PEOPLE'S LONDON;— SUNDAY, APRIL 11, 1841 DEADLY— LIVCLY. f HE LATE SUFFQS1D MURDER OF MRS. MARY ANNE MESSENGER, AT NORWOOD, Now aid me, oh, my gr'sy- goosc quill, To picture forth to every elf, The subject of our cat, but yet Surely the same speaks for itself. A subject grave^ we've chosen here, But one that's hi a merry vein ; 1 here's the 1110.* cheerful ot all spirits, Though dnMy— lively, it is plain. POLICE. MARLBOROUCH- STREET. MAD Yott NOTIHVG IN YOUR HAND ?— On Thurs- day, Mrs. Rebecca Thomas, the wife of a carpcnter, appeared before the magistrate, on a warrant, charging % er with Rse& tilting Elizabeth Smyrke, the wife of a shell- pot Whier. The complainant, a well- dressed and good- locking female, with arc infant in her arms, stated that'Oti the previoni day, she, her husband, brother, •• anB urster- ln- lnw were returning home, after getting tthe w blessed baby," then in her arms, registered, when " Mrs. Thomas pounced upon her, tore her cap from her Stead, and her dress from ber back, struck her several violent blows, and rolled ber in the mud, so that she • was obliged to send home for a change of things before ihe could leave the public- house to which her friends had carried her. The witness added, that, not content • with striking her with her fists, and tearing her almost to pieces with her claws, Mrs. Thomas used a gin- bottle, which she had in her hand, with great dexterity, and struck her ( complainant) several blows with it. The complainant here exhibited before the bench the fragments of her cap and dress. MAGISTRATE.— What was the cause of the defendant's « t » « rk ? Did you give her any provocation ? MRS. SMYRKE.— Not at all, sir. I know of no other provocation than that I used to be an intimate ac- quaintance of hers ; but, my husband, not thinking ber » fit companion for me, forbid my holding any ac- • yanioUncu with her. The sister- in- law of the complainant was called, and corroborated her evidence as the defendants attack upou her. MAGISTRATE ( to tho defendant).— Well, Mrs. j Thomas, what have yeu got to say to this violent as- sault, sworn to by the complainant and her witness ? MRS. THOMAS ( whose appearance and dress formed a striking contrast. to that of Mrs Smyrke).— Why, sir, in the first place, the greater part of what they have sworn to is not true ; and, in fact, ' tis I that am a seriously injured person, and have suffered a life of the greatest wretchedness through this woman. I am sorry lo say, that for some time past, Mrs. Smyrke bas been keeping up an improper intercourse with my husband, • nd through her doing so has brought endless misery upon me. MRS. SMYRKE.— Oh, Mrs. Thomas, how can you say so ? MRS. THOMAS — Why, you know you can't deny it, you good for nothing creature. Have not 1 sufficient proof of it? Why, your worship, I actually caught them in bed together, and on Mrs. Smyrke seeing roe, so unexpectedly, no doubt, she says, " Oh, Good God ! Is that you, Mrs. Thomas, or Jour ghost ?" ( laughter,) and I replies, " It's me, you bare- faced hussy ; this is the way yon have been destroying my happinesB for many a day, and taking from me the affections of a kind husband." On Saturday last, the day they have been speaking of, I had been to a public- house to fetch half a pint of gin, and on my return I hears my hus- band call oat to Mrs. Smyrke and say, " How do you do, my dear?" ind she replied, " Very well, my dear, I thank you;" so I afked her if she bad not already sufficiently destroyed my happiness, and that she ought to be ashamed of herself to couduct herself so in my pre- sence, as well as that ef her own husband. Upon my saying this, she threw off her clothes to tight me, and her husband offered to back htr, and any blows 1 may have hit her, were given in my own defence. MAGISTRATE.— Have you any witnesses to prove that jou hud been struck first ? MRS. THOMAS.— Only my husband, sir. MAGISTRATE.— I cannot examine your husband, but if you had a witness to prove that you had been struck first, it would make a material difference in the case in your favour. MAGISTRATE ( to Mrs. Smyrke).— You have heard what the defendant has stated ; is it true that you struck her first ? MRS. SMYRKE.— Not at all, sir. MAGISTRATE.— I have asked you the cause for this a « sault, and you positively swore you knew of none, except the discontinuance of your acquaintance. It now appears that the cause was one of excited feelings produced by jealousy, whether well or ill founded it is not for me to say, but it is very odd you could not tell me the cause when I asked you. MRS. SMYRKE.— She has no occasion to'be jealous of me ; 1 have got a husband of my own, and have no- thing to do with hers. MAGISTRATE.— Then, is it true or not, ( hat you spoke ( u ( he husband of ( he defendant on Sa( urday morning ? MRS. SMYRKEI— Why, yes, it is true. Mr. Thomas bade me good morning, and I merely nodded my head in return. MRS. THOMAS.— Yes, nodded your head, did you ? MRS. iMYitKB.-^ AND as to finding me in bed with Mr. Thomas, it was no such thing. He merely came into my room while I was in bed, and his wife, follow- ing him, accused him of being in bed with me. MRS. THOMAS.— A very pretty sfoi;, lhat! You know very well he was in bed with you, and you can't deny it if you speak the truth ; and you know, also, that you have frequently kept him away from me. MAGISTRATE.— Well, I see there has been some ground for the defendant's jealousy. Had there net been any, I should have felt it my duty to have visited her conduct with a heavy penalty. The defendant here called a witness, who said she saw the complainaut strike her; aud added, that it was the general rumour in ihe neighbourhood for some considerable time, that Mrs. Smyrke was more intimate with Mr. Thomas than it was prudent for a married woman to be wilh the husband of another. The magistrate terminated the case by ordering the husband of each to be bound over for their peaceable behaviour for three months. they had prepared. By this time it was lig'Jited, and it soon began to blaze up so high, as widely to illuminate the broad faces of the wooded hills on both sides of the valley, arousing them from that gloom whioh had bsen al- ready gradually deepening over them into shadow, s'inos the sinking of the sun. Neither his countenance, nor his eyes, were directed heavenwards; yet his lips moved, more like thoie of some one ottering an incantation, than of a penitent, leeking of Heaven to be shriven of his sins, rull time was allowed him. And the item Sir Walter Stewart atned over him, as if jealous, lest his fears or his agony of mmd, might goad him on to utter « ome secret aloud before the clansmen, which he wished to see con- sumed, and for ever annihilated, with all that was mortal to him who held it. And when he thought that he had given the wretched man enough of licenoe, he wared bin hand— turned bimself aside for a moment— heard ona shriek— and when be looked again, the myriads of brilliant sparks that were rising into the air from the fall of a heavy body among the fuel, aufficiently proved to him, that the miserable object of his wrath bad been thrown into the very midst of the burning heap. Another, and a fainter cry, made Sir Walter again turn involun- tarily towards the pile. There tho head appeared, with the face contorted with torment, and fearfully illumi- nated . The body reared itself op for a moment, as if by- one last straggling effort of life, and these half- ii., Jed words were dolefully heard—" Walter Stnnart !— thy grave is near!" The Claa- Allan men stood appalled. Again the figure sank. More broken and deoayed wood was thrown on the pile, and they continued tm heap it up until all aigirs of a human term were obliterated. Then it was that Sir Waller, calling his followers into a ring around him, swore them solemnly, on their chieftain's sword, to eternal secrecy; and then, lick at the thought of the work they had done, chieftain and ciJnsmen, slowly, and silently, left tlio place, and began to wind their way down the glen. Sir Walter thought of his brother Patrick aa he went— he halted, and blew that bugle sound, which was well known as a private signal between them. But there was no note of reply. Taking it for granted, there- fore, that the stern act of justice, whioh circumstances had compelled him to see done on the Priest, had been too much for the sensitive mind of Patrick even to contem- plate, and that, therefore, he had hurried away to avoid witnessing the horrible spectacle; Sir Waller pensively and moodily moved homewards.' V ( Front " Mercedes of Castile," by J. F. Cooper.) HORRID TRAGEDY.' A most bloody and shocking transaction took place in the little town of Clinton, Hickman county, Ken- tucky, which resulted id the death of one of the parties and an innocent bystandef. It appears that a special canvass for a representative from the county of Hick- man had for some time been in progress. A gentleman by the name of Bidmead was a candidate. The State senators from the district composed of Hickman, M'Cracken, and Graves counties, Henry Jackson took some exceptions to the reputation of Bidmead, and in- timated that if Bidmead should be elected, he ( Jackson) would resign rather than serve with such a colleague. Hearing this, Bidmead went to the house of Jackson to demand an explanation. On making the demand Bidmead was answered by Jackson that he had not made the remark, and after this satisfactory assurance they both proceeded into the house. HereMrs. Jackson remarked ( in a jest as Bidmead thought) that if she was in the place of her husband, she would resign her seat in the Senate, and not serve with such a character. Bidmead told her she was a woman, and could say what she pleased. She replied that she was in earnest. Jack- son then looked Bidmead in the face and said if his wife said so it was the fact—" he was an infamous scoundrel and a d d rascal." He asked Bidmead if he was armed, and being answered in the affirmative, he stepped into an adjoining room to arm himseit. He was prevented by the family from returning, and Bid- meal walked oit Jackson then told him from his piazza, that he would meet him next day in Clmton P True to their appointment, the enraged parties, metf m the streets on the following day. Jackson shot first, his ball passing through his antagonist's liver, whose p stol fired immediately afterwards, and missing Jack- son the ball pierced the head of a stranger bv the name o? Ashton, who instantly fell and expired. After being" RIHmead soranc upon Jackson with the fury of a : w^ undedTgcr, Tnd woPuld have taken bis life, but he . received a second shot through the back from Richard lackson, the brother of Heury. Even after he received the last fatal wound, he struggled with his antagonist > unti death relaxed his grasp, and he fell with the hor- I rid exclamation ' I'm a dead man ! s Richard Jackson made his escape. Henry eave him- self UP to the authorities; and Bidmead, and th » un- r fortunate stranger lay shrouded corpses together.^ ^^^ aaanaaMWi I- AMERICAN EVIDENCE.— Mrs. Hopkins told me, that " she heard Green's wife say that John Glacrie^ s wife r- her that Fanny Hopkins heard the Widow Baskam - savthat Captain Weed's wife thought Colonel Hodg- % ™ ' C « i, ter believed that old Miss Quint reckoned that Mrg. Samuel Durikan had told Sp/ ding'siwife tbat she , c . pink', daughter say that her mother told t h c r r th a tol d Miss J in\ sh e a t d Orandmt^ r Cooke de. ch clare that it was an undoubted fact. sniau, trial ne was uungeu iu urawi miu u on ins mum-. aim ... — sleep, and on coming out, he Was compelled to shuffle himself forth backwards. This miserable hole was only strewed frith a few leaves, that formed his bed.— Around this place he felled the trees, and formed seats out of the earth, for the accommodation of the numerous persons who visited him o* t of curiosity, on the circumstance becoming known. Bv the side of his cave, he placed two long poles, to which he slung an old iron pot, and in this he cooked all his victuals. This was the only culinary utensil he possessed. He was very fond of broth, and used to drink it out of the rusty lid of an old iron- pot) some- times he would offer a portion of it to his visitors— a favour that was usually declined. He had a man who used to go and fetch him his provisions. After he had been there for some years, it used to be a place of great resort for the working classes, and others, on Sundays; and, to accommodate them, he used to get bread and cheese, and table- beer, and serve it round to those who chose to partake it, and he made no charge for it, although he would not decline any- thing they thought proper to offer him. He was always attired in an old patched coat, knee- breeches, and a gardener's blue apron. He looked old, was simple in conversation, and appeared to enjoy good health. When he had done with his beer- cask and his provisions, he used to hide them in the nut- bushes, and very frequently forgot where he had put them, upon which he would ery like a child till he found them again. Here, then, for more than twenty years, dwelt this singular old man. Sum- mer or winter, he never once left his melancholy abode— as has been proved by several gentlemen, whese authority cannot be questioned. He was found miserably murdered in his cave, in the year 1817; and although strict search was made for the assassins of the poor old man, and a large reward offered for their apprehension, the perpetrators of the horrid crime were never discovered. After his cruel murder, a minute search was made in his cave, but no property was discovered, and it is more than probable that the assassins were disap- pointed in their object, as the old man hid everything he valued in the nut- bushes. n time will never come when the chieftain of Clan- Allan tc shall not dare to deal with all within the bounds of Stra- B dawn, whether churchman or layman, as his pleasure may m dictate. Ha! see, the pile is already heaped high, and th now they are preparing to set fire to it; that shows no r « want of good will; and see, of their own accord, they pre- in pare to drag him to it!" " Then, brother, though I am in the younger, I must needs interfere," cried Patrick Stew- B art, rushing forward to throw himself between the men si of the clan, and the terrified viotim ; " such a deed as this sc must never be done by thee, my brother." " Patrick, w dispute not mine authority," cried Sir Walter, his rage s( now beginning to get the better ofhim; my father'* weak- w ness hath made me their chieftainy Stand back' I tell st thee! Stand back! place thyself not between the and w my just vengeance or even the name of bwher shall not n hinder me from dashing thee to » , „,? » .. N„ " stand you back !" cried Patrick ground. my, p his body, whilst the clans-- covering toe priest with at his word. " Walte- .. en retreated Irom the prisoner n for another and I ' would save this wretched man h him, I won" a calmer tribunal; and, in thas saving p from b-" , ilep mv brother, from Stand s his pollufed^ arcase l" cried Sir WaUer co - . mg Patrick, and casting him from him with a force that s I thrt* him several yards away from the Spot where iney v were contending, and prostrated bim headlong on tne i ground. " Now, Clan- Allan! now do your duty to your , chieftain! I'll see that my sentence— aye, and your sen- tence, is duly carried through." " Mercy, most nome I knight!" cried the wretched man, as they dragged him , along to the pile, deadly pale, and quailing with tear ins pride all gone, and the terrors of a horrible death upon hiin. " Mercy. O spare me! spare me, most noble cur Walter Stewart I I confess that I have deeply « against you and. yours; I confess that ' V . ' caitiff!" cried l> ie stern Sir Walter, .' oudly and hastily in terrwpting hitr,; I am no priest- l wrSnt none ot tny con- fessions. Confess thyself inwardly to tby outraged Maser. Thou sba. it hav .. Cow" tnXknr„ erS fess thy si- .- .. me ior that- t0 Him for mercy in the -. ts in secret, to ' hunmn and divine tell world, fo'• and thou shalt have 17 0 • • trembling, hw-' 1 down at a short dis- -> d timber which fame may give him credit for snpporting it. Thin how " " Silence, 1 say, Patrick I" cried Sir Waltei in an authoritative tone, whioh he had never before as sumed to his brother. " Again, I say, tliou knowest at the secret reasons which move ine at this moment. Ths foul swine, whose sensual snout hath been in every dis! and who hath uprooted that very vineyard which hat been confided to his care, must be forthwith cast out. 11 must be no longer permitted to live. Seize him, an bind him !" *' Lay not a hand on me, good sirs, if yo wonld avoid the thunders and excommunications of th Churoli," cried the priest, now no longer proud, but trem bling, and in an humble tone, " Seize hiin, and bind hii I say," cried Sir Walter. " If there be any one ma among the Clan- Allan here— if there be one Clan- Alia Stewait, I say, who, in his conscience, believes that h doth not deserve to die by fire, that man hath my leave t sit apart, and bear no faggot to the pile that is to consum him. Who, among you, is there, that doth not know hi misdeeds ? Not a oian answers. Then is he condemne by all. Let eauh man, then, get him to the wood, an bring a faggot of the driest fuei, and let him forthwith b burnt, and his ashes scattered to the winds, so that th earth may be no longer polluted with his carcass, and tlia even the very memory of him may perish I" " Brothei brother!" cried Patrick Stewart," in a tone of entre" " do not bring upon yourself the terrors ofthe r His fame, indeed, is uone of the best; but, - v, fn){-< bis sins, bethink thee lhat ' twere better to ' . rhstaver by that sacred tribunal to which he is n- ,5t him be tri " By the holy Rood, which this ' . otarally amenable Master, has so wickedly pro' -. aitor, to his orucifn buur," cried Sir Walter, . - « ned, he shall not live i the executioner of God' .-" » ing in his rage. " Iamb be the consequent - s Justice on him; and he shall di busily the fello- " hat they may. See !-., ee ho The labour ' „ ' Their hearts are in the wor aloof from uXts. Z ° ^ / ot a man hath stoo cause. Why then shn^ ti r" 0 dared t0 sPeak i! 1 hi Though ihouknowest no da h"" T^' brot" er Patrkk to kn! w that he hath we l^' i^ dfhe ftw ^ °" 0aJ him. But, though thou art ignora*^' have awards pellelh me, I tell thee •>• ° bishop or Pope TERRIBLE RETRIBUTION ON A PRIEST. ** What would'st thou with me, Sir Knight ?" demnnded he, in a haughty and determined tone. " After the rndo and unwonted message which thou hast just dared to send me, a holy minister of the Church, melbiuks that thou canst dare to approach nie now, for no other purpose, than to sue penitently for pardon aud absolution at my hands." " A holy ftinister of the Church I" exclaimed Sir Walter. —" A minister of the holy Church, if thou wilt— but thy- self most unholy.— My sins, God pardon me!— are many. But albeit that I am at all times ready to kneel in confes- sion, and in humble penitence before that true and godly ser- vant of Christ, the good and pious father, Peter of Dounan, or any other snch as be, 1 will never bend the knee before one, whose wickedness has been the dishonour and re- proach of the district, ever since it bath been cursed with his presence, and who yet profanely dares most impiouslv to approach the holy allar." " Brother ! brother Walter I" cried Patrick Stewait, endeavouring to moderate Sir Walter's growing ire: " what madness is this! Think of the saoied character he » ear « , however little common The above cut is an exact representation of the discovery of the body of Mrs. Mary Ann Messenger, in the paddock belongingto Mr. Roupell, andwho, it is supposed has been barbarously murdered. This mysterious affair has ex- cited almost as great a sensation in Norwood as the murder of Mr. Matthews, the hermit, many years since, of whom we subjoin an account:— Mr. Matthews was, in his youthful days, a gardener, and worked, at that time, in a large nursery- garden, situated in the New Road, Mary- le- bone.— This, we believe, was about fifty years ago, at which time, Matthews was a stout, healthy, good- looking young man, very industrious and sober. It hap- pened that, adjoining the place where he worked, was a boarding- school for young ladies, the windows of which looked upon the garden. From one of these windows, a very beautiful young lady, the daughter of very wealthy parents, beheld, and became suddenly enamoured of Mr. Matthews, who beheld her watching him, at every opportunity, and he was not long in perceiving the in- terest he had excited in her heart, and it was not surprising that he should fall in love with a young lady who had every charm to recommend her. They con- trived to meet several times, and avowed a reciprocal attachment, and formed visionary ideas of future happiness; but the difference of their stations in life, for awhile, crushed all their hopes. Mr. Matthews knew it would be useless for him to make an acknowledgment of their passion to the parents of his lover, and despair began to darken around them. True- love, however, is im- petuous, and stays not to reflect upon consequences. So it was with Matthews and his inamorato ; they finally agreed to elope together, and everything was arranged for that purpose. But before the day arrived when they were to have put this stratagem into effect, the parents of the young lady had, by some means, become acquainted with the plot; secretly wiredrew her from the school, and sent her abroad— her distracted lover knew not whither. Poor Matthews took this event so much to heart, that he immediately left his employment, and wandered to Norwood, and made a vow to bury himself in its solitude for the remainder of his days. This singular vow he most strictly adhered to. He dug himself a cave by the 3ide of a bank, but which was so THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE S POLICE GAZETTE.^ ANGELINA! THE MYSTERY OF ST. MARK'S ABBEY AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE. THE AUTHOR OF " ELA, THE OUTCAST! OR, THE « IPS* GIRL OR ROSEMARY DELL," & C. ( Continued from our last.) It is quite unnecessary foi us to attempt to desfirlbe ; the grief, surprise, and disgust, excited in the breasts of Sir Eustace, and the friends of Lady Kmmeline upon the discovery ofher flight, an^ ftef thejreceived such indubitable proof that Sir Vincent Rosenford was her companion : it , s quite sufficient t0 Btate that it was of the mos intense descrr tj more cspeciai| y „ m of S; r Eustace, who wi9 ^ Mif thunderstruck at the circumstance, anj ( although after being aware, of the sentuaent^ of jSmmeline as regarded her husband and the pre . Greece she had givfeii* to Vincent, it ought not to have been any matter of astonishment to him) J'e no't only condemned her for her adultery, but was , niy. resolved that nothing should ever induce him to acknowledge her for his sisier again, unless she could fully, and most unquestionably establish her innocence of what now appeared to be so apparent. As for the unhappy husband of Lady F.-. nmeUne, he Wis in a complete stale of distractloa ather unexpected elope- ment 5 and, for several > syeeks after the distressing circumstance, he was in a state of utter phrenzy. Jivery possible search wis instituted after the fugitives, outall ettorts to discoveranj clue to Ihe course they nad taken waf, wiihout effect. Lord Dalton's hc- an was completely broken , he assured Sir Eustace „ f Ms loigiveiiegs of his wife's fatal indiscretion, ' 0„ t at tt, e same <., me declared that nothing should e ver mate him Pardon her guilty seducer, and that if ' fateeVer caused 1 Teet ; ls: ain' death'to both c, r one of lhe, n must ensue before they parted. After ( his, and having given up all hopes of discovering retwat of his wife and hergujlly paramoK^ hb UrdsMp bade a melancholy and affectionate adieu to sir Eustace Arlingha m, and Hie- Baron and. Baroness J) e Morton, and then took his depar| ute for the. 00nt} nent, expressing it as his determination n^. ver t0 rotllrn to England again. T slnce .( he elopement of Lady Emmeiine and Sir Vince-. it, iJ| nesg of Lady Arlingham had increased, ana there were timeswhen she wascompletely delirious, f'd ' jttered strange and incoherent sentences, which her auditors tried, but in vain, to comprehend. She r. avei, however, continually of the ill- fated Emmeline and Sir VincenS, and at the mention of the latter's natae, her agitation would become so intense, that it was not expected she could survive one moment from another. The first medical aid that the country could produce, was called ill by her distT^ ctedandaffectionatehusband, but after having tried the very utmost of their skill, they gave him not the least hopes of her ultimate recovery, and Sir Eustace, to his sorrow, found thai • their predictions were just. At length the fatal moment approached; Lady Amabel bad been worse for the last few days, and it was very evident to those who attended hcrj that her end'was at no great distance. For three da/ s she had been delirious, and raved in the most awful manner, accusing herivelf of crimes at which human nature shudders. Although most of those who attended her felt convinced thai most of what she uttered was only the wild ravings of a distempered brain, they could not help Uunking that there was something upon her conscience which she was anxious, yet fearful to divulge, and a few hours before ' ner death verified these conjectures. Sir Eustace had only left her bedside for an hour or two at intervals to gain a short period of rest, when suddenly her reason seemed lo be restored to her, and looking upon hitn earnestly, she, in a voice perfectly calm, desired him to approach nearer to her. He obeyed her, happy to see such a change, and taking her hand expressed a hope that she was better. " Better," she repeated in a melancholy tone, " oh,, y? sj 1 am indeed much better, better that Heaven has been merciful enough to grant me reason before \ quit. and with more composure in her manner than might have been anticipated, she said, " Sir Eustace, I feel my end rapidly approaching, and that my moments are numbered; let me then employ Ihem in disclosing that, which at the same time that it will perhaps be a source of everlasting unhappiness to you, I capnot quit this world without disclosing. Before you sought my hand, Sir Vincent Rosenfofd had gained '. iill possession of my heart. When my father bade me look Upon you as my future husband, I feared to offer any opposition to his will, ( which 1 knew was peremp- tory) or to inform him thai my affections were pre- engaged. 1 at one time thought of revealing to you ihe real state of my affections, and throwing myself upon your mercy to withdraw your suit, but from that also I shrank with a feeling of dread which I found it u t^ et Iy| impossible lojvanquish, and the fatal time arrived, we were united. Still Eustace, think not, although another held possession of my warmest regard, lhat you was despised, that you have never held any place in my affections; Heaven knows that next to my guilty seducer, you have been, and you ate dearer tome than anv other being in existence j but who can control the strength of the first and ardent attachment ? We were married ; time passed on, and you saw the manner in which 1 behaved to yon, the way in which I attempted to struggle with and to conquer my feelings. Heaven knows that it was lay most sincere wish, my hourly prayer,- that nothing n'holitd % Ver make me swerve from thg duti es of a wife, andhard did I strive to forget that individual who Wi » s fated, to lie my greatest curse. You recollect the accident which first introduced Sir Vincetit and his friends to you? You remember the. deep emotion, the uncommon agitation I evinced upon lhat occasion, and after what 1 have mentioned, you cannot, y « u will not be surprised at it. Oh, Eustace, how shail I give utterance to the guilty sequel ? But it must be lottt! Sir Vincent, in spile of my situation, renewed his vows, and, weak, guilty fool that I was, t yielded to his base wishes—" " Almighty poweisl" gasped forth Sir Eustace, staggering and dropping into a seat ; " and my sister, Emmeline too 1" Lady Amabel made a powerful effort to speak, her bosom heaved with convulsive emotion, hercountenance turned completely black, and sinking back on her pillow, with a groi. n, she yielded her spirit into the triads of her Creator, Let us (, ass hastily over- the painful scene which followed this dreadful disclosure. Suffice it to say that for a few days after the demise of his wife, Sir Eustace Arlingham was quite delirious, and it was feared by his medical attendants that he would never recover the severe shock his feelings had received; but at length his reason was restored to him, but not until the remains of his unfortunate but guilty wife Were consigned to the tomb. Upon the head of the villain Sir Vincent Rosenford, he invoked a dreadful curse, and although he did not make any vow, he felt almost confident that he could never pardon his sister Emmeline, who had not only brought eternal disgrace upon their hitherto unsullied name, but had also broken the heart, or ruined the peace of mind for ever, of a fond and indul- gent husband. Fast did the clouds of misfortune gather over the once happy and proud house of Arlingham. Scarcely six months had fled from the time of the elopement of Lady Emmeline, and the death of his wife; when Sir Eustace, who had two or three most ftnplacabte enemies at court, who were jealous of the favour lie had by his merits gained in Ihe eyes of his sovereign, was accuoed of high treason, and so well concerted was the villainous plot which had been formed against him, th# t his monarch, who had hitherto placed such implicit confidence in him, was persuaded of his guilt, and he was committed to prison upon the charge, and would, no doubt, have been found guilty, but he escaped, and got on board a ship in dVguise. with not any property in his possession, and by the assistance ofa friend, made his way to Flahders, where, under an assumed name, ( that by which he was first introduced to bar readers), and the exertion of that friend who had never deserted him in all his misfortunes, hp sat up in business, and of the Villain who— Oh! God, I shall go mad if I think I of it!" Clasping his forehead he rushed away from the room, anel hastening to his chamber, endeavoured to hury all recollection of the circumstance. Dreadful were the sufferings the power of his thoughts inflicted upon him that night, but by the dawn of the morning his thoughts had undergone a complete revolution, and he vowed to protect and love Angelina, the same as if she had been his own child. Sir Eustace had ttSVer imparted to his wife the minujte details of bis melancholy history ; she knew that he had been unfortunate ; she knew that lie had had a sister, but whether she was living or dead she was not acquainted ; she wis also aware of the tank he had formerly held in society, and of his just title, but finding that It ever caused him pain, she never ventured to Mention the subject to him. She herself was of a humble family, and Sir Eustace had united himself to her entirely oul of love for her numerous excellent qualities, which more than compensated for lhir Wartt of education and polite attainments, One particular fcircuirtstatice we have forgotten to mention, alrld that is when Sir Eustace, through the false accusation which had been brought against him, was compelled to fly bis country, he became unavoidably eslranged from the Baron and Baroness De Morton, who retired to iheir castle, and not long after he hud been over itl Flanders, he received intelligence of the sadden and mysterious disappearance of'the liArotr, and to his most indescribable amazement and disgust, a short time only elapsed when he heard that Matilda httd actually accepted the hand" of her deceased husband's brother, who bad been one of his greatest enemies at Court, and to whom she had previously ever evinced the utmost repugnance. So thunderstruck was he with this intelligence, that he was some time before In! wotrfjl hilieve that it was true, but when he was fully convince'! that such was die case, he became so exasperated, that he resolved to endeavour to erase her name from his recollection for ever. The circumstance ofthe supposed death of Ihe baroness has already been mentioned, arid having now fully explained fhe melancholy events of Sir Efistace Arjingham's life, we must let the Lady Rmtoeline explain herself in her own words, as tliey Were spoken to her brother on the night when she revealed herself to him. ( To be Cohcluded in our next.) ERNNESTINE DE I. ACV I OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. (. AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES," BY THE POPULAR AUTHOR OF " ELA, THE OUTCAST," " ANGELINA," " GALLANT TOM," " TALES AND LEGENDS OF 9THER DAYS," - AC. & C.. j ( Continued from our iast.) TO CORRESPONDENTS. tlds world, to confess my errors and to pray to Him for-, afler remaining there upwards of two years, with but mer9y Eustace, draw nearer. indifferent succcss, during which time he had rrtade Sir Eustace almost choaked with emotion, yetstirring .' ill in'his power to stifle his anguish, advanced closer M the Side of her couch, and with eyes brimful of tears, 1 e clasped'the hand of his dying wife, and Without being ' r .'•• ? iv. utterance to a syllable, awaited with the1 t ; y^- iaitC agony to hCar what she had to impart every inquiry after his sister and her villainous panion ( as he suspected) to no ^ purpose, he resolved, having married hit present wife, to 1 dear Eustace, if such 1. < l^ ro call you," " Ls • ' ;, aoe|, looking up int. « i the face of her oaau with an expression of thd most indescribable rpotton,' dry your lears, and. abate vou|. angu; sh> j • n unworthy of either; oh;', that 1 could have repaid j anr love as it deserv^ or that the Almighty had takefl my life ere I betrayed tire confidence you reposed • me. Eustace5 j, 011 behold before you a poor peni- - nt, but guilty wretch, unworthy of your pity, esfcrvmg only of your abhorrence. Say, were I to confess . myself an adultress, were I to say that another has revelled in those enjoyments I swore at fhe altar " none other but ypu should possess, would you not curse me, would you not hate, despise, loathe me ? Yes, 1 kne w you must; you will." " Ob, my love, my adored Amabel," sighed forth the ieeulv afflicted Sir EusllaCe, half choaked wilh sobs, " Why talk in this manner? What should so deeply Agonize you ? Why should you give way to such wild, such inexplicable expressions? Nay; nay, my love, vour brain is disordered, you know not what you say, you—" " Eustace," interrupted Lady Arlingham, in topes of the deepest solemnity, " I feel that there are but a few minutes intervening between me and Eternity ! I art certain tliatere Idn'g I shall lie in the dread presence of my Almighty . fudge , audit is iny most earnest wish, ere I go before that awful tribunal, to make all the earthly atonement in my power, by confessing to you niy guilf,; Eustace, 1 am an adultress, I have been to those. vow I plighted with you at the connubial altaf!" Sir Eustace turned deadly pale; be gazed upon the features of his expiring wife with an expression of the most'unutterable horror, and was unable to give utter- ance to a siiigle word. 11 11 Yes, I see how it i » , t but imagined right," gasped fortVLady Amabel, " but what else could 1 expect P MTiiit else Ctiuld I hope? What deserve? Nay, my husband, if I dare now venture to call you by that name, think not that 1 know not what I am uttering. Alas! would that it were untrue; Eustace,'— Sir Vincent Rosenford—" Sir Etastace started at the mention of that detested name, his lips quivered, a palsy shook his frame, and It wafc with difficulty he could support himself; ha tried to speak buthistongue, clave to the palate of his mouih, and he with distended'e. ye- lids fixed his gaze upon the " pate Countenance of ihis wife, and : awaited what she would next say with tbemost breathless and indescribable anguish. " Ah ! well may you shudder with horror," ejaculated Lady Arlfngham, " well may yon look at me aghast, but now will you hate and curse my memory ; when I tell yoii that Sir Vjhcent Rosen ford, since he has been • your accepted guest, has become the seducer of the poor, unhappy, guilty wretch, who now lies before yon.-" . : " Horror! horror! great heaven! Jet me not hear this dreadful acknowledgment, and bii convinced of its truth !" exclaimed Sir Eustace. '' But you must hear it, Eustace," said his wife, " yes, your guilty wife cannot quit this world with- out—" " My God! interrupted Sir Eustace Arlingham, " can this dreadful tale really be true; and my sister—" Lady Arjingham groaned, and covering her face with the bed clothes remained silent for a few seconds, while her husband clasping his burning temples, paced the room with hasty and uneven steps, and the deep sobs lhat ever and " anon escaped his heavily surcharged bosom, told too plainly how severely he suffered. At length, however, Lady Amabel once more looked up, return lo England, he, being so altered in personal appearance tnd in circumstances., that he thought it would bo impossible for anyone to recognise him. He difl so, and settled in a remote part of Ihe country* whfere by frugal habits and industry, ( for he bad learnt to forget his rank, and had found even a source of pleasure and amusement in turning his hand to labour), he managed to live com- fdriabfy. In the interim his property had been confiscated, and a price was set upon his head, either dead or alive. Another year elapsed, and Laura was born, when one ' light soon after they had retired to rest, they were awakened by ihe cries of a child, and Mr. Woodfield, ( as he then called himself) having hastily arisen, and slipped'on a portion of his cl'oitnjs, hastened to his cbttage door, and was completely thunder- lslriick to behold, huddled up in one corner of the threshhold, a child, apparently little more than two years and a ha( f old, but Ihe beauty of whose countenance surpassed everything lie had beheld before. He took her hastily into the cottage, and calling to his wife, they trimmed Ihe lire, wlijch had> not yet expired, aud proceeded to examine the little stranger. Sh^ could only lisp out few words, and from them they could not gather any- thing which cotild throw any light upon the subject, or give them thy slightest idea as to . who she was. I'lie only words that they could distinctly make out were, that " Strange woman, not mamma, had left her ; that mamma would io aiy if she did not go bnck," and many other expressions of a similar description, which they were a! a perfect loss to understand, although they were strongly of opinion, that the child had been abandoned by its unnatural mother, and Sir Eustace could not help being particularly struck with the sweetness of ils features, which bore a forcible resem- blance to a countenance be had often seen before, but could not at Ihe lime recal to his memory where. Having placed the poor little thing, who was hand- somely drest, under the care of his wife. Sir Eustace sallied forth from the cottage, thinjting he might see some person who might answer the faint description of the female the child had given, but in this he was totally disappointed, as may be expected, aud on his return, he found the child fast asleep on th « lap of his wife, and 6he placed in his hands a scrap of paper which she bad found pinned in her bosom, and which contained the following lines:— " A much wronged and heavily afflicted woman, who was once acknowledged the sister of Sir Eustace Arlingbam, submits to his care and affection her child, trusting that however pYejudiced he may be against the unfortunate, but not guilty Emmeliue, he will not desi) ts, e or cast away the little innocent, whom it, is no longer iu her power to support 1 The eyes of her mother will constantly watch over her, until those eyes are closed in death, and when the clouds that at present obscure her happiness shall have dispersed, that mother wilh transport will reclaim her offspring, aud hopes { to be once more received with affection by that brother who now entertains so unjust an opinion uf. bcr conduct. In Ihe bosom of the child, whom I wish lo be called Angelina, you will find a purse of gold ; I wish you to appropriate a portiop of it to the education of the child, and as you comply with ( fiese wishes, may the blessings of Heaven descend upon your head. '' EMMELINE." Astonishment completely tied the tongue of Sir Eustace; but when be had partly recovered from the emotion into which this unexpected and remarkable circumstance had thrown him ; he snatched up the child in hi « arms, and afler gazing rapturously upon its innocent features, he kissed it frantically, and burst into u violent paroxysm of tears Suddenly, however, as an agonizing thought flashed accross his brain, he replaced the little Angelina in the lap of his wife, and turning away with a shudder of horror and disgust, be said, " But no ! is it not the child of shame ? Tbe offspring Having received various tetters complaining that, on the occasion of ouY last present, many unprincipled book- s'ettcrrs supplied their country customers with the paper without the present; we beg leave most distinctly to state, that the first number of the new Romance of " KATHLEEN: OR, THE SECRET MARRIAGE," is presented without any extra charge whatever, lo every purchaser of No. 5T of " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE." In consequence of a subsequent arrangement, our sub- scribers will perceive that we have altered the title of the New Tate to " THE DEATH GRASP? OR, A FATHER'S CURSE." We recommend our numerous subscHhets, and country frieiids, to give their Orders felt ihe present extraordinary number as early a* possible, as only a certain quantity of copies will be. published; and they will not have an- other chance of obtaining the commencement ofthe new Romance of " THE DE\ TH GRASP; <} R, I FATHER'S CURSE," which will befomii, its il proceeds, to possess even deeper interest, more startling effect, and pathes, thsfi any of the previous productions by the Author of " ELA, THE OUTCAST," " ANGELINA," & C., & C. In consequence of the great length of the first part of the new Romance, the conclusion of " ANGELINA," is un- avoidably postponed tilt our next. Many excellent com- munications we are compelled to suffer to stand otier until next week, on the same acc'Otin t. A vast quantity of Chai- aAes, 8fc., hhve cdme to hand, but We cannot promise la insert them for some Weeks, having already an immense number on hand. F. M., will not SLFTFJ- / , | MR. G. RAYLEY wtH findf that we have attended to him in the present number. Accepted: " NIKI,''( X GdsLtN, ( Dublin,) J. W—— D, ( Dublin,) " MY ANNA S GRAVE," " THE MANLAC,". 11. M., ( Newcsale- upo. t^ T. y » « p " OUR ANDOVER AGENT," onrf" MOLIMEN." ' ft'espeetfully declined^: MR. J. L. TILLY. The authors of alt Solutions to Charades, fyc., who are not answered, may conclude lhat they either will not suit, or have arrived too late. We have received a great number of other commtsnica- " tions, which will be answered in our neX't. *„* All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to the Editor of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 231, High- street, Shoreditch. THE PENNY PEOPLE'S AND POLICE GAZETTE. APRIL. This was the second month of the, old Roman year, but, on the reform of the calendar, it became the fourth. Tbe name of it is derived by, some from aptrio, I open ; because in this month tire earth begins to open her bo- som for the production of vegetables; and by others from aphrodite, the G> eek appellation of Venus. It was, indeed, under the | rotectiou of Venus. Several festivals occarred in this month. On Ihe first, that of Venus took place. New flowers and myrtle were offered to the goddess, and the young fe- males danced and sung lor three nights, crowned with garlands. On the same day sacrifices were also offered to Fartuna virilis ; and, on tile third, to Fortuna primi- genius. On ihe eighth were the gamgs for the victory of Caesar. The Cerealia, in honour of Ceres, were held on the ninth. Ou the twelfth began the Megale. siau games, which were Instituted in remembrance of bringiug the statue of Cybele from Pessinuntium to Rome. They lasted six days, and were held with great magnificence. On the thirteenth were sacrifices to Jupiter tbe Conqueror, and to Liberty. The Fordi- cides, or Fordicalia, occurred on the fifteeuth, which were instituted by Numa, in a period of scarcity, and in which a cow with calf was offered to the earth. On the nineteenth the Palilia were celebrated, by tho country people, in honour of the goddess Pales, whom ihey considered as the tutelary goddess of themselves, and of their flocks. The festival called the Parilia, in memory ofthe founding of Rome, was on the twenty- first; and, on this occasion, no sacrifices were made which required the shedding of blood. The second Agonalia took place on the twenty- second. On the twenty third was the first Vinalia, consecrated to Jupi- ter, to obtain a1' favourable vintage. The Robigalia, or Ruliigalia, instituted by Numa, in Ihe eleventh year ofhis reign, occurred oil the twenty- fifth. It wis de- voted to the rural god Rubigus, in order to obtain his succour, to prevent the grain from being mildewed. Ovid says the entrails ofa dog and sheep vvers sacri- ficed to him ; Columella affirms the sacrifice to have been a newly- littered puppy. The twenty- seventh was a great festival of the Latian people, on the Mons Sacer. The Fluralia or Floral games began on the twenty- eighth, and continued for six days. This festival was of a nature the most abominably licentious. It did not become aanual till the year of Rome 580, when, on account of a scarcity which had iasted for several years, the senate commanded that it should be regu- larly observed, far the purpose of propitiating Flora. On the thirtieth was the fir. ; Larentalia, or Laurentalia, in honour of Jupiter. It as celebrated out of Rome, on the banks of the Tiber. The first ebullitions of their joy having exhausted themselves, Lord Raymond descended from the seat which he hail occupied, and in the warmest terms con gratulated Godfrey de Lacy and his father upon their acquittal; aftet- Which the Court broke tip; and the spec tators soon dispersed ; those who had been most violent in condemning Godfrey de Lacy, being now the most noisy In iheir applause at the decision which had been given by tbe judges, aud the miraculous manner in which lie hat! pa- sed through the ordeah • Lord Raymond invited Kauulph and his son to his castle, aiid the deliriolis cxtaSy with Which the lovers embraced each other, and the frantic transport With which Edith clasped him to, h- r hosoin, and wept tears of gratitude and unfounded delight, needs no description. Tue jov of grnncstine was so great, that it overcame her, and she became lusensihle. At the same time that Lord Raymond felt the most sincere pleasure at tllB i- festOTfftion of Godfrtty lei llblrly, it vVas not iltitliiiiglcd with a sentiment approachlug to jealossy, when he beheld the fond endearments tbe lovers bestowed upon each other, and the encourage- ment which Rauulph and Edith now seemed to give to their passion ; and while he reproached himself for the Sentiment; he felt it was utterly irnpossibh for hitn fp conquer ir, aud every hour, every minute, served to in- crease the love which had gabled such ascendency in his hnsoui, It was a remarkable tiling; that so strong as were his tletwllliiiations; and when it. Is considered how quick- sighted jealous lave is generally, Godfrey did not mark the emotion! ' of his lordship, but so flilly Occu- pied was his niVnl with otM^' tboiIghts, which the late exciting circurtiyajice* had created in it, that the tormer Cduld give no thtSffht to anything else but them and Eriiuestiue;' - i ' Ltii'd Raymond, his mother, and Mat- gueritej trc. ated them all with the most marked attention and kindness, aud so much had Lady Celestine's love for Ernnestiiie in- creasedj that she again expressed a wish to take her Under her protection. Hubert expressed his sense of her ladyship's kindness aud condescension; jn the most ferrent terms, but, at the same tiiiie, most, respectfu'ly declined this offer, stating, more particularly, as llis rfciasou for so doing, that he had been so long accustomed to her preseucc, aud the sweetness of Iter society,- that now he war sinking into the vale of life, he could not dare to think upon depriving himself of her affectionate attentions, This argument was so forcible, that Lady Celestine could not offer any opposition to it, but she felt very much dis- turbed at the circumstance, the interest, as we have before Bated; Which Krpnestlue had excited in her bowim, being of the most extraordinary and unaccount- able description. Bilt if her disappointment and vex- ation were greatj how much more powerful Werfe the same feelings created in the mind of Lord Raymond; Who now felt that to live oilt of the presence of that beau- teous damsel, was to be consigned to the greatest misery; but he stifled his emotions as well as he was able, lest thev should be noticed by their guests, Enruestiue; too, who could n » t he insensible of the kindness of Lady Celestine, Sincerely regretted that her duty, and other circumstances, wfotild not allow her to consent to the request she had made so urgently, but she felt that the honor her ladyship intended her, was far more than she had any right to expect, and received it with sentiments of fhe utmost gratitude, sweetly ex- pressing herself to that effect, iu a manner which excited the admiration of her listeners. ' Po the gentle and beauteous Marguerite, who had evinced so much affection towards her, her heart warmed with all the tenderness of a sisftr; and she felt that in her so'cietV she could have been supremely happy ; and she was fearful, that by her declining the Offers of Lady Celestine, it might appear to them that she was unmind- ful of the distinguished deference with which they had behaved to her and her friends, of the deep interest they had taken in their affairs, and the troubles that, had lately, afilicted them. After some time passed in conversation upon other topics, a sudden thought seemed to ofcctlr to Lady Celes- tjpiuand addressing the friends of our hCrolne, she said; that, notwithstanding they bad thought proper to decline the1 offer she had made them, of taking Ernuestine under her protection, and she could not bflt approve of tbe motives that prompted them to do so, she did not ima- gine that they could have any objection to her becoming her guest for a few weeks, until the late painful affair had entirely blown over in" the public mind. This invitation Hubert Ctbnsham wotlld also, had he consulted his ovvn Will, have declined, hut admitting that it was most reasonable, and tearing that he should offend their best friends, he gave his assent to this pro- position, and left, it entirely to ErHiiestine to dccide. The eyes of Godfrey de Lacy waudered to the coun- tenance of his lover, and by their expression shewed the anxiety with which he awaited her answer. She easily read his thoughts, and by a swtet smile of encouragement, convinced him that, although she felt it to be her duty to give he: r ^ ssent, It should not be th. e means of preventing them from often meeting each other. We need nTit seek to pourtrav the feelings of extacy that prevailed In the bosom of Lord Raymond, when he heard the charming object of his admiration agree to become their guest, and never did he feel more sin- cerely erateful to his mother, than he did for making this proposition. The day passed away in the most agreeable manner, and in the evening Hubert and his wife returned home, after a most affectionate separation from Ernnestine, and evincing as much emotion as If they were about to be di vided by milss, ana without any prospect of seeing each other again; while Ranulph, Godfrey; and Edith; re- mained at the castle for the night. Amidst the pleasure which Lord Raymond experienced at his being so near to Ernuestine, his mind was strongly harrassed and perplexed when he reflected upon all the events connected with the recent trial, but more especi- ally upon the behaviour of tbe robber- chief towards himself— the several tunes he had appeared to him. under such mysterious circumstances, and the threats he had held out to him: not that he feared his power, ( although his daring deeds had caused much consternation in the country, and it was ihoHght to be so hazardous a task to seek to rout him and Ins desperate companions from their stronghold, that the attempt had but seldom been made, and then it was always attended with unsuccess,) but there was another and indefinite feeling crossed his mind whenev(> t* lie thought upon him, which, in spite of all his efforts m the contrary, he found it utterly impos- sible to shake off. From Godfrey and his father he had now received every particular concerning the late events, and tbe deep in- terest which Osmond had taken in the fate of the former, and ihe risk he had run, aud that for one who, it would seem, was a stranger to him, more astonished hitn than all. He very much regretted that, a man who had shown such disinterested friendship for Godfrey and his fattier, should not only be his ( Lord Raymond's), declared most bitter foe, but the enemy to, and an alien from his country. „ again loud demonstrations of admiration shook the vaulted cavern. " Enough !" said Osmond ; " then are ye all prepared to stand by yonr captain while ye have life, should any attack be made upon us ?" " All! all! with the last drop of our blood," cried the robbers, unsheathing their swords, and crossing them; " death and destruction to the hated foes of Osmond, the Avangeri'' " ' Tis well, my brave comrades," said Osmond. " I thank ye for your zeal, and shall not be unmindful to re- pay it, Osric, see them to the castle, and be careful every thing shall be so prepared, that in case of an attack from those whom we have just cause to expect will make one, we may be prepared to give. tliem a warm reception, as we have done ere now." " 1 will obey thee, captain," answered the lieutenant of the robbers, " but here in this. strnng fortress we may bid defiance to all the force thev can bring against us." " Thou sajest, true, Osric," observed the robber chief; but now would I draw thine, and the attention of our brave comrades, to another subject. Ye all know this i.- rl... full- m: tid nf the inn ?" Ernnestine, the fair maid of Inn ? " We do." .;-• - " Then, mark me; death is the portion of he who molests her, or does Hot protect her when she may re- quire it 1 Dost hear?" ' i, - f We do captain, and swear to obey. BnouirhVknow R ahn TTT Marguerite, the shtftr nf Lofd Raymond. Si, ASWol? 1'• The robbers replied hi the aflftrlfi,;^. " Then I chargeye, any rf ye, that ( flay meet, her, make her vour prisoner; but, as ye fear my vet- fiance, use no more violence tlVatt may be found necessary to convey her to our retreat." The men swore to obey; and these matters being ad- justed, and Osric having seen that the castle was secure ' from any danger of a surprise, they gathered around the festive board; and commsiiced iheir usual revelry. " Yes/' cried the robber- Chief, when be retired lo rest, " the fair Marguerite, the sister « f the man 1 have the greatest cause to detest, shall become the mistress of Osmond, the Avenger ! - Long have mine i? yes beheld bet wilh tbe warm glances of desire, and never will 1 rest until She has become mine!- Oh, this will be glorious hweuse for ihe wrongs I have received at the hands of Lord Raymond, and will torture him more than if I were at oace to sacrifice his life, which I have the power to do. Rut no. he shall live to see rtie triumph and exalt over his sufferings, aud lo ring my curses in bis ears!" As Osmond thus spoke, he clenched ( lis fist, and, with a look of determination, quilted the caveru. The chief justicarv, wild, for some unaccountable rea- son, had become prejudiced agairtsi Godfrey de Lacy, was resolved, atnnte, to put into execution his pesign upon the robber- chief and his Companions* and toendeiVou.""> destroy those who had been so long the tgrror of thi country, more especially as they had been tite' irftaM of rescuing from the iron fangs of the law, those indlHdtigrc he had most unaccountably and unjustly condemned un- heard iu his own mind, and upon whom he felt a san- guinary regrel, that he had not had an opportunity of in- flicting that punishment for the crimes of which they had been accused. The chief jasticary was notorious for his brutal severity and partiality, and, in private life, he was haughty, tyrannical, despotic, and overhearing; jet, there vVet e those Who said they remembered liim when his cha- racter Was widely different, and when he was as much es- teemed for his general urbane and benevolent conduct, as he Was now bated, dreaded, and despised. This extraordinary change rould only be accounted for through s. iiiie Severe domestic calamity which had — tendiyl him, and WlliCh will shortly be more fully plained. ( To be continued.) at- ex- A STORM AT SEA. CHAPTER XIII. " Although 1 am a bandit bold, And plunder Is my aim ; I never did my help withhold. When pity made tbe claim." OSMOND and his daring associates reached the im- pregnable castle of St. Alwyn in safety, and were hailed with the loudest cheers by the robbers, their companion*, who had been anxiously awaiting their return. " All bail ! to our gallaut chief, Osmond, the Avenger!" they shouted, and the. lofty subterraneous retreat, wherein they usually assembled, resounded again with tlieir deafening shouts of delight and exal- tation, when iheir captain briefly informed them what had takeu place. " By this lime, most likely, the dastard traitors who dared to disobey their captain's injunctions, have paid the penalty with their lives." said Osmond. " Com- rades, remember their fate, aud beware bow ye keep the oath which binds us in unity together; a terrible punish- ment shall inevitably be the lot of thos « who break our laws. Say— is there any one among ye who disapproves ofthe manner iu which your captain lias behaved ou this occasion ?" " None! none!" was the simultaneous answer, and After a few days of tolerable, though dark, and threat- ening leather, ( says Lord Charlemont, who was on his voyage from Rhodes to Malta,) vve were overtaken, on the 20th of Jariuiry, by one of the rtlost violent hurri- canes tllit evfci Was ktfb'wn ill tho'iie s « 4 « . the stdrltl, was at south- east, the tfltist dafigerous, 6' f all winds in the Mediterranean, dreaded tiy sillers tindet the ri* me dt Levanter, began about noon, and continued altl flay, gra- dually increasing. Whilst wt bad daylight to UsSiSf artd to comfort us, we put ourselves befere the wind, ana wfli away with what little sail we could carry. Night came on. and the storm redoubled. Ignorant in what part f the sea » e then were, for the darkness of the weather had for some days jutst prevented us from taking any observation; we gdessed, lis ill Cases of Ibis kind, we are always prompt to guess the rtofat, that » tfc driving i'le Adriatic, the sea ot all others, most feared bv'inariners; threfore dreading the conse- quence of a lee shore, destitute 9f harbours, and afraid any longer, to leave ourselves to the dispeoi1 01 , he wmd. we put the helm about, and lay too, under our v^'-.' s65^ double ieefed. NOW was but the beginning of horro>". The tempest raged w? tH tjWoM Wry; the glootlt oS' night was unnaturally horrid. TK4' icMSittg c. totfds, alts Ihey divided, affording faint and ffifrslejit gleams 0' f brassy light, far more dreadful than the deipSSt dark- ness. The waves rose mountains high ; and, to me, # hd( supported in the gangway, mood gazing on the magni- ficent ruin, the whole ocean appeared lo be in flames, through which the vessel ploughed her desperate way ; sometimes perched on the brow of the s; upendous ac - cumulation, and again plunging precipitate into the flaming abyss. The motion was now grown so violent, that I could no longer support it, and I was unwillingly preparing to go dawn into the cabin, when n squall of wind, to which the fury of the seltled tempest became a calm, laid the ship down almost on her side, and broke three out of five of her mftitl slirotids. The cannon broke loose, and, together with all onr loading, and a great part of the ballast, rushed at once to the lee side of the Vessel, with such a horrible crash, that the ship seemed IO have been burst in pieces. If the whole globe should, by sudden explosion, he rent asunder, 1 question whether the shock would be greater to eadii individual, than What was UoW felt in our little world. Bv^ ry heart quaked with fedr, and hot- ror appeared in every coun- tenance. Nor, even after the immediate shock was ever, did tile cousequeno « s seem lefis ( ferrible. l'lie ship, weighed down by the shifting of the ballilsi; & c., wis unable to right herself, and lay, gunwale, unr) er_ watet; at the mercy of the billows, which seemed, every insfflntj ready to devour her. Our oaptam, a brave and expe- rienced seampn, now addressed the sail rs, in words to this effect:—' My lads, you see the situation to which « e are reduced. The vessel is old, and not much to be de- pended on. If we should spring our main mast, we should, undoubtedly., go to picees. I know of no re- source, but to make fast the buoy rope to the mast head, which, being belayed at the ship's side, may serve as a false shroud, and mav possibly preserve the mast. I well know the difficulty of the attempt. To go aloft in such a situation, is more lhan I pan ventiiTe to order. I am an old sailor, and should fear lo attempt it But it is our only means of safety, and if there be a fellow among you, brave enough;' here he was interrupted by Tom Sillers, ( I never kliall forget his name) who stood next to him ; this truly, and, I may add, philosophically, brave fellow, taking from his cheek the plug ot tobacco, cried out, ' by G—, master, if we must die, ' tis better to die doing something.' His words accompanied his aotion. He was presently at the mast- head— the buoy- rope was made fast, and the mast belayed ; and thus, by the astonishing bravery and activity of one man, that dangtr which seemed imminent, was at last postponed. Such aie British sailors. We now retired to oar beds, dreading the worst, yet not without hope: when, after about an hour's horrid uncertainly, the captain entered our cabin, and told us than he feared all was over. That, though at sea from his infancy, he had never seen such a night. Thai the ship, indeed, might possibly ride out. Yet. lhat he would recommend it to us, to prepare for ihe worst. How this sentenca was felt may easily be judged. A dfad silence ensued, which lasted for some minutes, but was finally broken bv my friend, Frank Burton, who lay next bed to me. * Well,' exclaimed he, and 1 fear wrtb an oath, ' this is tine indeed. Here have 1 been pamper- ing this great body of mine, for more than twenty years, and all to be a prey to some corsed shark, and be damned to him 1' The unexpected oddity of such an exclamma- tion at such a time, the profound seriousness, and conse- quent Comicalncss, wilh which it was uttered, together with the character and figure of the man, for Frank was a bonvivant, almost as couspicuous lor size and corpulence, as for thecxoellent temper of his mind, were motives of mirth, tooatrong to be resisted; and, in the midst of our feara, we burst out itito a loud laugh. Neither let this incident, this oomic breach in oar tragedy, appear nnna- tnral. Nature and Shakspere, both inform |} S, that cha- racter will pf evail in the midst of distress. t THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES POLICE GAZETTE. THE DEATH GHASP; OH, A FATHER'S CURSE! ( AN O- RIGINAL ROMANCE OF STARTLING INTEREST.) WRITTEN VRESSLY FOR ' TIIE FENNY SUNDAY TIMES," gy. THE AUTHOR OF " ANGELINA," " ERNNEVI'INF. I) F. LACY," ETC. : EI.' A, TllE OUTCAST,' CHAFIER i. THE GAMESTERS.— THE TREACHEROUS FRIEND. iTwas on a lovely summer's evening in the year 1595, that Master Barnard Swinton, proprietor of an English hotel, near Abbeville, in France, had taken his seat at his door, with a small table before him, a bottle of the best wine in his cellar, and a full determination to enjoy himself, as was his custom at every opportunity which presented itself. J 3Mine bos- 0f n Ant> erge de Sirloin," as he had c to taft his establishment, out of respect to his • tiativt country, Was a good, portly, rosy- gilled specimen Of John Bull epicureanism, and with a countenance So good- humoured and cheerful, that no one, 16 look at him, would suppose for an instant thAt he had ever known What trouble was; but in that idea they would have been most decidedly wrbtig, as poor Master Swinton Vvas plagued with the greatest trouble a man can endure, Viz., a scblding wife. What motive it was that induced Master Swinton to emigrate from England and to settle in France, we- iiAve no exact means of ascertaining, but imagine it Vcas that which stimulates most persons to do tbe same, — a fancy that they can do better abroad than at home ; but this is a matter of no consequence; Certain it is that he was there established, and was not only doing what is now technically called " a roaring trade," but it was currently rumoured he had saved'a sufficient sum to retire at any time he might think proper. Now, as we Were saying, Master Swinton had taken his seat outside the house, and having twice or thrice applied himself to the bottle, begau to feel in that happy state of contentedness which makes the cares of this life fade before us like " the baseless fabric of a vision." " Well," soliloquized mine host, smacking his lips after a deep potation, " marry, and there is nothing like a bumper or two, after all, when the fatigues of the day are over, aftd a man's wife is out of the way. Peace thett condescends io make friends with one, aud • we M. n wag our tongue without hazarding the loss of • Itie's nose, by that sharpest of all instruments, a Ionian's passion.' ' " Barnard Swinton'. Barnard Sw'nttm T ,,< _ t that moment exclaimed asbrft voice o the St u - mUsical tones, upon h;. arl wh- , Uie individual ? » 7tM « . Td C'^ » tMance remarkably, and replac- ' V5 t V f • wsvs iu tlle afit w raising to his lips, on ,, , . tie looked as Uncomfortable as any misan- th ™ P* need wish to be. Here forties lYiy perpetual hurricane," he muttered to himself, " now for an hour's snarling, snapping, storming, and raging; oh, dear! oh, dear!— that Woman's temper will certainly drive me crazy. Ever since I left London and have become the landlord of an hotel in France, her pride aud arrogance have led me a worse life than a dog!" He had not time to say more, before Mrs. Swinton rushed from the house in a furious passion, and looking at her unfortunate spouse as if she was half inclined to inflictsummary punishment upon him, she vociferated: " Barnard Swinton, Barnard Swinton, thou art one Ibf the nkost lazy varlets in Christendom. Here thou Art, at thine old game, fuddling away all the profits of Our hotel, and lounging thy time away, while I, thy W6or, delicate, aud amiable little wife," am obliged to Mave like a horse from morning till night. Barnard Swinton, thou art a brute, a savage, a—" " Now, mv dear," interrupted her husband, meekly and pacifically. " Barnard Swinton !" screamed the termagant, with increasing wrath, " I will be heard." " Indeed thou wilt," returned Swinton, " and all over the town if thou bawlestiu that manner." " Barnard," cried Mrs. Swinton, stamping her feet and almost choked with rage, " thou ou.^ ht to be ashamed of thyself; thou art a nasty—" " " Will that incessant tongue of thine never be worn out? said her spouse. " No," replied Mrs. Swinto- i( with a most provoking sneer, it has been in Constant use upwards of forty vears, and it s as good Qs cv<* it was yet, and thou shalt know it too. It lS a scanilalous thing, 1 mean to say, fli ftn? Swinton, here is Le Auberge de Sirloin, as tullol eus_( 0mers a- jt can hold, and all the waiting upon them, cooking for them, and everything else, is left to ™ -> While thou dost nothing else but sit and drink thy Wine as if thou wert some great nabob.'" " Now, now, my dear Cicely," observed Swinton, frnildly and persuasively, " I must say that thou art Complaining without a cause. If 1 do rest myself a bit, and enjoy my glass, after the old English fashion, hast thou not got our son Caleb, aud the maid Pauline to assist thee ?" " Yes," returned Mrs, Sainton, " and a very pretty pair they are ; there's Pauline is so deeply in love with Caleb, that she don't know what she's about half her time, and smashes all the crockery in the house; and as for that stupid fellow, Caleb, his predilection for birds • will drive me mad. He's turned every room ill our hotel into a bird- cage or a pigeon- house. But this is all thy doings, Mr. Swinton." " Mine, my love ?" said her spouse. " Yes," replied his wife, " didu't thou bring the boy tip to be a Whitechapel birfl- catcher and fancier, when we were in London, and now he has nothing in his head but larks aud linnets, robins and bullfinches, tumblers, powters, blackbeards, baldheads, and all other such nonsense. A very pretty pair of birds he'll make of us soon, foisooth ; we sha'u t have a feather to fly with; but here comes our two guests, Monsieur De Buoisson and Monsieur De Floriville, and I declare if M. De Buoisson does not look as if be was dviug with melan- choly. I am afraid they are two very wild young gen- tlemen, but then they are so liberal that— but what art thou standing gaping there for, Mr. Swinton ?— Wilt thou see to attending to business or not ?— Oh, if I was not the most amiable, meek, and patient woman in the world, 1—" She had not time to finish the sentence before the two gentlemen of whom she had been speaking, made their appearance, and amidst* a profusion of courtesies from Mrs. Swinton, and a simple John Bull nod ofthe head from her spouse, they walked into tbe house. They were both remarkably handsome men, but the figure of Adolphede Floriville was more noble and com- manding than that of his companion, and there was an expression of melancholy stamped upon the features of Eugene which but very ill aocorded with the vivacious countenance of the former. Eugene de Buoon l a nd Adolphe de Floriville had been friends and companions from their boyish days: both were of noble families, and at the death of tlieif relations came into possession 6f ample fortuties, Which they had, however, greatly impoverished by acts of dis- sipation and improvidence, and ruirt alone stared them in the face. If they did not quickly abandon their wild career; but it is hard to escapc when youth once be- comes involved in the vortex of folly," Monsieur Dc Floriville had formerly been a colonel in the French army; but for some particular reason, which We will uot pause to inquire into at pfeserit^ He Hat! ( jUit'^ d it abruptly. FontAiribidaii was the native place of Eugene and Adolplie, where they had estates that nearly joined each other, but for a considerable time past they had been staying at Le Auberge de Sirloin, for reasons that will shortly, probably, be explained. " Come, come, Eugene," said Adolphe, when they had seated themselves in their own room, and the latter had called for wine, " chase away the gloom that sjts upon thy brow, and become once more a man. What's the use of indulging in these fits df melancholy and abstraction ? Tho* wilt find them but sorry compa- nions, methinks." " Ob, Adolphe," replied Eugene, with a sigh, " how canst thou talk thus ? Am I not a dissipated profligate, who hath already brought disgrace upon my once un- sullied name ? Have uot the cursed dice brought me to the brink of rum, and at the very time when Fortune had marked out for me a prospect of enviable felicity in my union with the beauteous Laurette Chantont?" ( A frown passed over the features of Adblphe at the men- tion of this name.) " Have I riot basely, cruelly abused the confidence hSr And the marquis, her father, hare reposed in me? And how can I dare again venture into her presence, when I have rendered myself iu every way so unworthy of her hand? Alas! my mad J0] jy hath ruined me." 3 " Psha!" ejaculate^ FlociviUe, Impatiently, " no more of this ! why, thou art a very coward indeed, to vuver thus at the frowns of Pate. What if Fortune looks cross to- day, a turn ofthe dice to- night itiay illu- mine her face With the brightest grilles! Come, come; Eugene, I cannot see thee thus; be seated, and oyer a bottle of wine, listen tri the voice of friendship. Wine thou wilt find is an excellent antidote for the spleen, and by the saints, our host sells. no bad medicine. Drink, Eugene, and be thyself AgAin." . " No, no," returned Eugene, " t fcAttttdt dtihk; wine would but add fuel to my Already burning brain !— Adolph i, what a fool I have been to suffer the enjoyment of a few fancied hours of pleasure thus to sink aud de- grade me in the world. Of my once princely fortune, scarcely enough remains to keep me Irom the level of the meanest hind, and even Laurette and her father, I imagine, begin to suspect me, for now they meet tiie with looks ol coldness that freeze me. Oh, cursed dice! ye have destroyed all my hopes for ever !" Had any tine taken the least notice of the counte- nance of Adolphe at this moment, they must have ob- served the look of exultation and satisfaction that passed over it; but it hastily disappeared, and turning to his companion, he said :— " Why, can this be the once gay and reckless Eugene de Buoisson ? He Whti Used to marvel that men could be sad, and laughed when people talked of sorrow ?— Eugene, art thou mad ?" " Mad!" repeated Eugene, bitterly, " yes, I am. But why, Adolphe, remind me of my errors ? Why recalto my memory the damned recklessness • ahich has hurried me headlong to disgrace aud infamy? Oh! I am not indeed the Eugene de Buoisson that I once was. I am no longer the happy, guiltless Eugene who once was the pride of adoring parents* striving by deeds of honour and rectitudc to adorn the rank of life Fortune had placed me in, and gaining the admiration of the old and the yoilrtg. 1 am a fallen wretch, despicable to myself, aud abhorrent to all around me." " Really, Eugene," remarked De Floriville, " thou hast become a most egregious coward, a perfect misan- thrope. Psha! be more thvself;— drink— 1 insist upon it. Why, tliou art uotlrg « ared yet, and ami not ihy fiiend ? To- morrow night the dice may retrieve thy fortuue, and then thou canst, if thou likest, become what the world terms ' a man of honour,' and who will take the trouble to question thy past conduct ? Laurette loves thee! she will become thine; bring with her a splendid dowry, and then thou wilt be a man again." " A man !" reiterated Eugene, " net er! No, Adolphe, Laurette. can never be mine;— heir coldness already convinces me lhat she knows my guilt, and loves me not.; and, ba- e as I am, nt- ver will I bring disgrace and infamy upon her, by uniting her to my misery." " Ha! ha! ha! laughed l) e Floriville, ironically, " why, what a philosopher thou art, Eugene. But trust me all will yet t> e well. This evening I promised to meet a party at the Count Bellevoir's chateau ; thou must accompany me; and hark ye, a turn of the dice may make thee richer than ever thou wert." " Tempt me not, Adolphe, to my ruin again, for may eternal curses light —" " Bali!" interrupted De Floriville, " wouldst thou for such a very delicate sense of honour, forsooth, resign fortune, Laurette, everything? Drink! drink!" " No, no, it will only instil false and transitory plea- sure into me, to distract me the more afterwards." " As I was saying, Eugene," continued Adolphe, without appearing to take any notice of the latter ob- servations of his companion, " the count's party this evening;— wilt thou accompany me thither ? The play will be strong. There are several of the innocent ex- pectedthere; dost understand nie ? Besides, thy lovely inamorato will attend— the fair Elvira." " Elvira!" repeated Eugene, " oh, name her not! It was her who, with frail charms and delusive plea- sures, suuk me still lower in the gulph of iniquity; but the veil is torn from mine eyes ;— I loathe— I detest her, — and will see her no more, unless it be to breathe my curses in her ears, and spurn her from me forever !" " Eugene," observed De Floriville, in serious accents, " this headstrong folly will destroy thee ! It will, unlesschecked, hurry theeinto that verystate of despair and wretchedness, thou dost but now anticipate. Knowest thou not that tbe hot, revengeful blood of Italy flows within Elvira's veins, and if it is once aroused, what may she not do to accomplish her vengeance? Thy name, thy character, thy libe'ty, nay more, the very life of Laurette, may fail a sacrifice to it." " The life of Laurette," ejaculated Eugene, shudder- ing, " horrible thought!— But yet it is too probabtfe.— Wretched fool that I was to place myself in the power of a mercenary and revengeful woman, to be won to de- struction by her syren smiles. Adolphej my friend, teach me how to act— I will be guided by thee aloue." " Nothing is more easy if you will but be guided by my advice," said Adolphe, scarcely able to restrain the expression of his exultation at the success of his scheme; —" accompany me this evening to Count Bellevoir's ; stake boldly, and fear uot the result. Meet Elvira with your accustomed smiles, and leave the rest to me." " It shall be so," replied F. ugene, after a brief pause ? " I feel myself Again!— Thanks, Adolphe, for thy counsel; I will al'conltiany thee. Once more will I grasp the dice, aud redeem my former wealth or become a beggar! I will meet Elvira,— I— 1— 1— but give me wine!— Ah ! that has restored me— my mind Is ready for anything. 1 will go and arrange my person for the party, and will then rejoin thee. Laurette, thou shalt be mine, or I will perish !" " Laurette thine, never!" exclaimed Adolphe as Eugene quitted the room, " ha! ha! ha! so my bird is caught.. This night, Euseite, seals thy fate for ever! Fool! he little suspects the snare that I have laid for him. Laurette loves !) iin. pot, but on me bestows her ?.!! b£ tinns, and if [ succeed in prejudicing the mind of her father against him, he maybe willing to sanction my. suit, although he lias hitherto denied me his house, and refused from some cause, which I cannot imagine, to receive me, even ill the cha'acter of a friend. How- ever, the anonymous letter 1 have sent him may have the desired effect, and I may be able, gradually, to ingratiate myself ill his favdur; at Ally rate I doubt not that if he'feiriairls o'bstiflatfe, I shAlfbe able in time to prevail upon LiUrette to consent tp a private union, and the forgiveness of the marquess will> doubtless, very soon be obtained. This night, if my stratagem fail not, thereinnantofEugene's fortune will be mine. Eugene, I have been the plaything of thy puny virtues too iong. Honour! — virtue !— P* hs4 « 4key are baubles none but fools would grasp at. 1 will now to Laurette, while Eugene prepares himself, and see how works my stra- tagem." . CHAHtER II. THE LETTER.— TMF. MRETiNG.— tifE DISCOVER-^.— THE RUINED GAMESTER. The Marquess de Chamont wis. one of the wealthiest noblesse France, at the period this tale commences, SSuld boast of, and he united every amiable quality to riches. He contributed with A lavish hand towards the distresses of the poor, and was prdrtipt to hecome the patron of humble and struggling riient. His wife had been dead for some years, and Laurette was his only child; on her his sole happiness, his every hope was fixed, and never could parent behave with more un- bounded affection than he did towards her. Laurette de Chamont was just seventeen, and lan- guage would be by far too weak to do justice to her personal charms; they were only equalled by the graces of her miiid. Wherever she went, she excited love and adiliiratloii. And she needed but dU(' C to be seen to make an indelible impression upon the heart. Her Accom- plishments were of the first order, and they were greatly enhanced by the elegancies of her mind; and she was poiuted at as a bright example to those of her own sex who resided in tne neighbourhood of the chateau. Young as ihe was, La'urette had au£ ady received the marked attentions of many young noblertleti w"° Va< J sued for the possession of her hand and affections j but although, flaturally of an ardent disposition, she had never yet beheld tbe rtiati whom she potlld love with the passion due to a husband; aiid though she: de- clined their offers, she did it with such grace, that it only served to increase their admiration ofher. It was an accident that introduced Eugene de Buoisson and Adolphe de Floriville to the notice of Laurette and her lather. The former were journeying not far from the Chateau de Chamoat, when the veliielebroke down, and they were both very much hart. The chateau being the nearest to where the Accident took place, thev were conveyed there, and the marquess And LAurett'e received them with their usual kindness atid hospita- lity. The Marquess de Chamont received Ait extraor- dinary impression in fareur ef Eugene the moment he beheld him; tyut no sooner did he ascertain the name of Adolphe, than a strong emofitttl stioO. k his frame,— he turned ghastly pale— nis bpsquivered— he uttered a deep groan of; Agony, and ctjWtiif his face ' with his hands, rushed from, the room. Surprised— thutidersirtick At tiis singular conduct, LaUrette in rain sought to elicilr from him the cause of his agitatioii; but he , eVRded w » r questions, and com- manded her never more to repeat the name of Adolphe in his presence. Alas! little did the Vnarquess know the pain he was inflicting upon the gentle bosom of his daughter by this injunction ; frortithe first morient she behold Atldljihe de FlorivlUej He firmly held possession of her heart. The marquess would never see De Floriville. and as soon as he had recovered from the effects of the acci- dent, he desired him peremptorily to quit, the chateau, intimating that He must positively dispense with the honour ot his future visits: but without assigning any feasoii for such singular and unaccountable behaviour. Indignant And surprised as he felt; Adolphe stilled his feelings of resentment, and obeyed the mandates of the marquess, but he quitted thechateau with sentiments of mingled pain and delight;— the beauty of Laurette had enrapturedhis senses: nay, more— he had seized an op- portunity of obtaining an interview with her, in which he had made a confession of his love, and obtained an acknowledgment from the beauteous girl of the ieci- procal sentiments that had taker! possession of her bosom. Adolphe concealed his sentiments ami the return they had met with from Eugene, who had also become fasci- nated with the charms and virtues of Laurette, and having made the same known to the marquess, he re- ceived him in the most favourable manner, and without consulting her feelings, as he had ever before done, he commanded her to receive him ds her future husband. It ihay be rtodily imagined Mth what eiitotidns of pain . Laurette received these Injunctions, but accustomed implicitly to obey the smallest wish of her father, she offered not a word in opposition;— not a murmur of regret— aud the marquess, therefore, was constrained to believe that she approved of the choice he had made. Eugene de Buoisson had cortainly made a most favour- able impression Upon Laurette, and had she not have seen Ailolpliej she felt coilvliiced she could have loved him ; but so well did the latter eonceal the real vices of his character, that nothing, she felt convinced, could erase his image from her heart. At first she thought of confiding to Eugene the secret of the mutual passion which her and Adolphe felt for edcli other, and of ap- pealing to his honbur and gertSrosity to abandon his sultj but then, when she recoMected'the extraordinary prejudice which her father had imbibed against Adolphe, and the utter hopelessness that he would ever give his assent to their vows, she abandoned the idea; and de- termined to make a sacrifice of her own happiness, rather than acteotitrary to the will ofthe marquess, her father. She, therefore, forwarded to Adolphe a letter, in which giving expression to the paramount place he held and must eyer hold in her affections, she implored him to endeavour to forget her, and to submit with fortitude and resignation to the decree of fate, ( however painful it might be,) and by which it seemed to be ordained that they should never be united. To this letter Adolphe returned au answer, teeming with the most unbounded affection, and wherein, after reiterating the avowal of his unbounded love, he ap- peared, at the most painful sacrifice, to yield to her wishes. But so far from this, he had determined at all hazards to frustrate the hopes and wishes of Eugene, aud ultimately to accomplish his own designs, by ob- taining possession of the hand and fortune of Laurette. So well did Adolphe play the hypocrite, that Eugene never suspected him, and imagined he was his best friend, while he was, in fact, plotting everything for the destruction of his future peace. It has been seen the villainous part that Adolphe had already acted, and be had succeeded much better than he bad even ex- pected ;— he had played with such advantage on the weakness of Eugene, as to place him iu the most ques tionable positions, and the marquess, as he had noticed, did not receive him with the same warmth that he han previously done. Having advanced his plot thus far, Adolphe deter mined to carry the rest by a coup de main, and it will be seen how far he succeeded. On the evening that the events, which we have de, scribed in a previous chapter, were being enacted at Le Auberge de Sirloin, Laurette was seated in a melan- choly mood in her apartment, ruminating ou the seve- rity of her fate, when she heard the voice ofher father, talking in tones of extreme warmih as he ascended the stairs. A deadly chill came over her in an. instant, and she foreboded some approaching calamity. " Oh, my father," she soliloquised, " how my heart sinks when I hear thy footsteps ou the stairs; formerly it leaped for joy at the sound of thy voice, and 1 wou' rush to thine arms, eager to obtain thy approving kii Before she had time to say more, the room door thrown open violently, and the marquess entered i> state of great emotion, and holding an open letter in , ^ > hand: Laurette, surprised at the agitation he evinceA, flew towards Mm, and looking up with the deepest anxiety in his countenance, she ejaculated,— " Something has occurred to disturb thee, my dear- est father; oh, pr'ythee tell me what is the cause of the deep emotion you betray." " Read that letter!" replied the marquess, placing the epistle in her hand; " the villain— the hypocrite— but no matter, his intentions are frustrated." Laurette with eager haste took the letter, and to her infinite astonishment read the following words :— I " MY LORD MARQUESS,— AS a sincere friend to your- self and your amiable daughter, 1 warn you against taking into your bdsom a viper that will assuredly sting your peace and that of your daugh. vJafor ever. Eugene de Buoisson is { i, villain, and Vnl^ K- ieks the hand of Laurette to save h'irtiself from utter ruin, which he has brought on himself at the'gaming table. If you doubt the truth of this statement, visit the Count Bellevoir's chateau this evening, and you will be satisfied. Go disguised '" " There, Laurette," said the marquess, with breath- less impatience, " what thinkest tliou of tliat epistle ? Can it be possible that any man can be so base, espe- cially one in whose favour 1 was so greatly prepos- sessed ?" Laurette was so surprised that she found herself in- capable of answering for awhile; but, notwithstanding the hope which suddenly arose in her bosom, that this would lie the means of breaking off the match between her and Eugene, she could not be guilty of the injustice of placing any reliance iu the truth of the assertions of a man who chose an anonymous way of making his ac cusations, and she expressed that opinion to her father. " But does not the writer inform me where I may have CCCuIar demonstration of the Veracity of his accusa- tions ?" hastily returned the marquess, " what ean be more reasonable or feasible than this ? I will be at the Idace mentioned this evening, and at once satisfy my doubts, and if Eugetie has acted with such heartless duplicity, never more shall he cross the threshold of the Chateau de Chamont I" Without waiting to hear any reply, the marquess hastily quitted the room to put his design into execu- tion, and left Laurette in a state of mind it is needless for us to attempt to describe. He bad not been gone many minutes, when Fanchette, her waiting- maid, entered in much haste, and ejaculated,— " Oh, ma'amselle, my lord, the'marquess, has just popt out of the garden gate in such a florrs', and " " Well?" " Why," replied Fanchette, " just as he popt out who should pop in but —" " Who?" anxiously demanded Laurette. " Why, ma'amselle," returned Fanchette, " one of the prettiest young men in France, I do believe; with a figure as straight as a dart, an eye like a hawk, and —" " Pray do not be so tedious," interrupted Laurette, " who was it ?" " Who should it be but Monsieur de Floriville, the friend of Monsieur de Buoisson ?" answered Fanchette, >'.' but la! he's so much handsomer than Monsieur Eugene, that I declare, if it was not that I am betrothed toGervois the gardener, I wouldn't mind marrying him myself!" " A truce with this ilotisense, Fanchette, and tell me the particulars," said her mistfess. " Well then, you must know, ma'amselle," said the waiting- maid, " that I had no sooner opened the gate and let out my master, than up comes Monsieur Adolphe, and giving me a kiss, ( excuse my blushes, ma'amselle,) and giving me a kiss, he said I was a very pretty ourig girl, and told me to inform you, ma'amselle, that lie Was in the garden, and only required five minutes converse With you." " Monsieur de Floriville— Adolphe— and at this junc- ture too j" exclaimed Laurette, with much emotion; how very wrong t( j— tell him, Fanchette, that I— I— but stay— I will go myseif to him.'' " So," said Fanchette, as her young lady left the room, " Ma'amselle Laurette has got two strings to her bam, atid yet she seems not determined with vtbich to tie the hndt. Well, certainly these great people are very strange characters ; they are ashamed to live single.— they are ashamed to " own their love, and Well, it's not the case with me. for I'm sure if a fine handsome young fellow like Adolphe de Floriville, was to make love to me, I should not long keep him in sus- pense." Laurette with a palpitating heart hastened to the garden, Where she found Adolphe waiting. We will pass hastily over this interview, which was one of the most affectionate they had ever had. Adolphe urged the violence of his passion, with all that force of rhetoric with which he was so amply gifted, And implored her to consent to his wishes, namely, a secret union; and in support of his arguments exhibited the harsh treat- ment of her father towards him, and the unjust power he was seeking to exercise, by compelling her to grant her hand where she could not also bestow her heart. He also endeavouied to convince her that her father would soon forgive her, when he found that they were irrevocably united; and advanced many other points to endeavour to gain her consent to his wishes which it will be unnecessary to mention here. At first Laurette shrunk from his proposals with a feeling approaching to horror, but tbe strength of love will always triumph ultimately over every other feeling, and Laurette possessed all the weakness of hersex. His persuasions prevailed over her, and she gave her con- sent to be secretly united to Adolpbe de Floriville the following day, he promising to have all the necessary arrangements ready at. a certain hour, when he would meet her a short distance from the chateau. Delighted at the success of his schemes, De Floriville hastened from the Chateau de Chamont to the Count Bellevoir's, where he had resolved upon the completion of his infamous designs against the unsuspecting Eugene, and thither we must request the reader to follow him. In a gorgeously decorated Salon, splendidly lighted by numerous lamps, aud which cast their effulgent beams upon the richly fretted roof, were seated at dif- ferent tables, a number of handsomely attired young men, ail engaged in play, while others were lounging about, and to a close observer would not seem to be so entirely disinterested in the proceedings as they affected to be. The expressions in the countenances of the ; rs were of a varied description;— there was the elated look of success— the quivering glauce of hope— the fiendish expression of exultation— and the wild) the maddening, the vacant stare of despair. In the midst of this, a party of the loungers before alluded to, amused themselves by singing with the most uproarious gusto, the following appropriate chorus, which seemed to have been composed for the purpose of being sung at their ruinous meetings. " Mwrrlly all, cheerfully all, Whether good luck or bad befal; With venturous hands the dice we hold, For the enticing yellow gold I Oh I what pleasure, what delight, E'en 11 Fortune frowns to night, To- morroiv she may enter here, And in her brightest smiles appear." Then, merrily all, & c. At the centre table, with several others, were seated Adolphe de Floriville and Eugene; the former watching the issue of the game wilh a look of exultation, which told too plainly what success was attending his nefa- rious schemes; and the latter seeming to play with all the madness of desperation and despair. " Good again, by Jupiter!" exclaimed one of the gamblers, as a large stake was again won by Adolphe and those who were in the plot with him: " Monsieur Buoisson, thou art an unlucky dog'." " Some infernal spell is upon me," cried Eugene, frienziedlv,—" but, by Heaven ! I will struggle hard; — play on" again!— Even though beggary be my fate, I will stand the hazard!" Again did the unhappy Eugene take the fatal dice in his hand, and again was he unsuccessful, and Adolphe, leaving the table for a moment, in a tone of triumph said aside to himself,— " By hell'. the sport goes on famously— another throw, and Eugene will be a beggar, while " all his for- tune will be at the disposal of myself and my well taught myrmidons. Ah! he grasps again the fatal dice !— Madness guides his hand!— They are thrown !" At this moment a triumphaut peal of laughter burst from tbe villains with whom Eugene had been playing, Iand Adolphe, no longer able to iestrain the full ex'pres- skm of his disgusting exultation, exclaimed aloud,— —, ostl— He's ruined.— HanaPim."' 1 ; ene threw down tbe accursed inaUuments of his clasped his forehead with a groan of agony, and id wildly from the table, amid the laughter and ' s of his unprincipled companions. .. Tis done!"' he cried, " the fiends of hell have com-'' pleted their accursed work !— I'm ruined !" His eyes suddenly resting o'V Adolphe, he advaneed hastily towards him, and observe."!,— " Ah ! Adolphe, my friend." • Thy friend I" reiterated Adolphe, " with a look of conteYiipt; " idiot! thinkest thou Adolpi> de Flonville owns a beggar for his friend?" " Gracious Heaven !- Adolphe,- can I- do 1 hear Aright?" gasped forth the unfortunate victim. " No, no,— it cannot be ; some infernal delusion overwhe* lms my senses; I —" " Indeed it is no delusion," interrupted Adolpbe, with cool indifference; " I have played the hypocrite long enough to accomplish what 1 sought, atajtiiow f throw off the mask, and tell thee Adolpbe de ? torH'" i no longer kr. ows the beggared outcast, Eugefife de Buoisson. Adieu, sir; thou art in no fit mood to stiii1 : isy palate;— but I offer thee good advice; if thou wooftfe hide thy shame and misery from the world, retire t;-, r monastery, fasting and penance are well suited to such as thou art!" Having thus delivered himself, Adolphe quitted the place, with a sarcastic laugb, atid at that moment the Mafauess. de Chamont entered at, another door, dis-' gufsed in a large mantle, and his eyes immediately rested upon the distracted Eugene, who, with his bands clasping his forehead, was trinsfixed to the spot, and seemed the status of despair and horror. " So then," said tbe marquess aside,—" the lettef spoke the truth, for yonder the wretched youth stands! wrapt in all the delirium of conscious guilt. I can scarce contain myself while I gaze on him." " Thesecret's out then," crie t Eugene, " I haw been betrayed— deceived— entrapped— and n." W I'm made the mock and scorn of my despoilers. Madness ! I sbalf: choke ! I feel a demon gnawing at my heart!— At'd. shall I tamely view the wretches depart with the gold they have pltmderiid me of?— No, I will wring it frolitf them !'' With these Words the wretched mart, thinking it was- Adolpbe, grasped the marquess with the strength of madness, and with frantic wildness exclaimed: — " Villain ! give me back my gold I Thou shalt not rob me !— Thou shalt not leave me to poverty and ' wretchedness '.— Give me my gold, I say, or I will have restitution in thine heart's blood!" " Madman! let go thy sanguinary grasp," ejaculated the marquess, struggling with Eugene; " wouldst; thou add murder to thine other crimes ? Wouldst thou take the life of the father of Laurette,— the Marquess de Chamout ?" Eugene released his hold in an instant, and stagger- ing back a few paces, fixed his gaze with the most ghastly expression of horror and surprise upon the marquess, who had thrown off his disguise., " Crept God I" he Cried, " do my eyes deceive me. or am I the wretched victim of some damned spell?— The Marquess de Chamont here ?" " Yes," answered the marquess, sternly, " it is the Marquess de Chamont, the father of her thou wouldst basely have brought to shame and misery, I have dis- covered thy vices, Eugene, aud henceforth w ® are stran- gers to one another." " Oh, in mercy, for pity's sake hear me!" cried Eugene, with agonizing emotion. " Not a word," replied the marquess, " I am fully satisfied of thy guilt, and henceforth despise thee. Ven- ture not again into my presence or that of Laurette, or thou mayest repent thy boldness." Without uttering another word, the marquess fixed upoit Eugene one look of stern reproach, and imme- diately left the place. " My lord ! my lord!" cried Eugene, frantically, and looking hastily round him ; " but no," he^ eofltmusd, " he's gone, and 1 am doomed to misery for ever!— I shall go mad— The tortures of the damned rack J » y bosom !— Oh, horror! horror !" He rushed wildly forth, with the air of a maniac, and made his way towards the hot- 1, whither he S" on ar- rived, and scarcely conscious of what he was doing, entered the house On the way to his chamber, he en- countered Caleb, the son of his host, who started back with amazement when he beheld mm, and exclaimed* " Deary me, Mounseer de Buoisson, how pale you do look, you seem as if—" " What, fool ?" demanded Eugene, fiercely. '• " La, mounseer," said the simple lad, starting back, " how you frighten me ! I didn't mean to offend you, but you look ill; do take a drop of wine, and that will revive you. Perhaps you have been mjsfortunate to- night, and it's very provoking to " " Damnation '.' interrupted Eugene," the very hind mocks me ! Am I sunken so low as to meet the pity of an ignorant, lowly boy? Beggar ! wretch !- Bnt I am mad'.— I know not what 1 say or do!- Pardon me, boy; lam ill- very ill;- shew me to my chamber, I would be alone. Shew me to my room, 1 repeat;— to silence— to solitude— to death '. ( He groaned aloud with . mental agony, and rushing past Caleb, who stood staring at him with stupified astonishment, entered his chamber. aad c'ose « the Joor after him. ( To be continued.) , STRAY THOUGHTS. BY C. W. DUCKETT. Liberty is a sweet thought to all. To the incarcerated prisoner of war, she is his hope— by every Englishman she is oherished— and, yet, there are noue more perse- cuted than liberty. He that heeds not instruction, and disregards her ways, will be far beneath the notice of man, and iu the end, when all will be too late, find out his error, and Eine away with the thoughts of his frowardness in his reast, and become a prey to sad remorse. Time, it hath been said of old " stays for no man;" it will disclose to view those things that now appear far distant— it will also bring the infant unto man's estate— and will it bring that man unto the verge of the grave ? — Echo answer, yes !— but if he made secure the path that leads to a future state, let him exclaim with chris- tian fortitude—" Time I 1 fear thee not." Fame is a slippery phantom. When men pursue lier, thinking to embrace her, she flies from them, and thus cruelly deceives by allurements of glory, mingled with her enticing bubble reputation, even iu the cannon's mouth. We should be very careful bow we talk. The Tongue is an elaborate and a refractory member, not very easy to be governed, and that that is proclaimed, canuot be recalled. Happiness is a word that would puzzle a philosopher to explain; it rests in the ideas of a person, for one might be happy in a manger, whilst another would not be contented even in a palace. Science is such an excellent Goddess, that the more we study her principles the greater reward we meet from her in the end. t " Be extremely on your guard against vanity,' says Lord Chesterfield, in his advice to his son ; and so we should,— for, if we let vanity get the better of our pru- dence, we shall then take no heed of advice, but think ourselves far above our friends and well- wishers. Virtue is a sublime precept; it embraces love, truth, and chastity,— and, in a- word, contains all that is good, and ought to be regarded by the human race as a celes tial gift to us ignorant mortals,— for, sooner or later, it will reward those that walk in its paths. Vice ( as we all know) is the very opposite to virtue. At first, it lures the unsuspecting into its net, and then when it has secured them lor ever, it leaves them to re- flect on their fate, and repine in their woe; and many- has it brought to an early grave, and, yet, years roll, and still it is followed; but men see not their danger till too late, or, until they die and leave behind them the sad remembrance, that vice alone vvas the cause of their dissolution and despicable end. What a sublime and beautiful picture is Nature when clothed in green verdure; the radiant sky tinged with gold, and the little songsters aloft filling the air with their notes. How beautiful, ' tis then, to view the sur- rounding objects, worked by one almighty hand, and exclaim with Pope, " Thou great first cause, least un- derstood." The celebrated John Hunter was once demonstrating the jaw- bone, he observed that the jaw- bone was known to abound in proportion to the want of trains. Some students were talking at the time instead of attending to the lecture, upon which Hunter exclaimed—" Gen* tlemeii, let us have more intellect and less jaw ! THE PENNY SUNDAY WMBS AKD PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE!. ^ Fragment** fov_ ttjc « EiirU HBNUI QUATHE.— The French soldier; love to their leaders a vivacity correspondent to their own. Cfjeatm.) " Nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice." you should stray from your colours, raliy rout • white plume; you will always find it on the path yf honour and victory'." LOVE OP THE LEGION.— At the fir. review of the troops by Charles X. an old soldier stepped from the ranks with shouldered arms, and said to Viim—" Sire, twenty- one years of service, thirty campaigns, and ten wounds, deserve the cross; and 1 have K not!" " You shall have it," said the king. GENTLE HINTS TO MASTERS.— If thou weuldst have a good servant, ( says an old moralist), let thy servant find - a wise master: let his food, rest, and . ages, be season- able ; let his labour, recroations, and attendance, de- pend upon thy pleasure ; be not angry with him too long, lest he think thee malicious— nor too soon, lest he oonceive thee rash— nor too often, lest he count thee humorous. Be not too fierce, lest he love thee not; nor too remiss, lest he fear thee not; nor too familiar, lest he prize thee not. In brief, whilst thou givest him the liberty of a servant, beware thou losest not the majesty of a master. ' PERFORMING or PROMISES.— A man's word, and the effect of it, ought to be as inseparable as fire and heat; the ancient represented this to us most forcibly, when they pictured a tongue bound fast to a heart. A DANGEROUS SUGGESTION— A veteran officer was presented to Louis the Fourteenth, to fill a place.— 41 This man," said the king, " is too old." " Sire," said the officer, " I am only. four years older than your ma- jesty, and I trust I shall be able to serve five- and- twenty years to come." A ROVAL OPINION.— King William III. being once extremely embarrassed about a matter of state, was ad- vised to consult Sir Isaac Newton. " Newton," replied he, " Newton !— why he's nothing but a philosopher!" WEALTH.— A little wealth will suffice us to live well, and less, to die happily. STANZAS. BY OEORGK BAYLEY. < I saw tiie Well In their pomp and pride, Boasting of wealth, both far mnd wide— Twas theirs— to mark from dsy to day, The hoarded stores the wronged pay. But, ah! what thoughts came with their care Of the future day— what the past ones were ; And they fell ' neatli the grasp of li e tyrant's arm — Were ireed from the world, Its nolte and alarm. I saw the bark sweep merrily o'er The ocean's dash with sullen rear, " Twos a noble sight to gate thereon. Where faces smiled, and beauty shone, ' Till a sudden squall came o'er the deep, " Twas midnight's hour— all was asleep i And ere they reached their wished for home, Tl. e bark was gnlphed ' neath the ocean's foam, t took my view on the mountain, where The negro pines In silence there, And pitied his lot as I onward went, For a further view of his heart's relent. And O ! what a change from man to man, Is there for the fle. ttag eye to scan- He frets mid frowns— in ckatns he lies, TJ » thus, OI man, the negro dies. Marsh.' 22, 1841. LORD BYRON AND MISS FANSHAW.— It is not gene- rally krrotvn, that a Miss Fanshaw, ( we believe), and not Lord Byron, was the author of the celebrated and uni- versally admired enigma on the letter H, beginning "' IVas whisper'd in heaven, and mutter'd in hell, ' And echo caught faintly, tbe sound as it fell," & e. Although, in the editions of the complete works of Byron, this beautiful effusion has been invariably intro- duced as the production of that celebrated poet, we al- ways suapscted his right of patronage to the enigma; and, accident alone, asliort time ago, made us acquainted with the above fact, and convinced u « that our doubts were • well founded. The enigma first appeared, with Miss Fanshaw's name appended lo it, in a volume of poetry, compiled and published for some charitable purposes many years ago. " I WAS HAPPY- I WAS HAPPY.' PALLAD.— BY ANDREW JAMES M'DOUALI,. I was happy— I was happy, In my childhood's sunny bow'rs. With my laughter, loving playmates, And my virgin blushing flow'rs; Tor the birds that sang around me. As they flutter'd tbre* the air, ' Mid the golden fruits of summer. Were less free from sin and care. I was happy— 1 was happy, & c. & c. 1 was happy— I was happy, But ray spirit's broken now; Tho' youth is blooming on my cheek. There are shadows on my brow ; Tor tlie pleasures childhood follow'd, Have departed with its yer.. rs. And time's left nothing in .' heir place For as heart— but c » ie and tears. Mareh 23,1841. I was Uppy— I was happy, & c. & e. F OOTE'S LAST JOKE.— When Foote was on his way to Trance, for a change of air, he went into the kitchen of the inn at Dover, to, order a particular dish for dinner, The true English took, disposed, perhaps, to smoke the ti steller, boas'. ed, that, for her patt, she had never set .' iW foot cat of her own country. On this, the invalid - rav; ly observed, " Why, Cookey, that'a very extraor- dinary, as they tell me, above stairs, that jou have been several times all over Grease."—" They may say what ihey please, above stairs, or below stairs," ( replied the Cook), " butI was never ten miles from Dover in all my life."—" Nay, now, that must be a fib," ( said Foote,) for I have, myself, seen you at Spit- head." The other servants, by this time, took the joke, $ nd a roar of laugh- ter followed. The wag, however, never reached France, ' he very next morning, he was seized with shivering fits, and he expired in the course of the day, ( Oct. 21, 1777,) tn the 57th year of his a? e. His body was conveyed to London, and buried in Westminster Abbey, by torch- light. ELLEN ORRINDALE. WRITTEN MY A. K Y N E. She wanders where the billows With foamy wreaths are dreat j While others press their pillows, Wrapt in the spells of rest. But those, devoid of sorrow, Are cheer'd by Hope's sweet tale ;— But. Hope has no bright morrow, For Ellen Owindale. I Her love became a rover,— A rover on the deep ; But him the waves new cover, And Ellen lives to weep. She mourns hla fate in sadness, And feeds with sighs the gale; Thus, never more can gladness Bless. Ellen Orrlndale. And, as she roves she beareth An harp, attuned to woe ; " No vision bright it reareth. As once ' twas prone to do. Yet, still she feels it soothing. To breathe its love- loru tale , Thus, death's drear path ' tis smoothing . For Ellen Orrlndale. NOT PARTICULAR.— An aged spinster, growing wearv » mong other " ills flesh is heir lo," of '• single blessed- ness," betook herself to the silent recess of the grove, and there prayed, most fervently, that Providence would provide for her what forty years of smiling and sim- pering, and rouging, had failed to entrap, viz. a husband 1 She had no sooner got through her devotion, than an owl, ( of the largest species, says our informant,) hooted from the tup of the tree over tha head of the " hapless maiden." " Who! ho! hool" to which she replied, with her eyes fervently fixed on the earth, and supposing that He whom she implored, came to her rescue, " Any body, good Lord!" The wheeler insect is a curious microscopical object. Take a little dust of rotten timber, and a drop of water- by and by the insect appears, two horns arise on its head, and then a wheel, the velocity of which is sur- prising. It sails among the dust as'if amidst islands. The wheel seems intended by suction, to draw in num- bers of smaller insects for its food. ILL- REQUITED LOVE.— The passion of love, so power- ful in its influence over the most savage beasts, rules with a feeble and transitory sway over the subjects of our pre- » ent inquiry. The male spider,, approaches tlife femaie » ith the greatest circumspection, fearful lest tbe sexual feelings should not have banished that thirst for blood which, under ordinary circumstances, induces them to prey as rapidly on each other, as on winged insects. It therefore, not unfrequently happens, that, if a small male approaches a large female, whose feelings, unfortunately, o not coincide with kii own, iastead oi being csreped, eiseatauj • SHAKSPERE. Our theatrical article must be necessarily short this • i., is we have nothing to do but to mention the v JUS and extensive preparations that are making at the di i'erent places of amusement for the Easter Holidays. Managers, generally speaking, seem to have exercised considerable spirit and liberality, in catering for the entertainment of the public, at this joyous season. Covent Garden; the Haymarket; English Opera House; Olympic ; Queen's ; City; Pavilion; Victoria; Surrey ; and the Albert Saloon, have all put forth most tempting bills of fare; and we anticipate having to perform a pleasing task, in giving favourable and lengthy notices of most of them, in r. ur next number. f LEGEND OF OLD E'AINT PAUL'S, BT M. H. AIK9FORTH. " — I ( Continued Jrim our last.) i3ilAPTER XIV. AN UNEXPECTED INTERRUPTION. Enraged at the trick that had been played him, Martin Palliser was some time before he could so far re- cover himself from the surprise into which lie had bepn thrown, as to seek for means to release hirtiself from the disagreeable situation ih which he was placed. And when, at last, he began to turn his thoughts towards escape, he found the place was so dark, for the lamp had been taken away by | Maud Denton, that it would be utterly useless to make any effort until the dawn began to appear. Irritated beyond measure at the helplessness to which he had been reduced, he paced ra- pidly up and down his narrow chamber lot some time ; but, at length, growing weary of this, he threw himself upon the floor, and tried, though in vain, to, snatch a few hours of forgetfulness in sleep. But the thought of the danger to which Marianne was reduced, and the consciousness of his own inability to resbiie liijr at pre- sent, tormented him so grievously, that he worked him- self into a state ot fever that rendered him almost deli- rious. At length, however, wearied out with these re- flections, he fell into an uneasy slumber, in the course of which a thousand hideous visions flitted through his mind, in all of which he saw Marianne placed in situa- tions of the most imminent danger, without having the power to aid or assist ber. Iu fact, he grew almbstmad with the excess of his terrors, aud, at list, siartiiig from the ground, he again pacted backwards and forwards, anxiously awaiting the first peep of daylight, iu ordor that he might make a more effectual attempt to escape from his place of confinement. By and by lie cbllld per- ceive, through the only window, that a " faint streak of light began to make its appearance iu the eastern horizon; and, somewhat pacified by this, lie waited with more patience, watching, with eager eye, the gradual change from darkness to light. But it was, at least, an hour before he could see sufficiently to satisfy himself of the probability of setting himself free, and, eveu then he had to remove a stout iron bar from the window before he could hope to find himself at liberty. Setting himself diligently to work, however; he disco- vered that the task was not. quite so difficult a one as he had imagined, for time had, in a great measure, worn away the stauncheou that prevented his exit from the place, and, by means of some exertion, he eventually Succeeded in removiiin the obstacle from the window.— This done, he stepped out upon a narrow parapet that appeared to runround the entire building, and proceed- ing with cautious steps along this, he by anil by, come to another small witidoW, into which he easily found admittance. He now began to think that escape was certain; but, unoii searching for tlie door, he found that it Was strongly locked on the inside, and all the efforts he made to open it, proved that it would be in vaiu to waste any further time in atrial that, after all, must end in disappointment. Voted at the defeat of all his plans, he now paused for a few moments to deliberate, aud then reflecting; that it was possible Maud would most likely go to the place from whence he had just es- caped, when she had secured the retreat of Marianne and her lover, he retraced his steps, and once more en- tered the Clock Tower, which had so unexpectedly been made his prison. Hacked with a thousand tears, he re- mained here nearly two hours; every moment growin? more aud more intolerable to him, until he came to the desperate resolution of breaking open the door with tbe iron stauiicheon that he had succeeded in removing from the window. Seizing, therefore, upon this weapon, he had raised it for the purpose of levelling it with tremen- dous force against the thick oaken door, that offered so formidable a barrier to his escape, when alight step was heard ascending the stairs, and directly afterwards he was overjoyed at hearing a key gratiug and turning in the rusty lock. Then, throwing the bar over his shoulder, he stood almost resolved to strike down the person who entered, when who should make her appear- ance before him but Stella, the fair daughter of the min- strel who he had seen the night before, when in search of the unfortunate Marianne Lester. Softened by this sight, he lowered the formidable weapon with which he was armed, and addressing the timid girl in a tone of kindness, he implored her to explain the motive of her present visit. " I am come," answered Stella, " to give you that li- berty for which I know you would give worlds. 1 knew how uneasy you must be at having t- een thus imprisoned through the treachery of Maud Denton, and, taking the first opportunity of possessing myself of her keys, 1 has- tened hither to give you freedom." " This is, indeed, most kindly done," exclaimed Martin, " and 1 feel that I shall henceforward owe you a debt of gratitude that 1 shall never be able to repay." " There is nothing to repay, " she replied, meekly;— " you saved me last night from the insults of a ruffian, and this is only a poor return, that must stand iu the place of a better until 1 can prove that I am not ungrate- ful for the service you so promptly performed in behalf of a helpless female." " 1 am more than repaid already," answered Martin, quickly; " you have this day done me a service that time never can efface from my memory. But for the present let us drop this subject, whilst you tell me of the young female who I last, night traced to this edifice, whither she had been brought by a villain . who had sought her destruction ?" " She is thus far safe," auswered the girl. '•" Thank Heaven for that'." ejaculated Martin, fer- vently; " and, yet," he continued, " 1 know not how you ean be certain of what you have just informed me." " I have had my eye on them, and watched their every movement most jealously," replied Stella. " The maiden you speak of grew sad and melancholy when she reflected on the unhappiness that would fall upon her friends, ami, at ber earnest solicitation, she has been allowed to remain with Maud Denton until eight o'clock this morning." " And why till that time ?" asked Martin, eagerly. " Because at that hour," answered Stella, " the young man who brought her hither has promised to make her his wife." " His wife!" " Aye, so he tells her; but I happen to know that the marriage ceremony is to be a fictitious one," replied the girl. " Ah '.— and how know you that?" " Through possessing a tolerably quick pair of ears," returned the maiden. " In fact, I overheard a great portion of tbe conversation that took place between Eustace St. Clair— I think that is the name they called him by— and Maud Denton, in the course of which 1 learnt quite enough to convince me of this treachery; and, having made up my mind to do the best I could to frustrate their evil designs, 1 hastened hither to give you your liberty, in order that you might take your own measures for the preservation of a too- confiding girl from the snares of a villain." " This is, indeed, nobly done !" cried Martin Palliser, " and, now, tell me, 1 conjure you, how it was that you found means to obtain such easy access to this chamber ?" " Oh, I found no difficulty in that, I can assure you," answered Stella. " I observed where Maud Denton de- posited her keys, and taking the opportunity of her fall- ing off to sleep, just after daylight had fairly set ill, I hastened hither to tell you that you are no longer a prisoner." " For which, accept my warmest thanks," exclaimed Martin, ardently; " and now, having thus far be- friended a stranger, Igt me entreat you to lead me to the place where I may interrupt the mock marriage by which my libertine rival seeks to ruin the object of his pretended love." " There is time enough for that, depend on it," re- plied Stella. " Remember, 1 have already told you the ceremony is not to take place till eight o'clock, and were you to leave this place much before that time, you might chance to be seen by Maud, who, in that case, would take especial care to prevent your marring a plan, upon the result of which depends a large reward." " Would she, then, betray one of her own sex for the sake of a paltry reward ?" demanded Martin, with disgust. " Aye, that would she," answered Stella; " her whole heart and soul are bent upon the acquirement of gold, and no feeling of pity will ever induce her to relinquish a chance of obtaining possession of the darling idol she so fondly worships." " She shall soon find, however," cried the young man, " that a period has arrived when she can no longer bar- ter the happiness of others, for the reward offered by a heartless libertine 1" Take care that vou are not too rash;" exclttttned the inaidett, Wrhestlyf " Mattd lias ft quick eye and en.", and, takfe tny word for it, that if she only guesses what is ( idsSlhg lii j'dtir thbiights, she Will ttfke ca're to prevent your ever leaving this place alti^ S there are iCany vaults and chambers in this cathedral that arc never Vi- sited by any chance, and shor. ld she find means to place you in any one of them, it is hardly likely you Will ever he permitted td effefct yotir escape. Her own safety would thfeh depend Upon ytiur being kept in close cus- tody, and it would not be l8tig trfc she Wtlnd means to fiut au effectual bar upon any dangerous proceeding's > eing taken against her." " 1 care not for myself," exclaimed Martin ; " a dun- geon may, perhaps, be the consequence of my inter- ference in this affair, yet, # AniVthat shall not deter me from taking the step' I have resolved on. Marianne Lestet- iiilist bfc teSCUed, or I Will never leave this place alive." " As a woman," cried Stellaj " I adinife the noble generosity that has prompted you thus to step forward in the defence of one of my btyn se*. Ail I ask, how- ever, is, that you will iVsiit till the ihoment arrives when yoii cati ihbst effectually snatch Marianne froltt tiie treachery that is practising against her." " As it is your wish," answered Martin Palliser, " I will wait with what patience I can till the hour appointed for the mock ceremony.'" IX. I am a person's name, of fire letters, composed sf the following five words:— two personal pronouns, a woodman's labour, rala, and the name of a gentle animal. X. lama word of eleven letters, composed of the following twelve words:— a being, mercantile agents, a deputy, a performer, a poli- tical party, a conjunction, the Indefinite article, a contractcd word for a parent, a reality, a deed1, an Interjection, and a pre. position. W. MAHARO, m. Of my first we oltea hear, But. In truth, have never seen j Nor did we ever meet the man Who to the plaee has been. My second's an exclamation, That in common does appear; Tet, strange to say, it Is not seen. But in two raocths ef each year. My third, than lose, we, most of us, Would rather be minus a limb; It's likewise what we're sure to be, If to the lofty mountain's top we climb. My fourth Is of the feather'd tribe— You'll find that I speak true ; When my whole are joln'd, appear! in sight, Reader, a part of you. TrsDSpose that same, you'll bring to light, An anlmai of ccuri'e, strength, and might. XII. CHARADE FOR J. DILLON, OF DRBLIN. Bear sir, since I've unriddled you, Do you the saml' by me, And olten on the harvest field You'll see 1,4.5, » . Beneath the autumn's sun you'll find A 2, 5, 1, of wheat. Whilst 3, 4, 5, 1, form a fruit Delicious to eat. 8, 2, 1, 6, ! i, 1, are m," i, A * wil ,- ve wfji thrive In jnf own land, » bu « swy- iis the sea My slippery 4, 2,6. V When io thdrlilage cltuMh you go, 3, 2, s. 8, ^ rois hear; 5, S, ' 1. J, noW la scarce. And, therefore, rather dear. 2. 5, 3' s an exercise, Wh ch I hare little skill on; And toiy six letters form a word, Much wanted by J. DIILLON. Birmingham. Nay, your patience will not be very grievously taxed," she feplled—" it now wants but half an hour to tile mdiiietlt bf peril, and iis it Will tahe us some time to make our tvfty cautiously to the chapel of St. George, where the ceremony i » to take place, we will set out at once on the errand. Follow ute with stealthy steps, and I will conduct you by a route that is little known, and where there is small chabcte Of Meeting with inter- ruption." Fillly relviti? UpOn the disihtefestCil offef that had been made,' Martin followed the generous girl who had thus come to bis rescue, and passing down the winding flight of steps by which he had ascended to the Clock Tower, he soon found himself in one of the crypts on the southern side of the building; from thence they proceeded through s harrow doorway into a larger vault, that appeared to" run beneath the main portion of the edifice, and having traversed ihiswith slow and cautious steps, they next entered another subterranean apart- ment, at one end of which were piled broken Collins, whilst another portion appeared to be used as a deposi- tory for the sexton's tools. Martin shuddered as be looked upon these relics of man's mortality, and, quick- ening his pace, he shortly afterwards found himself in a chamber, much more light and airy than any one he had vet passed through. Here Stella paused, and lis- tened lor a moment or two, and then, having satisfied herself, she said in a low whisper:— " It is now time that you exert yourself for the pre servation of Marianne tester; they are assembling in the chapel, and a few minutes wasted here, will bring ruin and despair upon the deceived maiden." " Lead on, then," cried Martin, impatiently, and as Stella hastily obeyed his injunction, he kept close be- hind, and, mounting a low flight of steps, entered the north transcept, from whence they hurried on to the Chapel of St. George, ovists, as had oeen expected, they found Marianne, and the whole bridal party, assembled round the altar. " Hold !" cried, Martin, hoarse with rage; " hold, I command you, aitd dare gkf to dfss^ crate this holy place by this sacriltgioifs mockery !" 1 Marianne screamed and fainted at this unexpected interruption, whilst E stace St. Clair, rushing forward with his drawn sword, made furiously towards Martin Palliser, who, being unarmed, would have fallen a vic- tim to the intemncrauceof his rival had not Stella at the moment thrown herself between them. " Eustace St. Clair !" she cried " this is no place for slaughter and bloodshed. Behold ! Heaven has already punished yeur impiety, for he who played the part of your priest has been stricken with the plague !" ( To be continued in our next.) CHARADES. I. My 5, 3,10, 13— is a m-' sical instrument; my 3, 12,4— 2. 4, 4. 0 11), and 8, t>, 11.11— are animals of different species; my 5,12,4 and 8, 2, 1,13, 9; 4— are top coverings; my 4, 12, 10, 4— is noote of fruit and flower: my 4 9, 12— is a foreign herb; my 12. 1, 13 — is a tenisle nnroei my 3, 12, 10, 9— Is uncommon ; my ,1, 12,1,14 and , r » , 9, 12. 10. 4— are pdrta of the body ; my 4, 12, 3— is used in , hi| is ; my 7, 12, 11. 4— Is a klod of barley; my 8, 9 9, 10— is made of wy 7, 12, U, 4, and my whole is a nurd rf fourteen letters. A TOUIH. II. I am a word of twelve letters.— My 9. I, 3— Is a beverage ; my 3,5,10, 9,3,9— Is to shake; my 8, 12. 12— Is a f « ma'e nam*; my 3, 6. 7, I0. fi— Is u nest of y^ ung e. gles; my 3 5, 5, 7. 6. 4 3. 9 lj — la to heap together; my 9. 1. 12— Is a number; my 8, 7, 7. s, It), 4, 12— is to accuse; my 7, 3, 9— la an animal; my 3. 5, 3— la a Turklah militaiy officer; my 3, 5 3, 9, ti— Is a precious stone; my 1, 7, 10, 12, 4 11— Is a plant ; my 3, 10, 9— is a small Island on a rl « er; my 8. 12, 4, 10. 12, 8- ls a disorder; my 3. 10, 7— is a melody; my o, 12. 12, 8, 2 — is IO subjoin; my 1, 5, 7, 1, 9— is a kind of herou; my 8. 12, 9, 7 fi— Is a c vrrn; my 8. 12, 8— is equally; my ( i, 2. Il 9. 6, 7— la a city; my 3, 9, 9, 3, 10, 12,!)— ia lo dishonour; my 4, 8, 11,7,4 fl— is a male najne; my 3, 9, 9. 3, 10, 12— is to obtain, and my whole 1* aggravation. H. 8. III. I am a word composed of fourteen letters.— My 4.2, 11, 3, 1, 8 — Is ;- n ancient English city; my 8, 7, 13, 4, 10— Is a town in Fian « e; my 6, 12, 8, 3, 14, 1, 9— Is a town near one of our naval potts : my 14, 9. 3. 13, 8, 10, an I 5, 9, 8, 14— ore planets; my 7, 13. 14, 11— ts a British river; my 3, 8, 13, 8. 7— is a town in Corn- wall: my 14,6. 11,10, 14, 1, 8— was a celebrated English wiiter; my 3, 9. 14 14, 7— was an Italian poet; my 15, IS, 8, 8— is a sea bird; iny 9, 2, 11— is an instrument much used In gland during Henry VIII. n- lgn ; my 10. it 5, 1— Is what, every person pos aesies; my 3, 12, 13, 10, 9,8. i, 19'.' 3— Is an ancient fete lately reviewed ; my 6, 13 8. 14, 4,%— Is a naval officer; my 13, 14, 4— Is what damages every thlnrj my 3, 8, 13, 5, 6, 11, 3— Is a martial Instrument of music; my 6, 7, 3, 9, 3, 12,1— is a valuable root, and rav whole is unpremeditated and sudden. Blackfriar's Itoad. X. Y. Z. IV. / I am a word of eleven tetters.— My 4, 3, 7, 8— Is food for 4. 2, 6. who' 2, 7, 1, it; a 4, 5, 11, 2— Is made 5.11, the earth ; my 8, 2, 7 — is a plant; my 4, 7. 1, 2— is 7 companion, and 5 hope he is a 8, 2, 7, S, one, but he is 6, 10, 8, if he wipks in Ihe 4. 9. 3. 2; my 3, 7. 1. 2— is a tax ; walking for a 8, 8, 4, 2— will 8, 9. 3, 2, you ; 3, 10, 3. 1.2, 6. thinga will 1,2. 7, 3; my 10. 6. 9. 10.11— Is a 3, 10, 10, 1; my 4,10,3,1, 7. 3- ismade with 3, 7, 5, It, and lime. ' ' W. R. W. V. I am a word of stx letters — My 6,5, 4— is a number; my 1, 5, 6— Is a wager; my 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 3— Is a fiig; my i, 2, 3, 4— Is v » if useful ts farmera; my 3,2, 6- 1, 5, 2, 3— 2, 4, 6, and I, 2, 8— are animals ; my 8. 2, 3— is a vegetable production ; my 1, 2. 3, 8, 5, 3 — Is to exchange, and my whole is a small town in Em land. Aberdeen. J. FAIIQUHAR. VI. My first Is always, My second durable, My third without end. VII. My first I hope you are. My second I aee you are. My third I know you are. J. G. VIII. A word 1 am, composed of letters six. Most people on me their attention fix ; My f. lend I hope you c m 6 5, 3, 4, 5, i, 4, 2. 6. will a tree explore. My ( 1, 4, 2, a colour bright, I own, 4. ' 5, 3, 1, a noted sea- port town ; 1,5, 3, 4, a metal brings to view, Rivera my 1,5,3, and 4. 5, 2. With 4, 2, 5, 6, parks are of en g- ae'd, And on my h « ad 5, 3, 8, : lac'd; My 1, 3, 4, f. 5, for p:- iv.- li ive Seep, And 4, 2,3, 6 really ts oot ti e:- p My bonny 1, 3, 4, e . - u love ' it ? Go, take my 2, 5, 1, . ii t your dish; But should it batmen f » t ••' jar fish is diy, Then take 1, 3. i, a" 4 airy. Use not much 3. 5.. ia! i it tells, BIy whole transpoa'ii. -- <-- -, vho buys and sells; Lastly, ( for now" 1 or. lude my rhymes,) You'll find < ae ia " 1 I'eany Sunday Times." lambeth. R. W. 8. T. E. R, W. P. J. HlDlJLKS. 1. Without me, no charade nor riddle would lie, And London, so splendid, would fade j I'm heard In the bird's sweet melody, And in the lover's sweet serenade. In every building I am found, I attend on the cruel Dey ; I am conspicuous on the ground, Now tell my name, I pray. II. My first is a worthless dog. My second I ne'er wish to use. My wh-> le is a common Iruit, Which, when offered, I will not refuse, Sheffield. A. J. P. III. If you look thro' the window, and Into the street, My first and my second you are sure for to meet; If, by chance, a horse passes in harness, you'll fiod My third and my fourth will be brought to your mind; My filth will be easily found in a sermon, My whole you would not like to be with vermin. IV. When you have guess'd my first, Then you will know my third ; My second and fourth are alike, illy fifh is the last of tills word. My whole ts always in a hurry. Come, tell my name, and do not flurry. O. P. P. V. My first and last are both the same, Of course, a very curious name; If backwards read, you may determine, Two very— very hateful vermin. VI. My first's a Christian name, they say, My second is a bird of prey ;. My whole, in war. woaid many stay. VII. A childish toy my first Is reckoned, Tis hymen often owns my second > My whole, perhaps Is highly bred, And crowns cuch trracelui lady's head. VIII. My first la a number, your dibits explain, My next is a title, familiar in Spain; My whole you possess, I Hope without paltr. IX. Each aportire thing beware t— my first Would spoil your little gambols; My next, a burglar fain would burst. When he for booty rambles. If through my whole you fall— good lark! ' Tis ten to one you break your back. Sbeeraess. X. Teetotallers take heed!— my name Such properties Inherits; You cannot backwards name the same, Ere calling twice for spirits. XI. My first Is a sense I'm sure you possess, Use my second too freely, all sense is destroy'd; And yet by Ihe use of my whole, you'll confess. The sense of my first is mora nicely enloy'd. XII. My first you'll own Is never off, My second's a well- knoi- n play; My whole's a plant, if used In broth, Will make It pood, they say. XIII. My first Is in winter, a warmth you desire, My second is celd to the touch; Both together are cold, yat app- ar ail on fire, Whltli has puzzled philosophers inuch. Great Guildford Street. S. B. Sheffield. REBUSES. I. A stranger unto fear, I def. nd my country dear, And to her rights adhere. Reverse me with your pen. And an animal averse to men Will come beneath your ken. II. Take a word that ahines on high. In the bright nocturnal sVy; Then reverse the letters with your pen, And animals averse to men, Will quickly come beneath your ken. III. From a word which signifies station, Or official situation, The first letter pray eject. And an artic- le you'll see, (' Tis expensive luxury,) With which the rich are often decked; Another letter separate. And a particle you'll find, Which oft decides tbe fate Of a dicer to conscience blind. IV. Of my gr » a£ use to seamen do I boast— Oft hare I saved them lrom the shelving coast. Stripped of my first, im animal you see, That o'er the forest bounds at liberty. Strip me of one more letter, and your eye Nature's great rival quickly will descry. V. Upon my whole you often rest, Bnt take my head away. You seldom think It any pest. To do me every day. Transpose ine now, 1 will appear A beverage relished greatly. That I would soon be scarce, a ftar Was spread abroad but lately. So now pray do the trouble take, To make me whole again ; Take off my tail without mistake, And see whit I remain, Newcastle Upon Tyne. LLOYD'S LIST OF POPULAR WORKS. SIXTY- FIVE HUMOUROUS ENGRAVINGS BY ANT EMINENT ARTIST, AND TEN NEW COMIG SONGS ( BY PREST) FOR ONE PENNY ! !! " THE PENNY- SUNDAY TIMES GALLERY OF COMICALITIES," CCWTA'WS T1TB FOLLOWRAFF ORIGINAL COMIC S0N « 8, WMTRKST- BX- PRBSSBY FOR THB WORE :— The Contented Man. My Sarah and Me. Domestic Economy. Brandy and Salt. Population; or. It's all owing, to the Family Ointment. I. T. A Private Stilt. Happy Land— a Sad Lot. Poor Jack— Please He- Member Jack. John Delf— In his Cups. Hard- Up; or. Shocking Ex- tremities. AND ALSO THE FOLLOWING GRAPHIC SKETCHES: The Maid of the Mill.— A General Rising.— Physical Force.— Bringing him t » o ( Two).— A Black Fast.— Ladles of the Court.— His Mind is on the Rack.— Settling a[ c) Count; Double Entry.— Friar Bacen.— Giving Himself ( H) airs.— Contracting an Acquaint- ance.— A Heavy Swell.— A Good Bite.— Hodgs'a Best.— Sedan- te r ft Occupation.— Currant Jam ; a Friendly Squeeze.— A Neat Turn- out.— A Votary of the Nine.— Taking the Pledge. — Wariik* Guise ( Guys).— Food for Reflection.— Ceiling Whacks; a Bal- frey. — A Promising Child.— A Boy in a Fit.— Giving up the Ghost.— Cabriolet Soclsty.— Pleasures of" Fancy "— Best London Porte?. — A Back Settler.— fioing by the Post; General Delivery,— Come of Age.— Cutting Him to tbe Quick.— Breaking Cover.— Saur* ( Source) of the Nigger ( Niger).— A Dey's Pleasure.— A Sad Plight. — A Belly Full of Grapes.— The Changeless One.— A Private Box. — Taken in A[ r] rest. — The Lively Smack; Looking Out far Squalls.— Hebrew Melodies.— A Funny Pair.— A Go. » d Calling.— A Shocking Sti^- k.— The Pot- boy.— Snmmut Short.— Detachment of eavalry.— Deprived of the Use of their Organ*.— Neat aa Jsn- Eorted.— A Free- Booter.— Fancy Fair.— At a Stand Still.— An ITn- appy Attachment.— Coming It Slap. VTHE EMBELLISHMENTS HAVE BEEN ANGRAVE]) AT THE ENORMOUS EXPENSE OF 1,000 GI/ HVEAS ! P! In Weekly Numbers at Id., and Monthly Parts at 4d., the and Highly Interesting Romance of KATHLEEN! OR, THE SECRET MARRIACE. V The First Number, cnnfalning light closely- prlned Pages* Two Splendid Engravings on separate paper, and a most Magnifi- cent Wrapper, presented GRATIS with No. 54 of " THE PINNIT,- SUNDAT TIMES, AUK PBori. E's POLICE GAZETTE." Shortly wilt be Published In Weekly Numbers at Id., and Monthly, Parts nt 4d., EMILY FITZORMOND I OR, THE DESERTED ONE. With No. 1, will be presented, GRATIS, Two Magnificent Plates and a Wrapper. Shortly will be Published, in Numbers at One Penny, and Fotir » penny Monthly Parts, ERNNESTINE DE LACY! OR, THE ROBBERS' FOUNDUNC. With No. 1, will be presented GRATIS, Two l^ pl'ndld Engravlig^ oa separate paper, and a Wrapper. Complete In 104 Numbers at One Penny each, or Elegantly Bound) at Nine Shillings and Sixpence, ELA. 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