton," replied Emme- line. " Merciful Heaven ! is it possiblo ?" ejaculated Sir Eustace, " our cousin !" " The same !" " Aud Hugh Clifford ?" gasped forth Sir Eustace, with breathless eagerness. " Is my son ;— the child as you imagined, of shame," answered Emmeline, " but he knows it not." " Great God! thy ways arc wonderful!" cried Sir Eustace, " but oh, Einmeline, why was I so de- ceived P" " Dear Eustace," said his sister, affectionately, " do not condemn me unheard ; nt a more fitting oppor- tunity I will explain everything to ysu ; but, for the present, rest assured that all I have done, has been under the impression it was for the best." " But you say Matilda lives t" observed Sir Eustace, " where, where ?" " Beneath this abbey, among the vaults ; where she lias been secreted for years;" answered Emmeline. " Is it possible ?— But oh, my sister, how Could she remain so long without claiming alid seeking the re- storation of her child }" demanded Sir Eustace. " For particular reasons, that will be afterwards explained," answered Emmeline; " but think not, Eustace, that she has not watched over her,— been al- most constantly near her, and that she has not been the object of her constant solicitude. Alas! no;— what a life of suffering has been hcr's, and which she was con- strained to adhere to for awhile, to prevent the sacri- fice « f the lives of both her^ myself, and Angelina." " And who is the villain who has occasioned all this ?" asked Sir Eustace. " Who think you," rctured Emmeline, " who, think you, hut the murderer, the seducer, the wretch, the usurper, who calls himself the Baron de Morton !" " Ah !— I thought so!" ejaculated Eustace; " the miscreant! — But. by Ileaven he shall not escape my vengeance. — But Emmeline, my sister, restored to me after the lapse of so many years ! — I can scarcely be- lieve my senses ;— it seems more Iika n dream than reality !— Dear, dear Emmeline; one more fond em. embrace, and " " Hold!" exclaimed F. raineline, drawing herself back, as he offered to enfold her in his arms. " Do you believe me guilty of the vices with which I have been charged I" " You have asserted your innocence, Emmeline," replied Eustace, " solemnly protested it; and can I doubt the solemn asseverations of my sister ?— Oh, no, Emmeline, 1 cannot, 1 dare not, 1 will not believe you capable of the errors that have bean attributed to yon, and. by Heaven, on the heads of your base calumniators shall descend the vengeance of your brother." Once more did Sir Eustace Arlingham, and the sister from whom he had been so long parted, and had never expected to meet again, ardently embrace, and, unable to repress the power of their feelings, they wept upon each other's bosoms. " But come, my dear brother," said Emmeline, " I will introduce you immediately to our much- injured cousin, and the fond mother of Angelina, whom, my heart tells me, will soon be restored to lis, and then I will enter into a full detail of the many painful and sin- gular events that have happened to me since last we met." » Sir Eustace Arlingham offered not a word in reply; in fact, his heart was at present too full to speak, but dashing the tears from his manly brow, he followed Emmeline to ihe interior of the abbey. ( To ie continued.) FRERE DU BIABLE. A TRADITION » F THE TYROL. " Some said he was- a wizard wight, Some said he was a devil."— ANON. THE RETURN FROM THE FIESTA! OR, THE SEN' TINEL AND THE STUDENTS. During the latter period of the reign of Murat, ah unfortunate accident occurred close to the bridge of Vico,* arising out of the extreme vigilance of one of their functionaries, which, at the time, created an un- pleasant sensation in Naples; but as no blame could be atlached to any one connected with the occurrence, il was allowed lo pass without inquiry. " It was a clear beautiful night in the month of August, such as can he seen only in an Italian climate The moon was not visible ; but myriads of stars were reflected from the sparkling bosom ofthe bay, and the boats of the fishermen were glancing across its surface after their tinny prey, with bright lights in their bows, looking like shooting meteors. The dark outline of Vesuvius, then slumbering like some huge giant after his toils, was thrown out in hold relief from the dear blue sky, and ihe neighbouring mountains, wilh their thousands of inhabitants, were hushed in quiet and deep repose. The only sound heard on the bay, besides Ihe low murmur of the distant city, which the night breeze carried over its waters, proceeded from a iarge boal pulling slowly along the southern shore, and filled With ihe students of Ihe Royal Conssfv4torio della Fieta d Turquini, They were singing a beautiful chorus, ac companied by a bund of musicians belonging to their own school, and were on their way to Sorrento, to per- forin 011 fhe morrow at the cathedral, in celebration of some grand Fiesta. Delighted with their little excur- sion, Corning, as it did, so pleasing an interruption to the dull routine of their exercises, the glee of the young students knew no bounds. " ' Stay 1' ciied a young man, Bathed MAltafani. rising from the midst of his companions, 1 1 shall leave you, and bestride the bows of tile boat, like one of the Tritons of old, only, instead of the concha, I shall call the monsters of the deep around me by the notes of the violin.' He took the instrument of which he spoke, on which he was a first- rate artist, and, seating himself in ihe situation he had chosen, again resumed the chorus. Each was intent on his part, and the voices of the whole harmonising together with the sounds of the instru- ments, rendered ihe challenge of a French sentinel Ihe coast inaudible. The boat was slowly passing the bluff point of a rock, when the ' ifii i vive' ofthe sen tinel was aga; n called. A third lime Ihe ominous words were repeated, and were almost immediately foi lowed by the discharge of a musket. Poor Malfatani uttered a cry of terror, and fell backwards into the boat. Instantly all was confusion. The guard from the fori, hearing the report, turned out and formed; and the boat pulled to Ihe shore. The sentinel had fired across the bows of the boat when his challenge was unanswered, and ihe shot, entering iho breast of the unfortunate student, had mortally wounded him. " A surgeon was speedily procured, who declared that he had but a few short hours to live. The officer of llie guard, whom the unhappy occurrence had sen S'bly affected, bore the dying youth to his own quar ters, and, placing him on his camp- bed, dispatched i messenger to Naples with the sad intelligence to his friends. His companions, thus so suddenly and fatally checkcd in their happy and joyous career, were struck with inexpressible sorrtxv. Malfatani was a young man of extremely promising talents, greatly beloved by all his fellows, and, having finished his studies, was about to enter into the world. They stood around his dying couch, weeping bitterly. " The night wore away in this melancholy and heart- breaking manner. The dying youth had not spoken since he had been brought on shore ; and, by his diffi- cult respiration, it became evident that the distressing scene was drawing near to its close. The messenger dispatched to Naples at this moment returned, and was accompanied, amongst others, by a young and beautiful female. As Ihe door of the apartment opened where Malfatani lay, she rushed in, and, regardless of those around, threw herself beside the object of her anxiety, aad as she raised his head upon her bosom, and gazed on his pallid features, now fixing in death, burst into a frantic agony of grief. The expiring student half opened his languid eyes, and, fixing them on her ago- nized countenance, faintly exclaimed, ' My wife!' and breathed his last in her arms." CHAFFER VII. When Matteo entered the thicket, he turned again In the dl- redtion of hi. cottage, and eomm. nced re- ascending the moun- tain. He could distinctly hear the cries of the soldier., as they rapidly descended in eager pursuit; but these founds sooo died : iway in the distance, and all tvas again q iiet. The way he took was eveiyrottra wt'h a thick brushtvood, and It was ivlth great diffi- culty that he made any progress at all; but knowing that no horsemen oould pursue hlrn If he took that route, and trusting to his knowledge of the ground for eluding any of the footmen who might chance to f - l ow him, he tolled patiently on, and in less than tw* hour, galne- i tbe summit. The first grey tints of morning were beginning to show them- selves In the east, when Matteo came in light of his home From the spot where he stood it wis barely distinguishable, but he could perceive lis sltitatlBn, whifch \ Va3 clearly matked by three immense pinei that s » Bod behind the eott* gtf. The valley pre- sented a very nnusaal appearance, for, In the dim, nneertain Jigkt, tile different cottages, once rivalling the snow in uhiteness, and thickly covered with spreading vines, now seemed of a dark, un- distingulsbable cotoer. A dilrme pass of black vapour hung round the mountain sides to the westward, an* here and there a lurid flame, suddeely flashing out frem amidst one ef many volumes of black smoke rising in diffmtitt parts of the valley, disclosed to Matteo the dreadilit truth— the ruthless spoiler had visited his once peaceful valley. The feelings of the husband and father are not to be described by any mortal pen; for many minutes he stood gating oa the spectacle beneath him in speechless agony. After alibis suffer, lugs, his dangers, and his tolls, what a sight was this to welcome him on ii. tvin reaching his loved home. What would be the fate of his beloved wife and daughter if once In the power ofthe French mercenaries who now infested tHe vaiey " He called to mind the accounts of the atrooiUes committed by the troeps in other quar- ters, on helplestivomeii aud children, and the strong man wept bitterly. AH these thoughts passed rapidly through his mind, and crowded thickly oh his brain, nearly driving him to madness. Suddenly the hope darted across his mind that foti family had been apprised of the coming nf the invader in sufficient time to enable them to escape to some place of safety, in company with the rest of the villagers, arid were now, perhaps, like himself, witnessing the destruction of their homes from the sumsniti of the far oft hills. Ite- invigorated by this new Mea, Mat'eo's spirits revived a little, and be determined to proceed towards bis home as cautiously as possible, and thereby solve his a, on'zlng doubts Qu'ckiy de- scending the mountain, he hastened onward, and in a phort time arrived within a little distance ofthe cottage without Having en- countered any of the enemy, they being too busily employed in th' ir w irk of dest uctlon. Creeping along under cover of the short fu- ze with which the ground was covered. Matteo gained a little eminence looking on to his own garden, and from this he with horror beheld between twenty or thirty chasseurs, ( their Hirset fastened by their bridles to the palings of the garden,! sdrile of wliom Wefe bllsily engaged in applying lighted torches to different parts ofthe cottage, while others were engaged in collecting fuel for the purpose of facilitating the spread of the devouring element, Matteo crept still nearer and i earer, with the hope of catching any information respecting his wife and daughter. His pr - sent state of torturing suspense was unbearable, and he anxiously watche I every movement, an t listened to every sound mAdfe by tile troo « J of demons bahrre him— for, flitting backward and forward In the red glare oi the flames rising from the burning cottage, which fell full on their faces, dis- torted by every passion which could debase humanity, they re- sembled demons more than things of thts world. While be was gaeieg intently on this scene, and his whole senses were wrapt in the faculty of listening, he was suddenjv startled by an agonising cry from the month of a man, which was fallowed by the fait ofa heavy piece qf timber, carrying with it a great part of the Walls nf thS hdune. Immense Volumes of smoke immediately rose, and shrouded the spot in Impenetrable darkness, and for the space of a few seconds a death- like silence reigned aronrid. When the smoke lla. i somewhat cleared away, Matteo perceived that ' he troopers were running about in great contusion and calling loudly to one another. In the uproar, wl ich now succeeded to the awful quietness occasioned by the subsequent falling of the rains, Matteo could not distinguish the meaning of the different cries resounding through the garden, but, from several expresfll ins Uttered by two of the troopers nearest him, he ga- thered sufficient to tell him that his daughter had found a refuge in death from dishonour. " The marquis and the girl have both perished in the ruins," exclaimed one of them, iu great consternation, " while the mother s escaped us during tbe confusion." 1 That matters riot ninth." replied the other. " tor. the woman had gone Mad at the idea ot the marrjuls offering love to her daughter." As he sai'htllis a tremendous shout rose on the air. and a band of about a doien mountaineers rushed into tbe garden, discharging " And what particular merits had he that his memory should be so honoured?" " Merits!" echoed the boy, " nor. e, monsieur, for he was the ndble who led tbe sr- ldiers to the ravage of this peaceful valley. The peasants a'lowed It to remain In peace because ofthe sacred- ness of the symbol that surmounts it; but lately, since the re- newal ot hostilities, it has receive ! some most horrible ornaments. I have seen ii, monsieur, with the bleeding heads of three or four Frenchmen stuck upon it." " How did the marquis meat with his death ?" " In attempting to carry off the daughter of Matteo Falcone, : fter he had caused the cottage 15 be set ou lire. He and the girl perished together in the flames." Here the boy was interrupted by a lonrl groan from the stranger, who appeared hardly able to keep his seat on his horse. " Are you ill, mOnslegneUr ?'' asked Ihe boy. " No, no ; it was but a passing pain. And Is it known through whose agency those heads were placed there ?" " It is Hot known tor certain," replied the boy; " but It is strongly suspected that tt is the doings of the famous brigand. FrS- e du Diable, who made his appearance a short time after the burning of our village.*' " FiJsre du Diable," esclaimtd the sti'Snger. " Forwhat reason does he assume that fearal soubriquet?" " ' Twas the French wilt) gaVe Mint that nsrrte, monsieur, on account of his implacable hatred towards themselves, it is said that he is never so happy as when his hands are imbriled with their blood. Hut towards us he is ever meiciful, never molesting the mountaineers, but assisting many that are in distress. ' Tis only tbe rich that . he robs; but he even respects the property ot those, if they hare been at all kind to the poor. None of our moun- taineers have ever seenilim, and yet there is not one who wou d not risk his life to serve him. This is Rudolph's cottage, mon- sieur ; I will take care of your horse when I have penned these sheep." The boy returned in a few minutes, and the stranger, alighting from his horse, advanced towards the door, and knocked gent; y. It was immediately opened by an old man. whose fae- was s'rongly marked by the deep furrows of age, who civilly enquired his business, " As I am far from any other habitation," said the stranger, " 1 have to ask the favour of a night's lodging fw I and my horse." " Most cheerfully will I give it, come in." said the old man; " I hsve not much to offer you, but what I do possess is entirely at your service." So saying, tie led the way into the cottage, and the stranger soon found himself seated before a rousing fire, with a table beside him covered with a frugal but plentiful repast. " May l a k the object of yoar visit to these parts?" asked the old man. " I came to seek some dear friends, ff sighed the stranger, " but, alas 1 instead cf finding them, I see not1 ing but mouldering ruins of their once happy heme. Old man," continued he, gloomily, 1' do you know anything of the fate of Matteo Fa cone and his family, cr of your son Pierre ?" " And who art thou," asked the old man, n tear sacred to the memory of fond recollections, flowing down his care- worn cheeks, " that interests thyself So deeply in the fate of those unhappy people?" " You may unburthen yourself freely, my good o d friend, for I am indeed deeply interested in their welfare, for I am Ordeuer, the son of Matteo Falcone, and the friend of Pierre." (' if you are indeed that Ordener, then most sincerely do I wel- come yoi!; but, alas ! after these yeai s of absence, what a scene to meet your eyes— the pllifce of your birth- in ruins, y ur parents driven to tbe mountains for shelter, a price set upon your father's head,— you have heard of the celebrated l'i&- edu ' Diable, but yon little thouglJt that he was y. Tur unfortunate father,— and your unhappy mother depriV' d of her senst/ a by her misfortunes " " Part of this X guessed from my enquiries among the peasantry, but what yo- s. iiave told me far exceeds the worst of my imaginings." " Not having heard anything of you for many years, it was thought that you had fallen in battle, and long has your mother mourned your supposed death." " Iu askirmis.* with some French troops, I was taken prisoner, and sent. With many more of my unfortunate countrymen, to Verdun, where we underwent the most dreadful privations, and without the slightest hope of escape. At length, however, on a cessation of hostilities, an exchange of priso ners took place, and I obtained my freedom. 1 immediately hastened to head quarters, reported myself, obtained leafe of absence, and hastened to my oatlve village. Havintr been shut out of the world for so long a time. I knew nothing of the destruction that had been committed in these parts, and fondly hoped to find all - is happ as I had left it. Hut, alas 1 I had not travelled far ere the moat fearful tidings reached my ear, and this day I have received the fullest confirm- ation of all that I have heard. But ' you have not spoken of your son, Pierre. Is ha still living, or has lie met tne fate of so many of the brave inhabitants of our village?'' " He has been idug since numbered with the dead," replied the old man, in a melancholy tone; " but he died a patriot's death, and I am content to bear his loss with patience and resignation. In hopes of a happier meeting hereafter. He perished on the scaf- fold about the same time that Ills beloved Eliena rendered up her tortured soul to heaven amidst the destroying flames of her own dear hoffle. He died with her name on his Hps, and was thus spared the dreadful agony be would have experienced had he known of hor fearful fate." The old man bowed his head on his swelling breast, and wept bitterly. How 1" exclaimed Ordener, In a tone of surprise, " Pierre, the their rifl- s as they entered. Half the troopers fell beneath that fire, the remaining part seized therms, and prepared to defeud , generou8 Pierre perish on » scaffold ?" th'MWSelveB. Matteo instantly leaped the fenc « , l ehind which he „ j* g „ dd Rodo, h> .. but< thongh he died a hud been v ntr hid. 1r> ine<& his Mends, and. with an unearthly . , . J . .. „„, i „,..._„ had lylnp: hid, joined' | Hend « . and, unearthly •• hout. nped them desperately on the Frenchmen but they had hastily formed themselves lnt( J A compact body, and kept up a con- stant lire iifron the Tyfroifrse, « eVei- » l of whofti now lay bleeding on the ground. Matteo, edfoged at'pi, rushed singiy on the f ® e, hut was met by one ofthe troopera. who, after a slight struggle, wounded him severely 5n th ® h ® ad, and he fell senseless to the ground. The French discipline jsyontually prevailed, and after a short, but bloody skirmish, tfioy were left In qHiet possession of tii2 field. * * * The sun rose upon the tfr& cfred sufferer, who awoke onca more to sense and misery, yet all around was calm, except when the solemn stillness was broken by the piercing death- shriek of some poor wretch in his mortal agony, or the distant discharge of riflery that told a tale of slaufhter. Still, serenely beautiful was the clear blue sky, tinged with the golden radiance of the sun ; and the blushing flowers that had drunk the moistening dew breathed forth their odours to the morning breeze, blendi< g the soul of sweetness with the cooling winds. But the song of the peasant, as he early p'ied his Wonted task among the purple clusters of the vine, Was heard no more. Tim very birds, scared by the blacken- ing smoke that curled to\ Vardfl the heavens, and, like the blood of Ab » l, cried for tfengeancfe, h& d left the spot where dasolation triumphed. Life waa fapi^ ly passing away from the wretened Matteo ; his wound had burst out afresh in his struggles to rise, and he felt approaching dissolution spread its film over his eyes; still ha continued fearfully sensible of his sitnation, aud waited for the hour when his mortal agowy should cease. At th's moment the M'hole expanse was filled with a wild unna- tural yell, like tke riilngling laqgh and shriek of the tortured maniac j and a feniale figure* her hair dinheVelled, and hanging on her bare and bleeding bosom, her white dress rent and deeply stained with human gore, appeared in the garden. Her left hand was writhed in the hair of a French soldier, who was wounded beyond the power of resistance, anil with strength almost sur- passing nature, sh « dragged hini towards the still glowing ashes of her once joywtis habitation. Her right hand grasped a dagger, wliich waa reeking with bWd, a » d there she siodd like another Hecate fiver her fallen prey. There was a maddened laugh— a scream— a shout of triumph— as she buried the m « ! dy steel in tha body of the soldier, then flashed It in the sun, and again plunged It to the hilt in his breast. She gaaed upon her prostrate enemy with the fiend- like expression ofa demon, and seemed to fuel a terribie gratlfiea& on in turning over every mangled corpse that bore the uniform of France, and, with a direful vengeance, thrust- ing the dagger into many a heart that had long ceased to beat. Unsatiated by reveege, she looked around for fresh offerings to her fury, and at length came to the spet where Matteo was crouched, u Breathing the slew remains of life away, She looked on his sunken eye and hollow cheak, asd, raising the weapon in ber hand, " Die, wretch!" said she, " for thou hast naught to live for now I" Bi? t nature refused compliance with her purpose? the dtgfger dropped from her unnerved grasp, Sad she fell senselese by his aide— it w* s hia wife. CHAPTER Vlir. * Vico is an ancient to- vn, standing on an eminence, rising out of the bay at Naples, and Is situa'ed bet\ veen Casteil a- mare and Sorrento. The bridge derives its name from a spacious arched grotto, formed by nature, under the height which supports the town ; through this natural curiosity the waves © f the sea pass ucitnpeded through the channel; a id in tempestuous weather the reverberation of sound produced within its hollow recesses by the dashing waters, is said almost to r. ival that of the far- famed Seylla, so poetically, though terrifically, described by the poets of an- tiquity. SLEEPING IN CHURGH—" L didn't like our minis ter's sermon last Sunday," said a deacon who had slept all sermon- time, to a brother deacon. " Didn't like it, brother A. ? why I saw you nodding assent to every proposition of the parson,," Five years after the events narrated in the preceding chapters, a solitary traveller was to be observed wandering amid She ruins of the once happy and flourishing village of Hohen Ems, the former residence of Matteo Falcoae and his family. He was young and noble- looking, but grief had set her melancholy seal upon his countenance. He wore the uniform of an officer of the Austrian army, and. several orders ware suspended from his breast his whole apperiranoe, however, betokened that he had travelled far, for his dreirt was aauch bespattered with mud, and his noble charger shewed evident signs- of exhaustion. He appeared to be anxiously searching for some wall- known spot, and it was apparent that he experiencad the most bitter disappointment. Stopping at length before the ruins of a oottags that seemed to have par- taken more particularly of the wrath of the destroyer, he alighted from his horse, and tied him to what had once formed the porch of the cottage, and stepped among the ruins. Deep sighs burst forth fr ® m his labouring brea » t, as the objects of his boyish recol- ecti - ns, now defaced or half destroyed, by the ruthless invader, appeared before his eyes. His emotion at length became so great, that he was compelled to seek a resting place, and, throwing him- self on a piece of the ruins, gave vent to his feelings in a flood of tears. Afte* having remained in this position for some time, he was aroused by the tinkling of balls, which proceeded from a small flock of sheep driven by a young boy. He called to him, and inquired respecting the inhabitants of the viHage. The boy appeared somewhat startled at the abrupt appearance of the stranger in such a place, but, re assured by his Austrian uniform, became more confident, and replied, r-" They are scat- tered about in different parts, monsieur. A few came back after the burning of the village, but they did not stop long, for the spectue frightened them away." " What spectre, boy ?" i* The one that haunts this cottage— the cottage of Matteo Falcone." " And have you ever seen this spectre?" " No. monsieur $ I never venture near here after dusk, nor would I for a trifle; but old Rodolph Colette, the father of Pierre, theyounKman who was to have been married to the fair Ellenaj often wanders down here at night, and he says he has seen it." " Does this old man live far from here?" enquired the stranger, " No," replied the boy. " His cottage is on the outskirts of yonder wood, and these sheep belong to him. I am driving them home, and if you wish it, monsieur. I will show you the way." The stranger thanked him; leaving the ruins, he mounted his horse, and slowly followed his youthful guide. About the middle of the valley a rude cross waa erected, with a French inscription undt- rneath. " To whose memory is that cross erected, boy ?" asked the st. anger. 44 To that of the Marquis of Montefiore." replied the boy. felon'x death, it WAS to serve his country. It is a loog, sad story, my son, but, if it is your wish, I will re'ate. it to you, though It will caiise me niany a pang, and recall many painful recollections thafr4t? ve long siiice lain dormant, t had the particulars from the confessor that'was with him in his last momenta, and who was charged by my poor boy to communicate them to nie. H& was a holy man, and faithfully did he fulfil his charge." Ordener having expressed a wish to hear what old Rodolph had to relate, the old man poured out a glass of wine, stirred the tire into a blaze, drew his chair closer towards it, and spoke as follows A short time after yotir departure to join the Austrian army, my son Pierre declared his love for yoiir filter Ellena, and was duly accepted by your father, and the marriage was to have taken place in the course of a fortnight. My son returned hoirie rejoic- ing in the success of his suit, and told me that he was to accom pany your father next morui'ng on an excursion ta the city of Inspruck, and that he would set out early in ihe morning; he then kindly embraced me and bade me adieu, saying that he should be some distance on the road before I arose. It was the last time I ever saw him, for he did not again return to the village. Your father also was absent from home till the burning of this place, - fhen he was found, to the ut'er surprise of those who discovered hiin, badly wounded, with your mother by his side, among the ruins ot his cottage. From him I could gain no information re- specting my son, with this exception— they had both joined a secret society on the night subsequent to their leaving the village,, and that, during their initiation, they had been separated from each other; 6ince which time, he assured me, he had not gained the slightest intelligence of him. " One evening, a short time before the destruction of my peace- ful home, I was sittirtg over my fire, brooding over the continued and alarming absence of my son, when I was aroused from my reverie by a gentle knock at the outer door. I hastened to the door, and before I opaned it, tremulously demanded who was there. ' A messenger of mercy,' was the answer, in a meek and humble tone. I raised the latch, and beheld a monk, dressed in the costume of the holy order of St. Dominie, and who appeared weary and ex- hausted with travel. I cordially invited him to enter, and partake of what fare I kad to offer hlna, which he accepted without hesi- tation, enquiring at the same time if my name was Rodolph Colette. I replied in the affirmative. 4 Then, my son,' he ex- claimed, 4 I b* fcve an office *, o execute, which, however painful, I must this night perform.' He then entered the cottage; and having refreshed himself, proceeded at' once to inform me of the subject of his visit. Old man,' he said, in a mournful voice. 4 you had a son.' What mean you ?' I replied, 4 you said I had one. Is he, then, no more ?' 44 ' Alas, he has Indeed departed this world of care, anxiety, and wretchedness, but I trust he has entered a better, and a happier o » e.' 441 wept aloud with surprise and grief. 44 4 Be not cast down, worthy old man,' continued the priest, for he died in a glorious cause, and before his death received full abs dutioa ( though secretly) from the head of our holy church for the crime for which he suffered. I was with him when the balls pierced bis noble breast, and he requested me to deliver to you this packet, containing an account of all that had befallen him since he left the village.' 4< With these words he drew Tom under his dress a paper pareel, and presented it tome; then rising from his chair, said, 4 Father, you must pardon me, but, before I commenced this journey, I made a vow not to slrep under any cover until I again returned to my monastery. Farewell, aud may you find great con- solation in what I have brought you.' " I took the packet, reverentially saluted him, and he left the © ottage In silence, and was soon lost in the gathering darkness. " Directly he was gone I closed the doors, and raking the embers of tke fire together, thraw on fresh faggots, for the wea- ther was growing very coid, and the wind was blowing In fitful gusts, and hcwled fearfully among the huge pines at the baok of the house. As I took up the manuscript, I felt a strange awe steal over me, and I fearfully looked around my chamber, almost expecting to see the bleeding shade of my martyred boy rise before my eye « , now dim with weeping. The contents of the manuscript were, as near as I can recollect, as follows : — and found, from what I could gather, that if I succeeded 1 ws£ sure to meet with certain death from the Infuriated soldlfrs; and if I failed, the same would be ray fate at the hands © f the commoiS executioner. " Before I retired to rest, I procured the disguise of a student of that town, and thus effectually secured myself from particular observation. Restless and feverish did I pass that livt- loRg night, and I hailed the first glimpse of morn xvith joy. I rose betlracf, and dressing myself in my disguise, walked into the streets. Ali was as yet quite quiet, and the cool breath of the morning wind came gratefully to my burning cheek, and cooled my distempered imagination. My resolution, which had given w* y a little, not/ returned with full force, and, previously examining the point ot the dagger with which I had been provided, I hurried on to the Great Square, in which the review was to take place. 41 After a short time crowds of people began to flock into the square, and it was with great difficulty that I could maintain a foremost rank among the spectators. Ten, the hour for the arrival of the troops, at length came, and the parade ground soon pre- sented a scene ofthe most animated description. There were ae- semblad the veteran warriors that had accompanied Napoleon through all his arduous campaigns, the bakillions cf Murat aud Ney. Behind floated the banners taken by them in their seveiat engagements with the eaemv, surmounted by the French eagle. The centre was occupied by the emperor's small squadron of Mai- madukes, whose picturesque costume formed a strong contrast with the dull coleured uniforms of some of the French infantry ; and, what excited my indignation to the utnust, to the right of this squadron stood the standard ef Austria- rbut, alas! it was reversed. , , , « A discharge of artillery, followed by a flourish of military music, announced the approach of the emperor, who soon after- wards rode into the square, surrounded by a numerous staff. A deafening shout of 4 Vive TEmpereur,' rose on the air, and the heavens trembled with the cry. I clutched my dagger with a firmer grasp, and waited patiently f « r an opportunity to execuUs my imrpose. The etfl jjeror rode somewhat. iu' advance of his staff, and it was not many minutes ere he approached the spot which I had chosen— the left flank of New's regiment. He askad several of the men some questions, and then rodi> slowly aiong the trout of the line. I eagerly seized the propitious m » ment, and with uplifted dagger, rushed upon the emperor. Curses upon n? y trembling hand that failed to stiike the fatal blow! tfetore I could r.- cover myself, and repeat the blow, General ftapp rode up, and laid me prostrate on the ground. The wlio'. e square was in- stantly in confusion, and 4 Death to the assassin !' resounded from all sidas. The furious soldiers rushed towards me, intenuing to • transfix me with their bayonets, and it was with the utmost diffi- culty that Napoleon himself could restrain them from tearii? g me to pieces. I was instantly given into the custody of a sergeant of the guard, who conducted me to a strong room in the palace. 41 When I was removed from the Great Square, and not till then, was anything like order restored; but the emperor, though he wished to be thought unconcerned about, the matter, hurried the review over, dismissed the troops, and hastened to the palace. The Instant he arrived there he sent for Gen. Rapp, and gave him orders to bring me before him. The general obeyed, and I waa conducted into the emperor's presence. My failure had inspired me with a confidence that I had not felt before, for I now knew the worst, and I stood before the conqueror of . empires firm and undaunted. 4' The emperor examined me from head to foot, took a piiich of snuff, and exclaimed abruptly, 4 You are an Illuminatl.' 44' No, sire,' I replied, 4 I am not.' 44 4 What, then, was your object in attempting my assassina- tion ?' " 4 Excuse me, sire, but I cannot answer that question.' The emperor showed evident signs of vexation. 4 4 4 What is your name ?' he then asked. " 4 I do not wish it known,' I replied. 41 If I were to pardon you would you attempt my life again?' 4t 4 I would.' At these words Napoleon's countenance completely changed— he now clearly saw on how frail a footing his dearly earned power was based— the faulterlng hand of a stripling might have dashed him from the highest pinnacle of power to the level of the lowest of his subjects. He turned to Gen. Rapp, and ordered me to be re- conducted to prison. The general obeyed, and, as I turned to leave tho room, the portrait of Eliena, which hung around my neck, became disdosed to view. It caught the eagle eye of the emperor, who, ordering me to return, asked, 4 Whose portrait is that?' " 4 Thatofa young^ woman, to whora I am betrothed.' 414 Do you love her ?' "' Do I love her 1 better than I do my life.' 44 4 Remember, then,' said the emperor, thinking that he had touched a jarring chord, 4 that if you refuse to discover your ac complices, you will never ai? ain behold her.' 4-' 41 am resolved, sire,' I ieplied, 4 and nothing can alter my resolution. You may order me for instant execution, but you will not force ffie to betray my friends.' 44 The emperor appeared much annoyed, and turned impatiently away. Gen. Rapp beckoned to me to follow him, and placing me under a guard, I was conducted to a dungeon, and left to reflect on the fate I had tempted. 44 After several hours had elapsed, Gen. Rapp entered my cell, accompanied by a priest. Ha came to inform me that the em- peror had ordered me for execution immediately, and that if I wished to see a com'essor, he would leave t| » e holy father and myself together till the hour should arrive. I thanked him , and accepted his offer. It was the same priest who will deliver thitf manuscript to you, and he attended rue, offering divine consola- tion, to the last." * * * [ The rest ofthe M. S.;., li- the hand writing of the priest.] 44 The time appointed for your son's execution at length arrived; and he was led from hia dungeon, between a pariy of soldiers,, to the Great Squar^, the scene of his intended crime. He steppec firmly forward, and a gleam of pleasure lighted up his pale coun- tenance as General Rapp, who superintended the execution, in- formed him that the emperor, pleased with his firmness, had bestowed on him a soldier's death. 44 His eyes having been bandaged, he requested to be allowed to give the signal himself. His request was complied with; and kneeling in the proper position, he murmured a prajfcr to heaven. — 4 Make ready— present— fire !' ( t The muskets poured forth their flame of living fire, a heavy heavy roll of the drum was heard, and your son's spirit hact fled for ever." [ To be concluded in our next.) CURIOUS LINES ON 44THE PENN1T SUNDAY T1ME8." RESPECTFULLY ADDRESSED TO THE EDITOR. Sir, your newspaper is not worth a jot, Although it costs us a good copper penny ; Few people say, ( but. trust me, I do not,) 44 Oh, it is worth of pennies very many I" The lines are far from being, I maintain. Beautiful or talented, as you know; Indifferent, or dishonourable, in the main, Are ail things which you on us bestow. The tales or romances have never'been Either excellent, or very impressive, Devoid of interest, or of thrilling scene, Have all the tales been which to us you do give. The riddles or charades, too, have not been Above the common measure of such writing; Below the- mark of puzzling ( as I've seen,) Have been all those on which I am enditing. T| ilk of the cuts l— I never did see one Well executed, or demanding praise; Without any pretence to skill or tun, Are all the cuts, to whom this verse I raise. And to conclude, I'm sure ' twon'fc be your fate, Long to remain in the bright pago of Fame; To sink into oblivion's wretched state, Will be your fate if you keep on your game. A. A. L* * The curiosity of the above lines consists in the duplicity they manifest io reading two ways. If th<- first and third, and then the second and fourth, lines be read alternately, the lines will then be as much in praise, as before they were in dispraise, of44 The Penny Sunday Times." February 15, 1840. CHAPTER IX. " My DEAR FATHER,— The day I left the home of my child- hood, I joined the secret society of the Philadelphes, in the city of Inspruck, in company with Matteo Falcone, from whom, after our initiation, I was separated, for the purpose of undergoing a most paintul test, to try my fidelity to the cause I had embraced. I kept my oath with honour to myself, aud was hailed with accla- mations of joy by my fellow members of the society. I was then summoned to attend a grand meeting ofthe members, ; yho were called for the purpose of selecting a person to perform a deed which would shake Europe to its very foundation— it was no less than the assas& Vnation of the Emperor Napoleon. There were many volunteers, so great was the enthusiasm prevailing through- out the whole assembly, every one being eager to rid their country of a tyrant, who was constantly sacrificing their bosom friends and relations at the bloody shrine of his boundless ambition. We agreed to draw lots— I was the happy man to whose lot it fell, and I had but one alloy to my happiness at * hat moment— the thought of Ellena's distress in the event of my i ' ling in the prosecution ot my task. This was, indeed, agonizing, but the locket, containing the miniature cf the beloved girl, was in my possession, and served as a solace iu my utmost extremity. I could not Infoim her of my destination, for that was against my oath, so I re- frained from writing to her at all. 44 The emperor was to be present at a review of lis troops at the city of Erfurtti, and thither did I repair at the; jmmand of the society. All the French troops had been concent[ ated, and when I entered the town, all was bustle and preparation I arrived but the evening previous to the parade, and had, therefore, but little time to prepare myseif for myjfrask. I made several enquiries as to the position the emperor iffculd occupy on U e following day, ADVERTISEMENTS EXTRAORDINARY. ( Concluded from our lust.) WANTED.— A genteel- looking young man, without legs, to go on a bowl, with short crutches, between Cliaring- cross and the top of Bond- street; he must be active and steady, and have an undeniable character for sobriety. A CARD.— J. B. Yolern, 2, Blue Ball- court, pro- vider « f quadrupeds. Dogs, or any other animals pro- vided on the shortest notice in any part of towja. Terms to be known at his residence. A variety of skim and cat furs. Mrs. Y. constantly attends to dis- pose of them. An East India Director has several lame Lascars io dispose of ; they are in excellent condition, hein^ wretchedly thin, and unwholesomely ragged.— R- ii, as they never uncover their heads, their turb;- to be taken as fixtures. WANTED.— A genteel person with > - i eyes,, to sit at a halfpenny hatch. No objection . : broken down egg factor. A friend to vagrants pfopose> s to. opei? • -^ ibscription to put a new bank to the stock* at K • '. sli Town, as the situation is unpleasant om a ' neighbouring puddle. The advertiser has lately experienced the ellects of a violent cold, caught while Wis iiands and legs were in Kmbo in the said stocks. A person that is blind, and has a good walk in the City, wishes to change it for an eligible situation at the West end of the town.— N. B. he is not musical. TO ACTORS, sic.— The utmost value given for cast- off theatrical wigs; and, as they are in general worth nothing, should any lady or gentleman cast off two couple, the advertiser will not object to dance attend- ance to any part of the town for them, gratis.— For a. card, apply at the office. Oi/ 6 QOIX , i( Nanny, wilt thou gang wi* me — as ven he vos trying to prig the goat. A gentleman bathing in the " Missis$ ip> himself, to avoid being discovered by $• approaching the- river. THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE S POLICE GAZETTE.^ dFraotntnte for tljt © tmoue. STANZAS TO MARIE. Whenever I gaze on that fair form of thine, Those lips which with mine have so often been prest; Those eyes which beam forth every feeling divine, New hopes and new raptures arise in my breast. Ah, Marie, lull well 1 remember the day 1 saw you, for innocence dwelt ou your brow— I saw you, aud felt the unquenchable ray, Of love's shiny pinions—' tis that 1 leel now. I saw you, my dearest— oh, sweet recollection, I saw you, and lov'd you, and firm that love grew ; And thought as I . felt then —( oh, fond retrospection l) My hopes and my prospects were center'd in you. More fair than the beams the sweet silver moon throws O'er the earth, when she lights the red sun to his rest— More fair than the bud of the opening rose, When by the sweet dew of the morning ' tis prest, Were you, when your image I beheld again, And sought you sincerely, my wishes to bless ; Oh, pure my emotion— I sought not in vain— How linger'd my heart with that flattering " yes," Unfetter'd, my soul and existence were yours ; Oh, what were the dreams that were Spread to my view:— I felt that that word " love and friendship " ensures, And my hopes and my prospects Were centered in you. Tho' long we have love/ A, BiJlt, young are our ages, Bright scenes ofthe future new visions impart; And warmer the ^ sstons and thoughts that engages, And links th. it affection more firm to each heart. In troubles, in sorrows, in tears do we share Each tnrobbiiig sensation which constantly proves; Yet, prudes ' iniuht rebuke us, the vulgar might stare, Could ',' ney read the memento containing our loves. Iho >;- ach hour, my Marie, unwillingly flies, 1- iOve shall spread his soft wings o'er our passions anew, And view, hand and heart, in those dearest of ties, For mv hopes and my prospects are centered iu you. H. C. FREEMAN. GALLANT BON- MOT.— A fashionable countess asking a young nobleman which he thought the prettiest flower, roses or tulips ? He replied, with great gallantry, " Your ladyship's two- lips before all the roses in the world." A bibliopole was once asked if he had a copy of " Caesar's Commentaries." " 1 am sorry," he replied, " that I have not; but 1 have got' Blackstone's'" ' A FACT.— A few days since, a countryman called at. a butcher's shop where there lay a great number of call's' feet, and demanded of the butcher his price for four calves' feet. Sixpence was the reply. ' Ihe countryman forked the ready instantly; opened his bag, and safely placed therein sixteen feet. — The butcher demanded Is. ( id. more; but the countryman • continued that he asked the price of four calves' feet, aud was answered sixpence ;— and, as every calf had four legs— four- times four were sixteen, all the countty over;— atid wilh a hearty laugh he departed, leaving the butcher to do his best for his sad blunder. Salisbury. J. L. TILLY. STANZAS. BY N. MANOF. U MAY. Let silence reign where melancholy dwells; Be still the warbling songsters ofthe grove, For planted deep wilhin my bosom swells The poignant pang of disappointed love. Ye glowing visions of unreal bliss, Deceitful transports— unsubstantial Joy- Are all your gay allurements come to this, To wreck my peace, and every hope destroy ? Away, ye glittering phantoms of an hour, Your airy, faithless prospects charm no more ; At length 1 wake, nor longer own your pow'r, The spell'is broke, the grand deception's o'er. How smiled Rosina when I told my love ; How pleased she listened to the melting tale ; How oft we rov'd within the lofty grove, And breathed soft raptures in tbe flow'ry dale. ADMIRAL LORD GARDNER — George 111, on Lord Gard- ner being presented tu him, after having achieved an im- portant victory, paid him some handsome compliments, by which the gallant admiral was so much affected lhat he could not speak his acknowledgments. Lord Melville ( then Mr, Dundas) being present, and perceiving his friend's confusion, observed, " your Majesty sees Gardner may be overcome by his friends though not by his enemies." " I AM YOUNG AND I'M HAPPY." [ BY ANDREW JAMES M'DOIJAI. 1.. I am young, and I am happy, my slumbers are light, If I dream, ' tis of tho « e whom 1 love ; And the visioh is welcome, nnd pure as it's bright, For it comes to my couch like a dove. I've no care on my lirow, I'm a stranger to fear, While my conscience is ever at ease. For no crime stains my soul to awaken a tear, And no wish guides this heart but to please. I am young, & c. I am sure 1 am happy, and blush not to tell, That for all 1 love here I've a kiss; For the spirit of truth in my besom doth dwell, And my breast is a mansion of bliss. That the cherished, and loved of my heart must decay; ( Makes me sigh, and my bliss oft beguiles) But fo- night I would banish all sadness away, And dissolve sorrow's lear in your smiles. 1 am sure, & c. SHERIDAN AND DR. JOHNSON.— When Sheridan w is be- ginning to be known in the world, a little before his first dramatic productions, he_ dined in company with Johnson and several of the Literary Club, when the Doctor ad- vanced one of his dogmas, which was tantamount to saying that black is white ; a practice ( adds a foot note) not. un- frequent with him in his discussions; for he acknow- ledged, as we have been told, that he sometimes contended for truth aud sometimes for victory. Sheridan knowing that black is black, and not white, gave a plump tiega/ ur to the Doctor's affirmation ; in short, whatever j oh tison's hypothesis might have been, Sheridan argued against it manfully with all the eagerness of youth, unconscious of his peril in attacking so formidable an antagonist. He felt too, no doubt, those powers within liini which soon after- wards charmed the stage and ultimately surprised the senate. The party, and particularly those of it who lie- longed to the Club, trembled for him at the onset; they shrugged up their shoulders and seemed to say, " Poor young man I clever, but ruined 1 He is rousing the lion, and it will soon be all over with him I" Tbe linn, how- ever, was in one of his generous moods; though grumb- ling, he did not grow ferocious; though galled, lie was not revengeful; he took his defeat, for defeated he was, in good part, and Sheridan's through Johnson's forbear- ance to proclaim him a blockhead, escaped annihilation. LINES TO THE MOTH. BY PETRARCH. My Anna I to thy fond one tell What is the potent, pleasing spell, " Like hidden music in the shell," Hinds me to thee ? Is it thy person's symmetry ? Is it thy mind's sweet sympathy ? Is it thy soul's sublimity ? What can it be ? Is it some sacred mystic grace ? Some chord, which reason cannot trace In soul or mind, in form or face, But unconfin'd May be from heavenly mansions sprung, Of life, and love, when time was young, A something, tho' unknown, most strong, Like subtle wind Which bloiveth ever, where it will, Unbiass'd— undiseover'd still, Unseen— unbought— no numbers fill, 1 Nor powers bestow. The forest bends beneath its force, Earthquakes, and tempests mark its course, But tongue hath not proclaimed its source, Man doth not know. But let the spell be what it may, From thee my soul can never stray ; My spirit owns its potent sway, And hugs the chain. My " heart of hearts," thy sunny throne, . There dost thou reign, and rule alone ; head, hand, heart— I'm alkthine own, To life's last draiu. " Nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice." SlIAKSPERE. OLD A LEGEND OF SAINT PAUL'S. BY M. H. AINSFORTH. COVENT GARDEN.— To Mr. Lee Morton's new comedy, called London Assurance, the most unqualified praise is due. It is the greatest hit that has been made for some time past, and will, undoubtedly, lUvo a long and triumphant career. We will endeavour to give an outline of the plot.— A profligate young man, Charles Courtley, ( Anderson,) indulges himself in the now- aristocratic amusement of ringing off knockers aud getting drunk, and in the course of one of his noc- turnal sallies after such amusements, theets with a perfect stranger, one Mr. Dazzle, ( C. Mathews,) pro- fligate as himself, but not exactly in the same line. Horse- racing, making books, and living on his wit's- ends, and on other people's generosity, constitute the essence of Dazzle. Courtley takes this" new " friend " home to the bouse of his father, Sir llatcburt fcourtley, ( larren.,) in Belgrave Squate, and after their exit to " IS oed room, in Comes Sir Harcourt, a roue of sixty, but who has not yet given over his juvenile amours, and after having inquired after his sou, and being satisfied by his valet, Cool, ( Brindal,) that he has been in bed all night, he converses with him on lamily mat- ters. It is always a custom in comedies to make the servant a confidant, and we always have a lord telling his servant of the real state of his affairs, his amours, and his debts, as frequently as the latter attends to the knocks at the door, or to the ringing of a bell. It is, perhaps, very theatrical, hut, at the same tiriie, Very absurd. But there happens to be a Mr. Max Hark* away, ( Bartley,) whose niece the gay old baroiTet of sixty is about to marry. This Mr. Max happening to come into the room at the same moment that Dazzle returns from putting his charge to bed, tbe former mis- takes him for the son of Sir Harcourt, and invites him to his country seat. Dazzle, With the greatest sang froid, accepts the invitation. Charles Courtley, after having slept off his intoxication, is astonished to find Dazzle in the house, and politely shows him the door; but Dazzle is not to be got rid of, and appeases Charles by an invitation to Harkaway's country seat, which be makes him believe belongs to himself, though tem- porally held by Harkaway. Self- invited, and with a friend uninvited, Dazzle journeys to this country sfeat. Charles now assumes a fictitious'name, aiid a rencontre takes place between him and his father, who has come down to marry his young bride. After some equivoque and much humour, Charles falls In love with Grace, the niece of Harkaway, who is residing there, and the intended bride of Sir Harcosrt. Charles di'iiies his father, aud goes under the name of Hamilton. We are now introduced to Lady Gay Spanker, ( Mrs. Nisbett,) and her husband, ( Keeley,) the former, a huuts woman, and of a very gay and lively constitution ; the latter, a quiet, sober country gentleman, who allows his wife to do what she likes, and tq " rule tiie roast.'.' But the son and father carrying bu their addresses with the same lady, is contrary to all custom, so Charles is obliged to enlist Dazzle in his interest, and to entrap his father into an amour with Lady Spanker. Sir Har- court is really entrapped, and the lady bei< self furthers the scheme. The end of this part of the plot " is, that Sir Harcourt's intentions are discovered. Lady Spanker's husband sends him a challenge, which is accepted, and [ Continued from our last.) CitAl'TKR illt. LOVE'S Disat'isEs. To no one did the preparations lhat were going on at the house of the goldsmith give more uneasiness than to Ralph Lobson, the porter; who, having an insurmount able( dr^ ad of tHe nligue( began to fear that no remedy wouid be aV hand if the distemper should intended bride to his son, is reconciled to Mr. Spanker, and; to wind up the whole, becomes moral, and ends the scene with an ethical appeal to" the characters. We forgot to mention that Marlcy plays excellently as a Mr. Meddle, a second edition of Paul Pry, a pettifog- ging attorney, always insulted by every one, threat- ening to bring actions, and wishing to be " kicked," that he should be able to make out a bill. He couccals himself during Sir Harcourt's affair with Lady Spanker, and wishes her husband to bring an action for damages. The character is a very old one, but was very well played. The language of this comedy is of a superior class, but the incidents are loosely put together. It bears the marks of great talents, and but little experi- ence. There are a great many very ^ ood jokes and pun-, repartees and sallies. The writer isa good sati- rist. It is, decidedly, the best pieeC that we liave seen at Covent Garden ( Shakspere, of course, excepted), for some, time past, and, we doubt not, will have, as it ought to have, a very long run. The comedy is admir- ably got up. The scenery is magnificent, and is perfect in every detail. A scene of Harkaway's country house; is finished in the extreme, and We never saw " stage effect" produced to a greater extent. Everything is in good taste, anil it reflects very great praise on the management, IIAYMARRET.—- This theatre has closed for a short time to undergo some necessary repairs and decora- tions. Macready has left London to fulfil his provincial engagements. Mr.- Webster will re- commence his campaign, aided by the talents of Mr. Kean and Mr. Power. ADELPHI — There are only six more nights of the season at this house, which we are happy to hear has been a profitable one to Mr. Yates. Ag nes Si. Aubin, Sotunas, aud Deeds of Dreadful Note, are the enter- tainments, we believe, destined to close the season. ENGLISH OPERA.— We intend to give a lengthy cri- tique upon the performances at this now only National Opera House, in our next; iu the meantime, we are happy to see that Mr. Balfe has been very creditably supported since the opening. STRAND.— Still exciting wonder, admiration, and de- light Mr. Jacobs nightly makes his bow to a most fashionable audience at this theatre. We cannot do adequate justice to this gentleman's versatile talents iu description, but advise all our readers to pay him visit. SADLER'S WELLS.— We have nothing new to notice at this theatre since our last. Mr. Mjrston has been at- tempting the legitimate. We have expressed our opi nlon of this gentleman's abilities several times in tni journal, and, therefore, it is unnecessary to repeat them. That very clever actor, Mr. E. F. Saville, from the Surrey Theatre, is engaged here, and is a very valuable acquisition to the company. CiTy.— Osbaldiston having retired from this th- atrc Mr. Nelson Lee has undertook the management, and we have no doubt, but that under his able generalship it will meet with evei^ encouragement from the public PAVILION.— The benefits coming off at this theatre preclude the production of anv novelty, but such is the unabated attraction of Mrs. Denvil's exquisite drama of Ela, the Outcast, that novelty, at present, would be superfluous. SURREY.— The veteran, T. P. Cooke, has been en gaged at this theatre, and playing some of his most favorite characters. The actor is going rapidly the down- hill of life, but he is still " a sailor, every inch of him." MARY- LE- BONE.— This little theatre has been doing better business lately than it has for some time before, and as the manager,'' Mr. J. Douglas, is indefatigable ill producing a rapid succession of novelties, « e trust he will meet with a commensurate reward from the public. A curious incident occurred at a church in the city tbe other Sunday morning, which created some very broad smiles ^ mong the congregation. It is custo- mary to publish Ihe banns of marriage immediately after the reading of the second lesson. The concluding part of the second lesson appointed for that morning's service was read by the clergyman, without strict re- gard either to punctuation or sense, as follows :—" Paul stood on the 6tairs aud beckoned unto the people, and when there was made a great silence, be spake unto them ill the Hebrew tongue—" I publish the banns of marriage, & c. & c. A native of our " Sister Isle," on meeting his physician, hid himself from him. On being asked his reason, he said, " It is a very long time since I was ill; aud, there fore, 1 am ashamed to be seen by my doctor." • MONEY.—" I have no money," a manager said To a friend that ou him did call. " I suppose not," was the hasty reply ; " For Webster, ' tis known, has it all." W. Fox. EPITAPH,— Here lieth the body of Betty Bouden, Who- would live longer, but she couden ;* Sorrow and grief matte her decay, Till her bad leg cartlf she away. Could not happen to break out during the time the house was to be closed up. He had observed; it is true, that a plentiful sup. ply of medicines had been brought into the place in case of need, but the herbs arid qru^ s were such as ilia not by any means mfeet his Approbation j and( having a particular veneration for his ovi- n beloved self, he de- termined to provide himself with a stock of quack medicines, such as were at that time eagerly sought alter by ihe ignorant and superstitions. Full of this resolution, he one afternoon set forth from his master's house, and taking his way through many a narrow and little frequented strret, proceeded to the house of one Richard Marlyn, a noted empiric, who, at that time, was making a foftilne at ihd Sxpf nsts of fhosti who pre- ferred the advice of an ignorant quack to that of even the most eminent physician , in Londtm. After taking a great many turhiHgs to mislead ally person who might have thought it Wotlli tttiile IB tVatCh him,. We; at length, found himself at no great distance from the Bpol where he had set ont, and, knocking at the door, was presently afterwards admitted by a servant, and con- ducted lo the presence of the doctor. Martyn received the young man with much hauteur, for he perceivcd at a glance that he belonged to an inferior class of so- ciety ; but no sooner did he ascertain lha t he lived in ihe house of Arnold Lester, the rich goldsmith of Cheapside, than his manners suddenly changed, and he began to converse familiarly wilh his visitor on the subject that had brought him there. It seems, young man," he said, " that you are afraid of becoming onfe of the vtcthils Of this terrible disease, and that having little faith in those who claim for themselves the only power of curing it, you have come to me for my advice on the subject ? 1 have, most learned sir," answered the youth, nilh a reverential bow;—" in truth, my master. I be lieve, has fnifly gone out of his senses; and as he has resolved to shut up his house till the plague ceases, I have come to you for such medicines as may be re quired, should the pestilence) unfortunately, happen to seize rile." You ate in the service of Arnold Lester, 1 think you said ? observed the empiric, in a tone of interest, though he evidently sought to conceal it. I am, sir." And, of course, you are not very able to afford to pay for tbe expensive medicines you will require I" " Why," answered Ralph, " it must be confessed I in't over rich ; bul I've got the whole of my last quarter's wages, and am willing to spend every far- thing of the money in purchasing the drugs lhat will keep off this terrible pestilence." " There is no occasion for you to spend even the smallest of the coin you have so piudently saved," re- plied Ihe doctor. " Do you give away your medicines, then ?" " That 1 cannot afford to do," answered Martyn bul, if you like, I can introduce you lo one of Ihe first men 01 the day for curing the plague : and, if you choose, I will ihtroduce you to him wilhoul a no the moment's delay." ' Does lie live far from hence ?'' asked Ralph. ' Nay, in this very house. He cnine to lodge here only two days since ; and as he gives away his medi- cine to those who, he believes, cannot afford to pay fur it, I- was thinking it would be a » well for you to see bim." Aye, Hint I will," exclaimed jtalph, overjoyed at such an opportunity of obtaining riie much- covetted remedies at so Cheap a rate. " He is the very man that will exactly suit the pockets of a poor fellow like myself; and I'll return you ten thousand thanks for an introduction that will be of so much service to me." Wait here till my return, then," said the quack, rising, and going towards the door;—" ihe person 1 speak of is only in tbe adjoining room ; and w hen I tell him that a poor fellow requires his advice, he will order you instantly to he admitted." During the absence of Martyn, the young man began to reflect a little more seriously about the oiler that had just been made, and wisely arguing, lhat few people are willing to give away their talents for no- thing, he made up bis mind that be would be wanted to perform some service in return. This, however, did not trouble him much, for it seemed that such an ex- change would only 1) 3 fair; and by the time Martyn returned, he had made up his mind lo accept the offered services upon any terms that might be proposed. Ac- cordingly, when ihe empiric made his appearance, the first eager question put by Ralph was, whether the doctor would consent to see him. " I have succeeded in prevailing on him to do so," answered Martyn. " In fact, he is deeply engaged j ust now; but, upon my earnest representations, he has commanded you to be taken before him." " And he will make no charge!" exclaimed the wily Ralph. " On my honour he will not," replied the other; " bat you will have to make certain promises, that, if once given. I would not have you idly break." " Oh, never fear that," cried Ralph; *' I am a man of my word, as he will find, so lead me to him. good Master Marlyn; and if I should chance to escape Ihe plague, you may take my word that it shall not be forgotten to whom it was I owed the preservation of my life." The other made no reply to this promise of grati- tude; but, leading the way to an adjoining room, he introduced Ralph to an elderly- looking personage, who, silling wilh his bark to the light, seemed to en- deavour to conceal his face as much as possible from any inquisitive glances that might be directed toward him by the stianger. In truth, Ralph did stare rather rudely at the person he was standing before; but his curiosity was soon checked, whan be saw that the liberty gave offence, and that he was likely to suffer for it.. " I have been told, young man," said Dr. Slammer- hausen,— for such was the name it was understood he bore,—" that you wi « h lo consult me upon the fearful subject of the plague. You have a great fear of bein attacked by it, it appears; arid, as preventives are better than cures, I highly commend the prudence that has brought you here." " Do you think, sir," asked Ralph, " that you can give me any thing to prevent my having ihe dis- temper ?" " I can give you many things, young man," answered ihe other, " that mv experience assures me are most excellent in times of peril, like the present. Here is a salve, with which to anoint tbe body; here a draught almost certain in its effects ; and here,— but it is un necessary to enumerate all the remedies I possess, and it will be sufficient to say, lhat you shall go away with a good supply of my different medicines." " And what shall you charge me for them i" asked Ralph, who always liked to place himself on the right side of ihe question. " Nothing." " Well, that's generous, however, observed Ralph " but mav I ask why 1 am so favoured !" " To tell you the truth," answered the other, " I expect a little service in return." " Oh 1 and what is it, pray ?" " You are, I believe," replied the doctor, " in the service of Arnold Lester J" " I am ; but what of that !" " Your master," resumed the other, " was once my most particular friend; bat, owing to a quarrel that took place between us, it is now funic years since we met each other." " I see," exclaimed Ralph; " yon wish me to say t Carried something lo him that will make him friends again ?" " You have not exactly gHessed my meaning," answered Jhe doctor; " but I would have you intro- duce nre secretly to the house, and I will afterwards contriye to see him." " Oh, that would never do," exclaimed Ralph;— ' mastei would be angry if I did such a thing; and instead of making friends of you, it would be the cause if Ids turning you out of the house in anger." " But it Is not nty itilentidn that he should see me at present," replied the other. " What's the use, then, of your going there at all ?" " I will explain myself," answered the doctor;— ' the truth tt, I < vish ( d have a private interview with his daughter Marianne; she, I Know, hns some influ- ence oyer Ihe old man ; and when t tell her htfw anx- ious I am to renew our friendship, I know she will gladly do all in her power to reconcile us." " Are ' you sure," asked Ralph, " that you have no other motive for wishing to get into the house !" You may take ttjr word frir il," replied the docter; ' but why do you ask me such a ( Juestirtn J" " Only because I thought you might be comiflg to see my young mistress," answered Ralph; " and if I thought you meant any harm to her, I'd even run the chance of catching the plague, rather than let you into the house." " You may rest assured, that I entertnin no thought ofthe kind," returned the other ; " my motives you are already acquainted With ; atld my years, I should think, ought to convince any man in his senses that I have done with running after the girls. However, let us now Come to the question; wilt you give me admit- tance to yoiir rrfSsfer's llotfsi at nine o'clock to- night ?" " I— I think 1 will," stnmmSi'ea th6 other. Then, remember, I shall be punctual td rtiy lime ; and if I find you faithful to your word, you shall liUve the medicines according to my promise." Ralph again gave his honour that he would be in readiness at tbe lime named; and, taking hi « departure returned home; thinking with the utmost satisfaction of the remedies he should srtotl possess against all attacks of the fearful distemper that was theif raging through- out England. Exactly at ( he appointed hour the sfiangef pre- sented himself at the door, and, being admitted by Ralph, Was immediately conducted to file apartment occupied by Marianne, tor sonia few moments the wondering maiden gazed wilh suspicion upon ( Ire per- son who now stood before her, but the doubts that filled her mind were soon removed by her visitor, who, throw- ing aside his disguised garb, revealed the well- known form of Eustace St. Clair. " Marianne," he exclaimed, throwing himself upon his knees, " I implore you nol to give au alarm thai would, probably, be disastrous to both of us- As the only means left, I have gained admiltance here by stratagem; nnd thus at your feet I earnestly implore you to fly wilh me-' from a father who would debar us of Ihe pleasure afforded by edch other's society." " Leave me, Eustace," cried ( lie terrified maiden ; — " leave me, I Bay ; for ( he duty I owe my parents com- mands me ( o separate from you for ever!" " Nay, but hear me, dearest—" " I will hear nothing," she said, interrupting him ; " by this lime I have satisfied myself ( hat your vows are as false as your own hearf, and lhat you seek only to plunge me into misery and despair I" " Hal— you allude to a foolish report tha( I am paying my addresses to Edith Bellendon; but it is false, I swear to you ; and never will I wed any other than yourself." •' Again, sir, I implore you to leave me.'' " By heavens 1" cricd the other, passionately, I will never quit this spot till you have promised to flee with me, and be mine." Marianne paused, foi the earnestness with which he spoke almost convinced her lhat he was not so faithless as she had believed. Ere she could reply, however, footsteps were heard approaching, and suspecting that it was her father's apprentice coming to her room, she earnestly entreated Eustace to retreat w hilst it was in his power ( o do so iu s; ife( y. This ho did but not until he obtained her consen( lo see him again ; arst then, hurrying from the chamber, he met Martin Pal- liser in the passage. In fN instant a recognition took place, and Martin would have followed ihe libertine; but, ere he cauid do so, his rival darted from Ihe house, and taking one of the numerous bye streets that presented themselves, was soon lost sight of by his en- raged pursuer. ( To he continued.) INTERESTED DIVINITY.— A reverend divine being ac- cusea of negligence in his calling, and styled an un- faithful shepherd, from scarcely ever visiting his flock, dafended himself by saying, " he was always with them at the shearing time." THE SUPERIORITY OF WEALTH.— A rich upstart col- lector of the revenue, once asked a poor, but witty fierson, if he had any idea what kind of a thing opu- ence was. " It is a thing," replied the man, " which can give a rogue the advantage over an honest man." ASOLDIER IN TIME OF WAR; or, the Military Life ef Mr. John Stevenson, twenty- on? vears i » the British Foot Guards? sixteen, a Noii- Cominissioned Officer; six times on the Theatre of War, under the Dukes of YorX and Wellington. Lords Cathcart and Lyndoch, Genyral Abercromble, lii Egypt, & c. & c. i once wounded, and two years a prisoner. DedU cated b. y special permisnlon to General Sir Wilgrove Turner, G. C. H. K, © ., & c. With « an Appendix on Recruiting and Army Dscipline. In Weekly Numbef* aS Threepence, and Monthly Parts at Cc, Shill ng. London :— B ittalo, p ^ ster- row, and all Booksetlers- FVEUY THURSDAY. THE BATTLE AND THE BREEZE, Si « e ot Chambers'Journal. Price Three Halt". pence. " MeSsitfat' « te hesr a brother sailor sing the dangers of th « Sean!"' London :— W. Strafigfc, P'Stemosi row; Hey wood, Man-- cluster; and all Agents of iftttt Pap ef. t he last New American Novel, equal fo any of Cooper's, complete in SfV^ n Numbers, at. i'w » p « a'ict> UY RIVERS, THE OUTLAW. By the Author of ' Martin Faber * London: John Clrmentu, 21 aud 22, Pulteney Street. Hethw* in^ ton 126, Strand ; Strange, Paternoster- row. _ G IVR ONEY LENT WITHOUT INTEREST, li) Sums from £ h to f'r - m three months to ' en y ars. Read The Ouid* to 100 L - an Societi- s. tluir Address?.*, Office- Hoois', Price Hatf- u cr.. wn, by which you may save ; jn hundred times the price ot the bo « k NOW PUBLISHING IJ JLI^^-. JI OF IIOSIANCE. kN'D CO. Ili'ttKJI HN'SI VIS F- OKM, liNTITLKD WITH SPLENDID Landscape and Historical Illustrations. In wh'ch will be comprised Original and Seiecteu Lefendary Tales and Historical Romances, fonnde'd ut » on popular Traditions. The firsi t# o series will appear BitfiultantftruRly, ( the others fol- lowing in rapid succession,) and embody fin Interesting collection of Tales and Romances, belonging o those European nations which are proverbially richest in Legendary lore. The work* being nnl'orm W til each other, wW form a complete and entertaining series, or may be had separately, the option of the purchaser, a* follows:— LEGENDS OF ENGLAND. Twenty- five Penny Numbers, or Five' Sixpenny Parts. LEGENDS OF FRANCS/. Twenty- five P<- nny Numbers, or Five Sixpenny Parts. LEGENDS OF SPAIN. Twenty- five Penny Numbers, or Five Sixpenffy Parts'. LEGENDS Oh GEUMANY. Twonty- five Penny Nnmbers, or Five Sixpenny Pa/ t*^ A variety of inturesting TAL- 8, In connection tvith the Tradi- tions ot other countries, w 11 appear in uninterrupted succession^ In uniform style and price, thus forming an arrangement hlth^ TlHv unattempted in the pro'inction ef NATIO^ NAL. LITJERATURK. Londonj— Stiange, Paternoster- row; and ail Country Book- sellers. LLOYD'S LIST OF POPULAR WORKS. SIXTY- FIVE HUMOUHOUS ENGRAVINGS BY AN EMINENT ARTIST, AND TEN NEW COMIC SONGS ( BY PltltST) FOR ONE PENNY I !! " THE PENNY~ SUNDAY TIMES GALLERY OF 0<-> MICA LIT1ES," CONTAINS THE FOM. OWIN'O ORTOJNAL- COMIC SONGS. WRITTEN' EXPRESSLY FOR TUK VOuK :— A Private Still. Happy Lan.-:—; i Sad Lot. P. » » r J » » ck— iTe;> se Re- Member Jack. J > h VcIf—! n his Cups. Hard- iJp; or, Shocking Ex- tremitl « s. The Contested Man. My Sarah and » }*>, D rmritic Ecofratny.. Brandy and Salt-. Population; or, It** all1 owin£ to ttie Family Ointlniesst. ANSWERS TO CHARADES. ANSWER TO THE FIRST CHARADE IN NO- 43. The sinner dreads the approach of death, The Christian glad resigns his breath j But while on earth, a hat he wears— Tis needful in this vale of tears. We eat, or we could not survive— ( Without It, man nor beast, could thrive.) To shield us from stern Winter's harm, The fire givr « s heat, to keep <-< s warm; Rut in the head lies all the sense, To explain the wkole, I make pretence. Salisbury. I. L TILLY. ANSWER TO THE SECOND CHARADK IN NO. 48. What city of superior f. ime To Edinburgh can we name, For buildings, beautiful and high ? W here birds of various plumage fly, ' Gainst which, alas I the deadly gun Is often levell'd. Rut ( here's one That seldom by the fowler falls— The hen that perches on our walls. And there we bruin sometimes meet, Performing in the public street $ And many a brig, in nantic pride, With herrings freighted, ploughs the tide, W. ANSWER TO THE SIXTH CHARADE IV NO. 48. One Sabbath morn, serenely o'er The orient hills, the sun did shine, I walked forth, in russet guise. Accompanied by a friend of mine. Forward the church we did repair, I'Twas in the brilliant month of June,) And just as we had reach'd the door, Thu organ had commenc'd a tune. Of much the worthy pastor spoke, Concerning sin, ana wcks, and grace » And that fam'd land, where flows the Nile, Which once enthrall'd the Hebrew race. A text did yield for his discourse, Which he, in nulpit, hung with blue, Delivered sweetly to his flock, From whom he close attention drew. The service done, we scann'd the place. And on a tablet, form'd of tin, In letters neat, we saw engrav'd, A short memento of one Quln. As we return'd, my friend observ'd, How widely different was the scifne, To that, where critics league to hiss At theatres, where he had been. On high we hall'd the burning sun, Now marching on in glory bright— We hail'd his blaze, and inly blesS'd The INEXTINGUISHABLE light W. ANSWER TO THE CHARADK BY SAM QUIZ, IN NO. 43. * A pot in the kitchen I've seen, There likewise are pots to hold flow'rs j And luck, if ' tis ill luck you m « an. Embitters the gamester's lone hours. We live too far asunder, friend Q ilz, Else I'd pay my respects to y » ur cook; But. should I e'er s « ? e your sweet phiz, I'll willingly share your POT- LUCK. 1, Abbey Street, Dublin. J. DILI.< O* T. AVSWKR TO MR. DILLON'S CHARADK IN NO. 50. Dear Dillon, the enigma ot SPHINX ne'er displayed Greater wit to CE iipus, than to me thy charade. I'd not giva a pin for a snip of a tailor, Tho' dearly I love the tough yarn of a sailor. Six is a number— its end letter the same, sir, Napier steers his ship to the harbour of fame, sir. Our divines aie declaiming for ever ' gainst sin, And known parts of the frame are the hip and the sMn \ May the sons of Fair Erin yet have to rejoice, And the measure of Stanley be drowned by the voice Of a free- hearted people, insulted— oppressed ; And, oh ! yet may their union with England bt? blessed. I'll conclude with the SPHINX, to Egyptians well known, Very ofteu whose Image is found on a stone. C. W. WHIT*. ANSWER TO W. ALLEN'S CHARADE. Who has ere baen at sea has been ou your first, And we all will drink water when parched with thirst j A good game at loo, with an agreeable crony, Is all very well if you don't lose your mon- y. Rut ' tis needless the whole of your charade to po through, For it tclU Itself plainly, you mean WATERLOO. R W. J. HUDSON. AND ALSO THE FOLLOWING GRAPHIC SKETCHES:: The Maui ot the Mill— A Gen ral Kisli. g— Physical force.— Bringirg him ( Two) —- A Black Fast.— Ladies ot t'te Couf< Y—• His Mind is on the Rack — Settling a[ c] Count; Double Entry.— r Friar Baoon.— Giving Himself t^ HJairs.— Contracting an Acquaint- ance.— A Heavy Swell.— A Good Bite.— Hodgt's Best — Sedan- tery Occupation.— Currant Jam; a Friendly . squeeze.— A Neat I urn~ Out. — V Votary of the Nine. — Taking the Pledge. — Warlike Guise ( Guys).— Food for Reflection.— Ceiling Whacks; a Bel- frey. — A Promising Child,— A Boy in a Fit.— Giving up the Ghosts- Cabriolet Society.— Pleasures of " Fancy "— Best London PoTter. — A Back Settler.— Going by the Pest; General Delivery.— Come of Ag*.— Cutting Him to the Quick— Breaking Cover.— Saace ( Source) of » he Nigger ( Niger1.— A Dey's Pleasure — A Sad Piightr — A Belly Full of Grapes.— The Changeless One.— A Private Box. — Taken in A[ r> est — The Live y Smack; Looking Out for Squalls.— Hebrew Melodies.— A Funny Pair.— A Good Calling.-— A Shocking Sti k.— The Pot- boy.— Summut Short.— Detachment of Cavalry — Deprived of the Use of their Organs.— Neat as Im- ported.— A Free- Booter.— Fancy Fair.— At a Stand Still.— An Un- happy Attachment.— Coming it Slap. MTHK EMBELLISHMENTS HAVE BEEN ENGRAVED AT THE ENORMOUS EXPENSE OF 1,000 GrtJINEAS! 11 Complete in 104 Numbers at One Penny each, or Elegantly Bound at Nine Shillings and Sixpence, ELA. THE OUTCAST! OR, THE CLPSY GIRL OF ROSEMARY DELU A TALK OK THE MOST THRILLINO INTEREST. Complete In 54 Numbers at One Penny each, or Elegantly Bound at Five Shillings. FATHERLESS FANNY! OR, THE MYSTERIOUS ORPHAN. A TALE OF DEKP INTEREST. Complete In 24 Numbers at Sixpence each, BLACK- EYED SUSAN! OR, THE SAILOR'S BRIDE* A NAUTICAL ROMANCE. Iu Numbers at One Penny each, or Fourpenny Monthly Paris, Stitched in a nwat Wrapper, THE HEBREW MAIDEN! OR, THE LOST DIAMOND. A ROMANCE OF THK DATFS OF CHIVALRY. To be completed in 12 Nymb rs at Id. each, Illustrated1, with 13 Engravings, BARNABY BUDCE. A TALE BY " BOS." Handsomely Printed in Crown Quarto. Complete in 20 Numbers at Sixpence each, VICTORIA! OR, THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER* BY A POPULAR AUTHOR. To be completed In 18 Numbers at One Penny each, or Neatly Bound, price Two Shillings. GALLANT TOM! OR, THE PERILS OF A SAILOR ASHORE AND AFLOAT. INTERSPERSED WITH ANECDOTES, TOUGH YARNS, ETC. In Penny Weekly Numbers and Fourpenny Monthly Parts. ANGELINA! OR, THE MYSTERY OF ST. MARK'S ABBEY. A TALE OF DEKP INTEREST. CHILDRENS' PENNY BOOKS, ETC.— TnE LIFE OF DICE TURPIN, inc uding his Ride to York ( 12 En- graving*).— THE HISTORY » F GEORGE BARNWELL ( Engravings). — LLOYD'S TRUE FORTUNE TELLER, by which any person ijiay tell • heir Fortunes, by Cards, Linus of the Hands, & c. ( Coloured Engrav ngs .— IRISH BULLS, by TEDDY O'FLANNIGAN) Engrav- ings).— LLOYD'S ROYAL DREAM BOOK: a Correct Interpretation of Dreams, fcc . ( Coloured Ei graving).— MAYOR'S SPELLING BOOK AND FIRST T* TKP TO LEARNING, containing Words from One to Five Syllables, wilh a great number of Usef d Lessons in Reading and Spell ng; also, some vr- ry entertaining Lessens In Natural History. & c.— MOTHER HUBBARD AND HER Doa ( 14 Engravings). — VALENTINE AND ORSON ( 7 Engravings).— CINDKRKLLA AND THE GLASS SUPPER ( 13 Engravings).—' 1 HE LIFE OF JACK SHKP- PARD THE HOUSEBREAKER ( l, i Engraving ).— LLOYD'S NURSERY RHYMES; two sorts ( 13 JM? graving* e « cli).— WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT ( 7 Engravings).— 1 HE HISTORY OF PAUL JONES: THE PIRATE ( 13 Engraving'). — THE LIKE AND ADVENTURES OF ROBINSON CRUSOE ( G EI gravings)— VYSE'S NEW LONDON SPELL- ING BOOK, containing a great number of Usetut L- « sons in Spelling, with appropriate Fables, Scripture Pieces, & c,; together with numerous other Penny- Books. LLOYD'S MAGIC, SHADOWS , OR, CANDLE- LIGHT AMU- E- - MENT ( Twenty sorts, includii gall the most Popular Subjects), One Penny each. London:— Printed and Published by E LLOYD, 231, High Street, Shonditch; mid al 44, HolyweilStrtel, Strand.
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